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Authors: Maurizio de Giovanni
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crying?”
“Not necessarily. Maybe he has a cold. It’d make perfect sense: all that time standing in one place in this wet chilly weather. Anyway, this is secret information—in theory not even I should know about it—so do me a favor and keep it to yourself. Still, I like the way they’re moving fast. The assistant DA is young but she knows what she’s doing. I saw her that night and she strikes me as one of those women who aren’t satisfied with just being attractive but want to get out there and do something.”
Letizia got a hollow feeling in her stomach, but she remained expressionless. “So you had a chance to determine that the lady prosecutor is attractive, did you? I hope you got her phone number. Maybe you’ll both have a chance to talk the case over at your leisure . . . Why don’t you bring her here for a nice intimate dinner?”
Lojacono burst out laughing. “So you can poison the two of us? Don’t be silly, you know I’m not the kind of guy who does that sort of thing.”
Letizia gave a hollow laugh, and poured herself a glass of wine.
CHAPTER 20
Eleonora sits motionless on the step. And she waits.
She knew it wasn’t something she could tell him on the phone. These aren’t things you can talk about at a distance. This is news that has to be delivered in flesh and blood, that needs to hover in the ambient air. This is news that has to fall into a familiar space, not hurtle through some unknown and undefined ether. This is news that must meet the eyes of the recipient, news that must resonate, giving an image of pupils, mouth, complexion, each and every slight change.
Eleonora didn’t bring the sheet of paper with her. It struck her as pointless; harmful, actually. As if she needed a document as proof, certification of the fact.
This is hard news to deliver. You don’t know whether it’s good or bad news you’re bringing. You’ll only know it when you see his face, in the very instant that the word falls into the space between you and turns solid: either a rose or a stone, a note of music or a knife blade.
Eleonora trembles. A terrible fear has taken hold of her. She understands in some obscure way, because her woman’s intuition tells her so clearly, that nothing will ever be the same as it was once she speaks to him. For better or for worse, nothing will ever be the same.
Eleonora dug deep over the last few nights, seeking the courage she would need. She hunted through the conversations, the stories, even the laughter that she’d shared with him for traces of that courage. For the first time, she felt older than him, as she studied his temperament, his character, wondering whether he’d be capable of handling the words she had to say to him, whether he could proudly present her to his family, the way she hoped.
As the endless hours of night tick past, it occurs to Eleonora that she doesn’t really know him after all. She’d always believed that the only thing that mattered was their love, the love she glimpsed in his eyes when he saw her coming towards him, the love she felt in her own heart when she thought of him; but she really doesn’t know him at all. What does he do when they’re not together? What does he think, how does he amuse himself, what are his fears? Perhaps that information could help her guess how he’ll react. Information that she doesn’t yet possess, and perhaps never will.
Eleonora runs a hand over her face. She couldn’t stand to lose him. She tries to think positively, the way her father always told her to do: if you ask for trouble, trouble will answer. If you ask for good things, good things will come to you. Papa, how I wish you were here with me, right now. But instead, I also have the problem of how to break this news to you.
Suddenly, Eleonora has lost all faith. Suddenly, all the promises she was given, on the beach or in bed after making love, seem to be written on the wind. Everything she believed in, everything she relied upon, has
“Not necessarily. Maybe he has a cold. It’d make perfect sense: all that time standing in one place in this wet chilly weather. Anyway, this is secret information—in theory not even I should know about it—so do me a favor and keep it to yourself. Still, I like the way they’re moving fast. The assistant DA is young but she knows what she’s doing. I saw her that night and she strikes me as one of those women who aren’t satisfied with just being attractive but want to get out there and do something.”
Letizia got a hollow feeling in her stomach, but she remained expressionless. “So you had a chance to determine that the lady prosecutor is attractive, did you? I hope you got her phone number. Maybe you’ll both have a chance to talk the case over at your leisure . . . Why don’t you bring her here for a nice intimate dinner?”
Lojacono burst out laughing. “So you can poison the two of us? Don’t be silly, you know I’m not the kind of guy who does that sort of thing.”
Letizia gave a hollow laugh, and poured herself a glass of wine.
CHAPTER 20
Eleonora sits motionless on the step. And she waits.
She knew it wasn’t something she could tell him on the phone. These aren’t things you can talk about at a distance. This is news that has to be delivered in flesh and blood, that needs to hover in the ambient air. This is news that has to fall into a familiar space, not hurtle through some unknown and undefined ether. This is news that must meet the eyes of the recipient, news that must resonate, giving an image of pupils, mouth, complexion, each and every slight change.
Eleonora didn’t bring the sheet of paper with her. It struck her as pointless; harmful, actually. As if she needed a document as proof, certification of the fact.
This is hard news to deliver. You don’t know whether it’s good or bad news you’re bringing. You’ll only know it when you see his face, in the very instant that the word falls into the space between you and turns solid: either a rose or a stone, a note of music or a knife blade.
Eleonora trembles. A terrible fear has taken hold of her. She understands in some obscure way, because her woman’s intuition tells her so clearly, that nothing will ever be the same as it was once she speaks to him. For better or for worse, nothing will ever be the same.
Eleonora dug deep over the last few nights, seeking the courage she would need. She hunted through the conversations, the stories, even the laughter that she’d shared with him for traces of that courage. For the first time, she felt older than him, as she studied his temperament, his character, wondering whether he’d be capable of handling the words she had to say to him, whether he could proudly present her to his family, the way she hoped.
As the endless hours of night tick past, it occurs to Eleonora that she doesn’t really know him after all. She’d always believed that the only thing that mattered was their love, the love she glimpsed in his eyes when he saw her coming towards him, the love she felt in her own heart when she thought of him; but she really doesn’t know him at all. What does he do when they’re not together? What does he think, how does he amuse himself, what are his fears? Perhaps that information could help her guess how he’ll react. Information that she doesn’t yet possess, and perhaps never will.
Eleonora runs a hand over her face. She couldn’t stand to lose him. She tries to think positively, the way her father always told her to do: if you ask for trouble, trouble will answer. If you ask for good things, good things will come to you. Papa, how I wish you were here with me, right now. But instead, I also have the problem of how to break this news to you.
Suddenly, Eleonora has lost all faith. Suddenly, all the promises she was given, on the beach or in bed after making love, seem to be written on the wind. Everything she believed in, everything she relied upon, has
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