comment from time to time.
Seymour fought his corner valiantly and with dignity, never losing his studied jauntiness, whereas his wife grew tetchy and spiteful. Her unquestioning belief in the redemptive power of economic prosperity bore all the hallmarks of religious zealotry. Her god was the one true god, and all unbelievers were doomed to damnation, or worse still: communism.
The discussion petered out over pudding, by which time the first stars were overhead, the torches had been lit around the parterre, and Adam was wondering just how much longer he could go without seeing Antonella. The moment the band struck up on the lower terrace, he downed the rest of his coffee and went in search of her.
People were rising now, making for the music. Through the building throng he saw her talking to Maria, who had abandoned the refuge of the villa. Maria was smiling—which in itself was a rarity—but it was her hands that seemed different. They made quick and expressive gestures as she talked. Her dark eyes lost some of their luster when she saw Adam approaching, and she only stayed long enough to acknowledge his greeting.
'Poor Maria,' said Antonella.
'Is there a problem?'
'Only that she is a bit drunk.' She hooked her arm through his. 'Come, I want you to meet someone.'
The elderly man in question was on the point of nodding off, his bald crown tracing a lazy circle in the air. The table where he was seated was deserted, except for a young couple on the far side, engrossed, pressed close in conversation, a picture of barely suppressed desire. When Antonella and Adam took a seat on either side of the man, he started like a soldier called to attention.
'Rodolfo, this is Adam,' Antonella said in Italian.
Rodolfo's head snapped round. 'Adam?'
'And the garden . . .'
'Oh, the garden Adam. Does he speak Italian? Of course he does. Crispin wouldn't have sent him if he didn't speak Italian.'
'You know Professor Leonard?' asked Adam.
'Yes, yes, of course.' Rodolfo gripped his forearm surprisingly hard. 'Congratulations. I've known that garden almost all my life. What you have done is, well, exceptional. Have you told Crispin yet? Of course you have.'
'No.'
'No? Why not?'
'I don't know.'
'Well, you must, you must. He knew there was something in that garden. He knew it. He often said so. And it annoyed him that he couldn't identify it. We were young—your age— though of course we were both much better-looking.' He found this extremely amusing. 'Anyway, we went there a lot with Francesca'—he jabbed a crooked finger at Antonella—'her grandmother. I should say that I hated Crispin then. You see, I knew I was only there for one reason—because they couldn't be alone together.'
'Why not?'
'It was a long time ago. It wasn't allowed. I, the boy who had always loved her, had to stand by and watch her lose her heart to him.'
This was clearly news to Antonella. 'Really?'
Her eyes flicked to Adam. He feigned an equal degree of surprise.
'Yes, but that's beside the point. The point is that Crispin sensed something right back then. Sometimes we would go there by ourselves, the two of us, him and me—that's when I grew to like him. He sensed it, you see?' Rodolfo patted Adam on the hand. 'You'll send me your thesis and I'll have it translated. I'll even see it published for you. Oh, nothing very exciting—a departmental journal at the university—but that's how it begins for all of us.' He gave a short and slightly demented snigger. 'And in sixty years if you play your cards right, you can be just like me—penniless, half-drunk at a party, and wondering what you've done with another man's cigar.' He searched around him.
Antonella pointed. 'It's in your hand.'
'So it is. Now, you two youngsters go and join the other apes prancing in the cage.' He made to relight the cigar. Antonella blew out the match.
'One dance,' she said.
'No.'
'I insist.'
'Persuade me.'
'It might be our last.'
'Good point. Help me up.'
It was a big band, with lots of brass, and it played big band numbers. Which was fine for those who knew how to dance to big band numbers, and not so good for those who didn't know how to dance to anything. To make matters worse, Rodolfo could dance—he could really dance. He also had remarkable stamina for a man his age, which gave Adam lots of time to dread the handover. When it finally came, he felt duty-bound to confess to Antonella that he had two left feet (one of which was still stiff and sore from his stumble in the memorial garden).
The alcohol helped, so did the excuse to lay his hands on her.
The band was set up on a tiered dais just in front of the stone balustrade. The dance floor consisted of a giant boarded circle at the heart of the terrace, with the marble fountain as a centerpiece. It was ringed by tall
