Falling in Love by Donna Leon Read Free Book Online Page B

however, had the same peach-ripe softness.
    Unfamiliar with the stress singers faced in their work, Brunetti asked himself if they ever fully relaxed before the run of an opera was finished and they were freed from worrying about their health, their voice, the weather, their colleagues. Following this train of thought, he tried to imagine what it would be like to spend the whole day thinking about going to work, like athletes condemned to compete only at night.
    When he tuned back into the conversation, Brunetti heard Flavia ask the Conte what other operas they had seen that season.
    ‘Ah,’ he answered, exchanged a glance with his wife, cleared his throat, and finally smiled. ‘I have to confess I haven’t been able to see anything yet,’ he answered, and Brunetti heard in his voice the same nervousness he’d heard in Flavia’s. ‘Yours will be the first.’
    Flavia’s look was absolution itself. ‘I’m honoured, then.’ About to continue, she was interrupted by the return of the maid, who cleared the plates from the table. She was quickly back with their plates of merluzzo con spinaci .
    When she was gone, the Conte tasted the fish, nodded, and said, ‘Hardly, Signora. The theatre is honoured to have you sing there.’
    Flavia raised an eyebrow in open scepticism and glanced across at Brunetti, but addressed the Conte. ‘That’s hardly the case, Signor Conte, though I thank you for the compliment.’ In a more serious voice, she added, ‘It was true forty, fifty years ago. Those were the singers. And any theatre was honoured to have them.’
    While Brunetti’s consciousness was opening itself to the new category of ‘modesty in singers’, the Contessa asked, ‘Is that aimed at the theatre?’
    ‘I’ve found it wise,’ Flavia said, speaking to the Contessa but, Brunetti suspected, to them all, ‘never to comment on the people who offer me work.’ Then she shifted the need to give an opinion to the Conte by asking, ‘You grew up with La Fenice, Conte. You’ve heard the change in the quality of the singers there.’ When he didn’t answer, she added, ‘You have an abbonamento , so you’ve heard the change over the years.’ Brunetti noted the way she avoided asking why he hadn’t bothered to attend this season.
    The Conte leaned back in his chair and took a small sip of wine. ‘I suppose it’s like having a cousin who’s gone to the bad: stolen from the family, taken up with loose women, lied about what he’s done, stayed out of jail only because the family’s rich.’ He smiled, sipped at his wine and, with every sign of enjoying the comparison, added, ‘But no matter what he does, how much he steals, you remember how charming he was when he was younger and what good times you had with him and his friends when you were all boys together. And so, when he calls you, half-drunk, at two in the morning and tells you that he’s got a great new idea for his business, or a new woman he wants to marry, but he needs some money from you to do it, you give it to him, even though you know you shouldn’t. You know he’ll spend it on an expensive vacation, maybe with the new woman, or one from his past; you know you’ll never see anything in return; but most of all you know he’ll do the same thing again in six months or a year.’ The Conte set his glass on the table and shook his head in feigned despair, then looked around at all of them in turn. ‘But it’s family.’
    ‘Great God,’ Flavia burst out, laughing as she spoke. ‘Please don’t let me think of that when I see the Director.’ She laughed so much that she had to cover her mouth with her napkin and look down at her plate. When she stopped, she looked across at the Conte and said, ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you worked there.’

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    As if by unspoken agreement that no one could top Flavia’s remark, the topic moved away from opera. Paola asked Flavia about her children: Flavia’s son was the same age as Chiara, her