The Etruscan Net by Michael Gilbert Read Free Book Online

to make a parade of apologizing to them.
    He said to Tina, when she was bringing in the pasta which, in one shape or another, invariably formed his first course at lunch, ‘Does you father know Professor Bronzini?’
    ‘A thousand pardons,’ said Tina. ‘I will fetch a cloth.’ She had slopped some of the meaty gravy from the pasta on to the table. It was the first time Broke had known her to do anything so clumsy. When the mess had been wiped up, and the napkin spread over the soiled table-cloth, she said, ‘You were asking–?’
    ‘I was wondering whether your father knew Professor Bronzini.’
    ‘The man who lives in the big house at Fiesole, and has a property out at Volterra?’
    ‘That’s the one.’
    ‘I think my father has done work for him in the past. Yes. I am sure of it. He has done restoration work.’
    ‘What sort of restoration?’
    ‘I know nothing about these things. It would be pottery, I think.’
    This seemed probable enough. Terracotta figures were often discovered in pieces and needed careful restoration.
    ‘Why do you ask?’ said Tina. ‘Has something been said about it?’
    ‘They happened to meet in my shop. I gathered they knew one another.’
    ‘Oh, I see. Will you take some wine?’
    When she had poured it, she recorked the bottle and put it back on the sideboard. She did this so slowly that Broke knew she was summoning up the courage to say something. He continued placidly with his meal. When it came, it was a surprise. She said, ‘Would you be able to speak to my father?’
    ‘To Milo? I spoke to him today at the shop.’
    ‘Not in public. In private, at our house.’
    Broke finished his mouthful whilst he thought about this. Then he said, ‘If he wishes it, yes. Can you tell me what it is about?’
    ‘Lately, he has been very unhappy. Partly, it is his stomach. But mostly it is something different.’
    ‘Money?’
    ‘Not money. I think it is something else.’
    ‘When would you like me to come?’
    ‘It must be tonight. It is Dindo’s night out.’
    ‘Dindo?’
    ‘Dindoni. He helps my father in his workshop, and he spies on him. He is not a nice person. I think he would like to take over the business when my father dies.’
    ‘Very well. I’ll come round after supper. About ten o’clock.’
    Tina smiled at him. ‘You are a good man’ she said.
    ‘Save your halo,’ said Broke, ‘until I’ve seen whether I can do anything for him.’
     
    After half past two he telephoned the shop. Francesca was there. He said, ‘I shall be going out this afternoon. Can you look after things? Good. Then I will see you tomorrow.’
    The idea had come to him as he finished his lunch. It was a perfect afternoon. The wind had swung to the north-east, bringing a dappling of cloud off the mountains and taking the edge off the heat. It was the sort of afternoon when one would like to be out in a boat. The thought of spending it in a shop was intolerable.
    From the cupboard in his bedroom he extracted the satchel which held the field kit of an archaeologist, the hammer and callipers, the watchmaker’s optic and the big flash-light. He had not touched them for more than a year. The battery in the torch needed renewing. What else? A small scale map of Tuscany, and a large scale map of Volterra. A pair of leather gloves. He went down to the car. The house, of which he rented the top floor, was one of four in a cul-de-sac off the Viale Michelangiolo. The garage was detached from the house and stood at the far end, up against the wire netting which bounded the tennis courts of the Campo Sportive.
    The car should have gone when Joan went. Broke realized that. It had been such an integral part of their marriage. She had so often sat beside him in it, during those long, slow, journeys, through France and down into Spain, or Italy, and on occasions further afield, into Greece and Turkey. The worn bucket seat had become almost the husk of her body, the cocoon when the chrysalis is out. It