The Girl of his Dreams - Brunetti 17 by Donna Leon Read Free Book Online

engulfing him briefly before the current of culture carried them down towards the Naval Museum and the Arsenal. Brunetti, who had been becalmed inside their close passage, bobbed in their wake for a few seconds and then set off again up towards the Basilica.
    On his left he saw a metal stanchion, used by the boats of those sufficiently wealthy to pay the mooring fees and thus effectively block the view across to San Giorgio of anyone who lived on the lower floors of the buildings on his right. In the absence of a boat, he sat on the stanchion, looking acros s at the church, the angel, and then the other domes that hopscotched their way up the far side of the Giudecca Canal. He leaned back and wrapped his fingers around the metal edge, enjoying the warmth of it, and studied the way the point of the Salute divided the two canals, watching the boats entering and emerging from them.
    His dark grey trousers soon absorbed the rays of the sun and he felt the heat on his thighs. He stood suddenly and brushed the heat away before continuing towards the piazza.
    At Florian's, he went into the bar at the back and had a coffee, nodding to one of the barmen whom he recognized but could not place. It was after eleven, so he could have had un'ombra, but it was perhaps wiser to arrive at the palazzo smelling of coffee rather than wine. He paid and left, pausing for a moment to gear himself for the plunge into the tide of tourists. He thought of the Gulf Stream and his daughter's frequent reminders that it might be coming to a halt. Aside from Paola's worship of Henry James as a household deity, Chiara's interest in ecology was as close to a religion as anyone in the family came.
    At times the world's equanimity in the face of the mounting evidence of global warming and its likely consequences alarmed him: after all, he and Paola had had good years, but if even a portion of what Chiara read was true, what sort of future awaited his children? What sort of future awaited them all? And why were so few people alarmed as the grim news kept piling up? But then he glanced to the right, and the facade of the Basilica drove all such thoughts from his mind.
    From Vallaresso h e took the Number One to Ca'Rez zonico and walked down to Campo San Barnaba. His dawdling had consumed the hour. He rang the bell beside the portone and soon heard footsteps coming across the courtyard. The immense door swung back and he stepped inside, knowing that Luciana, who had been with the Faliers for longer than he had known them, would have come to answer the door. Could she have grown so short in the time - how long had it been, a bit more than a year - since Brunetti had last seen her? He bent lower than he thought he had the last time and kissed her on both cheeks, took one of her hands and held it between his as they spoke.
    She asked her questions about the children, and he answered them as he had been answering them ever since their birth: eating well, learning, happy, growing. What, he wondered, did Luciana know of global warming, and what would she care if she did?
    'The Contessa is waiting to see you,' Luciana said, making it sound as if the other woman were waiting for Christmas. Then she quickly returned to the really important things: 'You're sure they're both eating enough?'
    ‘I f they ate any more than they do, Luciana, I'd have to take a mortgage on the apartment and Paola would have to start taking in private students to tutor,' Brunetti answered, beginning an exaggerated list of what the kids could eat in one day, which left her laughing out loud with one hand held over her mouth to quiet the sound.
    Still laughing, she led him across the courtyard and up into the palazzo, and Brunetti made sure the list lasted until they arrived at the corridor that led to the Contessa's study. She stopped there and said, 'I've got to get back to lunch. But I wanted to see you and know that everything's all right.' She patted his arm and turned towards the kitchen,