Yesterday she’d learned that he was throwing a luncheon party today to announce his management of the new Verdu Mer construction project. They’d never thrown a party before, but when Raphielli asked what she could do to help, Salvio’s only instruction had been to not embarrass him. The prospect of hosting a fancy lunch was exciting, and today instead of wearing her usual black skirt and white blouse, her maid, Rosa, had laid out both of her church dresses so Raphielli could choose which to wear. They’d been given to her by the Dour Doublet, and were both black with round necks, long sleeves, and mid-calf hemlines. She selected the one with the dark green inset panels, thinking it would be nice for the party. Slipping on her black dress shoes, she looked to Rosa for approval.
“Very nice.”
About an hour later, Rosa came and found her.
“Signora, the party planner has asked that you please come up to the roof.”
“They asked for me? Did they say what they want?”
“No.” Rosa shrugged. “Perhaps just to meet the lady of the house.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Then she felt uneasy. “You don’t suppose Salvio will be angry with me for speaking to the party planner, do you?”
“Perhaps if you don’t take long with her—just greet her—I think that should be acceptable to him. Her name is Marilynn Bergoni.”
Moving through the palazzo, Raphielli saw hired staff rushing in every direction. Big crates were being rolled on carts toward the kitchen at the back of the building, and a piano disappeared into the service elevator. She stood aside, breathing in the perfume as lush topiaries and flower arrangements sailed past, followed closely by racks of crystal stemware making gentle tinkling sounds. Raphielli made her way to the front of the palazzo, where Dante called the formal elevator for her.
When the doors opened on the rooftop deck, she was shocked by the transformation that had taken place. Signora Bergoni had performed magic and made the neglected roof come alive. It looked like a movie set. Now this was efficiency! The withered gardens had been replanted with bright flowers, and trees with impossibly green leaves. The gritty marble floors had been polished and now glistened in the sun. Raphielli stepped out into a cheerful hive of activity, and stopped a passing woman in a white smock.
“Per favore, where can I find Marilynn Bergoni?”
She pointed to a woman in an exquisite suit with soft caramel hair twisted at the nape of her neck. Raphielli could see the woman was busy directing people, so she approached tentatively.
“Um…Signora Bergoni?” The staff hovering around the party planner stopped, their pens poised above their clipboards.
“Sì?” The voice was relaxed and warm, with no hint of irritation at the interruption.
“I understand you wanted to see me. I’m Raphielli Scortini.”
The surrounding army of staff paused for a beat to look her over. Marilynn waved her hand, a maestro cueing her players to continue, and stepped forward on beautiful shoes that Raphielli looked down at in admiration.
“Ah, Signora Scortini. It’s lovely to meet you.” She offered her hand. “Please call me Marilynn.”
“Your shoes are…”
“Bruno Magli. You like them?”
“Oh, sì.”
“They’re my favorites! I’ve admired this shoe ever since seeing them on Christina Onassis.”
“Oh, Christina Onassis. My! It’s lovely to meet you as well, Marilynn. Please call me Raphielli.”
“Grazie. I believe you’re going to love your party, Raphielli.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Is there anything special you require?”
“Require?”
“Sì. Your husband didn’t give me any specifics. Very unusual. He hired me over the phone, provided invitee names, specifics for the invitations, square footage of the rooftop, and told me to make an impressive party.”
“That’s unusual?”
“Sì. He provided a generous budget and asked that I not call him again.”
“Oh, sì, that sounds like him.” She was relieved that someone else found his behavior odd.
“And it will be impressive. But without any direction, I’m throwing a luncheon that pleases my tastes. I’ve selected my favorite foods, flowers, and musicians…but I was wondering if there’s anything I can do to make it special for you.”
“Well, I…no…nothing I can think of.”
“Come, I’ll show you what we’re creating.” She slipped her arm around Raphielli’s shoulder and walked her across the rooftop to the far side of the space. “Over here we’re finishing the dance floor installation, and assembling the bandstand. It will be an outdoor ballroom.”
More crates were being rolled past as Marilynn walked her over to where a dining area had been created. They approached the long table set with twenty-four places, covered with layers of white and teal fabric, glossy china, and crystal glassware that made prisms with the sunlight. A team of florists were assembling cheerful arrangements and placing them along the center of the table. Each centerpiece had a small glass candle lantern nested within flowers growing out of a smooth moss disk.
“Raphielli, let’s look at the seating chart while I have you here.”
Marilynn drew an electronic tablet from under her arm, flicked a fingertip over the surface, and a drawing of the table appeared with names at each place.
“I have your guests arranged alternating the ladies and gentleman, and separating spouses as is customary to promote lively conversation. Is there anyone that you’d like to sit next to?”
Raphielli scanned the names. “No.”
Marilynn looked surprised. “You can tell me. I want you to enjoy your meal.”
“I don’t actually know these people.”
“None of them?”
“Well, they attended my wedding, and I’ve been at some parties at their homes, but I haven’t had a chance to get to know them...” Feeling lame, she finished, “Salvio thinks of social events more as business obligations, so he prefers that I not talk much.”
Marilynn gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Well, you’ll have time today to relax and get to know everyone. Let’s go take a look at the party’s seating area. Everyone can gather there before luncheon is served, and later when they’re not dancing.” They walked toward the center of the roof. “Although, trust me, with this band, everyone will be dancing. I promise you.”
“I can’t believe how you’ve turned this dusty old roof into a showplace.”
“It’s what I do.” Marilynn looked nonchalant, but Raphielli could tell she was pleased. “We started work at dawn. Landscapers replanted your gardens, carpenters built the bandstand risers, electricians installed a sound system, and your kitchen has been taken over by the chef of Osteria Da Fiore, who is personally creating your meal with his own staff. Your lunch will be incredible.” The cool businesswoman pressed a hand to her heart, and she looked transported. “I’ve selected the most delicious foods you will ever put in your mouth.” Then back into business mode, she stated seriously, “Everyone will be talking about your lunch, and anyone who was not invited today will be eager to receive your next invitation.” Raphielli felt a moment of concern when Marilynn said, “May I ask where the rest of your household staff are today? Your butler’s explanation was so vague.”
“Oh, well, when Salvio’s parents died, he got rid of the all but three of the staff.”
“With a house this size?” Marilynn’s jaw dropped. “I can’t imagine how that would be possible!”
“He believes that having servants is vulgar.”
“I see.”
“We have a houseman, too. I’ve only seen him a handful of times. He keeps the repairs up and reports to Dante.”
Marilynn seemed stymied, and abandoned the topic as she pointed. “As you can see, I have a decorator creating a temporary living room for you.” Raphielli watched as a beautiful woman wearing high heels and an ultra-tight skirt directed the placement of furniture.<
br />
“That’s Domina, an interior decorator I’ve just discovered. She’s beyond talented. Soon I’m afraid she’ll be so fought-over that I won’t be able to book her.”
Domina had wild, jet-black curls just like Raphielli’s. But instead of being coiled up under a clip, her curls tossed about in the breeze. She paced gracefully back and forth like she was dancing to mambo music only she could hear. Her arms directed the men like a traffic cop, and bangles shimmied along her wrists. Domina was enjoying her work.
It all seemed so unreal. Raphielli tried to picture sitting up here on that white upholstery with guests, everyone enjoying the rooftop view of the lagoon. The space had been made cozy with partitions here and there which were hung with colorful silk curtains that billowed in the warm breezes.
Suddenly Salvio appeared and walked straight over to the dining table. Marilynn beckoned Raphielli to follow as she trailed him.
“Signor Scortini, I’m Marilynn Bergoni. I’m so pleased to…”
Salvio ignored her as he began snatching up place cards and dropping them onto different plates.
The two women drew near, and Marilynn said, “If you had a seating order in mind, we would have been happy to take care of that.”
He walked around her to the other end of the table, dropped cards onto plates, and was about to depart when Raphielli commented on his changes.
“You don’t want to sit with the Falconettis and the Mayor?”
Salvio spun toward her. “This isn’t a party, it’s a strategic event. I need to sit with the men who own the demolition and infrastructure businesses to plan the first stages of Verdu Mer. I have no need of the mayor’s ear when I work with the Pope, and I won’t need Falconetti’s marble finishes for at least a year from now. Falconetti’s only invited today because he’s got a big mouth and will talk about my appointment to anyone who’ll listen.”
“What about alternating the men and women?” Raphielli blinked at the odd grouping of women he’d placed in the middle of the table by themselves. She didn’t want to abandon what Marilynn had just taught her.
He snapped, “I don’t care what you do at your end of the table.” With that, he hurried away without a single comment on the renovations.
Marilynn’s face was a mask of professionalism as she turned to Raphielli.
“Let’s see, what else do we need to discuss? Oh, sì. We have a mixologist who makes the best drinks. I thought you’d find limoncello refreshing on this warm day.”
“I don’t know. I don’t drink.”
“Not at all?”
“No. Just water.”
“Well, I don’t want to give you something that would make you tipsy. That would be embarrassing. I’ll have him make you a delicious lemon drink…maybe shaken with a bit of verbena and mixed with sweetened seltzer. How does that sound?”
Raphielli stared in awe at this woman who could concoct something like that on the spot, like some sort of fairy godmother creating a dream for her.
“I’d like a glass of that, I’m sure.”
They walked back to where they’d started. The staff was eyeing their boss, hoping for her attention. By way of wrapping up their meeting, Marilynn said, “I’ll be here. If you think of anything, just ask one of my staff and we’ll try to make it happen. Now, I mustn’t keep you. I’m sure you’ll want to go get ready.”
Looking down at her dress and slightly scuffed shoes, Raphielli replied, “I am ready.” She sensed she’d said something wrong when she saw Marilynn stiffen, and rushed to explain. “I really only have dresses for church.”
“Oh, well, what’s good enough for God is more than good enough for your guests.” She smiled reassuringly. “But you know, with these rooftop breezes you really should have something soft to float around you, to add a bit of drama. Perhaps a pop of color, don’t you think?”
She was already unwinding a sumptuous silk scarf from around her own neck and stepped close to tie it softly around Raphielli’s. The silk was a weightless flow of the entire green color palette that drifted out behind her.
“Please, if I can’t do anything special for you, then accept this as my gift.”
Raphielli had been cloistered without glamorous possessions, but she wasn’t dumb. She was aware that Marilynn was dressing her up, and she was grateful for the generosity.
“You’re very kind. Grazie.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Turning, Marilynn broke the spell as she spoke up, “On the double now, everyone! We’re racing the clock until the first guests arrive!”
Less than two hours later the luncheon was under way, and Raphielli was in heaven. She was flanked on her right by Venice’s Mayor Massimo Buonocore and his wife, Elene. On Raphielli’s left were Venice’s marble magnate, Marco Falconetti, and his wife, Agata. It was exciting to have people in the palazzo. This afternoon it felt like a grand home rather than the dreary mausoleum it usually was. And so Raphielli found herself having the time of her life. Everyone at her end of the table sat enjoying themselves in the early fall air, and Raphielli was able to hear about the latest plays, books, and gossip. Up at the head of the table, Salvio looked intense and he never stopped talking.
It was a rare chance to enjoy the foods she always craved; rich pastas with exotic sauces, succulent seafood, and colorful salads. Her daily meals were so limited, based on Salvio’s interpretation of what Jesus and his disciples would have eaten. Therefore, she and Salvio subsisted on plain food with absolutely no seasoning; just grains, watery vegetables, and small oily fish. At times Raphielli wondered if Salvio had any taste for food at all. She took a bite of the baked spider crab, and tried to imprint its flavor on her memory.
Marco looked at her as if he was impressed. “Raphielli, what a pleasure to get to know you. I love your sense of humor.”
“Grazi, Marco. But I’m enjoying this party more than a hostess should, I believe.” She laughed lightly.
“You’re positively beaming, my dear.” Elene reached out and patted her hand. “Such a shame we never see you. Salvio keeps you too closeted. When we arrived I asked him why we never see you, and he said he’s not a man who likes his young bride to be on display. In February you didn’t attend carnival’s masquerade season, and there were twenty big parties for you to choose from.”
“Well, Salvio doesn’t care for parties…” What am I saying? My own wedding reception left me sitting with the Dour Doublet accepting congratulations from strangers, while Salvio complained that he’d been expecting the Pope and pestered Cardinal Negrali. Some party.
Elene addressed her husband. “Massimo, can’t you demand that Salvio let Raphielli accept our dinner invitations when we send them? She’s a Scortini, it’s expected of her.”
The mayor gave her a doubtful look, but nodded. “I’ll mention it.”
Elene turned back to her. “Speaking of staying in, I have a portrait artist who could rival Titian! You must sit for a painting to add some warmth to this palazzo. None of the Scortini women on these walls have your classic beauty.”
The mayor glanced down to the other end of the table, apparently concerned that Salvio may have heard his wife slighting Salvio’s late mother and all the women in the Scortini family tree.
Marco added, “I understand your husband’s plight, but I’d get a certain thrill having a woman like you represent my manhood in society.” He patted his wife’s sleek shoulder. “Agata is my greatest pride and joy.”
“Ah, I’m a close second to our son, Reynaldo.” She nodded indulgently. “Your husband will eventually loosen his grip and allow you a social life. Young love settles down, you’ll see.”
If they only knew. He doesn’t love me . Bringing herself back from that dark thought, she realized she’d missed an announcement that Marco had just made. He held his glass up for a toast.
“Let’s drink to Reynaldo.”
“To Reynaldo!” The people at her end of the table raised their glasses. “Much success!”
&n
bsp; Catching Salvio’s look of irritation from the head of the table, Raphielli felt her heart lurch, and her smile disappeared. She knew he didn’t like her to talk, but what was she supposed to do? It wasn’t as if the guests at this end of the table were going to sit silently and try to eavesdrop on him at the other end of the table. Was he angry the mayor was drinking a toast to someone else?
She was relieved when Salvio’s attention abruptly turned to Guiseppe, who was approaching the dining area with an envelope. Salvio motioned for him to go instead to the greenhouse over beyond the gardens. He pushed back from the table, hurried to the greenhouse, and entered it with Guiseppe. The guests paid no attention to his departure, and carried on talking. Raphielli listened to Marco’s news of Reynaldo’s marble artistry, but she watched what was happening in the greenhouse as casually as she could manage. She saw Salvio rip open the envelope, read the message, and then go rigid with fury. He clutched the paper and raised it over his head.
Oh, no! Not a scene! This isn’t happening! She thought miserably.
With lightning speed he heaved forward, slamming his fists down on a table of potted plants. A tin of soil went flying, and from Guiseppe’s attempts to brush at his face, apparently a spray of dirt had hit him. With his arms outstretched like a blind man, Salvio spun around in an arc, sweeping pots and watering cans off the work surface. At the luncheon table a few heads turned, but no one paid much attention. The music, animated conversation, and laughter obscured his remote hysterics. Terrified, Raphielli took a deep breath and held it as she watched Salvio stalk to the far side of the greenhouse and disappear toward the service elevator.
Stealing Venice Page 6
