Liquid Desires Read Online Free Page A

but photographs, portraits, and reputation told him that he had been blue-eyed and handsome in his first and second youths. Urbino could trace no resemblance between him and this young woman, but perhaps he might have if he had known Alvise in the flesh.
    The woman smiled, the smile never quite reaching her green eyes. Perspiration beaded her forehead.
    â€œNever mind. I wouldn’t want you to risk endangering your relationship with the Contessa. My name is Flavia. And you are—?”
    â€œUrbino Macintyre.”
    â€œOf course. I’ve heard of you. The American. Older women are a European tradition, yes? Is that why you came to Italy?”
    Flavia laughed. Once again Urbino was struck by how aloof her eyes were from any humor. Flavia took in his blazer and flannels and bow tie, the boater now in his hands. Urbino had always found people like her disconcerting—people who might burst out and say whatever might be in their heads with little regard for the consequences.
    As they waited for the Contessa, Flavia spoke to Catullus in soothing tones that made the Doberman look even more devotedly at his new—or possibly his old?—friend.
    When the Contessa joined them, Flavia introduced herself, giving only her first name as she had a few minutes before to Urbino.
    â€œPlease sit down, my dear.”
    â€œNo, thank you, Contessa. I won’t be staying long. I can see that I’ve upset you and that isn’t my intention.”
    Flavia was scrutinizing the Contessa’s face and seemed to get some satisfaction from the bewildered look touched with pique that she found there.
    â€œBut surely, signorina, you don’t intend to descend on me like this and then just sweep away again. Of course I’m upset at what you said!” the Contessa said with passion, almost turning candor into a pose now that she realized she hadn’t succeeded in concealing her feelings. “And in such a manner—in front of my guests! Whatever do you mean by it?”
    Two spots of color, almost as bright as anything artifice could have painted, appeared on the Contessa’s cheeks. She looked quickly at Urbino and then away again. It was almost as if she were embarrassed at being put in this situation, at having to say such things. But a second later Urbino revised his impression. It wasn’t so much embarrassment the Contessa seemed to be feeling, an embarrassment that sent the blood to her cheeks and put a tremor in her voice. It was something much colder. It was fear.
    â€œI mean nothing by it, except that it’s the truth. I want nothing from you.” Flavia seemed to reconsider this, for she added, “Nothing but a photograph of my father.” She paused before adding, “Your husband, Alvise.”
    Flavia was walking back and forth slowly until she reached a formerly overlooked easel portrait in a corner. It was of Alvise, from around the time of his marriage. Flavia stared at it for a few moments and gave a little sigh before turning back to the Contessa.
    â€œMy father was such a handsome man.”
    Without missing a beat, the Contessa said, “That is my husband, the Conte Alvise Severino Falier da Capo-Zendrini,” wrapping Alvise’s indisputable relationship to her, his names, and his title around her like a protective cloak.
    Flavia turned from the portrait and picked up one of the hand-painted ceramic fischietti from the marble ormolu-mounted table. The whistle she was holding was in the shape of a sea horse. She seemed about to put it to her lips but returned it to the table with the other bird and animal whistles, and smiled. There was something actressy and calculated in her movements.
    â€œMy father—I mean the man who says he’s my father—the man who believes he is,” she finally clarified with a trace of the violence that had been in her stride earlier, “would love your little collection here. Lorenzo collects things, too. He