The Body in the Piazza Read Online Free Page A

“It’s perfect for a heroine. I was trembling with fear that it might be ‘Mabel’ or ‘Maude.’ No, I take that back. I like ‘Maude,’ just not for you. Go on.”
    Somewhat nonplussed, Faith plunged back into the conversation, giving Freddy the CliffsNotes version of her life so far, which seemed to delight him, and he further interrupted only twice to comment on how extremely unlikely it was that she should be a cook—“One thinks of Mrs. Beeton”—and also a minister’s wife—“too Trollope.”
    Faith was enjoying herself very much. All these literary allusions. As an English major she’d pictured herself married to someone who would read what she read and they’d sit sipping sherry in front of the fire, discussing books while little Elizabeth ( Pride and Prejudice ) and little Nicholas ( The Great Gatsby and Nickleby ) slept in their wee trundles overhead. Thank goodness she had met Tom instead, and while they shared some of the same tastes in reading, they had totally avoided tweeness.
    Still it had its attractions. Just as she was about to ask Freddy for his own vita, the door from the hotel opened and this time it was Tom, followed by a member of the hotel staff bearing a tray with a bottle of Prosecco in an ice bucket and several little bowls with olives, nuts, and some sort of Italian Chex Mix equivalent. Faith jumped up and hugged her husband in delight.
    â€œAh, the bridegroom cometh,” Freddy said, standing also.
    â€œTom, this is Frederick Ives. Freddy, this is my husband, Tom Fairchild.”
    â€œI think we need another glass if you would, Antonio,” Tom said, putting his hand out to greet his wife’s new companion, who immediately shook it heartily, saying, “I would not dream of intruding. You are obviously a man of exquisite sensibilities, and priorities. I envy you this moment in your maiden Roman Holiday . First times are rare in life.”
    Tom laughed. “That’s exactly how I feel. La dolce vita .” The men exchanged looks, and it was Faith’s turn to laugh. Schoolboys, both of them.
    Freddy picked up the books he hadn’t opened. One was a small notebook; the other was a copy of Graham Greene’s The End of the Affair .
    â€œI would be honored if you would be my guests for dinner tonight at an hostaria not far from here. I selfishly want to watch your enchanting wife’s face as she tastes their carciofi alla giudia and your nice one, too, Reverend Tom, when you drink the golden Frascati from my friend, the owner’s, private source in the Alban Hills.” He paused and then added in a surprisingly intense voice, “I don’t know when I will be in Rome again, and I won’t be here long this time.”
    The Fairchilds accepted his invitation. Nine o’clock at Hostaria Giggetto on the Via del Portico d’Ottavia. Their host would meet them there.
    Antonio was opening the door for Freddy when Faith realized she had an unanswered question.
    â€œBut what do you do? You never said.”
    â€œOh, I write guidebooks. Ciao.”

C HAPTER 2
    E xcerpt from Faith Fairchild’s travel journal:
    Know I will have neither the time nor the inclination to keep this systematically, so I’ll just write down some things to remember—especially food and people like Freddy Ives, although I doubt I’ll be running into anyone else like him on this trip or, in fact, ever. As soon as I started to write in here, I immediately heard Freddy’s voice quoting Oscar Wilde’s Gwendolen and why she kept a diary, “One should always have something sensational to read in the train.” I doubt very much that I will have anything sensational to write about. Being off the leash is sensational enough.
    Freddy definitely brings out the reader in me, maybe because he looks a little bit like Peter O’Toole in “Mr. Chips” and I’m making a separate