“I am,” Stone replied.
“Do you specialize?”
“I specialize in what my clients require,” Stone said.
“Oh, good,” she breathed. “Lawyers too often forget that they are servants of their clients and not the other way around.”
“I admit I have known such lawyers,” Stone said.
“So have I,” Dolce replied.
Stone, who had been only vaguely aware that Mary Ann had a sister, would have agreed with anything this creature had said.
Bianchi spoke up. “My younger daughter would not be so familiar with lawyers if she had more often heeded her father’s advice.”
“Yes, Papa,” Dolce said meekly.
Stone felt that she was rarely meek. A risotto of porcini mushrooms was set before him. Careful to choose the correct fork, he tasted it and was transported to a country he had never visited.
“Have you visited Italy, Mr. Barrington?” Bianchi asked, as if he were reading Stone’s mind.
“I’m sorry to say that I haven’t,” Stone replied. “I have a friend who has just returned from several years in Tuscany and speaks highly of it.”
“That would be Miss Buckminster, the painter, would it not?”
“Yes,” Stone replied, surprised.
“I knew her work when she lived in New York,” Bianchi said. “I thought she had great promise, though I felt she needed maturing as an artist. I understand that her recent work is much elevated in its perceptions.”
“She is an excellent painter,” Stone said.
“And you would know, would you not? Coming from a mother who was such an illustrious artist.”
“Thank you,” Stone said. “Perhaps I inherited an appreciation of good painting from my mother, but none of her talent, I fear.”
“I have tried on a couple of occasions to buy a Matilda Stone, but I have always been outbid.”
Stone was astonished that Bianchi had ever been outbid for anything. “You must keep trying,” he said.
“Oh, I will,” Bianchi replied. “I will not long be denied.”
Stone’s empty plate was removed and replaced with a main course of osso bucco.
“We are dining in the fashion of Milano this evening,” Bianchi said. “Milanese dishes are among my favorites.”
“Everything is delicious,” Stone said.
“I will tell my sister you said so. She does all the cooking for the house.”
“Please give her my compliments.”
“You will have an opportunity to do so yourself,” Bianchi said.
Suddenly, Stone felt an unaccustomed sensation. Something was climbing up his right calf. He froze, his wineglass in midair.
Bianchi stared at him. “Is the wine not to your satisfaction?”
Stone took a sip and swallowed hard. “It’s superb,” he said. He now realized that what was climbing his calf was a foot belonging to Dolce Bianchi.