In the Eye of the Beholder
“Well, let’s try and make up for that tonight,” said Gian Lorenzo. “I’m told the zabaglione is their signature dish?”
The Contessa showed no interest in the zabaglione, but simply sailed on, ignoring her companion’s unsubtle hint. “Can you imagine what those two get up to, when they’re in bed?”
Gian Lorenzo was surprised that the Contessa was willing to voice a question he had often thought about but never felt able to express. And there was worse to come as the Contessa went on to describe things that hadn’t, until then, even crossed Gian Lorenzo’s mind.
“Do you think he climbs on top of her?” Gian Lorenzo didn’t offer an opinion. “A feat in itself,” she continued, “because if they did it the other way round, surely she’d suffocate him.”
Gian Lorenzo didn’t care to think about the image, so he tried once again to change the subject. “We went to the same school, you know—one hell of an athlete.”
“You’d have to be, to satisfy her.”
“I even attended their wedding,” he added. “A truly memorable occasion, though I doubt after all this time that he would even remember I was among the guests.”
“Would you really be willing to spend the rest of your life with such a creature, however much money she had to offer?” asked the Contessa, not paying attention to her host’s words.
“He claims to adore her,” said Gian Lorenzo, “calls her his little angel.”
“In that case, I wouldn’t want to meet up with his idea of a big angel.”
“But if he felt otherwise,” suggested Gian Lorenzo, “he could always divorce her.”
“Not a chance,” said the Contessa, “you clearly haven’t been told about their pre-nuptial agreement.”
“No, I haven’t,” admitted Gian Lorenzo, trying not to sound interested.
“Her father had much the same opinion of that clapped-out footballer as I do. Old man Porcelli made him sign
an agreement which spelled out that if Paolo ever divorced his daughter he would end up with nothing. Paolo was also forced to sign a second document stating that he would never reveal the contents of the pre-nuptial to anyone, including Angelina.”
“Then how do you know about it?” prompted Gian Lorenzo.
“When you’ve signed as many pre-nuptials as I have, darling, you hear things.”
Gian Lorenzo laughed and called for the bill.
The maître d’ smiled. “It’s already been taken care of, signor,” he said, nodding in the direction of Paolo, “by your old school friend.”
“How kind of him,” said Gian Lorenzo.
“No, her,” the Contessa reminded him.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” said Gian Lorenzo. “I must just thank them before we leave.” He rose from his place, and made his way slowly across the crowded room.
“How are you?” said Paolo, who was on his feet long before Gian Lorenzo had reached their table. “You know my little angel, of course,” he said, turning to smile at his wife, “but then how could you ever forget?”
Gian Lorenzo took Angelina’s hand and kissed it gently. “And I will also never forget your magnificent wedding.”
“Medici would have swooned,” said Angelina.
Gian Lorenzo gave a slight bow in acknowledgment.
“Is that the Contessa di Palma you are dining with?” asked Paolo. “Because if it is, she has something my little angel desires.” Gian Lorenzo made no comment. “I do hope, Gian Lorenzo, that she’s a client, not a friend, because if my little angel wants something, then I will stop at nothing to ensure she gets it.” Gian Lorenzo still considered it wise to remain silent. Never forget, his father had once told him, only restaurateurs close deals in restaurants—when they hand you the bill. “And as it’s a field I know little about,” continued Paolo, “and you are acknowledged as one of the nation’s leading authorities, perhaps you would be kind enough to represent Angelina on this occasion?”
“I would be delighted to do so,” said Gian Lorenzo, as the head waiter placed a chocolate trifle in front of Paolo’s wife, with a bowl of créme fraîche on the side.
“Excellent,” said Paolo, “let’s keep in touch.”
Gian Lorenzo smiled and shook his old friend by the hand. He well remembered the last occasion Paolo had made such an offer.