Free A Noble Radiance by Donna Leon

about a woman in Tehran who killed her husband, ground up his
heart, and ate it in something called ab goosht' Before Brunetti could
register either surprise or disgust, the Count went on, 'But then they opened a
parenthesis and gave the recipe for ab goosht: tomatoes, onions, and
chopped meat’ He shook his head. 'Who are they writing for? Who wants to know
that sort of thing?'
    Brunetti had
long ago abandoned any faith he had ever had in the taste of the general
public, and so he answered, 'The readers of II Gazzettino, I'd say
     
    The Count
looked across at him and nodded. "I suppose you're right’ He tossed the
paper on to the next table. 'What is it you want to know about the Lorenzonis?'
    'This morning,
you said that the boy had none of the father's talent. I'd like to know what
that talent is?’
    'Ciappar
schei’ the Count answered, slipping into dialect
    Immediately at
ease at the sound of Veneziano, Brunetti asked, 'Making money how?'
    'In any way he
can: steel, cement, shipping. If it can be moved, the Lorenzonis can take it
there for you. If it can be built, the Lorenzonis can sell you the materials to
build it.' The Count thought about what he had just said and added, 'Be a good
slogan for them, wouldn't it?' When Brunetti nodded, the Count added, 'Not that
the Lorenzonis need to advertise. At least not anywhere in the Veneto’
    'Do you have
dealings with them? The firm, that is.'
    'In the past,
I used their trucks to take textiles to Poland and to bring back - I'm not sure
about this; it was at least four years ago - but I think it was vodka. But with
the loosening of border controls and customs regulations, I'm finding it
cheaper to move things by rail, so I don't have any business with them any
more/
    'Do you know
them socially?'
    'No more than
I know a few hundred people in the city’ the Count said and looked up as the
waitress approached their table.
    She wore a
man's shirt tucked into crisply pressed jeans and had hair cut as short as a
boy's.
    Though she
wore no make-up, the impression she gave was anything but boyish, for the jeans
curved over her hips, and the open top three buttons of the shirt suggested
that she wore no bra but might have been well advised to do so.' Count Orazio’
she said in a deep contralto full of warmth and promise, 'if s a pleasure to
see you here again.' She turned to Brunetti and included him in the warmth of
her smile.
    Brunetti
remembered that the Count had told him the daughter of a friend ran this place,
so perhaps it was as an old family friend that the Count asked, 'Come stai, Valeria?' His use of the familiar 'tu', however, sounded
anything but avuncular, and Brunetti watched the young woman to see how she
responded.
    'Molto
bene ,
Signor Conte. E Lei ?' she answered, the formality of the words wildly at
odds with her tone.
    'Fine, thank
you, my dear.' He waved an open hand towards Brunetti. This is my son-in-law’
    'Piacere ,' he said to the young woman, and she returned the same
word, adding only a smile..
    'What do you
recommend for us today, Valeria?' the Count asked.
    'To start
with, we've got sarde in saor’ she said, 'or latte di seppie. We made the sarde
last night, and the seppie came from Rialto this morning’
    Probably
frozen if they did, Brunetti thought. It was too early for fresh cuttlefish
roe, but the sardines would be fresh. Paola seemed never to have time to clean
the sardines and marinate them in onions and raisins, so they would be a treat.
    'What do you
think, Guido?'
     
    'Sarde,'he said
without hesitation. 'Yes. For me too.'
    'Spaghetti alle
vongole’ the young woman said, not so much recommending as giving their order.
Both men nodded.
    'And after,' Valeria
said, 'I'd recommend the rombo or perhaps the coda di rospo. Both are fresh.'
    'How are they
cooked?' the Count asked.
    'The rombo's grilled,
and the coda's baked with white wine, zucchini, and rosemary.'
    ‘Is it good, the
coda?' the Count asked.
    Instead of answering,
she put the