Free A Noble Radiance by Donna Leon Page A

knuckle of the first finger of her right hand into her cheek and
turned it, smacking her lips as she did.
    That settles is,
then,' the Count said, smiling up at her.'How about you, Guido?'
    'No, I'll take the
rombo’ Brunetti said, thinking the other dish sounded too fussy, the sort of
thing that would share a plate with a piece of carrot carved to look like a
rose, or a sprig of mint arranged at a clever angle.
    'Wine?' she asked.
    'Do you have that
Chardonnay your father makes?'
    'If s what we drink
ourselves, Conte, but we usually don't serve it.' She saw his disappointment,
so she added, 'I can bring you a carafe’
    'Thank you, Valeria.
I've had it at your father's. If s excellent’
    She nodded in
acknowledgement of this truth, then added, as though it were a joke, 'Just
don't say anything about it if the Finanza comes in’
    Before the Count
could comment, a shout rang out from the other room. She turned and was gone.
    'No wonder this
country is an economic cripple’ the Count said with sudden fury. 'Best wine
they make, and they can't serve it, probably because of some legal nonsense
about the alcoholic content, or because some idiot in Brussels has decided if s
too similar to another kind of wine made in Portugal. God, we're ruled by
morons.'
    Brunetti, who had
always considered his father-in-law one of those rulers, found this a strange
position for him to be taking. Before he could ask him about it, however,
Valeria was back with a litre carafe of pale white wine and, though she hadn't
been asked to bring it, a bottle of mineral water.
    The Count poured two
glasses of wine and pushed one towards Brunetti. 'Tell me what you think.'
    Brunetti took it and
sipped. He'd always hated remarks about wine and its taste, all the chatter
about 'woody richness', the 'scent of crushed raspberries', so all he said
was, 'Very good.' He set the glass down on the table. 'Tell me more about the
boy. You said you didn't like him.'
    The Count had had
twenty years to grow accustomed to his son-in-law and his techniques, so he
took a sip of his wine and answered, 'As I said, he was dull and full of
himself, a very tedious combination.'
    'What sort of work
did he do for the company?'
    ‘I think he was given
the title of "cansulente", though I haven't an idea of what
he would consult about. When they needed to take a client to dinner, Roberto
would come along. I suppose Ludovico hoped that his exposure to clients and
talk of business would make him more serious or at least take the business more
seriously’
    Brunetti, who had
worked all of the summers of his university years, asked, 'But surely he didn't
just go to dinner and call that his job?'
    'Sometimes, if there
were important deliveries or pick-ups to be made, they'd send Roberto. You
know, if contracts had to get to Paris or a new book of samples for the textile
factories had to be delivered in a hurry, Roberto would take them, and then
he'd get to spend a weekend in Paris or Prague or wherever it was’
    'Nice work,' Brunetti
said. 'What about the university?'
    'Too lazy. Or too
dumb’ was the Count's dismissive explanation.
    Brunetti was about to
remark that, from what Paola had said about the students at the university,
neither of those served as much of an impediment, but he stopped when Valeria
came towards their table, carrying two plates loaded with the small sardines, oil
and vinegar glistening on their skins.
    'Buon appetite’ she wished them and moved away to answer a wave from
someone at another table.
    Neither man bothered
to bone the tiny fish, but forked them up, dripping oil, sliced onions, and
raisins, and ate them whole.
    'Bon’ the Count said. Brunetti nodded but said nothing, delighted
with the fish and the sharp tang of vinegar. He'd once been told that,
centuries ago, Venetian fishermen had been forced to eat the fish this way,
chopping them up and pickling them to keep them from rotting, just as he'd been
told that the vinegar was poured in against