Free SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition by Akif Pirinçci Page A

nameplate and a single bell on the door of the size of a portal. Both of course polished and brassy.
    Antonio beckoned me with a nod and pointed at a little flap in the door, that was usually used for mail. So we pretended to be mail and squashed ourselves through the flap. Inside sheer Belle Époque! The entree offered finest marble and sconces in the shape of light pink petals. Then we reached a parlor, which dripped with Persian carpets, chosen antiques and sofas with leaf work flourishes. From the height of about 2 miles hung a chandelier of the size of a tractor wheel with at least thirty lamps. Through a studio window we could see a backyard that lay in darkness. From a scratched record, Verdi’s resonated through the whole buildi ng like the singing of ghosts.
    A square, wooden staircase led to the upper floors. But the jewel in the crown was an elevator in the rear spot of the room, covered by an artfully forged cage. It was one of those open elevators that in the beginning of the last century had been built into town houses and offered room for only a couple of people. The door was an accordion gate, and it had a delicate control console, which reminded more of a jewelry box than of a gadget to push buttons.
    »So when will it be at the butler’s leisure to get us an audience with Lord Muck, Antonio«, I said, still in astonishment. We stood in the mild light of Jugendstil chandeliers and let the eyes of the portrayed masteries in the paintings on the wall give us a stern look. The ladies and gentlemen were from different decades, and the variety of clothing, in which they were painted, ranged from velvet doublets to gold-embroidered tailcoats. Obviously, they were the host’s ancestors. I risked a glimpse into the cage of the elevator shaft that was decorated with flower ornaments. Upstairs, it spanned three floors. Downstairs, it let straight to the cellar. I couldn’t see it that accurately, as this part was completely dark.
    »Prince Savoyen, not Lord Muck«, Antonio said. He said down on the carpet and began to lick himself. First he devotedly licked his thin tail, which looked a little like a deft whip. »His house dates from the thirteen’s century. The House of Savoy played a crucial role in the checkered history of the creation of the Italian state. The Prince is the last descendant in his line and is one of those, which nowadays are called impoverished nobility. So far as this here and a dozen of equally comparable buildings in the town center can be counted as poverty.«
    »But it truly is some harsh climb-down if one loses the whole Toscana to this democratic riff-raff! Is there maybe also a Signora Savoyen?«
    »Not really ...«
    Antonio let go of his tail all of a sudden and yanked his head up.
    »Aaah, there comes our hostess!«
    Up the stairs a ghost of tremendous beauty appeared. She was a blue-point-burmese. With her crème-white body and the dark badges on her head, ears, tale and legs, her silky and angora-like fur and her sapphire-blue eyes she seemed to be arisen from a wonderful dream. The snow-white paws were in contrast with her smoky-gray legs like th ey had been drawn with a ruler.
    »Samantha, tu regina della notte !« Antonio shouted with a light cheer in his voice.
    »Antonio, tu bel uomo !« the pretty ghost replied and pattered down the stairs with bouncy moves. On the scarlet carpet, which was tightened with brassy hooks at each of its sides, she looked like a shot of whipped cream in tomato paste.
    »Perfidious you, where have you been so long? I came to the conclusion that one of those fashion icons caught you, stuffed you and used you as draped jewelry on an avant-garde hat. And who is this gentleman with the wise eyes next to you?«
    As soon as Samantha had reached the end of the stairs, the both of them greeted each other in the tried and tested way of the in-crowd wi th a cheek-to-cheek-kiss.
    »This is my friend Francis«, Antonio said. »Some kind of spiritual kinship