Drawing Conclusions - Donna Leon [54]
‘You can try to,’ she said. ‘It’s lunchtime, and for many of our guests, that’s the most important event of their day; it might be difficult to get them to concentrate on anything you ask, at least until after they’ve eaten.’ Hearing her, he remembered a period in his mother’s decline when she had become obsessively interested in food and eating, though she had continued to grow thinner, no matter what she ate. But soon enough she had simply forgotten what food was and had to be reminded, then almost forced, to eat.
She heard him sigh and said, ‘We do it for love of the Lord and for love of our fellow man.’
He nodded, temporarily unable to speak. When Brunetti looked across at her, she said, ‘I don’t know how helpful they’ll be if they know you’re a policemen. It might be sufficient to say that you’re a friend of Costanza’s.’
‘And leave it at that?’ he asked with a smile.
‘It would be enough.’ She did not smile in return but said, ‘After all, it’s true, in a sense, isn’t it?’
Brunetti got to his feet without answering her question. He leaned down and extended his hand. She squeezed it briefly, then said, ‘If you go out the door here, turn left and at the end of the corridor, right, you’ll be in the dining room.’
‘Thank you, Madre,’ he said.
She nodded and returned her attention to her book. At the door, he was tempted to turn and see if she was watching him, but he did not.
Brunetti did not have to use his professional skills to know that lunch was roast pork and potatoes: he had smelled them when he entered the building. As he passed by what must have been the door to the kitchen, he realized just how good roast pork and potatoes could be.
Six or seven tables, half of them small and set for only one or two persons, sat in front of the windows that looked out on the campo. There were a dozen or so people, some sitting in couples, one quartet, some alone. No table was empty. There were bottles of wine and mineral water on all of the tables, and the plates looked like porcelain. Heads turned as he entered the room, but soon two dark-skinned young women appeared behind him, dressed in a simplified version of the habit worn by Madre Rosa and the other sister. Hidden in the midst of the headcloth and veil of the first one were the almond eyes and long-arched nose of a Toltec statue. The lips carved into her mahogany face were surrounded by a thin line of lighter skin which exaggerated their natural redness. Brunetti stared at her until she turned in his direction; then he did what he did when a suspect gazed his way: he changed the focus of his eyes to long vision and panned around the room, as though she were not there or were not worthy of his attention.
The two novices went quickly around the tables, stacking the dishes in which pasta had been served. As they went past on the way to the kitchen, Brunetti saw deep green traces of pesto, a sauce he had never liked. The novices were quickly back, each carrying three plates that held pork, sliced carrots, and roasted potatoes. They served the people at the nearest tables, disappeared, then returned with more plates.
The hum of conversation that had broken off at the sight of him resumed, and the heads – most of them white but some defiantly not – bent over their lunch. Forks clicked against china, bottles against glass; the usual sounds of a communal meal.
The nun who had opened the main door suddenly appeared at his side and asked, ‘Would you like me to tell you who they are, Signore?’
Assuming that she had been sent by the Mother Superior, Brunetti said, ‘That would be very kind of you, Suora.’
‘Dottor Grandesso is having lunch in his room today, Signora Sartori is over there, at the second table, in the black dress, and Signora Cannata is with the other people at the table next to her. She