The Juliet Club (6 page)

And then he saw a vision.

A slim girl was moving toward them, slipping through the elbow-to-elbow crowd as easily as a garter snake slithering through the grass. As she moved around a small knot of partygoers, Tom spotted her bare midriff and what looked like, even at a slight distance, a really amazing tattoo. He blushed and hastily raised his eyes. Despite her wild hair and dark, glittering eyes and that tattoo, she had a heart-shaped face that could have looked sweet, if it weren't for her sardonic expression. Instead, Tom thought that she looked like an angel who had decided that it was far more amusing to be wicked than to be good.

The girl sauntered up to them and coolly surveyed Kate, Tom, and Lucy. “
Ciao
,” she said, her voice faintly amused. “You must be the Americans.”

Kate defiantly lifted her chin and said the only three sentences of Italian she had learned well enough to say with confidence. “Yes, I'm an American. My name is Kate. What is your name?”

Tom barely heard her. He didn't understand what she was saying, anyway. And the girl didn't look impressed. “Silvia di Napoli,” she said.

Tom decided to take this as his cue to join the conversation. “I'm Tom,” he blurted out. “Tom Boone. I'm from Laguna Beach. That's in California, well, you probably knew that. . . .” His voice trailed off, then he added, with a touch of desperation, “Great surfing.”

He winced as he heard the words come out of his mouth. As if this girl cared about Laguna Beach, about surfing, about him.

She gave him a cool look up and down, then rattled off something he didn't understand.
“Immagino che non parli italiano, vero?”
I don't suppose you speak any Italian, do you?

He could only stare at her, his mouth hanging open. The rapid-fire words sounded like birdsong to him. Beautiful but incomprehensible.

She sighed impatiently. “Just as I thought,” she said in English.

He gathered his thoughts with difficulty and managed to say, “Um . . . what?”

“You don't know any Italian.”

“Um, well . . .” He couldn't stop staring at her. His mind was blank. He felt like one of those zombies in the horror movies that he loved to watch late at night: unable to move or speak of his own volition, an empty shell, powerless in the presence of a force much greater than himself. “Only a little bit. I mean, I know words like zucchini and fettucine and linguine.”

This was terrible. This was awful. This was why zombies weren't allowed to speak.

“Basically, you know, I can say any
ini
word,” he said, trying to finish with a display of wit. He had heard somewhere that girls liked it if you could make them laugh.

But Silvia did not laugh. In fact, the look she leveled at him was scorching. It was clear that, when it came to witty conversation, he had fallen far short of the mark. “We can speak English,” she said offhandedly. “I've been studying it since I was five.”

“Oh, great!” He took a deep breath and forged on. “Anyway! Are you one of the other Shakespeare Scholars?”

“Si,”
Silvia said. After a minuscule pause, she added, “I mean, yes.”

“We all know what
si
means,” Kate snapped.

Silvia smiled a small, catlike smile. “Oh? Well, it is a beginning.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. One of the witches in
Macbeth,
she thought. Most definitely. All she needs is a cauldron.

Fortunately they were interrupted at that moment by a young waiter who swooped toward them through the crowd, holding a tray of hors d'oeuvres at a perilous angle. He skidded to a breathless stop and presented the tray to them with a theatrical gesture.

“Buona sera!”
he said. “May I offer you something this evening? Bruschetta? Stuffed mushrooms?”

“Thanks.” Tom's eyes lit up, and he reached for a mushroom.

“Or perhaps the strange dry chips with the mysterious green paste on top? It is a new recipe, created especially for this evening by our cook.” He smiled at Kate as if they were sharing a private joke. He had wild black curls, sparkling black eyes, and a crooked grin that made him look like a mischievous and not altogether kindly sprite.

Puck, Kate thought automatically, even as she tried to remember where she had seen him before. He would be perfect as Puck in
A Midsummer Night's Dream
.

“I am told that it is incredibly delicious, but”—he leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially—“the chef sometimes lies.”

She couldn't help smiling back; his good spirits were contagious. “I'll try the strange chips,” Kate said.

As she picked up one of the appetizers, the waiter winked at her. “Such bravery! Such daring! I stand in awe of your courageous spirit!”

He gave a little bow. His hair badly needed to be brushed, but his bow was the essence of courtliness.

Kate ate the cracker in one bite. “Very tasty,” she said.

“Excellent,” the waiter said solemnly. “Our chef now has a reason to live.”

“Oh, please.” Silvia turned to the others. “Benno always plays the clown with tourists. He says they love it.”

“Yes, I get much bigger tips,” Benno agreed cheerfully.

Kate's smile vanished. “We're not tourists. We're here to study.”

Instantly, his expression turned sober. “Of course not. I apologize most sincerely. And deeply? Yes, sincerely and deeply.”

Silvia snorted. “Deeply is fine,” she lectured. “Sincerely is fine. But both together? No. That is too much.”

Benno smiled and made a comic face. “Silvia is my English tutor. She is an excellent teacher. She keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

“I don't let him talk on and on and
on
, the way he does in Italian,” Silvia corrected him. She was trying to sound severe, but Kate could tell that she was pleased by the compliment.

“Benno!” Across the room, a slim man wearing a severe black suit frowned and snapped his fingers.

Benno gave an elaborate shrug of apology in response, then turned and winked at Kate. “
Scusi
. I'm supposed to be working.” He stood as tall as he could, lifted his chin, and strolled sedately through the crowd, his tray held perfectly parallel to the floor.

Lucy said, “I hope he doesn't get in trouble for talking to us.”

Silvia shrugged one shoulder. “Benno is always in trouble. But Alessandro”—she nodded in the head waiter's direction—“he's Benno's mother's cousin's son, so the most he will do is yell a lot.” Her eyes slid sideways to look over Kate's shoulder. “And, of course, Benno is used to that—”

She stopped in midsentence, her expression changing in an instant from amused to disdainful. The shift was so abrupt that Kate, Tom and Lucy automatically turned to see what had caused her reaction.

It was the boy from Juliet's House. Kate watched him as he descended the grand staircase as assuredly as a prince entering his throne room.

“Oh, look,” Lucy said, her eyes shining like stars. “It's Giacomo!”

Silvia's head turned toward her with sudden sharp interest. “You know him?”

“Yes, we met him today,” Lucy said. “At Juliet's House.”

“Rrrreeeaally.” Silvia rolled her
R
s and stretched out the vowels of that word, making it sound more knowing and scornful than Kate would have supposed possible. “How
interrresting
.”

“Why is that interesting?” Lucy asked, but before Silvia could answer, Giacomo strolled over to where they were standing.

“
Ciao,
Silvia,” he said, a mocking gleam in his eye.

“
Ciao,
Giacomo,” she replied, a poisonous glare in hers.

“That dress is very, ah—” He hesitated, smiling, as if sorting through a number of different adjectives. “Nice,” he finally said.

“Nice?” she said, sounding cross.

“Did I say nice? I misspoke.” He took another long, appreciative look. “Actually, it's scandalous. Shocking. Borderline indecent.”

Silvia sniffed, a little mollified by this, but Lucy said earnestly, “I think it's absolutely amazing, but let me tell you, my mama wouldn't let me out of the house wearing something like that!”

Too late, she felt the atmosphere turn glacial. “Of course, my mother's very conservative,” she added lamely. “We're from Mississippi, you know.”

“I think it's great,” Tom blurted into the silence, then turned red as everyone looked at him. He stared down at his empty glass.

“So! Giacomo! What are you doing here?” Lucy asked brightly.

Before he could answer, Kate's father came bounding up. “Hello again, Shakespeare Scholars!” he cried. “You're all enjoying the party, I hope!”

Kate turned her back on Giacomo. “Of course,” she said to her father. “It's great.”

“‘O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful! and after that, out of all whooping!'” said her father, who had had several glasses of wine. His eyes brightened as Benno swung by with a tray of appetizers.

He motioned for Benno to stop, and started putting together a small plate of food while simultaneously flagging down another waiter for a refill of wine.
“Grazie,”
he said. Before Benno could move on, he added, “May I ask you something? Who is that man over there, by the portrait?”

Benno looked. “Oh, that's Franco Manzini. Very rich. Made his money in sardines.”

“Ah.” Her father pursed his lips as if this were of great interest and gestured toward someone on the other side of the room. “And the elderly woman in the purple dress?”

“Signora Ricci,” Benno said agreeably. “Her family is very old. They've lived in Verona for centuries.”

“Interesting, very interesting,” her father said, nodding sagely. “And, er, that woman over there, I wonder who she is?”

There was a real note of interest in his voice this time, Kate thought, so she turned to take a closer look. The woman was tall and regal, both in her posture, which was perfect, and her dress, which was opulent. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a simple, elegant chignon. She moved in a stately fashion toward them, her mouth curved in a smile of secret amusement, as a small man bobbed eagerly along in her wake.

The man, who was wearing a 1970s-era tuxedo, a bizarre red sash and—could those be platform shoes?—managed to shoot ahead of the mysterious woman at the last moment so that he could handle the introductions.

“Buona sera!”
he cried. “Allow me to introduce you to the driving force behind the conference, the creative genius who has brought international acclaim to the University of Verona and to our town, the author of books that have sold millions of copies worldwide, the brilliant Professoressa Francesca Marchese!”

Kate felt her mouth drop open.
This
was the infamous, the wicked, the nefarious Professoressa Marchese?

Kate snuck a quick look at her dad. He looked the same way he did that time last winter when he had slipped on an icy sidewalk and landed on his backside: too stunned to breathe.

Francesca Marchese smiled and said in a sultry voice, “I am so glad to finally meet you in person, Dr. Sanderson. Although I've obviously known you by reputation for years.”

Was it Kate's imagination, or did Professoressa Marchese say the word
reputation
with a lemony touch of irony? She glanced sideways at her father and knew instantly that he suspected the same thing.

He threw his head back in a challenging way and said, “Delighted, delighted,” sounding anything but. “I've followed your career with great interest as well. Although I must say I haven't gotten around to reading
The Shakespeare Secret
yet.” He chuckled as if to say a fellow scholar would understand that. “You know how it is. One must stay current with the academic journals. Hard to find time for reading . . . hmm. What would you call your book? Popular fiction, I suppose.”

“Indeed, I'm happy to say that it's turned out to be quite popular,” she said calmly. “And I have always enjoyed your work, too, Dr. Sanderson. Although I don't remember reading anything recently.” She took a sip of wine. “Perhaps I somehow missed your latest publication?”

Her father did his best to stare disdainfully down his nose at her (which wasn't easy; Professoressa Marchese was a tall woman and they stood eye-to-eye). “Actually, my next book will be published in the fall,” he boasted. “A massive work, the culmination of my career. My editor is very excited about it. In fact, she thinks it could enjoy great popular success as well.”

“Ah yes, it's so rewarding to have a best-seller outside academic circles.” Professoressa Marchese paused just long enough for everyone to remember that she had already accomplished that feat. Twice. “I wish you the best of luck with it,” she added kindly.

He glanced around the room as if looking for the nearest exit, and saw Lucy, Tom, and Silvia standing nearby, listening to this exchange with varying degrees of fascination and puzzlement.

“I'm sorry, we're forgetting our manners!” he cried heartily. “I don't believe everyone's been introduced. Professoressa Marchese, this is Lucy Atwell, Tom Boone, and my daughter, Kate.”

The fearsome witch of Kate's childhood smiled warmly at her. “
Piacere
. I am so pleased to meet you.” Then she waved one graceful hand at Giacomo and added, “And I am most pleased to present to you Giacomo Marchese. My son.”

Entr'acte

“He's the son of her father's sworn enemy!” Sarah said with undisguised glee.

“Sarah,” Annie began, a note of warning in her voice.

“Star-crossed lovers!” Sarah snatched the paper from Annie's hands and reread the passage with an air of triumph. “You have to admit, I'm already ahead on points.”

“Except that they hate each other,” Annie pointed out. “
Loathe
each other.
Despise
each other.”

“Exactly! It's perfect!” Sarah cried. “This is the way the greatest loves in the universe always start!”

Annie crossed her arms and stared at her friend. “You are so gullible.”

“What?” Sarah happily bit into a cookie. “Don't be a sore loser. “

“Kate is made of sterner stuff than you imagine,” Annie said. “She took a vow to never fall in love, and she won't. You'll see.”

But Sarah, her eyes gleaming, just took another cookie and didn't bother to answer.