The Body in the Piazza by Katherine Hall Page Page A

Coincidence. Only coincidence. The brand, Penhaligon’s, was no doubt sold in Florence at all the upscale farmacias . She tried to sidestep the memory, stammering out that she was Faith Fairchild and lived in the United States near Boston, Massachusetts. Tom took over, asking the man what part of France he was from and how long he’d been living in the neighborhood. She knew it wasn’t because her husband had picked up on her confusion. It was what he did. A natural interest in people that went with his turf, even sans collar.
    â€œI am from a small place near Nice, but this is now my adopted country. I have been doing my best to help the Italian economy for many years, though I bought my villa here only four years ago.”
    Gianni was ushering people back into the house toward the kitchen. “Jean-Luc—oh, I must remember you are an American cowboy for these days— Luke speaks perfect Italian even with his French accent, which means he has been able to talk to the men working on his place. I think this is why he has been able to do so much in so little time.”
    The kitchen drew oohs and aahs. Gianni’s sister handed out white chef’s aprons and kitchen towels. Faith noticed that, like herself, Olivia, the Nashes, and the Culvers all placed the towel at the front of the apron over the drawstrings for easy access, indicating their familiarity with professional kitchen routines.
    â€œNo toques?” Luke asked.
    â€œNo hats at all, just keep your hair back if it is long,” Francesca said firmly. “Now, we have twelve people, so all week you will be cooking in groups of four. You must tell me how you would like to be divided. I thought couples might split up, as often the groups will be cooking different things and this way you will learn more, but if you would rather stay together please say so.”
    â€œWe’ll split up,” Len Russo said quickly, earning a glare from his wife. He added, “So we can learn more stuff, hon.”
    â€œGood idea,” Faith said. She knew being with Tom would make her crazy. She’d want to snatch the knife or the whisk from his hand and do everything herself.
    The Nashes also split up, and Faith noticed Constance sidling over to Luke. Oh dear, there could be tears before bedtime, she predicted. She doubted the handsome Frenchman went in for tweed. The Culvers opted for separate groups with more protestations about wanting to learn just everything and truly loving Italian food. Jack and Sky stayed together. Faith was not surprised.
    When everyone was at a station, Francesca said, “We are going to make crostini, a simple and delicious way to start the meal. First of all, let me tell you the difference between crostini and bruschetta, which we will also make during the course. ‘ Crostini ’means ‘little toasts’ and ‘ bruschetta ’comes from ‘ bruscare, ’ to roast over hot coals. The biggest difference is the kind of bread. For bruschetta we use a rustic, country-type bread, similar to sourdough, and we slice a larger and thicker piece than for crostini, which uses a different bread as well—a white, baguette-type loaf. One of the nights when we are cooking outdoors, we’ll do bruschetta over the coals. The simplest way, which we like best, is rubbing the slightly charred bread with garlic and topping it with our own olive oil—maybe a little fresh basil and diced tomato.”
    â€œI’m starving already!” Hattie called out.
    â€œGood. We want everyone to bring a good appetite. Now each group is going to make a different topping for tonight’s crostini, which we will toast in the oven under the broiler. You can also make crostini by brushing some olive oil on each side and baking the bread. I like to have sometimes the extra crunchiness the broiler makes.”
    Each group sliced bread at their tables and Gianni’s sister—what was her name? Faith