The Stargazer by Michele Jaffe Page B

years ago in that hot desert. His mind raced for another subject to introduce.
    “It is not terribly warm in here.” The weather? Even to his own ears it sounded pathetic and he wanted to cringe at his lack of wit.
    Bianca recognized his feeble evasion for what it was and acquiesced, trying to suppress an untimely chuckle. “Yes, it follows that without the window…” She gestured toward the empty space, through which a light drizzle of rain was now entering. After a pause, she thought of her own conversational sally. If she was not going to unearth Ian’s secrets, she could at least learn those of his house. “Tell me, where does that door go?”
    This time Crispin answered with enthusiasm. “To my potting room. Would you like to see it? It’s not much to look at, but I would be honored if you are interested. I know it’s very rude, but I fear I must walk ahead of you.”
    She followed him around the back of the wall-door, through a short narrow passage that led to another, more door-sized door. The first thing to impress her when she stepped through it was not the room’s large size or its tidy organization, but its overpowering stench. Indeed, standing in the dark as they were, the only senses available to her were smell and touch, and the odors assailing the first erased any urges she had to exercise the second.
    “It takes a while to get used to,” Crispin was fiddling with something as he spoke, “but within a few minutes you will hardly notice the smell.”
    A few minutes? The prospect made Bianca even more queasy than the odor alone. But before she could protest, Crispin had lit a lamp and was holding it above them to illuminate the room. Again, though it was both large and tidy, these were not the characteristics that most struck Bianca. She was fascinated by the expression she now saw on Crispin’s face. His features, similar to Ian’s but softer somehow, were suffused with a look of such pride in his odoriferous workshop that she was swept up in his enthusiasm.
    “I am experimenting with different types of soil and nourishment for my plants,” he explained, gesturing toward the large containers of sinister-looking goop that lined the walls. He launched into a detailed explanation of the merits of vegetal versus mineral matter and had just begun a defense of his latest mixture when a man covered in dirt entered through a side door. Without giving them another look, he began assiduously scooping something from a vat near where they stood,
    “That is Luca,” Crispin whispered to Bianca. “He pretends to be my employee, but I think I take more orders from him than he does from me. He hates it when I bring visitors up here, especially women, because he is afraid they will distract my attention from the plants.” He turned to address the dirty man. “Luca, you need not worry. She is not interested in me in the slightest, peccato . This is Ian’s new betrothed. You should meet her. You might like her.”
    Luca looked Bianca up and down pointedly. “Woman,” he said, nodding, as if having had a nasty suspicion confirmed, and turned to leave.
    “Don’t take it personally. It is not you he is objecting to…”
    Bianca waved his explanation aside. “I have noticed a decided lack of enthusiasm for women in this household.” She had been grateful that, despite her fortune, she had grown up dressing and grooming herself when it became obvious that there were no lady’s maids on the household staff. She wondered if there were any other women in the household at all. “Are all the employees male too?”
    Crispin nodded. “It has not always been this way but, well, for the past several—”
    “Two,” volunteered Bianca generously.
    “—years,” Crispin continued with consternation, “there have been no women living under this roof.”
    There was an uncomfortable silence, until with wide-eyed innocence Bianca observed, “It is not terribly warm in here, my lord.” Her lips bore the hint of a