Has the Englishman arrived yet?

    No, Signora.

    When?

    Tomorrow.

    Tomorrow?

    That's what he said in his letter. The twelfth. I wish to see him as soon as he gets here. You've already said, Signora. You won't forget?

    Why would I forget? Move a little to the side, please.

    Gently. Don't push.

    I'm sorry. Turn over, please.

    You don't have to do this, Maria.

    I know.

    I'm happy to hire someone else.

    You really expect me to cook and clean for someone else?

    You're a good woman.

    Thank you, Signora. Just as your father was a good man. He had the highest respect for you too, Signora. There's really no need to be quite so formal, not when you're giving me a bed-bath.

    He had the highest respect for you too.

    You know, Maria, I believe you're in danger of developing a sense of humor in your old age. Turn over, please.

    THEY LEFT FLORENCE THROUGH THE PORTA ROMANA, heading south to Galluzzo, where they wound their way up into the hills past a sprawling Carthusian monastery.

    The climbing road was flanked by olive groves, neat rows of trees laid out in terraces, their foliage flashing silver in the sunlight. Vineyards and stands of umbrella pines studded the hillside. Every so often, an avenue of dark cypresses indicated a track leading to some isolated farmhouse, which invariably was also guarded by a small cohort of the tall, tapering conifers. Apart from the tarmac road along which they were traveling, there was little to suggest the passing centuries had wrought any meaningful change on the tapestried landscape.