across the tanned and rugged face.
“Nonno, this is my husband, Christopher Bennett,” Katerina said as they
released each other, seemingly unaware of the silent assessment passing between
the men.
“Pleased to meet you, signore, I am Alessandro Bianchi. Katerina's mother
was my daughter.” Despite his heavy accent, Christopher could understand him
easily enough.
“A pleasure, sir. I've been looking forward to meeting the rest of my wife's
family. I admit I wasn't impressed with her father.” He compressed his lips in contempt.
“Bastardo,” Alessandro muttered under his breath, the meaning obvious even
to Christopher.
Katerina blushed and giggled.
“Step into my carriage, and let's head home. It's quite a drive and there is a
lovely hot dinner waiting for us.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Christopher assented. “We've had nothing since a bowl
of soup in Livorno, and I don't know about my wife, but to me, a hot meal sounds very promising to me.”
“Yes, I agree,” she seconded. “Thank you, Nonno.”
He nodded in acknowledgment and sent them up into the carriage. Once
everyone was comfortably seated, Alessandro took up the conversation again.
“So, Signor Bennett, what do you do?”
“My father owns a cotton mill. We make fabric,” Christopher replied,
slipping his arm behind his wife's back.
“Cotton mill?” The bushy eyebrows came together in an unmistakable
expression of disapproval.
“No, Nonno, not that kind of mill,” Katerina defended her husband.
“Christopher and his father run a progressive mill. They have safeguards for the
employees and pay decent wages. They do everything they can to make their mill a pleasant place to work. They're so generous that some social reformers won't buy fabric from anyone else.”
The bushy brows returned to their normal position. “Ah, I see. Well then, Mr.
Bennett, I suppose you know where I can get good quality cotton fabric?”
“I'll see what I can arrange,” he agreed. Exporting to Italy. Now that would
be new. I wonder what Father would think of the opportunity.
“Do you offer a family discount?” Alessandro asked with a sly smirk.
Christopher grinned. “Perhaps. I'll have to talk to my father, but it seems likely.”
“Buono,” Alessandro replied, leaning back against blue velvet upholstery.
“And you, sir?” Christopher asked to continue the conversation.
“Our family has owned a large olive grove for generations. We export oil all
over the world. We also have a small vineyard. It's not as expansive as the orchard, but we make a charming red wine for our family to use. The people of
Firenze buy a bit for restaurants as well. Would you be interested in a glass with
your dinner?”
“That sounds wonderful, Nonno,” Katerina assured him.
