Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same. Brown gave four counts and she delivered her first a cappella violin solo. ’ Melusine shrugged. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. And we won’t make it so.
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