The Borgherini Enigma - Theartofpainting.be

The Borgherini Enigma Page: 40 / 179brought such missives one or two times a week. Roberto Acciaiuoli took the messages himselfeach time, patted Pierfrancesco’s shoulder, talked courteously with him, and even drew him inhis office on the second floor. Later still, Roberto invited Pierfrancesco to stay for dinner andsupper, and at the table sat Margherita, as innocently and sweetly serving her father as if shewas ready to enter a convent. Pierfrancesco thought the first times he was but a clumsy fool.He did not know what to do with his arms and legs. He thought he blundered in his answers,reddened each time somebody addressed him, and felt like a gawky country-boy in this grand,distinguished Palazzo Acciaiuoli. Neither Margherita nor Pierfrancesco dared even to look ateach other. They pretended not to hear and not to understand the blunt, teasing remarks ofMargherita’s brother and the queer allusions of the occasional cousin who had also beeninvited at the table. Pierfrancesco and Margherita also did not remark the little, malicioussmiles on Roberto’s lips when the two seemed to have forgotten about each other’s presence.This happened a few times before the atmosphere relaxed.With time, when Pierfrancesco came with a message, Roberto proposed Pierfrancesco to sayhello to his children, which meant Margherita. Roberto told Pierfrancesco in which room orhall Margherita was and Pierfrancesco hurried to see her.After Christmas, Roberto told Pierfrancesco that his daughter was to see the painter Bachiaccathat afternoon, and claiming his guard was ill, asked Pierfrancesco whether he was free toaccompany her to the studio to serve as her escort. Pierfrancesco almost gave all away,because he dropped to the floor the books of his father he held still in his hands at thatmoment.Pierfrancesco accompanied Margherita to Bachiacca’s. This happened almost each timethereafter. The third time, Margherita was angry.‘It isn’t natural,’ Margherita hissed like an angry snake, in the street, right outside the gates ofthe Palazzo Acciaiuoli. ‘Something fishy is going on! This is not like my father.’She pushed a determined chin higher, a gesture that Pierfrancesco had learned to recognise forthe beginning of a fit of ill temper.‘What is my father doing? Is he selling me like a slave-girl? Does he want me out of the housebecause what I eat is too expensive for him? Does he believe I would remain a dried-out miserwoman till old age, unmarried, disgraced, abandoned? Does he want to hand me over to thefirst idiot come? Is he gluing me to you?’Pierfrancesco already knew he had better not protest at such moments. Margherita could becapricious and wilful, and nothing that he might say could then change her mood. Yes, by themonth of December of 1512, a month of a bleak winter, when heavy rainfalls and icy windsblew forcefully down from the mountains over Florence, Margherita had become so familiarwith Pierfrancesco as to tell without shame almost anything that was on her mind.Pierfrancesco longed for a kiss, or another sign of tenderness, but none had been offered.Margherita spoke pertly to him about everything that happened to her, displayed all hercommon feelings, her opinions of the world, but Pierfrancesco was starving for a sign ofaffection. He received no flirtatious looks anymore, no tender caresses but the occasionalunintended touch. Nevertheless, he was happy to be with Margherita and the conspiration oftheir encounters opened their minds to each other, if not their hearts. Pierfrancesco was trulyhappy only when he was with Margherita. He enjoyed walking with her, feeling the gentlepressure of her hand on his arm. He strolled the necessary space separated from her, butremarked with pleasure the envious eyes of other well-to-do youths of Florence. Margheritawas a striking figure, a tall and stunningly beautiful Florentine lady. Pierfrancesco advancednot a thumb further however in amorous forays. He desired more now from Margherita, butCopyright © René Dewil Version 2 Number of words: 108230 July 2009