Katherine Bucknell - Canarino

Madeleine smiled. ‘I’m awfully sorry that we’re late. The French air traffic controllers—’

But David cut her off. He was embarrassed, and his embarrassment which had launched the involuntary laughter now made him angry. He said brusquely, ‘We were on the same flight from Rome, so I gave Madeleine a lift.’

‘And you’re working on the same deal, in Rome?’

Madeleine studied Elizabeth’s face with concern. She took a halfstep backwards, as if to disengage. But her eyes were drawn to Elizabeth’s hand as it fidgeted at her throat. Then as Elizabeth’s hand continued to move over the pendant on her necklace, Madeleine caught sight of it, part of it anyway, and her long, thinly etched black eyebrows furrowed. She took another half-step backwards, turning her body toward David even as she moved slightly away, and she leaned almost imperceptibly in the direction of their colleagues.

The doorbell rang. David flinched, but the three of them continued to stand locked together in a triangle of tension. There was an aroma of destruction rising among them like smoke.

Finally, David said as slowly and quietly as if he were explaining something immensely complicated to a lunatic holding a gun, ‘The deal’s not in Rome, Elizabeth. We work on lots of things together, Madeleine and I. I work with all these kids, all the time.’

There was a pause. He went on in a brighter, dismissive tone, ‘I told you, they are fantastic. Brilliant. Really, really special. So let’s get this party sparkling now, shall we? What about champagne for you two? Shall I get you some?’

Elizabeth didn’t answer. She let go of the pendant on her necklace and reached up with both hands around the back of her neck to the clasp.

David stared at the pendant. At last he, too, saw what it was. A large pewtery disk of fossil in the tightly spiralling shape of a snail, a horn-shaped ammonite, gold-mounted and embellished with an off-round, baroque pearl so luminous and fresh that its dimpled, opalescent layers seemed to be still dripping down it like viscous wet paint. His eyes went to Madeleine’s ear, then back to the necklace.

Elizabeth unhooked the necklace quickly, and as she swung it past the Pre-Raphaelite loop of her hair, she caught it on something, a hairpin maybe, and her hair tumbled down wildly around her shoulders.

She held the necklace out toward Madeleine in her shaky right hand and said ever so quietly, ever so clearly, with a courteoussounding upward lilt, ‘I think this is yours?’

Madeleine didn’t move, so Elizabeth dropped the necklace on the floor between them. It made a concentrated thud on the parquet, a heavy, focused clunk; a few people turned to look. David stepped backwards and bent down to pick it up. Madeleine crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes lowered, watching him.

The ammonite was cracked through.

Then, before David could stand up again, Elizabeth swept out through the double doors, passing two of her guests on the landing without acknowledging them, her long blonde hair flashing crazily, her chiffon layers floating and trembling on the air as she quickly, jerkily mounted the stairs.

For Boband for Ted

Cover Page

Title Page Canarino Katherine Bucknell

Prologue

Dedication

PART I

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

PART II

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

PART III

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

PART IV

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

Acknowledgements

Books Edited By Katherine Bucknell

Copyright

About the Publisher

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