![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
What's Happening
Oct. 2nd, 2011 10:36 amTerrence re-entered the room by holding the door open for Boscailo, who was carrying two large pots of coffee, plus Filia and Rubia’s eldest girls who were carrying a tray of mug and the sugar and milk respectively. Boscailo saw them out again with a cheerful, “Thank you, girls,” and an aside to the room, “It turned out that I didn’t know where the mugs live in the kitchen but Gemma and Franca did.”
Julia poured his the first coffee and he sat at the table. While everyone else helped themselves, Terrence asked, “So, what happened?”
“I won’t bore you with the details,” Boscailo sipped his black brew, “But Septima is marrying Rodolfo Desideri a fortnight from tomorrow, probably at Cappella degli Altichieri or Basilica di Sant’Erasmo da Specola. The time has yet to be set since they’re not sure which church it will be in.”
“What!” Terrence reacted with shock, then realised that the women, including his wife, were nodding and pleased.
“I spoke to Septima,” Boscailo told the Count apologetically, “And she seems quite happy to marry Rodolfo. When I spoke to our wives and Septima’s other sisters, they wanted her to be happy, safe, and protected. Marriage to Rodolfo fits the bill.” He drank some more coffee. “Frankly, Rodolfo seems like the cat who got the cream. I doubt you’d get her away from him now. I’m sorry I took so long getting back, but I went with them to file the paperwork.” He drank more coffee.
“So,” Julia was nursing her mug of creamy coffee in both hands, “Who is making the arrangements and paying for everything? When will we know the ceremony details?”
“The Desiderii are paying for everything,” Boscailo told her, “Dress, priest, reception, the lot. We cannot all attend – Count Bartolo was quite firm on that point. I will receive an invitation. I may bring my wife,” he smiled fondly at Tertia, “Our children, my mother-in-law,” Julia looked pleased, “And Septima’s unmarried sisters. No-one else,” he finished firmly, looking around the table. “Due to the short time frame there will be no bridesmaids or flower girls, so both sets of nieces will miss out.” He grinned, “Count Bartolo and I thought that was fair. Oh,” he added, “Her name has been officially changed to Astanthe Giustina Rosina Maia Strefagi – it was some of the paperwork we put in.”
“Astanthe,” Count Terrance rolled the name around on his tongue, trying it out for size, “It could be worse. With her birthday’s saint and both grandmothers? That was gracious of him,” he acknowledged.
“He doesn’t seem to bear her any personal ill will,” acknowledged Boscailo, “And he seems to genuinely believe that she and Rodolfo can be happy together. There is one little thing he wants concerning Terris though.”
“Oh yes?” The Count’s eyes turned to Terris who gulped nervously.
“He wants sponsorship signage for a Desiderii business on Terris’ racing car. Nothing big,” Boscailo shrugged, “A flash on each front door. The firm concerned is a car detailing business they have in Broscina. All it does is car detailing,” he sipped coffee before admitting, “We checked it out when it opened up, but it’s just out of our area and it doesn’t touch bikes. No competition. Rodolfo Desideri is one of the directors though, and as he will be married to Terris’ sister by the time the qualifiers are underway it won’t be too surprising that the firm is sponsoring him.”
“Vaguely humiliating,” Terrence conceded, “But that would be the end of the parts issue?”
“Yes,” confirmed Boscailo, “He agreed to that.”
“I can do that,” Terris spoke up, “I checked the book price for those parts and he really did offer a good deal, if I’d had the money...,” he trailed off.
“Word to the wise, Terris,” Boscailo offered, “Never buy motor vehicle parts or firearms that have had their identifying information removed, it just leads to trouble.”
What's Happening
Oct. 2nd, 2011 10:36 amThis leads on from Well, What Did She Expect.
Terrence re-entered the room by holding the door open for Boscailo, who was carrying two large pots of coffee, plus Filia and Rubia’s eldest girls who were carrying a tray of mug and the sugar and milk respectively. Boscailo saw them out again with a cheerful, “Thank you, girls,” and an aside to the room, “It turned out that I didn’t know where the mugs live in the kitchen but Gemma and Franca did.”
Julia poured his the first coffee and he sat at the table. While everyone else helped themselves, Terrence asked, “So, what happened?”
“I won’t bore you with the details,” Boscailo sipped his black brew, “But Septima is marrying Rodolfo Desideri a fortnight from tomorrow, probably at Cappella degli Altichieri or Basilica di Sant’Erasmo da Specola. The time has yet to be set since they’re not sure which church it will be in.”
“What!” Terrence reacted with shock, then realised that the women, including his wife, were nodding and pleased.
“I spoke to Septima,” Boscailo told the Count apologetically, “And she seems quite happy to marry Rodolfo. When I spoke to our wives and Septima’s other sisters, they wanted her to be happy, safe, and protected. Marriage to Rodolfo fits the bill.” He drank some more coffee. “Frankly, Rodolfo seems like the cat who got the cream. I doubt you’d get her away from him now. I’m sorry I took so long getting back, but I went with them to file the paperwork.” He drank more coffee.
“So,” Julia was nursing her mug of creamy coffee in both hands, “Who is making the arrangements and paying for everything? When will we know the ceremony details?”
“The Desiderii are paying for everything,” Boscailo told her, “Dress, priest, reception, the lot. We cannot all attend – Count Bartolo was quite firm on that point. I will receive an invitation. I may bring my wife,” he smiled fondly at Tertia, “Our children, my mother-in-law,” Julia looked pleased, “And Septima’s unmarried sisters. No-one else,” he finished firmly, looking around the table. “Due to the short time frame there will be no bridesmaids or flower girls, so both sets of nieces will miss out.” He grinned, “Count Bartolo and I thought that was fair. Oh,” he added, “Her name has been officially changed to Astanthe Giustina Rosina Maia Strefagi – it was some of the paperwork we put in.”
“Astanthe,” Count Terrance rolled the name around on his tongue, trying it out for size, “It could be worse. With her birthday’s saint and both grandmothers? That was gracious of him,” he acknowledged.
“He doesn’t seem to bear her any personal ill will,” acknowledged Boscailo, “And he seems to genuinely believe that she and Rodolfo can be happy together. There is one little thing he wants concerning Terris though.”
“Oh yes?” The Count’s eyes turned to Terris who gulped nervously.
“He wants sponsorship signage for a Desiderii business on Terris’ racing car. Nothing big,” Boscailo shrugged, “A flash on each front door. The firm concerned is a car detaining business they have in Broscina. All it does is car detailing,” he sipped coffee before admitting, “We checked it out when it opened up, but it’s just out of our area and it doesn’t touch bikes. No competition. Rodolfo Desideri is one of the directors though, and as he will be married to Terris’ sister by the time the qualifiers are underway it won’t be too surprising that the firm is sponsoring him.”
“Vaguely humiliating,” Terrence conceded, “But that would be the end of the parts issue?”
“Yes,” confirmed Boscailo, “He agreed to that.”
“I can do that,” Terris spoke up, “I checked the book price for those parts and he really did offer a good deal, if I’d had the money...,” he trailed off.
“Word to the wise, Terris,” Boscailo offered, “Never buy motor vehicle parts or firearms that have had their identifying information removed, it just leads to trouble.”
Terrence re-entered the room by holding the door open for Boscailo, who was carrying two large pots of coffee, plus Filia and Rubia’s eldest girls who were carrying a tray of mug and the sugar and milk respectively. Boscailo saw them out again with a cheerful, “Thank you, girls,” and an aside to the room, “It turned out that I didn’t know where the mugs live in the kitchen but Gemma and Franca did.”
Julia poured his the first coffee and he sat at the table. While everyone else helped themselves, Terrence asked, “So, what happened?”
“I won’t bore you with the details,” Boscailo sipped his black brew, “But Septima is marrying Rodolfo Desideri a fortnight from tomorrow, probably at Cappella degli Altichieri or Basilica di Sant’Erasmo da Specola. The time has yet to be set since they’re not sure which church it will be in.”
“What!” Terrence reacted with shock, then realised that the women, including his wife, were nodding and pleased.
“I spoke to Septima,” Boscailo told the Count apologetically, “And she seems quite happy to marry Rodolfo. When I spoke to our wives and Septima’s other sisters, they wanted her to be happy, safe, and protected. Marriage to Rodolfo fits the bill.” He drank some more coffee. “Frankly, Rodolfo seems like the cat who got the cream. I doubt you’d get her away from him now. I’m sorry I took so long getting back, but I went with them to file the paperwork.” He drank more coffee.
“So,” Julia was nursing her mug of creamy coffee in both hands, “Who is making the arrangements and paying for everything? When will we know the ceremony details?”
“The Desiderii are paying for everything,” Boscailo told her, “Dress, priest, reception, the lot. We cannot all attend – Count Bartolo was quite firm on that point. I will receive an invitation. I may bring my wife,” he smiled fondly at Tertia, “Our children, my mother-in-law,” Julia looked pleased, “And Septima’s unmarried sisters. No-one else,” he finished firmly, looking around the table. “Due to the short time frame there will be no bridesmaids or flower girls, so both sets of nieces will miss out.” He grinned, “Count Bartolo and I thought that was fair. Oh,” he added, “Her name has been officially changed to Astanthe Giustina Rosina Maia Strefagi – it was some of the paperwork we put in.”
“Astanthe,” Count Terrance rolled the name around on his tongue, trying it out for size, “It could be worse. With her birthday’s saint and both grandmothers? That was gracious of him,” he acknowledged.
“He doesn’t seem to bear her any personal ill will,” acknowledged Boscailo, “And he seems to genuinely believe that she and Rodolfo can be happy together. There is one little thing he wants concerning Terris though.”
“Oh yes?” The Count’s eyes turned to Terris who gulped nervously.
“He wants sponsorship signage for a Desiderii business on Terris’ racing car. Nothing big,” Boscailo shrugged, “A flash on each front door. The firm concerned is a car detaining business they have in Broscina. All it does is car detailing,” he sipped coffee before admitting, “We checked it out when it opened up, but it’s just out of our area and it doesn’t touch bikes. No competition. Rodolfo Desideri is one of the directors though, and as he will be married to Terris’ sister by the time the qualifiers are underway it won’t be too surprising that the firm is sponsoring him.”
“Vaguely humiliating,” Terrence conceded, “But that would be the end of the parts issue?”
“Yes,” confirmed Boscailo, “He agreed to that.”
“I can do that,” Terris spoke up, “I checked the book price for those parts and he really did offer a good deal, if I’d had the money...,” he trailed off.
“Word to the wise, Terris,” Boscailo offered, “Never buy motor vehicle parts or firearms that have had their identifying information removed, it just leads to trouble.”
Well, What Did She Expect?
Oct. 1st, 2011 09:39 amThis follows on from a Blast From The Past.
In the silence that followed Helena’s statement Terrence’s wife, Julia, stepped forward and slapped the other woman’s face. “You are no longer welcome in my home. Leave. Now.”
“How dare you!” Helena’s hand had gone to her cheek. “Who do you think you are? Have you forgotten who I am?”
“You’re my husband’s widowed sister-in-law.” Julia had both hands on her hips. “You’re the daughter of the great Benito Fraccelli, not that the Fraccellii have had much to do with you these last few years. You’re an unwarranted drain on this family’s resources. You’re the cow who just said my daughter is worthless. You might have intimidated my husband’s brothers but he’s not scared of you and neither am I. Now take your handbag and get out of my house.”
“I’ll just go make coffee, shall I?” said Boscailo quietly.
“Send the man at the front door in on your way to the kitchen, will you Bosacilo?” His father-in-law had an implacable look on his face.
“Certainly, Count Terrance.” Boscailo quietly closed the dining room door behind him. A conversation on the way home with his own boss, Don Matteo was now unavoidable.
When the foot soldier, Ignazio Contadino by name, entered the dining room on the Count’s command after he’d knocked it seemed to him that the shouting must have just stopped. Countess Helena, as she liked to be called, had unevenly flushed cheeks and was clutching her handbag to her chest. The Countess proper had heightened colour and was standing with her arms akimbo. Contadino was very glad that he was not responsible for the expression on the Count’s face.
“Ignazio,” Count Terrance called all the foot soldiers by their given names, as he so truly said there were no longer enough of them for duplicates to be a problem, “Please drive the Dowager Countess back to the town house. Take a scenic route. The coast road is very fine this time of year.”
“Yes, Count Terrance,” Contadino walked over to the Dowager Countess, his face expressionless although internally his was cringing at the unpleasantness that was going to ensue from this sometime in the near future. He clamped his hand firmly around the Dowager Countess’ upper arm. “You need to come back to the car now, Dowager Countess. This way please.” She hated to be touched without permission. She hated being called Dowager Countess almost as much, it hadn’t been a problem straight after Count Amato had died because the two Counts between him and Count Terrance had not been married, but now...
She was obviously reluctant but Helena allowed herself to be led from the room without further fuss.
“Excuse me,” said Terrence quietly, “I need to make a phone call from the other room.”
In the silence that followed Helena’s statement Terrence’s wife, Julia, stepped forward and slapped the other woman’s face. “You are no longer welcome in my home. Leave. Now.”
“How dare you!” Helena’s hand had gone to her cheek. “Who do you think you are? Have you forgotten who I am?”
“You’re my husband’s widowed sister-in-law.” Julia had both hands on her hips. “You’re the daughter of the great Benito Fraccelli, not that the Fraccellii have had much to do with you these last few years. You’re an unwarranted drain on this family’s resources. You’re the cow who just said my daughter is worthless. You might have intimidated my husband’s brothers but he’s not scared of you and neither am I. Now take your handbag and get out of my house.”
“I’ll just go make coffee, shall I?” said Boscailo quietly.
“Send the man at the front door in on your way to the kitchen, will you Bosacilo?” His father-in-law had an implacable look on his face.
“Certainly, Count Terrance.” Boscailo quietly closed the dining room door behind him. A conversation on the way home with his own boss, Don Matteo was now unavoidable.
When the foot soldier, Ignazio Contadino by name, entered the dining room on the Count’s command after he’d knocked it seemed to him that the shouting must have just stopped. Countess Helena, as she liked to be called, had unevenly flushed cheeks and was clutching her handbag to her chest. The Countess proper had heightened colour and was standing with her arms akimbo. Contadino was very glad that he was not responsible for the expression on the Count’s face.
“Ignazio,” Count Terrance called all the foot soldiers by their given names, as he so truly said there were no longer enough of them for duplicates to be a problem, “Please drive the Dowager Countess back to the town house. Take a scenic route. The coast road is very fine this time of year.”
“Yes, Count Terrance,” Contadino walked over to the Dowager Countess, his face expressionless although internally his was cringing at the unpleasantness that was going to ensue from this sometime in the near future. He clamped his hand firmly around the Dowager Countess’ upper arm. “You need to come back to the car now, Dowager Countess. This way please.” She hated to be touched without permission. She hated being called Dowager Countess almost as much, it hadn’t been a problem straight after Count Amato had died because the two Counts between him and Count Terrance had not been married, but now...
She was obviously reluctant but Helena allowed herself to be led from the room without further fuss.
“Excuse me,” said Terrence quietly, “I need to make a phone call from the other room.”
Well, What Did She Expect?
Oct. 1st, 2011 09:39 amThis follows on from a Blast From The Past.
In the silence that followed Helena’s statement Terrence’s wife, Julia, stepped forward and slapped the other woman’s face. “You are no longer welcome in my home. Leave. Now.”
“How dare you!” Helena’s hand had gone to her cheek. “Who do you think you are? Have you forgotten who I am?”
“You’re my husband’s widowed sister-in-law.” Julia had both hands on her hips. “You’re the daughter of the great Benito Fraccelli, not that the Fraccellii have had much to do with you these last few years. You’re an unwarranted drain on this family’s resources. You’re the cow who just said my daughter is worthless. You might have intimidated my husband’s brothers but he’s not scared of you and neither am I. Now take your handbag and get out of my house.”
“I’ll just go make coffee, shall I?” said Boscailo quietly.
“Send the man at the front door in on your way to the kitchen, will you Bosacilo?” His father-in-law had an implacable look on his face.
“Certainly, Count Terrance.” Boscailo quietly closed the dining room door behind him. A conversation on the way home with his own boss, Don Matteo was now unavoidable.
When the foot soldier, Ignazio Contadino by name, entered the dining room on the Count’s command after he’d knocked it seemed to him that the shouting must have just stopped. Countess Helena, as she liked to be called, had unevenly flushed cheeks and was clutching her handbag to her chest. The Countess proper had heightened colour and was standing with her arms akimbo. Contadino was very glad that he was not responsible for the expression on the Count’s face.
“Ignazio,” Count Terrance called all the foot soldiers by their given names, as he so truly said there were no longer enough of them for duplicates to be a problem, “Please drive the Dowager Countess back to the town house. Take a scenic route. The coast road is very fine this time of year.”
“Yes, Count Terrance,” Contadino walked over to the Dowager Countess, his face expressionless although internally his was cringing at the unpleasantness that was going to ensue from this sometime in the near future. He clamped his hand firmly around the Dowager Countess’ upper arm. “You need to come back to the car now, Dowager Countess. This way please.” She hated to be touched without permission. She hated being called Dowager Countess almost as much, it hadn’t been a problem straight after Count Amato had died because the two Counts between him and Count Terrance had not been married, but now...
She was obviously reluctant but Helena allowed herself to be led from the room without further fuss.
“Excuse me,” said Terrence quietly, “I need to make a phone call from the other room.”
In the silence that followed Helena’s statement Terrence’s wife, Julia, stepped forward and slapped the other woman’s face. “You are no longer welcome in my home. Leave. Now.”
“How dare you!” Helena’s hand had gone to her cheek. “Who do you think you are? Have you forgotten who I am?”
“You’re my husband’s widowed sister-in-law.” Julia had both hands on her hips. “You’re the daughter of the great Benito Fraccelli, not that the Fraccellii have had much to do with you these last few years. You’re an unwarranted drain on this family’s resources. You’re the cow who just said my daughter is worthless. You might have intimidated my husband’s brothers but he’s not scared of you and neither am I. Now take your handbag and get out of my house.”
“I’ll just go make coffee, shall I?” said Boscailo quietly.
“Send the man at the front door in on your way to the kitchen, will you Bosacilo?” His father-in-law had an implacable look on his face.
“Certainly, Count Terrance.” Boscailo quietly closed the dining room door behind him. A conversation on the way home with his own boss, Don Matteo was now unavoidable.
When the foot soldier, Ignazio Contadino by name, entered the dining room on the Count’s command after he’d knocked it seemed to him that the shouting must have just stopped. Countess Helena, as she liked to be called, had unevenly flushed cheeks and was clutching her handbag to her chest. The Countess proper had heightened colour and was standing with her arms akimbo. Contadino was very glad that he was not responsible for the expression on the Count’s face.
“Ignazio,” Count Terrance called all the foot soldiers by their given names, as he so truly said there were no longer enough of them for duplicates to be a problem, “Please drive the Dowager Countess back to the town house. Take a scenic route. The coast road is very fine this time of year.”
“Yes, Count Terrance,” Contadino walked over to the Dowager Countess, his face expressionless although internally his was cringing at the unpleasantness that was going to ensue from this sometime in the near future. He clamped his hand firmly around the Dowager Countess’ upper arm. “You need to come back to the car now, Dowager Countess. This way please.” She hated to be touched without permission. She hated being called Dowager Countess almost as much, it hadn’t been a problem straight after Count Amato had died because the two Counts between him and Count Terrance had not been married, but now...
She was obviously reluctant but Helena allowed herself to be led from the room without further fuss.
“Excuse me,” said Terrence quietly, “I need to make a phone call from the other room.”
A Blast From The Past
Sep. 29th, 2011 09:03 amWhen he went into the dining room the men were either still there or back again. A greying dark haired woman dressed in black was also there, speaking furiously in an undertone to his father-in-law. Boscailo spoke over the top of her in a loud, cheerful tone, “Count Terrence, I’m back!”
“The minotaur returns.” The black dressed woman raised her voice to drip dry voiced sarcasm. “We should all rejoice.” She turned her back on him to start talking to Terrence again.
“Aunt Helena.” Boscailo’s voice stayed loud and cheerful as he walked across the room. “I’ve told you before, I’m not a minotaur, I’ve even had the blood tests, so I just look like one.” He put one hand on her shoulder and turned her around so he could hug her. “I know a couple on the Episcopal Guard. Perhaps I should introduce you so you know what they really look like.”
She shrugged out of his embrace. “How dare you touch me! I am the Countess Strefagi! Terrence, why do you allow this...person in your home?”
“He’s my son-in-law and he was invited,” Terrence said mildly, then added calmly, “You are not the Countess Strefagi, my wife is. You are the Dowager Countess. If you’re going to go throwing your title around, then use the correct one.”
“Your sons-in-law are such an interesting collection,” she sounded like she was talking about an undesirable set of museum specimens, “And none of them even a Strefagi.”
“I am fortunate that none of them relies on me for an income – they are all their own men,” Terrence returned calmly. “My daughters have all chosen well.” He gave Boscailo an odd look. “Perhaps better than I had appreciated.”
“That is as may be,” she cut back, “But we still have to decide what the Strefagii are going to do about this ‘offer’ from the Desideri.”
“I have already made my decision and sent out my orders, Helena,” Terrence said firmly, “There is nothing left to decide.”
“Nonsense,” Helena spoke as if she were correcting a child, “You haven’t consulted with your councillors – we’ve all more experience than you. When you’ve done that, you can replace those interesting,” she winced slightly, “Interim instructions you issued with something more informed and permanent.”
Terrence’s face turned to stone. “You seem to be under the impression that the Strefagii are a democracy in which you have a vote or that you have a voice in my councils.” In a crushing, almost dismissive, tone he finished, “You have neither.”
“I have been a member of the advisory council since your father’s death,” she hit back, furious, “I have advised every Count since then. Your need me.”
“Given our fortunes since my father’s death, that is hardly a recommendation, Helena.” Terrence was furiously angry and it seemed that Helena was the only person in the room who couldn’t see it.
As she was opening her mouth again, Boscailo cut in with, “If this is becoming a discussion of Strefagii business, I have to leave. May I discuss the matter of my sister-in-law before I go?”
“Please do,” Terrance said gratefully. “I would be glad to return to this meeting's original purpose.”
“Very well,” Boscailo took a deep breath.
“We need to settle this now,” Helena interrupted. “The girl is unimportant in the bigger scheme of things.” She gave a dismissive wave. “Write her off, flog the boy. Have done with it. Move on with our business.”
A Blast From The Past
Sep. 29th, 2011 09:03 amThis follows on from Self Interest.
When he went into the dining room the men were either still there or back again. A greying dark haired woman dressed in black was also there, speaking furiously in an undertone to his father-in-law. Boscailo spoke over the top of her in a loud, cheerful tone, “Count Terrence, I’m back!”
“The minotaur returns.” The black dressed woman raised her voice to drip dry voiced sarcasm. “We should all rejoice.” She turned her back on him to start talking to Terrence again.
“Aunt Helena.” Boscailo’s voice stayed loud and cheerful as he walked across the room. “I’ve told you before, I’m not a minotaur, I’ve even had the blood tests, so I just look like one.” He put one hand on her shoulder and turned her around so he could hug her. “I know I couple on the Episcopal Guard. Perhaps I should introduce you so you know what they really look like.”
She shrugged out of his embrace. “How dare you touch me! I am the Countess Strefagi! Terrence, why do you allow this...person in your home?”
“He’s my son-in-law and he was invited,” Terrence said mildly, then added calmly, “You are not the Countess Strefagi, my wife is. You are the Dowager Countess. If you’re going to go throwing your title around, then use the correct one.”
“Your sons-in-law are such an interesting collection,” she sounded like she was talking about an undesirable set of museum specimens, “And none of them even a Strefagi.”
“I am fortunate that none of them relies on me for an income – they are all their own men,” Terrence returned calmly. “My daughters have all chosen well.” He gave Boscailo an odd look. “Perhaps better than I had appreciated.”
“That is as may be,” she cut back, “But we still have to decide what the Strefagii are going to do about this ‘offer’ from the Desideri.”
“I have already made my decision and sent out my orders, Helena,” Terrence said firmly, “There is nothing left to decide.”
“Nonsense,” Helena spoke as if she were correcting a child, “You haven’t consulted with your councillors – we’ve all more experience than you. When you’ve done that, you can replace those interesting,” she winced slightly, “Interim instructions you issued with something more informed and permanent.”
Terrence’s face turned to stone. “You seem to be under the impression that the Strefagii are a democracy in which you have a vote or that you have a voice in my councils.” In a crushing, almost dismissive, tone he finished, “You have neither.”
“I have been a member of the advisory council since your father’s death,” she hit back, furious, “I have advised every Count since then. Your need me.”
“Given our fortunes since my father’s death, that is hardly a recommendation, Helena.” Terrence was furiously angry and it seemed that Helena was the only person in the room who couldn’t see it.
As she was opening her mouth again, Boscailo cut in with, “If this is becoming a discussion of Strefagii business, I have to leave. May I discuss the matter of my sister-in-law before I go?”
“Please do,” Terrance said gratefully. “I would be glad to return to this meeting's original purpose.”
“Very well,” Boscailo took a deep breath.
“We need to settle this now,” Helena interrupted. “The girl is unimportant in the bigger scheme of things.” She gave a dismissive wave. “Write her off, flog the boy. Have done with it. Move on with our business.”
When he went into the dining room the men were either still there or back again. A greying dark haired woman dressed in black was also there, speaking furiously in an undertone to his father-in-law. Boscailo spoke over the top of her in a loud, cheerful tone, “Count Terrence, I’m back!”
“The minotaur returns.” The black dressed woman raised her voice to drip dry voiced sarcasm. “We should all rejoice.” She turned her back on him to start talking to Terrence again.
“Aunt Helena.” Boscailo’s voice stayed loud and cheerful as he walked across the room. “I’ve told you before, I’m not a minotaur, I’ve even had the blood tests, so I just look like one.” He put one hand on her shoulder and turned her around so he could hug her. “I know I couple on the Episcopal Guard. Perhaps I should introduce you so you know what they really look like.”
She shrugged out of his embrace. “How dare you touch me! I am the Countess Strefagi! Terrence, why do you allow this...person in your home?”
“He’s my son-in-law and he was invited,” Terrence said mildly, then added calmly, “You are not the Countess Strefagi, my wife is. You are the Dowager Countess. If you’re going to go throwing your title around, then use the correct one.”
“Your sons-in-law are such an interesting collection,” she sounded like she was talking about an undesirable set of museum specimens, “And none of them even a Strefagi.”
“I am fortunate that none of them relies on me for an income – they are all their own men,” Terrence returned calmly. “My daughters have all chosen well.” He gave Boscailo an odd look. “Perhaps better than I had appreciated.”
“That is as may be,” she cut back, “But we still have to decide what the Strefagii are going to do about this ‘offer’ from the Desideri.”
“I have already made my decision and sent out my orders, Helena,” Terrence said firmly, “There is nothing left to decide.”
“Nonsense,” Helena spoke as if she were correcting a child, “You haven’t consulted with your councillors – we’ve all more experience than you. When you’ve done that, you can replace those interesting,” she winced slightly, “Interim instructions you issued with something more informed and permanent.”
Terrence’s face turned to stone. “You seem to be under the impression that the Strefagii are a democracy in which you have a vote or that you have a voice in my councils.” In a crushing, almost dismissive, tone he finished, “You have neither.”
“I have been a member of the advisory council since your father’s death,” she hit back, furious, “I have advised every Count since then. Your need me.”
“Given our fortunes since my father’s death, that is hardly a recommendation, Helena.” Terrence was furiously angry and it seemed that Helena was the only person in the room who couldn’t see it.
As she was opening her mouth again, Boscailo cut in with, “If this is becoming a discussion of Strefagii business, I have to leave. May I discuss the matter of my sister-in-law before I go?”
“Please do,” Terrance said gratefully. “I would be glad to return to this meeting's original purpose.”
“Very well,” Boscailo took a deep breath.
“We need to settle this now,” Helena interrupted. “The girl is unimportant in the bigger scheme of things.” She gave a dismissive wave. “Write her off, flog the boy. Have done with it. Move on with our business.”
Self Interest
Sep. 28th, 2011 11:10 amThis follows on from Family Meeting.
Bartolo Desideri rose and came out from behind his desk to shake hands with the tall, broad man in motorcycle leathers who had been shown into his office. “And to what do I owe the pleasure,” he asked pleasantly, “Of a visit from the sotto capo of the Canis Hadi?”
“I am not here,” Boscailo Littori admitted genially, “As a representative of the Canis, Don Matteo knows nothing of this visit. I am here in my private capacity as a husband. I’m sure you are aware that my wife’s younger sister has recently passed into your care. My wife is distraught over her little sister’s situation and I hope to be able to provide her with some relief for her concerns.”
“So,” Bartolo smiled, “You are here on behalf of the Strefagi?”
“Not at all,” Boscailo disagreed amiably, “I’m here in my own self interest. My wife, delightful woman that she is, has always, for reasons I‘ve never quite understood, seen me as some sort of romantic hero. I’ve been happy to bask in this rose-tinged view of the world, particularly as it seems to give me some leeway with dirty boots on clean floors. However, now it behoves me to do something in order allay her fears.”
“In order to maintain your immunity in the area of dirty boots,” Bartolo smiled and indicated a chair in front of the desk, “Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” Boscailo sat then continued while Bartolo retook his own seat, “Not just boots, there’s cooking too. My wife is a wonderful cook but she’s been a little distracted the last few days. If matters were to deteriorate to the stage of burnt dinners, it would be a tragedy and a possible crime against humanity.”
“I see,” Bartolo laced his fingers together in front of him on the desk, “So what can we do to make your wife happier?”
When Boscailo returned to his parents-in-law’s home there was a large, black car parked in the driveway. He considered the clearance on either side of it, sighed, and parked his motorbike next to the curb. He walked up to the front door, nodding to the man who now stood beside it, and knocked. It was his mother-in-law who opened the door and let him in.
After she locked the door again she hugged him and demanded, “How did it go? Is she alright?” before stepping aside and handing him over to his wife.
Tertia hugged him too. “Are you all right? Did you see her?”
An arm around Tertia, Boscailo answered both of them. “Count Bartolo and I had a very civilised conversation and yes, I saw and spoke to Septima. I’ll tell you the rest when we’re all together. Kitchen or dining room?"
“Dining room,” his mother-in-law answered shortly with a nod of her head in the right direction. “I’ll get the rest of the girls. Filia’s eldest can keep an eye on things out there.” She added darkly, “She’s here.”
Boscailo nodded. “The car was hard to miss.”
Bartolo Desideri rose and came out from behind his desk to shake hands with the tall, broad man in motorcycle leathers who had been shown into his office. “And to what do I owe the pleasure,” he asked pleasantly, “Of a visit from the sotto capo of the Canis Hadi?”
“I am not here,” Boscailo Littori admitted genially, “As a representative of the Canis, Don Matteo knows nothing of this visit. I am here in my private capacity as a husband. I’m sure you are aware that my wife’s younger sister has recently passed into your care. My wife is distraught over her little sister’s situation and I hope to be able to provide her with some relief for her concerns.”
“So,” Bartolo smiled, “You are here on behalf of the Strefagi?”
“Not at all,” Boscailo disagreed amiably, “I’m here in my own self interest. My wife, delightful woman that she is, has always, for reasons I‘ve never quite understood, seen me as some sort of romantic hero. I’ve been happy to bask in this rose-tinged view of the world, particularly as it seems to give me some leeway with dirty boots on clean floors. However, now it behoves me to do something in order allay her fears.”
“In order to maintain your immunity in the area of dirty boots,” Bartolo smiled and indicated a chair in front of the desk, “Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” Boscailo sat then continued while Bartolo retook his own seat, “Not just boots, there’s cooking too. My wife is a wonderful cook but she’s been a little distracted the last few days. If matters were to deteriorate to the stage of burnt dinners, it would be a tragedy and a possible crime against humanity.”
“I see,” Bartolo laced his fingers together in front of him on the desk, “So what can we do to make your wife happier?”
When Boscailo returned to his parents-in-law’s home there was a large, black car parked in the driveway. He considered the clearance on either side of it, sighed, and parked his motorbike next to the curb. He walked up to the front door, nodding to the man who now stood beside it, and knocked. It was his mother-in-law who opened the door and let him in.
After she locked the door again she hugged him and demanded, “How did it go? Is she alright?” before stepping aside and handing him over to his wife.
Tertia hugged him too. “Are you all right? Did you see her?”
An arm around Tertia, Boscailo answered both of them. “Count Bartolo and I had a very civilised conversation and yes, I saw and spoke to Septima. I’ll tell you the rest when we’re all together. Kitchen or dining room?"
“Dining room,” his mother-in-law answered shortly with a nod of her head in the right direction. “I’ll get the rest of the girls. Filia’s eldest can keep an eye on things out there.” She added darkly, “She’s here.”
Boscailo nodded. “The car was hard to miss.”
Self Interest
Sep. 28th, 2011 11:10 amThis follows on from Family Meeting.
Bartolo Desideri rose and came out from behind his desk to shake hands with the tall, broad man in motorcycle leathers who had been shown into his office. “And to what do I owe the pleasure,” he asked pleasantly, “Of a visit from the sotto capo of the Canis Hadi?”
“I am not here,” Boscailo Littori admitted genially, “As a representative of the Canis, Don Matteo knows nothing of this visit. I am here in my private capacity as a husband. I’m sure you are aware that my wife’s younger sister has recently passed into your care. My wife is distraught over her little sister’s situation and I hope to be able to provide her with some relief for her concerns.”
“So,” Bartolo smiled, “You are here on behalf of the Strefagi?”
“Not at all,” Boscailo disagreed amiably, “I’m here in my own self interest. My wife, delightful woman that she is, has always, for reasons I‘ve never quite understood, seen me as some sort of romantic hero. I’ve been happy to bask in this rose-tinged view of the world, particularly as it seems to give me some leeway with dirty boots on clean floors. However, now it behoves me to do something in order allay her fears.”
“In order to maintain your immunity in the area of dirty boots,” Bartolo smiled and indicated a chair in front of the desk, “Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” Boscailo sat then continued while Bartolo retook his own seat, “Not just boots, there’s cooking too. My wife is a wonderful cook but she’s been a little distracted the last few days. If matters were to deteriorate to the stage of burnt dinners, it would be a tragedy and a possible crime against humanity.”
“I see,” Bartolo laced his fingers together in front of him on the desk, “So what can we do to make your wife happier?”
When Boscailo returned to his parents-in-law’s home there was a large, black car parked in the driveway. He considered the clearance on either side of it, sighed, and parked his motorbike next to the curb. He walked up to the front door, nodding to the man who now stood beside it, and knocked. It was his mother-in-law who opened the door and let him in.
After she locked the door again she hugged him and demanded, “How did it go? Is she alright?” before stepping aside and handing him over to his wife.
Tertia hugged him too. “Are you all right? Did you see her?”
An arm around Tertia, Boscailo answered both of them. “Count Bartolo and I had a very civilised conversation and yes, I saw and spoke to Septima. I’ll tell you the rest when we’re all together. Kitchen or dining room?"
“Dining room,” his mother-in-law answered shortly with a nod of her head in the right direction. “I’ll get the rest of the girls. Filia’s eldest can keep an eye on things out there.” She added darkly, “She’s here.”
Boscailo nodded. “The car was hard to miss.”
Bartolo Desideri rose and came out from behind his desk to shake hands with the tall, broad man in motorcycle leathers who had been shown into his office. “And to what do I owe the pleasure,” he asked pleasantly, “Of a visit from the sotto capo of the Canis Hadi?”
“I am not here,” Boscailo Littori admitted genially, “As a representative of the Canis, Don Matteo knows nothing of this visit. I am here in my private capacity as a husband. I’m sure you are aware that my wife’s younger sister has recently passed into your care. My wife is distraught over her little sister’s situation and I hope to be able to provide her with some relief for her concerns.”
“So,” Bartolo smiled, “You are here on behalf of the Strefagi?”
“Not at all,” Boscailo disagreed amiably, “I’m here in my own self interest. My wife, delightful woman that she is, has always, for reasons I‘ve never quite understood, seen me as some sort of romantic hero. I’ve been happy to bask in this rose-tinged view of the world, particularly as it seems to give me some leeway with dirty boots on clean floors. However, now it behoves me to do something in order allay her fears.”
“In order to maintain your immunity in the area of dirty boots,” Bartolo smiled and indicated a chair in front of the desk, “Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” Boscailo sat then continued while Bartolo retook his own seat, “Not just boots, there’s cooking too. My wife is a wonderful cook but she’s been a little distracted the last few days. If matters were to deteriorate to the stage of burnt dinners, it would be a tragedy and a possible crime against humanity.”
“I see,” Bartolo laced his fingers together in front of him on the desk, “So what can we do to make your wife happier?”
When Boscailo returned to his parents-in-law’s home there was a large, black car parked in the driveway. He considered the clearance on either side of it, sighed, and parked his motorbike next to the curb. He walked up to the front door, nodding to the man who now stood beside it, and knocked. It was his mother-in-law who opened the door and let him in.
After she locked the door again she hugged him and demanded, “How did it go? Is she alright?” before stepping aside and handing him over to his wife.
Tertia hugged him too. “Are you all right? Did you see her?”
An arm around Tertia, Boscailo answered both of them. “Count Bartolo and I had a very civilised conversation and yes, I saw and spoke to Septima. I’ll tell you the rest when we’re all together. Kitchen or dining room?"
“Dining room,” his mother-in-law answered shortly with a nod of her head in the right direction. “I’ll get the rest of the girls. Filia’s eldest can keep an eye on things out there.” She added darkly, “She’s here.”
Boscailo nodded. “The car was hard to miss.”
