"If it would please you

RINALDO PAZZI would have preferred to maintain constant surveillance on his

prize in the Palazzo Capponi, but he could not.

Instead Pazzi, still rapt from the sight of the money, had to leap into his

dinner clothes and meet his wife at a long-anticipated concert of the Florence

Chamber Orchestra.

The Teatro Piccolomini, a nineteenth-century halfscale copy of Venice's

glorious Teatro La Fenice, is a baroque jewel box of gilt and plush, with

cherubs flouting the laws of aerodynamics across its splendid ceiling.

A good thing, too, that the theater is beautiful because the performers often

need all the help they can get.

It is unfair but inevitable that music in Florence should be judged by the

hopelessly high standards of the city's art. The Florentines are a large and

knowledgeable group of music lovers, typical of Italy, but they are sometimes

starved for musical artists.

Pazzi slipped into the seat beside his wife in the applause following the

overture.

She gave him her fragrant cheek. He felt his heart grow big inside him looking

at her in her evening gown, sufficiently decollete to emit a warm fragrance

from her cleavage, her musical score in the chic Gucci cover Pazzi had given

her.

"They sound a hundred percent better with the new viola player," she breathed

into Pazzi's ear. This excellent viola da gamba player had been brought in to

replace an infuriatingly inept one, a cousin of Sogliato's, who had gone oddly

missing some weeks before.

Dr Hannibal Lecter looked down from a high box, alone, immaculate in white

tie, his face and shirtfront weaning to float in the dark box framed by gilt

baroque carving.

Pazzi spotted him when the lights went up briefly after the first movement,

and in the moment before Pazzi could look away, the doctor's head came round

like that of an owl and their eyes met. Pazzi involuntarily squeezed his

wife's hand hard enough for her to look round at him. After that Pazzi kept

his eyes resolutely on the stage, the back of his hand warm against his wife's

thigh as she held his hand in hers.

At intermission, when Pazzi turned from the bar to hand her a drink, Dr Lecter

was standing beside her.

"Good evening, Dr Fell," Pazzi said.

"Good evening, Commendatore," the doctor said. He waited with a slight

inclination of the head, until Pazzi had to make the introduction.

"Laura, allow me to present Dr Fell. Doctor, this is Signora Pazzi, my wife."

Signora Pazzi, accustomed to being praised for her beauty, found what followed

curiously charming, though her husband did not.

"Thank you for this privilege, Commendatore," the doctor said. His red and

pointed tongue appeared for an instant before he bent over Signora Pazzi's

hand, his lips perhaps closer to the skin than is customary in Florence,

certainly close enough for her to feel his breath on her skin.

His eyes rose to her before his sleek head lifted.

"I think you particularly enjoy Scarlatti, Signora Pazzi."

"Yes, I do."

"It was pleasant to see you following the score. Hardly anyone does it

anymore. I hoped that this might interest you."

He took a portfolio from under his arm. It was an antique score on parchment,

hand-copied. "This is from the Teatro Capranica in Rome, from I688, the year

the piece was written."

"Meraviglioso! Look at this, Rinaldo!"

"I marked in overlay some of the differences from the modern score as the

first movement went along," Dr Lecter said. "It might amuse you to follow

along in the second. Please, take it. I can always retrieve it from Signor

Pazzi is that permissible, Commendatore?"

The doctor looking deeply, deeply as Pazzi replied.

"If it would please you, Laura," Pazzi said. A beat of thought. "Will you be

addressing the Studiolo, Doctor?"

"Yes, Friday night in fact. Soglioto can't wait to see me discredited."

"I have to be in the old city," Pazzi said. "I'll return the score then.

Laura, Dr Fell has to sing for his supper before the dragons at the Studiolo."

"I'm sure you'll sing very well, Doctor," she said, giving him her great dark

eyes - within the bounds of propriety, but just.

Dr Lecter smiled, with his small white teeth. "Madame, if I manufactured Fleur

du Ciel, I would offer you the Cape Diamond to wear it. Until Friday night,

Commendatore."

Pazzi made sure the doctor returned to his box, and did not look at him again

until they waved good night at a distance on the theater steps.

"I gave you that Fleur du Ciel for your birthday," Pazzi said.

"Yes, and I love it, Rinaldo," Signora Pazzi said. "You have the most

marvelous taste."