A maid opened the door to the street and led him across the herringbone-patterned courtyard, where chrysanthemums still thrived against the east wall. The outside stairway to the first floor was probably original to the palazzo, the lions’ heads worn smooth with age and rain and the caresses of centuries of hands. The maid stepped into the enormous entry hall and held the door open for him. ‘The Contessa will join you in the small reading room,’ she said and turned down the corridor. She stopped at the third door on the left and entered without bothering to knock. Brunetti followed her. He had been in similar rooms countless times in the last decades. He saw the heavy-footed mahogany tables covered with books and flowers, portraits grown dark with age, tall bookshelves no doubt left untouched since the time of those ancestors, and deep and threateningly uncomfortable chairs. Light entered from three windows on the far wall, but Brunetti had no idea which way they faced.
What do You think about The Waters Of Eternal Youth?
