“Yes, of course, I will play to you, but first I have something to show you.”
His young voice was excited. He slipped his hand into the warm crook of her elbow and led her into the salon. The many vases and jars were filled with dark red, almost black, roses, Anne’s favorite flowers. She smiled. The boy had forgotten nothing. Sinking into a small sofa before the large, hooded fireplace, she looked up at him.
“This reminds me of my villa in Florence. Only more gorgeous, of course. I love the carved ceiling and the stone floors. The tapestries look quite genuine, too.”
“I believe they are supposed to be.” His tone was absent. He took a small package from the table and brought it to her almost shyly.
“Is this for me?” She glanced up in surprise. He nodded.
“Open it.” The intense face bent over her eagerly, while she removed the paper wrapping.
“How exquisite!”
It was a small wooden coffer such as Florentine women had used to contain jewelry. The lid was rounded and on it was painted a replica in miniature of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea. The lovely faded colors were like a greeting.
“I never saw anything so lovely! Where did you get it?”
“I’ve had it for years. But I thought you’d like it. But aren’t you going to open it?”