"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - St Germain 2 - The Palace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

according to my outrageous instructions."
"A thousand years?" Gasparo was dumbfounded. He stared at the stranger, and
thought that perhaps Ragoczy was mad. "What use will this be to you in a thousand
years? Or in a hundred?"
"It is a home," Ragoczy answered simply.
Lodovico snickered and winked broadly at Giuseppe. "But the Patron has neither
chick nor child. He has not even a wife. What heirs of his will live here in a thousand
years? Or in a hundred?"
"Heirs?" It was as if a door had closed in Ragoczy. He stopped moving and his
dark eyes narrowed, their penetrating gaze suddenly alarming. "Those of my blood
will come after me, never fear. You have my word on that."
There was silence in the foundation excavation and the cold wind whipped around
them, but the chill the builders felt came more from the foreigner in black than from
the air.
Gasparo beetled his brow as his indignation swelled. "We do not make funerary
monuments, Eccellenza. If that is what you wish, talk to stonecutters, not to us."
There was a new light in Ragoczy's eyes as he looked at the thick-bodied builder.
"Does it matter so much to you, amico?"
"I am a builder," Gasparo announced as he clapped one huge hand to his chest.
"I make houses for the living, not the dead."
Behind Gasparo, the other builders nodded nervously, and Carlo took courage,
giving Gasparo an approving gesture.
"Admirable," Ragoczy said dryly.
 "Mock me if you wish, Patron, it does not change the matter. You say you want
us to build a house that will stand a thousand years. Va bene. You instruct us in our
work. I do not like it, but you are the Patron. But even you cannot pay enough for
me to put up a palazzo that is a shell only." He set his hands on his hips again and
leaned forward. "You may mock me, but you will not mock my building!"
Ragoczy nodded. "What integrity!" There was neither bitterness nor
condemnation in the words. "I promise you that I have no wish for any empty
building. Why would I pay for so much special labor if I did not want to live here?
Why else would I care how you lay the foundations?… Well?"
Gasparo shrugged. "As you say, we are being paid to build a palazzo for you. If
you want it built with lacquered straw, what is it to me?" He folded his heavy arms
over his chest.
Ragoczy nodded. "Precisely. And what can I be but flattered and grateful that
you care so much for my home? You must let me thank you for your courtesy." He
strode over to Gasparo, his arms open. "Come, will you not touch cheeks with me?"
Gasparo Tucchio was stunned. Never in his life had a gentleman offered him this
familiarity. He flushed, rubbed his gritty hands on his workman's breeches. "Patron,
I…"
Ragoczy embraced the builder heartily, and Gasparo realized what great strength
was contained in that elegant, compact body. Very awkwardly he returned the hug,
aware of the heavy stubble of his day-old beard on the smooth cheek of the
foreigner.
The other builders watched, one or two of them acutely embarrassed. Though it
was true Fiorenza was a Repubblica, this went far beyond the social equality they all
took pride in. This was unheard of. Enrico soothed his wounded dignity—for as the
supervisor, surely he was more entitled to this unbecoming display—by saying softly
to Giuseppe, "Foreign manners. Outrageous. The Patron cannot know what he is