Chapter III
The Wives of GeniusesJohn’s second autumn in Florence was colder and wetter than his first one had been, but never was it so cold nor so wet that his new grey suit of light worsted wool, for which he had endured five fittings, could not be pressed into service. He was convinced that this suit had already eased him through several anxious occasions, not least Sir Christopher’s recent birthday which, to John’s great satisfaction, had, this year, been celebrated in Florence, whilst Peter Mason remained in London, brushed off with the vague promise of a Christmas meeting. Now, on this rainy Friday night, the last day of November, as he stood in the dining room and inspected the table once again, he touched the sleeve of his coat and congratulated himself on his foresight. Tonight,
