Cristiano observed the activities from a respectful distance. By this time in the morning, he would usually be in the vineyard but, leaving the house, he suspected that this young guest might need to be rescued from the ovens, so he wandered close to the square and sat at a café table, smoking a Toscano cigar and sipping espresso till the right moment.
“Carlo,” he called out, “vieni qua,” – “come here.”
It sounded vaguely like an order, not an invitation, but Carlo appreciated the opportunity to remove himself from the circle of women. Bread baking was a patient art and he could learn more later.
He sat down at Cristiano"s table and smiled at him wanly. The older man knew what was happening, and Carlo knew that he had been given a reprieve.
“Baking bread is a fine art in this village.
