When I returned to the villa, through the front door, Sophia was coming down the staircase. She greeted me with arms outstretched and embraced me with great tenderness. She ran the back of her hand down the side of my face smiling with satisfaction.
“The air,” she said, circling the space between us, “is good.”
She led me through the dining room to the kitchen.
“Per favore,” she said, seating me on the stool where I had watched the Nucleus perform.
From a heavy oak cupboard, she lifted down a silver teapot so polished that light bounced from its surface and danced in small silver and green circles on the walls and floor. She measured tea leaves from an alabaster jar and half-filled the teapot, not from the tap in the urn, but from a steaming cast-iron kettle on the stove. She turned th
