Proteus [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE He was a man who travelled much and always in singular comfort, so that he had little of the curiosity of the tourist and much of the impatience of the executive who must despatch his business and be gone again. However, this Easter Sunday in Rome was different. It was a family feast, a tribal occasion, to which all else - the ancient splendours of the city, the press of pilgrims, the Papal Mass in Saint Peter's, even the Pontiff's proclamation to the City and to the World - was backdrop and panoply. It was the one day in his life when he wanted to puff out his chest and shout aloud: 'Look at me! Look at John Spada who, today, is fifty-five years old and grateful for every hour of it! Look at my Anna who is still as beautifu' as the day I met her! Look at Teresa and the man she has married - a brave one, a good one, who will breed me a grandson to inherit the Spada Empire. I am so proud, so happy, I could embrace the whole crazy, wonderful world I' He said none of it, of course. He was too controlled for that. Even here in the land of his fathers he was half an alien: John Spada from New York, President of a multinational enterprise, a merchant prince among the old nobility and the new restless commons of this city of Emperors and Popes. But Anna knew, without his telling, how happy he was. She clung to him, flushed and excited, as he pushed through the crowds in St Peter's Square towards the alley behind the Borgo. Santo Spirito, where Uncle Andrea's chauffeur was waiting for them. Teresa and Rodolfo were thrusting ahead, and he watched them with pride and affection. She was small and dark like her mother. He, tall and slim, the scion of an old family of ranchera and horse-breeders from the