Page 176 of Portrait of an Unknown Woman

“That makes two of us,” murmured Gabriel.

Irene and Raphael, somnambulant a moment earlier, were suddenly alert and excited about the prospect of yet another adventure. Christopher sat with his hands upon the wheel, his powerful shoulders slumped, a picture of misery.

His eyes met Gabriel’s in the rearview mirror. “I would prefer if your children didn’t watch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why do you think I sailed all the way to Corsica?”

“We’ve had a rough couple of weeks,” explained Sarah. “Last night...”

“Last nightwhat?” probed Irene.

“I’d rather not say.”

Christopher said it for her. “He got a clean shot at me. It was like being hit with a pile driver.”

“You must have provoked the poor thing,” said Chiara.

“As far as that creature is concerned, my very existence is a provocation.”

Christopher tapped the horn and with a cordial movement of his hand invited the goat to step aside. Receiving no response, he lifted his foot from the brake and inched the car forward. The goat lowered his head and drove it into the grille.

“I told you,” said Sarah. “He’s incorrigible.”

“That’s no way to talk about Christopher,” interjected Gabriel.

“What does incorrigible mean?” asked Raphael.

“Incapable of being corrected. Depraved and inveterate. A hopeless reprobate.”

“Reprobate,” repeated Irene, and giggled.

Christopher opened his door, igniting the interior dome light. Sarah appeared stricken. “Perhaps we should all check into a hotel. Or better yet, let’s spend the night on that beautiful boat of yours.”

“Yes, let’s,” agreed Chiara as the car shuddered with the impact of another blow. Then she looked at Gabriel and said quietly, “Do something, darling.”

“My hand is killing me.”

“Let me,” said Irene.

“Not a chance.”

“Don’t listen to your father,” said Chiara. “Go right ahead, sweetheart.”

Gabriel opened his door and looked at his beautiful wife. “If anything happens to her, let it be on your head.”

Irene clambered across Gabriel’s lap and leapt out of the car. Fearlessly she approached the goat and, stroking his red beard, explained that she and her family were sailing back to Venice tomorrowmorning and needed a good night’s sleep. The goat clearly found the story implausible. Nevertheless, he withdrew from the track without further contest, and the situation was resolved peaceably.

Irene squeezed into the backseat and rested her head against her father’s shoulder as they resumed their progress toward Christopher’s villa.

“Reprobate,” whispered the child, and laughed hysterically.