She knew he was teasing her, but she said, 'I can't be a good wife without knowing first-hand how to run a household, and I can't hope to run a household without having experience in the things that make a household run. Giving the staff orders is pointless unless I fully understand what those orders entail. What if I were to tell Maria to whip up supper for twelve without giving her time to prepare, or take into consideration her life with her family? Or what if something broke, and I was to tell Guiseppe to fix it without being aware of the time it would take from his other duties, or whether or not he has what he needs to do the job?
'Though she doesn't show it, Roman, your mother knows these things because she was once a free-spirited country girl. I was too, in a way. I grew up on the estate of my father's villa near Athens, and spent my days barefoot, in a peasant dress, riding bareback and tending my own patch of garden. From the farmhands I learned how to fix pumps and motors, to sharpen sickles and axes, and I can plough as straight a furrow as anyone.'
She sighed. 'I was less a wealthy merchant's daughter than I was a tenant living off his good graces from birth. The only time I can remember him taking the least notice of my existence is when a business associate of his, a greasy, filthy pig of a man, looked me over like a swine eager to thrust his face into the slops. My father,' she said bitterly, feeling a surge of rage, 'sat there grinning and leering, egging on the fat slug, and the two of them then settled a business deal, with the understanding that I was to be thrown in like a willing whore.'
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. 'I got as far as Istanbul before my father's men caught up with me. I didn't know anything about the place . . . I had no idea that arms merchants met there at its outdoor cafes and restaurants to do business. I was soon recognised by one of my father's business associates.'
'That's when they sent you to the convent?'
'Not quite,' she said quietly, becoming tense with remembered humiliation, fear and hate. 'I was beaten . . . the first day back my father made me take off my clothes in front of everyone at the villa, and he whipped me until I was a senseless, bloody mess. After I'd almost recovered, he dragged me out of bed and began slapping me. He would call me a whore, and every filthy name he could think of . . . and then when I couldn't get up again he would start kicking me until I lost consciousness.'