Amanda raised her eyebrows at Hilary over Miriam’s head.
“Hilary very kindly took my list in this morning” she continued, looking at Bruno. “I wanted to give her an excuse to see Dottor di Girolamo again.” She gave him a satisfied smile.
“Yes, she is a kind person,” he said mildly, ignoring the implications.
On the table was a huge bowl of ‘farro’. It was a cold dish, a salad of grain and mixed in with it were olives, finely cut peppers, cucumber, onions, capers, runner beans, and herbs. In another bowl were tomatoes with basil, and on separate plates, were Parma ham and cold roast pork. There was fresh wholemeal bread and red wine.
“Help yourselves everybody,” commanded Hilary
“This is splendid”, said Miriam serving herself first with the ‘farro’.
“Pass the tomatoes please, Bruno,” she said in English, which she knew would annoy him.
“Here you are, Miriam,” he replied in Italian.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I always forget that your English isn’t very good. Ruggero di Girolamo speaks English very well, you know. Tell me what he said, about the computer, Hilary.”
“Oh, nothing much, he just said that you should wait a while before advertising. He thinks he can get Salvatore to get it back for you.”
“That would be splendid. I simply must have it back. There’s half a book on it.”
“Yes,” said Bruno, “you mustn’t deny your public the chance to read yet another of your literary pearls.”
“Don’t try and be funny Bruno. It doesn’t suit you. It just sounds rude.” Miriam’s tone was scathing. “Stick to what you are good at. Just continue being your usual boring self and don’t try and dazzle us with your wit.”
Bruno stood up grating his chair on the floor. “I’m sorry Hilary, I can’t stay. Your friend seems to be determined to be as unpleasant as possible.”
“Yes, well, you weren’t being very nice yourself.”
He threw down his serviette and left the house.
“You would be well rid of him Hilary. He’s been around too long and he’s getting proprietorial.”
“Miriam, you are being very naughty and not really fair to poor Bruno.”
“My dear, when one uses the adjective ‘poor’ about one’s lover, then he already has one foot out of the door.”
“Let’s drop the subject,” said Hilary in a determined manner. “Tell me, did any of the agencies have anything promising?”
“Well, there is a couple, housekeeper / chauffeur, with some gardening skills, who will be free in September, because the family they are with are moving abroad and they don’t want to leave Italy. I’m interviewing them next week. Otherwise there’s nobody free until the end of the year. There’s the possibility of filling in until then with temps. They are more expensive and only stay for short periods. Anyway, for the present I shall carry on using my local domestic help, eat out, and use a taxi if and when.”
“Good. Please, don’t just take this first couple just because they are available. Find out why they are available. I mean check their story and all their history.”
“It’s no guarantee you know. Assunta and Salvatore had excellent, verifiable references.”
Amanda said, “By the way, I heard this morning that Marco Rossi has recovered consciousness, and they think he’ll be O.K”
“Thank God for that. Who told you?”
“His father, he was rushing off to get the car out, and go to see him.”
“My dear, we’ll never hear the end of it. Alda went off to see Padre Pio you know, so no doubt they’ll attribute the boy’s recovery to him.”
“Yes they probably will. Where’s the harm in that?” said Hilary
“None, I suppose. It might even make the boy feel special, make him mend his ways.” replied Miriam
“What ways?” asked Amanda.
“Oh you know, dissipation my dear.”
“Miriam, that’s such an old fashioned word. What do you mean?”
Miriam shifted in her seat. “Well Assunta told me he was on drugs, and queer to boot. He had a thing going with Ettore.”
“Ettore wasn’t gay!” cried Amanda.
“Oh I know that no one knows better than you about his sexual proclivities, but take it from me my dear, he was into men as well. Utterly depraved.”
Amanda looked at Hilary accusingly.
“No. It wasn’t your mother told me. It was Ettore who blabbed to Salvatore.”
“I wonder who else he told,” she said bitterly
“Rise above it. The past is over, and no one wants to hear about it. It’s as appetising as cold, congealed spaghetti. Besides he’s dead, so you’re safe.” She paused, “My dear Hilary this is a charming meal. I’m sorry I upset Bruno. Amanda my dear, would you take a gossiping old lady back home straight after coffee? I need to sort out my temporary help and I mustn’t leave Cherry for too long.”
“Of course. Do you want me to stay with you a bit?”
“No, I expect I’ll take a little nap. I usually do when it’s so hot in the afternoon.”
They had their coffee at the table then Amanda helped her out of her seat and took her back to the ‘mausoleum’. She left her there alone, a plump, rather forlorn figure. She was never really vicious, and often quite kindly. Her voracious love of gossip filled the vacuum left by lack of family.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
When Amanda got back, she reheated some coffee while her mother finished clearing up the lunch things.
“Mum, do you think Marco was on drugs?”
“It’s probable. He always looked pretty bloody.”
“And homosexual?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh nothing, but if he had an on-going thing with Ettore, then do you think he was with him that evening?”
“I have asked myself the same question. Again, I think probably.”
“So you think he is involved?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. You didn’t see him after Ettore died; he was distraught. I suppose he might know something, but he would never have killed him.”
“Do the police know about their relationship?”
“I don’t know, and anyway it’s only hearsay.”
“I would never have thought Ettore was gay, or well, bi-sexual.”
“Why shouldn’t he be? It’s a private thing you know, one’s sexual ‘proclivities’ as Miriam calls them.” She finished stacking the dishwasher and set it going.
“Yes. I suppose it is. What are you doing this afternoon? I’m going into the garden to sunbathe, coming?”
“No. I’m going up for a rest, I didn’t get much sleep last night, what with one thing and another.”
Amanda wandered into the garden. It had a rather parched look despite the storm the night before. The grass was still yellow and dry. She looked down towards the pool, and saw that Robin was sunbathing there. She was wearing a bikini, the lower half of which was minute, a mere cache-sex. Amanda walked further down the garden to look at the bougainvillaea she had bought for her mother the summer before. It had survived the winter encased in straw and plastic and was now flowering. She knelt down to examine the weeds at its base, and with strong fingers felt along the stalk of one, down to its roots. It took a while to uproot it, but finally she stood up, triumphant, with the whole plant in her hand. A movement caught her eye and, as she watched, she saw that Robin was standing up and turned towards her. She hadn’t seen Amanda, and as she didn’t want to seem a nosy neighbour, she pressed herself against the wall remaining hidden by the plants. Then she saw Robin do something so shocking, that she almost couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She wondered if it was an hallucination brought on by the lunchtime conversation. Robin returned to the sun bed and lay immobile again. Amanda went silently back into the house.
Teresa came back, and was far less calm than before. She seemed to have been running, despite the heat, and her hair was falling down, crinkled tendrils stu
ck to her cheeks. She mopped at her pink face with a spotless handkerchief and said breathlessly to Di Girolamo.” I’m afraid you were right. I got there and she didn’t want to let me in at first, but I managed. The whole place reeked of bleach, and she told me that she had high standards of cleanliness. So I thought it was O.K. Then I asked if I could see her husband and pray with her for him, and she took me in, and I realised he was dead. She didn’t seem to realise, so I said a prayer with her and then she accompanied me out and said that I should be very careful as Satan was among us, and that I should fast and pray.”
“You’re quite sure he was dead?”
“Oh quite sure. I touched his hand and it was quite cold.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It was a terrible shock. Will you go there?” She sat down rather abruptly in a chair and took a few deep breaths.
“We’ll deal with this. I’m sorry you had to do this, but you do see it would have been difficult for me, and I could have been wrong. I should have realised that it could have been upsetting for you. Please forgive me.”
“What will happen now?”
“It’s a medical matter. She’ll be looked after, don’t worry.”
“She’s so thin, I think she has been fasting. She’s always been keen on fasting. I remember when the missionary sisters came round; they had quite a discussion about it. Of course fasting is a part of one’s religious life. It’s a discipline, but it should never be carried to extremes. Do you think she made him fast too?”
“It’s possible. There will have to be an autopsy of course, but even if she did, what does it matter? She is a deranged old woman suffering from religious mania, with nothing to live for. I can safely predict that she will probably join her husband before too long. I’ve seen it happen before.”
“You sound so cynical. Do you believe in God?”
“No,” he replied curtly.
“But you are a good man. I will pray for you.” She stood up as she spoke, touched him briefly on the shoulder, as though blessing him, and left the room.
He banged his fist on the table softly. These bloody Catholics; they made him seethe. He never interfered with their beliefs. He respected them and avoided arguing with them, and in return they pushed their religion onto him, whether he liked or wanted it, or not. He did not want anyone to ever pray for him. He wanted nothing to intercede between whatever power may exist and the huge rage that he had felt ever since Sylvia had died. It swelled within him, threatening to burst inside him and smash him apart.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Marco had woken slowly. Like a diver surfacing, his head had broken through the waves and the light had penetrated painfully. He closed his eyes again and perceived strange surroundings, noises; a quiet conversation in technical jargon, and the sound of wheels, no, a trolley. The stiff white sheets reflected the light as he opened his eyes again. His mouth was dry, and he felt incredibly tired. There was a rhythmic pumping noise and a continuous beep- beep. A hand touched his forehead and then his wrist was held in a professional manner. A young woman’s face loomed into view, and observed him dispassionately. She moved out of his visual field. He couldn’t turn his head so he closed his eyes again. Then he heard rapid footsteps approaching and a man’s voice said, “I see you are awake. Good. Excellent.”
Marco looked at him, and saw that a man of about forty, clean-shaven and with dark curly hair was smiling at him. Marco realised he was a doctor.
“You are in hospital. You’ve had an accident. Keep still and don’t try to move. You have several fractures, so you are more or less immobilised anyway. There is a drip going into your right arm, so keep that in mind. The other arm is in plaster. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You are young, and the young heal fast.”
Marco looked at him blankly, he felt the stethoscope move on his chest and then the sheets were readjusted.
“You are on a respirator, but I think we can take you off it now. If you understand please blink twice.” Marco did so. “Good. We’ll have you off it in no time.”
Half an hour later, freed from the respirator, and after a sip or two of water through a straw, Marco managed to speak.
“Who did it?” he whispered.
“Oh you mean, who ran you over. It was a hit and run, I’m afraid.”
“My parents?”
“They’re not here. We sent them home. Hospital rules. I’ll phone them now, they’ll be delighted to know you have regained consciousness.” Marco closed his eyes and went to sleep again.
“Marco, Marco, are you awake?” It was his mother’s voice. As soon as he heard it, a tear rolled down his cheek.
“Marco mio, don’t cry. You’ll be alright. I went to Padre Pio for you and he has saved you. It’s a miracle. You must rest, and get well. Don’t talk if it tires you.”
He looked at her kind, plump face and tired eyes. She smiled encouragingly at him. Love shone from her face. It beamed down on him, this tremendous, weighty love that suffocated him, and bound him to her. Somehow it felt surprisingly safe and reassuring. More tears rolled from his eyes. She mopped them with a handkerchief.
“Mamma…” He didn’t know what to say to her.
“There, there, you will be alright. I’ll leave you now, as your father is coming in to see you.”
His father! Lately they had hardly spoken. His father’s looks had been hard to bear, and his own guilt was so awful to him that he had avoided his father as much as possible. He felt sure his father knew about the drugs, knew that he was somehow involved in Ettore’s death, and perhaps even thought he had killed him. He closed his eyes again. He could feel more tears bursting through his closed eyelids.
He heard his father’s voice. “Marco, why are you crying? You have nothing to cry about. You are going to get well. Everything will be alright. We are here. We will help you in every way.”
He looked at his father and said, “Babbo, help me.”
His father looked down at his son’s bare arm. A plastic tube emerged from a vein on the wrist, and was connected to a drip, but further up, the arm bore the marks of other, earlier, needle tracks. He patted the boy’s hand.
“Marco, you have been through a bad patch, but now as your body heals, so will your spirit.”
“I must speak to the police.” His voice was merely a croak.
“The police! What about?”
“I must tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“I know who killed Ettore.”
“Then, of course you must. I’ll speak to the doctor about it. Rest now. You mustn’t tire yourself.”
Di Girolamo emerged from the interview room. He felt very pleased with himself and with the events of the day. It was funny how a case would drag on and almost peter out, with no new avenues for exploration, and then a chance event would send you a multitude of information, and give you the solution, lay it in your lap. Salvatore had been a godsend. He had been at the Villa Rosa the night that Ettore was killed, and his testimony was, to say the least, extremely important. To avoid a charge of homicide, he had offered up Nigel on a plate. Of course he could be lying. He could have done it himself, and be offering Nigel up as a sacrificial lamb. Di Girolamo knew that his forthcoming interview with Nigel would be of paramount importance, and he would have to play a very careful hand.
“Telephone sir. It’s the hospital at Pisa.”
“Yes, Di Girolamo here. Yes I see. Excellent! Did he say anything else? Is he up to it? Right, I’ll either come myself or send someone as soon as possible. Yes I understand, a very brief interview.” Decidedly an abundance today!
He thought briefly, then picked up the phone again. “Di Girolamo here, from the Province of Lucca. I am the P.M in charge of a murder case in the Comune of Borgo San Cristoforo. Yes, that’s the one. I’m phoning because I have an important witness in hospital in Pisa. He’s been in a coma and only just come round, so he’s pretty weak. I want someone tactful and quiet to take a statement from the boy, in the hospital. Yes, The main h
ospital. He’s on the brain surgery ward. The name is Marco Rossi. Now your man is to speak to the doctor in charge and find out how long he can stay. This boy’s testimony is vital. He will give me a name. Yes, he can give a complete statement when he’s stronger. Phone as soon as you have it. Of course I want it taped! Thank-you:”
Among other things, Salvatore had shopped his partner in crime so Di Girolamo had passed all that information on to the Maresciallo. Perhaps Miriam would get her computer back sooner than she thought.
Amanda had changed into a two-piece costume and carrying a large towel she went back out into the garden. She pulled a sun-bed into a good position and began to lay her towel on it.
“Amanda! Amanda!” It was Robin “Come on down for a swim. The pool is fine, it’s been exorcised, I promise.” Amanda hesitated and then walked down to the end of the garden, climbed over the strand of wire and joined Robin at the poolside. She stood over Robin and looked at her opulent bust, her flat muscular stomach and long slim legs. “Not bad eh?” said Robin. “I don’t tell everyone, but I’m 45.”
“You look great. Do you exercise a lot?”
“Well, a fair amount, I don’t want to get flabby.”
“You look very strong. Do you do body-building?”
“You guessed. Yes, I do. I’m not fanatical, but I feel that at my age I should really make the effort. I’m a member of the Sant’ Andrea Health and Beauty Centre. You should try it. I pay a monthly sum and can go as often as I like. It’s got a well-equipped gym. They’ve got the full works there. There’s also a sauna. Let me tell you, it does wonders for you.”
“Well there’s not many women of your age could wear a costume like that.”
“Oh, that’s just for sunbathing, I don’t go out in public like this.”
“What about Nigel. Is he a member too?”
“Nigel! Good God no. He stays in the shade and the only exercise he gets is the swimming, unless you count raising a glass to his lips.” She laughed.
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 19