“I’ll send you someone at about a quarter past nine.”
“Fine. I'll see you later. It’s good to be working with you again.”
“Well it's certainly a lot sooner than either of us anticipated. I thought you were due for some time off.”
“I was, but as I know the terrain, they decided I'd better do it. The sooner it's over, the sooner I can go holiday.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Mario Bonanima was sitting in Miriam Greene’s sitting room. A small cup of black coffee was set before him by her plump, be-jewelled hand. Her bracelets clanked as she passed him the silver sugar bowl. She was sitting in a huge armchair, wearing a dark blue Kaftan, a gold choker at her throat, small golden studs in her ears and, incongruously, bright scarlet lipstick. Her plump face, ill suited to grief, in repose seemed almost to deflate, the folds of benevolent flesh, emptied and slack.
Mario sighed. “I don’t know what to do Miriam. I’ve given everyone a day off as it seemed the right thing to do, but by tomorrow I have to have sorted something out.”
“I think you’ll have to ask Cosimo to do something. He’s quite capable. Besides we need only limp on for another ten days. For next year, we can start thinking afresh.”
“Yesterday, Ambra took some classes; maybe she’ll feel up to carrying on with them.”
“It’ll be better for them to have something to do, or they’ll all be at each other's throats, shut up in the house together, and they can at least console themselves by saying, it’s what she would have wanted.”
“Oh, I think that’s quite true, Diana told me she thought Cosimo would be a great musical director, bring new ideas and new people, giving the whole thing a lift.”
“Well, you’d better go and see him. You know, this whole thing is a bloody nightmare. Who could have done such a terrible thing? They haven’t said exactly what happened, but I spoke to Ambra last night on the phone, and she told me her mother had been savagely murdered. Savagely! What a dreadful word. So barbaric, there must be a madman on the loose.”
The phone rang. Miriam picked it up and said “Pronto”, then “Who? Oh I see. One moment.” She whispered “It’s that bloody Giorgio, he wants to talk to you.”
“Pass him over. Giorgio? Mario here.” He listened in silence for a while. “Yes, well I don’t know, I would have to ask the committee. Of course it’s very kind of you, especially after what happened. It’s not my decision you know that. What! Well, I’ll get them together this afternoon. Yes, terrible. God knows, we all loved her. It seems impossible. Well, fine, I’ll call you this evening. Where will I find you? Oh, still here! I thought you’d already packed your bags and gone. I see. Ciao.” He put the phone back into her hand and asked,
“Did you get the gist of that?”
“Don’t tell me. The noble little man, will withdraw his resignation, step into the breach, and save the school, in an entirely altruistic manner, no doubt with a big splash in the papers.”
“Yes, that’s about it. We’ll have to call an emergency meeting, elect a president, and vote on this.”
“We can’t elect a president; the others can’t possibly make it down here in time. We’ll have to have an acting president. I’m the vice president, so it’ll have to be me.”
“The simplest thing would be for him just to withdraw his resignation, and everyone to appear wreathed in smiles, or considering the situation, looking suitably serious, and say there had been a small misunderstanding, but in view of this tragic event, the whole situation has been smoothed over.”
“As vice president, I will have to accept the withdrawal of his resignation. That will be lots of fun for both of us. Oh Mario, you don't think he did Diana in just to get his job back, do you?"
“Be serious, Miriam.”
“Well, it was just a thought. Anyway, let’s talk to Cosimo and Ambra before we decide what to do. I know, let’s go there now.”
“It’s only nine o’clock!”
“All the better, they’ll still be in the house.” She pressed a button on her chair, which obligingly lifted her to standing position, with the minimum amount of effort on her part. “I’m going to the loo, you go and call Enrico, tell him to bring the car round in five minutes time”.
“We can go in mine.”
“A mini! You got to be joking! My dear, I’d never get in it, and if I did, by God, you’d never get me out again. No, my car and Enrico, who gets me out very expertly. I was lucky to find him. You heard about the last one I suppose?”*
“The burglar?”
“Yes, well this one is only a temp. But I 'm hoping to persuade him to stay on.”
A few minutes later they were driving along the main street, to get to the other end of town. There was a street market for the feast-day, honouring a local saint, and the market stalls, crammed with assorted goods, snuggled along the curving streets, colouring the town. On the bridge, an enormous quantity of watermelons spilled along the pavement. Prospective buyers hopefully tapped them, as this acoustic method was considered the most reliable way of judging their ripeness. Great sacks of purple onions and plaits of garlic were heaped in inviting piles. Crates of melons perfumed the air.
The streets were fairly busy, as most people liked to shop before it got too hot. Struggling home with heavy shopping bags, usually up pretty steep hills, wasn’t much fun when the temperature was well over thirty degrees. Some waved a salute to Miriam, who responded with a regal nod and tiny hand movement.
They turned to the right, and started up the hill road which led out of town, passing houses that were more distanced now. Housewives were hanging out washing, or pushing prams for baby’s compulsory hours of daily fresh air, before it got too hot, while old men were sitting on benches under the umbrella of protective foliage. The road was tree-lined, and cool. Cats sat in doorways and watched them pass by, staring unblinkingly at the car; dogs barked at passers-by and at each other, racing along the perimeter of their gardens, doing their morning’s patrol with vigour. By lunch time, they would all be lying in a stupor in some shady spot, some even digging under the bushes to make a cool, earthy hollow for their afternoon rest. A Moroccan, his bag of goods open beside him, knelt before a rather large, elderly lady, who was holding the edge of her front door almost closed, to prevent him from seeing the riches within. He was stretching a gigantic pair of knickers before her dubious eyes, so that she could see for herself, just how splendidly the elastic would accommodate even the largest of abdomens.
They drove in through the main gates of the Villa dei Fiori, and drew up in front of the double staircase. Enrico came round and almost effortlessly, helped Miriam emerge from the car. Mario joined them, and with one each side of her, she mounted the steep, stone steps. They entered the front door, which was open. Sunlight was streaming in and illuminating half the length of the corridor. Ambra came out of the kitchen to greet them.
“Miriam! What are you doing here at this time of day?”
“Well, that’s a fine greeting my dear. Come and hug me, you poor child.” Ambra did and was clasped to the vast bosom for a moment, then pushed back, so that Miriam could look at her. She scrutinised her face. “You look bloody awful. Did you sleep?”
“Not much.”
“Hmm. I thought so. Where are the others?”
“Emily’s still in bed, they had to sedate her. Chiara’s in hospital with concussion, Angelo disappeared four days ago, The girls are at their grandparent’s house, Orlando is in the kitchen, and Cosimo went out for a walk early, but I think he’s in the grounds somewhere. Arturo has gone to the chemist, and that’s all of us, except Francesca and Zoë of course, they’re downstairs.” She looked at Miriam’s concerned and very kindly face, and began to cry.
“Come along, let’s go into the kitchen, Mario is with me, we need to talk to you, and to Cosimo, when he gets back. Make me a coffee. I’ve already had two, but who cares.”
She peered round the kitchen, and said, “Orlando. Get me a c
hair that will bear my weight, there’s a good boy.”
He looked up from his paper and cried,” Miriam! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Darlings, you two really are very monotonous. I’m here, now get me a chair and stop asking why. I’m visiting a house of mourning.”
“Funny time to do it.”
“Olly, please don’t be jolly, I can’t stand it,” moaned Ambra.
“Sorry.” He left and went to get the mammoth chair from the dining room.
“Mario, tell Enrico to go and have breakfast and then come back and wait for me, because I don’t know how long I’ll be here.” She settled her vast behind in the chair, and asked, “Well, where's my coffee? Don't just stand there like a bunch of cretins. We need to talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At 9.30 they heard a car arriving, and Orlando looked out of the window, “It’s the fuzz. Head for cover”
“So early!” cried Ambra.
She went out to meet them, and a few minutes later came back into the kitchen, saying, “I’ve put them in mother’s study again. It’s a plainclothes man; he said he’s in charge of the case. His name is Dr. Ruggero di Girolamo. Anyway, he wants to interview the staff, so I’ll pop along and tell them. I told him that Dora Bianchi won’t be here till about ten this morning,”
“Di Girolamo! I know him!” cried Miriam. ”He’s absolutely divine. Just the man for the job. I think I’ll go along and see him myself, before you call the others.”
“Miriam, this isn’t a social occasion. He’s on the job,” said Orlando
“Well, I knew the victim very well, and I know you lot too. My God. I’ve known you all since you were born.”
“Well I’m sure he doesn’t want to know what dear little children we were.”
“I’m not going to tell him that. How could I? You were a horde of little savages. No, I want to fill him in with some background stuff.”
She had been manoeuvring forwards in her chair and now said, “Give me your arm, and help me out of this thing.” He did, and once righted, she waddled off, on her way to the study.
At his “Avanti," she sailed into the room, a galleon in full sail, arms raised in welcome, “Ruggero, my dear man. When I knew it was you, I just had to come along. Diana was a great friend of mine, and I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you are in charge.”
He sat mesmerised by the approaching vessel, and then rose hurriedly to his feet. “Signora Greene, what a surprise. Please sit down.”
“Please call me Miriam. You make me feel old.”
As she was all of seventy, he stifled a smile. He came round the desk, found a suitable chair and assisted her into it. He had met Miriam the previous month, when he had come to Borgo San Cristoforo on the Ettore Fagiolo case. She was the elderly widow of a wealthy Italian lawyer. Of Italian extract herself, she had always lived in this country, after her marriage, first in Rome and then here, in her husband’s family home. She wrote romantic novels and had a vast following. Her books were translated into ten languages. It was when her house had been burgled that Di Girolamo had first come into contact with her. She was also a friend of the woman he had fallen in love with.
Miriam settled her girth comfortably into the chair and said, “I thought you might like some background. I have known the family for over thirty years, and I am vice president of the school; Diana was president. So I know all the ins and outs, so to speak.”
“Tell me all. No, come to think of it, don’t, just tell me about the rapport between Diana and her children, as much as you know.”
Miriam leant back, and prepared herself for a lengthy tale.
“As you know, there are seven children; Diana was a practising Catholic, a convert, and I’m sure that you know that they're always far more strict, so she wasn’t into birth control. Anyway, they all live here in this house. Of course it’s an anachronism. No one lives like this anymore. My dear, it’s like before the war in England. Oh, they don’t have live-in servants, but it’s very much ‘the big house’ and the ‘Lady of the Manor’ sort of thing. Perhaps it’s being here in Italy that has made it possible to carry on with this way of life. I don’t know, but Diana was the essence of the English woman abroad. They always had tea together, and the Georgian silver teapot was always in evidence. You know what I mean. The children always speak English at meals, it’s a house rule, but they are all bilingual of course.
Emily is the eldest, she’s thirty-five, and is married to Arturo Esposito. They have two girls; Harriet who is twelve, and Annabel who is eleven. He, Arturo, is a bit of a dead loss, and is a sort of glorified rep, for kitchen appliances. He’s away three, or four, days a week. I’m sorry to say, he’s a dreadful weed. Diana wasn’t very fond of him, and I think they must have had a falling out, as he was conspicuously absent at the dinner party here on Friday evening, and I know he was supposed to be doing the barbecue with Orlando.
Emily, is, I mean was, her mother’s dog cum serving wench. It was pretty disgusting really, but I suppose it suited them both. Unfortunately, she always used to try and ingratiate herself at the expense of the others, who aren’t awfully fond of her, as you can imagine. Diana was quite disgraceful; she just used her. She took advantage of her, but then Emily took advantage of her mother too, living off her here, and having all the extras for the girls, tennis, riding, music lessons etc. etc. My dear, Diana spent a fortune on them all. Not that it ever made Emily happy; she’s a whiner, always feels hard done by, and frightened the others are getting more than her. Not very pretty, but despite that, I think she was genuinely fond of Diana. I'm a dreadful gossip aren't I?”
“Yes, but do go on. This is just the sort of information I need.”
“Well the next, in chronological order, is Francesca. I think she’s thirty-four. Now, I’ll say straight off, that I am very fond of Francesca, and her divinely beautiful daughter, Zoë, who is eleven, the same age as Harriet. Well, Francesca married Federico di Luca, the lawyer, you must have heard of him; he’s quite famous.”
Di Girolamo nodded.
“To continue; he, the husband, was an only child, very career oriented, and spoilt. I don’t think he ever really thought about others. No, he’s number one and all the other numbers too. Of course he was divinely handsome, and rich as well. You know, it was a ‘fairytale come true’ sort of thing. What a fantastic wedding! Well, after the marriage, he neglected her shamefully, and he’s never really bothered much about poor little Zoë. If she'd been a boy it would have been different, I suspect. He had affairs, Francesca began to drink, and Diana was hopeless. I know she told the girl, that her own father had always had other women, that it meant nothing, and that she should ignore it. Diana fought tooth and nail to make Francesca stay in that marriage, and I really think that’s what made things worse for her. Anyway, as you can imagine, Francesca and Federico parted, and not very amicably, and Diana kept rubbing salt in the wound, telling her that it was her own fault the marriage had failed, and giving her no sympathy whatsoever. In the end, she let her live downstairs, like a poor relative. The child felt it awfully and those two little beasts of Emily’s made it worse. It was as though they were first class grandchildren, and she was second class. Do you know Diana even had the thoughtlessness to tell me she couldn’t really relate to Zoë. If you don’t give anything to child, you get nothing back, but I’m afraid Diana just couldn’t see it. There were frequent arguments. I said that I like Francesca, and I do. I expect the others will tell she’s an alcoholic, and she may well be, but there is something real about her. She says truthful things, hurtful things. She alienates others, but I like her. I feel she will come out of it all, and be alright.” She shot an inquisitive look at Di Girolamo. “By the way is this useful to you. Is it the sort of thing you want to hear?”
“It’s perfect Miriam. Carry on.”
“The next one, in chronological order, is Orlando; they all call him Olly, and he’s thirty-two. He’d love to be a real jet setter, but hi
s mother wouldn’t allow such extravagance. Also, she wanted him here, like all the others, where she could see what he was doing. He has bright ideas, all designed to make money, but they always fail, and Diana pays up. That’s the story of his life. He’s good-looking, charming, well mannered and attractive. Everybody likes him. He is ‘all things to all men,’ and worst of all he is lazy, in the real sense of the word, mentally lazy. He takes his pleasure, but is too lazy to think ahead to the consequences of his actions, and someone else pays for it. He’s never seems to finish things, and he can’t be bothered to use his mind, which I can assure is more than normally capable of reasoning. I’m fond of the boy, he’s charming, but he’s a wastrel.”
“You use old fashioned words, Miriam, but I get the picture very clearly. Next on your list, are the twins?”
“No, Cosimo comes next. He is nearly twenty. He is brilliant. Strangely he looks exactly like his father; it’s uncanny, and he seems to have inherited his talent as well. He’ll go far, and he has the backing. Diana has spent a fortune on him, but it was worth it. He could be great; I mean one of the great concert pianists. He is composing, as well. As you cam imagine, Diana was besotted with him, but it was more than the normal love for your child. I think it was the similarity with Pier Francesco that made her love him so much. She doted on him”
“And he? Did he dote on her?”
“My dear, how can I tell?” They seemed very close. They were together a lot. She always accompanied him to international competitions, and what have you. He is a young man, and I’ve often thought a rather lonely one. Don’t smile. It is possible to be lonely in a large family. He seems to have very little life outside the music room, and the concert hall. These days, youths of his age have already had a fair experience of life, but not Cosimo, he has an untouched look. I was surprised, when she said he had gone away for a few days. He’s never done that before. She looked put out, but she told me nothing. Diana was like that. Sometimes you would hear more than you wanted to hear, as with Francesca, other times, nothing at all.”
The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Page 37