Broken Chord

by Margaret Moore

  “So you decided to join us.”

  “I can’t stay in the house. It’s oppressive.”

  “Yes, it is, even without your mother.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh come on, Teo, you know damn well. She couldn’t stand me and she let me know it.”

  “You hated her, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t tell me you loved her.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well then. Try to understand how it’s been for me.”

  He looked at her, taking in the plump tanned flesh. He could still see the pretty girl he’d married six years earlier, although her face was marred by the downward lines of dissatisfaction around her mouth.

  “I suppose it hasn’t been easy.”

  “Well, thank you for that. It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been having a hard time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to say that. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

  “I am sorry, actually. I know my mother has been difficult… well, unpleasant. She was never an easy person to be around.”

  “She was a bitch.”

  He looked down at the children who were begging him to join them in the water and nodded.

  “I know. I know exactly what she was, and I can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone. It was just the manner of her going…,” he said and jumped into the water.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The evening meal saw them all gathered together again. The only person missing, other than Ursula, was Guido. What had happened to him no one knew. No one was told anything and no one asked. The policemen had finally gone, leaving them instructions. The next day they would all have to go down to the Procura to make written statements and endure further interrogation. Marianna looked completely serene. She’d arrived by taxi just before the meal and now sat quietly as though nursing some precious secret which gave her pleasure. Teo had decided it was his duty to eat and now did so without appetite or even really noticing what he was putting in his mouth. Isabella was sullenly silent and as usual ate a lot of food very fast.

  Lapo had spent an interesting period on the internet which had only whetted his appetite. He was wondering whether he could actually go out and satisfy himself during the evening. He might not be allowed to leave the country, but a trip to a certain area near Lucca where he could find some truly interesting freaks and transvestites, was surely not entirely out of the question. He ate with gusto, his mind entirely filled with images that would have surely shocked the others if they could have seen them. He smiled as he thought that it was a good thing that mind reading was not one of the faculties yet developed by mankind.

  Piero and Marta ate a sombre meal together in the kitchen. Marta, unable to free her mind of the appalling image of Ursula’s desecrated body, longed to tell Piero, to tell anyone, but stopped herself, feeling that it wasn’t fair to burden anyone else with the knowledge of what had been done. Whenever she had looked at Teo they’d seemed to simultaneously hold their breath as though to assure each other they would keep their secret to themselves.

  Eating was difficult. She’d had no lunch but now she had to force the food down. It seemed to wedge itself in her throat and only went down after overcoming some kind of inner resistance, falling into her empty stomach with what felt like a thud and causing fleeting stabs of pain. After a few forkfuls she gave up all pretence of trying.

  “I can’t eat, Piero.”

  “Try.”

  “I have tried, but it won’t go down. I feel sick.”

  “What about a cup of tea?”

  She got up and put the kettle on. A cup of hot tea with a slice of lemon felt about as much as she could bear to take in. She kept feeling that tears were imminent but she wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to cry, whether it for Ursula and her obviously painful and horrific death, or for herself and her uncertain future.

  ‘How could anyone have done that to Ursula?’ she kept asking herself. She couldn’t understand the ferocity of the attack. There’d been so much blood and that terrible eye… she shuddered and felt a wave of nausea. The whistling of the boiling kettle brought her back to the present. She made the tea and went back to the table with it.

  “I feel as though I’ll never be the same after this.”

  “It’ll take time.”

  “That’s what people always say but how will I ever be able to forget?” She burst into tears.

  Piero put his fork down and asked the question he’d been wanting to ask all day. “Was it very terrible?”

  “Oh Piero, it must have been a madman. The blood… there was so much blood.”

  “She was stabbed?”

  “Knifed, mutilated, cut to ribbons.”

  “My God! I had no idea.”

  “He even gouged her eye out… I’ll never forget the sight of it.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “What!”

  “And poor Teo, he saw it all too. His own mother… the poor boy.” She cried again, deep sobs of pain.

  “Why would anyone do that to her? It doesn’t make sense. He must have been covered in blood. I don’t understand…”

  “Nor do I. Whoever did it was completely mad. He must have hated her. She wasn’t just murdered, she was massacred. It was so terrible.”

  “Who could it have been? I can’t see Guido doing that, can you?”

  “No, but then I can’t think of anyone doing it. How could they, Piero, tell me that?”

  “And yet you know, I’ve been thinking, it had to be someone who knew her. How did they get into the house if they didn’t know it?”

  “Or have a key.”

  They looked at each other and both suddenly felt afraid.

  Jacopo Dragonetti ran up the stairs with two things on his mind: one, most urgent, was a shower and the other was Vanessa. All thoughts of work were far from his mind now.

  Vanessa was in the kitchen making a huge mixed salad of the sort he loved, with just about everything in it. She had her back to him; her long hair was caught up in a pony-tail. He came up behind her, embraced her and kissed her neck.

  “You know, when you’re away, I really miss you,” he murmured in her ear.

  “You always say that.”

  “And you never do.”

  “Silly, of course I miss you but usually I’m very busy.”

  “I’m busy too, in the daytime, but I miss you every evening.”

  “I don’t, because that’s when the shows are on and then there are the parties. I have such fun.”

  “You know you really are a heartless woman.”

  “No I’m not. Look what I’m doing. No sooner do I get back than I immediately become your slave again.”

  “That’s the least you can do to make up for your absence. Actually, perhaps it’s the food I miss more than you. I eat tomatoes and mozzarella every evening. Please tell me we aren’t having mozzarella this evening.”

  “No, we aren’t and I don’t understand what you think you’re doing. I won’t dwell on the fact that you miss food more than me, which is actually most unflattering, but let me ask, since you reckon you’re such a good cook, why you don’t bother to cook yourself something.”

  “I’m too lazy and I enjoy wallowing in misery.”

  She burst out laughing. “You are a crazy man.”

  “I know. I’m going to have a shower. Make sure the food is on the table when I come back. It’s time to restore order to the universe.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Oh, and I’m coming to the concert tonight.”

  “Yes, boss. Get a move on.”

  Guido was so relieved to be back in the hotel that he forgave everyone all the slights and innuendos he’d been on the receiving end of all day. He threw his rumpled linen suit on the bed, ripped off the rest of his clothes and rushed into the shower. Ten minutes later, perfumed and refreshed, he took stock of his situation. No Ur
sula, ergo, no marriage, no easy billet. That was the negative side of things. Freedom from sexual slavery, a healthy antique business and an even healthier bank balance, in part due to Ursula. That was the positive aspect. In fact, he began to feel that things hadn’t turned out so badly after all. Granted it had been a terrible shock when Ursula had told him to get out, but now that his mind was clear of all that, he could see that perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to waste all his time and energy on a woman, a rich woman, an older rich woman, who was going to marry him and leave him money when she died, but at what price? No, better this enforced and unexpected freedom. He lay back on his bed and lit a cigarette, something he’d never done in Ursula’s house. It was a house rule though he doubted that Marianna had ever respected it. Actually, he wasn’t even sure whether he was allowed to smoke in a hotel bedroom, since the law about smoking in public places was being very strictly enforced these days, but he didn’t care. He would even be willing to pay a fine in order to enjoy this cigarette. He blew smoke up towards the ceiling and watched it swirl and dissolve. His life had been many things but at this moment he felt it to be perfect. No regrets and no recriminations. What was over was done with and he was already mentally moving on.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Isn’t anyone going to ask me how Roberto is doing?” Marianna asked in a conversational tone.

  Teo and Lapo looked quite astonished.

  Isabella asked kindly, “How is Roberto?”

  “Thank you, Isabella. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that his bruised kidneys are improving and actually working properly, and that soon he’ll have the first of a series of operations on his left leg. The doctors expect him to walk normally after physiotherapy.”

  “How pleased we all are,” remarked Lapo.

  “Good, because he’s going to be your brother-in-law as soon as he can walk to the town hall, or maybe even before that, so it’s only right that you should be concerned about him.”

  This was greeted with total silence.

  “Isn’t anyone going to congratulate me?”

  “I will,” said Isabella, “although I’m not sure I believe in marriage anymore.”

  “Well, it does depend on the couple but I know it’s the right thing for us, for me. Some people can make it and their marriages last for donkey’s years. Others, like Mamma, romp through a series of partners. And there are those who will never marry,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Like me,” said Lapo. “I think that marriage is an outdated primitive custom. It means nothing in this day and age.”

  “Well, it means something to me and to Roberto.”

  “How charming. I suppose you’re going to live in a little cottage with roses round the door and have two children, first a little boy and then a pretty little girl.” His voice was mocking.

  “No, not at all. I want to live in this house and if you must know, Mamma told me she would leave it to me.”

  “When did she tell you that?”

  “When she inherited it from aunt Agnese. You, Lapo, get the Palazzo in Florence and Teo gets the one in Venice, but this one’s mine.”

  “She told you all this?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you know?”

  “No, I didn’t. I had no idea.” Lapo sounded incredulous. “Well, I suppose I’d never thought about it actually. Mamma looked good for years so why should I think about my inheritance? ”

  “Well, it’s not as if I asked her. She just told me one day. She also told me I get the emeralds.”

  Teo looked annoyed, “I would have thought they’d go to me for the girls.”

  “Well, unless she changed her mind they go to me.”

  “Of course if you murdered her, you forfeit everything,” Lapo pointed out.

  “Thank you, Lapo, I’m well aware of that but I didn’t murder her so I get my inheritance. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine and so is Teo. He can’t have done it, his stomach is too delicate and if Isabella did it without his knowledge, he’ll still be alright. Of course if they were in it together…”

  “Stop!” shouted Teo. “Have you any idea what you’re laughing and joking about. Our mother was brutally knifed over and over again; even her eyes were gouged out. Her hair was hacked off. She was a bloody mess, like something out of a horror film, so shut up.” He put his hand over his mouth and rushed out of the room.

  Isabella pushed back her chair and followed him.

  “Lapo, you go too far,” said Marianna.

  “Well, how was I to know? No one told us the facts.”

  “You shouldn’t joke about death.”

  “Why not? It’s just a change of situation, a shedding of old clothes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Nothing means anything to you, does it?”

  “No, not really.”

  Dragonetti and Vanessa came in late from the concert which had taken place out of doors in a piazza in a hill town near Florence. Listening to Debussy and Ravel, he’d managed to shake off the oppressive von Bachmann family and felt as though he was in another world, perhaps back in the real world. They finished up the evening as he’d hoped. They made love as though they hadn’t seen each other for months.

  “I’m so glad my job means I have to travel so much. The best thing about going away is coming back,” murmured Vanessa. “It’s like a continual honeymoon. Will it always be this good?”

  “I sincerely hope so.”

  But during the night, unpleasant images, a kaleidoscope of the day’s events, came into his mind. The von Bachmann murder transformed into a Greek tragedy set on a stark stage. He heard the discordant notes of Richard Strauss’s music for Elektra. The mutilated body of Ursula von Bachmann played a major part in this dream. It rose from a gaping tomb centre stage, the blue eye staring at him implacably as though he were in some way responsible for her condition. A voice emanated from somewhere within her and although he knew she was speaking to him he couldn’t understand her. The heat was appalling and he could smell her death again. Then he was transported to the stuffy bedroom with its opulent drapes. Her children stood beside him staring down at their mother’s body, lying as he had seen it on the bed. He turned towards them and asked, ‘If this is matricide, which of you did it?’ Tebaldo was pale and trembled, his hands clasped across his belly as he shook his head in answer. Marianna stood remote and silent, like a statue, and gave him the impression his question had seriously offended her, but Lapo laughed and laughed, contorting his misshapen body, until the noise allowed Drago to wrench himself out of the nightmare. At the same moment he became aware that it was Rossini who had woken him by crying softly in his ear. He got out of bed and tried to shake off the horror. The cat followed him mewing plaintively.

  “You can’t be hungry now,” Drago told it, but the cat’s food plate was empty. He poured out some more dried food and watched the kitten set to work cracking the hard pellets between strong little teeth.

  He thought about the mutilated corpse again, asking himself if Marianna’s icy face was that of a murderer or if her twisted beautiful brother had been the one who had plunged a knife into his mother.

  He looked at the clock. It was three in the morning and his eyes were sore. He went into the bathroom, turned on a tap and threw handfuls of cold water into his face. The face that looked at him in the mirror was that of a tired old man. He groaned and dried himself before padding back to the bedroom. Vanessa lay on her back, one arm raised above her head and resting on the pillow. Her hair was spread out all over it. Even in sleep she was beautiful. He bent over and kissed her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered and she murmured something before turning over onto one side. He got into bed and fitted his body against hers. The feel of her skin, warm living flesh, pushed the nightmare from his mind. He held her close to him. Then he plunged back into sleep.

  It was a hard night too, for those who lived in Ursula’s villa. Marta paced the bedroom floor and then went down to the kitchen to make herself a chamomile
tea. She found Isabella was already there on a similar errand.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Marta.

  “For what. Neither of us can sleep, so here we are. We might as well keep each other company.” They sat down and sipped their tea together.

  “Lapo has gone out,” said Isabella in an accusatory tone.

  “Poor boy. We all cope as best we can when tragedy strikes. That’s his way of dealing with pain.”

  Isabella made no further comment, but her own feeling was that he didn’t give a damn.

  *

  Marianna sat in her bedroom watching television for a while, then after a shower she got into bed and allowed herself to daydream. She was like Lapo to some extent. She wasn’t going to allow her mother’s death to mess up her life. The only difference was that she thought he didn’t even have to try, but she did. It took a great deal of effort for her to put it out of her mind, especially after what Teo had said, but her dreams of a life with Roberto were so satisfying that she slipped into sleep, unaware of the transition, for she carried on dreaming her dreams in her sleep.

  Lapo cruised the streets until he found what he was looking for: a young woman who was very beautiful and perfect in every way, apart from her sex, for she was a man. Recently Lapo had taken a great liking to these strange creatures, who were neither one thing nor the other, but had the attributes of both. It was like masturbating to put your hand up a woman’s dress and feel her cock.

  No thoughts of his mother’s death perturbed him. It was as though nothing had happened. He gave himself up to pleasure, only coming home at four in the morning, as usual. Marta heard him come in and breathed a sigh of relief. Her boy was home. That was all that mattered.

  Piero, too, had a disturbed night. The murder weighed heavily on his mind. He was tortured with images of Ursula’s body as described by his wife. He saw a hand thrusting a knife over and over again, and then wielding it to mutilate and profane her dead body. He groaned in his sleep and kept resurfacing, only to plunge even further down into horror. He became aware that Marta had left the bed and he heard her when she returned, but during her absence he was in the chamber of death. He heard Lapo come in and was aware that Marta was awake too and knew that she had been waiting for Lapo’s return before finally allowing herself to sleep. At five thirty when dawn was breaking, he finally abandoned all hopes of sleeping and got up. He sat in the kitchen alone and watched the day dawn and remembered things he would rather forget.