All the Rage

by Spencer Coleman

  Soon, they were joined by others, mainly tourists, meeting for drinks. It was an idyllic scene, a crowded bar surrounded by pink encrusted buildings, faded green shutters, freshly washed sheets crisscrossing on wire between the narrow buildings, and a shimmering light that sparkled and danced on the canal water.

  Michael ordered a glass of fine house champagne and gelato al forna. He knew it would do the job of catching her attention. When the waiter returned with his order, the girl at the next table raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I like your style,’ she said admiringly. Her startling green eyes flashed in the sunlight. Although she had heard his voice when ordering, she asked politely, ‘Are you English? ’

  Michael raised his glass in courteous acknowledgement.

  ‘Beautiful day, beautiful view,’ he said appreciatively, catching her attention still further with his disarming remark.

  She smiled and remained silent, though she seemed to be amused by the banter.

  Michael was the first to speak again.

  ‘I believe the notorious Casanova used to visit this establishment.’

  She closed her magazine. ‘He did,’ she concurred, ‘not only that, there is a secret door inside the building from where he would plan his escape, if the situation demanded it. I suspect he used it many times. ’

  He devoured his dessert and laughed at her last comment.

  ‘Are you an historical student? ’ he asked.

  ‘I was born in Venice, and so I’m well versed in the great traditions of the city. ’

  ‘A truly wonderful heritage,’ he agreed. ‘Think of the great poets, musicians and artists who made this their home or place of rest. Byron, Wagner, Proust. The list is endless. ’

  ‘You’re well informed. Are you here on business? ’

  ‘Yes. ’

  ‘And how long are you staying for? ’

  ‘Two days. Perhaps three…it depends upon what distracts me. ’

  The girl stood, caught his mischievous remark, and shook his hand warmly. ‘Have a delightful few days. It was very nice to meet you. ’

  Michael also stood. ‘My pleasure. ’

  He remained hawkeyed as she slowly disappeared over the bridge and out of sight. A strong feeling of elation erupted in him. Bull’s eye: the first contact with Antonia. It went exactly as he had hoped. The next day he would return at 4pm to this exact spot.

  ***

  Kara was shattered. The anonymous document addressed to Michael continued to unsettle her deeply. It simply wouldn’t evaporate from her thoughts. It crushed her spirit. On the flip side, he seemed unperturbed. Now he was in Venice, pursuing a mad notion of finding someone who could, in fact, be anywhere in the entire world. What was her boss playing at? It was beginning to drive her crazy, trying to work out his motives.

  This brought her neatly to another madman, Marcus; and their helter- skelter relationship that somehow survived in spite of itself. He was an absolute adorable lunatic. She couldn’t wait to see him. Luckily, the headache was slowly diminishing and he was on his way over to her flat.

  Dealing with men was so bloody hard. Coming off the phone from a conversation with Michael, in which he badly explained his odd logic in visiting Venice, she was at the point of exhaustion. How on earth was she going to explain to him the bizarre action of Adele stealing files? It smacked of James Bond. At every turn, a seemingly calculated set of unexplainable circumstances was conspiring against her, and what sheperceived as normal life. She longed for normality. What was going on?

  Thankfully, Marcus, adorable Marcus, was in forgiving mood. Men did have their uses, she concluded. He came over and cooked a comforting meal and listened to her tale of woe. He had the patience of a saint. Kara considered the two men in her life. One soothed her; the other drove her to distraction. Thinking about it, she didn’t know which description fitted which man, such was her confusion.

  When she and Marcus eventually went to bed, Ronald’s earlier assumption was proved wrong. She collapsed into an instant deep sleep. All night: her dreams undisturbed by her boyfriend.

  ***

  Much earlier, Michael had finished his champagne and followed Antonia at a discreet distance. She walked briskly through the back alleys, stopping once to buy long-stemmed magenta flowers from a florist. Over the Rialto Bridge, she made her way along the Salizzada S Giovanni Crisostomo until she came to a halt in front of an undistinguished weathered wooden door, next to a wine merchant’s shop. He watched as she vanished inside. On entering a few moments later, he could just make out the sound of a child’s laughter from somewhere high above the spiral staircase. He then retreated quietly.

  Within minutes, he walked to a small unpretentious trattoria by way of a bridge over the narrow canal, and ordered a light snack and a glass of local red wine. From here, he had a vantage point virtually opposite to the apartment where Antonia lived. He had phoned Kara earlier, and his recollection of their rather stilted chat was not good. He consoled himself with a refill of wine. He began to worry that she was not coping. More wine was required, that would do the job of quelling his anxiety. Eventually, he grew fatigued. It was nearly ten o’clock. There had been no comings-and-goings from the building opposite. He was deadbeat. In the morning, he would rise early and return.

  ***

  Breakfast heralded the dawn. He felt refreshed and invigorated, especially sitting atop the Danieli Hotel on the grand rooftop terrace overlooking the majestic sweep of the lagoon far below. A thin haze descended, bathing the city and its colourful inhabitants in a rich golden glow. Shielding his eyes from the glare, he marvelled at the imposing dome of St. George, opposite his perfect panoramic viewpoint. Below, the first gondolas of the day set forth on the shimmering water.

  According to Agnes, the girl known as Antonia left her home each morning at 8. 15am for the short stroll to a pier and then the water ride on the Vaporetto. Sure enough, on his return to the apartment building, he watched as she came into view accompanied by a young child and elderly woman. They all hugged and blew kisses, until, reluctantly, the younger woman broke free from the embrace and made her way down the cobbled street.

  Michael followed.

  ***

  When Kara awoke, Marcus was gone. This was unusual considering his normal lazy morning ritual of sleeping in until lunchtime. No note either. Not even a whisper of undying love. She would catch him later. Boy, was he in trouble.

  Feeling so much better, she bathed quickly, dressed, and ate a bowl of mixed fruit, washed down by iced water. She was ready for the day. So much so, she took a taxi to work, arriving before the ever punctual Ronald. One thing she was sure of, nobody was going to mess with her today.

  Then her heart sank. On entering the gallery, her eyes affixed upon a brown padded envelope on the floor. It was addressed to Michael Strange. There was no trace of a postmark.

  ***

  Michael listened with increasing anxiety to the hysterical and incoherent rant.

  ‘Kara, calm down, calm down,’ he pleaded.

  She was having none of it. ‘Michael, you – we – are being harassed! Stalked, for God’s sake! Aren’t you frightened? ’

  ‘Yes, of course I am. ’ He tried to picture her, sobbing on the other end of the phone. ‘Listen to me. What does the envelope contain? ’

  ‘You want me to open it? ’

  ‘Yes, now. ’

  ‘Are you sure? ’

  ‘Do it, Kara. ’

  He waited for what seemed an eternity. ‘Well? ’

  ‘It’s a DVD. ’

  ‘Okay, okay. At least it’s not a bomb. ’ Instantly, he regretted the flippant comment.

  ‘Michael…Jesus, that’s not funny! ’

  ‘Right. ’ He tried to keep control of the situation. ‘Open the gallery as normal. When Ronald come
s in, go to my office, close the door and watch the DVD. Then ring me back. ’

  He didn’t give her chance to protest. He clicked his mobile phone off.

  ***

  Kara didn’t normally bite her fingernails. Nor did she drink scotch so early in the morning. Fuck it. Alone in his office, she did what she was instructed to do, except for the additional support of the alcohol. Slowly, she inserted the DVD into the TV box, pressed play, sat back and felt physically sick in the stomach. The grainy images came into focus.

  The screen showed a media reporting shoot for RTE Television. The text headline read: DUBLIN, 6 O’CLOCK NEWS. OUTSIDE ON THE STEPS OF THE HIGH COURT: MONDAY 23rd FEBRUARY, 1979. VERDICT ANNOUNCED.

  The immediate picture was of two women on the steps, surrounded by a bank of cameramen, all jostling for position. Camera bulbs flashed. One of the women, on the left, held a microphone. She was talking directly to the TV screen.

  ‘This is reporter Ann O’Brien speaking to Head Teacher, Brenda Connor, who attended the last day of this explosive criminal trial case. Miss Connor (turning towards her), I believe you knew all the members of the family involved. What can you tell us about this final outcome? ’

  Above the din, the other woman replied loudly.

  ‘I am deeply shocked by the revelations and fresh evidence which came out during the long trial. Frankly, my colleagues and I are outraged. It is a dreadful indictment that we, as a society, are so unaware of what really goes on behind closed doors. My heart goes out to anyone who is subjected to habitual physical abuse. It amounts to torture in your own home. We are all victims in cases like this. People, particularly young and vulnerable teenagers, should be protected. ’

  ‘A guilty verdict. Are you surprised? ’

  ‘Yes. Yes I am. I’m appalled, quite frankly. ’

  ‘I believe you in fact taught the assailant. ’

  ‘Yes. ’

  ‘Were there any signs of violence that you became suspicious of, given the fearful testimonies described over the past few days? Any comment? ’

  The woman took a deep breath. ‘She was a model pupil, diligent, caring and hard working. I taught her for three years and knew her family very well. Well, not well enough. At no time did I or my colleagues suspect anything. It has all come as a great shock to everyone. I really need to go now. ’

  ‘One final question. Do you have any compassion for the killer given the tragic circumstances that surrounded this case? ’

  ‘Absolutely. Many lives have been shattered. But this was a young girl, just twelve years of age, driven to murder in the most harrowing of situations. How would any of us react if we were put in the same position in which she found herself? I believe most strongly that she is the real victim. ’

  ‘Thank you. ’ Further jostling, and questions being thrown from off screen. ‘This is Ann O’Brien, reporting on the steps of the courthouse, where today a verdict of guilty was pronounced, to the shocked gasps of a packed gallery. ’

  The screen then went blank.

  Staring at the TV for what seemed like a matter of hours, Kara eventually shook herself into action and phoned Michael on his mobile. She replayed the soundtrack for him to hear.

  ‘Did you understand it? ’ she asked. ‘It’s not the best quality. ’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ he answered. ‘Is there no reference to a name for the killer, or did I miss something? ’

  ‘Michael, I have a gut feeling here. This tape has been doctored. There are gaps in the dialogue. ’

  Michael finished her thought, ‘…Meaning that the name of the killer has been deliberately edited out. ’

  ‘That’s how I see it. ’

  Michael thought hard. ‘Put the DVD in the safe with the newspaper cutting. Don’t let anyone in my office under any circumstances. Only you and I know of their existence. ’

  Kara cut him short. ‘Wrong, actually. ’

  ‘I’ve got your thread, but I have a plan for our reluctant go-between. Have you noticed the CCTV camera opposite the gallery which suddenly sprung up several months ago? ’

  ‘Yeah, to monitor the traffic, right? ’

  ‘Yes. It swivels. Now, we know that the packages have been arriving before opening. If we could arrange for the camera to somehow act on our behalf, and do a little spying…’

  ‘I’m on to it. ’ Kara said. She was pissed off with herself for being so spooked. She was tougher than that. Enough was enough.

  ‘Good girl,’ Michael said encouragingly. ‘In the meantime, act normally. Go about your business as if nothing has happened. ’

  ‘Easy for you to say, being over there. ’

  ‘Stay calm. I will be back tomorrow. ’ Michael sincerely hoped she would follow this instruction.

  ***

  For several hours, and with no particular place to go Michael meandered along the canal paths, zigzagging between the sunlit waterways and pretty squares, but without absorbing the unique beauty that surrounded him. Instead, he retreated into a world of eerie shadows and shapes that clawed at his subconscious.

  At one point, he halted by a metal railing and peered over into the black watery depths below. He craved silence and solitude, but there was to be none. Above his head, a seagull shrieked and swooped, forcing him to take evasive action. From somewhere, a forgotten child cried for attention from an open balcony window. In another direction, soft guitar music reached his ears, but offered little soothing comfort.

  All faded into the background as he closed his mind to the sights and sounds of this wondrous place: a place of poetry and people.

  What mattered now was the inner silence which allowed him to think. This in turn brought him to an inescapable truth: that a murder in 1978 had somehow forged a link with the people of the present day. People he knew. This thought now consumed his every move. The usual suspects. Lauren. Julius. Maggie. Antonia. He almost laughed. This was a dance with a four-headed devil. Just what was the secret they all shared?

  Chapter Ten

  At 4pm, Michael reacquainted himself with the girl from the Cantina Do Spade. She was pleasantly surprised to find him sitting at the same table as the day before. This time, he confidently beckoned for her to join him and share a bottle of vino, which he had presumptuously ordered before her arrival. She was delighted to do so.

  They chatted light-heartedly, caught in the splendour of the early evening sun casting mysterious shapes across the dappled sunny buildings. For him, especially, it was enchanting being opposite this stunning woman, resplendent in a strapless powder blue dress and white sandals. Her honey-coloured skin shone with the vitality of youth. He imagined that she simply enjoyed the unexpected entertainment, an interlude of fun and gaiety. And attention was always a welcome distraction, after all. Although he had some serious questions to ask her, patience was the key. Once on the hook, he had to reel her in very gently.

  ***

  Antonia allowed the Englishman to take centre stage, laughing at the right moment, teasing him when it was appropriate, even consoling him whenever he recounted stories which were self-effacing. She liked him, drawn to his natural charm and warmth of personality. In different circumstances, she could so easily fall for his good manners and strong jaw line. The boyish twinkle in his eye was most certainly appealing.

  In different circumstances. She almost felt cruel in the easy manner in which she controlled him: A crossover of bare-toned slender legs, a sideways glance. A finger to her lips, even. He fell into her hidden charms without a murmur of protest. It was that simple. Her power was overwhelming, if she chose to engage it. She would decline, of course. The rewards of the deception were too great to jeopardise.

  ‘You are laughing at me,’ Michael announced playfully. He had been talking non-stop, caught in the light of her eyes. It had been good entertainment, she had to admit. She g
iggled. Then she stopped.

  It was time for a reality check, mister gallery owner. Sipping white wine, she said casually, ‘We have not swapped names. ’

  His reaction was mock horror. ‘Goodness. I’m so sorry. What is your name? ’

  She dropped her gaze from his. ‘Antonia. ’

  He took her hand and gallantly kissed the back of it.

  ‘How delightful,’ he said. ‘My name is…’

  She raised her hand to halt him in his tracks. ‘…Michael,’ she interrupted. ‘Your name is Michael Strange. ’

  His jaw stiffened. Eyes that had been so attentive were now vacant pools of confusion. ‘But, how did you know? ’ he began in protest, but she spoke over him again.

  ‘I have been expecting you. ’

  ***

  Later, Michael found himself in her apartment. He never quite expected this situation. They were alone. Antonia explained that she had talked earlier with her parents and organised for them to take Manuella to a nearby children’s party, giving them an empty home in which to talk in private and without interruption.

  ‘I have brought you here to see how I live, Michael. To show there is no pretence. My daughter and I live in a one-bed attic room, with small sofa, television and little cooker stove. This allows us our own space if we wish for it. Most days though, we eat in here with my parents. It is not ideal, but reality. ’

  This time, Antonia was different; she stood before him, arms folded, defiant.

  ‘I’m curious,’ Michael said. ‘Who told you to expect me? ’

  ‘That does not concern you, Michael. What does concern you is the respect I deserve and the privacy I now require. My only concern is the welfare of those I love. ’