When the boat pulled up to the Fondamenta Nuove, he offered one final piece of advice: “Don’t do anything rash.”
19
BENEDETTA Razzi lived only a short distance from where the police launch had left him but first he went to a café and had several tramezzini and a glass of wine. From the phone in the corner he called the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini.
“She came back with her friends an hour ago, Signor Macintyre, but then they went out again right away. Milo took them to the Giudecca to Signora Borelli’s. The Signora called after the Contessa left this morning. She sounded very upset. The Contessa said that you might go there too if you could.”
Urbino could imagine what the problem was at the Ca’ Borelli. Oriana and Filippo had a tempestuous relationship filled with extramarital affairs, separations, and passionate reconciliations, all conducted with operatic excess and, if possible, with a large audience. It therefore wasn’t unusual to have the Bellorinis, Adele Carstairs, and Christian Kobke accompanying the Contessa to the Giudecca for the latest crisis in their lives.
He left no message for her except to say he would call again.
He went to a small gift shop near San Zanipolo with a good selection of contemporary glass. The shutters were partway down. Although it was almost an hour before the shop usually reopened, he knocked insistently on the shutter. He frequented the shop, having bought numerous Christmas gifts for his aunts back in New Orleans. The owner and his wife, well into their seventies, usually took their midday meal and siesta in the back room. The shutter was raised slowly and the husband looked out with a frown, blinking rapidly at the brighter light.
“Cbiuso.” Then, seeing who it was, the frown was replaced with puzzlement. “It’s you, Signor Macintyre. But we’re still closed as you see.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Signor Falco”—he smiled apologetically at the portly man and his wife, who was now peeking through the curtain that shut off the back room from the shop—“but it’s something of an emergency.”
He went inside to the window display and took a small glass swan from the shelf.
“I’ll take this. There’s no need to wrap it,” he said, putting it in his pocket. He took out a twenty-thousand lira note and handed it to Falco. He apologized again for having disturbed them and started to leave.
“But a whole famiglia is only ten thousand, Signor Macintyre.”
His wife nudged her husband aside as she went up to the window.
“How very nice two or three famiglie would be for your Palazzo Uccello, Signor Macintyre. Would you like to look at our other ucctllini? We have ducks, flamingos, chickens, peacocks, and owls. They’re all made over on Murano. We have nothing from those Chinese countries here in the shop.”
“No, thank you, Signora Falco, this is all I need.”
20
BENEDETTA Razzi didn’t seem surprised to see him when she opened the door of her apartment fifteen minutes later.
“You see I didn’t come empty-handed this time,” he said when she led him into the parlor. A small white porcelain face with slanted eyes, black hair, and an elaborate headdress peered at him from the pocket of her robe.
“How lovely! I adore swans. Such graceful feminine creatures, don’t you agree?” He followed her as she brought it over to the oval table. “I’ll put it right next to their other little animals. It’s their first swan.”
Urbino looked down at the collection, wondering how many of the objects were from recent visitors.
“But you didn’t come by just to make my sweethearts a little gift, did you?”
It was more a statement than a question.
“I hoped it could be something nicer,” he said evasively. “Unfortunately I couldn’t find exactly what I wanted.”
“What was that?”
“A lovebird.”
“A lovebird?” A flush began to show beneath her heavy makeup before she turned away to rearrange some dolls on a nearby shelf. “But swans are romantic too. I saw a ballet many years ago in Milan. It was about swans and was very romantic.”
As she continued to handle the dolls on the shelf, Urbino picked up and examined a glass elephant, one of the porcelain masks, and a chess-piece knight. Benedetta Razzi was looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Your dolls have many admirers. So many interesting things here. Who was kind enough to give them this?”
He held up the miniature candelabra.
She finished with the dolls before answering with an uncharacteristic coolness.
“You should understand that I make no distinctions. Everything is part of their collection. People give what they can. It makes no difference who gives what. You wouldn’t want me to go telling everyone who comes here that it was you who gave them the swan, would you?”
“Why not?”
“Someone might not think it was as fine a gift as you could give—who knows? But as I say I make no distinctions. The important thing is that my visitors bring my sweethearts something—anything.” She stared at him for a few moments and then surprised him by saying, “You still want to know about that room, I think. But as I told you yesterday, it was locked when she was there. I hardly ever open it.”
“I’m not concerned about the locked room anymore. I believe you.”
“We’re so glad to hear you do. I wish I could say the same for others.”
“What do you mean?”
“So you are still concerned about it! I had an argument about keeping the room locked and it’s no one’s business but my own. When I suggested sending someone over about the apartment, Signor Macintyre, I didn’t mean a veneziano, I meant a forestiero”
“I didn’t send anyone over.”
“Well, that mask maker from San Gabriele came by yesterday evening—the one who used to be a priest.”
“Did he say I sent him?”
“No, but when I told him you had been to see me earlier and also another time he didn’t seem surprised.”
“What did he want?”
“An apartment, a better one than the one he has in the Ghetto Nuovo. He asked specifically about the Casa Silviano. I’m surprised it took him so long to come by if you weren’t the one to tell him. Most people hear about a death and come before the funeral arrangements are even made.”
“Is he going to take the apartment?”
“Over my dead body! Even if he could afford it—which I doubt from the way he was dressed—I would never rent any part of the Casa Silviano to anyone but forestieri. Once you get the Italians in they never leave. You might as well just give them the building outright! And even if this Cavatorta wasn’t Italian I’d still not rent it to him. He’s not a very nice man, completely ignored my little ones and started to insinuate that the police might like to know that I keep a locked room at the Casa Silviano. It’s not really illegal, you know. He obviously thought I’d get frightened and agree to let him rent the apartment cheaply, but we sent him right on his way, almost pushed him out the door. I was sure you had sent him.”
“He came here on his own, I assure you, Signora Razzi.”
She was looking at him so suspiciously that he felt uncomfortable asking her what he had originally gone there to find out.
“When I was here yesterday, you said something about other people being interested in Signorina Quinton’s writing. What others did you mean?”
A guarded look came into her small eyes with their long artificial lashes.
“Did I say anything about so many others? Other than yourself there was Signor Voyd.” She still showed no sign that she knew of his death. “Also the young niece.”
When she mentioned Adele Carstairs, she shifted her eyes away from him and surveyed the gifts crowded on the table.
“She didn’t always come alone, though, not the last time. She had that good-looking young man with her. My sweethearts fell in love with him as soon as they saw him.”
The face she turned up to him now was shining. Urbino found it difficul
t to understand but it seemed that Christian Kobke was quite the charmer.
21
HIS next move was decided for him when he called the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini again from the café next door to Benedetta Razzi’s building.
“She’s not back yet, Signor Macintyre,” Lucia said, “but she called a few minutes ago from Signor Bellorini’s studio. Milo took them from the Giudecca. She said you could join her there until six or come here later. Sister Veronica will be stopping by about eight.”
As he hung up, Urbino marveled at the busy schedule the Contessa seemed to have arranged for herself today. Now she was at Bellorini’s studio only a few minutes’ walk along the quay. Were Adele Carstairs and Kobke still with her? If he knew for sure, he would be able to plan things better.
One thing he should do was let Gemelli know where he was going to be, but when he called the Questura the Commissario wasn’t in. As he put the phone back on its hook, he hoped he had been able to convince Gemelli’s assistant of what should be done and how it might be best to do it. Yet he knew he couldn’t count on getting any help at all. Hadn’t Gemelli warned him not to do anything rash?
The shops were opening now and he found a stationery store not far from the quay. He didn’t have time to go all the way to Valese’s for something elegant. A simple student’s notebook would have to do. He wrote “Venezia” on the cover with his fountain pen in a thin spidery hand. He wished he could do something with all the blank pages but he’d have to leave them the way they were. Unfortunately the Contessa had sharp eyes.
To deceive the Contessa was not something he was looking forward to. He would have avoided it, he would have run in the other direction if only he could have. But he had started something and it was now, he hoped, near its end. Hadn’t he decided almost from the beginning that he couldn’t allow himself to be influenced by anything but the need to uncover the truth?
He put the notebook under his arm as he returned to the quay. When he passed by Benedetta Razzi’s building, he restrained himself from looking up at her window. There seemed no need to. He could feel her looking down at him. A few minutes later, however, as he walked along the quay, he had reason to doubt this as well as whatever else came into his mind. After all, it was improbable, wasn’t it, that one of the two nuns in modified habits stepping into a crowded vaporetto could be Sister Veronica? Or that the thin man he had just glimpsed turning down a calle up ahead was Cavatorta? His nerves must be collaborating with one of the city’s peculiarities: So often it seemed as if you had just missed someone you knew, as you saw a person leaving the far side of a campo or being swallowed by the shadows of a sottoportego. He thought he had become accustomed to the city’s trickery but maybe this was one of the many differences between him and a true Venetian.
The Contessa and Bellorini were sipping Strega when he arrived at the studio. No one was there but the two of them. Perhaps Milo had taken Adele Carstairs and Kobke back to the Danieli and Angela had gone with them. Despite the conviction that had been with him since the early morning hours, he had a momentary doubt as to whether he should proceed as he had planned, whether it might not be better to wait until every possible thing was in place. The dream that had disturbed his sleep last night flashed its images across his mind.
After giving Stefano his coat and putting the notebook down on the little table by the door, he walked to the far side of the room to the small area set aside for socializing. Stefano, apologizing for having nothing else to offer him, poured a glass of Strega.
The Contessa sat on the sofa across from the windows that looked down on the calle below. The work area was set up near the larger windows that gave on to the lagoon and the north light. Urbino was glad the Contessa was sitting where she was, with Stefano in an old armchair to one side, for if he went to the windows across from them and turned around to face them…
“You came, Urbino! You’re a darling. What do you think?”
She pointed to the worktable on the other side of the room. He went over and saw the three frames with her family photographs mounted in them.
He picked them up one by one. The frames enhanced the old photographs, and the photographs contributed a patina to the newly fashioned frames. It was a harmonious marriage between Bellorini’s art and the Contessa’s history.
“You’re both to be congratulated.”
He had been sincere in his praise but a slight frown furrowed the Contessa’s forehead.
“You got here so quickly,” she said. “I called Lucia only a short time ago.” She gave him a quizzical little smile. “Where were you?”
“Benedetta Razzi’s.”
“Benedetta Razzi’s? Again? Whatever for? You were just there yesterday, weren’t you?”
Was this how she had kept her promise of not mentioning anything they had discussed yesterday?
“Yes, I was.”
He looked toward the little table by the door.
“A mission of charity, most likely,” Stefano said. “Benedetta Razzi is always eager for visitors. It sometimes makes me feel guilty not to be more attentive.”
“You two have made your own visit of charity, I hear.”
“Yes, with Angela, Adele, and Christian,” the Contessa said. The use of Kobke’s first name wasn’t lost on Urbino. “You’ll never guess what’s happened. Filippo left Oriana. You wouldn’t believe what a scene there was. Filippo came back for some of his things. He’s staying at the Cipriani. I kept thinking of the opening of Anna Karenina. How does it go? Something about happy and unhappy families and the poor wife discovering an intrigue.”
She looked at him for help but before he could say anything Stefano jumped in.
“Of course in Oriana’s case the intrigue was the other way around. Maybe now her young friend from Dorsoduro will finally move in.”
“Stefano, please! He’s just a friend—almost a son to her—”
She looked at Urbino with entreaty in her eyes. It was as if to say: There’s trouble all around us. Be gentle. I can’t take too much.
“I’m sure they’ll work things out,” he said, making another glance in the direction of the door. He saw they both noticed. “They’ve gone through this so many times before, haven’t they? I’m sorry if I don’t sound concerned. It’s just that I’m a bit distracted. The most extraordinary thing has happened.”
The Contessa suddenly showed an interest in the way her brooch was pinned to her dress, so it was Stefano who asked the obvious question.
“And what is that?”
Before answering, Urbino walked over to the entrance hallway and took the notebook from the little table.
“Nothing more extraordinary looking than this.”
He held it up and walked toward them.
“And whatever is that?” the Contessa asked, abandoning her brooch.
“A notebook.”
“Well, we can see that well enough.”
“It’s a notebook that Benedetta Razzi found in the locked room in the Casa Silviano. It’s one of Margaret Quinton’s notebooks.”
“But that’s impossible!” She looked at Stefano, then back at Urbino. “That room has been locked for as long as I’ve known her.”
“She can’t figure it out herself. But there it was, she said, lying on the floor not far from the door.”
Urbino went over to one of the windows and leaned against the sill with his back angled toward the door.
“It’s fortunate that Adele Carstairs and Kobke haven’t gone up to Vienna yet. That gives me more than a day to look this over. I doubt if she’ll mind.” He riffled the pages. “Although it shouldn’t take long to read through what’s here. There isn’t much.” He squinted at a page and turned it to catch the late afternoon light that was coming over his left shoulder.
“But why did Benedetta Razzi give it to you?” the Contessa asked. “And how did it get into that room to begin with?”
Urbino responded to her first question only.
“She’s sick and
tired of all this poking around, all these questions. I think she’s also afraid of being found doing something illegal with that room. I told her I’d take the notebook off her hands and give it to the niece with an explanation. She doesn’t seem to know that Voyd was murdered because of Quinton’s writing and I thought it best not to tell her. If she knew, she would have been even more eager to get this notebook off her hands.”
He bent down over the notebook again. Stefano poured another Strega for himself and the Contessa but Urbino had hardly touched his. He needed a clear mind.
“There seems to be something about you, Barbara.”
“About me? Are you sure?”
“I’m fairly sure. Give me a minute to make it out. Her writing isn’t easy to read. It’s an old-fashioned kind of hand.”
He was silent for a few moments while he composed his thoughts. Then—calling up all his inventive and histrionic skills and remembering how he used to entertain his ailing mother in her bedroom by reading out loud from the Times-Picayune imaginary articles about her friends—he began.
“‘Stopped by the Ca’ da C-Z.’” He stopped and looked up at them. “She uses quite a few abbreviations. Let me see. ‘Stopped by the Ca’ da C-Z to pay a visit and borrow some books. I could tell the Contessa wasn’t keen on lending them but I managed to convince the dear woman it was pour l’art. To think that someone wouldn’t trust me with books!’”
The Contessa stiffened.
“No, I was not ‘keen’ about it, as she expresses it! You know how I feel about letting any of my books out of the library. I worried about it for days.”
Death in a Serene City Page 25