Farewell to the Flesh

by Edward Sklepowich

  It was on the sofa next to her. His face must have shown a great deal of what he was feeling because the Contessa, barely able to keep the laughter from her voice, said,

  “No, you’re not seeing things, caro!”

  “Hello, Urbino,” Hazel Reeve said. She was wearing a forest-green dress of simple lines that brought out the color of her eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier when you stopped by but I—I had to leave in a rush.”

  “Don’t go into that right now, Hazel dear,” the Contessa said, reaching out to pat the young woman’s hand in a proprietary way. While she was doing it, however, she wasn’t looking at Hazel but at Urbino with just the faintest suggestion of her Gioconda smile from several hours ago.

  “I’m also sorry that I left your place the way I did this morning. And I wish I could have spoken with you later from Porfirio’s but Commissario Gemelli wouldn’t let me.”

  She gave him a brave smile. It was as if she needed to apologize all at once for whatever she might have done.

  “I’ve been busy for most of the day myself,” he said. “I should have given you another call. I’m sure Porfirio’s death has hit you hard, coming as it does right after Val’s.”

  He fixed himself a bourbon, something that the Contessa kept especially for him. She looked at the glass.

  “You’ve given up Cynar, I see. Be careful, caro. You know how too much bourbon gives you a restless night. When you’re finished with that bottle, I’m not so sure I’m going to be nice enough—or inconsiderate enough—to get you another.”

  Urbino sat down and took a sip of what might be one of his last bourbon and waters at the Contessa’s. Hazel took a sip of her own indistinguishable but tall drink and said, “I came here about two this afternoon, Urbino.”

  “You came here?”

  “Yes, caro, she came here. Don’t act so incredulous. The Ca’ da Capo isn’t a St. Anne’s Home for Young Girls, I know, and our own sweet Hazel here isn’t in any way the wayward kind, are you, dear?”—once again she reached over to pat the girl’s hand—“but here she is and here she can stay for as long as she cares to.”

  This was said with a slightly uptilted chin as if she expected Urbino to demand at once that Hazel Reeve be returned to her original quarters.

  “The Contessa—Barbara”—Hazel corrected herself—“came over to Porfirio’s this afternoon and insisted that I return here with her. She helped me pack my things, not that there were all that many, and we were here before I knew it.”

  The Contessa glanced at her sharply, perhaps at the possibly implied criticism she might have detected in Hazel’s “before I knew it.” When the Contessa spoke, however, it was without a trace of anything except a sincere desire to leave nothing in question.

  “I certainly couldn’t leave her at Porfirio’s, poor girl! And a room in a hotel just would not do, even if we could have found one. As far as the Palazzo Uccello is concerned, caro, we couldn’t have Hazel staying there unchaperoned. I know that Natalia and her husband are living in the attico but that’s not enough to keep all the tongues in this city from wagging.” She took a sip from her glass of Corvo before adding, “One night couldn’t do much damage but, beyond that, we have to be concerned with appearances, especially since Hazel knew a man who has been murdered.” She looked away from Urbino and said to Hazel, “Urbino is considered something of an interloper, I’m afraid, Hazel dear. People are only too eager to talk in the most unkind ways. Dio mio! Even after more than thirty years here, I have to watch out for myself. Tongues are like knives here, believe me!”

  It was to Hazel’s credit that she gave no indication that she might have found the Contessa’s last image disturbing.

  Urbino sipped his bourbon and water and mulled over the Contessa’s volte-face. Only a very short time before she had been brimming with disapproval of her young compatriot. Now she was benevolent and protective, traits much more natural to her. But what bad brought about the change?

  “She’s all alone here in our serene city, Urbino dear,” the Contessa said, eerily answering his unspoken question, “although it isn’t particularly serene at the moment, is it? And she has no father, no mother.” This must have started an unwelcome train of thought for she quickly added, “And I thought it only right that I offer her some sisterly shelter and comfort. We are both English after all. She’s suffered enough.”

  For the first time since coming into the salotto he noticed the dark shadows under Hazel’s eyes. On top of Gibbon’s murder and her fear that Tonio Vico might have been involved—a fear that had caused her to flee to Mestre—there had come Porfirio’s own death. The poor girl was understandably at loose ends, and it had been a commendable act of charity for the Contessa to invite her to stay at the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini—even if he didn’t fully understand the reasons for his friend’s abrupt change of mind.

  “I hope it doesn’t compromise you, Barbara. I certainly seem to be in the thick of things,” Hazel said with an embarrassed smile. “I knew Val, and he’s dead, and I was staying with Porfirio and now he’s dead, too. I know that they died in different ways, that there’s no connection between their deaths,” she was quick to add, “but it doesn’t make me feel any less—less peculiar. Commissario Gemelli didn’t make me feel any better this morning, especially not when I told him about the key.”

  “The key? What key?” the Contessa asked.

  Hazel flushed.

  “Things have gone so fast today, Barbara, that I haven’t had a chance to mention it before now.”

  The Contessa put down her wineglass and waited for Hazel to go on.

  “You see, there was a key to the church. Val gave me one. He had it made from the one he had. We would meet in the church late at night, just to be alone together, just to talk and walk around. It was like being in another world. He gave me the key because he didn’t want to have anyone interrupting us. On evenings when we didn’t have dinner together he would go in and lock the door behind him, then wait for me. I would let myself in with my key. Porfirio took it. That’s how he got into San Gabriele the night he—he died.”

  “Didn’t you take the key with you to Mestre?” Urbino asked her.

  “I left very quickly without going back to Porfirio’s. I intended to come back. I did come back. But why would I want to take the key anyway?”

  “How did Porfirio know about it?”

  “One night he saw me going into San Gabriele. He was walking across the square. It was obvious I had a key.”

  “So he took it and went into the church—but why?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. Maybe he wanted to see the restoration work for himself.”

  “But he could have come in to look at it anytime.”

  “He might have wanted to look at it when no one else was there,” interjected the Contessa. “With Gibbon dead and Lubonski in the hospital, he could be sure no one would interrupt him.”

  “Porfirio was upset that Val was taking the photographs of the restoration instead of him,” Hazel said tentatively, picking up her tall glass. “Do you think he might have wanted to take his own photographs now that Val was dead?”

  “Paolo told Sister Teresa that Porfirio had one of his cameras with him,” the Contessa said.

  This didn’t mean very much, although Urbino would have liked to know what the film in Porfirio’s camera showed when it was developed.

  “When do you think Porfirio took your key?” he asked Hazel.

  “Does it really matter that much? I don’t really know. I kept it on the dresser in my room. I didn’t put it on my key ring because I knew I would have to give it back to Val soon. It wasn’t there this morning, but I’m sure it was there the last time I bothered to look a few days ago. Porfirio could have taken it just about anytime after Val died—or before—and either used it or had a copy made.”

  “I doubt he had a copy made since the key wasn’t there this morning. The key he used to get in must be yours. It must have been found on
his body.”

  “And now there’s this trouble for Tonio,” she said, shaking her head and looking at the Contessa. “Can I tell him now?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Whatever do you mean, Hazel dear? You can tell him whatever you want, whenever you want. Urbino, would you mind getting me another glass of wine? And perhaps Hazel would like to have her drink freshened.”

  The girl shook her head. Urbino got up and poured out another Corvo for the Contessa and put another ice cube and dollop of bourbon into his own glass.

  “What is this about Tonio Vico?” he asked as he gave the Contessa her glass and returned to his seat. “I went to the Questura with him this morning. Everything seemed fine, although he was nervous, of course.” But before he finished speaking he thought he knew what Hazel had meant. “Rigoletti said he identified someone at the Questura. Was it Tonio?”

  “After you left,” the Contessa said.

  There were a few moments of silence.

  “It can’t be true!” Hazel said. “I know it’s not true! Tonio could never have done anything to Val.”

  It wasn’t the time to remind her that she had fled—albeit only across the bridge to Mestre—when the sight of her former fiancé at the Montin had led her to suspect that he had had something to do with Gibbon’s murder.

  “I told you that last night,” she said to Urbino. “Tonio swears he’s never been anywhere near the area.”

  “You’ve spoken with him?” Urbino asked.

  “She’s seen him. She went to the Splendide-Suisse this afternoon.”

  “That’s why I couldn’t see you then, Urbino.” This explained the note the Contessa had received when he had come earlier, the note that had quickly banished her enigmatic smile. “He found out that I was here from his stepmother—Barbara told her—and he phoned me. I went to see him as quickly as I could. He was very upset.”

  “He’s not arrested then.”

  “Of course he’s not arrested, Urbino,” the Contessa said. “How could he be? Just on Rigoletti’s identification? Just because he might have been in the Calle Santa Scolastica that night? It doesn’t mean he killed Gibbon.”

  “But he wasn’t there that night—or any night!” Hazel leaned forward, gripping her glass tightly. “I know he wasn’t! This man is mistaken.”

  “Or he’s lying,” the Contessa said. “He might have his own reasons for lying. And it was night. How could Rigoletti be sure of who he saw?”

  “Mrs. Pillow swears he wasn’t out that night. They were in the whole evening!” Hazel said in a choked voice.

  “If Berenice says so, it must be true,” the Contessa affirmed. “She wouldn’t lie about a thing like this.”

  “Not even when it came to her stepson?” Urbino said. He had no doubt that Mrs. Pillow or almost any mother trying to protect her son would lie. He was sure Mrs. Spaak was capable of it. It made Mrs. Pillow no better or worse than anyone else, and it certainly didn’t make her a villain. Some might even say that it made her something very much different.

  Hazel looked at him coolly.

  “Believe me, Urbino, she wasn’t lying. I’ve known her for several years and she was telling the truth. She’s seldom passionate about anything, but when she is, you know it’s because she believes in what she’s saying or doing. I wish I had reason to doubt that.”

  The Contessa nodded in agreement with Hazel’s assessment of her old friend.

  “Was she unpleasant to you this afternoon, Hazel?” the Contessa asked.

  “Not at all. She was actually quite nice. She knew I was there only to try to help Tonio.”

  “But what can you possibly do for him, Hazel dear? You mentioned before Urbino came that you hadn’t seen him before tonight. It would be fine if you could provide him with an alibi, yet—”

  “He doesn’t need an alibi! He didn’t do anything, I tell you!”

  She put her glass down on the table and buried her face in her hands. The Contessa slid over to her and put a consoling arm around her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry Hazel. I didn’t mean to upset you but you have to be open-eyed. Tonio is in love with you and it’s quite obvious you still have feelings for him”—her gray eyes slid quickly in Urbino’s direction—“but you can’t tear yourself apart like this. It’s not going to do either of you any good. Urbino will help Tonio, won’t you, caro? He’s already been helping him. He went to the Questura with him this morning, didn’t he?”

  Hazel lifted her hands from her face to look at Urbino. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

  “You can help?”

  Her words were less questioning than imploring.

  “Of course I’ll do whatever I can,” Urbino said, keeping his promise vague.

  Before coming to the Contessa’s tonight, he had believed that Vico hadn’t been in the Calle Santa Scolastica the night Gibbon was murdered, but now that Rigoletti appeared to have identified him, he wasn’t so sure. He supposed it was more than possible that Berenice Pillow, to protect her stepson, had lied and said that he was in the suite all that night. Yet he hadn’t detected anything in Mrs. Pillow’s words, tone, or manner that might have indicated she was wrongly if understandably giving a mother’s protection. If anything, what had come through clearly was her own certitude about what she was saying.

  Nonetheless, Urbino wanted to be careful of what he promised Hazel. He didn’t want to mislead her. To do that would have seemed too much like getting caught up himself in the web of lies and deceptions that was seriously impeding his progress toward a solution.

  “I’ll speak with Commissario Gemelli. I’ll see Tonio tomorrow,” he said, still keeping his promises within reasonable bounds.

  The Contessa, who had taken her arm away from Hazel’s shoulder, looked at him expressionlessly. Hazel’s response was more easy to gauge. She was now smiling. She took out a lace handkerchief and wiped her tears.

  “You won’t have to wait until then, Urbino,” she said. “Tonio and Mrs. Pillow are coming over in a little while. Oh, I hope you don’t mind my inviting them, Barbara. I knew Urbino was going to be here and I wanted to be able to explain poor Tonio’s situation before they came.” She looked at her thin gold watch. “They should be arriving in about five or ten minutes. You really don’t mind, do you?”

  The Contessa had slipped during the past several moments into her inscrutable mode. What she was thinking or how she was feeling were mysteries that her fine smooth manner did nothing to reveal. And when she spoke, her words gave nothing away except their surface meaning.

  “Berenice is one of my oldest friends, Hazel. She and Tonio are welcome here whenever they wish to come.”

  This was what she said. What she meant, however, could have been something else entirely. The extent to which she was in control was clear when she looked at Urbino with no expression on her face at all.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” she said, starting to get up from the sofa. “I would like to tell Lucia and Mauro that we’ll be expecting. Berenice and Tonio in a few minutes.”

  “I’ve already mentioned it to Lucia, Barbara,” Hazel said, putting her handkerchief back in the pocket of her dress.

  “How kind of you, Hazel.”

  The Contessa settled back against the Tunisian cushions, still managing the feat of an expressionless face. Urbino couldn’t help noticing, however, that this time she didn’t look in his direction.

  There was one topic that Urbino wanted to bring up with Hazel but he wasn’t sure this was the best time or place. It had to do with Gibbon’s presence in the Calle Santa Scolastica. If they were alone, it would be easier. Now with her staying at the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini, he wondered how often he would be able to see her without the Contessa around. Could the Contessa’s consideration in taking Hazel away from Porfirio’s have been complicated by an additional motive? He remembered the enigmatic smile on her lips. Had it been pure anticipatory amusement or the smile of someone who had made a countermove soon to be revealed? Knowing the Contessa
for as long and as well as he did, he had to admit that it was probably a little of both.

  The silence that had come over the three of them made it seem as if they had nothing to say to each other until the arrival of Berenice Pillow and Tonio Vico. Urbino decided to risk asking his question.

  “Do you have any idea why Gibbon happened to be in the Calle Santa Scolastica the night he was murdered?”

  “I didn’t know he was going there. I didn’t know he ever went there.”

  It wasn’t really an answer to the question he had asked, but before he could ask it again, without seeming rude or importunate, Hazel said,

  “I know what you’re getting at. Commissario Gemelli, of course, has asked me the same thing in about five different ways, but I told him that I have no idea what Val was doing there that night. Commissario Gemelli made it clear what kind of reputation that area has, but my answer was the same after he told me as it was before. I thought Val might have been there to take pictures until I saw that there were none of that area among Val’s photographs—and not anything that might help us find Val’s murderer either, from what I could see.”

  “I’m surprised at you, Urbino,” the Contessa said. “Poor Hazel here was engaged to Val Gibbon. Whatever are you implying by such a question?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter, Barbara, really it doesn’t. We all live in the modern world.” Hazel smiled weakly. “Although maybe I’m mistaken about Venice. It’s not quite right to call it part of the modern world, is it?”

  “And why not, my dear, if it’s filled with at least some enlightened people who think in modern ways?”

  The Contessa had abandoned her inscrutability. Now she was all passionate defense of her adopted city and, it would seem, her own enlightened self.

  “Commissario Gemelli isn’t one of them, though,” Hazel said. “He’s more than a little benighted. ‘Are you sure your fiancé didn’t like men, Signorina Reeve? Are you sure he wasn’t having an assignation in the Calle Santa Scolastica? Have you any reason to believe that he might have been homosexual? Have you noticed anything unusual along these lines during the time you’ve known him?”