That Thursday evening it was nearly eleven o’clock when they reached the café in the Via Torta. They found that Dindoni had not yet arrived. They settled down to wait.
Approximately half an hour earlier Tina had walked down the Via Torta. She had been spending the evening with her uncle and his family, who had a house near the Porta Romana, and the young people had escorted her home, saying good night to her at the corner of the street, within sight of her own turning.
At the corner was a sports car, with the hood up. As she passed it, the door swung open, and a voice said ‘Hello there, Tina.’
‘Hullo,’ said Tina, ‘and good night.’
‘Come,’ said Mercurio, ‘that’s no way to speak to an old friend, who has been waiting nearly an hour to see you.’
‘You must have little to do with your time if you waste it like that.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. But there is something I thought you would like to know.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘It does not concern you. It concerns your father.’
‘Oh? Perhaps you may tell it to me then, only be quick.’
‘I shall tell you nothing if you stand five yards away. Jump in beside me, into the car. It’s all right. I shall not drive off with you.’
‘If you tried to drive off with me,’ said Tina, ‘I would pull the steering wheel round, and smash your pretty car into the wall.’
‘I don’t doubt it. So, since you have nothing to fear, get in and let us, at least, be comfortable.’
He held open the door of the car, and Tina, after a moment of hesitation, got in, moving immediately across to the passenger’s seat. Mercurio sat down beside her. She said, ‘Well, your scene is set. Begin.’
Mercurio was fidgeting with the steering wheel. He seemed to be more nervous than she was. He said, at last, ‘Your father has done much work, in the last few years, for my father. Both carving and restoration–’
‘The Professor has been very good to him,’ agreed Tina. ‘And to you, too, from what I have heard.’
‘Oh, he’s a good-hearted man,’ said Mercurio. ‘But there is a limit to the best of good natures. A week ago, when your father was handling a fine Etruscan krater, which was to be repaired, he dropped it, and it was broken, beyond repair this time. Again, when he was carving a fine piece of alabaster, the chisel slipped, and split it. It could not be used for the purpose intended. It is not your father’s fault. That is well understood. But his hand is no longer as steady as it was, nor his eye as true.’
‘Why are you telling me this? And what is it to do with you?’
The Professor is very fond of me. He listens to me. He respects my judgement. If I were to say to him, Milo Zecchi has done good work for you for many years. He is now near the end of his working life. A suitable thing would be to pay him a generous pension, equivalent to what he can earn by working – then I think he would see that it is just, and would agree.’
Tina thought about this. She seemed, in some curious way, to be in command of the situation. She said, ‘That is a very practical idea. It has been apparent for some time that my father is not well. If possible, he should stop working, and rest.’
‘That was my idea exactly.’
‘And you could procure it?’
‘I could almost cetainly procure it.’
‘And what would the charge be?’
Mercurio turned his head, but made no move towards her. When he spoke, there was an odd note of appeal in his voice. He said, ‘I would ask that you come out with me, sometimes, in the evening.’
‘To come out? Where to?’
‘To the cinema. To the restaurant. To dances. Wherever you wish to go.’
‘And when the cinema, or the eating, or the dancing, was finished?’ There was a note, now, of mockery in her voice.
‘I would take you back.’
‘Take me where?’
‘To your home, of course.’
‘Would it be part of the bargain that I should make love to you?’
‘Only if you wished,’ said Mercurio humbly.
Tina burst out laughing. ‘Only if I wished,’ she said, at last. ‘That is a very curious proposition. I have never found before that the girl was given much option in these matters. It is a delicate proposition.’ She was still laughing as she got out of the car. ‘I will think about it, Master Mercurio.’
Behind her, she heard the car start up, and she laughed, gently, again.
When she got home, she found a family quarrel going on. Her mother was in front of the kitchen stove, arms akimbo. Her father was sitting in his chair, his face set. Tina recognized the symptoms, and prepared to retire, but her mother summoned her in with an imperious gesture.
‘See if you can talk some sense into your father’s thick head.’
‘If he won’t listen to you, he will certainly not listen to me.’
‘Try all the same. Together, we may prevail. He has two ideas in his head. First, he desires very much to have the advice, and the assistance of Signor Broke.’
Tina looked puzzled. ‘Was it not for that,’ she said, ‘that he came down here the other night?’
‘Just so. The Signore came all the way down here. He agreed to talk to your father. Which was kind of him, for one can see that he is a gentleman, and a busy gentleman too, much occupied with his own affairs. To come down here was very accommodating.’
‘Then–?’
‘Wait. The Signore went across – as you will recollect – to speak to your father in the workshop. The two men were together. They had the evening in front of them. And what did they discuss?’ Annunziata paused, for effect, raised one hand solemnly in the air, and spat out the word – ‘Nothing.’
Milo opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then shut it again.
‘They were together for an hour, and they talked of nothing, or nothing to the point. They discussed tombs, and bulls, and the art of carving in bronze, and wine, and the weather, and the price of cabbages.’
Tina said to her father, ‘But why?’
Her mother said, ‘Why? Because there is another idea in his stupid old head. He concluded that it was not safe to talk, because Dindoni might be listening, from the floor above.’
Tina thought back. Then she said, ‘That is impossible. For we ourselves saw him go out.’
‘He could have come in, by the back way, and up the stairs to his room.’
‘They would have seen the light.’
‘Not if he had crept back in the dark.’
‘Yes,’ said Tina. ‘And he’d do it, the miserable little rat. Had you any reason to think he was there?’
‘I heard him,’ said Milo. ‘It was a small noise, but I have good hearing. He was there, all right, with his ear to the floor.’
‘Then, if you must speak to Signor Broke, why not bring him here, to this room?’
‘How could I presume to bring him all this way again?’
‘No,’ said Tina. ‘That is true. It would be an act of presumption. If you are to see him, you must go to him.’
‘You will ask him?’
‘Certainly. Tomorrow morning.’
‘He will agree?’
‘How can I tell? I can only ask him. You will have to come up to his apartment.’
Annuziata said, in tones of exasperation. ‘That is yet another idea that he has. That he is being followed.’
‘Followed?’
‘By men. He sees them everywhere.’
‘Little green men in pointed hats,’ said Tina with a laugh.
‘It is not a joke,’ said Milo angrily. ‘They are there. I have seen them. They watch me, all the time. If I try to go near Signor Broke’s house, they will find some way of stopping me, I know it.’
The two women looked at each other. Annunziata said, with a touch of helplessness in her voice, ‘You see how it is.’
‘But there is, perhaps, a way,’ said Milo. ‘That is, if the Signore would agree. It is asking much of him. Tomorrow
I go to the Doctor’s house, in the Via Marcellina. I am one of the last patients of his evening surgery. By the time I come away, it will be dusk. He has a back door to his surgery, which leads out, through the garden, into the smaller street at the back. Sometimes his patients do not wish all the world to know they are visiting a doctor. Even if the front of the house is watched, the back will not be.’
‘Can you not understand,’ said Annunziata, and now she was angry, ‘that these men exist only in your imagination?’
‘I have eyes in my head–’
‘It is an affliction of old people. They imagine that everyone is watching them, following them, listening to them.’
‘It is not my imagination.’ The old man was shaking, with rage and frustration. ‘A dozen times, now, I have seen them.’
Tina laid a hand on his arm, stroking it gently, as she might have stroked an old dog. ‘Go on with your plan,’ she said, and the look which she gave silenced her mother. ‘Tell us about that. You had left Doctor Goldoni’s house by the back gate. What next?’
‘I will walk along to the top of the Via Canina, above the cemetery, where there is a little turning space. Cars stop there, by day, to admire the view. But at ten o’clock at night it will be empty. If Signor Broke would drive there. It would hardly take him five minutes, from his house in the Viale Michelangiolo. We could sit in the car, and talk, without fear.’
Tina said, ‘Very well, I will ask him.’
7
Friday Afternoon: A Meeting is Arranged
Harfield Moss sat in his hotel room, writing a letter to his associate, Leopold Cranfield, co-director with him of the Moss Artistic Foundation at Pittsburg.
‘–I’m as certain as I can be that something big is breaking. Something really big. Every contact I have in this town and in Rome says the same thing. It could be a Regioni-Galassi all over again. When I say that it is breaking, I could, of course, be wrong. It may have broken already. There’s a recently developed technique, which allows the investigator to get an idea of what is inside a tomb, long before he actually reaches it. Exploratory drillings are made, from the surface of the tumulus. It’s not unlike looking for oil. When the drill breaks through the solid rock, or tufa, or packed earth, into an open space, it is taken out and an implement is lowered into the bore-hole which can illuminate and take photographs. That way, a very good idea can be got in advance of what will be discovered when the tomb is opened. In the case of a really big find, there would most likely be two openings, not one. The first, as you can appreciate, would be highly unofficial! The choicest objects would be extracted, particularly the gold and silver, and the jewellery. The opening would then be carefully resealed, and a second, official, break-in take place, with all the hoo-ha of press publicity. Experts from all countries flock to the place. Photographs are taken, and learned papers are written, and the contents of the tomb are deposited in one or other of the museums in this country, with considerable réclame. The really valuable things, extracted at the first opening, will meanwhile have been sold to the dealers, and spirited out of the country, ending up in private collections. This time, I am determined that the best of them shall end up in the Moss Foundation, so don’t be surprised if I requisition a very considerable credit, in the near future, at the Banca Toscana. It’s not going to be easy. I fancy the Rossis and Bernasconis both know what’s cooking, and their agents are already in Florence. So keep your fingers crossed–’
When Broke came home for lunch that day he knew, as soon as he saw her, that Tina had something she wanted to say to him. He knew, also, that her sense of propriety would prevent her from saying it until lunch had been served.
It came as he was finishing the pasta.
‘Would I what?’ said Broke.
‘It is a great piece of presumption on my father’s part,’ said Tina.
‘It’s such a curious way of doing things. Why doesn’t he just come up here? That was an excellent glass of wine he gave me. I’d like to return his hospitality.’
‘He cannot come here.’
‘Why not?’
Tina sighed. ‘He says he is being followed. If he tried to see you here, the men who are following him would prevent him.’
Broke laid down his knife and fork and stared at her. ‘If he is being followed or interfered with, tell the Police.’
‘The Police could not arrest the men who are following him.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because they exist only in his imagination.’
During this, Broke had kept his eyes fixed on Tina. In fact, he was not thinking about her at all. He was glimpsing the terrifying bogies of loneliness and old age. But she shifted awkwardly under the stare of his grey eyes. She said, ‘It was an impertinence. Take no notice of it. He is getting very old, and shaky. He is a craftsman, you understand. And when a craftsman loses his cunning, and his occupation is gone, it throws him back upon himself, and he begins to imagine things. As his hand becomes less steady, his brain becomes less steady too.’
‘Is he losing his skill? The last work he did for me was some of his best.’
‘He can still work well, but he breaks things. Mercurio said–’ She stopped suddenly as she remembered what Mercurio had said, and the blood rushed into her cheeks.
‘Well,’ Broke teased her, ‘what did Mercurio say to you?’
She told him. Broke did not laugh with her, when she had finished her account of the very half-hearted effort of seduction. He said, ‘I have met the young man. Speaking for myself, I neither like him, nor trust him.’
‘É un finocchio,’ said Tina, as if this concluded the matter once and for all, and stalked out of the room with the dirty plates.
Broke had never heard the word before. Clearly Tina could not be asked about it. It was plain from her demeanour, when she came back with the next course, that she had reverted to her role of hand-maiden and regarded the topic as closed. He put the point to Commander Comber, who blew into the shop that afternoon to borrow a book on type-faces. The Commander roared with laughter.
He said, ‘“Finocchio” means fennel. It’s a sort of herb. I trust no one’s been using the term about you.’
‘What’s so funny about it?’
‘It also means pansy. Don’t ask me why. Come to think of it, why do we call pansies pansies?’
‘Tina used it when she was describing Mercurio.’
‘A very perceptive description, I should say. What’s he been up to?’
‘As far as I could understand it, he proposed a platonic arrangement. If she would decorate his evenings out, he would put in a good word for her father.’
‘She’s a damned attractive girl,’ said the Commander. ‘I wonder her mother allows her alone in the house with you.’
Broke said, ‘Don’t talk nonsense. Are you going to buy that book?’
‘Certainly not. It’s much too expensive. I just wanted to look up a word in it.’
Some evenings a cold colazione was left for Broke at home; on other evenings, such as this, he ate out, at one of the many little family restaurants in or around the Piazza della Signoria.
He had finished his meal, and was crossing the Square, when a man on the pavement ahead of him stopped so suddenly that he ran into him.
Broke apologized, the man swung round, and he saw that it was Labro, the overseer from the Bronzini farm, and that he was drunk. He was not too drunk, however to recognize Broke.
‘Well met, signore,’ he said. ‘I had been hoping that I should encounter your Lordship before long.’
Broke side-stepped, and walked on.
‘So now you turn tail, and run, my brave Englishman.’
Broke continued on his way. Labro broke into a shuffling run, caught him up, and grabbed him by the arm. Broke swung round, breaking his hold, and said, ‘Go away.’
‘We are not in the army now. You do not give orders to me. If I wish to speak, I will speak.’
Broke sighed. The street was empty
for some way in either direction. He could run, and probably outdistance Labro. But that would be undignified. He could knock him down, but Labro was undoubtedly drunk, and it went against the grain. Or he could listen to him.
He said, ‘If you have something to say, I will listen. But don’t take all night about it.’
‘Fine,’ said Labro. ‘Excellent. You will listen.’
‘But stop grabbing my coat. I’m not going to run away.’
‘First, let me tell you, that I have been dismissed from my job, by Signor Ferri. I care nothing for Signor Ferri; or for his master, Professor Bruno–’ Labro proceeded to describe Danilo Ferri and the Professor. Broke hardly understood one word in five of the gutter Italian, but was left in no doubt of Labro’s opinion of his employers. ‘To cease to serve such people is a blessing. But there is another side to it. For a man must live.’
I thought money was going to come into it somewhere, thought Broke. He could see a distant figure patrolling towards them.
‘Money is always difficult,’ said Labro, ‘I am not a beggar, I am not asking for money for charity. But I have something to sell. Something of great value, to the right person.’
‘Yes?’ Twenty yards to go.
‘To someone interested in the affairs of antiquity.’
‘If you have something you wish to sell me, come to my house in the morning. You will find me in the directory. Meanwhile, good night.’
Larbo started to say something, realized that he was being observed, by a sardonic carabiniere, thumbs hooked in his black leather belt, and shuffled off down the pavement. Broke proceeded on his way. The carabiniere watched both men, turning his head slowly, from one to the other, as though memorizing their faces.
He was a big young man. He had smooth black hair and his face was bisected by a line of black moustache.
At a quarter to ten Broke backed his car out of the garage, and drove up the Viale, using dipped headlights. The rush of traffic had thinned out, and the last of the stall-holders on the Piazzale Michelangiolo had sold the last copy of the Statue of David, closed up his stall and gone home to count his profits. Broke turned into the Viale Galileo, still climbing, and brought the car to rest in the lay-by at the head of the Via Canina.
The Etruscan Net Page 8