The other problem was Gramsci. It would be unfair to say that Federica actively disliked him, and, indeed, Gramsci positively tolerated her. The trouble was that she had seen what he had done to my furniture and was in no great hurry to provide him with an exciting new environment full of destructive possibilities. And so we muddled on as best we could.
I might have caught a bus on a cold and rainy day, but the early summer evening made for a pleasant stroll. I’d picked up some flowers for signora Colombo along the way, and carefully picked off the adhesive label as I walked along. Fede’s mum no longer lived in Venice, and we didn’t see her that often. I thought she was, perhaps, slowly warming to me. Nevertheless, I wondered if we would ever be on first-name terms (let alone ever use the second person familiar between ourselves) or if she would always remain signora Colombo to me.
I made my way up the stairs, let myself in and immediately realised I’d made a mistake. She was standing in the hall, talking to Federica in the kitchen, and her eyes rested momentarily on the keys in my hand. She said nothing, but gave me a knowing glance. So, you have your own keys then?
I didn’t know if we’d ever be on kissing terms, or even handshaking terms, so I settled for giving her my best attempt at a winning smile and proffering my flowers. ‘Lovely to see you again, signora . These are for you.’
She smiled. ‘That’s very kind, Mr Sutherland. I’m sorry, I’m only going to be here for a couple of days . . .’
‘Oh, what a pity,’ I interrupted, and inwardly cursed myself. Trying too hard, Nathan, trying much too hard.
The smile didn’t leave her face for an instant. ‘I’ll only be here for a couple of days, but we can put them in water and Federica can enjoy them after I leave. Although I’m sure you buy her flowers all the time.’
‘Oh, all the time. Yes.’
Federica flashed her eyes at me. ‘You never buy me flowers,’ they said.
I gave her a sad little glance, trying to express the words ‘I know. But I will in future. I promise.’
She nodded, as if to say she’d heard all this before. Which, to be fair, she had. ‘Why don’t you both go through and sit down. I’ll bring dinner through in a minute.’
Her mother went through into the dining room, but I hung back. ‘Anything I can do to help, cara ?’
Fede shook her head. ‘Even I can’t get this one wrong. Onion, garlic, olive oil. Tin of tomatoes. More chili than strictly necessary.’
‘And the basil. Don’t forget the basil.’
‘I can tear up basil leaves, Nathan.’
‘And the soffrito of course. It’s all in the soffrito .’
She took my face in her hands and smiled. ‘I know it is, caro . It might not be up to your standards but it will be fine.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Now go and join Mamma .’
I stared at my shoes. ‘I’m scared,’ I whispered.
‘Don’t be silly. She likes you. Well, she quite likes you. Now go and sparkle.’ She patted me on the cheek, turned me around and gently, but firmly, pushed me out of the door and into the dining room.
Signora Colombo and I sat on opposite sides of the table, and smiled politely at each other. We said nothing. I smiled and nodded at her. She did the same.
Silence.
Smiling was starting to hurt my face. ‘So, do you have any plans for the next few days?’ I ventured.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing in particular.’
‘You’re not seeing anything at the Biennale? I might be able to get you a pass for the Giardini.’
‘Thank you, but I probably won’t have time. And I have to be honest, I don’t have the patience for the art Biennale. I do like the film festival. And the architecture Biennale.’
‘Ah, now that leaves me a bit cold to be honest. Sometimes I think you need to actually be an architect to appreciate that.’
‘Perhaps. I was an architect, you know.’
‘Yes, I know,’ I lied. What to say, Nathan, what to say? ‘So, did you ever build anything nice?’ Or should I just start sobbing uncontrollably?
She came to my rescue. ‘You’re not cooking tonight?’
I shook my head. ‘Not this time.’
‘But Federica says you are a good cook.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe sometimes I am. But I know Federica wanted to cook tonight.’
She nodded. ‘My husband was a good cook. A very good one. I never had the patience for it. To be honest, I was never terribly interested in food. And now I understand that must have been quite frustrating for him.’
A question was left hanging in the air. I could see she wanted me to ask it, but I couldn’t think of the words.
She helped me out. ‘He found someone else to cook for.’
‘What a bastard, eh?’ The words just slipped out and seemed to echo around the room as if I’d shouted them at the top of my voice in St Mark’s Basilica.
There was a moment of terrible silence, and then she put her hand to her mouth and laughed a gentle, crystalline little laugh. ‘My goodness. Yes, indeed. What a bastard!’ She laughed again, and I joined in, trying to keep the hysterical note of relief out of my voice.
She called out, ‘Federica, cara . Can you bring some prosecco for Nathan and me?’
Nathan! I’d done it! After almost a year, I’d done it! I thought it best to be sure, however. ‘That’s a splendid idea, signora Colombo.’
‘Call me Marta, please.’
Federica brought some prosecco through, we all clinked glasses, and she rested her hand on my shoulder and gave it an ever-so-delicate squeeze.
Marta finished the last of her spaghetti al pomodoro , and smiled at me. ‘I see you were in the newspapers, Nathan.’
I nodded. ‘Yes. I could have done without it, to be honest. But there’s no way this wasn’t going to be front page news.’
‘Horrible. That poor man.’
‘It’s tough. I’m doing all I can to get his body repatriated but the police won’t release it until their investigation’s concluded.’
‘But it was an accident, of course?’
‘Of course.’ Well, almost certainly. ‘But there are people the police are speaking to.’
‘They were speaking to the artist today, Mamma,’ said Federica.
‘And how is he? It must be terrible for him too.’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘Yes, I think it is. He asked me to help him. Trouble is, I don’t think there’s much I can do.’
‘And you feel sorry for him?’
‘I do. I think he’s got problems. Or at least, a journalist told me he’d had problems in the past. Maybe drink, maybe drugs, But he does seem terribly vulnerable.’
Marta nodded. ‘I understand. But sometimes vulnerable people can do terrible things too. Although journalists—’ She exhaled a long, contemptuous ‘pfffffft’.
‘I guess that’s true.’ I got to my feet, and reached for the plates. ‘Let me get all this cleared away. And can I make anyone a coffee?’ They both nodded. ‘And there’s a bottle of grappa here if anyone would like one.’
‘No thanks, Nathan. You know how I feel about grappa.’
‘I’m afraid I agree with my daughter, Nathan. My husband was always one for grappa at the end of every meal, but I never understood why.’
‘Me neither, Mamma . And that stuff that Nathan buys is like drinking a cigarette.’
I returned from the kitchen, bearing one bottle and one glass. ‘Well, that’s the brilliance of it,’ I said. I checked my watch, and smiled. ‘Just time for a quick coffee, and then I’ll need to head off for my vaporetto.’
There was a slightly awkward silence. ‘My cat will be missing me.’
‘He won’t,’ said Federica, under her breath.
‘Well, he’ll need feeding. And I’ve got quite a busy day tomorrow.’
‘Oh, anything exciting?’ said Marta.
‘Well, exciting-ish. There are a few artists at the Arsenale that I helped out with translation work
. I told them I’d come along and see them. Now, I couldn’t make it on opening day because of all the – unpleasantness – at the Giardini, so I might try and go along tomorrow. Chance to have a look around the whole thing properly.’ I heard the Moka starting to bubble away on the hob, and went out to the kitchen to pour three cups. ‘That is if I can get away from the office. I’ve got a surgery in the morning, and I think Mr Blake-Hoyt’s brother is going to call me every day until I can get the body repatriated.’ I stirred sugar into my coffee and knocked it back in one gulp. I hadn’t let it cool enough, and it burned the back of my throat. No matter. I got to my feet and reached for my jacket. ‘Okay, and now I really must be going. Lovely to see you again, Marta.’
She smiled. ‘Likewise, Nathan. I hope we see each other again before I go back.’
‘Me too.’
Federica walked to the door with me. ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow, caro , okay?’ Then she gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. ‘Well done,’ she whispered in my ear.
I caught an empty vaporetto back to a near-silent Venice and a near-empty flat. I tossed a few balls to an uninterested Gramsci. Of course, there was no point in playing when I was in the mood. Far better to wait until the early hours of the morning.
The strange affair of Paul Considine and the head of Gordon Blake-Hoyt aside, it had been a good day. I thought back to Paul’s interview at the Questura . How had he seemed? Fragile, yes. Frightened, yes. He hadn’t slept properly for days. And yet, the greatest moment of his career had ended in a violent death. How was he supposed to react? The only person who’d told me about deep-rooted psychological problems was Francesco Nicolodi, and I didn’t see any reason to trust him any more.
I shook my head and scanned the racks of CDs. Some late night Hawkwind perhaps? No. I had a better idea.
V for Vivaldi. In between Verdi and von Bingen. Juditha Triumphans . I poured myself a glass of wine and lay back on the sofa as the horns blared out the martial overture and led into the great opening chorus.
Arma, caedes, vindictae, furores ,
Angustiae, timores
Precedite nos .
The Red Priest at his most militaristic and thrilling. Let weapons, carnage, vengeance, fury, famine and fear go before us .
I think I fell asleep shortly before Judith left Bethulia.
Chapter 13
The woman on the other side of the desk was crying. She’d been trying to hold it back since she came in, but now the tears were flowing silently. She’d arrived with her husband only two days ago. They were regular visitors, she said, and came every year. They always stayed at the same place, the nicest hotel on the Zattere. And then last night, just before dinner, he’d just stumbled and fallen during their evening passeggiata . Or at least that’s what she thought. He’d actually suffered a heart attack. He’d arrested twice in the water ambulance on the way to hospital, but – from what she could understand – he was at least stable now.
I’d been consul for less than six months when I had to deal with a young woman in floods of tears whose husband of two days had slipped and broken his leg on the fondamenta of the Giudecca. I’d had no idea, absolutely no idea, as to how one went about dealing with this sort of thing. I did, however, very quickly learn that – in these sorts of situations – you really did have to come up with something rather better than ‘Still, it could be worse, could be raining.’
I was better at it now. I let her cry for a few minutes, and ever so gently prodded the box of paper handkerchiefs on my side of the desk over to hers. She ran her hands through her hair and took a few deep breaths; then dabbed at her eyes. Gramsci watched her from the edge of the desk. I stared at him. Don’t even think about it. He stared back and raised a paw. With a swift, flowing motion I half rose from my seat, grabbed him and forced him on to my lap. I don’t think she even noticed. Gramsci squirmed and wriggled as I held him down under the pretence of stroking him. I felt a little like Ernst Stavro Blofeld.
She blew her nose, and then smiled. She looked over at Gramsci, trying to escape from my iron grasp. ‘He’s funny,’ she said.
I smiled back at her. ‘Better now?’
She nodded, and flushed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s okay. It must have been very frightening.’ She nodded. ‘Right, well there are certainly a few things I can help you with. But first things first. Would a coffee be good?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Would a caffé corretto be even better?’
She gave a little laugh. ‘At this time? Do you think I should?’
‘You’ve had a horrible shock. Yes, I think you should.’ I tipped Gramsci off my lap and went over to the coffee machine. I’d never liked capsule coffee makers but I’d come to realise that – if a client appeared in need of one – it looked more professional to have one in the office instead of going out to the kitchen to brew one up in a Moka. I’d gone to the trouble of preparing a tray with a couple of espresso cups on it. One of them was even clean. The other would do for me. I wondered if it would be just a little too smooth if I were to trigger the machine from my smartphone. All I’d need would be a machine that could be triggered by a smartphone. And, of course, a smartphone.
I made two cups and passed one to her, along with a small wooden box with some sugar sachets in. Some of which read, ‘Magical Brazilian Café San Marco’. I sat back down, opened the bottom left drawer on the desk, and took out a bottle of grappa. I liked the way it made me feel like a 1940s detective. I topped us up. ‘Take a little sugar as well, it all helps.’
‘You’re very kind.’
‘I’m not, you know. After a few months in this job I realised that too many people were leaving the office in tears. That’s never good. If nothing else, the bar I go to is downstairs. I started to worry that the staff would think I was a loan shark or something.’ She smiled again. I took another look at the notes that I’d scribbled down. ‘Okay, let’s see what we can do here. Your husband’s in the Ospedale Civile , but the good news is he’s stable now?’ She nodded. ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Now, have you got a name you can give me – a consultant or someone like that?’
She fumbled in her bag, and took out a diary. She riffled through it. ‘Dr Vianello.’
I grinned. ‘Have you got another name? It’s just that Vianello round here is like being called Jones in Wales.’
‘Sorry. Yes, his first name is—’ She screwed up her eyes. ‘Thomas. Tommaso, would that be?’
‘That’s right. I know him. Nice man. Doesn’t speak much English.’
She welled up again. ‘That’s right. It makes things a bit difficult.’ I nodded. She continued, ‘I don’t speak much Italian. Well, I speak a bit. It’s just you never expect to have to talk about something like this, do you?’
She was right. It doesn’t matter how good you are in a foreign language, you’re always grateful for a doctor or a barber who can speak English.
‘Okay, when are you next going to visit your husband?’
‘This afternoon. Three o’clock?’
‘Right. Would it help if I came along? I can interpret for you if need be?’
‘Would you? That would be so kind.’
‘No, it’s fine. And then when he gets out, we’ll need to look at getting you both home. But that can wait for now. Anything else, are there any people you’d like me to contact?’
‘No, that’s fine. I think I’ve called everyone.’
‘Good, good. Well, I think we’re almost done. But is there anyone you’d like to talk to? A priest for example?’
She flushed.
‘Would that be nice?’
She nodded.
‘Anglican, Catholic? Sorry, I have to ask this,’ I smiled.
‘Church of England. Is there one here?’ She sounded surprised.
‘There is. Not many people know about it, but there is. St George’s, in Campo San Vio. Can I pass your details on?’
‘Yes please. Thank you ag
ain.’
‘No problems. No problems at all.’ I showed her to the door. ‘I’ll see you later this afternoon then.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘Can I give you a hug? Or is that not professional?’
I grinned. ‘Maybe not. But hugs are important at a time like this, so I’ll let it go if you will.’
I walked her down to the street, closed the door behind her and picked up the few items of mail that there were for me. Then I skipped back upstairs. This was always the best part of the job. If you’re a victim of crime, then – sorry – there’s not much that I can do. I can be a shoulder to cry on but there’s little I can do beyond telling you to go to the police. Lost your passport? I can tell you how to get another one, but not much more than that. But if you’re alone in town, and something has gone a bit wrong and you feel scared because you don’t quite understand what’s happening – well, that’s fine. That I can help with. That’s when I can make things a little bit less frightening and horrible than they seem. And that’s why it’s the best part of the job. I dropped the mail on the desk. Mainly circulars from supermarkets but there were a few envelopes as well. Bills, of course. Still, Biennale years were good years and they worried me less than they might have twelve months previously.
There was a rattle of keys in the lock and Federica came in. ‘All finished, caro ?’
I checked my watch. It was a minute past the hour. ‘All finished, cara .’
‘I saw an elderly lady leaving. She was smiling. You must have worked your charm.’
‘Her husband’s in hospital. I’m going round to see him this afternoon.’
‘Oh, you are nice. Sometimes, anyway.’ She sat herself down in the chair opposite me. ‘Lunchtime?’
‘Lunchtime. Let me just check email.’ I scrolled through. ‘Nothing. Not even from Groupon. Right, let’s cook.’
‘Spritz first?’
‘Not today. I need to be on good form this afternoon.’
She grabbed my face. ‘Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Nathan?’
‘I’m being grown-up, cara . Doesn’t it suit me?’
‘I’m not sure. Try doing it in easy stages.’
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