In the spare room, once he’d closed the door, Hudson said, “I’d like to take this on.”
“I thought you’d gotten sick of travelling and wanted to stay put for awhile.”
“This has me really bugged. This guy has made fools of us … of me.”
“Dan, I appreciate the way you feel. He’s made me look pretty dumb around an important client, but we can’t afford to let things get personal. You know that.”
“True, but something tells me you need someone who can level the playing field a bit. I have training that probably all of your people lack, and I have access to equipment that I think is going to be needed. I’ve worked in Italy a few times. I have connections.”
Shannon considered it for a moment. “I don’t think you’re wrong, but having you stay in such close proximity to his wife may be a hard sell to the husband.”
Hudson smiled mischievously. “I promise I’ll be a well-behaved employee. Opera singers aren’t my type.”
“Let’s be serious. I don’t want to screw this up any further.” She pursed her lips. “Okay. I agree you would be the best person for the job, taking everything into consideration, but I don’t want to walk back in and say that. I’d like to take a little more time and not rush into it. We also have to talk money here, too. Anyway, if I do decide to move in this direction and the client agrees, could you be ready to depart with her?”
Hudson answered, his expression deadly serious, “Yes. And I will do my utmost to protect this woman. You can count on me.”
Chapter Nine
I simply could not stay in our condo. Once we had that fancy new lock on the door I might feel differently, but knowing someone had watched Tony’s and my most intimate moments left me feeling violated and horribly depressed. Certainly I would not have been able to sleep there that night, super-lock or no, waking at the slightest noise. It was an easy decision, and I distinctly got the feeling Tony was relieved about it.
Even though Lili had generously offered us the use of her guest room, Tony and I felt we would be better off on our own.
With a quick call to the Royal York, we secured a room. I looked forward to putting this whole sordid mess out of my mind while enjoying the company of my husband. We could visit the art gallery, maybe catch a couple of movies or see a play. I didn’t really care. I just wanted something to occupy my mind.
Late the next morning, we spoke to Shannon. The ownership of the condo where the signals from the bugs had been bounced to had been traced to a numbered company in Hong Kong, and would most likely prove to be a dead end. She was still considering who to send with me to Italy. My thought was that I didn’t care as long as they could do what was necessary to protect me. I detest every kind of firearm, but someone guarding me with a nice big gun was sounding more attractive by the hour.
“I would feel a lot better if I knew we had this all settled,” I told her.
“Would you two be okay if Dan did the honours?”
“Certainly, but can you spare him?”
“He’s already volunteered for the job.”
“Is there time to get him a ticket? Where will he stay? The apartment I have rented has only one bedroom.”
“Give me the phone number of the person you’re renting from. We’ll take care of the logistics. Don’t worry about anything.”
Tony and I spent a lovely Friday just bumming around the city. The evening saw us watching a brainless shoot-em-up action movie followed by a nightcap in our hotel’s atmospheric Library Bar.
After a long morning sog in bed, we got up around noon and decided to go back to the condo so I could get ready for my return to Rome. I needed to be at the airport by four o’clock.
All was clear at our place, but I made Tony check the video record to make sure.
It felt like coming home after a very long trip.
“How long will it take you to pack?” Tony asked as he dropped our two overnight bags at the door.
“Probably an hour, maybe a bit more. I need to wash a few things since that didn’t get done earlier.”
“I need to go over to the Market before it closes to get some food for next week. Is there anything I can pick up for you?”
“Not really,” I answered distractedly since I was already focused on the task at hand. “No, wait. Could you get a bottle of maple syrup from that guy who’s out front of the North Market? I told my landlord in Rome I would bring him some.”
“I shouldn’t be gone more than about twenty minutes, thirty max. Will you be all right?”
I gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be fine, but I will put the security chain on. Just ring when you get back.”
The place was now clear of all that electronic crap, but I could nonetheless feel the ghost of that other presence. It crossed my mind that once we got things straightened out, I’d probably want to move. I loved my condo, and Tony had fit into life there just fine, but now it felt, I don’t know, ruined for me, like I didn’t belong there anymore. That thought filled me with sadness, but also anger. What had I done to deserve this?
I had our small washing machine chugging away and the other clothes I’d be taking spread out on the bed when the doorbell rang.
“Coming!” I called out as I walked to the door.
Normally, I just throw open the door, but this time I looked through the peephole. Tony was indeed standing there, grocery bags dangling from his hands, but he was looking down, a strange expression on his face.
Not suspecting anything, I took off the chain and unlocked the door. Tony’s stricken eyes came up to meet mine.
“Oh, Marta….”
I looked down and felt the bile rise in my throat as panic gripped me.
There on the doorstep were two red long-stemmed roses. Both of them had their blossoms nearly broken off. It looked as if one of them had also been stepped on.
As the big airplane began its rapid ascent out of Toronto, I could feel the pounding in my heart begin to ease. Thank the Lord for Tony because I’d completely lost it after finding those flowers right in front of our apartment door.
The room had been spinning as Tony pulled out a dining room chair and got me to sit with my head down.
Kneeling next to me, he kept saying over and over, “Marta, it will be all right.” He sounded as frightened as I felt.
Getting out to the airport and onto the plane had all been a bit of a blur. Tony packed my clothes and bundled me into the car. At the check-in, he told them I wasn’t feeling well. An airline rep got me through security in record time and into the VIP lounge where I had a stiff drink. I couldn’t stop shaking.
When I entered the plane, I found I was now in the first class cabin. Whether Tony was responsible for this or the airline, I was grateful since I find sleeping on airplanes difficult, even in business class. As the rest of the plane boarded, I asked for a sleeping mask and managed to nod off, only waking up when an attendant came by to remind me to buckle up.
This latest reminder of just how closely this bastard was keeping tabs on me had me more frightened than I’ve ever been. Even though I tried to put it out of my mind, I couldn’t help thinking that this monster must have been following us to be able to respond so quickly after Tony and I returned to the condo. The fact that I’d been alone when he left his awful roses made it clear just how vulnerable I was.
Tony must have spoken to Shannon after he dropped me at the airport, because on my arrival at Leonardo da Vinci airport in Rome, there was an airline representative at the gate who escorted me to the VIP lounge to wait for Dan’s arrival on a later flight. Even though it meant I would have to hang around for several hours, I wasn’t about to complain. The last thing I wanted was to be alone — anywhere.
For once, two flights in one day landed right on time. I breathed a sigh of relief when my cell phone chirped and I heard Dan’s voice, telling me he was just waiting for his luggage at the baggage carousel.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Um,
yes. Sure. Just fine.”
“It might take me a bit of time to get through customs and immigration, because I packed a few extra electronic toys just before the flight. Considering what happened, I wanted them with me now rather than waiting for them to be shipped in tomorrow as I’d originally planned. I know customs will be asking questions, so hang tight. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“What else is going on? I called Tony as soon as I landed, but he couldn’t tell me much.”
“Shannon contacted the police and she’s bringing them up to speed.”
I sat up straight. “They’re not going to blab something to the press, are they?”
Dan’s tone was calming. “No, no. She stressed to them that this must all be as discreet as possible. Don’t worry. Shannon still has excellent connections within the Toronto police.”
“And Tony? He’s okay? I was thinking on the flight over that he could become a target.”
“Your friend Ms. Doubek —”
“Lili.
“All right, Lili, then. She doesn’t think that’s much of a problem, but it is something to keep in mind. I promise to pass it on to Shannon if it will ease your mind. The luggage carousel just started up. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
I waited another forty minutes before Dan showed up.
“All set?” he asked.
Getting to my feet, I stretched my back carefully. It was a mass of kinks. “Let’s go.”
Dan had obviously been through da Vinci airport before because he got us to the taxi rank by a shorter route than the one I’d used the previous month. As we threaded our way through the crowds the airport always seems to have, he gave me a complete update on how things stood at the moment.
“I only had a bit of a hassle at customs. Most of the equipment I brought either wasn’t a problem for them, cameras and the like, or it looks like something else.”
“Sounds like I’m in a spy novel.”
He flashed that big, sort of goofy smile. “Relax. I’m a professional. It’s not as if I haven’t done something like this before.”
Since it was midday, traffic into Rome wasn’t too horrible, and we seemed to have gotten a competent driver who didn’t risk his life and ours more than once a minute.
Italian drivers make me nervous. Multiply that by a factor of ten for Roman drivers — and cabbies are the worst of all. Normally, I shut my eyes and pray whenever I’m in a taxi in the Eternal City.
It was a lovely January day, bright sun with a bit of warmth — unlike what I’d left behind in Toronto where a blizzard was imminent. The change in weather and location had my spirits on the ascent.
The apartment I’d rented was on a small side street, Via Flavia, a brisk fifteen-minute walk from the opera house. On days when it wasn’t raining (January is notoriously wet in Rome) or too cold (by Roman standards), I’d enjoyed stretching my legs by walking to work.
“I don’t know if you’ll be doing that much, unless I’m with you,” Dan said after letting me rattle on about Rome for about ten minutes.
That brought me back down to earth with an almighty thud.
“Aren’t you going to be with me all the time?”
I said it partly in jest, but also keenly aware once more that we had no idea what my stalker had in mind for his next move. None of us were under the illusion he might think things were getting too hot for him and back off. Those two roses at my door the previous day certainly made that clear.
He’d be back, of that I was certain. He may well have been right behind me as I’d boarded the plane. Until someone could put a name or at least a face to this bastard, I would not feel safe.
The closer we got to our destination, the chattier our driver became. It was obvious Dan spoke little or no Italian, so a lively three-way conversation began with me in the middle providing translation.
Seemed as if the Italians were up in arms again about how their government was handling the current economic situation. Food prices were going up. Gasoline was going up. The cost of vino was going up! It was all a national disgrace. There was talk of a general strike. In other words, life was going on as it generally does in Italy.
Dan’s amusement seemed to rise as our driver’s volume increased. I just hoped the labour troubles wouldn’t disrupt the remaining performances of Tosca. It was already disorienting enough to be doing this split run due to that special broadcast performance of Trovatore over the past weekend.
But I couldn’t get too mad because I’d be doing one of those the following week from La Fenice in Venice. I would sing Violetta once again in La Traviata in the same house where the opera had been premiered in 1853. The part being glossed over was that the opera was a failure its inaugural run. Hopefully the performance I would be involved in would be anything but.
The really odd thing was that I’d been chosen for the principal role in the first place. There was no lack of good Violettas in Europe at the moment. My manager thought it was because they wanted some “local representation” for North American audiences. Tony thought it was because I still had the whiff of scandal clinging to me after being involved in that restaurant bombing in Paris. Heaven knows, the Europeans love a good scandal.
Whatever the reason, I wasn’t complaining. The broadcast audience would be huge, worldwide — and huge is always good.
To me, Rome has always seemed more alive than any other city I’ve visited. If New York is the city that never sleeps, Rome is the city that never stops. In fact, it never seems to even slow down.
Drivers (as ably demonstrated by our cabby) are absolutely fearless, even those on scooters — of which there are uncounted thousands, racing down streets at terrifying speeds — and are made of sterner stuff than I or else completely insane, likely both.
“How well do you know the city?” I asked Dan during a lull in our driver’s monologue.
“Not very. I’ve only been here a handful of times and never for long. You?”
“This is my second gig here. I passed through with my folks on a summer vacation when I was sixteen. I also lived here for nearly four months with my mentor while he was involved in premiering his new production of Semiramide.”
“Do you like it?”
“Very much.”
“Big history buff?”
“Certainly there’s that. The Romans and the history of the Catholic church are on practically every street corner. You can never forget you’re in one of the oldest cities in the world.”
“And one of the greatest!” our driver said, simultaneously proving he spoke English quite well and had been listening closely to what we’d been saying.
By that point we were navigating our way along Via Flavia, the narrow side street behind Via XX Settembre.
My rented apartment was on the fourth storey of a building that had a small hotel on the first three floors. Reached by a rather rickety elevator squeezed into the middle of the stairwell long after the construction of the building, Dan had to pack his two bags on top of each other in order to fit everything in.
“Must be a wonderful ride when someone’s reeking of garlic,” Dan commented as the elevator door slid shut behind us.
The elevator let out its usual groans as it ascended and I sent out a silent prayer for it to get all the way to the top without mishap. Normally I use the stairs because I didn’t trust the contraption. It seemed to be out of service a couple of times every week.
I’d forgotten to tell Dan that the door behind him was the way out, so it took some juggling of suitcases for him to be able to open it, allowing us to extract ourselves.
“Which place is yours?” he asked.
“It’s the door on the right just ahead there.”
We wrestled our bags up two more steps. Actually, I wrestled and Dan lifted his two up as if they didn’t weigh a thing.
“Nice place,” Dan said as he set his bags down once I’d opened the door.
It was a very nice apartment, airy, surprisingly spacious, and
very Italian. Marco, the owner, had it decorated using the exquisite taste that many in this beautiful country seem to possess right from the cradle. He rented to a lot of singers performing at the opera house because he had the good business sense to also equip it with a serviceable piano.
“What’s my place like?”
“I only stuck my head in the door once when it was open, but it seemed nice.”
Surprisingly, the one-room apartment across the hall was available for the duration of our stay. I had the suspicion my landlord had done a bit of string-pulling to make it work for me. Occasionally it helps to be a somebody, I guess.
By the time I got back from moving my suitcase to the bedroom, Dan had the heavier of his two bags open and was removing a couple of small boxes. He went over to the dining area to open them on the table.
First out was a small gadget, the shape and size of an MP3 player. In its centre was a bright red button.
“Panic button. For any reason, you press it, and I’ll be in this apartment in a flash.” He continued taking things out. “We’ll have an alarm for the front door. Don’t worry, if anyone opens it, there will be a ding-dong sound like the sort of thing you hear in a shop. We’ll also set up this video camera to keep watch when you’re out.”
“Aren’t you going to monitor the windows, too?”
I’d meant it as a joke, but Dan took me seriously. “Good point. Someone agile might be able to get in from the roof. I’ll have something shipped over.”
I needed a bit of a pick-me-up after the long flight, so I made a couple of double espressos for us while Dan went about his business.
Marco bustled in a bit later. Dan’s digs were pretty basic, but clean and tidy. He also had a small rooftop terrazza. Too bad it was January.
I treated Dan to dinner since there was nothing to eat in either apartment and no urge from either of us to get supplies at one of the small shops nearby. There was a good restaurant across the street where we could have eaten outside had the weather been more hospitable. It served terrific pasta, and I indulged that night as a treat after the long flight.
Masques and Murder — Death at the Opera 2-Book Bundle Page 37