There were several bequests – one to the Egyptian Museum in Berlin – but the bulk of his large fortune he left to Hollander.
‘I’ve been regretting that I told you those things about Perla,’ Oriana said that evening when Urbino phoned her. ‘And now you want more information.’
‘I wouldn’t ask unless it was extremely important. And whatever you could tell me is probably a matter of public record anyway. I could unearth it, but it would take time.’
Urbino heard Oriana take a long drag on her cigarette.
‘Well, Perla never swore me to secrecy, and as you say, you could find out easily enough. Yes, she did have a problem as a nurse. At the Ospedale Civile.’ This was the municipal hospital in the Campo Zanipolo. It was in the quarter from which Urbino had seen Romolo rushing when Urbino had been in the bookshop near Santa Maria Formosa. ‘Three of her patients died during her night shift within a period of a few months. They hadn’t been seriously ill. She was suspended while an investigation was made. But she was cleared of any suspicion of negligence. She still is a nurse and could practice if she wanted to. But it soured her about the profession. It was one of the main reasons she studied homeopathic medicine.’
A few nights later Urbino was jolted from a deep sleep by the ringing of his bedside telephone. He looked at the clock. One fifteen.
‘Pronto!’
He sat up.
‘Signor Urbino?’
He recognized the voice immediately.
‘Giulietta? What’s the matter? Has someone broken in again?’
‘No, no! May God protect me! If he breaks in again, I might be as dead as Albina!’
Giulietta was close to shouting.
‘You know who broke in?’
‘No! I wish I did. We could protect ourselves then. All of us!’
‘The doors are secure now. It’s your nerves.’
But Urbino sensed it was more than this.
‘Why are you saying this, Giulietta?’
‘I wouldn’t have to explain anything if I hadn’t lied to you. It’s on my conscience. I’m afraid I’ll pay a high price. Yes, lied. It was because I was scared, but now I’m more scared. I can’t sleep a wink.’
‘Lied about what?’
A deep sigh came over the wire.
‘About nothing being stolen. Something was stolen!’
Urbino was fully awake now.
‘Something of Albina’s?’ Urbino prompted when Giulietta fell silent. ‘Nothing of Albina’s, no. Something of mine! A pistol.’
‘A pistol?’
‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘I’ve had it for years.’
‘But what were you doing with a pistol, Giulietta?’
‘Nothing! And I never did anything with it, I swear. But I had it.’
‘Where did you get it? From Albina?’
‘Albina? That mouse? She wanted me to get rid of it. Remember I told you about my trip to Vienna with a friend? I got it there.’
‘Why?’
‘It was such a pretty little thing, with a mother-of-pearl handle. A lady’s pistol, my friend said. Her father collected guns. They were in a big cabinet. So many of them.’
‘Your friend gave it to you?’
‘I’m ashamed to admit it, Signor Urbino.’ Giulietta lowered her voice. ‘I stole it, you see. I want to tell you the truth now. Maybe it will protect me. It was in a box. Dark wood, all carved, with mother-of-pearl on it, too.’
‘Why did you take it?’
‘My friend had so many. And it was so pretty. Albina and I lived alone. I thought that it would protect us if something bad happened, but now it’s the exact opposite!’
‘Did it have bullets with it?’
‘Of course!’ Giulietta said, raising her voice again. ‘Could it have done any good without bullets?’
‘But that was dangerous, Giulietta, having it in the house.’
‘It was never dangerous when it was in the house. Only now that it’s out of it! The bullets weren’t in the pistol! They were in the box. But everything’s gone: the box, the pistol, the bullets! And if the person shoots someone with it, I will be to blame.’
‘Did you ever tell anyone about it?’
‘Only Albina.’
‘Do you think she might have mentioned it to anyone? Now that I think of it, she might have been about to tell me the night she died. She said that you could protect the two of you. It must have been the pistol she was thinking about.’
‘She talked too much, not like me. Maybe she did tell someone.’
‘And your friend? The one from Vienna? Did she notice it was gone?’
‘If she did, she’s never mentioned it.’
‘You have to tell the police about this, Giulietta. They need to know.’
‘Would you tell them for me, Signor Urbino, please?’
‘You must do it yourself. First thing in the morning, and in person. You can’t wait any longer. The day after tomorrow is the regatta. I mean the day after today,’ he corrected himself, it now being the early hours of Saturday. ‘Everything is going to be busy and confused on Sunday.’
Urbino gave her the name of Corrado Scarpa, the contessa’s police contact.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m a bad woman. I know I stole and I lied.’
‘I understand these things. And I’m sure the police will. Everything will be all right.’
Urbino hoped that Giulietta was more reassured by his words than he was.
Part Five
The Finishing Line
Twelve
It’s as if we put in an order, paid a top price, and got even more than we expected – or deserve,’ the contessa said to Urbino on regatta afternoon.
They stood on the loggia of her palazzo waiting for her party to begin and looking out at the sweep of the Grand Canal.
Fleecy white clouds drifted in slow procession against a French blue sky, driven by a pine-scented breeze from the Dolomites. Little diamond points speckled the waters of Grand Canal, undisturbed by its usual traffic on this day of the celebration.
People crowded any free space that bordered or overlooked it. Banners supporting teams for the races were draped from the windows and the balconies of the buildings. It was much worse around the area of the finishing line by Ca’ Foscari, which would provide a clear view of not only all the races but the water parade as well.
‘You look handsome, caro.’ The contessa ran her hands down the front of his dark blue linen jacket and straightened his tie. Her bracelet of three gold strands with the intertwined letters B and A reflected the sunshine.
‘And you’re a vision as usual,’ Urbino responded.
The contessa was wearing a pleated silk Fortuny dress in a shade of sea green and weighted with corded pearls of Murano blown glass. Around her neck was a gold chain with an oval pendant of Titian’s portrait of Caterina Cornaro at the Uffizi. The contessa had commissioned a painter to make the miniature copy so that she could wear it today. She had swept her blonde hair up and back like Cornaro’s coiffure in the portrait.
‘Let’s hope my little gathering goes smoothly and Gildo and Claudio do well.’
‘They already have. To have got this far is a major achievement.’
Voices and laughter spilled out onto the loggia. A few moments later Vitale, the contessa’s major-domo, came through one of the high wide doors and nodded to her.
‘It’s begun, caro,’ she said.
She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and went into the salone da ballo.
Draperies of red, white, blue, and green adorned the salone da ballo. These were the colors of the ribbons that would be awarded to the winning teams at the end of the competition. Through an artful arrangement, these decorations didn’t clash with the Murano chandeliers, gilded moldings, and stuccoed ceiling of the room. Nor did they seem out of place with the sixteenth-century tapestry of Susanna and the Elders that dominated one wall.
A long buffet table covered with a dark blue cloth offered deli
cacies of various kinds, including the more mundane tradition of the regatta, brodo and boiled meat. The foods were placed in a series of large and small bowls, chafing dishes, and plates in the shape of some of the boats that would appear in the water parade and races – caorline, gondolini, mascarete, desdotone, pupparini, bissone. The centerpiece was a three-foot replica of the Bucintoro, the doge’s ceremonial barge. Its elaborately carved dark wood and gilded figurines, with a lion of St. Mark on the prow, set off the mounds of caviar piled in its hull.
Beneath the tapestry stood a platform with a five-piece orchestra. The soprano Annamaria Terisio and the tenor Michele Altieri, who frequently performed at the contessa’s gatherings, had just sung, to considerable approval, a series of arias and duets from Donizetti’s Caterina Cornaro.
The orchestra was now playing popular tunes. Guests swept across the floor. Oriana and Nick Hollander were proving to be excellent dancing partners, especially in the absence of Filippo who, to Oriana’s delight, had another engagement. Clementina Foppa was in the arms of a middle-aged man with a goatee and glasses who had come with Romolo’s son, Rocco.
After dancing with the contessa until an elderly Da Capo-Zendrini nephew cut in, Urbino went to sit with Giulietta. It was the first opportunity to ask her if she had gone to the police the day before.
‘I did. I feel much better, Signor Urbino.’ She looked much better, too. She wore a linen dress in a shade of violet that suited her. Make-up, applied in a restrained manner, had erased most traces of fatigue and worry. Her fingernails had been manicured, and the two broken nails were less noticeable. ‘Signor Scarpa was kind.’ She looked out on the dance floor. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?’
‘Gladly!’
They took their place at the edge of the other couples. Giulietta proved to be both graceful and energetic through not only the rest of this number but the next one as well.
When they finished, he got two glasses of champagne from a waiter passing through the room. Giulietta had apparently overtaxed herself for she asked to sit down. Urbino was going to seat himself next to her when Clementina Foppa joined them. She declined his offer of champagne and took the empty armchair next to Giulietta. The cartaio had a dour expression on her small face. The two women fell into a conversation about their respective dresses. Urbino excused himself when Clementina started explaining where she had found the material for her dress, whose blue, gold, and scarlet swirls resembled marbled paper and whose sleeves were cut very high to the shoulder, exposing her muscular arms in a somewhat unattractive manner.
Urbino went over to Maisie Croy who was standing alone by the buffet table. Her red hair, although carefully arranged, couldn’t completely conceal a bald spot near the crown. She wore a striped cotton dress in blue and white.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Croy?’
‘Very much. Barbara is wonderful. And if I eat any more of this delicious food, I won’t be fit enough to carry my kit.’
Croy held a plate heaped high with delicacies. Although each time Urbino saw Croy, she seemed to look more ill, evidently she still had a good appetite. He looked down at the scratches on her arm. They were fainter now.
‘Maybe a little dancing before the water parade will help. I’m at your service.’
‘That’s kind of you, but I’m a terrible dancer.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true. How is the painting going?’
‘It’s nice to be painting scenes away from Dorsoduro these days. And Barbara said I could set up my easel on the loggia after the regatta.’
A few minutes later Hollander and Perla joined Urbino and Croy. Somehow Hollander had performed the difficult task of disengaging himself from Oriana, at least for now, unless it was Perla who had managed it. By the doors to the loggia Romolo was having a conversation with the man in the goatee who had come with his son.
‘Nick says he knows boats like the back of his hand,’ Perla said. ‘I’ve brought him to the table to see if he’s just pulling my leg. You wouldn’t do that, Nick, would you?’
Urbino introduced Croy. Perla gave her a superficial smile and a quick look that took in her hair. Hollander shook Cray’s hand.
‘I believe I’ve seen you painting around Venice,’ he said.
‘Guilty as accused.’ Then she added, Ich mag Ihren Ring, Herr Hollander.’ She turned to Perla and Urbino, ‘Excuse me. That’s rude, but I couldn’t resist. I used to teach German.’
Urbino looked at the ring on Hollander’s finger. It was a dinner ring with the words ‘Freiheit’ and ‘Liebe’ in relief in silver against an onyx background.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand German, Miss Croy,’ Hollander said.
The watercolorist stiffened
‘I’m sorry. I assumed you did, since you were wearing the ring. I said that I like it. “Freedom” and “Love,” it says. Lovely words. Especially together.’
‘Yes. It belonged to my stepfather. He was German.’
Urbino explained that Hollander’s stepfather had died recently in Venice. Croy murmured condolences. Urbino watched her closely. Fear seemed to glitter in her eyes.
‘It was among his things,’ Hollander said. ‘He wore it often. I thought it would be a way of bringing him here. He would have loved all this.’
He indicated the sumptuous ballroom, the orchestra – which was now playing music from La Traviata – and the loggia, bathed in sunshine and reflected light from the Grand Canal.
‘I’m sorry to have stirred up sad thoughts,’ Croy said.
‘Nick is a strong man,’ Perla said. ‘I wish I could have helped your stepfather more with my herbs and preparations. I have a shop of herbs and homeopathic cures in Dorsoduro, Miss Croy,’ Perla explained to the red-haired woman. ‘Erboristeria Perla.’
‘I’ve been there.’
‘It must have been when I was out or I would remember. I hope you found what you needed and that it’s helping you.’ But before the embarrassed Croy might respond, Perla said, ‘So, Nick, are you ready for my little test?’
‘Test? What do you mean?’
Perla indicated the buffet table.
‘The boats. You said you know so much about them. I thought I’d ask you to identify as many as you could.’
Hollander looked at the boat-shaped receptacles on the table.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you – or please you, depending on what you’re expecting. All I can identify is the gondola, the gondolino, and the Bucintoro. But I’m sure Urbino can help us with the others.’
‘I know what they are, silly,’ Perla said. ‘I just want to see if you do. Oh, Romolo, darling,’ she said when her husband joined them. ‘Our new friend is an impostor.’ She put her arm around Romolo’s waist and pecked his cheek. ‘Nick pretends to know more about boats than he does. I don’t think that’s very nice.’
‘So maybe, my dear, you prefer when someone pretends to know less about something than he actually does?’ Romolo responded.
Perla gave a high, nervous laugh.
‘That’s very clever, signore,’ Croy said. ‘I’m Maisie Croy.’
‘Romolo Beato.’
‘You have a nice singing voice, Signor Beato,’ Croy said.
Romolo and Perla stared at Croy.
‘How do you know that?’ Perla asked.
‘I wandered into the garden after the concert. I heard you singing a little with the tenor, Signor Beato. I was some distance away but I could hear how lovely it was, and without any music. I didn’t want to disturb you. You should give us a concert yourself.’
‘You have good ears as well as good eyes, Miss Croy,’ Hollander said.
‘I hope I wasn’t intruding.’
Croy’s apology seemed directed almost as much to Hollander as it was to Romolo.
‘Intruding?’ Romolo said. ‘In no way. Thank you for the compliment. But my poor old voice is a whisper compared to Michele Altieri’s – and many others’, even one of my own students. He has e
xcellent power. He—’
‘Romolo is a voice teacher,’ Perla said, cutting her husband short. ‘His voice is divine. Don’t believe a single syllable of what he says. He sells himself short.’
‘My wife flatters me. She likes me to think I am better than I am. I will tell you who has a divine voice, and he isn’t a professional. He’s in the regatta. The student I was just talking about. Claudio Balbi. He’s rowing in the gondolini race with Urbino’s gondolier.’
‘How interesting!’ Croy exclaimed. ‘I’ll be looking for him.’
‘As we all will be,’ Romolo responded. ‘We wish him the best, him and Gildo. Excuse us.’ He took Perla’s arm. ‘I’d like to introduce my wife to Altieri. But I warn you, my dear, don’t say what a great singer I am!’
He guided Perla away with an unnecessarily firm grasp on her elbow.
A few moments later the contessa and Oriana joined Urbino, Hollander, and Croy. Oriana followed the Beato couple with her eyes until they were engaged in conversation with Altieri.
‘You promised me another dance, Nick,’ Oriana said. ‘If we don’t do it soon, we won’t do it at all. We have to go up to the altana to see the water parade.’
The contessa’s palazzo, although some distance from where the parade would terminate at Ca’ Foscari, provided an adequate view of the finishing line from its altana.
‘Nick might not be in the mood to do a lot of dancing,’ the contessa said. ‘Remember that he’s going through a bereavement.’
‘But he came today,’ Oriana insisted. ‘I don’t think he’s the kind of man who needs to go through the forms to prove the depth of his feelings.’
‘I thank the both of you for looking after me.’ Hollander smiled at the contessa. ‘But I’ll pass on another dance, Oriana. I’m a little tired.’
Hollander had made the best of a somewhat delicate situation, caught as he was between the contessa and Oriana. If he had ended up sacrificing a promise to Oriana in order to please his hostess, Urbino could find no fault with it. It was exactly what he should have done.
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