Black Bridge (19 page)

12

“Don't look at me like that!” the Contessa said later that afternoon when Urbino walked into the
salotto blu
.

“Like what?” he asked. He wasn't sure which of his several feelings he had conveyed. His surprise, his irritation, or, in fact, his admiration, for the Contessa looked particularly attractive as she sat on the sofa in a shaft of sunlight.

“As if you're looking at a ghost.”

The image, given the way she seemed to glow with health and vitality, was so inappropriate that he smiled.

“Does that smirk mean that you're not upset with me?”

“I've been worried sick about you, and you know it! Where have you been?”

“Torcello.”

“Torcello! Since yesterday afternoon?”

“You saw what that storm was like! Thank God, there were two rooms at the Locanda Cipriani.”

“A real stroke of luck. You could have called me! The phones weren't out. But I suppose you didn't even think of it. There've been two murders—maybe three, counting Orlando.” He fixed himself a drink and sat down. “And Bobo? How is
he
doing?”

“Not well at the moment. He took to his bed as soon as we got back. It may be the flu.”

“I want to talk with him.”

“You're going to have to wait! And so will Gemelli. He's left half a dozen messages. I won't have either of you pestering the poor man with your silly questions.”

She watched him as he took a sip.

“It's obvious you're not in the mood to tell me what this is all about.”

“Do you really know anything about my moods these days, Barbara?”

Fortunately, the Contessa was relieved from answering by the entrance of Harriet, her face pale and drawn. She handed the Contessa a folder.

“My God, Harriet! You look completely knackered!” the Contessa said.

This only made the secretary turn paler.

“Go right home, my dear. Even better, stay here where you can be looked after properly. We'll have the doctor in for you and Bobo both.”

“Oh no! I'll be fine back at my place, really! I think you'll find all those letters in order. Excuse me.”

When Harriet had gone, the Contessa said: “I suspect that might be an example of unrequited love.”

“Do you still think she's pining away for Bobo?”

“Who else? Oh yes, I forgot! Marco Zeoli. Well, perhaps you're right, but the man had better see what he can do for her before she collapses completely.”

“What do you know about Harriet, Barbara?”

“What do I know about her? She's the best secretary I've ever had!”

“And her references?”

“Impeccable! What
is
the matter with you this morning, Urbino? Now dragging in poor, defenseless Harriet!”

She went into one of her sulks which experience told him could last longer than his own patience. She usually could be jollied or coaxed out of them but this afternoon he didn't have the inclination. Well, she was already upset, he might as well go all the way.

“I have to ask you about something, Barbara. Gemelli knows that you withdrew a large sum from your account at the Banca Commerciale Italiana and that—”

“He
what
! How dare he! I'll have him sent straight back to Sicily, and don't think I can't, don't think I won't!” She glared at him. “How could you let him do such a thing!”

“I'm hardly in a position to prevent the police from doing what they want to do—and need to do. You have to be protected.”

“Deliver me from such protection, Sir Galahad! I can take care of myself, thank you! What I do with my money is entirely my affair! Alvise never put any strictures on it. I've given generously, as you're very well aware! And I've given with some good sense, too, I hope, and I don't need you or Gemelli asking me to render an account like some shopkeeper on the Rialto!”

This reference to the Rialto, reminding her of the murders of Moss and Quimper, sobered her. She looked at Urbino with an almost desperate expression: “I'm in so deep, aren't I? I feel like I'm about to drown.”

And she did indeed take a long, deep breath as if in search of the air she needed.

“Do you think I want to feel this way? Do you think that if I could
be
any other way, I wouldn't?”

When Urbino said nothing, she glared at him as if he had voiced his deepest criticism.

“I don't care what you think! I don't care what anyone thinks! The only person who really understands is Oriana.”

“Oriana! Don't be a fool! I hope you're not using
her
as a role model! Oriana and her string of gigolos!”

“I'm well aware that Oriana isn't exactly a saint but she isn't afraid to feel! She follows her heart, wherever it leads.”

“To her and Filippo's destruction one of these days! But you might get there before her! Excuse me, Barbara. I think it might be better if I leave. I'll stop by later when Bobo's had enough beauty sleep.”

13

On the
traghetto
ferrying him across the Grand Canal to the San Polo quarter, Urbino stared straight ahead at the farther shore, ignoring the chatter of two old women behind him.

He didn't regret anything he had said to the Contessa. He had a responsibility to save her from herself. Yes, he was jealous, but it wasn't making him completely blind to what was going on—and it definitely wasn't putting ideas in his head! Bobo was not to be trusted. If he was nothing else, he was a liar and a deceiver, and this was danger enough for the Contessa.

And she seemed to be having second thoughts. What had she said? That she was in deep, that she felt she was drowning. Was it possible that she knew something about Bobo that she was keeping to herself, something that Urbino should know? Her defiant exclamation that she had to follow her heart could be a sign that she herself was beginning to fear where it was leading her.

The best way to protect the Contessa was not to dismiss his suspicions of Bobo as mere jealousy. He was convinced that the more he learned about Moss and Quimper and the night of their murders the closer he would come to Bobo's true villainy.

Urbino stepped off the gondola and made his way quickly to the Zeoli apartment. Marco shouldn't be back for at least another hour, and then he would have his winding-down time at the trattoria.

The nurse answered the bell and led him to a dark room. The only source of light was a flickering television, its volume turned up high. The nurse left.

Urbino was about to introduce himself when the wizened old woman sitting on the sofa shouted: “You're Signor Macintyre, the American! Marco talks about you. Maybe you want more light. Young people don't like the dark. Just pull the curtains back.”

He went over to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Affixed to the outside of the window was a little mirror positioned so that it reflected a piece of the scene in the
campo
in front of the Zeoli building.

“It's enough of life for an old woman,” Signora Zeoli said, noticing him looking at the mirror. “Along with
that.
” She nodded her white head at the television where Zorro was riding away. “You can put the sound down.”

“It's obvious that your son looks after you,” Urbino said after adjusting the volume.

“You don't have to be so sly, young man! Trying to get on my good side like that. We've never met, not me and you, or me and that fancy Baronessa or Contessa or whatever she thinks she is.” She stared at the television screen for a few moments, then relented enough to add: “She's kind enough to Marco. I guess that's supposed to be enough for me. But just because I can't go to her fancy balls or whatever they are is no reason for her not to come here!”

“I'll extend your invitation.”

“Don't you do anything of the kind! I'll chase her right back to that museum of hers! Why don't you just ask me what you came to ask me, young man, and forget about being polite! It's a waste of time.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Signora. I want to ask you about the murders in the Rialto green market last week.”

“The young couple shot to death. You'd have to be dead yourself not to know about it.”

“Have you heard anything from your friends in the quarter that might help the police find out what happened?”

“Nothing! And don't think my Marco knows any more, because he doesn't! He would have told me. Anyway, he was here in the apartment all that night. He's been in every single night for the past few weeks to keep me company—except for the Contessa's ball,” she added quickly. “I hope you're as good to your mother.”

“He had a visitor the night the couple was murdered.”

“He certainly did! Scrawny woman, thin as a broom handle, with a pinched face. The secretary of this Contessa. Why a single, solitary person needs a secretary I'll never know. Well, she seems to have got one that can't even push a pencil or whatever they do these days. Always sick, to hear her talk. Maybe she thinks Marco has a cure for her.”

This sent her into peals of laughter which precipitated a coughing fit. Urbino gave her a drink of water.

“What time did Signorina Kolb leave that night?”

“The same time Marco told you if you've asked him,” she snapped. “Almost eleven.”

Harriet hadn't returned to the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini until at least twelve-thirty.

“Much too late to my way of thinking. Nervous as a cat, she was. Too keyed up to think that maybe other people wanted to get to sleep.”

With what he was sure the direct old woman considered an excess of politeness, Urbino apologized for having taken up her time. He turned the volume back up on the television and left.

14

“Bobo still isn't feeling well,” the Contessa said coolly the next morning when Urbino went to the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini.

“Did you call a doctor?”

“He refuses to see one. All he needs, he says, is a bit of rest.”

She looked as if she could use more rest herself. Yesterday she had said that she felt about to drown, and today an imaginative eye as well as a concerned heart could make out the telltale signs of her distress. The slight breathlessness. Eyes opened wide as if in search of something substantial to grasp. Even a faint air of desperation.

“Rest or not, I have to talk with him. I'd appreciate it if you would see that he makes himself available—for
your
sake as well as his. The best way to protect him—to show that you care about him—is to urge him to tell me everything that might be even remotely significant. And it's the best way for him to show
you
the same thing! I assure you, Barbara, he's hiding something and you're entitled to know!”

The Contessa stared at the Veronese over the fireplace.

“You confuse and frighten me these days!” she said. “Your behavior lately and all these terrible things have put my head in a whirl! I wanted to be in a completely different frame of mind for the procession to San Michele tomorrow night. However did it come on us so fast, I ask you? The Day of the Dead.” She shook her head slowly. “There's always someone else to put on the dark list, isn't there? Now poor Orlando. Yes, Urbino, I'll speak to Bobo. I'll tell him to search every single corner of his brain to see if he can come up with anything that might help him. Us.” She clarified: “The three of us. But you're wrong about him, believe me. You'll live to eat your words!”

She gave him a bright, brave smile.

“Tell me, Barbara, would Oriana be inclined to lie for Flint's sake?”

“I think, my dear, that a woman in love is likely to do worse things than that!”

“Oriana might well be in love this time, but Flint is shrewd. He's out for himself. By the way, I haven't noticed Oriana wearing her diamond-and-sapphire bracelet lately.”

“The Bulgari? The one she got from Filippo's mother? You know, I don't think she
has
worn it recently. She loves it so—But what are you suggesting? Oh, I see! Flint has run off with it, is that it? Maybe you think Oriana should nail down everything in the Ca' Borelli. Maybe you think
I
should do the same thing! Fortune hunters hiding behind every gondola in Venice!”

There were so many things Urbino wanted to tell her, speculations he wanted to share with her, but a wariness now crept into his behavior with her. She might pass things on too readily and trustingly to Bobo, with possibly dangerous results. No, he would rather be there to see the man's reaction and to be the one to choose what Bobo knew and didn't know.

Mauro announced Livia Festa, who was right behind him, Peppino tucked under one arm. The two of them—dog and mistress—swept the room with eyes practically the same shade of dark brown.

“Is Bobo here?”

“I'm afraid he's indisposed,” the Contessa said frostily. “Why don't you sit down, Livia dear. Would you like a saucer? For your dog, I mean.”

“‘Peppino,'” Festa corrected. “No thank you on either count, Barbara. It's Bobo I've come to see. Forgive me for seeming rude, but I
must
see Bobo.”

Festa's buxom body was tense. Hair was slipping from her snood and her makeup seemed to have been applied in a rush.

“But I've just told you, Livia. Bobo is indisposed.”

“I've seen him more indisposed than whatever he's like now. More indisposed than you've ever seen him, I'm sure. I
must
see him.”

“I'm afraid I can't allow it, Livia. This is my house. I have a responsibility to my guests.”

“‘Guests'! I like that! Don't you think you should find out if Bobo wants to see me? I think you'll find that he does. But don't bother. I'll go right up.”

The Contessa and Urbino watched as Livia turned around and left, Peppino grasped tightly under her arm.