Death in the Palazzo (4 page)

“The great laundry room of Venice!” Sebastian was saying. “Everywhere we looked, it was plastered against buildings, strung across streets, and crisscrossing from window to window. It was even draped over wellheads and benches, with a couple of cats squatting on it for clothes pegs—which was a good thing, considering the wind that's kicking up. Really, Gemma, you should take your easel out into the wonderful world of Venice and capture the scene. You could be to laundry what Van Gogh was to chrysanthemums!”

“Sunflowers, you mean,” Gemma said.

“He knows very well. One of Sebastian's sly tricks,” Viola said with a laugh before sauntering over to Urbino and Robert. She was wearing a dark green wool-velvet dress with long sleeves. Her crisp auburn hair was massed at her temples. Tall and lithe, she had an exotic air and seemed meant to be hung with amulets and to read poems of her own fashioning in overfurnished rooms.

She had done very little since arriving, but, without any effort, she had captured Urbino's imagination, and not least of all because of her striking physical resemblance to her brother.

“And God was back in his place and all was right with the world,” she said when Urbino came to the end of his story about Santa Teodora. Her thick eyebrows hovered above eyes that were melancholy and emerald. “That's a literary reference, in case you missed it! You don't know how valuable it is in social situations to have read English at Cambridge.”

“Barbara said you did a special project on Rossetti, but she didn't know if it was the brother or the sister,” Urbino said.

“Christina, of course! No sister should ever be in her brother's shadow—especially when he's her twin, as in my case.”

All three of them looked over at Sebastian, whose thick auburn hair, strong features, and green eyes somehow served to feminize him whereas they had the opposite effect with his sister.

“You're rather Pre-Raphaelite yourself,” Urbino said.

“I've been told that.” She said it as if she didn't do everything to enhance it, like wearing the kind of dress she had on or the pendant patterned after stained glass around her longish neck. “My tutor found it amusing—and also a little distracting, just as you seem to.”

Robert, who had been feeling increasingly left out of the conversation, said, “So your parents named you after the twins in
Twelfth Night.
”

“Mummy's doing! She's wild about Shakespeare. Sometimes I think it's condemned us to a life of mistaken identity, role-reversal, and cross-dressing—but maybe also the triumph of true love, who knows?” she said, addressing this last more to Urbino than Robert. “Oh, our twinship is the bane of our existence! That's why I envy you, Urbino. Molly knew what she was talking about with you, didn't she? You
are
an only child. I could tell by your reaction. And your parents were killed in a car crash?”

“A few years before I moved here.”

“I seem to remember that Barbara wrote and told Mummy that you inherited your palazzo through your mother. But what's this about fire and sugar?”

“Perhaps he wants to keep it to himself,” Robert said, but his blue eyes bore into Urbino as if he would search out the answer if Urbino didn't give it.

“To himself? Molly knows, and she's a complete stranger!” Viola looked at Urbino silently for several moments, with much more gentleness than Robert had. Her strong face turned serious. “Perhaps you're right. I can see that whatever it is, it's very painful even after all these years.”

She touched Urbino's hand with her long, narrow fingers and smiled at him sympathetically.

“Molly's comment just took me by surprise,” he said. “What happened to my mother and father isn't a secret. They were killed when their car burst into flames after being hit by a sugarcane truck. It was outside New Orleans.”

He had tried to say it matter-of-factly, but he was betrayed when his voice quavered slightly, and he averted his eyes from Viola's to consider the Contessa's Veronese over the fireplace.

“Molly should show more self-control,” Viola said and threw an angry glance at the woman. Molly was peering with a smile at the Contessa, who, now that Sebastian had finally finished, was describing how enjoyable her sitting for Gemma had been and how she herself couldn't wait to see the portrait tomorrow evening. “People with Molly's kind of gift, if that's what you call it—curse is more like it!—should keep it to themselves.”

“Don't be so hard on the little lady,” Robert said. “Remember what she said about the damage it would do to her if she held herself back.”

“There's no need to be upset on my behalf,” Urbino said. “I appreciate it,” he gave Viola a smile, “but the death of my parents isn't something I try to hide. And the story's there for anyone who wants to take the trouble to find out about it.”

“Are you saying that you think Molly doesn't have a gift?” Viola asked.

“I believe what Urbino is saying is that someone might have put the bug in the little lady's ear,” Robert said. “Maybe—”

“Oh, my God!” Viola interrupted as she looked at the door. “The Zenos and their doctor, I'm sure! What a ghastly crew! Oh, excuse me, Robert, you're related to the Zenos. Great-grandmother and great-aunt, isn't it? I wonder if Molly will have anything to tell us about them!”

Viola, who seemed to have reverted back to her earlier cavalier attitude to Molly and her controversial gift, grabbed Urbino's arm.

“I'm
so
glad you're here this weekend!” she said. “We're going to have a marvelous time. I'm just the kind of person to draw you out! Wait and see. Come on!”

And she led Urbino across the room to the new arrivals.

9

Signora Marialuisa Zeno had insisted on hiring a gondola from the pension, and had sorely regretted that the Contessa hadn't been at the landing to see them all alight.

The strange trio had been the cynosure of everyone else's eye, however, as they had floated down the Grand Canal to the dark building of their past: Dr. Vasco, gaunt and severe, melancholily contemplating the passing scene from beneath his shaggy gray brows; Signora Zeno, a shrunken doll peeping out from dark garments, her black walking stick gripped in her hand; and Bambina in a beribboned gondolier's hat, sprawled magnificently against the cushions like some superannuated Cleopatra and casting condescending glances at anyone on foot or in lesser craft.

The three of them now silently surveyed the field of the
salotto blu
as if unsure of whether they wanted to venture farther in—that is, until Bambina caught sight of Urbino. She started forward involuntarily, a coy smile on her brightly colored lips, but was restrained by what seemed to be a sharp pinch from her mother. She then took out a small silver flask from her pocket, unscrewed the lid, and liberally applied perfume to her neck, wrists, and inner elbows, all the while staring at Urbino.

The Contessa, the strain revealing itself in her voice and face, introduced them to everyone except, of course, Gemma and Robert. Then she gave them no time to say anything for several minutes as she ran on nervously about their trip up from Rome and how pleased and honored she was to have them here at the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini.

“And once my friends Oriana and Filippo arrive this evening,” she finished a bit breathlessly, “everyone will be here so we can get on with all the fun!”

Her comment fell flat despite the enthusiasm of its delivery. Signora Zeno and Dr. Vasco stared back at her with weary, long-suffering looks. Bambina kept shooting Urbino the kind of glances that would have been overdone in a silent movie.

Signora Zeno installed herself on a sofa with some help from Dr. Vasco.

“You look different, Barbara,” she said as she laid her cane across her knees. “What have you done to yourself?”

Considering that she hadn't seen the Contessa for decades, it was a strange comment until Bambina clarified it by saying, “She means compared to your photograph in the
Gazzettino
. And she's right, Barbara. Maybe it's the company you keep.”

Viola assessed Bambina with an amused grin as she squirmed and kept smiling in Urbino's direction.

“You seem to have an admirer. Other than me, I mean.”

Gemma seated herself next to her grandmother and managed to find one of the old woman's hands up in her sleeve. She held it and said in Italian:

“It's so nice to see you, Nonna. It's been a long time.”

Her grandmother—in fact, her aunt Bambina and Dr. Vasco also—were fairly fluent in English, but it was only natural to speak Italian with her grandmother even though Gemma felt more comfortable in English. The only persons in the room with a slight disadvantage of language were Angelica, whose Italian was still at the textbook stage, and Molly, whose command was more spirited than correct.

“You don't look well,” the old woman said with the candor that often accompanies the elderly.

Dr. Vasco nodded his head grimly and said with a worried frown, “Your color is very poor, my dear.”

“It's all this dampness!” Signora Zeno proclaimed. She looked around the room as if searching out damp spots, mildew, and mold among all the bibelots. Her lively eye became arrested by the Veronese. It showed a stout, golden-haired, barebacked Venus dividing her attention between two handsome bearded swains beneath a lush tree.

“That's new,” she said with a touch of contempt, pointing to the painting with her black cane.

“Only about four hundred years new! It's a Veronese!” Sebastian said.

“Don't be impertinent, young man,” she responded in thickly accented English. “I'm well aware of the age of this painting, and the real name of the painter is Paolo Caliari! What I meant was that it's new since I was here last.”

Her voice had a tendency to fade out slightly at points, yet it had a command in it. It almost made her weakness seem less a disability than a form of restraint.

“And when was that?” Sebastian asked.

“The month of May in the year of Our Lord 1938.”

The response was made by none other than Molly. Every pair of eyes turned to her.

“Molly claims to know the past,” Gemma said.

“Claims to know!” Molly said. “You tell me, Signora Zeno, was it May 1938, or wasn't it? And was there a gala here then, or not?”

Various degrees of shock and surprise showed on everyone's faces. Dr. Vasco stared at Molly with cold fury.

“About the Veronese,” the Contessa said quickly. “It was a wedding gift to me from Alvise. That's why it's—it's new to you, Marialuisa.”

If the Contessa had thought she was smoothing things over she couldn't have been more wrong, for this reference to her marriage and her husband, Alvise, was just the sort of thing to irk Signora Zeno and Bambina. They had hoped, actually even expected, Alvise to marry Bambina herself, his distant cousin, who was much closer to him in age than the Contessa. For a brief moment hatred seemed to gleam in the eyes of mother and daughter.

“More than a little strange for a wedding gift,” Signora Zeno said. “A practically naked woman between two men.” She added something indistinguishable because of the fading out of her voice, then: “I wonder what Alvise was thinking of? But then, he did have his lapses of judgment.”

The Contessa colored. No one said anything for a few moments until Angelica got up.

“It's a bit warm in here, don't you think?” she said to no one in particular.

“Oh, God, here comes the swoon,” Sebastian said.

Angelica seemed not to have heard him but Robert had. An effort at control was clearly visible along his jaw line.

“Do you mind if we go out on the loggia for a breath of air, Robert? I'll fetch my shawl.”

When she had left, Molly said to Robert, “Your sweet fiancée is afraid I'm going to say something about her, but she's poor in vibrations. Won't you please tell her?”

“She should be very glad to hear it. Excuse me.”

As he went out into the hall, he glared at Sebastian.

“I hear you have a lovely palazzo near the Pantheon,” Urbino said to Signora Zeno, thinking he would make his contribution to keep the conversation going smoothly. “I met a man last year living in one of the apartments.”

Signora Zeno seemed to subside farther into her garments. It was understood among her friends and family that no one would mention that the Zenos had been reduced to carving up their palazzo into flats and living in a few rooms on the third story.

“Well, I hope he wasn't the one who drove us here yesterday. A terrible driver.”

“Today. We came today, Mamma, remember?” Bambina said. She smiled at Urbino and shook her curly head in patient understanding of the old and feeble.

Signora Zeno, infuriated that she had no choice but to come off as either deceptive or senile, said sharply, “You're not very far behind me, Bambina, and don't you forget it. I had you when I was barely a child.”

“Oh, Mamma, you do say the silliest things.”

Urbino, having failed with Signora Zeno, turned to Dr. Vasco, who had seated himself in a Brustolon armchair.

“I understand that you know London.”

“I've spent some time there—before and after the war,” he said in English in a thick accent. “Not recently, however.”

From Sebastian's corner floated the comment, “I wonder which war he means?”

Either Dr. Vasco didn't hear him or chose to ignore the comment.

“You loved a beautiful woman who came to the end of her days in this house,” Molly said without any preamble, as was her way.

Signora Zeno's wrinkled face tightened and diminished even more. Bambina gasped.

“Do not talk about something you do not know about!” Dr. Vasco said, his grim face having turned grimmer.

“Oh, but I do! I can't help it.” She turned to Bambina. “Your little pussy died. Dido, Queen of Carthage, was her name. She suffered a lot, but not flames, no, no, not flames like her namesake of long, long ago.”