Broken Chord (13 page)

Lapo went up to his bedroom. He wanted to go out but, as that was forbidden for the moment, he would have to find some other means of amusing himself. He turned on his PC. Thank God for the internet, which catered for the most extraordinary tastes, some even more perverse than his own. His hand strayed down to his trouser zip. He touched the comforting bulge he felt there. That was all that mattered to him: sex and the various ways he had found of satisfying his amazing and unusual appetite.

Somehow Marta got herself together and began to prepare a supper out of leftovers. Piero helped her. They avoided talking about the murder and concentrated on practical matters.

“I don’t expect they’ll want a lot, but on the other hand no one ate much at lunch, so maybe they’ll be hungry.” She sounded worried.

“I think that cold cuts, a salad and the cheese board will be fine.”

“What about tomorrow? How am I going to manage without cook and Franca?”

“I’ll help you. We’ll keep it simple.”

“Piero, what do you think will happen here?”

“God knows, but we’re alright. We can retire if you want to. We’ve always talked about a farmhouse in Tuscany and a dog and a couple of cats. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“I’m not sure anymore. It sounded wonderful when it was in a distant future, but if it’s going to be soon then it sounds frightening.”

“Why? We’ve pulled up our roots often enough before, following the family all over Europe. Come on, Marta.”

“Yes, but the family were our roots. Now we’ll have no one.”

“We’ll make friends.”

“In an isolated farmhouse?” She sounded incredulous.

“Well, maybe we’ll get something on the edge of a village and get to know the locals.”

“The yokels, you mean. Oh Piero, we’re not used to that sort of person.”

“Would you prefer the sea?”

“I don’t know. I just want things to go on as before. Then there’s Lapo.”

“What about him?”

“I’m very fond of Lapo. I can’t leave him; he’s like a son to me.”

“Marta, I don’t think he feels that,” he said gently

“I’m sure he’s fond of me,” she said stoutly, because she couldn’t bear to think that it wasn’t that way.

Piero kept his counsel. He, personally, thought that Lapo was such a mess that he wasn’t able to be fond of anyone, let alone feel love for them, and that included his mother. His life had been distorted by his deformity. He was turned in on himself. His cruelty was quite extraordinary. It was as though he had to make others pay, with their pain, for his anguish. Even as a child, as soon as he’d reached the age of reason and had become aware of his situation, he made others pay for it, starting with animals, which was why they no longer had any pets. Piero didn’t love Lapo and he would have hated to have him for a son. Marta’s attachment to him was not founded on logic. She loved him, was besotted with him, and everything was tainted by her love: her way of seeing Lapo and her way of excusing his actions. Of course she knew all the terrible things he’d done but she never laid any blame on him. He was always to be understood, and she expected Piero to feel
the same compassion that she did for someone who had been dealt such a difficult hand in life. Piero actually felt more compassion for those who had been the targets of Lapo’s wrath: the animals he’d had to put out of their misery and then buried, the prostitute with a broken arm and a swollen bruised face who had accepted money to keep her mouth shut. He felt they were victims in a far more tangible way than Lapo was. Sometimes he’d wondered how Lapo would feel if he had to bear physical pain rather than the mental suffering that everyone blazoned forth as the motive for his actions. Piero had found himself wanting to strike the boy. He remembered the cat that had been soused in petrol and burnt, and his own overwhelming rage. Marta had said that Lapo at the age of ten had not understood what he was doing, but Piero knew that the boy was well aware of the suffering he caused others and even worse, he enjoyed it. For a moment he asked himself whether Lapo would have been capable of killing his own mother.

Marta’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I could make a quiche.”

“Not today. You’re too…” he looked for a word, gave up and said, “tired. Maybe tomorrow.”

“It’s the children I’m worried about. They don’t like salad.”

“You could do a little pasta with oil and parmesan cheese for them. And an omelette. They don’t eat with the rest of the family anyway in the evening.”

“Perhaps I will. Oh, it’s all so upsetting. I shouldn’t even be in the kitchen doing the cooking but I don’t know what else to do. Who knows when they’ll let cook come back.”

“The next few days are bound to be difficult but we’ll manage.”

“The next few days! I think things will be difficult from now on until we die.”

“Marta, that’s very dramatic. Think of our retirement. No more work.”

“I am, that’s what’s worrying me.”

He moved over and embraced her. “It will be nice to have more time together. We can make all those little trips you’ve always wanted to make. We can go to America and see your cousins, and I haven’t seen my brother in England for years. We’ve always been
tied up with the family here and never had any time to do the things we want to do.”

“It’s just that I can’t imagine life without them.” Her voice became a wail.

The children splashed happily in the pool in the early evening warmth while Isabella sat on a deck chair in silence. Everything was the same as yesterday: the same clear water, the children laughing and playing, but everything was different now. So much had happened; so much had not been said. She was absorbed in her own thoughts.

“Papa, Papa!” called Camilla.

Isabella looked up and watched him approach: her husband, her unfaithful husband and what else was he? She repressed a shiver of fear.

“So you decided to join us.”

“I can’t stay in the house. It’s oppressive.”

“Yes, it is, even without your mother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Teo, you know damn well. She couldn’t stand me and she let me know it.”

“You hated her, didn’t you?”

“Don’t tell me you loved her.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well then. Try to understand how it’s been for me.”

He looked at her, taking in the plump tanned flesh. He could still see the pretty girl he’d married six years earlier, although her face was marred by the downward lines of dissatisfaction around her mouth.

“I suppose it hasn’t been easy.”

“Well, thank you for that. It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been having a hard time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say that. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“I am sorry, actually. I know my mother has been difficult…
well, unpleasant. She was never an easy person to be around.”

“She was a bitch.”

He looked down at the children who were begging him to join them in the water and nodded.

“I know. I know exactly what she was, and I can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone. It was just the manner of her going…,” he said and jumped into the water.

The evening meal saw them all gathered together again. The only person missing, other than Ursula, was Guido. What had happened to him no one knew. No one was told anything and no one asked. The policemen had finally gone, leaving them instructions. The next day they would all have to go down to the
Procura
to make written statements and endure further interrogation. Marianna looked completely serene. She’d arrived by taxi just before the meal and now sat quietly as though nursing some precious secret which gave her pleasure. Teo had decided it was his duty to eat and now did so without appetite or even really noticing what he was putting in his mouth. Isabella was sullenly silent and as usual ate a lot of food very fast.

Lapo had spent an interesting period on the internet which had only whetted his appetite. He was wondering whether he could actually go out and satisfy himself during the evening. He might not be allowed to leave the country, but a trip to a certain area near Lucca where he could find some truly interesting freaks and transvestites, was surely not entirely out of the question. He ate with gusto, his mind entirely filled with images that would have surely shocked the others if they could have seen them. He smiled as he thought that it was a good thing that mind reading was not one of the faculties yet developed by mankind.

Piero and Marta ate a sombre meal together in the kitchen. Marta, unable to free her mind of the appalling image of Ursula’s
desecrated body, longed to tell Piero, to tell anyone, but stopped herself, feeling that it wasn’t fair to burden anyone else with the knowledge of what had been done. Whenever she had looked at Teo they’d seemed to simultaneously hold their breath as though to assure each other they would keep their secret to themselves.

Eating was difficult. She’d had no lunch but now she had to force the food down. It seemed to wedge itself in her throat and only went down after overcoming some kind of inner resistance, falling into her empty stomach with what felt like a thud and causing fleeting stabs of pain. After a few forkfuls she gave up all pretence of trying.

“I can’t eat, Piero.”

“Try.”

“I have tried, but it won’t go down. I feel sick.”

“What about a cup of tea?”

She got up and put the kettle on. A cup of hot tea with a slice of lemon felt about as much as she could bear to take in. She kept feeling that tears were imminent but she wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to cry, whether it for Ursula and her obviously painful and horrific death, or for herself and her uncertain future.

‘How could anyone have done that to Ursula?’ she kept asking herself. She couldn’t understand the ferocity of the attack. There’d been so much blood and that terrible eye… she shuddered and felt a wave of nausea. The whistling of the boiling kettle brought her back to the present. She made the tea and went back to the table with it.

“I feel as though I’ll never be the same after this.”

“It’ll take time.”

“That’s what people always say but how will I ever be able to forget?” She burst into tears.

Piero put his fork down and asked the question he’d been wanting to ask all day. “Was it very terrible?”

“Oh Piero, it must have been a madman. The blood… there was so much blood.”

“She was stabbed?”

“Knifed, mutilated, cut to ribbons.”

“My God! I had no idea.”

“He even gouged her eye out… I’ll never forget the sight of it.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“What!”

“And poor Teo, he saw it all too. His own mother… the poor boy.” She cried again, deep sobs of pain.

“Why would anyone do that to her? It doesn’t make sense. He must have been covered in blood. I don’t understand…”

“Nor do I. Whoever did it was completely mad. He must have hated her. She wasn’t just murdered, she was massacred. It was so terrible.”

“Who could it have been? I can’t see Guido doing that, can you?”

“No, but then I can’t think of anyone doing it. How could they, Piero, tell me that?”

“And yet you know, I’ve been thinking, it had to be someone who knew her. How did they get into the house if they didn’t know it?”

“Or have a key.”

They looked at each other and both suddenly felt afraid.

Jacopo Dragonetti ran up the stairs with two things on his mind: one, most urgent, was a shower and the other was Vanessa. All thoughts of work were far from his mind now.

Vanessa was in the kitchen making a huge mixed salad of the sort he loved, with just about everything in it. She had her back to him; her long hair was caught up in a pony-tail. He came up behind her, embraced her and kissed her neck.

“You know, when you’re away, I really miss you,” he murmured in her ear.

“You always say that.”

“And you never do.”

“Silly, of course I miss you but usually I’m very busy.”

“I’m busy too, in the daytime, but I miss you every evening.”

“I don’t, because that’s when the shows are on and then there
are the parties. I have such fun.”

“You know you really are a heartless woman.”

“No I’m not. Look what I’m doing. No sooner do I get back than I immediately become your slave again.”

“That’s the least you can do to make up for your absence. Actually, perhaps it’s the food I miss more than you. I eat tomatoes and mozzarella every evening. Please tell me we aren’t having mozzarella this evening.”

“No, we aren’t and I don’t understand what you think you’re doing. I won’t dwell on the fact that you miss food more than me, which is actually most unflattering, but let me ask, since you reckon you’re such a good cook, why you don’t bother to cook yourself something.”

“I’m too lazy and I enjoy wallowing in misery.”

She burst out laughing. “You are a crazy man.”

“I know. I’m going to have a shower. Make sure the food is on the table when I come back. It’s time to restore order to the universe.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Oh, and I’m coming to the concert tonight.”

“Yes, boss. Get a move on.”

Guido was so relieved to be back in the hotel that he forgave everyone all the slights and innuendos he’d been on the receiving end of all day. He threw his rumpled linen suit on the bed, ripped off the rest of his clothes and rushed into the shower. Ten minutes later, perfumed and refreshed, he took stock of his situation. No Ursula, ergo, no marriage, no easy billet. That was the negative side of things. Freedom from sexual slavery, a healthy antique business and an even healthier bank balance, in part due to Ursula. That was the positive aspect. In fact, he began to feel that things hadn’t turned out so badly after all. Granted it had been a terrible shock when Ursula had told him to get out, but now that his mind was clear of all that, he could see that perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to waste all his time and energy on a woman, a rich woman, an older rich woman, who was going to marry him and
leave him money when she died, but at what price? No, better this enforced and unexpected freedom. He lay back on his bed and lit a cigarette, something he’d never done in Ursula’s house. It was a house rule though he doubted that Marianna had ever respected it. Actually, he wasn’t even sure whether he was allowed to smoke in a hotel bedroom, since the law about smoking in public places was being very strictly enforced these days, but he didn’t care. He would even be willing to pay a fine in order to enjoy this cigarette. He blew smoke up towards the ceiling and watched it swirl and dissolve. His life had been many things but at this moment he felt it to be perfect. No regrets and no recriminations. What was over was done with and he was already mentally moving on.