Broken Chord (22 page)

July was always steaming hot. Now, as the month drew towards its close, the humidity became even more oppressive. Temperatures were well over 35°C in the shade during the afternoon, but the mornings were still pleasant.

Marta opened the shutters on a glorious day, with a feeling of foreboding. In the short space of time since Ursula’s death, the family had changed incredibly. The rapport between Tebaldo and Isabella, strangely, for the better. The rows had stopped and Isabella seemed very concerned to keep both her husband and the children on an even keel. Tebaldo was very fragile, his stomach was still troubling him and he had such a haunted expression that Marta felt a terrible pang of pity every time she looked at him.

Marianna had become totally distanced. Apart from the ridiculous idea of marrying that boy, even if he recovered from the critical state that Marta had heard he was in, there was the fact that Marianna wasn’t eating and spent most of her time in her bedroom. It looked as though she might be going back to the anorexic state that had marked the period of her breakdown after the abortion. Who could Marta talk to about it? They had always referred problems to Madam and now she was gone, everything seemed to be falling apart.

Lapo, poor boy, was out doing whatever it was he did at night. When Lapo suffered, he usually made other people suffer too, but if there was more trouble who would they talk to about it? Piero
was good at sorting things but he couldn’t write cheques now to soothe the wounded and pay for their silence. She knew Lapo was devastated by his mother’s death, that was why he was on the rampage, whoring and boozing, and it worried her deeply. If only he would come to her and talk about his grief.

That was another thing that worried her, money. All Ursula’s assets had been frozen and soon money would be needed. Who would they ask for money? The will had not yet been read and she had no idea who the executor might be. As soon as she knew, she and Piero would apply to him for assistance in practical matters.

As for the family, for now bound together in this house, she had to ask herself how they would live from now on; who would live where and whether she and Piero would be wanted by any of them. She went into the kitchen and automatically began preparing breakfast, though the only people she expected to be present were Tebaldo and his family. Marianna would probably stay in bed until nearly lunch time and Lapo had no doubt been out till very late as usual, so he wouldn’t be down for breakfast. She hadn’t got to sleep until after three and by then, she’d been so exhausted she’d fallen into such a deep sleep she hadn’t even heard him come in. She’d woken at seven and found that, as usual, this last couple of days, Piero was already up. She knew he was having terrible trouble sleeping and was so restless that he had to keep moving, keep working, finding things to do. At least the police had gone, though Ursula’s room was still sealed. Cook, Franca and Laura the cleaner were coming in this morning so some semblance of normality might be achieved.

The coffee bubbled up in the pot and she poured herself a cup. She felt exhausted and would have quite willingly done what Marianna was doing. She cut herself a slice of bread and began to chew on it. Eating was no longer a pleasure for anyone, it had become a duty for them all.

Cook bustled about glad to be back in what she thought of as her kitchen. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you without me,” she remarked to Marta, as though asking to be assured if her worth.

“It wasn’t. Mind you no one was very hungry so I just made very simple things.”

“How are you feeling, my dear?” asked Cook kindly, as she rummaged about looking for things that Marta had put in the wrong place. “Are you getting over the shock?”

“I’ll never get over it.” Marta heaved a great sigh and then suddenly burst into tears. Cook came over and put an arm round her shoulder. “There, there. You need to rest. Why don’t you go and have a lie down, or just put your feet up and read a book. I’ll take care of everything. I can manage and Franca will be in to give me a hand any minute now. Go on, off you go.”

Marta dabbed her damp eyes with a handkerchief. “I think I will, Paola. I feel terrible. When Piero comes in tell him where I am, please.”

“Don’t you worry about anything. I’ll keep everything running smoothly till things get back to normal.”

Marta paused in the doorway, “That’s the problem, I don’t think they ever will get back to normal.”

Paola continued her searching. Finally, she stopped and muttered, “They’re not here,” and as she said it, a terrible thought entered her mind.

Marianna showered. She stood for a long time in the shower just allowing the water to stream over her. Finally, she made a move, tied her hair in a huge towel and slipped on a bath robe. Then she pottered about in her bedroom, touching her things and rearranging them into some kind of order that satisfied her. She made her bed, pulling the sheets to a rigorous perfection and when she had finished, admired the perfect order that she had achieved.

She dried herself and dressed carefully, then finally let her damp hair free and began the laborious task of drying it. She wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t felt hungry since her mother’s death and there was nothing that she wanted to do apart from see Roberto, which she did every day, apart from one day when something had happened, something that had slipped from her mind, something painful. She stopped trying to remember. It required too much
effort. Marianna was good at forgetting things. Recently, her memory had become erratic. Sudden terrible visions from the past would rush in unbidden while other, more recent, events would vanish, elude her, no matter how hard she tried to grasp them. She hadn’t even the energy to try and understand why this should be. She dried her hair with repetitive gestures until the fine golden cape was perfectly dry, shiny and straight. Then she left her room, giving it one final glance as though to reassure herself that the order she had imposed, had not been subverted in any way.

Marta, having taken to her bed, decided to remain there. She knew that between them, Paola and Franca could see to the serving. She didn’t want to see anyone anymore. The thoughts that tormented her, the hideous images that flashed in some kind of eternal replay through her mind had deprived her of the will to organise the household or to even try and live with some semblance of normality. Now that someone else could do it, she relinquished her role without regret. Piero came in and found her lying in the darkened bedroom.

“Are you ill?”

“I can’t do it anymore. I’ve had it. I feel awful.”

“But you’re alright?”

“No, I’m not alright but I don’t need a doctor if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You’ll feel better when they’ve found out who did it.”

“Will I? I wonder.”

“Isn’t Lapo coming down?” Isabella asked Teo.

“How should I know? God knows when he got in last night. Did you hear him?”

“No.” The only thing she’d heard had been the furtive midnight phone call Teo had made, excusing himself to the other woman, but she wasn’t going to mention that. Things were generally much better despite Teo’s stomach problems. He was concerned, mainly for the children, but this concern had extended to include herself. They both stayed with the children all day. She was now thankful for the absence of the au pair, and the children were happy.
They were of an age when outside events could be hidden from them so that they remained untouched, unaware and safe. Safe, well, safe from the kind of sorrow adults feel. Their sorrows were trifling and easily calmed.

Franca came in with the tray.

“Where’s Marta?”

“I’m afraid she’s not feeling too good, so Cook said we could manage quite well and sent her off to bed.”

“Oh, I am sorry. Does she need a doctor?”

“No, it’s not that sort of thing. Time’s the best medicine, if you get my meaning.”

Teo smiled wryly and said, “Oh, I certainly do. Thank you Franca.”

“Oh, by the way, Cook asked if you could pop down for a word after lunch, sir.”

“Of course.”

Marianna appeared silently at the French windows. “I’m just off to the hospital.”

“You’re not eating?”

“No, thanks, I got up too late. I can’t face lunch.”

“Did you hear if Lapo is up?”

“No. I expect he was late in last night.”

“No doubt.”

“He did come back, I presume?” asked Isabella feeling suddenly anxious.

“I don’t know. Why shouldn’t he?”

“Is his car here?”

“It must be in the garage.”

Isabella felt a terrible sense of urgency. “I think I’ll just go and check.”

“I’ll go,” offered Marianna, “You’re eating, but I think you’re worrying unnecessarily. Lapo always comes back.” She walked over the courtyard towards the garage and half opened the door. In the gloom Lapo’s car was visible. She closed the garage door, then went back to the French windows and said, “It’s there.”

“Oh well, that’s alright then. I know it’s silly of me, but after
what happened, I feel quite anxious about everyone.”

“Lapo can look after himself.”

“I know, but accidents can happen.”

For some reason, Marianna found that quite amusing. She laughed and said, “Oh I know, I know, but believe me, they don’t happen to the Lapos of this world.” She laughed again, hysterically, and then began to cry. She said bitterly, “Accidents happen to good people like Roberto, who’ve never hurt anyone, and don’t deserve it, not to little sadists like my brother.”

Isabella said softly, “The children.”

“Sorry.” She got out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I might join you at the pool when I come back.”

“I can swim,” said Arabella.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll come and see you this afternoon.”

Then she was gone, her white dress swirling round her slim body, her golden hair streaming out behind her.

“Franca said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, Signor Tebaldo. I’m sure it’s nothing but, well, there’s two knives missing. I don’t know when they disappeared, maybe Marta mislaid them, but the knives are always put back here in this block and there’s two missing, you can see for yourself. I can’t find them anywhere.”

“What sort of knives?”

“One’s a long, thin knife. I use it for deboning the prosciutto. It’s very sharp. The other is my cook’s knife, it’s much bigger with a wider blade.”

“I see. Why are you telling me this? Do you need to buy new ones?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying… the thing is, should I tell the police?”

“Why should you? Oh, you mean you think one of them might be the…”

“I’m sorry, Signor Tebaldo, but with all these goings on, I just thought that perhaps… you know, they haven’t found the murder weapon, or so Marta tells me.”

“Right. Well, look Signora Paola, you keep on looking and if they don’t turn up by this evening, then we’ll decide what to do. If it were just the one knife… but two, well, I expect Marta was muddled and put them both away somewhere else. We’re all a bit muddled at the moment.”

He went out of the kitchen. Cook shook her head. He could think what he liked, she knew they weren’t in the kitchen.

The children played in the pool, apparently happy. Although their grandmother had disappeared, she was not a central character in their lives and they were not concerned. Adults often appeared and then left, and no explanation was given other than that they had gone away, often on the mysterious’ business’. The most important people for them were their parents and usually they saw little of them. Father dealt with business and the au pair dealt with them. Their young lives were filled with dancing and swimming lessons and their kindergarten. Now, both their parents were totally present and there were no arguments, no bad-tempered snapping and no tears. It was heaven.

Isabella felt that she had taken on the role of mother of all the family and now she was worried about Lapo, whom she’d never liked, and who’d always been subtly, sometimes even openly, rude to her. She forgave him. Well maybe it wasn’t really forgiveness, more of a putting to one side his unpleasantness. He was so young. He’d lost his mother in such a tragic way and he was unable to express his feelings. She was sure he was out every night because he couldn’t even acknowledge his feeling of grief for this tremendous loss. This family was very good at pretending. She thought about Marianna who was so determinedly serene. How could she be when her mother had been butchered in the bedroom next to hers! And Teo, now that his stomach was settling down, was doing his best to pretend life was normal, probably for the children, but even so there had been a decided change. She thought back to him overseeing their evening bath. This was something quite unprecedented.

“Teo, I’m worried about Lapo. Perhaps you should go up and see if he’s alright.”

“What’s the time?”

“It’s half past four.”

“He’s probably got up and gone out again.”

“Could you check? I’d feel easier in my mind if I knew.”

“You’re turning into a mother hen.” He smiled as he spoke.

“Your brother and sister are still very young.”

“Alright.” He got up and slipped on a towelling robe.

“We’ve got him!” whooped an exultant Bruno handing the report to Dragonetti. Guido’s car had been spotted on the road leaving the villa at two in the morning. The witness remembered because the car had been going so fast it nearly hit him.

“Why didn’t we get this info sooner?”

“He was away. He’s a rep. He wasn’t questioned until today.”

“Get Guido back here and we’ll squeeze him dry!”

“It’s not enough.”

“No, but he’ll supply the rest.”

Piero was wrestling with his conscience. He knew something, that was probably nothing, but which had to be faced. Could he talk to Marta about it? She had been lying in bed all day, perhaps it was time to shake her up a bit. He entered the darkened bedroom.