Broken Chord (3 page)

Ursula nodded and they went to say goodbye to their hosts. She was already planning her own soirée which was going to be far, far better than Fiona’s pallid effort. She knew a world famous violist extremely well, in fact had once known him quite intimately, who was sure to come and play in the name of their old friendship. It had been an amicable parting so there was no rancour on either side. She would probably play something herself, after a bit of practice. She mentally ran through her repertoire.

When they got home she jotted down a few notes while Guido was in the shower. When he came out he was surprised to see her still fully dressed.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Not a bit. I’m busy working out the details of my charity concert. Oh Guido, it’s going to be so fantastic.”

“Do you mind if I go to bed? I’m terribly tired and I think I had rather too many glasses of that disgusting cheap champagne.”

“Fiona’s always been a cheapskate. That’s one mistake I won’t make. The trouble with old money is that they are so determined to hang on to it that they scrimp.” “Hardly surprising, they never know how long it’s going to last,” he said, thinking, ‘unlike you with your limitless pot of industrial gold’.

Ursula gave him one of her serious looks. “You’re right of course. I can never understand why I get looked down on for being nouveau riche, and it’s not that nouveau anyway.”

“Jealousy, darling. While they live in their crumbling palazzos, trying to ignore the cracks in the plaster, you can spend whatever you like on doing up the family ruins.”

Ursula smiled grimly. “Wait till they see what I’ve done with this.” It still rankled that she had been snubbed by the Florentine aristocrats. The things she wanted were things that money couldn’t buy, but she was going to get there in the end.

She said, “You poor boy; I can see you’re dropping. Get your head down and I’ll potter off to the study and jot down a few more things while they’re fresh in my mind.”

Guido crawled into bed and was asleep within a few minutes. Ursula kicked off her evening shoes and wandered along to the study where she began working out a guest list and a seating plan. Marta would no doubt have some amazing ideas for the food and Piero would see to the extra staff.

She heard Marianna come in giggling and whispering on the stairs with that wretched boy. She remembered that as their limo had drawn up she’d noticed her own car was not in its usual place. It was extremely irritating. Marianna had taken it again and she didn’t have a licence because she wasn’t yet eighteen. This had to stop. All of it. The thought that her daughter was upstairs giving her perfect body to that clod was so offensive she felt nauseous. What a waste. Even worse was the thought that she was snorting drugs to enhance her pleasure, drugs provided by that little delinquent. Well, it was time to put an end to something she had hoped would peter out of its own accord.

She rose from her chair and went up to her bedroom to undress. She took off the emeralds and laid them carefully in their faded velvet box and patted them reassuringly. They had been noticed by everyone. No wonder; they had been her grandmother’s and were exquisite. They would never leave the family. She would give them to Marianna, but not if she married someone like that boy. Tebaldo’s wife was out of the question, of course, and Lapo… she stifled the shooting pain in her heart. Lapo would never marry. Not because no one would want him but because he would never believe that any one could love him. She pitied the girl who ever tried to get close to him. He was extremely cruel and wouldn’t recognise love even if it was given to him unconditionally, like the love that Marta gave to him. Ursula knew perfectly well that
Marta adored Lapo, but he was quite impervious to any feelings from others. Before they reached him they had to pass through a derisory filter that warped and negated them. Her thoughts returned to her daughter. The boy had to go and she would make damn sure that he did.

It was a triumphant and hopeful Ursula who slipped into bed later that night. She fell into a deep dreamless sleep that lasted till morning.

Dragonetti showered and then prepared the coffee pot setting it carefully on the gas. He searched in the cupboard and found another small tin of tuna. As soon as he opened it the cat leapt off the chair and rushed towards him, rubbing against his legs. “Yes, it’s for you,” he told it. He watched the kitten eating while he sipped strong black coffee. The cat ate fast and soon emptied the plate, then sat back to wash its whiskers.

They left the house together. When they reached the courtyard garden the cat sat down on its haunches and finished washing its face, one small paw passing repeatedly over the striped orange fur.

“Go home,” he advised it.

It watched him get into the car and drive off. The sky was relentlessly blue, the sun was already warm and it was going to be hot and humid again.

Another day of boredom stretched endlessly ahead of him.

Ursula appeared at breakfast looking so fit and happy that Lapo remarked on it. “Mother, you’re looking quite amazingly well this morning.”

“Yes, and I’m feeling good too. I had an interesting enough evening and I’m making plans for a stunning charity concert which will quite overshadow poor Fiona’s little do. I have better contacts than she does and quite frankly, my house is far more suitable.”

She ate a meagre but healthy breakfast.

“You know, Lapo, I wish your sister would make an effort to come to the breakfast table.”

“It’s the summer holidays. I don’t know why I got up so early myself.” He did; it was because he’d had a particularly unpleasant night tormented by nightmares. When he’d woken for the fourth time, his eyes anxiously seeking reassurance that he was indeed in his own bedroom and not in some land of horror, it had been a relief to find it was an acceptable hour to get up. He looked at his mother and wished he could find the kind of serenity she apparently had this morning.

“Actually, I would have expected Guido to join us,” he remarked quietly.

“Poor boy, he’s so tired. Late nights don’t agree with him. Well, it wasn’t that late actually but he had had a very busy day.”

“Well, I expect Marianna had a late night, too.”

“I know she did. I do understand that she’s young and prefers living at night rather than in the day, but I hardly seem to see her lately.”

“No, she’s… busy”

“Lapo, I’m well aware what your sister is doing and I’ve made plans to deal with it. She’ll be leaving for a holiday with Aunt Felicity. I’ve already phoned her, early this morning. Piero will be making the arrangements today.”

“My God!”

“Felicity’s not that bad, is she?”

“No, she’s just old, rather eccentric, and tremendously boring. Hardly good company for someone who’s being forcibly split up from her boyfriend.”

“I want to get your sister away. By the time she comes back it will all be over.”

“I admire your optimism.”

Marta came in with fresh coffee.

“Lovely, I’ll have just one more cup and then I must be off. Marta, my dear, send Jean Pierre up as soon as he arrives, please, oh, and could you ask Piero to take my car down to be washed. It looks grubby; all that summer dust shows up so much on black.”

“Of course, Madam.” She set the coffee on the table, poured Ursula a cup and handed it to her before leaving the room.

“Isn’t it a wonderful morning, just the way I like it,” said Ursula looking out of the window with approval as though she was personally responsible for the clear blue sky. She quickly downed the small cup of black coffee

The door opened and Guido came in. “A truly fabulous day,” she said, moving towards Guido to give him a kiss.

“Ursula, I saw Piero with the post. Why do you always let him go through it?” asked Guido, with undisguised irritation.

“Guido, Piero has been seeing to the post for the last twenty-five years. I trust him implicitly,” she said rather sharply.

“Should you?”

“Unless I have reason not to, then I’m afraid I do. Things stand as they are.” She felt her good humour start to evaporate. Guido had to realise that she would not allow any kind of interference, no matter how well meant, in the running of her life.

Guido appeared to be quite oblivious to the change in her tone of voice. “It’s just that that’s the sort of thing I can help you with. Why let a stranger go through your mail when I’m here.”

“Dear boy, how thoughtful you are, but Piero is hardly a stranger.” Her eyes glittered coldly now. He looked so surprised that she softened that with, “We’ll see, shall we? I don’t want to upset him.”

“Heaven forbid.” He sat down at the table and flicked his napkin open brusquely. If Ursula could be forceful, then so could he. He felt angry about the way she was putting him down. There was a lengthy silence, which Ursula decided not to break. She patted his head as she left the room.

Lapo who had remained immobile and watchful during this fascinating little scene, now tittered audibly and reached for his coffee cup. Guido glared at him and received one of Lapo’s amazing smiles in response, which enraged him even further.

“Shall I pour you some coffee, dear boy?” asked Lapo in a mocking tone, holding out his hand for Guido’s cup.

Guido looked at him as though trying to work out what was going on. Lapo was academically brilliant but often behaved like a half-wit. He knew it would be a mistake to underestimate him. There was something cunning about him. As Lapo held his gaze, with blazing eyes, he also wondered whether he wasn’t quite mad.

Later that morning Guido made it his business to bump into Piero. “I’ve already warned you, there’s going to be a few changes round here after my marriage, so be prepared. I don’t like the way you behave as though you think you own the place.”

Piero looked at him with steely eyes. “Things have always been to Madam’s satisfaction.”

“Well, they’re going to have to satisfy me too.”

“Of course.”

“Just watch it. I don’t think I trust you. You’ve always done as you please. Just remember I’ll be checking up on you from now on.”

“I think you’ll find that everything’s as it should be.”

“It’d better be.”

Piero walked slowly down to the kitchen and told Marta about it. “Guido’s ruffling his plumage and making noises about the way I run things. He’s a little shit.”

“You’ve dealt with that sort of thing before. Madam’s always been very supportive.”

“Yes, but the others were gentleman. This is a jumped up little gigolo out for all he can get. He obviously thinks everyone’s as bad as him. Well, all I can say is, if he thinks he can push me about, he can think again.”

Dragonetti was smoking out of the window and staring gloomily at the monotonous blue sky. It was hot and humid and he was bored. His recent transfer to Lucca meant that he had to get up earlier because now he had a good hour’s drive twice a day. What’s
more, he was stuck in this provincial town which was heaving with tourists and petty thieves and illegal immigrants. He’d hardly seen his two daughters this summer. His ex-wife, Diana, and her new husband had taken them away on holiday to the Dolomites. He would take them on holiday later, to the sea, in August, the last two weeks. Tonight, he would go back to an empty house again. He thought about the kitten. There was something plucky about the little guy that appealed to him. He made a mental note to pop out and get some cat food just in case.

He felt as though he was the only one stuck here with nothing very interesting to do except sign papers and look efficient, not that anyone would notice if he wasn’t, because the whole place seemed to be shutting down. Everyone who could, had gone on holiday, but he was going to have to wait, probably because he had got up someone’s nose again. He had a very unhappy knack of saying what he thought and on more than one occasion had really put his foot in it. It was impossible for him to do the kow-towing that so many of his colleagues performed with such ease. He knew that in this he took after his father.

Always present in his mind was the memory of his father’s death. His father, a judge, had become a household name when his car had been blown up by a car bomb, shortly after finding a Mafia Boss guilty of instigation to murder. It had happened a life-time ago, when Jacopo was a boy of fourteen. The perpetrators had never been found and probably never would be now, unless some ‘
pentito
’ turned up and decided to sing. Every so often someone would defy the Mafia and the
omertà
code of absolute secrecy and silence that all members were subjected to if they wanted to live, and then, suddenly, under police protection, spout out a load of information that sometimes helped solve old crimes or more often muddied the waters even further. Some of the information was blatantly untrue and given out for complex motives. Anyone out of favour might find a
pentito
, a repentant, suddenly remembering his presence in the house of an already compromised Don at an inopportune moment. Consorting with known Mafia members
was a crime. It didn’t pay to move against the Mafia then, or now. With a recent head of the government accused of knowingly employing a Mafia member in his household, with another party member calling a Mafioso who had died in jail and kept his mouth firmly shut, a hero for doing so, one had to tread carefully. Furthermore, his own left-wing views were well-known and in the current political climate, hardly likely to further his career.

He threw his half smoked cigarette down to the courtyard and slammed the window shut on the heat. The air-conditioning was working only too well and his office felt like a cold storage room. He often had to put a jacket on to bear it. He sighed again and fiddled with his pen. He hated inactivity. He paced up and down the room. What he would really like was an interesting murder inquiry, not a run of the mill knifing of Romanians or Moroccans by their fellow countrymen. The poor squabbled and fought over their miserable belongings, their women and their illegal ill-paid jobs, and in this heat tempers seemed to rise fast with lethal results. There had been two knifings in the last month, but there was no real investigating involved. He wanted something that would tax his brain, take him out of himself and make him forget the heat. He shivered, well, maybe not the heat, not in this room.

He glanced at a report concerning a suspected drug dealer. The drug squad had been handling that but now the man had been run over in the early hours of the morning on a small country road and it looked like attempted murder. Considering the severity of his injuries it would be some time before he could be questioned and even then it was doubtful that he would say anything. If this was a warning, then if he spoke he would be a dead man. Furthermore, if it turned out to be an attempted homicide, a clean and useful method for disposing of unwanted or troublesome employees, then they’d probably try again. Drago knew this case was a no-go from the start but he would have to go through the motions. He made a brief phone call and turned the investigation over to the local police. Let the
carabinieri
handle this one on their own. It was not interesting enough for him to make a move. He felt
afflicted by inertia, that summer ailment when everything slows down and grinds almost to a standstill. He lit another cigarette and promised himself he would stop, very soon, but not today.

Marianna threw her mobile phone away from her impatiently. Roberto wasn’t answering for some reason. She leapt out of bed. Something must be wrong. It had been great last night and she wanted to hear his voice. Perhaps he was still asleep and hadn’t gone into work this morning. Quite a crime! She giggled. When they got married, he could forget all about that ridiculous little job. She would have more than enough money for them both. In a little over a month’s time she would be eighteen and have control over her financial situation. Her father’s death had left her well provided for. She was sure that Ghiberti was her father, whatever Lapo might insinuate about her dubious parentage, and Ghiberti himself must have believed it too, because he’d left her everything. She took a hurried shower and rushed out, not even stopping for a coffee. She hadn’t found her mother’s car keys on the hall table. Piero was just getting into the vehicle.

“Piero,” she shouted.

He turned, “Yes, what is it?”

“Where are you going?”

“Down to the car wash.”

“Will you give me a lift?”

“Where to?”

She told him.

“Does your mother know?”

“Know what? That I’m seeing Roberto? Of course.”

“Why are you wasting your time with that boy?”

“What! It’s none of your business what I do, Piero. I didn’t ask for your opinion and I don’t want it.” She got in the car and added icily, “Drop me off at the Town Hall. I’ll make my own way back.” The car set off at a gentle pace.

From her bedroom window Ursula watched them leave. Poor silly little Marianna. Let her go running off to her young man. It was
over whether she liked it or not. She sighed, it seemed that there were always problems to be solved. She had hoped that when her children grew up and got over their tedious infancy and their boring adolescence she might have a little more freedom. She remembered them whining and wanting far more than she was ever prepared to give, grabbing at her dress with sticky fingers and having to be carried away screaming by the nanny of the day and then as they grew older, Teo with the drug problem, Marianna and, of course, Carletto. Her hand went to her mouth as she felt a sharp jolt of pain. How she’d loved the dissolute Carletto, but with all the fuss and bother… if she’d had an inkling… thank God for Marta who’d seen to all that, but she’d lost her Carletto, who was so charming, so wild and so adorable and quite frankly so good in bed… She thought of the many men she’d loved, married, divorced or lost in other ways and then thought again about Guido. Why was she marrying him? He had pushed for it so hard and she wasn’t as young as she had been. He might be the last. In a last ditch attempt to have someone for herself she had said yes. Would she be able to trust him? Would he go running after younger women too? It was a gamble and she knew it. The first symptom of what might happen had been evident this morning. He would want more than she was prepared to give him. There were limits, and before the wedding he’d better realise exactly what they were.