More Than You Know (106 page)

Clearly no one was to be left in any doubt as to how important she was.

“And then she became one of my dearest, closest friends. She is a
most wonderful person, generous, good, so, so kind and loyal, and a most wonderful mother.”

“Yes, indeed. Now … Signora Crespi, perhaps you could tell us about the time Mrs. Shaw came to visit you in Milan. In December two years ago.”

“Of course. She had been very depressed after losing the baby, so, so sad, and I invited her to join us for a week or so. It was the beginning of the Milanese season, which is always on the first Sunday in December, when there is a gala opera performance, usually of Verdi. My husband and I always attend, and entertain in our box at La Scala. It was not Eliza’s first visit; she had come two or three years earlier, and brought little Emmie with her. She would never, ever come without her, even though sometimes I thought it would have done her good, made a better holiday for her.”

“I see. And what did you do that day?”

“Well, we drove into Milan—”

“You don’t live in the city itself?”

“No, no, of course not.” Clearly they were all expected to know this. “We live in our villa on the shores of Lake Como. It is perhaps an hour’s drive into Milan. There was myself, Eliza, Emmie, and one of my maids, Anna-Maria, who cares for Emmie on her visits. Emmie loved her; I cannot tell you how she loved Anna-Maria, and Anna-Maria her.”

“I see,” said Toby again. “And when you got to Milan?”

“We looked at all the shops and the Christmas displays. Then I had to visit my dressmaker and buy some shoes, and Emmie wanted to go into La Rinascente, the department store. I suggested she go with Anna-Maria. Eliza was very, very worried about this, but I insisted; I needed her opinion on some buttons—”

“Buttons?”

“Buttons, yes. So it was agreed that we should meet with Maria and Emmie in one-half of an hour in Cova; perhaps you know Cova—”

“I do indeed. Delightful!”

Did he? Eliza wondered.

“But after a little while Anna-Maria arrived, in tears, having hysteria, I would say. Emmie had run away from her; she is a very,
very naughty little girl, however
dolce
. Anna-Maria had worked very, very hard at finding Emmie, but with no success. But we quickly found her, within a very few minutes, I would say—”

“And where was she?”

“She was in La Rinascente still, in the children’s shoe department. She had found it by herself; she had said she wanted some new shoes, and when a girl wants shoes, she must have them.”

“And … what was she doing; was she crying; was she distressed?”

“Of course she was not,” said Mariella dismissively. “She was trying to decide which of two pairs she should buy; she had one on each foot; I often do that myself.”

“And … what did she say when she saw you?”

“She said—and I shall always remember; it was so sweet, so adorable—she said, ‘Which do you think?’ Well, of course I said she should have them both.”

“And … how was Mrs. Shaw while Emmie was missing?”

“She was very, very upset, quite distraught, of course, of course. But later that night, over dinner, she said Emmie had run away before, more than once. She is very, very naughty, as I have said.”

“Well, thank you, Signora Crespi.”

Bruce Hayward stood up.

“Signora Crespi, thank you for that very … very vivid account. I wonder—in a crowded, strange city, perhaps it would have been better for your maid to restrain Emmeline in some way. With some reins, for example.”

“Reins? She is not a horse.”

“No, of course not, but there are reins, I believe, for keeping children close to you in such situations.”

“Well, we did not have any reins,” said Mariella with a slightly impatient frown, “and believe me, Emmie would not have worn them if we had. She knows her own head, that one.”

“Or … perhaps she should have stayed with you?”

“What, in the dressmaker’s? Of course not. I could not have concentrated. No, it was my insisting that Eliza come without her that was to blame.”

“I see. No more questions.”

Clearly even Bruce Hayward could see there was not a great deal of future in cross-examination at this point.

Then a clerk came in with a note for Philip Gordon; he read it, looked at Eliza, looked across at Toby, and then whispered, “Excuse me,” to Eliza and left the courtroom. She felt irritated. How could he leave now, when this was so crucial to her survival? She tried to concentrate on Toby, who had returned to his task—and to Mariella.

“So, Signora Crespi, perhaps you could tell us now about the following evening? When the fog left you stranded in the city?”

“Ah, yes. Our famous
nebbia
. This time it was the fault of Fate, not me, that kept Eliza from her little one. When we left Como, it was clear. When we came out of La Scala, it was impossible to see more than a few metres. No, I would say a few centimetres. It would have been hugely dangerous to try to get back to Como. Emmie would have been left motherless. And … how dreadful that would have been.”

“Indeed.”

“So Eliza stayed with some friends in their apartment. She did not sleep for one moment, I know. And then she very bravely set out the next day, before we would dare to risk it, with some friends, some very, very brave friends, and an exceedingly brave driver, and made her way back to Como through the
nebbia
, to be with Emmie once more.”

“And … who was looking after Emmie at the villa?”

“Oh … so many people. Anna-Maria. The cook. The butler. My husband’s valet. All waiting upon her. Eliza spoke to her on the phone many times …”

“Signora Crespi—”

“Yes?” Mariella looked at Bruce Hayward disdainfully.

“Would it not have been better if Mrs. Shaw had stayed at the villa with Emmie, rather than gone into Milan in the fog?”

“That would have been extremely rude, do you not think?” said Mariella. “My husband would have been most offended, having made so many arrangements for her. And besides, we did not know the fog would come. It arrives from nowhere.”

Bruce Hayward gave up. Clifford Rogers would surely see through this ridiculous creature.

But Clifford Rogers was gazing at Mariella in something approaching incredulity, and then called an early break.

“This afternoon I shall see the child. And if there is time we can begin the summing up. Otherwise, that can take place in the morning.”

“All rise.”

Eliza walked out of the courtroom, down into the atrium. It was all beginning to seem rather familiar.

“Eliza …” It was Toby. “I need to talk to you most urgently. Let’s go to my rooms. We have a little time and it’s very important …”

She followed him in silence.

“Something has cropped up this morning. Something that could really influence our chances. But … it has to be your call. We have a new witness, but … but I need your permission to call her.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Georgina Barker. She rang and said she would like to come and see us to discuss the case, but then cancelled; we didn’t think it worth worrying you. And then she called again yesterday, but of course I’d left and my clerk couldn’t contact me until much later.”

“But … why? I don’t understand.”

“She wants to give evidence against Matt. Reading between the lines, I would say he’s upset her in some way and she’s having her revenge.”

“But—”

“Apparently he told her he’d hit you once.”

“Oh! Oh, Toby, no … that’s … that’s … oh, God.”

“Yes. Well, I always suspected there’s been some violence. Was … was that the only instance?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.” She was silent. Then: “Toby, I don’t think I want that coming out. I don’t want her standing up in court and telling everyone.”

He sighed. “I had a hunch you’d say that.”

“I really don’t.”

“It could make all the difference, Eliza. It could win you the case. Win you Emmie. Please think very, very carefully about it.”

“When … when would she be called?”

“This afternoon, possibly. After the judge sees Emmie. Possibly tomorrow morning.”

“So I have a little time to decide?”

“Yes, but only a little. Eliza, for the love of God, why are you so against it?”

“Two reasons,” she said slowly. “I’d better tell you what it was about. Not the row itself—it was about the article in the paper—but what I said to provoke it. To provoke him. I said something appalling to Matt, really appalling; I couldn’t even tell you, I’m so ashamed of it—and it would come out, and … well and anyway, I … I don’t think I want Emmie knowing her daddy hit me. I really don’t. It would get in the papers; God, I can see the headline now; they’d love it; I just can’t risk it, Toby.”

“Well … as I say, it could win you the case. It’s a gift from God, I’d say.”

“Or the devil.”

She looked at him; he smiled at her.

“Please think about it really carefully. Don’t rush this, I beg of you. Take your time.”

“Yes,” she said, “yes, all right.”

Mariella got back to the Ritz just after one. The pain and the suffocating sense of loss had eased with her court appearance; she had enjoyed it, given it her all. It had been a most wonderful distraction, but now she was back, back in the real world, and she had to have lunch with Giovanni and Jeremy.

Jeremy had considered illness, urgent meetings, pressing family business, and rejected them all. Giovanni would read, correctly, that these were excuses and wonder why they were being proffered.

He walked into the lobby as Mariella did, smiled at her, bowed slightly, and brushed his lips against the cheek she lifted to his.

“Hallo.”

“Hallo, Jeremy.”

“How did the court appearance go?”

“I think very well. Thank you. Shall we go in?”

“Yes.”

The maître d’ bustled to greet them; Jeremy put his hand on her back, very gently, to usher her forward; she turned very briefly—clearly quite unable to help herself—to smile at him; her eyes were huge and very soft; he smiled back into them, unable to help himself either.

Giovanni was already at the table; he saw them approaching, stood up to greet them, clearly delighted that they had arrived together. He was looking particularly wonderful, Mariella noticed distractedly, wearing a soft linen suit and a shirt of palest blue, his white hair, thick and wavy still, brushed back, perfectly groomed: altogether the epitome of old-world elegance.

He smiled, his enchanting, embracing smile, and his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, were, she noticed, particularly brilliant; he held out both his hands in greeting, took a step forward, said, “My,” and stopped, then said it again—“My”—and then his face changed, distorted, twisted, his legs buckled, and Jeremy only just reached him in time to catch him as he fell, and laid him on the floor, where he lay struggling with dreadful rasping breaths, his eyes wide, his body rigid.

Mariella sank onto the floor beside him, cradling his head; Jeremy knelt beside her, loosening Giovanni’s tie, calling for cushions, for help, and just for a moment the world shrank to the three of them. The dreadful rasping breathing at first eased and then stopped; the brilliant eyes had become dim and dull, and with a final whispery sigh, Giovanni’s long and wonderfully blessed life was ended.