Vintage Love (107 page)

Madame Guioni was in a mood to reminise. “When my beloved late husband was alive no one dared say a nasty word to me! No one! He was always on the alert to defend me! Poor dear! Now he is gone and his brother also! There is only the label left, Guioni Brothers, and what comfort is a wine label to a sorrowing widow.”

Della felt prompted to comfort her. “You have built yourself a good new life, madam.”

The ugly, overdressed woman touched a hanky to her eyes. “You are right. Now I must not talk about myself continually but let you enjoy some of the beauty of the things we’re driving by.”

They came to the Via delle Quattro which Della enjoyed because of its four fountains. And she told Madame Guioni, “Rome has so many fine squares and fountains!”

“True,” Madame Guioni growled. She seemed to be tiring as the drive wore on. She pointed to one of a reclining woman which they were passing. “That is said to be nearly four hundred years old. The figure is called ‘Fidelity.’ “

“Four hundred years is not really ancient in Rome,” Della said.

“It is rather new,” Madame Guioni agreed. “We have fountains here nearly two thousand years old. So many of them! The Italians love to see water flowing, spraying or just filling a fountain. At the Villa Borghese there is a rabbit’s nose which spouts water, at another place water pours out of the muzzle of a bronze wolf. And let us not forget outside the Pantheon, where water flows from a number of grotesque masks!”

“You are right,” she said. “I had not noticed it before.”

“An obsession,” Madame Guioni said. “If only they all spouted Guioni wine I should be richer than I am. But then one must not complain!”

“Certainly not,” she said.

Madame Guioni stared at her. “You look pale, my dear. Are you not well?”

Apologetically, she said, “I usually sleep in the afternoon. I fear I’m tired.”

“So am I,” the ugly woman said at once. She called to the driver and said, “The Palazzo Sanzio at once.” Then she slumped back in her seat.

Della was grateful when the carriage pulled up before the palace. She thanked the older woman extravagantly. “It was such a nice treat,” she said.

Madame Guioni smiled modestly. “I felt you might like it. I forgot to enquire about your peculiar aunt, and that darling young British lawyer, and that nice Prince I saw you with the other evening, and of course dear Prince Sanzio. Is the poor old man managing to pay his bills?”

Della replied that all were well and that the Prince was managing nicely. Then she quickly left the carriage. But the ordeal was not yet over: Madame Guioni waved to her girlishly and blew kisses until the carriage was far up the street.

As a result Della entered the palace in a totally unstrung state only to be faced by Prince Sanzio in his wheelchair. The old man had a despairing look on his withered face which told her of new trouble.

Della asked the old man, “What is wrong?”

“Another message from those villains,” he said in an agitated voice and held up a sheet of notepaper.

She took it and read: “Time is short! Do you wish to see your daughter alive again?”

The white-haired Prince Sanzio was in a more distressed state than ever before. He moaned, “If I were not a cripple I would somehow settle with those people and rescue Irma.”

“I know how you feel,” she sympathized.

“As soon as Raphael returns we must settle on some new plan,” the old man said.

“Every attempt seems to wind up in a dead end.”

“We must persevere,” Prince Sanzio said. “How did you manage with Madame Guioni?”

Della shook her head in mock despair. “I hope she forgets all about me. Being with her was an ordeal. She is a loud, vulgar woman and talks incessantly.”

“And the Guioni Brothers wine is very bad!”

“I have no doubt,” she said. “When do you expect Prince Raphael?”

“In a half-hour,” the old man said. “This latest note came after he left. It has shattered me.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage something.” Della tried to bolster his courage although she knew the chances of recovering Irma were getting slimmer as the days passed. They had not been able to discover anything about the Madonna. And it was the key to the predicament.

She went upstairs and met Aunt Isobel on the landing. The old woman brightened on seeing her. “I’ve been worried all the time you were out.”

“I was perfectly safe,” she said. “Madame Guioni took me for a carriage ride.”

“Is she as obnoxious as ever?”

“Even more so,” Della said. “And she thinks only of herself and her problems.”

“A very strange person,” Aunt Isobel said with a grimace. “You know that the Prince received another message while you were gone.”

“Yes. He told me just now. He’s very upset.”

“Poor old man,” Aunt Isobel sighed. “And the worst of it is I think that poor girl is already dead.”

Della gave her a troubled look. “Please don’t keep on saying that!”

“I think it to be true,” her aunt confided. “Again last night I saw a ghostly figure resembling her. This time in the garden.”

“Are you sure?” Della asked tensely.

“Yes. It was very late. As usual, I was unable to sleep. I was pacing in my room and I happened to look out the window. And I saw her! I know it was Irma!”

Della felt it was useless to argue with the older woman. It appeared that every shadow had turned into a ghost as far as she was concerned. But she did warn her, “Don’t tell the old Prince about seeing the ghostly figure. It would only increase his despair.”

Aunt Isobel said, “I will be descreet. I have no wish to see him suffer.”

Della went on to her room and changed into a lovely pale-green gown which was one of her favorites. She kept thinking about what her aunt had said, and wondering if Irma might be dead. It seemed too tragic that this should happen so soon after she’d found her. When she had her auburn hair properly done in an upswept style she went back downstairs.

Prince Raphael was there in white tie and tails. He gave her an admiring look as he approached him. “I have never seen you look lovelier,” he said. “Your afternoon ride must have been good for you.”

She gave him a wry look. “I can promise you I won’t repeat that mistake. The next time Madame Guioni suggests I meet her I’m going to be busy.”

He smiled, “I take it she was as difficult as ever.”

“More so,” she said. “Where is Prince Sanzio?”

“He is feeling so unwell he has gone to his room,” the Prince said. “It seems we’ll have to excuse him from the dinner table. The note he received has been a bad blow.”

“He is terribly depressed.”

“Not much wonder.”

“Is there anything we can do?” she asked.

“I can think of one thing,” he said.

“What?”

“Go out somewhere to dinner,” the handsome man said. “In a different atmosphere perhaps we’ll pick up some fresh ideas.”

“It seems heartless to go out and leave him,” Della worried.

“He won’t mind,” the young Prince said. “Here we are beautifully dressed with no place to show ourselves off.”

“I’m not concerned with showing myself off at a time like this,” she said. “There is also Aunt Isobel.”

“Guido can serve her in her room, since he is going to give the Prince his dinner the same way,” Raphael said. “Perhaps we may meet someone who’ll be able to help us.”

She gave him a meaningful look. “I know who can best help us.”

“Whom?”

“The police!”

He looked startled. “But we have agreed not to call in the police. Otherwise they’ve promised to kill Irma right away.”

“There are not many days left,” she said. “If we don’t make some progress I’d say we have to risk it.”

“Prince Sanzio would have to be convinced there was no other course.”

“I think even he may agree that we are facing a crisis which we cannot seem to cope with. If we let the time go by without calling in the police it could be too late.”

“Wait another day or two,” the young Prince urged.

“We could then find ourselves with only twenty-four hours left. The police will not thank us for leaving it that late!”

Raphael looked grim. “I doubt if the police can do more than us.”

She gave him a sharp look. “What exactly have we done thus far?”

“We’ve tried to track down leads.”

“And wound up exposing ourselves to danger without gaining anything. We are as far from the truth about the Madonna as we were at the start.”

He said, “You at least know Father Anthony is in with the gang of thieves.”

“If he is truly Father Anthony,” she said bitterly. “And whether he is or not I don’t expect to see him again.”

Raphael said, “I still maintain that getting out of here and having a good dinner in a roomful of people is the best medicine for us.”

He finally convinced her and they took a carriage to an elegant restaurant named Mario’s. It was in the heart of the city and was filled with a fashionable crowd. The headwaiter knew Raphael and greeted him cordially before showing them to an excellent table in a raised section of the establishment. They were seated near a four-piece string ensemble that played pleasant background music for the diners.

Smiling at the young Prince across the table, she said, “I must admit I feel better.”

“You needed this and so did I,” he said.

When they had finished their meal they remained in the high-ceilinged, walnut-panneled room to talk in low tones. The lights had been dimmed and the music continued.

Della confessed, “I feel guilty here enjoying myself when I know my sister is a captive somewhere, threatened with murder. And surely badly treated.”

Raphael said, “She ought to have stayed away from Barsini. Even though I introduced them it did not necessarily follow that she would become his disciple.”

“Perhaps if the police raided his villa they would find her.”

The darkly handsome man shook his head. “Never. The place is a maze of secret passages and escape routes. Barsini would spirit her away under the nose of the police.”

“I still say Barsini is the one,” she maintained. “And what I have learned bears it out.”

“He was out when I went by today, but I shall try him again,” Raphael said. They continued talking until they were interrupted by the arrival of a voluptuous young woman of twenty or so wearing a revealingly low-cut gown. The girl was blond and beautiful and she knew Raphael.

“My darling!” she said, standing by him.

His face crimson, Raphael at once stood up. “Sophia!” he said.

“I have not seen you for weeks,” the girl said with a teasing smile. “Where have you buried yourself?”

“I have been busy,” he said uneasily. And then he introduced her: “This is Miss Della Standish from England.”

The blond Sophia regarded her with amusement. “Of courre! I remember you! You were at Barsini’s last gathering.”

She said, “I have been told he does not admit to holding such affairs.”

The blonde laughed. “Admit it or not, I know you were there and so was I.”

“I think I remember you,” she said.

“Your twin was our Vestal Virgin that night,” Sophia went on. “How much alike you two are!”

Della quickly asked the girl, “Have you seen her since?”

“Once.”

“Where?”

“At Gregorio’s after the gathering,” Sophia said. “She was making love with him when I left.”

Della said, “And you haven’t seen her since?”

“No,” the girl said. “Why should I? It was her night, wasn’t it. Having sex on the altar with the Count and winding up with Gregorio! I wouldn’t mind a night like that!”

Prince Raphael raised his eyebrows. “You would enjoy making a spectacle of yourself? Showing your naked body on the stage and going through the sexual act to titillate the group.”

“I will be the altar virgin at the next gathering,” she said seductively. “You must come and see what a performance I shall give.”

“When is it to be?” Della asked her.

“Night after next,” Sophia said. “Didn’t you get a message?”

“No,” she said.

“You will,” the blonde said, her eyes studying Della with a mocking light in them. “No doubt we’ll meet there.”

“Perhaps,” Rahpael said cautiously.

Sophia said, “Gregorio was boasting about taking both you and your twin in the same night!”

She blushed. “I’m sure he is capable of discussing it.”

“A giant of a man,” Sophia said, relishing the picture of him in her mind. “And wealthy as well. But what do you think he does in his spare time?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“He’s fascinated by the opera,” the blonde confided in a conspiratorial tone. “Can you imagine? He goes there every night he’s free and gives his services as an extra for the crowd scenes.”

“Are you sure?” Della asked.

“I’ve seen him there many times,” the girl said. “I find it hilarious! Think of Gregorio as a spear carrier!” And then she moved on.

Della stared at an unhappy Raphael and asked, “Well, what do you say to that?”

“She is one of Barsini’s girls.”

“Very much so if she’s going to do the altar orgy!”

Raphael looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry she spoke so frankly.”

“I’m not,” she said. “Now we know Barsini is having another of his revels night after tomorrow.”

“So?”

“We must somehow get in there with the other guests and try and find Irma.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You think that will be easy?”

“No. But I’m sure it can be done.”

“You expect me to help you in this mad stunt?”

“I do,” she said. “And I expect you to go with me to the opera tomorrow night and see if we can locate Gregorio there.”

“Suppose he’s not there?”

“At least we will have tried,” she said. “You claimed it might do us good to go out. It has. Now we have two new chances to learn something about where Irma is.”

“Even if we catch up with Gregorio I doubt that he will talk,” Raphael said.

“Are you afraid of him?”

The Prince looked irritated. “No. He may be a giant but I have the reputation of being able to look after myself.”

“I should hope so,” she said. “I only wish Henry Clarkson were here.”

“You think he’d be more help?”