Vintage Love (95 page)

“So someone killed him to get their hands on the Madonna?”

Father Anthony nodded. “And the scandal of it is that it had to be someone within the Church establishment who committed the crime. Outsiders are not engaged in the area from which the theft took place. One of our own did this terrible deed.”

“So there is a stolen Madonna!”

“Yes. What happened to it, and why the thieves should link it with you, is a mystery.”

She frowned. “Perhaps not as much as we think. Have you heard of a Count Barsini?”

The little priest looked scandalized. “Who has not? A sinful man!”

She said, “My sister seems to have become infatuated with him!”

“Most unfortunate,” Father Anthony said.

“I agree. And I think he may know more about this stolen Madonna than most people guess. And it may be through him that I have been linked with the theft.”

“Ah!” the priest said. “I begin to see.”

“It is only a shot in the dark,” she was quick to explain. “I may be wrong.”

The espresso came and since Irma had still not returned she invited Father Anthony to join her. The priest seemed grateful.

“Very stimulating,” he said, smacking his lips over the thick, black brew.

She said, “So we know there was a theft. Why did the Vatican not turn it over to the police?”

“They fear bad publicity,” Father Anthony said. “For either a priest or a brother must be involved. And a murder has been committed. They believe that the conscience of the thief will force him finally to confess and return the Madonna to them.”

“Do you think this is likely to happen?”

“Not if it has been stolen,” Father Anthony said. “The Vatican does not know that. They think the Madonna must still be in the hands of the one who first took it.”

“That’s not likely,” she said. “I’m sure it was sent to London and someone intercepted it on the way. Otherwise why would I be so harried?”

“I agree,” Father Anthony said. “Perhaps you will be able to get more information from your sister, as you come to be better friends.”

“It’s possible,” she said. “But not too likely. I think Barsini was mixed up in the theft and that she is his devoted slave. They claim he practices black magic.”

“God forbid!” the fat priest said, crossing himself. “If so, she is surely lost.”

“I hope to save her.”

“You have my blessing, my child,” Father Anthony said. “I shall come and visit you soon at the palace of Prince Sanzio.”

“Please do, if you learn anything more,” she begged him.

“Depend upon it,” he said. “And you must keep your eyes and ears open. Who knows what you may discover?”

He thanked her for the espresso and left. She sat there thinking about what he’d told her. So there was no longer any suspicion that the business of the Madonna was mere fantasy. There was a real Madonna of St. Cecilia and it had been stolen from the Vatican. She was still speculating about this when Irma came swiftly up the street toward her.

Irma said, “I’m sorry I was so long. The handbag maker was out and I waited for him to return.”

“It didn’t matter,” she said. “An old friend I met on the train coming here passed by and saw me. He stopped and talked a little. And I’m afraid he drank your espresso.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the other girl said, seeming very tense. “I didn’t really want it. Shall we go?”

They found a carriage to take them back to the palace. Prince Sanzio and Aunt Isobel had already returned and were resting before dinner. Henry was also back and waiting for them in the reception hall.

He said, “Where have you two been?”

“Shopping,” Della told him. “How did you manage with the lawyers?”

Henry directed himself to Irma as he told her, “You may as well get ready to acknowledge Della as your sister. Everything seems to prove the case.”

“I see,” the other girl said quietly.

Henry told Della, “I shall need you and your aunt to identify certain items tomorrow. If that works out we must accept Irma’s claim to be a Standish.”

“I have no wish to be a Standish,” Irma said stiffly, her parcel in hand. “But it seems I’m still only a puppet in all this.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Henry said. “And I’ll try to change your mind at dinner.”

“I shall not be here for dinner,” the other girl said. “I have other plans. I’m sorry.” And she left them to go up the curving stairway.

Della and the young lawyer exchanged glances. And then she indicated that they should go outside where they could talk. They left the reception hall for the patio outside the living room which overlooked the gardens.

Della urgently told him, “I met Father Anthony today while Irma was off doing an errand.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He confirmed there has been a valuable Madonna stolen. The Vatican is making no publicity about it since one of their own is partner to the crime. They hope he will repent and return the Madonna to them.”

“Small chance!”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sure it has fallen into other hands since then.”

“And they think you know where it is!”

“They seemed to,” she said. “All has been quiet since we arrived here.”

Henry shook his head. “I don’t like the way that girl behaves. She’s very strange.”

She smiled. “She’s likely my sister. Stranger than me?”

“Definitely,” he said with a thin smile in return. “I think she and that Count she’s always running off to meet must know more than they should about the theft.”

“I agree,” Della said. “But I can’t decide where she fits in.”

“I say get out of Rome as soon as we have finished the legal business.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why stay here?” he worried. “It could be dangerous for you?”

“Sometimes a certain type of danger attracts me,” she confessed.

“I might have known,” he groaned.

Dinner was very much a repeat of the night before. Prince Sanzio was very apologetic about Irma’s decision to go out. They enjoyed an excellent meal served as before by the tiny Guido. Then Prince Raphael came to join the party and was almost overfriendly with Henry.

They were all gathered in the living room when a message came for Prince Sanzio. He read it and exclaimed, “Botheration!”

Della asked, “What is it?”

“One of my lawyers wishes to settle a point with me. He is coming over here tonight.” He glanced up at Henry from his wheelchair. “And he requests that you be on hand.”

With his best professional cheerfulness, Henry said, “That will be no hardship since I’m already here.”

“But no doubt you and Della had something planned?” the invalid said.

“No,” she told him. “We’d discussed nothing.”

Aunt Isobel said tartly from her armchair, “I know what I shall be doing. I’m weary from the heat. I’m going up to bed.”

Prince Raphael turned to Della and said, “We may as well make the best of our time. Let me take you to one of our famous restaurants for a little.”

She laughed, “I couldn’t eat anything more.”

“For drinks,” he said. “Merely for drinks and to see the place and the people!”

Most generously Henry said, “Why not go, my dear? It will save you from a lot of dull lawyer’s talk.”

“Well, if you say so,” she said, blushing.

Prince Raphael was at his most charming. “It is time you saw Rome at night,” he told her. “And I’m the best guide possible.”

Della was ready to believe him by the time he had taken her by carriage through romantic gas-lit streets. There was a fragrance in the air that spoke of unseen blooms and every so often a snatch of distant music caught her ears. They passed strolling couples obviously also caught up in the enchantment of the warm, moonlit night. Occasionally another carriage passed them. Finally they came to a main street and the carriage came to a halt.

Prince Raphael smiled at her as he helped her down to the street. “This is Grass Snake Street, the site of the fine Ristorante Pancrazio. It is located on the site of a long-vanished theater dating back to 55
B.C.
No one should visit Rome without seeing it.”

She found herself before an ugly archway with only dim gaslight to outline it. “Strange-looking place,” she said.

He laughed. “The restaurant windows are lighted but the glass is opaque. Come along!” He took her by the arm.

They entered a dark tunnel to a level which he told her was fifteen feet below the ground. Inside, it was filled with people who seemed to be having a fine time. It gave no hint of being a cave. The decoration was excellent and the waiters moved about rapidly serving steaming, savory-smelling dishes. Raphael pointed out that several of the original columns still existed and were part of the stage.

When they were seated at one of the many tables, he asked her, “How do you like it?”

“I adore it,” she said. “Where else but in Rome would you find such a place?”

“Signor Machhione, the proprietor, is a friend of mine,” the Prince said. “I do not see him but I shall look for him after we order.”

She said, “And this is truly on the site of an ancient ruin?”

“Definitely,” Raphael said. “The restaurant is located on what was the proscenium and the stage of the theater. From here ran a famous arcade of one hundred huge columns. It was in one of the adjoining halls that the Senate met on the Ides of March and Caesar was struck down!”

Della was thrilled by this and by the general feeling of the place. A strolling violinist came by to play at their table and Raphael tipped the old musician generously when he finished. It was apparent that he was well known in the place.

Della was about to ask him another question when all at once a familiar figure came toward their table. Wearing an evening gown and a tiara, and smoking a cigarette, came the formidable Madame Guioni, looking as large and ugly as ever but showing a smile on her excessively made-up face.

“Dear Miss Standish!” Madame Guioni gushed, coming up to the table. “What a delightful surprise meeting you here.”

“And for me!” Della agreed. And she introduced the Prince.

Madame Guioni appraised the Prince with unabashed interest. “What a charming young man!” she exclaimed. “A pity we have never met before.”

“My loss,” the mustached young Prince said with gallantry.

“Pray do not stand,” she told him. But he continued to do so as she told Della, “I mean to look you up, my dear, and have that party I promised.”

“There’s no need,” Della said. “But I would like to see you again.”

“You shall,” the big woman said. A grimace crossed her ugly, made-up face, and she said, “What a journey we had! That awful little priest and his cigar!”

Della smiled. “Strangely enough, I met him for a few minutes this afternoon.”

“You did?” Madame Guioni raised her eyebrows. “Well, that is Rome! Did he have anything to say?”

“Very little,” Della said with caution.

The woman turned her interest to Prince Raphael again, saying, “What a delightful young man you are. I regret we do not fraternize in the same social circles. Mine is an older set.”

“But that is a mistake,” Raphael told her, his eyes twinkling.

“Thank you, dear boy,” Madame Guioni said, pleased by this compliment. “I shall ask you to my party for Miss Standish. Everyone wants to attend my parties! Everyone!”

“I’m sure of it,” he said.

“We must meet again,” Madame Guioni said. And in a confidential aside to Della, she said, “I dare not stay longer. I’m with a most charming man and he worries when we are together because of his jealous wife.”

“I understand,” Della said, smiling.

“Don’t forget to drink your toasts in Guioni Brothers wine,” Madame Guioni said gaily, and moved on back to another part of the restaurant where she was lost to their view.

Prince Raphael sat down. “That is a character! So that is your Madame Guioni?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “She is usually not so friendly, but your good looks charmed her.”

“I hope she does not make good her threat to put me on her party list,” he said.

Della was amused. “She would consider she was doing you a favor.”

“The sort of favor I must escape,” he said with a wry look. “Let us get away from here before she decides to return.”

“If you like,” Della said.

They left the restaurant and returned to the carriage which the Prince had paid to wait for them. He said, “Now I shall take you to an enchanted place.”

“Where?”

“The Forum by moonlight,” he said, and leaned forward to give the driver instructions.

Once again they drove through the streets of what seemed to her an enchanted night city. They finally came to a halt and left the carriage waiting once more while the Prince guided her toward the ruins of the Forum.

They stood on a slight rise with the splendor of the famed ruins spread before them, the fragments of buildings and columns cast into silhouette by the moon’s silver light. In the distance were the outlines of dark, tree-crested hills.

“Is it not magnificent?” he asked.

“Truly,” she said in a taut whisper.

The handsome Prince turned to her and told her softly, “All Rome holds no sight more lovely than you!” And he took her in his arms and kissed her.

Again, caught unexpectedly, she found herself responding to him. And then her feeling of guilty enjoyment was caught short by her becoming aware they were not alone! Fear smote her as she saw a dark figure rise up behind the Prince and hit him on the head with something.

She saw the hand raised behind Raphael and felt his body slump as the blow hit him. She neither screamed nor hesitated, but as he fell before her she turned and ran down the. steep hill as fast as she could. She heard a man curse and another cry out but she neither halted nor turned. Instead she ran a zigzag path between patches of brush, attempting to escape the moonlight and disappear in the shadows.

She managed this very well. But they were still after her. Reaching a fragment of ancient wall, she bent down behind it. After a matter of seconds she saw two figures rush past her as they pursued her. She was breathing heavily and her side was hurt from the effort of her race.

As soon as they were past her, she retraced her steps. Her aim was to get back to Raphael and try to help him. And if she could not rouse him then at the least she would get back to the waiting carriage and alert the driver. But when she reached the bottom of the steep bank which led up to where the attack had taken place she heard the curses of the two men as they returned.