Pompili interjected: ‘Meanwhile, I felt that this would be too great a burden on the citizens of the country and might indeed have a negative effect on the pursuit of recreational activity. Perhaps this small charge might impinge upon a resident’s freedom to roam.’
Lizzie had been concentrating hard on each argument, as they took it in turns to speak. ‘So how did you resolve this?’
Pompili answered, pride and joy in his voice. ‘We built a second bridge. At one bridge you pay a toll, the second is free.’
Mosconi was a little more measured in his tone but the pride was evident in his voice too, and his eyes shone. ‘Yes, indeed, a very healthy collaborative resolution. Government working at its pinnacle, I would say.’
‘Although the toll bridge only charges in one direction,’ added Pompili, conscious that the facts must be clear and that his own delight shouldn’t cloud the underlying truth.
‘It does?’ Lizzie felt a little doubt creeping into her voice and resolved to concentrate even harder.
Mosconi sighed a little. ‘After the free bridge had been completed, it was felt that the toll bridge discriminated a little too heavily against those on the south side of the river as many of the vital functions of the city take place on the north side. These good citizens didn’t want to pay to walk across, and after a period of thorough consultation we concurred.’
‘But couldn’t they have just walked across the free bridge?’
The weight of political debate rested heavily on the shoulders of the minister for tourism. His shrug, though not pronounced enough to dismiss the burden, conveyed the gravity of political process and consensual reform. ‘Well, yes, that option was discussed at length, but the issue wasn’t that there was an alternative bridge for access, more that there was now a charge imposed on the toll bridge, which had been there for a very long time and had, up until the time of the toll, been entirely free.’
Pompili lightened the atmosphere, reminding his colleague and reassuring their guest that this sensitive issue had, after all, been resolved to the satisfaction of all. ‘Everyone seems very happy that a toll is charged from north to south, but not in the other direction. And the free bridge remains free in both directions, which makes it a very attractive alternative.’
Lizzie pondered this for a while but dismissed the prospect of challenging the logic any further. ‘Well, it’s great that you listen to the needs of your people and I also think it’s fantastic that your government places such emphasis on the more enjoyable aspects of life. I was a little concerned before I came here that you hadn’t really taken the tourism potential of your country on board. I mean, when I first tried to research your country, it was hard to find out anything at all!’
Mosconi swallowed. ‘We view tourism very much as a growth opportunity, Your Royal Highness. It is fair to say that we aren’t quite open for business yet, if you understand me.’
‘Oh, please stop the “Your Royal Highness” bit. To tell you the truth, it makes me rather uncomfortable. Call me Lizzie.’ She stuck out a hand to be shaken in friendship but both men knew that to transgress with the formalities might be misinterpreted as lack of respect, which might consequently undermine diplomatic relations between their two countries.
Mosconi shook his head vehemently. ‘Oh, we couldn’t. I’m afraid it is not in our culture to be so casual.’
Lizzie folded her arms as she sized the men up. ‘Well, how about “Miss Holmesworth”? Would that suit you?’ She unfolded her arms and this time held out her right hand with greater determination.
‘Fine. Perfectly fine, thank you,’ they mumbled. They took it in turns to shake.
‘Well,’ said Lizzie, picking up where they’d left off, ‘if you’re not exactly open for business yet then you jolly well should be, I think your country’s absolutely beautiful – or what I’ve seen of it so far. And the people are so friendly! Honestly, I’ve travelled a lot – my father has always insisted that it’s a vital part of my education – and I’m totally impressed. Really!’
Mosconi blushed in gratitude. ‘You are very generous. Thank you.’
‘So, if you’re head of tourism and it sounds like you’ve got big plans for the future, sell it to me. Go on! I’ve got plenty of time here and I don’t want to miss a single thing. Sell it – tell me what I should do and what I should avoid. I want to know every single attraction.’
‘Attraction? You mean like a theme park?’ Anxiety clouded the minister’s features once more.
‘Well, of course, if you have any – but, you know, the stuff you’ll put on your website when you get to build one, or that you’d put in a brochure if you were making one for tourists to look at. Sights to see, landmarks, museums, you know the sort of thing.’
A deep grin broke out over Mosconi’s face. ‘A museum! Yes, of course we have a museum. We are very proud of it. But to sell it to you, as though I am merely a cheap copywriter? No, I don’t think so. What I would like to do, with your permission, is to show it to you myself. Might I do that?’
Lizzie smiled gratefully. ‘I’d like that very much. I’m free, um, well, I’m free full stop, I think. Unless there’s any official duty for me to do, I can pretty much fit in a museum trip any time soon. You name the day!’
‘Tuesday. Of course it must be a Tuesday. Our museum is only open on a Tuesday,’ scolded Mosconi, as though even the newcomer should know such essential information.
‘Well, Tuesday it is. Is that a date?’
‘Yes.’ He beamed. ‘It is a date.’
Marcello Pompili, whose idea it had been in the first place to approach the guest, sat back in his chair, ignored and fuming. While Settimio might be in charge of tourism and Miss Holmesworth might have arrived as a tourist, should he not be responsible for her recreation? And what about Cellini? He was definitely going to have something to say about Settimio’s very aggressive stance. A stance that looked likely to impinge on the tourist’s leisure time.
While Pompili sulked, Lizzie relaxed in her chair, unaware of the several diplomatic spats that were springing up around her. While they were only suggestions of arguments now, they had the potential to build into something much larger. More than a century of friendly bar rivalry was suddenly overshadowed by menace that threatened to develop into an unprecedented war, while the two comrades, Marcello and Settimio, firm friends since childhood, now eyed each other with suspicion. One seemed to have grasped the prize and was already living in fear of it being wrested from his hands, while the other was feeling the stirrings of an unfamiliar blend of jealousy and determination. As they all stared forward, the two men pretending to admire the view that the visitor was enjoying, Settimio Mosconi had already resolved that the prize would indeed be his, whatever that acquisition took.
CHAPTER 15
In Which the President Loses His Cool
While Lizzie might have ignited the fuse that could trigger any number of altercations, Sergio was already anticipating the worst scenarios that might result from the spark’s connection with a hoard of highly combustible explosives.
His intention that afternoon had been to practise his address for the welcoming party but when he looked at the words on the typed sheet in front of him they swam away. He swallowed hard and drew the curtains. Then he lay down with a wet flannel draped over his face.
‘Breathe,’ he said to himself. ‘Breathe.’
He replayed the morning’s events in his mind. Either he had set in train a catastrophic series of disasters or had saved himself from impending calamity. It was hard to tell which, so early on, but his instinct was to assume the worst. That Angelo was in on the deception gave him a degree of comfort – to have a co-conspirator gave him an advantage, he was sure. Unless he had presented his chief of staff with an opportunity to undermine Sergio’s power at some future point. That, of course, was unlikely: Angelo was his greatest friend, his confidant, a brother almost. But politics were dangerous, and leaving yourself open to blackmail was perhaps th
e most fundamental of all misjudgements.
‘Breathe.’
The VIP was certainly impressive. She had handled herself well in front of the ministers at her first official appearance. There had been no trace of nervousness in her demeanour – in fact, she seemed to have taken to that part with uncanny ease. And surely now she, too, was implicated in the deceit, she would have to continue or admit, in public, to the fraud.
‘Breathe.’
But had she defrauded anybody? She had merely said she wanted to be treated as a normal person. She hadn’t even hinted that she might be of royal descent. Hadn’t she done quite the reverse? She had publicly declared she was the same as everyone else. Was she playing him already at this game? Perhaps she was more conniving than he had given her credit for. Perhaps she was already plotting to use his chicanery to depose his government.
‘Breathe.’
Perhaps she and Angelo were already in cahoots.
‘Breathe.’
He was going to have to tread very, very carefully. From now until the moment she was on that train in a month’s time, he had to watch every move she made. And he would have to be careful with Angelo, also. He had always had the appearance of an honest man, but it was possible that a chink in the presidential armour could give his hitherto ally an opportunity to further his own political career.
‘Breathe.’
Nevertheless, he needed Angelo. Now his mind was so fuzzy, he wouldn’t be able to read his own speech. He was going to have to resort to memorizing the words, a tactic that had always served him well in times of stress. Sergio stood up, threw the facecloth in the general direction of the bathroom and called for Angelo.
CHAPTER 16
In Which the Dancing Begins
The smell of slowly roasting pork had been gently infiltrating the nooks and crannies of Vallerosa since shortly after the arrival of the special guest early that morning. Several beasts were being turned by hand over flaming logs of cedar, and the combined scent of meat and wood had been more effective in bringing the people of Vallerosa out to Piazza Rosa than any official decree.
Angelo and the rest of the PEGASUS committee hovered around the periphery of the piazza. After some discussion they had decided to disperse themselves among the crowd rather than to huddle as a collective. This, it had been agreed, was the most accurate interpretation of Sergio’s wish for something less contrived than the original Big Celebration.
It was easy to engineer unbidden music. Music just happened in Vallerosa, and of its many associations, none was so natural and instinctive a trigger as the smell of roasting pig. As the crackling began to spit, hiss and turn golden brown, the men of Il Toro Rosso reached for their accordions and violins and struck up an impromptu ensemble, in just the note of impetuous merrymaking that Sergio had been so keen to achieve.
Angelo quietly punched the air and smiled from the sidelines as the people of the town arrived in Piazza Rosa to dance up an appetite. He went in search of Sergio to congratulate him on his foresight. Sergio, now the crowds had amassed, was keen to deliver a rousing speech from the balcony but Angelo convinced him of the merits of keeping the evening low-key. The crowds were happy, the VIP was enjoying warm Vallerosan hospitality in the company of some senior ministers, and the atmosphere was as joyous as anyone could remember. ‘This way,’ Angelo reminded his boss, ‘the VIP can make her own acquaintance with our people and you will not publicly have introduced her as one thing or another.’
Sergio acknowledged the wisdom in this but a nagging voice in his mind suggested he might just have been robbed of a personal political opportunity.
Lizzie had been fetched from her lodgings by a very proud and incredibly nervous Tersilio Cellini, who now felt unable to let her drift more than a couple of feet from him. She was grateful, as it happened, for his attentiveness because she was already fretting that she might be required to dance. As she watched the men and women take to the floor she knew she had neither the skill nor the practice to join them.
The men and women moved together in dignified pairings, the seriousness of the undertaking evident in the men’s upright movements as they glided around in uniform circuits, their left hands stiffly out in support of their partners’ marginally more relaxed gait. As each song drew to a close the dancers waited a few moments, listening with deep concentration to the opening bars of the next, then swept into the steps that matched it. In that way, the pairs worked in harmony as they made their way around the dance floor in sweeping circles.
Lizzie watched in admiration. A combination of lanterns swinging from the archways of the piazza’s perimeter and the moon’s great arc lent an enchanting lambency to the scene, which had a charm that made Lizzie’s heart swell, but it was the dancing that captured her imagination. She had never before witnessed such efficiency of movement and ease of footwork. No rehearsed moves of the many barn dances and Scottish reels she had joined had had this fluid grace and decorum. She blushed at the memory of her own ungainly leaping and bopping at a party just before she had left on her travels.
She followed the footwork, trying to identify a pattern she might be able to imitate but each dance varied, and though the dancers were unfazed by any change in tempo, she became quite flustered as she watched until she was led to a chair on the sidelines where she could admire the spectacle without the fear of being pushed out to make a fool of herself.
She was flanked by Pompili and Cellini, her devoted companions for the evening, but Mosconi was never far away and was the first to ferry platefuls of fatty hog, crusty bread and tart apple sauce to the guest.
As the momentum built and it was obvious to all that food and drink was being generously shared, and that the citizens had entered into the spirit of the event with enthusiastic abandonment, the ministers relaxed a little, assured of a triumph. Lizzie sat swaying to the music, delighted by her companions and by the city.
Despite the undeniably convivial atmosphere, Cellini released an exaggerated sigh.
It had the desired effect on Lizzie who turned immediately to him with a worried frown. ‘Whatever is the matter? This is such a wonderful party, but you seem so desperately sad.’
‘Exactly. Like sunlight picking out the dust in a newly swept room, there is nothing like the happiness of others to amplify the tragedy of one’s own life.’ Cellini smiled sadly, conveying the impression that he was quite capable of suffering with stoicism.
‘Tragedy? I’m so sorry. Is there anything you feel you can talk to me about? I find that sharing a burden often helps.’ Lizzie patted his arm while he, dramatically, framed his response.
‘It is nothing that I cannot bear alone, which I must get used to, I suppose. The great sadness of my life is that I am in my prime with no prospect whatsoever of finding a woman with whom I can share the fruits of my labour and lessen the loneliness of a long winter.’ Cellini shook his head and sighed again. After a brief pause he drew himself up tall in his chair. Pointing disgustedly at the dancers, he exclaimed, ‘Look at Vlad! Could he dance with any greater degree of self-congratulation?’
Lizzie peered at the dancers, trying to work out whom Cellini might have meant. ‘Him?’ she asked, as a couple twirled slowly past. ‘Vlad, the minister for employment?’
Vlad was currently picking a careful route around the dance floor. He held his partner lightly, as if she might break, should he clasp her any closer. An anxious frown of concentration played across his face and he bit his lip to disguise the counting he was trying to suppress as he measured his steps. The minister studied his feet, and only occasionally met his partner’s gaze.
Lizzie couldn’t detect a trace of complacency in Vlad’s gait but Cellini was unrelenting in his critical appraisal. ‘Without a partner in life, what is the point in working hard to achieve success? I am without purpose. I am simply resigned to my fate as a bitter elder statesman.’
‘But you’re still a young man!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘I’m sure you’ll find somebody to share you
r life with. Take a look around you – perhaps there’s a young woman you could dance with here. Besides, moping certainly won’t help you meet the woman of your dreams.’
But the minister had set his heart on self-pity. ‘Trust me, there are no spare women. I have investigated any possible leads and Liliana there, the woman dancing now in the arms of my comrade, was one candidate I had only recently identified as a possibility. But I suppose I have met my match. I am minister for leisure. He is minister for employment. Leisure or employment? Hardly a fair contest. Without employment, leisure is not noble. It is simply unemployment.’
Signor Pompili had been similarly entranced by the dancers but now, sensing that Cellini had taken liberties in conversation with their guest, using the occasion to indulge in melancholic reflection, he tapped Lizzie sharply on the shoulder. ‘Look closely, Miss Holmesworth. What do you see?’
‘I see a beautiful piazza in the centre of a gorgeous city. I see many happy people, drinking and eating. I see musicians playing and dancers …’ She trailed off, wondering suddenly if this minister, too, was being obtuse and in search of a murkier perspective than her own.
‘You see these things indeed, but they are superficial. Examine the scene with a little more scrutiny and you’ll notice many other things too. You see government in action. You see the manifestation of utilitarianism, the consequence of a collective working at the pinnacle of its power. You see spontaneous merriment of the type that can only flourish among a truly content populace.’ Signor Pompili spoke loudly, then dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper for his dénouement. ‘And, Miss Holmesworth, should you find yourself asked in any formal capacity what you witnessed tonight, it is important to remember that you are seeing a nation that accesses recreation with the effortless ease of the well practised.’ He paused. ‘Please understand the distinction between “well practised” and “rehearsed”. I would not like you to mislead an enquiry with the suggestion of conspiracy or collaboration.’
The Museum of Things Left Behind Page 12
