Chapter 12
TV Roma
MARCO WAVED discreetly as Natalia came running lightly down the stairs in response to a phone call from reception. She was wearing long, loose clothes -- masking a shape that had once tormented him. Of all the girls he had been with in the past, Natalia was the only one to say so-far-but-no-further, and mean it. It was an attitude hard to come to terms with at the time, and they drifted apart when Isabella, a blonde from Lido di Ostia, proved more than ready to satisfy his desires. But that was before he met Anna. He realized he was not concentrating as Natalia talked, aware that his eyes were checking out her body. He quickly brought his thoughts under control.
"How's the security guard?" he asked.
"Dino? A deep knife wound to the stomach. The knife missed his heart. He's still on life-support, but we hear he's going to pull through."
"I've been praying for him." Marco looked around. "Well, the GIS certainly wrecked this place for you last night."
Natalia laughed. "Most of the glass got broken, otherwise it's not too bad. We're using a temporary reception area outside the staff canteen."
There seemed to be no resentment that he had once walked out on her. "We're still friends, right?" he asked.
Natalia smiled warmly. "That's fine by me, Marco. Sorry about the chairs; they've come from the staff break room."
This area certainly wasn't of the standard set by the once-luxurious foyer. The shapeless plywood seats had probably been designed for maximum discomfort, so staff would not want to sit on them for longer than the statutory coffee break. It must have been some break room!
"I want to apologize properly -- about our past." He was still wearing his black suit and clerical collar from his meeting with the Cardinal and his panel, and sweat was starting to run down his face. He wiped it away.
"I hope you're not still worrying about it, Marco. I'm sure Isabella was the right person for you. At the time." And Natalia laughed again, a pleasant laugh devoid of censure. "Not that I can imagine you with her now. Not at all the right image for a new priest. I was heartbroken once." She smiled. "You've changed. We both have. When we split up you'd just started selling old cars. I heard about Anna. I'm sorry."
"Anna died six years ago. And thanks, I think perhaps I'm over the worst of it now."
"It must have been difficult," said Natalia.
"It was hard when the carabinieri accused me of making up the story about the attack."
"Why would they do that?"
Marco shrugged. "They thought I was covering up a foolish accident ... or worse. Those men didn't only kill Anna. I lost a son. Anna was four months pregnant. The carabinieri suggested I didn't want the baby, and pushed her because I wanted her to miscarry."
Natalia put her hand to her mouth. "That's tough. I'm amazed you went into the Church."
Marco smiled freely again. "Meaning?"
"We knew each other well. I can't say the Church was exactly a priority in your life. Was it because of Anna's accident?"
"Did I find God through grief? Is that what you think?"
He noticed that Natalia's nose turned up as she talked, and good memories came back. She began to blush. "I don't mean to pry. I just didn't..." She shrugged, and as her slim shoulders moved up they tightened the white blouse around her small breasts. "Anyway, you'll make a good priest. You'll probably be even better than you were at selling cars. You'll be selling God to the people now -- Father!"
"Thanks. To tell you the truth, I'm in a bit of a mess." He didn't wish to blame Natalia, but TV Roma had rerun his interview at breakfast time, and they were likely to do it again at midday. He wanted to get Amendola off his back by being taken out of the public eye. Natalia could help -- if only she would listen. He turned away to avoid eye contact. "Can you tell your News Room to stop showing my face on the screen?"
Natalia shook her head firmly. "No way, Marco. I fixed this up to teach you a lesson: don't take women for granted!" She pointed at him and laughed. "After today we're quits. Let me get you a coffee." She walked towards the machine on the foyer. "It's not too bad, if you go for the espresso."
Marco's apartment
THAT NIGHT yet another excerpt from his interview was shown in the TV Roma news on the raid. Marco realized that Natalia had fixed things for him all right, but surely not to teach him a lesson. That had just been a joke. Natalia had never been vindictive. His door bell rang as he was looking through a book on the history of art.
A woman of about his age stood at the door. "Are you Marco Sartini?"
"Yes." He deliberately let a note of caution show in his voice.
The woman laughed confidently. "You sound worried. I'm only a journalist."
His caution was justified. "I can't speak to the press."
She was very quick with her reassurance. "Consider me a friend, Marco. I keep seeing you on television."
"Sorry, I'm going to have to fall back on the old cliché: no comment. I've been sworn to silence by higher forces. I don't want to get into any deeper trouble with the Church -- and I don't want to be quoted on that either."
"My name's Laura. Laura Rossetti. There's some important information I want to share with you."
"You're not after a story?"
"You're going to have to trust me." And she laughed intriguingly.
The young woman's voice was seductive, irresistible. He invited her in, wishing he'd tidied the main room for the unaccustomed reception of female company. His seminarian flat mates had already moved out to their first parishes. Until the fiasco with Amendola he had been packing, getting ready for the move to the presbytery. Now -- thanks to the stuffy Cardinal -- he wondered if he would ever be allowed to go into parish work. It was only when Laura Rossetti was sitting down that he remembered Father Reinhardt's warnings about the neo-Nazis.
Laura Rossetti seemed to be genuine, complete with a notebook and folder. To his consternation Marco experienced a primitive feeling of attraction. Laura Rossetti was lovely. Beautiful even, in spite of lips that were colored too brightly. He offered her a chair, avoiding meeting her eyes. But there would be no harm in simple friendship. He knew he had an easy manner with all ages and both sexes. Marriage to Anna had taught him a lot about women.
Natalia, happy little Natalia he had once tried to bed, must have aroused long-forgotten memories of other girls only too ready to comply, but he found it easy to sweep the thoughts aside. As at TV Roma, he was reluctant to dig too deeply into this aspect of his past. But Laura had Anna's large eyes, pulled-back hair and beautifully filled pale blue jeans. Even the perfume was Anna's. L'Air du Temps. Being in the room with Laura Rossetti unsettled him.
The resolve to stay away from women had been easily made when Anna died. No one could replace her. His subsequent vows of chastity and celibacy were genuine, and he prided himself on learning to control his once obsessive fascination with the female body. The route from promiscuous youth, to marriage, to man of God, was hopefully a one-way trip.
He sat a little way across the room, facing his visitor. "I'm not sure I can be much help." He could feel himself blushing as he spoke, and felt angry with himself. "You've seen my television interview. I'm told I put my foot in it."
"Angelo Levi," Laura interrupted. She said the name slowly. "Canon Angelo Levi. You mentioned him in the interview. He was too good for the Church."
"I met him several times when I was a boy," said Marco. "Sister Maria used to take us on school trips round the Vatican museum, and Canon Levi pointed things out to us and made jokes. I don't think Sister Maria liked his little jokes. I remember I was stunned to hear about his death. Are you a Catholic?"
Laura stood up slowly and went to the window. "Catholic? Of course I'm a Catholic." She sounded a little peevish. Then she turned and smiled. "You have a good view of the park from here."
Marco felt pleased by the observation. He was fond of the student apartment. Until he knew Laura better he would certainly not talk about his work for Father Josef
. "Tell me how you knew the Canon."
She took her time before replying. At last she said, "I was young when he died."
"Close on twenty years since the murder," Marco prompted, suddenly aware of the shape of Laura's full breasts under the white blouse. He had already noticed there was no wedding ring.
"I must be about the same age as you. Yes, I knew him."
"You're not making notes. I don't think you're here for a news story."
Laura returned from the window, walked past the chair she had been using, and sat by his side on the small cane settee. "Not exactly."
Marco got to his feet, trying to avoid any appearance of obvious haste. If he felt any attraction for this visitor it was only because she brought back vivid memories of Anna. "Coffee?" The coffee was already brewing on the gas ring. "You've not told me how you knew Canon Angelo," he called from the small kitchen.
"We'll have to get to know each other first. But I have a family source that is very reliable. I'm trying to trace the Canon's missing property."
"The bronze head?"
"Of course. My editor wants as much background as possible."
"What publication are you working for?"
"Publication? Oh yes, I see. At the moment I'm working for ... one of the Sunday papers. I'm a freelance."
He didn't need to be a psychologist to detect the hesitation. "There's obviously something personal for you in this. Is that why you're not making notes?"
Laura raised her eyebrows, emphasizing her large eyes. She glanced at the folder on her lap. "In a way. Someone in Canon Angelo's family is going to help me track the relic down, but they don't want their name mentioned."
He grinned. "And I don't want my name mentioned either. Seems to me you might not be getting much of a story out of this."
Laura came to stand with him at the kitchen window. Two young lovers lay under the maple tree in the small park, laughing over a private joke. He could almost hear Anna's favorite music: I Pini del Gianicolo, the haunting tune from Respighi's Pine Trees of Rome that brought back recollections of evening walks on the hillside above the river. Like the perfume, memories of the tune and Anna were inseparable.
The thoughts seemed too intense and he moved away. "I've been told by the Vatican to say nothing about this business of the relic. I feel I'm back at college, playing chess with Brother Roberto." He laughed awkwardly. "We're probably each afraid to make a move."
Laura stayed gazing out of the window, then she slowly turned. Marco breathed in the perfume and stared at her large brown eyes, skillfully drawn around with fine eyeliner, and just a trace of mascara on the lashes. But the lipstick was far too bright, spoiling the whole effect.
Laura regarded him closely. "Angelo Levi was given the relic in World War Two, by his father. His father was Jewish. Did you know?"
"Father Josef told me."
"He threw Angelo out of the house when he became a Christian, so he lived with his aunt who'd become a Christian in nineteen thirty-five. There was no possibility of Christians and Jews accepting each other's beliefs in those... Who's Father Josef?"
Marco pulled a face. "Just somebody I work for in the Vatican."
Laura hardly seemed to hear the answer. She sounded very knowledgeable about Rome in World War Two. "Italy wasn't like Nazi Germany in the thirties. Mussolini wasn't a racist. The Italian fascists only persecuted the Jews half-heartedly. They mainly wanted to smash the power of the Communists and the unions. Jews who said they'd converted to Christianity were given a certificate and left alone. They were protected citizens -- until the Nazis came. Then, of course, the certificates were worthless pieces of paper."
"And was Angelo Levi's conversion genuine?" Marco knew from experience that men and women had many different reasons for conversione, a popular one being the desire for peace from an overzealous partner.
Laura sounded annoyed. "Genuine enough for him to become a canon! Not that everyone in the Church thought he was good enough for the job." There was an edge to that comment. It was almost judgment. "I don't want to stay long tonight, Marco, but I need to know if you'll work with me on this one. You must have your ear to the ground in the Vatican. See if anyone knows where the relic is hidden. I promise I'll keep your name out of the papers. I can show you a letter that might have some bearing on the matter. Can I come round later in the week?"
"That's fine. I suppose I should add Deo volente." He laughed, and hoped he sounded spiritual enough. God willing. Even a suspended priest has to create a good impression.
Laura seemed pleased at his acceptance. "Do you have a cell phone?"
He nodded, wondering if Laura counted as a friend in Father Joseph's definition of who he could give the number to. He decided she did.
She wrote it down. "Good, I'll phone you and we can have some lunch together. I know a good place."
"And I'll not pass on anything you don't want me to," he promised.
Laura looked startled. "Pass on? How do you mean, pass on?"
He would have taken that move back if he'd been playing chess with Brother Roberto. Such a blunder would have provoked generosity in the most unsympathetic player. "What I mean is, this is between the two of us. Right?"
Laura relaxed a little. "That's right. And it's got to stay that way."
He walked down to the street with Laura, as far as the corner where they parted company. Many years ago he would have encouraged an attractive woman like Laura to stay longer. Much longer. But the opportunities for sex had gone, and he had no problem with keeping his vow of celibacy. Well, there could be no harm in watching Laura Rossetti walk away. Perhaps she would even turn to wave ciao.
She did not walk far. Only as far as a parked car -- a battered, green Lancia. She got into the passenger seat. As the car pulled out from the curb, Marco edged back out of sight, embarrassed at having stayed to watch. The man driving the car looked old enough to be Laura's father. But even supposing it was her boyfriend, was it any business of his? How stupid to feel jealous over something that could never be.
LAURA TOOK a quick look behind as Bruno let the clutch in with a jolt.
"Well, does he know where it is?" Bruno Bastiani let go of the gear stick and put his hand on her knee.
"We're wasting our time," snapped Laura, pushing his hand away. "He's a priest, for God's sake. He's not going to fall into a woman's arms at the sight of red lips." She took a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her lipstick. "I hate this stuff, and I hate what we're doing. You want me to screw a priest so you can get hold of a Christian relic?"
"We need it, Laura. It's going to be the answer to all our prayers."
"Prayers? When did you ever pray?" She felt dirty. "Anyway, his faith would mean more to him than a pretty girl. I told him I was Catholic."
"Clever Laura."
"If I was clever I wouldn't be mixed up in this business with you and Riccardo Fermi," she snapped. "What we're doing is obscene. If anyone has a claim to the relic, it's me -- and I say we forget about it."
Bruno responded angrily. "It's our duty to see it through. You're not getting out now. We want justice."
RETURNING TO HIS apartment block, Marco realized he had learned very little from Laura Rossetti. No notes had been taken. Was she really writing a piece of journalism? Not that it mattered. He had enjoyed the company.
A smell of L'Air du Temps filled the room. He took the Respighi CD from the rack, held it for a moment, then put it in the player. As the music of I Pini del Gianicolo filled the apartment he began to cry, a mixture of pain and pleasure. His meetings with Laura and Amendola had disturbed powerful memories, as had seeing Natalia. He wanted his life with Anna to stay in a separate compartment. A compartment that could never be visited again.
But now the room no longer seemed empty. Anna had been allowed back into his life for an hour.
Shout in the Dark Page 16
