“She said that she hoped you would have a good time this evening and not to worry about her. Your brother will look in on her. You see, she knows that your brother sometimes goes for walks here and that you cover for him, so to speak. The night of Gibbon’s murder, for instance. She told me again that you stopped in her room twice, shortly after your brother put her to bed and several hours later. She wasn’t sure of the time but she said she thinks it was about midnight. She remembers the church bells. She wasn’t asleep either time, it seems. So you see, she’s aware of your concern for her, Miss Spaak, and she wants you to have a good time tonight.”
It seemed as if a great many things were going through Dora Spaak’s head but none of them were verbalized. She was as pale as a corpse.
When Urbino asked her to dance, she shook her head. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I’m feeling a little warm. It must be all this excitement. It’s like a fairy tale—a masked ball at the palace of a countess!”
He went to get them something to drink. As he was moving through the crowd it seemed as if the main topic of conversation wasn’t the costume ball or Carnevale but Ignazio Rigoletti. By the time he reached the bar and was working his way back to Dora Spaak, he had heard several convincing theories as to why Rigoletti had murdered Gibbon and then tried to kill the “handsome young man” whose likeness had been in the newspaper. Though ingenious, however, none of them was correct or could ever hope to be, and Urbino, with his own knowledge, felt like a real conspirator among them instead of only someone dressed as one.
When he got back to where he had left Dora Spaak, she was gone. The Contessa was standing where she had been.
“Don’t look so disappointed, caro. I asked Filippo to ask Miss Spaak to dance and told him that no one would mind if he monopolized her for a while. I didn’t add that the last person who would object was Oriana since it would give her a chance for a tête-à-tête with her latest admirer.”
She took the mineral water he had brought for Dora.
“I was sure Miss Spaak was the type to drink only champagne and to be thrilled to have a headache and soda water the morning after.”
“Everything is going well, Barbara,” Urbino said, telling himself that he wasn’t being hypocritical, that things had been going well so far. “Aren’t you glad you allowed yourself to be persuaded?”
“If I am, I’ll never admit it. And don’t forget that the evening is far from over yet.”
She gave him a slightly questioning look, the kind of look a sophisticated child might give to a magician she suspected of having something up his sleeve that had been secretly put there hours before. The Contessa would forgive him almost anything except an intentional unkindness to her, and of this he knew he was—and hoped he would always be—innocent.
They surveyed the guests mingling and dancing. As Urbino had noticed before, there were several veiled ladies, but none veiled and gowned as strikingly as the Contessa. There were numerous fortune-tellers, the character of Ulrica being the most colorful one in the opera. Vico, who had arrived only a short time ago from the Questura, was wearing a red half mask and a well-cut black suit with a black cloak. The cloak, made of a heavy material, was obviously meant for outerwear and was probably a part of Vico’s regular wardrobe. Inside the Contessa’s salone, however, it made the handsome young man sweat as he danced with Hazel in her geometric-print silk dress and half mask with red and white lozenges.
“I was afraid,” the Contessa said as she deposited her half-finished mineral water on a passing waiter’s tray, “that the attack on Tonio and Rigoletti’s arrest might be sobering for everyone here tonight but it seems to have had the opposite effect. It’s our coup de théâtre! It’s more of a theme than Verdi! And I have you to thank for that.”
The Contessa’s praise made him uncomfortable.
“I had little enough to do with it. It all happened so fast. Fortunately, Gemelli’s man hadn’t lost Vico in the crowd or else your lovely ball would have been completely ruined.”
“‘Completely’?” Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand what he might mean. “I’m sure you have a lot of explaining to do, the kind that makes me feel like a cretina, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. Ash Wednesday is the time for reflection and remembrance of things past, for plans for a better future. I don’t insist that you explain anything now, caro. How did you find Josef?”
She seemed eager to change the subject.
“He was looking very well, much better than when I saw him last. I think your visit did him good.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I was afraid it might have been somewhat of a setback at first.”
“We talked about that. He explained what the problem was. He was glad to be able to see you alone. His mind is more at ease now.”
Once again she gave him her questioning look but he stared back at her, with, he hoped, as little expression as possible.
“I also spoke with Dora Spaak’s mother. She was worried about her son but I tried to put her mind at rest.”
“Doesn’t poor little Dora get worried about? I’m happy she came tonight. How much of Carnevale can she have seen? Although I saw her last week in the Piazza with Gibbon, she probably has been keeping close to the Casa Crispina.”
“Not quite. Mrs. Spaak says that she thinks she has slipped out one or two nights to see what was going on.”
“‘Slipped out’? At her age she shouldn’t have to ‘slip out.’”
“Mrs. Spaak would agree with you. She found it rather amusing when Dora came in the night Gibbon was murdered and borrowed the mask her son had bought for her a few days before.”
“But I thought she said she had stayed in that night—that she wasn’t feeling well?”
Urbino nodded but didn’t go into more detail. The Contessa stared at him quizzically and turned away to look out on the dance floor, at the president of the district assembly dancing with the young wife of a senator, at Oriana Borelli in the arms of her latest admirer, at the architect Rebecca Mondador with a journalist from Il Gazzettino, at Filippo Borelli with Dora Spaak, and at many other couples Urbino himself couldn’t recognize because of their costumes.
Urbino wished there had been some way he could have convinced Commissario Gemelli to provide a police officer for the ball. But Gemelli would have said, with good reason, that Vico didn’t need any more protection or observation, did he? And before his trip to the hospital to see Lubonski and Stella Maris Spaak, Urbino hadn’t been in much of a position to give Gemelli the kind of reason that would have inclined—or compelled—the Commissario to comply. Gemelli was confident that Rigoletti would now tell the truth about what had happened in the Calle Santa Scolastica.
“It’s time for our little concert,” the Contessa said as the orchestra finished their number. “Excuse me.”
She went on the platform and introduced the tenor, soprano, and baritone from Milan.
“They will be singing three arias and a duet from Un Ballo in Maschera. The first is Signor Massimo Carlini as Renato singing ‘Alla vita.’”
Urbino was less than impressed with Carlini but Annamaria Terisio, who sang “Morrò,” moved him. For several minutes he forgot everything and was caught up in the soprano’s rendition of Amelia’s impassioned gallows request to her husband not to kill her until she can see her only son once again. Amelia, along with Bellini’s Norma and Puccini’s Suor Angelica and Madame Butterfly, was one of the memorable mothers of opera. As she sang, Urbino saw that Filippo Borelli was translating for Dora Spaak:
“I shall die—but one last wish,
By God, at least grant me.
My only son let me
Hold close to my heart.…
Do not reject the pleas
Of a mother’s heart.
I shall die—but this body
May be consoled by his kisses,
For the end is in sight
Of my fleeting hours.…
His hand he will extend
> To close the eyes of his mother
Whom he will never see again”
Extended cries of “Brava!” sounded after her performance. The duet that followed between Terisio and the tenor, Michele Altieri, in the role of Riccardo, though good, was under the shadow of her aria. It wasn’t until Riccardo’s “Ma se m’è forza,” with its expression of foreboding and fated desire, with its advice to Amelia to imprison her memories in the secret depths of her heart, that the guests were captivated again.
The three then sang “Tu qui” and when they had finished there were rousing cheers. The Contessa went up on the platform. A waiter brought bouquets of flowers that the Contessa presented to the singers. If the Contessa’s ball had ended now, there would have been good reason to consider it a thorough success, but there was still an hour until midnight.
No sooner had the Contessa and the singers left the platform than Tonio Vico stepped up on it. He had discarded his cloak. His hair was damp with perspiration and a purplish bruise marked his neck. In his flawless Italian, he addressed the guests, many of whom had already started to move toward the buffet table and were engaged in conversation. As he spoke, Urbino saw that once again Filippo Borelli was translating for Dora Spaak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, after such a wonderful performance I cannot hope to give you anything except what makes my own heart happy. Most of you hardly even know me but you know that some sorrow and difficulty came to an end for me this evening in the Piazza San Marco. Carnival isn’t over yet but I can’t wear my mask any longer.” He pulled his red half mask from his face and threw it into the air. “I must express the truth of my heart as our wonderful soprano, Signora Terisio, did a few minutes ago. Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce my engagement to Signorina Hazel Reeve!”
To initially weak, but gradually growing applause Hazel joined Tonio Vico, her mask with its red and white lozenges now around her slender neck. She looked embarrassed, even a little frightened, and for one brief moment her eyes locked with Urbino’s.
The Contessa, who had joined an astonished-looking Dora Spaak, Filippo Borelli, and Berenice Pillow in the corner by the icons and triptych, had a fixed smile on her face. Here was some entertainment she hadn’t planned herself and she must be wondering if it was going to be a good addition to the evening. She was a woman who found it difficult to trust in the unforeseen or unprovided-for, no matter how many times they had brought her pleasure. For her they were almost synonymous with the chaotic.
The Contessa had a bottle of champagne brought to the engaged couple and told her guests to join her in a toast.
“Please, Mother, would you come up here with Hazel and me?” Tonio said enthusiastically.
Berenice Pillow smiled and walked slowly to the stage. Her stepson took her hand and helped her up. She kissed him, then Hazel, and was given a glass of champagne. The orchestra, at Vico’s request, started to play “Nel Blu Dipinto di Blu,” but not before the conductor had looked at the Contessa for her approval. It seemed her costume ball was going to have some popular songs after all. The guests, clearly enjoying the music, started to dance.
Tonio Vico seemed somewhat at a loss as to what he should do next—dance with Hazel or with his stepmother, whom he had called to join them. Urbino was going to the stage to ask Mrs. Pillow to dance when shouts came from the grand staircase at the entrance of the salone da ballo.
Xenia Campi, melted snow glistening on her knit cap and dark cloak, was arguing with Mauro at the head of the staircase. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she shook if off violently. The orchestra continued to play but gradually most of the couples stopped dancing. Those who didn’t slowed down their movements and tried to see what was going on. The Contessa hurried over to Xenia Campi and Mauro, saying something to the woman and taking her hand. Mauro started to help Xenia Campi off with her cloak but the woman moved away from the staircase and into the salone itself. The first place she looked was at the stage where Hazel Reeve, Vico, and Berenice Pillow were standing in front of the orchestra, now silent. Hazel’s eyes were large with nervousness but her future mother-in-law had a tentative smile on her face as if she expected to witness another installment of the evening’s entertainment. Vico had his arm protectively around Hazel’s shoulder.
Urbino went across the room to Xenia Campi.
“Signora Campi, what a pleasure that you’ve joined us. Can I get something for you? Perhaps you would like to go into one of the reception rooms for a few minutes.”
Urbino knew he would have the Contessa’s eternal gratitude if he could maneuver the woman out of the salone. But Xenia Campi would have none of it. She shook her head and stepped forward a few more feet.
“Maybe she’s upset about Rigoletti,” the Contessa said to him in English.
At the sound of her former husband’s name Xenia Campi turned to glare at the Contessa.
“The password is Death!” she shouted.
The Contessa was visibly taken aback at Xenia Campi’s words. Some of the guests started to laugh uneasily and Urbino heard one of the Contessa’s Dorsoduro artist friends explaining to a young American girl who worked at the Guggenheim that these were words from the opera.
“It’s the password of the conspirators at the masked ball.” The artist thought that Xenia Campi was playing a role. “She’s Ulrica, the soothsayer, you see. Delightful! Barbara has such an imagination.”
Did Xenia Campi know the opera or know that it was the theme of the Contessa’s own ballo in maschera? Or were her words merely coincidentally appropriate? Perhaps because he had as recently as yesterday been thinking of “The Fall of the House of Usher” right before being accosted by Xenia Campi, Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death” now came into his mind. Prince Prospero, to escape the plague ravaging his country, throws a voluptuous masked ball only to discover that the uninvited guest, dressed in a winding sheet and with a masklike death’s-head, is the Red Death itself. Prince Prospero and all his guests die.
As Urbino looked into Xenia Campi’s glittering eyes, he involuntarily shivered.
“Conspirators all of you!” she shouted, still keeping Urbino guessing as to whether or not she was familiar with the opera. Her gaze swept contemptuously over him, the Contessa, Sister Teresa, Dora Spaak, and some of the guests. She raised her hand. “You all dance and sing while Venice is being destroyed! You’re just as bad as the ones out in the Piazza, screaming in the snow. You’re all guilty. All of you. Blood is on your hands and on your feet, too!”
She found this immensely funny and started to laugh wildly. By now it was evident that there was no point in trying to pacify her. She had to be removed from the ballroom. Urbino nodded to Mauro and took one of Xenia Campi’s arms. She pulled away and moved deeper into the crowd of guests, scattering them and making a path for herself. Before Urbino and Mauro were able to grab her she had focused her attention once again on Hazel, Vico, and Mrs. Pillow, who were still on the stage.
“You’ve got blood on your hands!” she said, gesticulating wildly at the stage. “May God forgive you!”
Hazel Reeve fainted into Vico’s arms while his stepmother stood there, the smile frozen on her face.
15
Xenia Campi had been brought to one of the reception rooms off the salone and was being calmed by Sister Teresa, who assured everyone there was no need to call the police. Hazel Reeve was in another reception room with Vico, Berenice Pillow, the Contessa, Dora Spaak, and Urbino. Samuele Picardo, a physician from Padua who was one of the Contessa’s guests, had revived the girl with Dora Spaak’s help and had pronounced her out of any danger. After giving instructions to Dora Spaak, he had gone to see to Xenia Campi.
Hazel was reclining on a high-backed tapestried sofa with a damp cloth over her eyes. The least of the Contessa’s worries seemed to be that the old fabric might be stained. She was by the door, having said for the second time that she should return to the salone to retrieve what she could of her evening. The prospect mustn’t have b
een pleasing for she didn’t look as if she was going anytime soon. She kept staring at Urbino, as if to say, “I told you so, and it’s all your fault!”
Vico was standing next to the sofa and Berenice Pillow was in a deep armchair by a carved walnut table displaying a collection of jasper cups. The soft look on her face was evident in the light of the Oriental bronze lamp hanging from the ceiling above her. She kept looking from Vico to Hazel.
Dora Spaak stood by the door, staring at Vico.
“Are you all right, Hazel darling?” Vico chafed the girl’s hand. She reached up to remove the piece of cloth but Vico told her to leave it. “Just rest. You’ve been through so much. We won’t wait to get married. We’ll get married as soon as we can, right here in Venice. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Hazel shook her head so violently that the cloth almost fell off.
“No, never here. Never!”
“Of course not, Hazel. What was I thinking? But why don’t we marry here in Italy, down in Naples? How long would we have to wait until we are able to marry, Mother?”
Berenice Pillow didn’t say anything for a few moments.
“I don’t know, Tony,” she finally said in a quiet voice. “I married your father a long time ago. I’ve forgotten. I’m sure Barbara knows.”
She looked over at the Contessa.
“I’m afraid I don’t know for sure either, Berenice dear, but I don’t think you have to wait a long time, not if you have all your documents. It used to be harder to get married here, and in those days you couldn’t even get divorced.”
The Contessa seemed to ponder this as if she wanted to draw a conclusion from it all but just shrugged her shoulders. She looked weary.
“And, Mother, I’d like you to help Hazel with all the plans. She has no mother. She’d appreciate it, wouldn’t you, Hazel?”
The reclining girl gave no indication. She seemed to be waiting for Vico to go on—or waiting for Mrs. Pillow’s response.
Berenice Pillow was breathing heavily. She saw Urbino looking at her and stared back at him almost defiantly. When she turned her eyes away to look at the jasper cups, he was sure that the defiance was still there. She picked up one of the cups and ran a finger over its lip.
Farewell to the Flesh Page 28
