“Possibly even after Monday, since it wasn’t found until early this morning. You’d be surprised how infrequently some people read the paper.”
“But Rigoletti says he saw Vico—or the person wearing the mask—several times, that once or twice the person seemed to mock him.”
“That’s why I tend to think it could have been Lupo or someone else who also knew Rigoletti and disliked his busybody ways enough to have some fun with him. I mentioned it to Gemelli this morning and he’s checking it out.”
“Perhaps it’s because of Berenice and memories of St. Brigid’s and all,” the Contessa said, “but this afternoon I feel very much in the position of a catechumen being instructed in the faith. I suppose the analogy isn’t a bad one, given my ignorance and your greater knowledge of the mysteries—the secular ones, that is—and it does rather suit the religious spirit of the day.” She gave another brief glance at his unmarked forehead. “I’m not quite up to hearing about Berenice yet, though. What about Rigoletti? He had nothing to do with Gibbon’s murder, did he?”
“Not at all, but everyone seemed to be willing to believe he did after he attacked Tonio in the Piazza—even the Questura. ‘How crafty,’ I heard someone say last night. ‘The man who finds the body is the murderer. Ingenious!’”
“I thought it wasn’t so much craft as derangement. Rigoletti might not have taken an extreme turn like Xenia Campi but their son’s death has affected him too.”
“Of course it has. His rancor toward Carnevale, Porfirio, and the men who visit the Calle Santa Scolastica was in large part fueled by the loss of his son. He believed Marco would have grown up to be a ‘real man,’ not someone like Firpo, and especially not the kind who meet in the Calle Santa Scolastica. He attacked Vico out of a combination of righteousness and personal affront. He told the police that he was furious they let Vico go after his identification, and when he saw him in the Piazza, he lost control of himself.”
“But why was he wearing a mask if he hates Carnevale?”
“The same reason why many other people wear them—he didn’t want to be recognized by Vico. He felt that he was being taunted by him and he didn’t want to give him any warning. The last night of Carnevale was the perfect time for his revenge. He wanted to pounce on Vico unawares.”
The Contessa shook her head and took a sip of her tea. This afternoon Urbino was joining her in her preferred drink. It was a little gesture he was making to try to soothe his friend whom he realized he had upset and, to a certain extent, also deceived.
“How did you know that a mask of Vico was involved?”
“For one thing I didn’t believe that Tonio had been out that night. And even though Mrs. Pillow couldn’t know for sure that he hadn’t left the room, she believed it so strongly that I did too. She had been the one to kill Gibbon and she was determined no one would suspect her stepson.”
He paused to take a sip of his tea.
“There was another thing. Rigoletti said that the man he first met coming out of the calle—the one he later identified as Tonio—showed no reaction on his face at all. And Spaak said that the man at the end of the calle—Gibbon in the mask—looked particularly aloof and unruffled. Then, when Gemelli told me that people claimed to have seen Tonio in and around the Piazza that night, it seemed even more unlikely that it could have been Tonio. He just doesn’t seem the type. Of course, that’s a rather inane thing to say considering how well everyone seems to have been able to conceal things, but for some reason I just didn’t believe that Vico was out that night. The only explanations then became either malicious misidentifications or sightings of someone who resembled him or of someone wearing a mask that looked like him. I doubt if a portrait mask would even have occurred to me if Firpo hadn’t had one made of Xenia Campi and I hadn’t seen it the afternoon before Gibbon was murdered. Through Firpo I was led to a mask maker, a young woman named Pierina who had a booth at the mask fair in the Campo San Maurizio.”
He explained how Pierina had been Marco Rigoletti’s girlfriend—the girl who had been thrown from the car on the autostrada.
“Xenia Campi won’t let her go, keeps looking after her, warning her. She probably saw Gibbon flirting with her in the Piazza but didn’t want to draw my attention to her. Pierina said that Gibbon—although she didn’t know who he was at the time—came to her with a photograph of a handsome young man and had her make a portrait mask.”
“You didn’t tell me that!” the Contessa said accusingly.
“I found out only late Monday, and I didn’t want you to act any differently around Mrs. Pillow or Tonio, perhaps even say something, But the main reason was that I knew it would occur to you, as it did to me, that there was a possibility that Gibbon hadn’t been the intended victim but that Tonio was if Gibbon was wearing the mask when he was attacked.”
“But why did he want to have a mask of Tonio?”
“Gibbon had a playful, malicious streak. He knew he would be meeting Berenice Pillow and he knew how she felt about her stepson. It was just to have some fun. He probably thought he would have even more fun with it with Hazel but he never got the chance.”
“I can’t understand why Berenice ever got involved with Gibbon.”
“Oh, yes, you can, Barbara! He was a good-looking man and from what she told the police and me today he was very flattering to her, very attentive.”
“But she’s so much older than he was! The difference between them must—” She stopped. “It’s a little unusual, I mean.”
“Perhaps, but certainly understandable. She met him when he was working as an art therapist at the London hospital where her second husband, Malcolm Pillow, died. This was about eight years ago. She could have looked much different back then—those eight years cover a crucial period in a person’s life.” He pulled himself back from going into any more details on this aspect. “Of course, she had the great equalizer that made whatever age she was—or however she looked—unimportant. Money. Gibbon was desperate for it, something he managed to conceal from Hazel. He saw his chance with your old friend and he took it. He seems to have got quite a bit out of Berenice Pillow—money, I mean.”
“Let’s draw the veil, caro, on whatever else he might have got out of her.”
“And she out of him?”
“Urbino!”
He didn’t say anything. He wanted what he had been saying to make its impression on his friend. There was a lot here for her to absorb. After taking a sip of her tea and looking very thoughtful, she said, “So let me see, then. Berenice and Gibbon were having a relationship of some kind and then her stepson’s fiancée ends up with him? But Urbino, this sounds like some Oscar Wilde comedy or Restoration drama or bedroom farce or whatever!”
“But it’s not so strange when you realize how it all came about and once you know what kind of person Gibbon was. Tonio and Hazel met very innocently at the Victoria and Albert, started seeing each other, and planned to marry. She claims she was particularly vulnerable at the time, her mother having just committed suicide. Mrs. Pillow didn’t care for Hazel that much but perhaps she wouldn’t have cared for anyone her stepson wanted to marry—not at first anyway. There was, though, the American niece she favored. But Mrs. Pillow was being reasonable about it. Both Hazel and Tonio knew she had reservations about Hazel but wasn’t making any real problems for them.”
“All the while, though, she was carrying on some kind of relationship with a man almost as young as her stepson.”
“There were thirteen years between Gibbon and Tonio. She met Gibbon before Tonio went to the university. When Mrs. Pillow heard that Hazel was looking for someone to photograph her parents’ art collection, she thought of Gibbon, but she couldn’t tip her hand too much, so she mentioned Hazel to him—her big mistake—and he showed up. Hazel told me that it seemed strange how Gibbon just suddenly appeared. Gibbon soon saw what kind of circumstances Hazel came from, saw she was attracted to him, and made his move. The fact that she was engaged to marry Tonio just added extra spice
to it. He had been having his relationship with Mrs. Pillow for more than five years at this point and I’m sure that he had to hear a great deal about how wonderful her stepson was. He must have resented Tonio for a lot of things—his money and background, and probably, in some twisted way, Berenice’s devotion to him. Mrs. Pillow sent Gibbon into a perfect situation and he took full advantage of it.”
“But how was everything kept a secret?”
“Hazel never knew about Gibbon’s relationship with Mrs. Pillow. Neither of them wanted it to come out. Tonio didn’t know anything about it either. He didn’t know Gibbon at all except as a man he had met once or twice at the hospital when his stepfather was dying. And Tonio didn’t know about Gibbon and Hazel—not at first, anyway.”
“It is like a Restoration comedy—or I should say a tragedy! What about Berenice? Didn’t she know about Hazel and Gibbon? Did Tonio really keep the breakup of his engagement a secret from his mother?”
“Yes. He hoped everything could be patched up between him and Hazel and his mother need never know.”
The Contessa shook her head.
“So many lies and deceptions. It makes my head spin.”
“Mrs. Pillow didn’t know about it until the night she killed Gibbon. He told her there in the Calle Santa Scolastica, where he had asked her to meet him. The remote location must have played to his strange sense of fun. He might have known its reputation and might even have had an adventure or two there, if we can believe what Josef said about him. When she saw him in the mask, she was shocked for a few moments. She thought it was Tonio, but when Gibbon laughed she knew it was he. Gibbon told her about Hazel, threw it in her face. He said he planned to marry Hazel but that he wanted money from her anyway. Obviously he needed money to keep up his pretense with Hazel of not being concerned about hers. Berenice Pillow was aware of the promise Hazel had made to her father. I wonder if Hazel would eventually have broken it?”
He considered this for a moment before returning to what had happened between Gibbon and Mrs. Pillow in the Calle Santa Scolastica.
“At first Berenice refused to give Gibbon the money. She always gave him cash, of course, and always, it seems, in unusual places that he suggested. She used to think it was exciting and romantic.”
“Poor Berenice. And then she just snapped when Gibbon made fun of her and said he would tell Tonio all about them.”
“He called her a ridiculous old woman. He said that the only way he could take an attractive picture of her was to cover the lens in gauze. She hardly remembers reaching for the letter opener in her lap desk. She brought the lap desk instead of her purse because it was hefty enough to use as a weapon if she was approached by someone. After the murder she planned to lose it. When she saw me at the traghetto, she decided that would be a good time for the accident.”
“Why not just say it had been stolen?”
“It might have seemed more suspicious than something as public as what happened.”
“To think we’re talking about little Berenice Reilly from St. Brigid’s!”
“Very much the same, it would seem, from some of the stories you’ve told about her.”
“Poor Berenice! Why couldn’t Gibbon have let her have some illusion that he cared for her just a little? I know there were so many lies and deceptions involved—not only with Berenice, Tonio, Hazel, and Gibbon, but the Spaaks as well—but one more deception, especially one like that, would have been kind. And it could have saved his life. How terrible it must have been for Berenice to stab him when he looked like Tonio!”
“It’s very much on her mind. She says that’s all she can remember of those few seconds. Tonio’s face.”
The Contessa looked puzzled.
“But how did you ever figure out that Berenice and Gibbon were involved with each other?”
“Let me explain something else first. Hazel said that Gibbon was involved with someone when they met and that he was trying to break it off. What he was doing was keeping Mrs. Pillow in the picture and continuing to get money from her. Then Josef told me he met Gibbon with his aunt in Bloomsbury but Hazel said that Gibbon’s last living relative died when he was about eighteen. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“You brought Berenice to the hospital to see Josef and he recognized her as the ‘aunt.’ He told me last night after Vico was attacked.” Urbino got up. “I think I’d like something a little more bracing than tea, if you don’t mind.”
“Good idea,” the Contessa surprised him by saying. “I’ll join you. There have been few occasions when I’ve felt so compelled to have a drink at this time of the day.”
Urbino poured out two glasses of Corvo and handed one to the Contessa. When he returned to his chair, he finished explaining about Berenice Pillow.
“You know, Barbara, in the excitement and confusion of the murder and all, we forgot about something.”
“What?”
“Why Berenice Pillow was so anxious to see you.”
The Contessa nodded.
“She was going to mention something about Gibbon. I don’t think she knew exactly how much or how little she was going to tell you, but when she knew she would be in Venice to see Gibbon—he had arranged the place of their meeting as he usually did—and that you were here too, she thought she would talk to you about him. She had kept it a secret for so long from even her closest friends. You were going to be the one she finally confided in. All those years since St. Brigid’s she’s remembered you.”
“But why didn’t she confide in me? She had plenty of opportunity. And if she had done it right away, she might not have ended up killing Gibbon.”
“Remember how you were waiting for her at Florian’s last week and she didn’t come? I don’t mean when I was with you, but the first time you arranged to meet each other.”
“How could I forget?”
“Gibbon and Dora Spaak came up to your table and you spoke with them for a while. She saw you through the window from outside. There you were talking with the very person she wanted to tell you about. She lost her courage. She thought that you couldn’t be as objective as she had thought you might be. And then there was the business over Casa Vogue.”
“What about it?”
“When she saw that you knew Gibbon, she thought that he might have taken the pictures for Casa Vogue. She had read most of the article but not the first page where the photographer’s credit was given. That’s why she wanted to see the whole article.”
The Contessa stood up.
“Would you mind if we took a little walk? I don’t mean outside, but only out to the loggia. Let me get a shawl.”
While she was gone, Urbino went to the bar and took the Corvo and two clean glasses. When the Contessa returned with a large wool challis scarf, they walked toward the salone.
“I was just thinking of a few things,” the Contessa said. “Why was Porfirio in San Gabriele? Why did he go up on the scaffold?”
“We’ll never know for sure. Maybe he wanted a closer look at the restoration. He told Josef he didn’t think he was doing a good job. Or maybe he wanted to take photographs of the fresco himself now that Gibbon was dead. If Porfirio had lived, he might have approached you about finishing up Gibbon’s work in San Gabriele.”
The Contessa shook her head.
“He had too much pride for that. If he didn’t get the commission to start with, he wouldn’t have wanted it after Gibbon had been murdered. You’re lucky he finished taking the photographs for your Proust book.”
They were passing by the private chapel where the Contessa had received her ashes that morning. One of the priests from the Madonna dell’Orto came over several times a month to say Mass. It was one of the Contessa’s sorrows that she had never had any children who would have been baptized at the ornate marble font.
The altar was bare of flowers and the statues of the Blessed Virgin, Saint Teresa, and Saint Nicholas of Bari were shrouded in purple material that matched the color of th
e Contessa’s dress. She kept to many of the old traditions, among them this veiling of the statues in penitential purple for the forty days of Lent. It created a solemn effect that brought Urbino back to the days of his youth when all the churches used to do it.
As they entered the salone, the Contessa started to sing softly a patch of Amelia’s “Morrò” aria that had been such a success last night. The words about the acceptance of the inevitability of death and the consolation of a son’s kisses touched her face with melancholy.
“You know, Urbino, I can’t help thinking how much of a role mothers and sons played in all of this sadness. There’s Berenice’s love for Tonio. She was more of a mother to him than many natural mothers are. And there’s Xenia Campi, who lost her son in the accident.”
Urbino nodded.
“And don’t forget Stella Marts Spaak and Nicholas,” he added. “Or Josef and his mother back in Cracow.”
What exactly it might mean, however, he didn’t know, except that without the tender bonds between these particular mothers and sons—without the delicate system of their interdependence—there might have been less sorrow, but also, certainly, less happiness.
The Contessa regarded the scene of last night’s ball. Workmen had removed the stage and the buffet table. They were now in the process of putting back the Aubussons and the furniture that had been brought to the storeroom.
“Did it all have to come out at my ball?” the Contessa asked. “You might have arranged things differently.”
“I didn’t arrange things at all, Barbara. I certainly didn’t set up Xenia Campi to come in with her accusation, spouting that the password was death as if she were intentionally playing the role of Ulrica!”
“I’m not so sure of that. I had an uneasy feeling you had something up your sleeve.”
“As far as Dora Spaak is concerned, it was your fault that her story came out in the little parlor and that she was there to hear Mrs. Pillow’s revelations.”
“My fault?”
“Do you forget that you snatched her away from me and gave her to Filippo? If I could have spoken with her privately, things might have been different.”
Farewell to the Flesh Page 30
