The Train to Orvieto

by Novelli, Rebecca J. ;

  “Cancel the contract. Tell the buyer you’ve made a mistake. Do whatever you need to do,” Losine said.

  “It would be very costly, Signor. Much, much more than you would be willing to pay.” De Angeli spoke without inflection, as if he were intent on other matters.

  “Yes, I assumed that,” Losine said, although he hadn’t. “How much more?” De Angeli sat back on his gilded chair and folded his hands.

  “It’s difficult to say, exactly. At least two-hundred thousand more, possibly three hundred. It’s only a guess, of course.” Losine knew that the deal was made. It was just a matter of his agreeing to the inflated price.

  “Very well, but only if I get these pieces today.” Losine put his arm around Willa. “Shall we go, my dear?”

  “It’s for our buyer to decide,” De Angeli said. “But I’ll prepare the papers just in case your offer is accepted.”

  10

  “Let’s celebrate,” Losine said to Willa once they were outside. He took her to the once-fashionable Trattoria Dei Tre Cugini. The sounds of the swift water—unusual for the Arno—and of reconstruction work nearby on the Ponte Santa Trìnita roared in their ears. Small rapids had formed around the rubble that would later become the reconstructed bridge, a project that had been financed by wealthy Americans. Waves rose and broke against the usually tranquil riverbank. It was still early in the season for flooding, but the authorities had already issued warnings. Losine held Willa’s arm as she stepped over a pile of sandbags.

  “The Americans know how to win wars and fix monuments. The only question left is whether they can stop a flood!” He laughed and held open the red door of the restaurant for her. They took a table with a view of the roiling waters. Willa huddled against the wall in the corner of their booth. Losine ordered aperitifs and extended his hand across the table to her. She ignored it. “You don’t need to hide. This place probably isn’t on Sister Maria Cristina’s itinerary.” He smiled at her, imagining how they would make love all night. “Stay with me tonight.”

  “I told Gabriele I’d be back,” she whispered. “He’s already suspicious. What would I tell him?” The waiter served their drinks. She drained her glass immediately.

  “Tell him the pieces will be delivered tomorrow morning, and you’ll return with them then. That’s probably the truth.” Losine ordered another aperitif for her. “We’ll get them back. It’s just a question of how much it’s going to cost.”

  “But if Signor De Angeli doesn’t return them by tomorrow morning, then what?” she said. Then we could make love the entire day, too.

  “Yes, perhaps you should tell Gabriele ‘afternoon’ instead,” Losine said. “That way you can be certain.” He looked at the menu. “Shall we try the rabbit?” She remained silent. He placed their order and requested pasta with truffles. “Prosecco or champagne?”

  “What about the money?” she said. “I still need the rest of the money.” He imagined their spending all of Saturday in one another’s arms.

  “Money sometimes takes a little longer, but I think we can manage that, too.”

  She withdrew further into the corner, to a place where he couldn’t reach her. “Please don’t joke about this,” she said. He wanted to bring her back. The memories of Greta, of Paul, of Monsignor Enrico entered his mind unbidden. Without her, he would be left with only his losses. He poured some wine for her.

  “I’m not joking. I know you’re worried, but successful negotiations do take a little time. I assure you, there is no question that we will get the antiquities back. Leave it to me.” She emptied her glass without comment. When their meal arrived, he poured another glass. She drank, but sat unmoving. From time to time she chased the rabbit around her plate with her fork.

  “It seems you’re not hungry?” he said. “Won’t you at least taste the rabbit? I ordered it especially for you. It’s really excellent.”

  She shook her head. “Not just now. Thank you.”

  “At least you liked the wine.” He poured another glass for both of them.

  “If I don’t bring everything back today, Gabriele will notify the police.”

  “Why would he do that if you have come here to get the antiquities from the appraiser?” She gave no reply.

  “I didn’t know everything was going to disappear this way, or that Gabriele would be so angry.”

  “What do you think I—we—are doing here?” His voice was sharp. “First, you ask me to sell the pieces. You then change your mind. Now, I’m paying whatever premium it takes to get them back for you, yet I’m blamed for losing them.”

  “I don’t mean lost lost, just not there when we need them. When I thought they would be.”

  He held his fork in midair and leaned toward her. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  “Gabriele said he’s going to tell the police about you,” she said softly. Losine dropped his fork on his plate. The dishes rattled. Willa started. Losine found a cigarette and lit it. “That’s why I have to return everything today,” she said retreating further into the corner. “I don’t think you realize how serious this is.” She emptied her glass and tried again to conceal the rabbit under its garnish of parsley before the waiter took her plate away.

  “Was your meal satisfactory, Signora?” he asked. She nodded affirmatively and looked out the window at the churning river. “Will you have some dessert?” She shook her head no.

  “One zuppa inglese and two espressos,” Losine told the waiter. They sat quietly watching the river.

  “Gabriele said he was going to contact the authorities because of something Monsignor Enrico told him about you,” Willa said.

  The dessert arrived. “Usually, I prefer fruit,” Losine said, handing Willa the extra spoon, “but I wanted to make our meal together celebratory.” She refused the spoon. He dipped his own into the elaborate trifle. Her silence, he told himself, reflected her own fears. It had nothing to do with him, with them. “What did Monsignor Enrico say about me?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Gabriele said that he knew all about you.” Betrayed, and by a man of God! How stupid to unburden oneself to a priest. Luckily, I’ve been warned. I have some time. Losine understood that she had been trying to protect him. He decided to enjoy his meal, to savor each bite.

  “I’ve been in worse situations than this,” he said. “I understand why you were worried. You were right to be concerned. It’s good that you’ve told me.” He reached out and took her hand. “I’ll take care of everything,” he said. “I know what to do.” She seemed to relax. He gave her a bite of his dessert and then sipped his espresso slowly.

  “What will you do?” she said.

  “For now, it’s better for you if I don’t tell you.” He looked at his watch. “It’s still early.” He ordered cognac.

  After dinner, they walked back to the hotel. He unlocked the door to the hotel room and stepped back to let her enter first. The fragrance of roses enveloped them.

  “Shall we make up now or later?” he said.

  She looked at the flowers and then embraced him. “Now, darling, but only if you’re certain that we aren’t at our own funeral!”

  “We’re just starting to live,” he said smiling at her. She had come back.

  “No one can get a single flower these days, and you got a roomful. How did you…?”

  He slipped her jacket off her shoulders. “My secret. Please, stay, Willa.”

  She walked around the room, gathering roses from each of the vases, and presented him with a bouquet.

  “Thank you, but you haven’t said that you’ll stay.”

  “I can’t.” She dropped her scarf on the table and took his face in her hands, kissed his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids. “Let’s not argue any more. Arguing makes me lonely and sad.” He held his hands against her cheeks, and she kissed each of his fingers, one by one.

  “We have everything we need together,” he whispered. “There’s no need to be afraid.”

  She looked into his eye
s. “Yes, everything,” she said.

  “I won’t let you be lonely, I promise.” He held her in his arms and then led her to the bed, where she lay back against the silken pillows. He took a rose from the bouquet she had made, this one the color of burgundy, and handed it to her. She pulled off the petals one by one saying “I love you” as she scattered each petal on the bed. He unbuttoned her blouse. “And I love you,” he said.

  She dropped the rose stem on the pillow next to her and undid the buttons of his shirt, “And this?” He nodded. She removed his shirt.

  “This?” he said. He slid her skirt off and dropped it on the floor.

  “Yes, and this?” She undid his belt buckle slowly, as if it were a device she had just discovered.

  “Yes, that too.” He waited, not moving.

  “What about this?” She unbuttoned his trousers slowly, carefully.

  “Definitely, yes. Included,” he said.

  “Everything, then?” She looked into his eyes. Outside he heard the sound of a siren; he held her gaze. “Everything. No buttons at all…if you agree.”

  “I agree.” She traced his body with a rose petal. “Tell me, when shall we begin?”

  “Now.” He leaned over her.

  “And for how long?” She held her finger against his chest.

  “As long as we have, God willing.” He kissed her.

  “No. Wait. The earnest money. Every contract must have an earnest payment first,” she said.

  “This is your earnest payment,” he said showing her his erection. She touched it.

  “More than enough, I should say.”

  “Only if you stay with me.” He took her hand and held it in his.

  “Gabriele expects me tonight,” she said. “I have only an hour more until my train.”

  “Tell him you’re not coming back.”

  “But my children….”

  “Bring them.”

  “Where would we live? How?”

  “We’ll have each other. You’ve agreed that that’s all we need.”

  She frowned. “I don’t know what you’re expecting,” she said.

  “I want you to stay with me, to bring your children. Come with me. What more can I do or say?”

  “But you hardly know us.”

  “Forgive me. I had imagined that because we’re here together making love—and not for the first time—we were quite well acquainted. You don’t share my feelings, then?”

  “I do, but you haven’t even met my children. It wouldn’t be easy for you.”

  “Why? Am I too old? Too lame? Not the man you imagined yourself with?”

  “No, Michel. You are everything I imagined, but there are complications.”

  “Such as?”

  “Gabriele will be vengeful.”

  “That may be true, but this is our only chance. I’ve made my decision. Now, you must make yours.” She pulled him toward her, held him against her pale and rosy skin. He drew back and kissed her breasts, her body, her private places again and again, then entered her, until, quivering uncontrollably she cried out to him, reached for him, and he for her, until, spent, they lay enfolded in one another’s arms.

  At last she sat up, looked at the clock. “My train leaves in twenty minutes.”

  “Do you want me to come for you and the children?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow. Come for us tomorrow.”

  “When do you want to tell Gabriele?”

  “As soon as we can.”

  After Willa had gone, Losine found her scarf on the table where she had dropped it. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, buried his face in her fragrance. Her sweet scent mingled with that of the roses convinced him that he belonged to a world in which there was, after all, a sort of justice that allowed him to be happy and alive once more. He wept then both for what he had lost and for what he had gained.

  11

  Losine awoke the next morning exhausted and sweaty. He had dreamed of shielding Willa from a large, grey figure in a long and bloody battle, only to be left to die as the shadow crept away. The mood of the dream hung on, a toxic fog that contaminated his consciousness. In fact, the dream had frightened him. While he didn’t believe that dreams literally came true, he did believe in their metaphorical prescience. Had he not dreamed of losing Greta and Paul? It was a dream about change, he decided, about taking Willa from her old life. Nothing more. In the bathroom, he stood over the porcelain basin and splashed cold water on his face. When he heard the knock, he pulled a towel from the rack and, still dripping, went to the door.

  “Yes?”

  “A courier brought this letter for you just now, Signor Losine.” He saw the auction house name embossed in the upper left corner of the envelope.

  “Thank you.” He ripped the envelope open, tearing the letter inside. He assembled the torn pieces on the desk with unsteady hands.

  …We intend to file charges for fraud unless we can come to a mutually satisfactory agreement before noon today.”

  A bluff, he said to himself. He noted the time: eleven-ten. He dressed in a dove grey suit and gathered up his homburg, overcoat, umbrella, and cane. He locked the door as he went out. The walk to the auction house involved multiple detours around construction sites and rubble. He checked his watch. Eleven forty-five. An alley became a dead end. He retraced his steps. Eleven-fifty. He increased his pace. At last, the Via Lambertesca appeared on his right. At two minutes before noon he rang the bell. The portiere appeared. This time, he was admitted promptly and escorted immediately into Faustino De Angeli’s office. Several men unknown to him sat nearby.

  Signor De Angeli’s mouth formed a grim line. “Buongiorno, at last, Signor Losine. I thought perhaps you had lost interest in our transaction.” He gestured toward a portly man in a grey suit sitting to Losine’s left. “May I present Avvocato Antonio Rossini, our attorney, and Capitano Guido Fiorelli of the police department. Of course, you are acquainted with my partner, Pierluigi Flavi,”

  “Signor Flavi, I believe you’re acquainted with the consignor, Willa Marcheschi,” Losine said. “You and she met many years ago. Her name was Carver then,” Losine said.

  “I don’t believe I remember her,” Pierluigi Flavi said.

  Signor Rossini cleared his throat. He looked mournful, as if a cherished pet had died, and he spoke with funereal solemnity. “Signor Flavi and Signor De Angeli take their obligations to their clients very seriously. Your actions have endangered their reputations,” Rossini began. “Fortunately the other buyer has agreed to sell to you.” The other men nodded in unison. Rossini handed Losine an itemized statement: double the amount the auction house had received from the buyer of the antiquities listed as “buyer’s premium,” then the consignment commission, insurance premiums, storage fees, attorney’s fees, appraisal fees, shipping charges, “miscellaneous charges”—a police bribe, no doubt—taxes and handling fees, and a permit. Total: one point seven million, five hundred thousand lire. Losine set the bill on the desk.

  “This far exceeds my bid. You’ve added many extraneous charges.”

  “That, sir, is the price,” De Angeli replied. “I warned you.”

  “If I responded to every blackmailer I met, I wouldn’t still be in business. Please correct the figures.”

  “These are correct,” De Angeli said.

  Rossini cleared his throat. “The authorities in Orvieto inquired about these items this morning and about the theft of a priceless fresco. We have no record that you consigned a fresco to us. A Signor Marcheschi, who is apparently the real owner, is on his way here to claim these items.”

  “You can deal with him, then,” Losine said. “I have other things to do.”

  Rossini stood up as if he were taking command. “Unless you want to be arrested for attempting to sell stolen property, I recommend that you deal with Signor Marcheschi yourself. This seems to be a dispute between the two of you. Legally speaking, it’s best to keep it that way.”

  Capitano Fiorelli stood up and
turned to Losine. “A very difficult situation, Signor. Unusual, also.” He smiled slightly and shrugged. “In all candor, I, too, must recommend that you accept the offer. Otherwise, I am obligated to take action.”

  “I don’t keep extortion funds with me,” Losine replied.

  “Your check is acceptable,” De Angeli said. “When it clears, we’ll deliver the pieces to you by courier with your disclaimer. Now, would you like to complete our transaction?” Losine nodded, calculating his immense loss in his head. Still, if the gems paid off…well, then it would matter somewhat less.

  “You’ll remain in Firenze under Capitano Fiorelli’s protection,” Rossini added as he departed.

  “Am I to be a hostage, too, even though I’ve paid you enough ransom for a dozen hostages?” Losine said. He tried to appear unconcerned as he wrote out his check and handed it to De Angeli.

  “Do you prefer to stay at the jail or hire one of my guards for the hotel?” Fiorelli said. “Naturally, I will respect your wishes,”

  “My hotel. Would you care to join me for a drink?” Losine smiled. Perhaps Fiorelli would be interested in a share of the gems.

  “Very considerate of you,” Fiorelli said, “under the circumstances.”

  12

  Fiorelli looked around Losine’s hotel room. He picked up Willa’s scarf and drew it under his nose. “A lovely fragrance, Signor Losine.” He studied the room, smelled the roses. “Obviously, Signora Marcheschi is very important to you.” He dropped the scarf where he found it, sat down in one of the armchairs, and put his heavy leather shoulder bag on the floor next to him. There was a knock at the door and Losine answered. A waiter brought in their drinks and set them out on the table nearby. When the waiter left, Losine turned to Fiorelli. “I’m going to Orvieto this afternoon on the two o’clock train. Willa and I intend to return to Milano together with the children.” Fiorelli listened. “I would be grateful for your advice...help, I mean. Frankly, I’ve never been in a situation like this.”