Vita Nuova

by Magdalen Nabb

  ‘He says no. Only, with that murder, we’re a bit nervous, you know? He says it’s happened twice when he’s been on the roof.’

  ‘Twice before today? Three times altogether?’

  The younger man listened to Cristiano and nodded, his blue eyes earnest. He would have spoken volumes, had he been able.

  Cristiano said, ‘I hope we did right to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, you did right—and don’t worry. I’m hoping this will all be over by tomorrow. He did pay you, your boss?’

  ‘Yes, he did, thanks to you. You must have scared him.’

  ‘Mmph. Don’t be surprised, though, if this job falls through.’

  When he walked back to his car, the Mercedes had gone. His driver, looking up at him, seemed happier now that something had happened. That was unkind. He was young and active and just wanted to be doing something.

  ‘What do you think, Marshal?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear Paoletti shouting at the blonde girl? Accusing her? She was scared to death, and by the end she was in tears. She said all she’d done was go inside for a minute to put some cream on. Her shoulders were burning, she said—and they were, too. She’s as white as a sheet. She’s foreign—did you hear how she talked?’

  ‘Polish. She’s Polish.’ He didn’t get in the car. He remembered the sharp ironic glance when he’d said he had men positioned here. And yet her face just now. . . .

  ‘You’re not leaving?’

  He’d have kept hold of that child himself, but he couldn’t take any risks until Paoletti was safely handcuffed. And what was worse, he didn’t understand the nature of the danger posed by Paoletti’s absence, only that it existed. He remembered the mother’s words about keeping people out and keeping them in. Which of the two were the four of them doing out here? The marshal wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t leaving. A telephone call from De Vita didn’t help.

  ‘Don’t leave there, especially if, for any reason, Paoletti has to go out.’

  Meaning Paoletti had already told him where he was going and didn’t want to be followed.

  ‘We’ll be here.’

  Still, the marshal didn’t get into his car. He went back to the house and down to the kitchen. Frida was giving the little boy something to eat at the big table. Danuta was washing a salad. He went up to her.

  ‘Where is Silvana?’

  ‘Getting dressed. We have to leave early.’

  He went to the table and patted Piero’s blond curls.

  ‘You’ll have to learn to swim.’

  ‘I can swim! With my legs, and I’m going to learn to swim with my arms.’

  ‘You’re not frightened?’

  ‘No!’

  The only person in this family who wasn’t, except Paoletti. Though, of course, the child was a male.

  The marshal walked over to the mother’s door and knocked. He could feel the shocked silence behind him. He didn’t wait for an answer but walked in. She was on her feet. She’d heard him come down.

  ‘You understand what happened out there?’

  She hesitated and turned away from him. ‘He’s taken one child from me.’

  ‘Then don’t let him take another.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Signora, I don’t want you to tell me anything you’re afraid to tell me.’

  ‘But you won’t leave?’

  ‘No, I won’t leave, but I have to follow the prosecutor’s instructions.’ She knew he was lying, he could see that, but he couldn’t tell her anything that a call from Paoletti or De Vita might frighten out of her.

  ‘You won’t say you were in here?’

  ‘No, but do something for me. You’re dressed and. . . .’

  ‘You can say it. I’m sober. Though it seems I won’t have to sit through supper—he’s gone out, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but sit through supper anyway. Stay close to the child, just for a couple of hours. Please.’

  ‘Where’s Silvana?’

  ‘Frida says she’s dressing to go out. Just go in the kitchen like you always do in the evenings. Stay together.’

  He went back to his car and waited until they saw Silvana and Danuta come out and get into the Mini. So, they were leaving early—something to do with the auditions, maybe? But something else was different, too. Silvana was dressed normally in a denim skirt, printed cotton skirt, brown leather sandals, but she was carrying a biggish holdall. What did that mean? They would be heading towards the station. Could she be running away? Something unexpected was going to happen, right now at the eleventh hour.

  ‘Start your engine.’

  As they turned and passed close to the squad car, he leaned out of the window.

  ‘Make regular checks inside. Tell the signora I’ll be coming back.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  There was a bit more traffic, the roads were no longer deserted, but they soon had the black Mini in sight, going downhill towards the city.

  ‘She’s taking the ring road, Marshal. She’s not going to the station.’

  ‘Follow her.’

  Five minutes later it was obvious where she was heading. He called the captain.

  ‘I thought she might be running away, but she’s following her father.’

  ‘Have you any ideas why?’

  ‘No. It doesn’t matter. She could somehow mess up the operation.’

  ‘I doubt that. Give me the registration number of her car.’

  He gave it and rang off. He’d been afraid all along that Paoletti might get away. It could go wrong. Silvana, hysterical, weeping, screaming, could make it go wrong somehow, whatever she was up to.

  ‘She’ll take the next exit. Keep your distance, I’ll give you directions to the club. She mustn’t see us.’

  ‘We’re going to be in on it, after all!’

  ‘Not if she messes it up. Take the second on the left. Stop here.’

  He called the captain, who was with the men heading for the hotel.

  ‘What if she knows something, warns him?’

  ‘She can’t know anything. It’ll be over in twenty minutes. Tell me where you’re parked.’

  There was nothing to do but wait and go in with them. At least the children were at the hotel, not here, so that even if Paoletti got away. . . .

  With all those uniforms outside, even the marshal began to believe they’d get him. At this hour, they’d found the carpark unattended, the foyer empty, the cash desk unlit. Loud thudding music came from behind the curtain, but the lighting, when the marshal took a discreet look, was just a couple of red spots, no disco spin-nings and flashings.

  Paoletti was there. He was in a big leather armchair facing the stage. The music was never interrupted, but he occasionally stabbed his finger towards one of the half-naked girls. ‘You! No, you! Get off. Tell that one there to take that top off.’

  The man the marshal thought was Mauro was sitting on the edge of the stage, wearing that same orange baseball cap, making notes on a clipboard and giving the girls instructions. Another man was taking photographs, and two more were deep in conversation, not even looking at the stage.

  ‘And tell the one in the crappy blond wig to take it off and open her legs more when she goes down. She’s got a good body, but she doesn’t know how to move. No, no! Oh, for Christ’s sake!’

  A couple of men just on the other side of the curtain were sniggering as the girl who didn’t know how to move started pulling her sequined knickers down.

  ‘Like she’s going to pee!’

  ‘I said lose the wig!’

  Someone touched the marshal’s shoulder, and he stood back. The uniformed men moved in quickly and quietly. There was no fuss. Only the girls on the stage moved, reaching for something to cover themselves. Somebody shouted ‘Switch that music off!’

  The marshal went into the room, pushing past the uniforms, the groups of frightened girls, the handcuffed men. Paoletti was still there. He was still in his chair, but he was le
aning forward to one side and his breathing was noisy.

  Somebody said, ‘I think he’s ill.’

  ‘Probably the shock when he saw us.’

  Two carabinieri pulled him up so that his head fell back on the top of the armchair. His mouth was twisted and dribbling. Under the marshal’s gaze, his eyes glazed over. He’d escaped.

  Somebody screamed on the stage behind him. The marshal turned and saw the blond wig flung to the floor. The other girls were huddled together, pulling on such scanty clothes as they had. Only one remained in the centre, naked, screaming and screaming in desperation.

  ‘You’re not looking at me! You’re still not looking at me!’

  The marshal stepped onto the stage. She didn’t see him. He might as well not have been there. She was screaming at Paoletti, but his darkened eyes saw nothing now. It wasn’t the shock of the raid that had killed him.

  ‘Daddy! Daddy, look at me!’

  The marshal said, ‘Cover her.’

  She fought them, roaring and sobbing, but they managed to get her off the stage. There was nothing much to cover her with, so the marshal sat her in one of the alcoves under guard, still roaring, and went to find Danuta. She had been taken to the foyer and was standing there in jeans and T-shirt and rubber gloves, looking odd next to the half-naked girls. One or two were whimpering, but most were too frightened to make any noise.

  ‘Do you know where Silvana’s clothes are?’

  ‘In the dressing room.’

  ‘Bring them to me in there.’

  Twelve

  Somebody had let Nesti in. He was wandering up and down the long room, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, eyes half closed, looking pleased. Nobody had been allowed to leave, names and addresses were still being taken; but, perhaps because of the empty stage and the cold, dim lights that had been switched on instead of the red spots, the place did have the feeling of a cinema after the performance when the overblown magic images have vanished and the real world intrudes—even to the detail of a draught of night air coming in from the open doors.

  The marshal had Silvana dressed and quiet, still in the alcove. There was something frightening about the way she could switch her raging tears off and change character on the instant and, if they were still sitting here in the middle of all this movement rather than talking in private, it was because the marshal had no intention of being alone with her, ever.

  In her plaintive little girl’s voice, she asked him, ‘Why are they just leaving Daddy there? Why don’t they get an ambulance?’

  ‘They will get an ambulance, but he can’t be touched until a doctor has examined him and pronounced him dead. It’ll take time, I’m sorry. The ambulance would make no difference now. Turn away. Talk to me.’

  ‘Talk to you? What about?’

  ‘Yourself. You’ve had a very difficult life, by anybody’s standards.’

  ‘It was all right until she came.’

  ‘She . . . ?’ His first thought was Daniela, but she was two years older. ‘Until who came?’

  ‘Daniela. Why did he do that? Why? And Mummy never said a word. She just drank and drank and never said a word!’

  ‘Excuse me, Marshal, one of the women—’

  ‘Not now.’ He held up a hand to stop the interruption without taking his eyes off Silvana.

  ‘I’m his real daughter.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘You know? Did Mummy tell you?’

  ‘No, no . . . not exactly. Did she talk to you about it?’

  ‘They had to tell me when they brought Daniela home. I don’t know who the father was, some man my mother was with before she met Daddy. She’s not my father’s daughter!’

  ‘No.’

  Of course not. You can’t argue with science. The DNA test showed that Piero was the child of Daniela Paoletti and a person unknown who was no relation to her. Paoletti.

  ‘How old were you when they brought her home? If they told you what was happening, you must have been old enough to understand.’

  ‘I was eight.’

  ‘So Daniela was ten. Do you know where she’d been all those years?’

  She shrugged. ‘Some orphanage. She was skinny and ugly and she never spoke. Mummy spoiled her and fussed over her and bought her presents. You’d think she was a princess. The ugly princess.’

  ‘That must have been hard for you, after being the only child all those years. She was clever, too, wasn’t she? You told me once, I think, when you were telling me about her studying a lot and never talking to you, that she was like that when she was ten.’

  ‘She always had to be top of the class. She wasn’t all that clever. She only hid behind a book all the time because she was ugly.’

  ‘But you were pretty and talented, weren’t you? If you hadn’t been ill . . . were you really ill, or did you give up? You said you spent a long time in hospital.’

  ‘In a clinic. They sent me away. They shut me up in a clinic in Switzerland. They said I was mad. I’m not mad. They filled me with drugs, pills that made me sleepy all the time. That’s what made me mad. They did that to me! And she stayed at home. The ugly princess stayed at home with Mummy and Daddy. Nobody wanted me any more, that’s what it was!’

  Somebody, perhaps trying to switch off the console inexpertly, set the thudding music off. It jangled the marshal’s nerves, but then it stopped at once.

  ‘Why isn’t the ambulance coming? Daddy! He’s not dead at all, you lied to me—Daddy! He’s breathing. Listen!’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s just the thing on his arm you can hear. It switches itself on every so often.’

  It was true that it sounded like a groaning intake of breath, a hissing exhalation, another groan. It was finding nothing.

  ‘Make it stop!’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t touch anything until the doctor arrives. Don’t look. Look at me. Tell me about you, not about Daniela. Do they believe you, now, that you’re not mad? Or do they still try to make you take pills that you don’t need?’

  ‘They can’t force me. I flush them away. Then I feel properly awake. I feel good.’

  ‘I can imagine. But . . . even then . . . what’s been going on with Daniela . . . little Piero . . . that sort of thing would upset you whether you were taking pills or not, I’m sure.’

  ‘He gave that beautiful gold chain to her. All I got was an ordinary chain with a crucifix and a watch. She had a party for her whole class and a white velvet dress with tight, pointed sleeves that hooked on to her middle finger with a ring of real pearls. Mummy sewed them on. And a wreath of lily-of-the-valley made of green and white velvet.’

  Big tears were spilling from her eyes, but she wasn’t getting hysterical. He didn’t stop her, only handed her his handkerchief.

  ‘Marshal? We’re about ready to move out. . . .’

  ‘Tell your commanding officer to leave me two men. I need some time—and let my driver know, will you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. He’s leaving two men anyway, because the doctor hasn’t arrived yet. They’ll be back there by the curtain—oh, and there’s that girl who wanted you—not one of the dancers, she’s—’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He stood up to look. ‘Stay here with her a moment, will you?’

  ‘Where are you going? You’re not leaving me? Don’t leave me!’

  ‘I won’t leave you. Let me get rid of all these people so we can talk in peace.’

  He went to Danuta, who was being held at the back of the room, white and anxious, looking for him.

  ‘It’s all right. I’ll deal with her.’

  ‘She said it was his orders, that she had to bring me here instead of to the train. It’s not my fault!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Danuta. It’s over. He’s dead.’

  But she was looking down the room at the body in the big chair.

  ‘Look at me, Danuta. Don’t be frightened. Has she done this before?’

  ‘The last two auditions. He didn’t see her the first time.’
>
  ‘But the second time, he did?’

  ‘She had a wig on that time, too, but he recognized her—what are they doing?’

  The body was suddenly alight with swirling colours. Voices called out orders. It went dark. A white light came up slowly.

  ‘He’s moving! He’s not dead, I saw him. He moved.’

  ‘No, no. It was just the lights moving. They’re trying to get some stronger light on the body for when the doctor arrives.’

  ‘His arm moved.’

  ‘No, no. . . .’ He turned to the two carabinieri. ‘Keep her with you. I’ll take her back to Florence with me.’

  He went back and sat down with Silvana again.

  She repeated in a toneless voice, ‘Don’t leave me on my own.’

  ‘I won’t leave.’

  The big room was quiet now. In the centre, in front of the stage, Paoletti’s body, slumped in the armchair, was brightly lit.

  ‘Daddy. . . .’

  ‘Don’t look there. Look at me. Tell me. How did you find out about this place?’

  ‘From a girl who’d been sent to work as a cleaner. She came back to the office and asked me to find her another job because there was this incontinent old man and she couldn’t stand it. She told me Daddy had turned her down for the club because her breasts were flaccid. Then I knew what the pretty girls I put on the list were for. They weren’t being interviewed as receptionists and models, they were for here. I put the name of an ugly girl on the list and took her place.’

  ‘So, you were the one who made the list. But didn’t Mauro, the driver, recognize you?’

  ‘Oh, no. I wore a wig and kept quiet. They can’t speak Italian when they arrive. He pushed us into the back of a minivan without even looking at us.’

  ‘I see. But your father was bound to recognize you.’

  ‘Of course! Only, the first time he was called away and left the manager to audition. I wanted to sing, but they only wanted dancers. The next time I sang for Daddy.’

  ‘The time he was taken ill?’

  ‘Yes. I had red hair and false eyelashes. I thought he’d recognize me when I sang, though. I wanted to surprise him.’

  ‘I’m sure you did.’

  ‘But he just sat there!’

  ‘Because he was ill.’