I reach over and hugged her.
“It’s going to be alright,” I said. She squeezed my hand, then buried her face in the pillow and wept.
A somber Renard was waiting for us when we pulled into the Gare du Nord station at midnight. A light rain was falling on the rooftops of Paris as we rode in silence through the city to his mansion on Boulevard Haussmann. A servant met us at the door, and we made our way to the library where Lombardi was waiting for Alessandra.
He was slumped in a chair, head in his hands, a half- empty bottle of cognac on the table, a copy of Le Figaro in his lap. The French papers had the scandal already. Her photo was on the front page.
“Camillo!” Alessandra rushed across the room and collapsed at his feet. She looked up, tears streaming down her face. “Oh God, forgive me!”
He reached down and shoved her away.
“Forgive you?” he shouted. “After what you’ve done? You’ve ruined us both!” He flung the newspaper at her. “I‘m the laughingstock of the university!” He fell back into his chair. “No one will believe us now.” He drained his glass, flung it across the room, then reached down and yanked Alessandra to her knees.
“Tell me!” he demanded. “Was everything a fake? My mother? Did you fake her too? Tell me the truth, damn you!” He raised his hand to strike her but Renard stopped him.
“No! Your mother was real!” Alessandra clung to his arm. “She was there!” She turned to me, her eyes pleading. “You saw her, didn’t you, Tommaso? Tell him!”
“I did,” I said.
“The spirits do exist!” Alessandra wiped the tears from her face. “But they abandoned me in England. Even Babbo Giro,” she whispered. “He always comes when I call. I must have done something to make him angry.”
Lombardi rose from the chair.
“Babbo Giro didn’t abandon you. How could he? He never existed.”
He started for the door. Alessandra jumped to her feet, panic in her eyes. She grabbed his arm.
“Camillo, where are you going?”
“Out,” he replied coldly.
“But when are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
Renard looked at me. “Stay with her.” He followed Lombardi out the door.
Alessandra rushed to me. “He’ll come back, Tommaso, won’t he? Oh, tell me he’ll come back.”
“Yes,” I lied. “Just give him some time to think.” I got her over to a chair and sat her down, then put my coat around her shoulders and held her tight. “He’ll be back.”
I was sure it was over.
Chapter 69
We waited five hours.
Alessandra sat in the dark, empty room, staring vacantly into space, rocking herself back and forth, whispering to herself. “He’ll be back…He’ll be back… He’ll be back….”
Over and over.
At some point, a servant came in with a silver tray of food but it remained next to her, untouched. She didn’t respond when I asked her if she wanted a blanket, or a glass of water. She just held herself and kept rocking back and forth.
“He’ll be back…He’ll be back…”
I finally fell asleep, holding her hand in mine.
The first faint light of dawn was coloring the sky outside the library window when we heard the doorknob turn. Alessandra gave a cry and ran to the door. Renard stood there, a somber Lombardi behind him.
“Camillo! Thank God, you’ve come back!”
Alessandra reached out her arms to him, but Lombardi drew back. Renard steered her back to her chair. “Sit down, Alessandra. Dr. Lombardi has something to say to you.”
Lombardi walked to the fireplace and stood there, his back to Alessandra.
“Our fates are now entwined,” he announced, his voice trembling. “I cannot redeem my reputation unless I redeem yours.” He leaned on the mantel, head bowed, then turned around and faced her.
“Dr. Renard and I will demand that the Society allow you one final test – to be conducted in Italy. We will ask Dr. Negri, Dr. Fournier and von Weibel to support us. In return, you will agree to accept – without question or debate – any conditions Huxley and the Society wishes to impose. Do you understand?”
Alessandra nodded her head mutely.
“Your fee is forfeit. The scandal is a violation of your contract.”
“I don’t want the money, caro,” she whispered. “I just want you to forgive me.”
Lombardi picked up his coat.
“You don’t deserve it, but if you manage to pass Huxley’s test, you’ll be paid 1,000 lire. Then we’re done with each other. I’m returning to Torino to see what I can do to save my position.”
Alessandra followed him to the door.
“Caro…please…don’t…”
He suddenly whirled around, tears blinding his eyes.
“I would have done anything for you, Alessandra!”
He kissed her fiercely, then he was gone.
Chapter 70
Naples hadn’t changed in the four months we were gone. It was still the same shithole.
Alessandra stumbled down the steps of the train lugging her bag. I followed her, massaging my neck. We were both stiff, sore and hungry.
After Cambridge, Naples hit you hard. The garbage, the yelling and arguing, the noise, the stench. We fit right in – we both stunk. We had slept on station benches between trains, and we were flat broke. I never saw Alessandra so low. She ate almost nothing on the three-day trip back, staring out the window, sleeping fitfully, waking every hour to ask me where we were. When we reached Marseilles, I used the last of our money to buy some olives and stale bread, and a bottle of cheap red wine which we passed between us.
“The game’s not over,” I said, trying to cheer her up. “Lombardi will force Huxley to give you one last shot. You’ll get your 1,000 lire and be off to Rome, leaving me behind.”
I didn’t believe it, of course. Huxley wasn’t about to give Alessandra a second chance. It was over.
A carrozzella driver called to us as we stumbled out of the station into the September heat, but I waved him away. We didn’t have the fare. We would have to walk to Doffo’s place. It was scorching, no breeze, and my feet hurt. Fortunately Doffo was there when we knocked on the door.
“Tommaso!” he cried. “You’re back?”
We squeezed into the room and I dumped our bags on the floor. Doffo shared his tiny apartment with three other guys from the Mattino – double bunks, nails for clothes hangers, cracked mirror, a small table and some wooden chairs, pile of dirty clothes in a basket. He ladled out a glass of water from a clay pot and passed it to Alessandra who drank it down greedily.
“I saw the story,” Doffo said, sneaking a glance at Alessandra. “What happened?”
“She made a mistake. I’ll tell you the story later.”
“What are you going to do next?”
“Ask Venzano to take me back.”
Doffo grimaced. “Too late. They already hired another photographer.”
“He likes me. I can write. I’ll become a reporter.”
I looked over and Alessandra had fallen asleep in the chair, still clutching the empty water glass in her hand. Her shoes and skirt were covered in dust, her head was cradled in one arm, and matted, tangled hair covered her face. She looked old.
“I hate to ask you this, but can we stay here tonight?”
“I can probably talk the guys into letting you stay one night. She can have my bed, and we can sleep on the floor.” He nodded at Alessandra. “What will she do now?”
“Find a job.”
“She can always go back to doing séances.”
“No. Pigotti would eventually hear about it and come after her. She has to find some other line of work.” I looked at Alessandra. “That’s life. God I’m thirsty.” I walked over and slid the glass out of Alessandra’s hand, filled it with water and gulped it down. “Has Pigotti been around?”
“The newspaper? More than once. Asking people w
here Alessandra had gone.” Doffo looked at me. “She didn’t tell him that she was leaving? Or where she was going?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“One, he wouldn’t have let her go. Two, she stole his money.”
“You’re kidding!”
“If Pigotti learns she’s here, she’s dead. And he’ll probably kill you too.”
Doffo laughed. He had been beaten up twice in Rome by thugs hired by politicians he skewered in his cartoons. He didn’t scare easily.
“A lot of people would like to kill me. He can get in line.”
Chapter 71
My heart jumped into my throat.
The guy looked just like Vito, Pigotti’s enforcer. The squat, beefy guy who beat the bushes looking for me the night I met Alessandra at the Piazza del Plebiscito.
He was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Mattino, hands in his pockets, smoking a cigarette. I hurried into the building. Once I was safe inside, I glanced over my shoulder, but nobody was following me.
Alessandra’s exposure and humiliation in England made every newspaper in Italy. Pigotti wasn’t especially smart, but it didn’t take a genius to guess that Alessandra would return to Naples. So you put a guy outside the Mattino, maybe Rossi’s place too, all the old haunts, and wait for her to show up – or for me to show up. I was on the tour with her. Good chance I’d know her plans. I walked back to the door and peeked out. Whoever the guy was, he was gone. I chalked it up to nerves. A lot of guys in Naples looked like Vito.
I walked up the stairs to the fourth floor. Julieta was nasty as ever when I showed up outside Venzano’s office.
“Well look who’s back home,” she smirked. “Where’s Signora Seduta Spiritica? I heard our little séance queen ran into a little trouble in England. Caught cheating. What a surprise!” She pointed to a chair. “Wait here.”
Venzano’s voice boomed out from his office. “Tommaso? Is that you? Get in here.”
I flicked off Julieta and entered the office. Venzano was at his desk, reworking a headline.
“Boss!” It felt great seeing him again.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I was wondering when you would show up. Alessandra come back with you?” I closed the door behind me, and took a chair.
“She’s here in town. But her husband is looking for her, and he’s not happy.”
“Doffo told me he’s come around looking for her.” He put down his pencil. “So Lombardi’s girl was a fraud all the time?”
“She was stupid. But she’s not a fraud. There’s no way she could have faked some of the things she did.”
“Then why did she cheat?”
“Huxley baited her into going to England where she was a fish out of water. Couldn’t speak the language, hated the food, surrounded by people who wanted her to fail.”
“That makes a difference?”
“She’s not a machine. She performs best when she’s surrounded by friends.”
“Why didn’t Lombardi go with her?
“She wouldn’t let him. It was between her and Huxley. She didn’t want his help. Then when she couldn’t produce anything, she panicked. She couldn’t stand the idea of him winning.”
Venzano shook his head. “Too bad. I’m going to miss her. She made a lot of money for us. ” He held up a copy of the Mattino. The front page was a blow up of Alessandra’s face, eyes closed, grimacing, cropped from the famous photo I took at Rossi’s house. Underneath was a single word in huge black letters – Exposed! Venzano tossed it on the desk.
“We sold 5,000 copies.”
It was the opening I was hoping for.
“The story’s not over,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Lombardi told me he’s going to force Huxley and the English to do a final test.”
Venzano’s eyes widened. “Tell me more.”
“He and Renard are going to rally scientists here on the Continent. One final test – here in Naples. He’ll be announcing it soon.”
Venzano grinned ear to ear. I had him.
“Take me back, and you’ll have the inside story. I know everybody. Lombardi trusts me. And you’ve seen my writing.”
“I can’t pay you what Lombardi did.”
“I can help you sell a lot of papers,” I said. “Just double my old salary.” I had learned a few tricks from Alessandra.
Venzano laughed. “Deal.”
“I need one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“A place where Alessandra can stay until the test – some place in town Pigotti won’t find her. She also needs a job. She’s broke.”
Venzano looked at me for a long moment, then picked up his pen. He scribbled out a note, folded it, and pushed it across the desk. He glanced towards the door and dropped his voice.
“A lady friend of mine,” he whispered. He winked. “French woman. She’s always looking for domestic help. They’re always quitting on her. She lives up in the Vomero, near Castel Sant’Elmo. It’s a classy neighborhood. Guys like Pigotti wander in there, the police rough them up and kick them out. Alessandra will be safe there.”
Chapter 72
It was Vito. And for a fat guy, he was fast.
I was a block from the Mattino, heading back to Doffo’s place, when I heard running footsteps behind me. I spun around and Vito was in my face. He lunged at me, grabbing my shirt, but I twisted out of his grasp and took off. I ducked down a side street but it was a dead end. I looked around helplessly as Vito came charging around the corner. He tackled me, knocking me to the ground, then grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to my feet.
“Got him, boss!” he said.
“Hold on to the bastard!”
I looked up and Pigotti was hurrying down the alley. When he reached me he jerked me into a little courtyard and shoved me up against the wall.
“Where the fuck is she?” he snarled.
“Where is who?” I said.
He punched me in the stomach and I doubled up, gasping for breath. It felt like I had been kicked by a horse. My head started spinning, and I fell to my knees. I could taste blood in my mouth.
“Get him up,” Pigotti ordered.
Vito yanked me to my feet. Pigotti grabbed me by the neck.
“Where is she – my wife?”
“I don’t know.” I said.
“Fucking liar! You went everywhere with her. You think I didn’t read the newspapers while that fat Jew was running around Europe fucking my wife?” He slapped me hard. “I knew she would fuck up, and he would dump her, and she’d end up back here with nothing.”
He tightened his grip around my throat, and leaned in close. His breath stank.
“She’s here. She came back with you.”
“She didn’t…”
He kneed me in the balls and I fell to the ground again. He kicked me in the ribs.
“Liar! Where is she?” he screamed.
I was afraid he was going to kill me.
“She…followed Lombardi…back to Torino,” I gasped. “…went…to his house.” It was the only thing I could come up with.
“Bitch!” Pigotti slammed his fist against the wall. “Whore! I’ll kill her! I’ll kill them both!”
From a window above my head, I heard a man’s voice call out, “Hey, what’s going on down there?”
“Boss, we gotta go,” Vito said. I heard them run back towards the street.
I rolled over on my back and lay there, gasping for breath.
Chapter 73
“Go away! We’re not hiring.”
The maid slammed the door in our face.
I banged on the door. When she opened it this time, I jammed the door open with my foot and forced into her hand the note Venzano had given me.
“It’s for Madame Dubonnet. From her friend, Signor Venzano. You better deliver it or you’re in trouble.” She stared at the note suspiciously, then looked at me.
“Wait here.”
Alessandra and I sat down on a sm
all wooden bench. My ribs still ached, and I had a cut on my forehead, but Alessandra had cleaned me up pretty well. The servants’ entrance in the back of Madame Dubonnet’s mansion was surrounded by a high wall and the watchman at the big iron gate kept his eye on us.
“How are you doing?” I whispered.
“God, Tommaso, I need this job,” Alessandra replied.
“Where’s Bastet?”
“Right here.” She pulled the lucky charm out of her dress pocket and kissed it. She still looked tired, but her spirits were on the rise. She was a survivor.
The door opened and a man dressed in a long tailed coat and striped trousers looked down at us.
“Who’s Alessandra?”
Alessandra jumped to her feet. “I am, Signore.”
He stared at her, then looked at Venzano’s note. “You’re looking for employment?”
“Yes, Signore”
“What do you do?”
“I do laundry, Signore.”
“Who did you work for before?”
I jumped in. “She worked for Signor Venzano – the editor of the Mattino newspaper. You have his letter.”
He turned to me. “And who are you?” he demanded sourly. The snooty maid stood next to him, glaring at me.
“I work for Direttore Venzano. He told me to bring her here.”
He folded up the note, put it in his pocket, and turned to the maid. “Leave us.”
He closed the door and stood there, arms folded.
“I don’t know how your Signor Venzano knows Madame. It is not my business. But she has instructed me to find you a position.” He pointed to a shack leaning against the side of the wall. “There’s the laundry. Thirty lire a week –ten back to me. You sleep there.”
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