‘Guilty?’
‘Yes, guilty because of those keys. You can’t let it go that if you hadn’t gone to Da Valdo that night, Albina would still be alive.’
‘But—’
‘It’s guilt that’s driving you,’ she interrupted. ‘All of these questions, all of these good deeds, all of this running around the city from one end to the other! You’re doing penance. I hope you feel the burden lifted. Giulietta has her locks, Hollander has the name of an estate agent, and your new friend has a room with a view at a reasonable price. You’ve even returned to the scene of your crime and retrieved the keys from Valdo and given them to Giulietta. Bravo, my son. You don’t even have to say fifty Ave Marias! Do you feel better now?’
‘Not in the sense you mean. Of course I’m happy to have accomplished some things, but I’ve also learned a lot. The Gonella apartment was broken into and although Giulietta says nothing of value was taken, she’s either not being honest or she doesn’t realize what has been taken. Because surely something must have been, or at the least the person was looking for something of value. Why else break in? Maurizio suspected that someone was shadowing him and Albina when they walked through the storm from Da Valdo. I had the same sensation the night I walked her home.’
The contessa didn’t respond at once. When she did, she asked, ‘Is all that so much to have learned?’
‘It’s a beginning. One step leads to another.’
‘Each step can take you further astray, especially in Venice! The way it is for you in my maze.’ He detected a smile in the contessa’s voice. ‘My dear Urbino, would you feel better if Albina didn’t die naturally? But she was still out in the storm because of the keys, and you feel responsible for that. I don’t mean to be cruel, but that’s the sense of it. We have to accept these things. Konrad Zoll’s disease. His friend’s accident. I hope you’re still not bothering yourself about their unfortunate deaths. Life, caro.’
‘Something doesn’t seem right. We have three deaths, all so close together. And Zoll and Luca were friends. Is it too strange to think that Albina could have had some link to Zoll and Luca? After all, she worked in Florian’s. No, something just isn’t right.’
‘But don’t you see?’ the contessa said. ‘You want there to be foul play. That way you can console yourself by wearing yourself out, trying to find a murderer, and bringing him or her to justice in the way we know you can do so well. But you can do it only when there has been a murder. There hasn’t been any. There hasn’t!’
Urbino didn’t respond.
‘If there was a murder,’ she went on, more calmly, ‘then how do we explain what Salvatore Rizzo said about her heart?’
‘There wasn’t an autopsy, was there?’
‘None was required, and Giulietta didn’t request one. Why should she?’
‘I understand that. And I’m not saying that Albina didn’t die of a heart attack. Even if she did, she could still have been the victim of foul play.’
‘You mean someone could have scared her to death?’
Her words were more than a little charged with ridicule.
‘Something like that. It’s not impossible.’ He paused. ‘Or someone could have induced the heart attack. Drugs exist that would do that.’
‘To be honest I don’t feel easy about Albina’s death myself. But don’t lose your clear way of thinking. Just because Albina died after Zoll and Benigni doesn’t mean that she died because of them.’
“‘Post hoc, ergo propter hoc,’” Urbino said. ‘The logical fallacy: “After this because of this.” But nonetheless I feel there’s some connection. If there is, I’m determined to find it.’
‘I understand. And I know how much you want to do the right thing. You and your good deeds! Look at all the ones you’ve been wrapping yourself in. I tell you what, caro, why not do another good deed? Oh, it has nothing to do with Albina! Why don’t you invite your watercolorist to my regatta party? What’s her name again?’
‘Maisie Croy. That would be a kind gesture on your part, Barbara,’ he said in an encouraging tone, despite a small cloud of uneasiness that drifted across his consciousness. ‘From one countrywoman to another.’
‘I don’t know what my country is anymore, and neither do you! But the more the merrier, as they say. By the way, I’m having lunch tomorrow with Nick Hollander.’ She named one of their favorite restaurants in Dorsoduro that was attached to a little hotel. ‘I made a reservation for one o’clock. If you’d care to, you could join us for dessert. I know how much you like their tiramisù!’
‘That might be a good idea. And would you do me a favor?’
‘What?’
‘Would you try not to mention Benigni’s death to him? Or Albina’s? I’d like to be the one to do it.’
The next morning Urbino found Maisie Croy behind Le Due Sorelle. It was an overcast, humid day that threatened rain. Croy, surrounded by a group of neighborhood children and sporting her battered straw gondolier’s hat, was making a watercolor rendition of the stone bridge.
‘This is bridge number seven,’ she said. She put down her brush and smiled. She looked worse than she had a few days ago. Her skin had a grayish pallor. One eye was bloodshot. ‘I wonder how many more I have?’
Urbino made a quick mental calculation.
‘There are about four hundred in the city. In a few years there should be four hundred and one.’
He mentioned the glass bridge under construction by the Piazzale Roma.
‘So unless you stay here until they work out the problems with that one,’ he said, ‘you have approximately three hundred and ninety-three bridges left to paint.’
‘You know such things? I’m impressed.’
‘My mind is cluttered with useless information about the city.’
‘I don’t think it’s useless, and I don’t believe you do either! Look how you found me this charming little place! I love it. I’ll be able to stay in Venice for as long as I want now.’
The filtered quality of the light on a day like today gave a strange glow to the dilapidated stones of the sisters’ building.
‘I owe you some money,’ Croy said. ‘If you could wait a few minutes I’ll get it for you.’
‘Consider it a gift.’
‘A gift! You are very generous. Are you sure?’
‘I insist.’
‘I’ll make it up to you. You may have your pick of any of my paintings. They’re all propped up against the walls of my room. We’ll go and see.’
‘That would be nice. But I don’t want to show any favorites. I know how sensitive artists can be. Why don’t you select one for me?’
‘You’re very clever. Agreed. But not right away, if you don’t mind. Let me get to know you a little more.’
‘My pleasure. And there should be a good opportunity for that. I’ve come to extend an invitation from a friend who’s giving a party on the Sunday of the regatta. She’s English, but she’s been living here for a long time. She’s the widow of an Italian. You’ll receive a formal invitation from her soon.’
‘How marvelous! The regatta!’
‘You’ll have an excellent view of most of the events from her palazzo on the Grand Canal.’
‘A palazzo! This sounds better and better! My head was spinning from the heat and disappointment when I met you. Today it’s from all my good luck! Or I should call it your kindness – yours and your friend’s. What’s her name?’
‘Barbara da Capo-Zendrini.’
Croy frowned thoughtfully. It made her face look more sickly.
‘Are you familiar with the name?’ Urbino asked.
‘Most unfamiliar! It will take me a while to learn that properly! I don’t know much Italian. I hope that won’t be a disadvantage at her party.’
‘Almost everyone else who will be there speaks English. I advise you to allow enough time to get there, though. All the canals will be closed from about midday. The Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini isn’t far from the Palazzo Labia, if you know
where that is.’
Croy shook her head.
‘I’m sure she’ll include a map with her invitation,’ Urbino said, ‘but I’ll make a quick one for you now.’
‘Why don’t you make it in my sketchbook?’
She bent down and unzipped the top of her backpack. As she was extracting her sketchbook and a pencil, a small dark green bottle fell out on to the stones. The lavender label identified it as one of Perla Beato’s products. Croy picked it up quickly and returned it to the backpack.
She found a blank page in the sketchbook. Urbino drew a simple map that showed how Croy could reach the land entrance of the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini and indicated where the palazzo was in relationship to Le Due Sorelle, the Grand Canal, and vaporetto stops. He returned the sketchbook and pencil to Croy.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I feel so well taken care of. I think I have enough energy to paint each of those other – how many? – three hundred and ninety-three bridges.’
Urbino doubted this. The more he looked at the woman, the more certain he was that she was ill.
‘I just may stay here through the winter, who knows?’
A sudden gust of wind blew in from the lagoon. Croy clapped her hand down on the crown of her hat, exposing scratches on her upper arm. The skin around them was inflamed.
‘What happened to your arm?’
‘Oh, those.’ Croy looked down at the scratches. ‘I’m a cat lover, and there are so many around Venice. I made the mistake of petting the wrong one. The cat scratched at my hat, too, as you can see,’ she added, self-consciously, although Urbino had said nothing about its condition and hadn’t been scrutinizing it too closely. ‘Then it fell into a puddle.’
‘Well, you can always get a new hat if you want, but you should have the scratches looked at. Let me give you the name of a doctor who speaks English.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. Don’t worry. You’re much too kind.’
After stopping for a glass of white wine near the Church of San Zaccaria at a café crowded with carabinieri from the nearby post, Urbino went to Clementina Foppa’s paper shop. The cartaio was finishing with a customer at the counter. Her attendant wasn’t in sight.
Clementina gave him a smile that didn’t reach her large brown eyes.
‘It’s nice to see you in better circumstances,’ she said in her heavily accented English when the customer had left.
Urbino glanced over her shoulder at the board behind the counter. The obituary notice was no longer there.
‘I looked for you after the service,’ he said. ‘I thought you might like to come to San Michele in the contessa’s boat.’
‘I needed to get back here.’
‘It’s a busy time of the year.’
‘Not as busy as I need it to be.’
‘Then you’ll be happy to know that I’m buying some wrapping paper.’ Urbino laughed and said, ‘I’m a big spender today, you see.’
Clementina smiled, but once again her eyes remained sad, even cold.
‘Every little bit helps,’ she said.
Urbino went to the rack against the wall where marbled paper was displayed on rolls. He selected three sheets in different versions of the fiamatto pattern and five sheets that reproduced details of St. George and the dragon from Carpaccio’s cycle of paintings at the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni.
‘You have gifts to wrap?’ Clementina asked him when he brought the paper over to the counter.
‘At the moment, no, but it seems that whenever I do, I don’t have any paper.’
‘Well, I never have that problem, you can be sure.’
Her laugh sounded strained.
As she was rolling up the sheets of paper, Urbino asked her how she knew Albina Gonella.
‘It was moving to see how many different people she touched,’ he added.
‘What else does life mean in the end? Not all this paper, and the stones outside, lovely though they are!’ She waved her hand in the direction of the window, the Calle Lunga, and everything that lay beyond it. ‘I knew her through my brother. He went to Florian’s with Zoll. He struck up an acquaintance with her,’ Clementina continued, switching into Italian as she put the wrapping paper in a cardboard tube with the name of the shop on it. ‘One time Albina was a great help to him, or I should say to Zoll. He fell ill at Florian’s and needed some herb he used to treat himself. He had run out of it. Albina went to get it at an erboristeria. Zoll had a lot of faith in herbs. Luca would have gone but Zoll insisted that he stay with him. They called a water taxi for Albina. She was taking a chance, abandoning her post like that.’
‘Do you know what erboristeria it was? A friend has one in Dorsoduro.’
‘That’s the one. Erboristeria Perla. I know Perla Beato, too. She was at the funeral. Well, I suppose she’s more of an acquaintance. Because we’re both merchants although I don’t think she’d like me to call her that.’
‘You are an artisan,’ Urbino said.
Once again Clementina gave him a sad, even brave little smile.
Two women, evidently tourists, entered the shop.
‘Good morning,’ she greeted them in English. ‘If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.’ She turned back to Urbino and ran a hand through her feathered haircut.
‘Luca asked me if I knew of a full-time job for Albina. He arranged for us to have coffee together. She was a nice woman, simple – and I mean that in the best sense. Sincere. I asked around to see if anyone needed help, but I had no luck. I have a woman who comes in and cleans up the shop every night, but I couldn’t very well let her go and take on Albina, could I?’
Urbino assured her that no one would have expected it. He paid for the wrapping paper and left.
The Erboristeria Perla was a bright, canal-side shop in Dorsoduro between the Zattere and the church where Albina’s funeral service had been held. It was in a pleasant area but like the area of Foppa’s shop, it was one not well-frequented by tourists.
Everything about the Erboristeria Perla exuded health and good spirits, from the potpourri that scented the air to the verdant plants, the peach-colored walls, the moss-green carpet, all the well-displayed, attractively packaged products, and the marriage of nature sounds and acoustic music playing quietly in the background.
Two walls held wicker baskets of loose herbs and green glass bottles of capsule herbs. Signs and labels, handwritten on the shop’s violet paper with its wheat sheaf logo, identified the baskets and bottles. Displayed throughout the large, light-filled space were incense, resins, candles, oils, soaps, salves, balms, honey, health food products, books, videos, music cassettes, posters, and mortars and pestles.
Two polished and poised attendants, who were dressed stylishly but subtly in the trademark violet color of the shop, were standing at strategic points. They greeted Urbino in quiet voices and with reassuring smiles.
From a room in the back Perla came toward him with her long-legged stride. She looked even more svelte in her shop than she looked elsewhere. Its ambiance suited her. She was dressed in a cream-colored cashmere dress with simple lines. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a chignon. The bruise on her left cheek had either completely faded or been more artfully concealed than it had been when he had seen her on the terrace of the Gritti Palace with Oriana Borelli.
‘Urbino dear! It’s been too long since you’ve been here!’ she said brightly in English. ‘Is this a social visit or a professional one?’
‘A little of both.’
‘Killing two birds with one stone.’
‘Something like that.’
‘So what do you need help with?’
On the way to the shop Urbino had realized it would be better if he appeared to have come for Perla’s services, as he had done with Clementina, since his interest in sleuthing was well-known to the Beatos. It was a form of deception, for a good end. Benevolent deception was the way he thought of it.
Perhaps to compensate for the deception
he had decided to expose one of his embarrassments. The contessa was one of the few people who knew about it.
Several years ago he had developed gout in one of his big toes. The pain could be excruciating. The attacks were under control, the result of medication and not the mud and algae that a spa in Abano Terme had smeared all over him. Whenever he felt a twinge in his toe, he took some pills. For a person who enjoyed walking as much as he did and who could surprise even himself with the extent of his hypochondria, his condition was, though minor, an almost constant preoccupation. A severe attack could send him into a minor depression because of his fear that his mobility would soon be a pleasure of the past.
‘From time to time, I get an inflammation in my big toe,’ he began.
‘You mean gout, Urbino dear!’ Perla said cutting short any further evasiveness. ‘Don’t be shy to say it. It’s quite common at a certain age. Do you know that it’s associated with intelligence?’
‘I doubt that. But if it’s true, there have been many times when I wished I were a lot less intelligent!’ He named the medication he took. ‘But I thought there might be something homeopathic. I don’t care for some of the side effects.’
‘Of course you don’t, you poor thing! Who does? And I know how doctors over-medicate! Remember, I’ve been a nurse. Still am a nurse. You’re in good hands here. Come with me.’
She led him over to ceiling-high shelves with green-painted wooden ladders beside them. The shelves were lined with green glass bottles. She selected some of the bottles, explaining their contents and how they would help him much better than what he was taking now. Before he knew it, he was dosed with five various herbs. She also gave him a little gift that she said would be beneficial for not only his toe but also his general well-being. It was a jar of chestnut tree honey.
‘I’ll write everything down for you,’ Perla said.
One of the attendants collected the bottles of herbs and the jar of honey.
‘Why don’t I take that for you, too, signore?’ the attendant said. He indicated the tube from Clementina Foppa’s shop.
Urbino gave it to him.
‘You were at Clementina’s, I see,’ Perla said. ‘She has a lovely little shop, doesn’t she? Thank God we’re not in competition in any way. And she has to rely mainly on tourists for her trade.’
Frail Barrier Page 12
