Frail Barrier

by Edward Sklepowich

  He emitted a sharp cry as he stepped on one of the rotted, exposed beams. The pistol went off as he fell to the stone floor below.

  Epilogue

  Florian’s Ribbon

  A few days after Nick Hollander fell to his death, Urbino and the contessa were in the Chinese Salon at Florian’s. It was their first opportunity to discuss what had happened.

  The Piazza San Marco beyond their windows had regained a less frenetic rhythm. The tourist wave that had crested during the weekend of the regatta had fallen back, leaving something resembling whirlpools and eddies. People had more time and certainly more space to appreciate the beauty around them, and the Venetians, who had partied themselves out, had settled back into the far more placid manner that was characteristic of them.

  Urbino watched two elderly Venetian ladies pass by the windows. They moved slowly, talking in a quiet manner. With an air of patience they regarded the tourists taking photographs and feeding pigeons on the stones of the square. It wouldn’t be long before their walks under the arcade skirted a much more serene and sociable space. They only had to wait a little while longer.

  Urbino turned his attention to the contessa, dressed in royal blue knits that set off her honey-blonde hair and the gold of the bracelet that the conte had given her.

  On most occasions, she had a keen appreciation for food, but this afternoon she was ravenous.

  She had already devoured almost an entire plate of tea cakes, except for the one that he had taken when he saw them disappearing so rapidly. She had then gone on to scones, marmalade, and clotted cream, and was now giving the Coppa Fornarina no chance to begin to melt. Delicately but determinedly, she took spoonfuls of the macaroon-and-cherry-garnished gelato.

  ‘Are you all right, Barbara?’

  ‘I’ve decided not to restrain myself these days if that’s what you mean. I intend to get my fair share, and more than that. Look at poor Zoll – and Albina and Luca Benigni. Just a month ago, they were alive, and thought there would be a tomorrow. Maybe even Zoll did.’

  Urbino couldn’t disagree with the contessa’s philosophy. He remained silent. She finished the ice cream. The waiter brought her a pot of first flush jasmine tea and a Campari soda for Urbino.

  ‘How did you know, caro?’

  ‘It turned out to be quite simple. Tables and chairs, for one thing. Not the ones here. The ones at Da Valdo. But they would have meant nothing without the circumstances of Albina’s restoration of your bracelet.’

  Urbino explained how the chairs upturned on the table tops in the café on his way to Florian’s after the regatta had finally made things fall into place. He had remembered Albina doing the same at Da Valdo the night she died. It had been the dose that formed the precipitate.

  ‘I noticed that the bottoms of the chairs at Da Valdo had loosely intertwined slats. You could put your fingers through in places.’

  ‘What does it signify?’

  ‘Everything. According to the waiter at Da Valdo, Luca Benigni was there on the night of the first storm – the one he died in. He must have had the new will with him. He probably had just had an argument with Hollander. He had to keep the will out of his hands. If anything happened to it, Luca would have had nothing.’

  ‘And Hollander almost everything.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Hollander must have pursued him through the streets. Luca stopped at Da Valdo, could easily have slipped the will in its envelope between the slats of his chair, and left. He figured that when Hollander accosted him, he’d have no way of getting the will from him. Luca could go back after getting rid of Hollander, collect it from under the chair, and put it in a safe place, where it should have been to begin with.’

  ‘But all of this is speculation. All three are dead – Zoll, Luca, and Hollander.’ Then the contessa added, ‘And Albina.’

  ‘But we have the will. Albina must have found it between the slats of the chair when she was cleaning up. Because Zoll had written it in German, she couldn’t make any sense of it. She might not even have known what language it was. She turned it over to Claudio as she did everything else she found – or rather she left it at Florian’s for him. She figured he would know what it was, what it meant.’

  The contessa nodded.

  Urbino then explained how Hollander, who assumed Luca had the will on his person, must have struck him with a brick or a stone after pursuing him from Da Valdo into Dorsoduro.

  ‘It could have been with any of the bricks at the building site,’ Urbino said. ‘Or maybe it was even with a piece of the parapet stone if it had already fallen from the building. One way or another, if the parapet stone fell before or after Luca was dead, it was something that played nicely into Hollander’s hands. As for the will, a quick search after he had Luca didn’t turn it up.’

  Urbino paused and took a sip of his Campari soda.

  ‘And then Hollander knew he was really in trouble,’ he went on. ‘As long as the will was in existence, it could link him to Luca’s apparently accidental death during the storm. He had to find it. He probably backtracked along Luca’s route to Da Valdo and then to Zoll’s apartment. But of course he found nothing. He was tortured by the thought that maybe the will had blown away and was waiting to be found somewhere. He must also have turned Zoll’s apartment upside down – on more than one occasion. When I was in the apartment the day you went to Torcello with him, I noticed how books and letters and other things seemed to have been taken from their places and haphazardly put back.’

  ‘And he thought that Luca had given it to Albina or that she had found it at Da Valdo.’

  ‘As I see it, he accosted her the night of the second storm after she went out again. I sensed that someone was following us earlier. Maurizio felt the same thing the night of the first storm. Hollander must have been stalking her both times. On the night she died, he approached her, threatened her, perhaps pushed her around a bit. She might have mentioned that she found something at Da Valdo, but I doubt she had time to tell him she had left it at Florian’s for Claudio. She collapsed. It was all too much for her weak heart. He left her dying in the storm. But the will was still out there somewhere.’

  ‘And it was only logical for him to assume it was in the Gonella apartment. So he was the one who broke in.’

  Urbino nodded.

  ‘But what he found was Giulietta’s little pistol,’ he said. ‘He pocketed it just in case he might need it. The man was desperate. It wasn’t only a question of the money. He was now responsible for two deaths. It wasn’t the sale of Zoll’s apartment that kept him here, but finding the evidence of the will and destroying it. It was your regatta party that showed him the last step he had to take, the one that could save him.’

  ‘My party? What do you mean?’

  ‘Your bracelet. Perla mentioned how Albina restored it to you through Claudio after you had lost it.’

  ‘And so he went after Claudio.’

  ‘And found him easily enough. Any of the waiters could have told him where he lived. Florian’s was very proud of him. Still is.’

  Not only was Claudio the hero of the scene at Florian’s these days, with his photograph displayed in the entranceway, but also Urbino. He had saved Claudio – not to mention himself – from probable death at Hollander’s hands. Giulietta’s little pistol could have disposed of them both after Hollander had got what he was looking for.

  ‘Claudio says that when he returned from Florian’s after the regatta, he fixed himself a drink, and then opened the envelope. Inside, he found two pages written in what he knew was German. With the signatures on it, he figured it was a contract of some kind. He decided he’d call me in the morning. I would look at it and decide what should be done. He had just put the will between the pages of Regate e Regatanti when there was a knock on his door. Hollander rushed in, took out the gun, and demanded the envelope.’

  ‘If you had arrived any later than you did, you might have known Hollander had killed Claudio, and even why, b
ut you would have had no proof.’

  ‘It would have been a terrible situation.’

  ‘You and Claudio aren’t going to have any problem with the police, are you?’

  ‘There will be an investigation, but depending on how you look at it, it was either self-defense or an accident.’

  ‘I feel guilty saying this, caro, but it’s a good thing he died the way he did.’

  ‘Don’t feel guilty. It’s possible that he might have escaped any punishment. After all, the will doesn’t prove that he was responsible for Luca’s and Albina’s deaths but only that he had motivation. With a good lawyer …’

  The contessa stared at him.

  ‘And Zoll’s death?’

  ‘There was no reason to kill Zoll. Hollander had to wait for only a short time.’

  The contessa eyed a wedge of chocolate cake being carried on a plate by their waiter to a French couple in the corner.

  ‘Who will get what Zoll left Luca?’ she asked.

  ‘First of all, the will has to be authenticated. There most likely will be some legal wrangling by Zoll’s relatives, maybe even Hollander’s mother. The witnesses to the will are Germans, a married couple, it would appear, since their last name is the same. They were probably tourists Zoll met. The police are going through their records to see where the couple was staying.’

  All tourists had to be registered with both the police and the Ministry of Tourism. It would only be a matter of time before the two Germans were located, and their signatures verified.

  ‘Once that’s done,’ Urbino said, ‘Clementina will get everything. It doesn’t seem as if Luca had a will of his own. Not that he would have thought about it at such a young age. Clementina is his only living relative. She’ll be able to give her shop a big infusion.’

  ‘Luca and Clementina had as much of a motive for murder as Hollander had.’

  Urbino noted that she no longer used his first name.

  ‘Actually you could say that Clementina would have had a motive for two murders. First Zoll, then her brother if she had known about the will. She still says he never told her. He might have wanted to keep it to himself for a while. She believes he had no ulterior motives in befriending and taking care of Zoll.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘We’re all only human. It must have occurred to him that he had something to gain. But I keep thinking of the two of them out there under the arcade’ – he indicated the precise spot where they had seen Zoll and Luca in late July – ‘and I say to myself, Zoll had someone looking after him at the end.’

  The two bronze giants on the top of the clock tower started to strike the fifth hour. The eyes of the two friends, as well as those of most of the people in the square, were drawn to the tower. Its clock, with its golden stars, Zodiacal signs, and planets against a blue background, looked seaward and glittered in the sun. Beneath it was the entrance to the Merceria, one of the main shopping streets of Venice.

  When the Moors had finished, the contessa continued to stare at the clock tower.

  ‘Such a beautiful instrument to measure the inevitable passing of the hours.’

  ‘But since their passing is inevitable, isn’t it better when it can be beautiful as well?’

  ‘Yes, and I know that I’m fortunate. We both are.’

  Urbino couldn’t disagree with this.

  ‘How is Claudio doing?’ the contessa asked. ‘Isn’t he a little cramped with Gildo?’

  Claudio was staying with Gildo until he could find another apartment. He didn’t want to stay in San Tomà. Urbino had suggested finding him a hotel room but he preferred, for the moment, the arrangement with Gildo.

  ‘He seems fine. And they’ll be even more cramped for the next few days. They’ll be living in the gondola. They’re taking it out into the lagoon. To spend some time on their own, away from everything. No crowds, no competition, no dangers except natural ones, no—’

  ‘No Perla for Claudio,’ the contessa interrupted. ‘Not that Jill for this Jack.’

  ‘That’s over whether Claudio stays in Venice or goes farther away than the lagoon. He’s been shaken up enough from his experience with Hollander to make him want to play things safe. And I’m sure that Romolo is going to keep a short leash on Perla for a long time to come.’

  ‘There’s something about that part of the story that I can tell you,’ the contessa said with a smile of satisfaction. ‘Perla and Romolo are through. That’s what Oriana tells me. All that love – if it was love – turned to hate, it seems.’

  ‘“All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. ’Tis gone,’” Urbino recited. He pursed his lips in imitation of a blowing motion.

  ‘You don’t make a very good Othello, caro, and Perla never was or could ever be a Desdemona. Romolo loved her so much. It’s another one of those thin lines though, or it can be, can’t it? Love and hate.’ Her gray eyes became reflective. ‘So what are your plans, now that most of the madness of the season is over?’

  ‘First of all, I’ll put together the little book on Albina. I have to make my lie the truth. I’ve already written some of it.’

  ‘When it’s finished and printed, we’ll have a memorial reception.’

  ‘And after I finish the book, I’ll immerse myself in Goethe. I want to move ahead with the project. I’ve missed him. He’s a tranquil companion.’

  ‘Before you immerse yourself – or maybe you should say immure yourself – why don’t you spend three or four days in Asolo with Giulietta, Maisie Croy, and me? It might be one of the last times before the spring.’

  Giulietta and Croy had become close during the past few days. Giulietta was still at the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini, and the contessa had invited Croy to stay for a while, too.

  ‘Maisie is going to do watercolors. And I’ve advised her to bring what she considers the best of what she’s already done. Perhaps she can sell some of them there.’

  As it turned out, the watercolor in Zoll’s apartment was one of only two she had sold in Venice. Zoll had seen her at work by the Accademia and had bought her painting. The fact that she spoke good German had delighted him. She had had no idea of his death or that of his Italian companion until the contessa had provided an account of some of the events that had come to a crisis on regatta day.

  ‘Did you and Maisie talk about her health?’

  A more serious expression settled on the contessa’s attractive face.

  ‘She mentioned that she finished some treatments in London before she came here. But I didn’t want to press her for details. She’s not comfortable with the topic.’

  And neither, Urbino knew, was the contessa.

  ‘By the way, she has something to give you.’

  ‘One of her watercolors. Which one did she choose?’

  ‘The Bridge of Sighs. She said that she thinks of you as a bridge. America and Italy, crime and punishment, art and life – oh, she went on and on! She even said between the living and the dead, but I stopped her there. I didn’t want to hear any more.’ The contessa shook her head. ‘As for Giulietta, some of my Asolo friends might have work for her. So what about you? Will you join us?’

  ‘I’ll bring my Goethe and mix business with pleasure.’

  ‘Then it’s settled. We’ll all go up together in the Bentley on Saturday morning.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘My, my, what’s this?’

  Urbino turned around.

  The waiter Marcello, two of his colleagues, and the manager stood a few feet away. They were smiling. The manager handed Urbino a small, dark wooden box, a little larger than a box for a wristwatch. There was no name or inscription on it.

  ‘Whatever could that be?’ the contessa asked, with a big smile.

  Urbino opened the box. Inside, against the dark green velvet lining, was a small crimson ribbon looped and crossed, with the Florian logo and the words ‘Mille grazie’ woven into it in golden threads.

  ‘It’s to thank you for what you’ve done for Claudio and Albina,’ th
e manager said. ‘And for what you’ve done for Florian’s.’

  The contessa got up and went over to Urbino.

  ‘Give it to me,’ she said.

  The ribbon had a golden pin affixed to its back. She pinned the ribbon to the lapel of his sport jacket. The patrons at the other tables fell silent and watched.

  When she had finished, she said, ‘A little speech?’

  Embarrassed, gratified, Urbino said, ‘All I can say is thank you. There’s nothing more to say.’

  The manager shook Urbino’s hand. Marcello gave him a kiss on each cheek. A low murmur ran through the salon, followed by light applause.

  ‘The guardian angel of Florian’s,’ the contessa said. ‘Its patron saint.’ She reseated herself on the banquette, picked up her teacup, and raised it. ‘Sant’ Urbino,’ she said again.

  The other patrons raised their wine glasses, cocktail glasses, water tumblers, and tea and coffee cups, and repeated, some garbling the words, ‘Sant’ Urbino!’ They had no idea what was going on, but they probably thought it was another one of the city’s unusual traditions.

  Urbino drank down the rest of his Campari soda.

  Outside in the piazza, Florian’s orchestra started to play ‘Ecco la mia Venezia’ from Verdi’s I Due Foscari. No one less than Michele Altieri, who had entertained the contessa’s guests at her regatta party, started to sing from the platform in the square. It was one of Urbino’s favorite arias. Altieri’s suave tenor rang out and filled the Chinese Salon as if it were a privileged box at La Fenice:

  Ecco la mia Venezia! Ecco il suo mare!

  Regina dell’ onde, io ti saluto!

  Sebben meco crudele,

  io ti son pur de’ figli il più fedele.

  These words of the exiled doge as he cast his last glance at Venice always stirred something in Urbino, awakened his melancholy side that both tormented and delighted him.

  He looked over at the contessa and smiled his appreciation. Everything had been perfectly arranged.

  Everything was in its place – the golden and blue clock face, the stones of the piazza, the domes of the Basilica, the bronze amorini in the salon, the tenor’s liquid notes, the contessa’s loving, healthy face.