by Gian Bordin
He moans, gets up, grabs the laptop from the little table in the living room, and disappears in the spare bedroom.
I call the hotel and let them know that I won’t need the room any longer and give them my credit card number. They agree to hold the sports bag for me.
Monday, 3:20 p.m.
I answer the entrance door intercom, vaguely hoping it is Silvio. The voice that speaks is Emilia’s. "I want to talk to you," she announces, giving me the familiar ‘tu’.
"About what?"
"About my husband. Let me in."
For a moment I’m tempted to refuse. I don’t really want to face that woman and get abused by her. Then I think better of it. It may be useful to sound her out. If Silvio and I have any future together, it’s better to be on civil terms with her. She is the mother of his child.
"All right, level 7." I release the entrance door and then wait at the apartment door. She enters without offering her hand in greeting in the Italian way and strides past me into the living room, looking around, taking in the room and its decor, like a prospective buyer. "Not bad," she comments, "you have expensive taste. Do you fuck my husband on this sofa or in bed?"
I’m not going to take her bait. Instead, I remain strictly polite. "Please, Emilia, take a seat. May I offer you a drink? Coffee, fruit juice, San Pellegrino?"
She chooses one of the soft chairs and replies: "A glass of red will do."
I hesitate a moment. Should I ignore her impertinence and give in? Yes. There is a started bottle of red in the kitchen. I go there, fill a glass three quarters for her and mineral water for myself.
She takes the glass without saying thanks and tastes it. "It’s all right," she murmurs, as if to herself.
"So, you want to talk to me about Silvio," I say to get her started.
"Yes. He is my husband and you’re trying to steal him. You won’t get him. I won’t agree to a divorce, so you better cut your losses now."
There is no point arguing with her. So I come right to the point. "How much money do you want to agree to a divorce right away, rather than fight it for a year and lose in the end?"
Her stunned face reveals that she hasn’t expected such a response.
Then a sly smile crosses her face. "So you offer to buy him from me? Silvio will be furious when he hears that. He is a very proud man, easily offended. In fact, you just handed me the means to cool his ardor for you."
"Silvio and I have already talked about paying you off."
Again, she is thrown by the answer. It takes her a moment to recover. "Half a million euros. Is he worth that much to you?"
"He’s worth more than that to me, but you’re hardly in a position to ask even for a small fraction of that. No, the reason to offer you money is to avoid the aggravation and hassle of a contested divorce. So rather than give the money to a lawyer, we thought to offer it to you, and the sum we have in mind is no more than twenty thousand Euros. Even that is generous."
She responds with a loud laugh. "Do you take me for a sucker?"
"No, I think that you will see reason. You see, Emilia, you have no case. You abandoned a marriage, stayed away for four years, and abandoned your child. No judge will refuse to grant Silvio a divorce on those grounds. Silvio doesn’t even have to provide evidence that you have been in one or more adulterous relationship."
"So has Silvio. He fucked you and I don’t know how many other women before."
"You’ve no proof of that, whereas Silvio has witnesses that you lodged with a man in the same room."
"I will claim my daughter. Courts always award custody of children to the mother. Silvio won’t be willing to give her up." There is a vicious grin on her face.
"Again, you have no case. You abandoned your daughter, not just for a few days, but for four years. You never tried to make contact with her. Maybe twenty years ago mothers tended to get custody, but no more. Nowadays, no judge will grant you custody. So, you either take the offer for twenty thousand Euros now, or you will lose in court later and get nothing. Do you have the funds to hire a divorce lawyer? … No. Even a hopeless one will cost you ten thousand."
She is screwing her face into a grimace, eyeing me full of hatred. "You are a real bitch, aren’t you?" She gets up. "You will regret this, I swear. I’ll make you pay."
"Are you threatening me? In case you haven’t noticed, our conversation is being recorded word for word." A lie, but she will hardly be able to figure it out. The stereo was playing before she came and I only turned off the volume. The lights are still on and the ones registering the sound frequencies are flickering.
"You bitch," she screams, spitting in my face, and then rushes to the door.
"Emilia, think about the offer."
Her answer is to slam the apartment door. I go into the bathroom and wash my face. Then I drink the mineral water and pour the half-full glass of wine down the sink. I call Silvio again. It is crucial that he hears about Emilia’s visit from me in all its detail before she manages to give him a distorted account. I cannot tell from his responses whether he is pleased or displeased about my money offer to her. It upsets me.
"Silvio, would you have preferred that I hadn’t done this?"
"No, it’s all right."
"You don’t sound convinced. Tell me the truth. I need to know."
"No, this may be the only way to get her to agree. It’s just that I can’t even afford twenty thousand. It would mean that my dream of soon being able to open my own restaurant would be pushed back by at least another year. Twenty thousand is roughly what I manage to put away in a year."
"Is that the only concern?"
"Yes, why?"
"Now that the Sanvino affair is over, I can easily lend you a hundred thousand Euros or more to get started. I may even want to become your business partner, lending my business experience, even being the barista for a while, if need be. I’ve done it before."
"Ceci, are you serious? You’re not just saying that to appease me, are you?"
"No, Silvio. I won’t pick up my career as a stockbroker again. Two years were more than enough. I want to get into something else, and running a restaurant, maybe even a small hotel, sounds just great. Later on, I may want to branch out part-time into something intellectually more challenging." He remains silent for a moment. In my mind I see the smile lighting up his face. "Are you smiling, Silvio?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"I just saw it in my mind. But to come back to the offer to Emilia, stick to the amount. She has no case."
Tuesday, 11th November, 7:20 a.m.
"Ceci, let me sleep. Don’t be cruel."
"Yes, I am. Last evening, you agreed to come with me on a surprise tour. DI Willis gave permission for you to go outside the greater London area."
"I don’t want to go on a surprise tour."
He pulls the covers back over his ears. I yank them away again, this time completely.
"You will enjoy it. You haven’t been in the countryside for a long time. It will do you good."
"Sleeping will do me better."
I pull him into a sitting position. "Carlo, remember your arm; it will hurt if I have to drag you into the bathroom. Up. Take a shower and shave."
He finally gets off the bed and disappears in the second bathroom. Fifteen minutes later he comes out, clean, shaved. He looks much better. The deep rings under the eyes have almost disappeared. I renew the dressing of his wound. We eat breakfast and by eight o’clock I park the van in the street outside dad’s house in the Boltons. Carlo has never been here.
"What’s this? You said we’d go into the countryside." He is still sulking.
"That’s right, but we change cars."
Father put his Audi into the driveway, the key in the ashtray.
"Whose car is this?"
"That’s part of the surprise tour. You’ll have to discover this as we drive along."
"I’m not really in the mood for silly games."
"Fine, then get out of that mood."<
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Twenty minutes later we are on the M4 on the way to Swindon, where we will turn off to Gloucester and then into Wales. Carlo lowers the backrest and is soon asleep.
Tuesday, 10:20 a.m.
Near the Gloucester Cathedral I take a break from driving, and we enjoy a coffee in a tearoom. Carlo is now fully awake. He even shows interest as we admire the outside of the cathedral and he points out some intriguing architectural features of the structure. The countryside becomes more varied after Gloucester. I play a Harry Cohen CD I know he likes. He hums along, his face relaxed, seemingly enjoying the scenery. Past Ross we are on narrow roads over hilly country, driving at a leisurely pace. Shortly before noon we amble along the upper part of the Golden Valley and twenty minutes later reach our destination, Hay-on-Wye, where Lucy’s parents live, just inside Wales.
Susan and Clara are waiting by the gate. They wave frantically when they recognize their father’s car as we drive up the road. I stop inside the gate and get out. They literally throw themselves at me, both talking and laughing at the same time. Carlo gets out too and walks around the car. They eye him curiously.
"Is this your new boyfriend?" murmurs Susan. "I like him better than your last one."
Carlo must have heard her. He grins and says: "I didn’t like him either, but no, I’m not her boyfriend, only her younger brother."
"Then you are my brother too," she exclaims and holds out her hand to greet him. "I’m Susan, and you’re Carlo, right?"
For a second, he looks disconcerted, then he shakes her hand, all charms now, and says smiling: "I didn’t know I had such pretty sisters."
Clara now comes forward too. "I’m Clara. I’m six and Susan is eight. How old are you."
"I’m so old I don’t remember."
The girls giggle, and then Susan retorts in her typical superior tone: "I know how old you are. You are five years younger than Ceci. So you are twenty-one."
"You’re not only pretty, but you’re also smart. And thank you for reminding me."
She laughs. "I don’t believe you forgot it, and you are a flatterer, but I think I will like you anyway."
"I’m glad. Come, I’ll tell you a secret about Ceci," he says in a conspiratorial tone, taking her a step aside. Clara follows, exclaiming: "I want to hear it too."
"You know what Ceci means in Italian?" he asks in a murmur loud enough for me to hear.
They both shake their heads.
"It means chickpeas."
"Chickpeas," they cry, repeating it several times, giggling, looking at me mischievously.
"Aren’t they both a delight, Carlo? They are very dear to me."
"Yes, they are. I’m not sore at you anymore for dragging me along."
Lucy walks slowly down the driveway, offering an uncertain smile. I guess she must be as apprehensive to meet Carlo, who for ten years has refused to meet her, as he is about her. Susan runs to her, shouting: "Ceci brought our brother along. It’s so exciting." She breaks into a giggle and adds: "He told us that Ceci means chickpeas. Isn’t that funny?"
I observe Carlo’s reaction as Lucy comes closer. A slight frown, that dissolves slowly into a smile. He goes to meet her, holding out his hand. "I’m Carlo and you must be Lucy, and you wonder what took me so long to meet you, and now that I’ve met you and my two new sisters I ask myself the same question." Smooth, all charm, the way he conquers people.
"I’m glad you came. You must be hungry after that long drive. Lunch is ready."
It’s a good beginning.
On the way back, Lucy drives. Carlo sits between the two girls. They play guessing games. He teaches them a few Italian phrases and a song. There is no doubt that he is charmed by them. For the last hour of the trip, Clara sleeps, curled up against him.
Lucy invites us in, but I decline, and I can see that Carlo is relieved. It’s one thing to get to know his half sisters and their mother; it’s another to front up to his father. Lucy does not insist. I know she understands. Susan gets Carlo’s promise that he won’t wait another few years before he visits them again.
On the short trip in the van to my apartment, I notice that he has become fidgety, fighting, I guessed, the craving for a high. We have a simple dinner and empty a whole bottle of wine, Carlo drinking the major portion of it. He withdraws to the spare room after the meal.
Tuesday, 8:00 p.m.
A Mr. Aaron Levy from Lewis Stockbrokers left a message on my answer service that he wishes to see me at their London office at my earliest convenience. Then he suggests ten o’clock on the next day, Wednesday, asking me to confirm it. I did expect to get a call from them or else I would have called them, but I’m surprised that it is so promptly. I leave a message on the receptionist’s answer phone, confirming the time.
Silvio and I have a long chat on the phone. When I mention my dilemma about what to do with Carlo while I’m at my appointment, he suggests that I bring him to the restaurant. He will take him on his shopping round.
"And what’s happening on the war path with Emilia, or has peace broken out?" I ask after thanking him.
"She is much subdued. You really must have rattled her badly. She called you a bitch and said she hopes you will make my life a misery."
"That sound like she is softening up to the twenty-thousand-euro offer. So what’s the next step?"
"I don’t know. I would have to cash in some bonds, I guess."
"No, that’s not necessary yet. You offer her a thousand and the ticket back to Italy, against a written promise that she will sign the papers for an uncontested divorce, and in turn give her a signed promise to pay another nineteen thousand, the moment the divorce has been granted."
"You’re right, otherwise she might renege once she has the money."
"And I can lend you the twenty thousand, now that my commission earnings will be unblocked by Lewis."
"That would help. Thanks."
"Shall I write up the promissory notes?"
"Would you?"
"Yes, I’ll have them ready when I see you tomorrow morning. She may well yield if she sees twenty fifty-euro notes right in front of her. You have that much cash?"
I hear his chuckle. "Yes, and I can just see her greedy eyes."
Wednesday, 9:20 a.m.
I deposit Carlo with Silvio who is ready to go on his shopping round. They take the van, rather than Silvio’s station wagon, since he has to pick up several cartons of wines and other bulky items, which would require two trips with his vehicle.
At three minutes to ten I enter the offices of Lewis Stockbrokers. At the reception desk Maggie is typing at her computer. When I stand in front of her, she looks up and rises abruptly, visibly flustered.
"Ah, Miss Walker," she addresses me formally, rather than by my first name as she did three week ago, "good morning. Mr. Levy is waiting in Mr., ah, ah, Mr. Garland’s office. Please, follow me. I will announce you."
"Maggie, I worked here for over two years. I’ve only been away for three weeks. I still know my way around. There’s no need to lead me by the hand, and I’m still Cecilia, as before," I reply, smiling.
"Ah, sorry, Miss Walk …, Cecilia, please go ahead," she stutters, turning crimson.
All heads turn as I enter the brokers’ room. My cubicle is still empty. Long rises from his chair, facing me.
"Good morning, Miss Walker," he says in a low voice. "We heard that you will be coming back."
"Morning, Edward. I hope you are well again? I heard that you had the flue a few days ago."
He flushes, averting his eyes for a moment, and then answers: "It was nothing serious, but thank you for asking."
It takes all my strength to keep a straight face. Although he implies it was nothing serious, our encounter in his penthouse must have shaken him more than he is willing to admit even to himself. He treats me with kid gloves.
One by one the brokers offer their greetings. I wonder what has happened that they suddenly display such excessive courtesy. It can hardly just have been the arres
t of Garland which clears me of any wrongdoing, nor the fact that I’ve had a major hand in it, which they would hardly know yet. Mr. Levy soon clears up the mystery.
He gets up from his chair, greeting me warmly, even shakes my hand, rather surprising coming from an American, and then invites me to sit.
"Miss Walker, first I wish to present the sincerest regrets and apology of Lewis Stockbrokers’ head office for the frivolous accusations of fraud made against you by Mr. Garland. It must have been a horrible ordeal for you to be arrested for something you didn’t do. It was a shock to all of us to learn that the very person who accused you perpetrated this insidious scam. I know that an apology cannot undo what he has done and obviously we will not accept his act of firing you."
"Thank you, sir. Lewis Stockbrokers bears no blame for what Mr. Garland did, and I hold no grudge against the firm."
"I’m glad to hear that. I have been briefed by DI Willis and also by the two senior stockbrokers of this branch of what happened and how you were deliberately and knowing misled, and the involvement of two members of Goldsax, which I hear have been sacked by Goldsax and indicted for their part in the scam. DI Willis also admitted that without your courageous private investigation the case might never have been solved, and Mr. Garland would have gotten away scot-free. So, our congratulations for the initiative and courage you have shown."
"Thank you, sir." I sense that he is leading up to something, but at this point still have no idea what it is, except that he probably wants me back as a broker.
"Miss Walker, it goes without saying that I have reinstated you as our trusted employee. I have already given instructions for freeing your commission and security portfolio and any pay due to you." He chuckles. "You may be interested in hearing that yesterday I received a phone call from a Mr. Carvaggio of Ventura Holdings. He wants us to assign you again to manage their portfolio. In fact, he insists on that. Apparently he also heard that the case was solved by your intervention. Quite remarkable."
