by Lyn Hamilton
"An antique shop! How lovely!" she said. "I've always wanted to do something like that."
"It would look good with the antique furniture we sell," I said. "If someone was looking for accessories and such."
"Yes, I can see that," she said. "Good idea. But he— is it a he or a she?"
"Who?" I said.
"The art student."
"It's a he." One has to be vigilant when telling tales.
"He hasn't signed it."
"Hasn't he?" I said. "You're quite right, he hasn't."
"He should. You wouldn't want to be stopped by customs," she said. "Someone who doesn't know anything about it, thinking it's an antiquity."
"That's good advice," I said. "I'll make sure he signs the others I've ordered."
"This one, too, if you can send it back to him. Isn't it illegal to even possess certain antiquities in Italy? I'm sure I read that somewhere. Or maybe it was India. In any event, you can't be too careful."
"Point taken," I said. I really wanted to scream at her to shut up, but then the phone rang.
"Hello," the familiar voice said. Lake was almost whispering. "Is that—"
"Lara McClintoch speaking," I said rather formally for both Lake and Lola's benefit.
"Look, it wasn't supposed to go this way," he said.
"No, it wasn't," I agreed. "Would you like to set a time and place for us to meet, Signore Marchese?" I said.
"Who? I see: You're not alone, are you?" he said.
"No, I'm not," I said, smiling at Lola and gesturing at the bottle, while digging a corkscrew out of my purse with my free hand.
"Have you got the chimera vase?" he asked.
"Yes, I do."
"Good. I think it's our only chance."
"I agree," I said. I'd have to tell him about Plan A.
"Where and when should we meet?" I repeated.
"Do you know Cortona?" he said.
"I know where it is, if that's what you mean. Not intimately, though."
"Do you know the Tanella di Pitagora?"
"No."
"Someone's coming. I've got to go. Meet me at the Tanella di Pitagora at seven a.m. tomorrow morning. There won't be anyone there, then. Bring it with you."
"But Signore—" The phone clicked in my ear. I had found the conversation more than a little annoying. I was going to have to get up awfully early the next morning to head out to find something called a tanella, in a town I'd never been to before, with absolutely no instructions on how to find it, or even what it was. I thought the word meant den, but that left me no wiser.
"How's the wine?" I asked, trying to sound normal.
"Really lovely," she said. "You are so kind."
"This looks nice," I said, admiring the way she'd arranged the food on paper plates on the tiny table by the window.
"Not much of a view, is it?" she said, pulling the curtain against the dull grayness outside. "My room's across the hall, but the view is much the same. No fire escape, perhaps, but another blank stone wall on the building next door. Shouldn't complain, though. The price is right. So tell me about your antique shop," she said, as we clinked glasses and sipped the wine.
I told her all about it, how I'd started the business, married Clive and then divorced him, losing the shop when I had to sell it to give him half as part of the divorce settlement. Then, how I'd bought back in, and now Clive and I were back in business together. I told her that my best friend, Moira, and Clive were now partners, a confession that made her raise her eyebrows theatrically. I told her just about everything, chattering away nervously, while I kept glancing at the chimera hydria, despite every effort not to, and starting whenever she looked at it.
"Your turn," I said finally, as I poured more wine. "What have you been doing for the last several years?" We both laughed.
"I was a secretary for many years, over twenty, actually. I suppose now one says something fancy like admin assistant, but still, I was secretary to the president of a manufacturing company. We made auto parts. I started as the receptionist and worked my way up from the typing pool."
"Good for you," I said.
"I suppose," she said. "I married very young, you see, and when it didn't work out the way it was supposed to, and I was on my own, I had to get a decent job. But it didn't turn out very well."
"How so?" My mind was racing, trying to figure out how to first of all put the chimera hydria away somewhere so neither she nor I could see it, and then to turn the conversation around to some subject that would permit me to ask directions to the Tanella in Cortona.
"Here I am, broke, and relying on the kindness of strangers. Not that you feel like a stranger, but you know what I mean. I wouldn't be drinking Rosso de Montalcino and eating prosciutto if it weren't for you."
"So what happened? Did the company go bankrupt or something?"
"No. In fact it was very, very successful. I got fired when the president died suddenly. Heart attack. His son took over, and poof, I was gone."
"That's not fair," I said.
"I suppose it sounds that way, but I got what I deserved," she said.
"Why on earth would you think you deserved that?"
She was silent for a minute. "Because," she said, "I behaved very badly. For several years that I worked for him, we were lovers. His wife was a good friend, too. Oh, I can't believe I'm telling you this," she said, putting her hand up to her mouth. "It must be the wine. You are going to think so badly of me."
"You're hardly the first secretary to find herself in that position," I shrugged. "And who's to say, anyway? Why would I judge you for that?"
"You're very generous," she said. "In more ways than one. I think my behavior was reprehensible, even if I was wildly in love with him. I feel terribly guilty about it still. Getting fired was a relief. His son called me in the first day, said he needed someone more in tune with the times to assist him, and handed me a check. I suppose his mother must have known all along. How awful for her."
"I hope you got a decent settlement, whether the son and his mother knew or not. After all, you'd worked there a long time. Over twenty years, didn't you say?"
"I gave most of it to charity," she said. "Part of my penance, I suppose."
"Isn't that rather—I don't know—Calvinist, of you?" I said.
"Calvinist." She laughed. "That's an interesting way of putting it. There are days I wish I were Catholic. Confession might help. I can't even bring myself to go to any place of worship, though. I haven't since I took up with George. That was his name: George. It seemed rather hypocritical to pray to God when I was acting the way I was."
"So how have you managed to get by, then?" I said. "Did you get another job?"
"I took a few temporary assignments. I was too old to get another permanent position."
"So how did you get from temp assignments to looking for what's his name's tomb?"
"Lars Porsena. One day, after a particularly trying assignment, I ran into an old acquaintance of mine. We were reminiscing about the summer we'd spent in Italy many years ago, working on an archaeology project at Murlo, Poggio Civitate, a great site south of Siena. We'd both signed up as volunteers on a dig being conducted by Bryn Mawr. It was the most wonderful summer of my life, I have to tell you, and suddenly I just decided to come back to Tuscany. I have some savings, and I think my Italian is good enough that I may be able to do some secretarial work from time to time. Finding the tomb of Lars Porsena was as good an excuse as any."
"And are you glad you did it?"
"You know, I am. I still get mad when I think about those louts, both of them, father and son, but when I'm out in the countryside poking around, I feel quite at peace. Telling you about it is making me angry again, though, so let's talk about something else."
"That's a remarkable story," I said. "But if you want to change the subject, I have a question for you. I've been thinking of doing some sightseeing tomorrow in Cortona. Is there anything you'd recommend I see while I'm there?"
&nbs
p; "Yes, indeed. There's a nice museum, not huge, but a lovely collection. It has a fabulous Etruscan bronze lamp."
"I was thinking more outdoors." I don't know what made me think a tanella was outdoors, but given that I was reasonably sure that the word meant den, it made sense to me that it would be.
"Cortona itself is quite wonderful. Medieval hill town. It's certainly worth many hours of wandering.
I'm into Etruscan stuff, of course, so I'm slightly biased in what I'd recommend. As is the case with most of the old Etruscan city sites, there's not much Etruscan left to be seen. There are a couple of places, though, that are quite worth seeing: I'd be sure to go to see the Meloni and the Tanella di Pitagora."
"What's that?"
"The Meloni are tombs, melon-shaped, as the name implies."
"And the Tanella?"
"It's wonderful," she said. "It's an Etruscan tomb as well, but very unusual. It's barrel-shaped and sits on a very large stone base. The roof is supported—I'm telling you more than you care to know, I'm sure."
"It sounds very interesting," I said. "Where would I find it?"
"It's not difficult to find. You take the Arezzo-Perugia road toward Cortona. It's about two kilometers from the highway, on the main road into Cortona. You just follow the signs for archaeological sites. The tanella is well marked. It's partway up the hill on the way to the old town. You can just park on the side of the road and walk up. It's not far. You're supposed to make an appointment at the museum to see it, but don't worry about that. Just follow the fence around, and you'll find a place you can crawl under without too much effort."
"I'll do that," I said, picking up the wine bottle. "There's still some wine left. I vote we finish it."
Her reply was interrupted by loud banging on a door down the hall. "What is that?" I said.
"Signora Leonard, open the door," a voice said. I turned and looked at Lola. Her face was white as a sheet, and her hands were shaking. "No, please," she said. The banging continued for a minute or so, and doors opened and slammed down the corridor, as other guests presumably looked into the hall to see what was going on. There was a pause, finally, and the sound of a door opening, then a few seconds later closing, and then footsteps in the hall, heading in our direction. Soon there was a sharp knock on my door. We both stood motionless, hoping it would go away, but then I heard the clink of keys. It was obvious if I didn't answer, they'd come in anyway. "Who's there?" I said, grabbing my bathrobe.
"Polizia," the voice replied.
"One minute, please," I said, quickly pulling off my blouse and pants and putting on the robe. I motioned Lola to get into the bathroom. She just stood there as if rooted to the ground. I scooped up the hydria from the bed and handed it to her, gave her a push, which got her going, and slowly opened the door a crack, as the bathroom door clicked shut.
"What is it?" I said. Two police officers stood at the door, one tall and thin with a rather dashing mustache, the other short and rather plump. They did not introduce themselves. Behind them, looking nervous, was the young man from the front desk.
"We are sorry to disturb you, Signora," the short one said, looking at my bathrobe and almost leering. "We're looking for Signora Leonora Leonard."
"I'm afraid you have the wrong room," I said, pulling the robe tight around me. "I believe she is staying down the hall."
"She's not there," the tall police officer said.
"Looks as if she took off without paying," the young man from the front desk said. "Clothes gone and everything." The taller man glared at the kid, who blushed.
"She was here," I said, "For a drink. But she left." I knew the kid had seen me talking to Lola and might even have heard me invite her up to the room, so denying it would be a very bad idea. Lola had, however, neglected to mention the fact that she was no longer a resident of this hotel.
"Do you mind if we have a look?" the tall one said. I opened the door and stood in front of them, but they pushed past me.
"You didn't finish your wine," the tall one said, looking at the table. Two half-full glasses of wine sat there, along with the remains of our picnic.
"No," I said. "We'd had enough."
"Good wine," he said, picking up the bottle and peering at the label. "I wouldn't waste it, if I were you. Did she mention where she was going? Signora Leonard, that is?"
"No," I said. "I'm afraid not. I just assumed she was going back to her room. I wasn't aware she'd left the hotel, and she didn't mention it. I don't really know her very well, of course. We just met this morning."
The short policeman peered into the closet, then walked over to the bathroom door and pushed it open. He looked in but didn't actually walk into the room.
"Sorry to bother you," he said at last, and the three of them left. I half expected one of them to ask me to get in touch with them if I saw her, but they didn't. I closed the door and waited as their footsteps receded down the hallway. After opening the door a crack, just to make sure they were gone, and then securely locking the door, I leaned into the bathroom.
"It's okay, Lola," I said quietly. "They've left." Silence greeted my words. I pushed back the shower curtain. No Lola. I checked behind the door. It took me a minute to realize that the window was unlatched, although it was pushed closed. I opened it and looked out onto the fire escape. No Lola there, either. I couldn't see anyone down in the alleyway below, and there was no sound except the drip of the rain and the sound of cars out on the street to the left. "If it's a money problem," I called down as quietly as I could. "I could lend you some cash to pay your hotel bill." Still no answer. I could only assume that Lola was gone. It took another minute or so to realize that the chimera hydria had gone with her.
At some point in our wine-fueled Exchange of confidences, Lola had told me that Cortona was the site of a major battle between two implacable enemies, the legions of Rome and the Carthaginian general Hannibal, who, seeking to avenge his family's earlier defeat, had done the impossible and marched on Rome from the north by crossing the Alps in the dead of winter.
Ever the clever strategist, Hannibal ambushed the Roman army, under Flaminius, in the early morning, when, as is often the case, a thick mist covered the low-lying areas at the foot of the hill on which Cortona stood. The Romans, lost in the fog, panicked, some of them to be cut down by Hannibal's troops and the Etruscans of Cortona, who came down upon them from the hilltop. Others, disoriented, fled, only to plunge into nearby Lake Trasimeno and drown.
I know exactly how the Romans felt. It was pitch dark as I left the hotel and negotiated the road between Arezzo and Cortona. A thick fog covered the road that morning, too, and from time to time headlights of oncoming cars would appear out of the haze, startling me. I missed the turnoff for the town and had to do a U-turn, a hazardous undertaking at the best of times, and almost suicidal under the circumstances, narrowly missing a collision with a red sports car heading the other way.
The mist thinned only slightly as I started up the hill toward the town. I almost passed the sign for the Ta-nella di Pitagora but caught sight of it just in time. Cautious now, and a little frightened by the isolation of the place, I drove around the next switchback before pulling the car over to the side.
I walked back to the sign for the archaeological site and followed a path up the side of the hill, moving as quietly and carefully as I could. It was still dark, just before dawn, but the sky was lightening. The Tanella, a rather odd-shaped, arched stone structure on a large stone pad, sat perched on the side of the hill, surrounded by cypresses, in a enclosure of chain-link fence. There was a gate, locked, and a bell to summon the custodian, but no one was there.
I circled the enclosure on the uphill slope so that I could see someone coming from the road below. Sure enough, as Lola had predicted, there was a place on the downhill side of the site where the fence had been pulled up, and where someone with a reasonable degree of agility could climb under and up a slight rise to the tomb.
I was several minutes early, del
iberately so, and found myself a position, a rather damp one, where I could watch the site without, I hoped, being seen, and settled down to wait. I tried not to think too much about my circumstances. I'd had pretty much the whole night to think about Lola and the vase, and what exactly it was I was going to say to Lake when he asked to see it. 'Where is it?' would be only one of the many questions for which I had no answers. For instance, how had the vase gotten in my room in the first place? Had it been delivered to the hotel and placed in my room by the staff? I went down to the desk after Lola's disappearance, but the day porter had gone home and wouldn't be back for a couple of days. Antonio himself? But why? And how had he gotten in, in the first place? The last person who had it was the unpleasant Pierre Leclerc or whatever his name was. If Lake wanted it, and Antonio had it, why didn't he just give it to him? And what about Lola in all of this? Had she just seen an opportunity and taken it, knowing, given her interest in the Etruscans, that it was real, despite my ridiculous story about the art student, or was she more actively involved in this mess?
