Two Women in Rome

by Elizabeth Buchan

  ‘Was that your punishment? You wouldn’t have been the first trainee priest to have an affair.’

  ‘I lost my faith.’

  ‘I should have known,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t see. Now I do.’

  ‘I have always taken care to hide it.’

  ‘And your uncle is Giuseppe Antonio?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have been stupid. I thought your uncle’s name would be Ricci. Like yours.’

  He seemed surprised. ‘He’s on my mother’s side.’

  They were silent.

  ‘This is where she died,’ was wrung from Lottie. She wanted to say: Almost certainly, she was thinking of you.

  ‘Where she died is where I felt … I feel … I must confess to you.’ He looked across the river to the opposite bank. ‘You don’t mind me doing this?’

  ‘This might sound odd,’ said Lottie, ‘but no. It helps. I’ve been living with Nina.’ She looked down at his arm, which had a paint stain on it. ‘What made you decide to tell me?’

  ‘I knew I could trust you,’ he answered.

  She absorbed the compliment. ‘Did you know she called you Leo?’

  ‘She told me that, whatever she did, she would never name me.’ They fell into step. ‘She knew the fallout if we were discovered and what it would do to my family. She also argued that absolute secrecy would give me the space to think about my future.’

  Lottie said nothing.

  ‘This is a shameful admission. I avoided reading about her murder and I never came here.’

  Grief and guilt were past masters at digging their teeth into the flesh, and she understood.

  Lottie said: ‘I was knocked off my bicycle once and woke up in hospital. I never knew what happened. Still don’t. The point is, I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Exactly that.’

  Traffic screeched on the embankment above. They passed a huge block of stone that had been dumped at the river’s edge. At its base bloomed a clump of poppies, blood-red and pink. A tangle of reeds straggled down into the water.

  The path was uneven and, in places, stony. Lottie trod carefully and was equally careful not to probe Gabriele too hard or fast.

  They walked in silence.

  ‘Nina broke it off,’ said Gabriele eventually. ‘It’s strange, but even after all these years, I have trouble saying it. At the time, I thought I would go mad. I was young and imagined all kinds of things. I thought she had met someone else …’ His laugh was bitter. ‘Imagine, I was a priest in training and I wanted to kill whoever the man was.’

  ‘But not to kill Nina?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Of course you didn’t kill her, but I suspect you think you know who did.’

  Two cyclists edged past. ‘Nina …’ The way he articulated the name suggested it was a luxury he had long denied himself. ‘I don’t know if you will understand, but I loved her so much that I ended up half deranged.’

  Ah, thought Lottie, a fellow traveller. ‘If you mean knowing what it is to be buffeted by emotions so savage you find it difficult to maintain control, then I do know.’

  ‘She was extraordinary. Not beautiful, but lovely. Lovely in herself,’ Gabriele said. ‘When I was younger, I managed to shake her memory off for long periods. It took some doing and I lost my vocation, but I refused to live as a haunted man. But these past few years … perhaps after wine … I find myself asking her ghost for forgiveness. She’s with me much more.’ He walked on for a bit. ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘Of a sort.’ She thought of the mother she had never known. Of the father she had never known. ‘I encounter them in the documents most days.’

  ‘At least your ghosts cannot accuse you of abandoning them.’

  Despair. Doubt. Disbelief. Gabriele must have become intimately acquainted with all of them throughout his long penitence. ‘You seem to blame yourself for her death, but her murder could have been a robbery or mistaken identity.’

  ‘Nina and I had caused a scandal and quite a few people got to know about it. At that time, there were disappearances and murders in the Vatican. Two young girls … you may have heard of them. One of them was known to be having a sexual relationship with a priest and it made me wonder if the Church wasn’t above exacting punishment.’

  ‘Murder?’ She was startled.

  Gabriele fiddled with his watch, the expensive one Lottie had noticed previously. ‘I wasn’t in a good state of mind. I had all sorts of wild ideas.

  ‘I found it impossible to continue.’ He glanced at Lottie. ‘That’s the irony. Nina was dead. I knew I would never feel about another woman as I had for her and the way was clear to take my vows. But I had a breakdown and was hospitalised for a short while.’ He smiled grimly.

  ‘How can I help, Gabriele?’

  ‘The footprints in the sand will have been covered over, but you have been through the papers. Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?’

  She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I think it would be better if you read them for yourself. It would be easy to arrange and you will be able to take as much time as you need.’

  He came to a halt. ‘You do know something … What is it?’

  Was she being fair? Was she being wise? Surely it was better, more honest, if he encountered Nina directly on the page?

  ‘Nina was not straightforward. All I can say is that I know nothing more than you might have suspected.’

  Gabriele gave a short laugh. ‘Dio, that’s life.’

  By now, they had traced the bend in the river and, lapped by a pearly heat haze, the dome of St Peter’s dominated the view.

  They turned back.

  ‘About your uncle,’ she said. ‘He knew about you and Nina and he always protects your interests, then and now. I bought The Annunciation to you, which you must have told him about. Yes? When he realised that I was working on Nina’s papers, he was alarmed and … I think … I think he tried to put me off the scent by making a play for The Annunciation. He was terrified that I would work out what happened.’

  ‘He was right. You did.’

  She wanted to be truthful. ‘Papers required cataloguing. I was at a loose end. It was obvious that there was something unfinished about Nina’s life and death. I confess … I … confess it really hurt me that she had had no one, and no justice …’ A faint groan issued from Gabriele. ‘What surprises me is that you weren’t put on the police list.’

  He gave a typical Italian shrug. ‘Easy. Antonio has contacts and can arrange matters. He insisted on negotiating with the police and with Bishop Dino, who was in overall charge of my seminary.’

  ‘You mean the cardinal?’ She stopped stock-still. ‘I should have known. Under any stone …’

  Gabriele smiled. ‘The Vatican is home to the humble, the saintly and the ambitious. Bishop Dino aimed to become a prince of the Church and made sure that he did so. No scandal would be permitted on his patch. The deal was that if my connection to Nina was hushed up and I agreed never to mention her, then I could remain in the seminary.’

  ‘But you left.’

  ‘In the end, I did.’

  Lottie held out the diagram of the murder scene. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ His gaze travelled over the arches of the beautiful bridge. ‘I’ve been a coward.’ He made a disparaging gesture. ‘I’ve called myself many names over the years but I never did anything. That’s what astonishes me.’ He was silent. ‘That’s what I hate about myself.’

  Lottie thought she understood all too well. Often with bad or dishonourable behaviour, her instinct was to distance herself. Or ignore it.

  They had drawn level with the starlings of the Ponte Sisto, where a crude but vivid graffiti of a she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus reared up the embankment wall.

  She looked up into Gabriele’s weary face. ‘I know exactly what you’re saying.’

  He turned his head away. ‘I need a few more minutes.’

  ‘Would it help if I tell you
something? Personal?’

  He nodded but without enthusiasm, for which she had sympathy. Dealing with the past demanded energy, and it was difficult to find extra energy for the lives of others.

  ‘Tom knows about this but not many others do. I was given away at birth.’ The old unease, the companion of her growing years, raised its head. ‘It’s something I don’t want to think about … but I often do when my defences are down. In my twenties I tried to find my parents. I discovered my father was untraceable and my mother had left instructions she was never to be contacted.’

  She now had his full attention. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I never tried again.’

  ‘Yet it’s not finished.’ He was very gentle – and she caught a glimpse of the priest he might have been. ‘It’s a primary rejection and you still carry it.’

  True.

  ‘And a cruel one.’

  ‘Discovering my mother abandoned me made me hate myself, and I saw the world as harsh and very bleak. I got over it, but there’s a stubborn part of me that still hopes that, one day, the phone will ring.’

  She had only told a few people, but the confession was more draining than usual. Perhaps it was the disquiet on Gabriele’s face – to which she was adding.

  She looked down at the path, where a millipede scurried between the cracks and a rustle suggested there was a tiny animal in the patch of reeds.

  ‘No child should grow up not knowing who they are.’

  ‘But they do. And survive. Yes, I despair easily and I’m often told off for it by the people who love me. What you call the primary rejection sits squarely at the back of my mind. It’s like a wall that is too high and too thick to get around.’

  He touched her on the shoulder. ‘Perhaps it’s useful to think that she wasn’t rejecting you but trying to preserve herself.’

  From the direction of the Trastevere a church bell sounded. Momentarily, the grip on her shoulder tightened. The bell ceased and his grip loosened. A bird landed in the water with a soft splash.

  Lottie smiled. ‘I met Tom. How lucky was that?’

  ‘And you’re making a success of it.’

  There was a short silence. ‘I hope.’ She smiled. ‘That’s what I’m trying to offer you. An affirmation, I suppose.’

  There was a further silence. The heat hammered at their temples. The brightness of the day and the vivid summer vista of river, trees, weathered stone, the chatter of the passers-by, the smell of coffee coming from the booths and occasional cigarette smoke was in direct contrast to the dark and the terror of what had happened here.

  His gaze veered past Lottie to the bridge. ‘The café closed down,’ she said. ‘It didn’t like the publicity.’

  He looked down at the diagram. A dispassionate record, dotted with measurements and figures.

  ‘Would you mind if I did this on my own?’

  ‘I’ll take a walk.’

  She passed a flood marker – a relic of the time before the embankments were constructed. Then the Tiber could, and did, rise to unprecedented levels. Today, it flowed peacefully. She stood on the riverbank and watched the swirl of water, with a cargo of flotsam, make its way to the sea.

  She glanced back. Gabriele was standing stock-still beside the towpath, staring at the ground. While she watched, he dropped down on to one knee and rested his hand on the earth.

  When she rejoined him, he looked completely done in but composed. ‘Now I have come here, I’m reluctant to leave.’

  On their way back to the Via Giulia, Gabriele talked about Nina. ‘She was a realist. I remember her saying that a vocation never really loses its grip, but the experience of sex would help me do my work because most people think about the flesh most of the time. She wasn’t shy about talking about those kinds of things.’

  Lottie liked the idea of the practical Nina.

  ‘Above all, I wanted her to say that she and I would last for ever,’ he said, ‘but she never did.’

  ‘Do you ever regret that you gave up on the priesthood?’

  He took off his sunglasses and polished a lens. ‘Yes. No. To succeed, your belief must be greater than any other thing. It has to surmount any longing for affection, for power, for people.’ He gestured to a group of students walking down the street. ‘Or for the small things. A mozzarella from your hometown, a dog at your feet, good shoes. The rewards, however, are enormous, but at a cost.’ He lifted his gaze to Lottie. ‘But, to answer your question, no I don’t.’

  ‘Gabriele, did you ever question what Nina said she was?’

  He frowned. ‘Why should I do that?’

  It wasn’t her ground to trespass over. ‘You must come into the archive and read her journal.’

  A client rang Gabriele on the mobile and she listened in to his side of the conversation. Important auctions and large sums of money were mentioned, and she grew increasingly uneasy.

  They passed a corner fountain in the shape of a dolphin.

  ‘Nina …’ Gabriele articulated her name as if he was practising how to say it. ‘Nina loved plants and wildlife. She kept a record of what we saw when we went on walks. She was generous and paid for everything because I couldn’t. But I never knew anything about her family. Except once when she told me how she used to take refuge in an orchard when things were bad at home. She spent hours observing the natural world. Didn’t I know there was a universe in just a few square inches of grass?’

  Lottie negotiated a broken paving stone. ‘From the start, you knew she was the painter of The Annunciation?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m sorry about that, too. I had never seen it before. But I took one glance. I was too poleaxed to say anything. He grimaced. Again, she was reminded of the deep, hard wounds Gabriele had suffered. ‘Apologies.’

  She thought of the anticipation and the fuss it had caused – and forgave him.

  ‘The parchment,’ he said. ‘The seminary had managed to obtain several sheets with which to restore a couple of their manuscripts. I had volunteered to work in the library. I took delivery of it and recorded one less sheet than there was. Simple.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘It was my present to her.’ He was back in the past, ‘It was a sin, but I never thought about it once.’

  A woman pushing a double buggy bore down on them and they stepped aside.

  ‘Did you never wish to marry and to have a family?’ asked Lottie. ‘After Nina, I mean some time afterwards, of course.’

  He smiled broadly – which was a first for Lottie. ‘Once. But she decided that my life would not suit her and married a cheese-shop owner on the other side of the city. I saw her from time to time. She used to give me hunks of pecorino; I think she felt guilty because she was the one who called it off. You know something? I was relieved. I’m better on my own.’

  At the entrance to the Espatriati, Gabriele kissed Lottie’s hand. It was an unexpected gesture and it touched her greatly.

  ‘You’ve been a good friend,’ he said. ‘And I trust you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m glad you came to Rome. One more thing … promise to try to knock that wall down?’

  A balance shifted in Lottie. ‘I will.’

  ‘Good.’

  Possessed by a rage to know, Lottie raced up to her office and opened the journal.

  At first, she could not locate what she felt should be there – the account of how it ended. She found it underneath a pamphlet, paper-clipped to the page, with a fuzzy black-and-white illustration of a house and garden that advertised an open-air midsummer concert to be held at the Palacrino gardens.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Rome

  3 May 1978

  AFTER THAT MOMENT IN PALACRINO, LEO VANISHED BACK INTO the seminary. We had told ourselves it was where the physical between us began and finished – the Alpha and Omega of Leo and Nina.

  The summer seemed endless. Preoccupied and fatigued, I had decided to leave Rome in August and did not plan to be back until March. I yearned to s
ay goodbye to him one last time.

  I thought it over endlessly. Selfish? Unproductive? Unprofessional?

  I gave in and invited him to my apartment. It was risky. Marta Livardo would almost certainly spot him, but, I think, I sensed that Rome and I were finished with each other and it made me reckless.

  He ranged around the bookshelves and told me he remembered every one of my books. He told me, too, that my botanical paintings were beautiful. He looked at the journal lying on the table and I know he knew that I had written about us.

  We sat at the table with the rug and drank tea in large white china cups (I persuaded him to try it with milk) and discussed how the painter’s role had evolved. In the fifteenth century the patron ordered the painter to paint the picture as he wished it. The artist of today produces what he likes and then sells it.

  It was not the moment to be at odds, to acknowledge that we had parted, or to think of our futures. That moment needed to be just as it was and filled with love.

  It was.

  Yet, tension gathered. The memory of our night in the hotel in Palacrino was between us.

  The tea had been drunk. He stood up and, for a breathless second, I thought he would move towards me.

  ‘Nina …’

  Nina …

  If he lapsed once and gave into lust, then he would be forgiven, Leo explained. Even a few times with someone who didn’t matter very much. The problem came if he gave heart and soul to another human.

  I grew angry as I picked my way through the logic. A one-night stand with some poor girl and the soul was not imperilled, I hissed at him. But a loving relationship was a ticket to hell.

  He drew himself up, which meant he towered over me, and told me it was the easiest thing to reduce things to the absurd.

  Leo was flexing his intellectual muscles, which was good. I could feel the strength gathering in him, that mental discipline, the intensity he would need. But emotion as tangled as mine was dangerously selfish. I had been foolish to get myself into this situation and now I was bitter that I had run up slap bang against his God.

  Even if his faith was as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar, I said, could he not understand the ironies of that position?