A Noble Radiance Part 9

'Because I love you with all my heart,' he said and handed her the gla.s.s.

'Oh, Papa' Papa' Chiara moaned. 'Only people in the movies say things like that.' Chiara moaned. 'Only people in the movies say things like that.'

'You know your father doesn't go to the movies,' Paola said.

'Then he read it in a book,' Chiara said, already losing whatever little interest she had in the sort of things grown-ups found to say to one another. 'Aren't the mushrooms done yet?'

Glad of the distraction provided by her daughter's impatience, Paola said, 'one more minute and they're done. But you've got to wait until they're cool.'

How long will that take?'

'Ten or fifteen minutes.'

Brunetti stood with his back to them, looking out of the window and off to the mountains to the north of Venice.

'Can I come back then and do it?'

'Of course.'

He heard Chiara leave the kitchen and go down the hall towards her room.

'Why did you say that?' Paola asked when she was gone.

'Because if s true,' Brunetti said, still looking out of the window.

'But why did you say it now?'

'Because I never say it' He sipped at his wine. It occurred to him to ask if she didn't believe him or if she didn't like hearing it, but he said nothing, took another sip of wine."

Before he heard her move, he felt Paola come up beside him. She wrapped her left arm around his waist and pulled herself close to him. Saying nothing, she stood beside him, looking out of the window with him. 'I can't remember the last time it was this clear. Is that the Nevegal, do you think?' she asked, raising her right hand to point to the closest of the mountains.

'That's up near Belluno, isn't it?' he asked.

'I think so, yes. Why?'

'I might have to go up there tomorrow.'

'What for?'

'They've found the Lorenzoni boy's body. Up near Belluno.'

It was a long time before she said anything. 'Oh, the poor boy. And his parents. Terrible.' After I another long pause, she asked, 'Do they know?'

'No, I have to tell them now. Before dinner.'

'Oh, Guido, why do you always have to do these awful things?'

'If other people wouldn't do awful things, I wouldn't have to, Paola.'

For an instant, he feared she would take offence at his reply, but she ignored it and leaned even closer to him. 'I don't know them, but I'm sorry for them. What a horrible thing to happen.' And he felt her grow tense as the thought came to her that it might have been her child, her son. Their son. How awful. How awful to do a thing like that. How can they?'

He had no answer to this, just as he had no answer to any of those big questions about why people committed crimes or savaged one another. He had answers only to the smaller questions. 'They do it for money.'

'All the worse' was her immediate reply. 'Oh I hope they get them' and then, as she remembered, she said, 'I hope you get them.'

So did he, he realized, surprised by the strength of his desire to find the people who had done this. But he didn't, not now, want to talk of this; instead, he wanted to answer her question about why he had said he loved her. He was not a man accustomed to speaking of his emotions, but he wanted to tell her, to bind her to him anew with the power of his words and his love. 'Paola,' he began, but before he could say anything further, she pulled herself roughly away from him, shocking him to silence.

"The mushrooms' she said, pulling the pan from the flame with one hand and opening the window with the other. And talk of love, with the mushrooms, went up in smoke.

12.

When he finished his wine, he went down the hall and knocked at Raffi's door. Hearing nothing but the continued boom boom boom of the music from inside, Brunetti pushed open the door. Raffi lay on his bed, a book open on his chest, sound asleep. Thinking of Paola, Chiara, the neighbours, and human sanity in general, Brunetti walked to the small stereo on Raffi's bookcase and turned the volume down. He looked at Raffi, who didn't move, and turned it down even more. Moving closer to the bed, he glanced at the t.i.tle of the book: Calculus. Calculus. No wonder he slept. No wonder he slept.

Chiara was in the kitchen, muttering dark threats at the pieces of ravioli which refused to maintain the shape into which she squeezed them. He said goodbye and went down the hall to Paola's study. He stuck his head inside and said, If it's necessary, we can always go over to Gianni's for a pizza.'

She glanced up from her papers. 'No matter what she does to those poor ravioli, we are going to eat every one she puts on our plates, and you are going to ask for seconds.' Before he could protest, she cut him off, pointing a threatening pencil at him. If s the first dinner she's cooked, all by herself, and it's going to be wonderful.' She saw him start to speak and cut him off again. 'Burned mushrooms, pasta that will have the consistency of wallpaper glue, and a chicken that she's chosen to marinate in soy sauce and which will consequently have the salt content of the Dead Sea.'

'You make it sound inviting.' Well, Brunetti thought, she can't do anything with the wine. 'What about Raffi? How are you going to get him to eat it?'

Don't you think he loves his little sister?' she asked with the false indignation he knew so well. Brunetti said nothing.

'All right,' Paola admitted, 'I promised him ten thousand lire if he ate everything.'

'Me too?' Brunetti asked and left.

As he walked down Rughetta towards Rialto, Brunetti realized that he felt better than at any time since his lunch with his father-in-law. He still had no idea what was bothering Paola, but the ease of their last interchange had convinced him that, whatever it was, the substratum of their marriage would survive. Up and down, up and down the bridges he walked, just as his spirits had gone up and down all day, first with the excitement of a new case, then the Count's upsetting confidence, and the peace given by Paola's confession that she had bribed their son.

To get through the interview with the Lorenzonis, he had only the hope of the dinner which awaited him, yet how willingly he would have eaten a month of Chiara's dinners, if he could have avoided being the bearer of grief and misery once again.

The palazzo palazzo was near the Municipio, though he had to cut past the Cinema Rossini and come back towards the Grand Ca.n.a.l to get to it. He paused for a moment on Ponte del Teatro and studied the rebuilt foundations of the buildings that lined the ca.n.a.l on either side. When he was a boy, the ca.n.a.ls had undergone a perpetual process of cleaning, and the waters were kept so clear that people could swim in them. Now, the cleaning of a ca.n.a.l was a major event, so rare that it was greeted with headlines and talk of good city management. And contact with their waters was an experience many people might choose not to survive. was near the Municipio, though he had to cut past the Cinema Rossini and come back towards the Grand Ca.n.a.l to get to it. He paused for a moment on Ponte del Teatro and studied the rebuilt foundations of the buildings that lined the ca.n.a.l on either side. When he was a boy, the ca.n.a.ls had undergone a perpetual process of cleaning, and the waters were kept so clear that people could swim in them. Now, the cleaning of a ca.n.a.l was a major event, so rare that it was greeted with headlines and talk of good city management. And contact with their waters was an experience many people might choose not to survive.

When he found the palazzo, palazzo, a looming four-storey building whose front windows looked out over the Grand Ca.n.a.l, he rang the bell, waited a minute, then rang it again. A man's voice came through the intercom, 'Cornmissario Brunetti?' a looming four-storey building whose front windows looked out over the Grand Ca.n.a.l, he rang the bell, waited a minute, then rang it again. A man's voice came through the intercom, 'Cornmissario Brunetti?'

'Yes.'

'Please come in,' the voice said, and the door snapped open. Brunetti walked through and found himself in a garden far larger than he would have expected to see in this part of the city. Only the most wealthy could have afforded to build their palazzo palazzo around so much empty s.p.a.ce, and only descendants of equal wealth could continue to maintain it around so much empty s.p.a.ce, and only descendants of equal wealth could continue to maintain it 'Up here' a voice called from a door at the top of a flight of stairs to his left He turned and started to climb. At the top waited a young man in a double-breasted blue suit. He had dark brown hair with a p.r.o.nounced widow's peak, which he attempted to hide by brus.h.i.+ng his hair across his forehead. As Brunetti approached, he extended his hand and said, 'Good evening, Commissario. I'm Maurizio Lorenzoni. My uncle and aunt expect you' His grip was one of those limp contacts which always left Brunetti wanting to wipe his palm on his trousers, but it was offset by the young man's glance, which was direct and even. 'Have you spoken to Dottore Urbani?' As neat a way of asking as Brunetti could imagine.

'Yes, we have, and I'm afraid the identification has been confirmed. It's your cousin, Roberto'

There can't be any question?' he asked in a voice that already knew the answer.

'No. None'

The young man jammed his fists into the pockets of his jacket and pressed down, pulling the jacket forward on his shoulders. 'This will kill them. I don't know what my aunt will do'

'I'm sorry' Brunetti said, meaning it 'Would it be better if you told them?'

'I don't think I could do that' Maurizio answered, eyes on the ground. don't think I could do that' Maurizio answered, eyes on the ground.

In all the years he had been bearing news like this to the families of the slain, he had never encountered a person who was willing to do it for him. 'Do they know I'm here? Who I am?'

The young man nodded and looked up. 'I 'I had to tell them. So they know what to expect. But if s.. ' Brunetti finished the sentence for him: 'It's different to expect and then to have it confirmed. Perhaps you could take me to your aunt and uncle' The young man turned and led Brunetti into the building, leaving the door open behind them. Brunetti stepped back and closed it, but the young man didn't notice. He led Brunetti down a marble-floored corridor to an immense pair of walnut doors. Without knocking, he pushed them open and stepped back to allow Brunetti to go into the room before him. had to tell them. So they know what to expect. But if s.. ' Brunetti finished the sentence for him: 'It's different to expect and then to have it confirmed. Perhaps you could take me to your aunt and uncle' The young man turned and led Brunetti into the building, leaving the door open behind them. Brunetti stepped back and closed it, but the young man didn't notice. He led Brunetti down a marble-floored corridor to an immense pair of walnut doors. Without knocking, he pushed them open and stepped back to allow Brunetti to go into the room before him.

Brunetti recognized the Count from photos he had seen of him: the silver hair, the erect posture, and the square jaw that he must have long since tired of hearing compared to Mussolini's. Although Brunetti knew the Count to be in his late fifties, the air of vibrant masculinity that emanated from him created the aura of a man almost a decade younger. The Count stood in front of a large fireplace, staring down at the spray of dried flowers that filled it, but turned to look at Brunetti when he came in.

Dwarfed by the armchair in which she huddled, a sparrow-like woman stared across at Brunetti as though he were the devil come to take her soul away. As indeed he had, Brunetti thought, filled with sudden pity by the sight of the thin hands nervously folded in her lap. Although the Countess was younger than her husband, the agony of the last two years had drained all youth and all hope from her and left behind an old woman who might more easily have been the Count's mother than his wife. Brunetti knew she had been one of the great beauties of the city: certainly the elegant bones of her face were still perfect. But there was little other than bone visible in her face.

Even before her husband could speak, she asked, voice so soft it would have been lost in the room had it not been the only sound, 'Are you the policeman?'

'Yes, Contessa, I am.'

The Count came forward from the fireplace then and extended his hand to Brunetti. His grasp was as firm as his nephew's was limp, forcing Brunetti's fingers against one another. 'Good evening, Commissario. Excuse me if I don't offer you something to drink. I think you'll understand.' His voice was deep but surprisingly soft, almost as soft as his wife's had been.

'I bring you the worst of news, Signor Conte' Brunetti said.

'Roberto?'

'Yes. He's dead. His body has been found near Belluno.'

From across the room, the boy's mother asked, 'Are you sure?' Brunetti looked towards her and was amazed to see that she appeared to have grown even smaller in the few moments that had pa.s.sed, sat even more deeply huddled between the two tall wings of the chair.

'Yes, Contessa. We've shown X-rays of his teeth to his dentist, and he confirms that they are the same as Roberto's'

'X-rays?' she asked. 'What about his body? Hasn't anyone identified it?'

'Cornelia,' her husband said softly, 'let him finish, and then we can ask questions.'

'I want to know about his body, Ludovico. I want to know about my baby'

Brunetti turned his attention back to the Count, looking for a sign that he should proceed, and how. The Count nodded at Brunetti, who continued, 'He was buried in a field. It looks like he's been there for some time, more than a year.' He stopped, hoping that they would understand what happened to a body in a year under the earth and not make him have to tell them.

'But why the X-rays?' the Contessa demanded. Like so many people Brunetti had encountered in the same circ.u.mstances, there were things she did not want to understand.

Before Brunetti could mention the ring, the Count interrupted, looking across at his wife. 'It means that the body has deteriorated, Cornelia, and they have to identify it that way.'

Brunetti, who was watching the Countess as her husband spoke, saw the instant when his explanation penetrated whatever defences she had left. Perhaps it was the word 'deteriorated' that did it; whatever it was, at the moment when she understood, she put her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, either in prayer or protest. The Belluno police would give them the ring, Brunetti knew, and so he spared himself the pain of telling them about it.

The Count turned away from Brunetti and redirected his attention to the flowers in the fireplace. For a long time, no one in the room said anything, until finally the Count asked, not looking at Brunetti, 'When can we have him back?'

'You'll have to contact the authorities in Belluno, sir, but I'm sure they'll do whatever you want'

'How do I contact them?'

'If you call the Questura in Belluno,' Brunetti started to say but then offered, 1 can do it for you. Perhaps it would be easier that way.'

Maurizio, who had been silent through all of this, interrupted, addressing the Count, 'I'll do it, Zio' Zio' Catching Brunetti's eye, he nodded towards the door, but Brunetti ignored him. Catching Brunetti's eye, he nodded towards the door, but Brunetti ignored him.

'Signor Conte, as soon as possible, I'd like to speak to you about the original kidnapping'

'Not now,' the Count said, still not looking at him.

'I realize how terrible this is, sir,' Brunetti said, 'But I will need to talk to you.'

'You'll talk to me when I please, Commissario, and not before' the Count said, still not bothering take his eyes from the contemplation of the flowers.

In the silence created by this, Maurizio moved away from the door and went over to his aunt's chair. He bent down and placed a hand briefly on her shoulder. Straightening, he said. 'I'll show you out, Commissario.'

Brunetti followed him from the room. In the hall, he told the young man how to go about reaching the people in Belluno who would see to releasing Roberto's body and returning it to Venice. Brunetti did not ask him when he might speak to Count Ludovico again.

13.

The dinner, when they finally sat down to eat it, lived up to his every expectation, which fact he bore with a stoicism that would have done credit to his favourite Roman writers. He both asked for and ate a second helping of ravioli, covered in something he thought had once been b.u.t.ter, charred sage leaves mashed about in its midst. The chicken was as salty as threatened, so much so that he found himself opening a third bottle of mineral water before the meal was finished. For once, Paola said nothing When he opened a second bottle of wine and did more than her fair share to help him finish it.

'What's for dessert?' he asked, earning the most tender look he'd seen on Paola's face in weeks.

'I didn't have time to make anything,' Chiara said, failing to see the look that pa.s.sed among the other three people at the table. No doubt the Dormer Party had exchanged such a glance at hearing the first calls of the men come to rescue them.

'I think there's still some gelato' gelato' Raffi volunteered, living up to his part of the bargain with his mother. Raffi volunteered, living up to his part of the bargain with his mother.

'No, I finished it this afternoon,' Chiara confessed.

'Would you two like to go over to Campo Santa Margarita and get some more?' Paola asked. 'And bring it back here?'

'But what about the dishes, Mamma?' Mamma?' Chiara asked. 'You said because I cooked dinner, Raffi had to do them.' Chiara asked. 'You said because I cooked dinner, Raffi had to do them.'

Even before Raffi could protest, Paola said, If you two will go and get the ice cream, I'll do the dishes.' Amidst their shouted acceptance, Brunetti took out his wallet and handed Raffi twenty thousand lire. They left, already negotiating over flavours.

Paola got up from the table and started to gather the plates. 'You think you'll survive?' she asked.

'If I can drink another litre of water before we go to bed, and if I get to keep a bottle by the bed tonight.'

'Pretty dreadful, wasn't it?' Paola conceded.