‘Not yet.’
‘But you said you’d lie in wait and catch the intruder,’ Romina cried. ‘I’m almost too frightened to go in there now and it’s my favourite place in the world!’
‘Perhaps you ought to involve the police,’ Stephanie suggested.
‘What do you expect them to do? Guard the place?’ said Romina. ‘They’re hopeless! No, Luca. You’re going to catch her. You haven’t got a job at the moment, so that will be your challenge. Whoever left that scarf, I want her out!’
After lunch, Luca took Dennis and Stephanie down to the folly while Coco and Juno drew pictures in the shade with their grandmother. He explained the history of the palazzo and the mystery intruder as they walked through the garden. ‘I think I have an idea who it might be, but I’m keeping quiet until I’m sure.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’ asked Stephanie.
‘I’m not sure but I think I need to set a trap.’
‘A rat trap to catch the rat,’ said Dennis. ‘In which case you require a large piece of cheese.’
‘Precisely.’ Luca unlocked the door, disappointed to see that the bed was as smooth as his mother had left it the day before. ‘No one’s been sleeping in my bed,’ he said in a deep, bear-like voice.
‘Oh my goodness!’ exclaimed Stephanie. ‘This is the most exquisite place I have ever seen.’ She wandered around marvelling at all the details. ‘It’s like a little love-nest. I can see why someone wants to come and sleep in here. It’s enchanting!’
‘The Marchese was a murderer,’ said Dennis.
‘But he murdered for love,’ said Stephanie, running her hand over the smooth marble replica of Donatello’s David. ‘Imagine, the woman you love and believe to be an innocent, country girl is having an affair with a dangerous mafia boss. It’s so romantic.’
‘Why didn’t he just kill the mafia boss?’
‘You always hurt the one you love,’ sang Luca. ‘The one you shouldn’t hurt at all.’ He sounded just like the professor.
‘Well, I don’t blame the woman who comes in here,’ said Stephanie. ‘Only it’s a little sad to lie here on her own.’
‘A little sad,’ Luca repeated slowly, scratching his chin. ‘You’re right. The woman who lies here is desperately sad. She comes here to feel close to someone.’ He was struck by an idea. ‘Or because she’s mourning someone.’
His heart began to race.
Alba.
18
Romina was so alarmed at the thought of an intruder stealing into her folly that she eventually decided to report the break-in to the police. She found the police station on the square, a shabby building with three steps leading up to doors made of sturdy wood. Inside, the air was stale with tobacco and sweat. She crossed the room to the reception desk, littered with papers and magazines, and waited for someone to help her. The office itself was empty, but a couple of carabinieri loitered around the entrance, discussing mothers-in-law with loud guffaws, dropping ash on to the floor.
Romina was not one to be kept waiting. She tapped her fingers on the desk and exclaimed in a very loud voice: ‘Is anyone going to help me or do I have to cry murder?’
The two carabinieri stopped chatting and turned to the woman. They swiftly looked her over, took in the expensive jewellery and clothes, and deduced that this was a lady used to getting what she wanted.
Eugenio murmured to his friend, ‘I’ll go.’ The other man pulled a face as if to say ‘on your head be it’, and made himself scarce. ‘Signora, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,’ he said, trying to restore credibility.
Romina swept her eyes over his creased blue uniform and fancy epaulettes. ‘There is obviously not a great deal of crime in Incantellaria,’ she commented disdainfully.
‘It’s quiet today, thank God,’ Eugenio replied. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
‘Yes, please,’ she replied, following him to a worn leather sofa and sitting down. Eugenio sat opposite in an armchair.
‘How can I help you?’ he asked.
‘My name is Signora Chancellor. I own the palazzo,’ she began. Eugenio sat up straight. ‘That’s woken you up.’
‘Palazzo Montelimone.’
‘The very same.’
‘I haven’t been up there for years,’ he muttered.
‘Well, that rules you out of our inquiry then.’
‘Inquiry?’
‘We have an intruder, Inspector . . . ?’
‘Inspector Amato,’ said Eugenio. The conversation was running away from him. ‘What sort of intruder?’