The Italian Matchmaker(92)

‘What was it about?’

‘Francesco.’





26



Nanni and Fiyona followed Caradoc’s instructions and sat on a bench in the square outside the church. The sun shone, birds twittered in the trees or hopped on to the grass to peck at crumbs left for them by small children, and the church bell summoned people to Mass. Elderly men and women dressed in black surfaced in the square like crabs crawling out of crevices in rock, their heads covered with black hats or veils, their rosary beads rattling in their pockets. Young couples walked briskly across the square with their children, little girls in their best dresses, little boys scrubbed clean. It seemed the whole town emptied into the church. Everything was closed but for the hotel, outside which a couple of American tourists waited for a taxi with cameras slung over their shoulders, peering at a guidebook of Southern Italy.

Fiyona and Nanni waited like a pair of hyenas. With Fiyona, Nanni was transformed. He felt virile and sexy. He displayed his large belly and smoked a cigar. Fiyona seemed rather more interested in the young men, so dark and handsome with their Latin air of insouciance that so excited her. She couldn’t help but smile at them and they smiled back, instantly recognising the availability in her eyes, like an ‘open’ sign hanging in a shop window.

She put a cigarette between her lips and lit it, letting the smoke dribble out through the side of her mouth. ‘This town is full of old people,’ she said. ‘They must all know something.’

‘We have to find the right person,’ Nanni replied. ‘Few will want to talk. People from the south are cagey.’

‘Nothing cagey about the young,’ she said, thinking of Fiero and their shameless flirting the night before.

‘The young didn’t live through the war.’

‘Did your sister know about its history when she bought the place?’

‘They fell in love with the palazzo. The history didn’t interest them.’

‘It does now.’

‘It interests everyone now.’ He flicked ash on to the ground.

‘So she doesn’t mind that an old man was murdered in her home?’

‘Why should she? It happened long ago.’

‘I wonder what Alba and her family think of your sister renovating it?’

‘If Alba minded that much she wouldn’t have chosen to live here. Besides, she never knew her mother. Valentina died when she was a baby.’

‘But her uncle was a murderer.’

‘He took revenge on his sister’s death.’

‘Still a murderer. I’m sure she’d rather the whole episode was forgotten.’

‘Don’t forget, Falco was never charged with the murder. The police believed it was the mafia. The case is closed.’

‘Just Falco on his own, or did he have an accomplice?’ She remembered Rosa’s slip of the tongue.

‘How many people does it take to kill a marquis?’ Nanni chuckled. ‘Perhaps there were three, who knows?’

‘But I want to know,’ she said with emphasis. ‘I like to get the facts right. That’s what makes me a good journalist.’

‘I suppose that is an advantage. Most journalists I know make it up!’

After Mass the town filed out and dispersed. Fiyona scanned the herd of faces, even attempted to speak to one or two, but they looked at her in horror and shuffled away, muttering under their breath.

‘This isn’t going to be easy.’

‘I told you, no one wants to talk to a stranger.’

‘Then how did your nephew manage it?’ She made another unsuccessful attempt, then saw a face she recognised. ‘Rosa!’ She caught the young woman’s eye and waved.

Rosa broke away from her family. ‘Hello, Fiyona. What are you doing here?’

‘Mass,’ Fiyona replied. Rosa raised her eyebrows. ‘This is Nanni, Romina’s brother.’ Rosa shook his hand. ‘Are those your children?’ Fiyona asked as Rosa’s family caught up with her.

‘Yes, and my husband Eugenio. My father, Panfilo and my uncle Toto, his wife, Paola and his mother, Beata.’

‘You have a big family,’ said Fiyona, smiling her warmest smile.

‘You haven’t met the half of it!’ laughed Rosa. ‘We take up most of the church.’

‘Do you live here in town?’ Fiyona asked.

‘Just outside. In the very house that Valentina lived in,’ she hissed so that Beata wouldn’t overhear.

‘Dressed up like that you look even more like her.’ Fiyona flattered her.

‘Would you like to come for a drink?’

‘I would love to,’ Fiyona replied. ‘Could I bring Nanni?’

‘Of course.’ Rosa turned to her father. ‘I’ve asked them home for a drink.’ Panfilo’s face clouded. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Papà! My mother’s shy of the palazzo,’ she explained.