The Italian Matchmaker(98)

They heard the scuffle of feet as someone approached from the path. For a moment Romina thought it was the intruder and thanked God she was with Panfilo. Porci stared at the door expectantly. But it was Rosa’s face that appeared in the doorway, flushed from having climbed the hill.

‘Hi!’ she said. ‘I’ve come to help.’

Panfilo grinned at his daughter. ‘Good. We can always do with an extra pair of hands.’

‘Hello, Rosa, my dear,’ Romina gushed with relief. ‘I’m so pleased it is you.’

‘Hi Romina, and hello little pig!’ she exclaimed, scooping him up. Porci didn’t resist. She sat on the bed and stroked him. ‘This is the most comfortable bed ever!’ she exclaimed, a wistful smile on her face as she recalled the night before.

‘Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got work to do,’ said Panfilo

‘When are you going to photograph it?’

‘This evening,’ he replied.

‘Good,’ said Rosa, putting Porci down and following her father out into the sunlight. ‘This should be the main photograph.’

‘You haven’t seen the rest of the palazzo yet,’ protested Romina, locking the door behind her.

‘I can’t imagine anything can be as perfect as this little folly. The very bed upon which my grandmother lay with the Marchese.’

‘The very bed that catapulted her to her death,’ Panfilo added dryly.

‘Don’t spoil it! Let me enjoy the romance.’

‘There was no romance, Rosa. It was tawdry and decadent. There was nothing romantic about Valentina.’

Nanni and Fiyona deliberately stayed away from Fiorelli’s in case Alba was there. Fiyona noticed a young carabiniere chatting up a pretty local woman, his gilded epaulettes shining in the morning sunshine and his eyes hidden behind a dashing pair of dark glasses.

‘Back to London today, what a pity,’ she said, dragging on a cigarette. ‘I could get used to this life.’

‘I can’t imagine returning to Venice,’ said Nanni.

‘What’s waiting for you in Venice?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then stay.’

‘I can’t sponge off my sister indefinitely.’

‘Why not? The others do.’

‘They’ll all leave in the end.’

‘Only when they die.’

‘Incantellaria does have a certain magic.’

‘Palazzo Montelimone has a certain magic,’ she corrected. ‘The folly is something I’ll never forget.’

‘So, what are you going to write?’ Nanni asked, waving at a waiter to order another double espresso.

‘I will tell it as it is.’

‘Which is?’

‘That Romina and Bill, one of the most eccentric couples I have ever met, have built on foundations stained with blood to create a glorious home where peace and harmony co-exist with the resonance of mystery and murder. I will tell the story of Valentina and the Marchese and I will write that it is rumoured that Valentina’s brother Falco sought revenge on the Marchese and killed him, but it has never been proven and the case is closed. I will mention the possibility that he had an accomplice who has never been named.’

‘If you hadn’t offended Alba, would you name her father?’

She thought a moment. ‘No. I have a nose for sniffing out the truth and I sense Thomas Arbuckle was in on it. But while there’s doubt, there’s a chance I might make a mistake. And I don’t make mistakes.’

‘Sei brava davvero,’ he marvelled.

‘I’m not a good person. I’ve always been more intent on getting my articles right than sparing the feelings of those I write about. One forgets they’re real people. And they are real people. The least I can do is consider them when I put pen to paper. Besides, I have a soft spot for Rosa and I’m falling in love with Incantellaria. If I offend everyone I’ll never be able to come back. And you do want me to come back, don’t you, Nanni?’

Nanni recalled their encounter on the beach and felt an ache in his loins. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘You’re very sweet, Nanni,’ she laughed.

‘You don’t leave until this afternoon. What are we going to do until then?’

Her crimson lips curled into a smile. There wasn’t time to seduce the carabiniere and there was something rather endearing about Nanni. ‘Well,’ she said, leaning across the table. ‘There’s a little hotel right here in the square. We can’t possibly go back to the palazzo. We’re fugitives. Say we hide out for the morning and order room service for lunch?’

‘That, my dear Fiyona, is the best idea you’ve had all day.’