Authors: Donna Leon
Falling in Love (32 page)
‘Yes, he did love her,’ Flavia said with fierce agreement. ‘But Tosca didn’t love him and wants him damned. That’s what you have to convey if you want the scene to work.’ No sooner had Brunetti registered the anger in her tone than Flavia removed it and said with warm encouragement, ‘Just give it a try. Your voice can be ragged if you want it to be, so long as you convey her hatred. It might even help.’
‘My voice is never ragged,’ the other woman objected.
‘Of course not,’ Flavia said hastily, as if she wanted to waste no time commenting on the self-evident. ‘What I meant is that you can force it to sound ragged for the effect of it. Like this.’ And she showed her what to do, stopping after,
‘O, Scarpia
’.
‘What do you think?’ Flavia asked. ‘The raw quality makes her anger real. After all, she has reason to be angry.’ Hearing the way she said that, Brunetti pushed his head up to see what the source of such rage could be. Had the woman menaced her with the knife?
No, she still stood there, facing Flavia, hanging on her every word. And Flavia said, ‘Put your arms out, raise them up to Heaven, where you think God is waiting for you, and call Scarpia’s name.’ The woman remained motionless, facing Flavia, speechless.
‘Go ahead, try it. It’s scenes like this that liberate singers,’ Flavia said.
From behind her, Brunetti watched first the woman’s left arm rise and then, the knife still in her hand, the right. She stood like that, cried out, ‘
O, Scarpia, avanti a Dio
’, and turned away from what was meant to be her audience, arms reaching forward. Brunetti trembled with pity at the raw ugliness of the voice. Three years at the Conservatory, and this the result? Dear God, the pathos of it, and the terrible, terrible waste.
He closed his eyes at this thought, and when he opened them again he saw Flavia lurching to the side of the moving woman in what looked like an attempt to avoid the knife. Panicked feet seeking purchase on the narrow rampart, Flavia appeared to lose her balance, her arm passing dangerously close to the other woman’s face. Stunned, she let go of the knife, and when she saw it fall, leaned forward to catch it; the thrust of her movement, added to her weight, sent her to the edge of the false wall. Her foot tripped over it and she toppled over. Brunetti stood up, listening for the sound of her flopping on to the mattresses into which Flavia had been falling for two weeks.
Instead, after what seemed a long silence but could have been no more than a few seconds, he heard a heavy thud from well below where he could see Flavia.
Flavia stood on the wall, staring straight ahead, and then she lowered herself to the edge of the parapet and put her head between her knees. He heard footsteps running across the stage, but he ignored them and climbed the remaining steps.
He ran across the platform to her and went down on one knee. ‘Flavia, Flavia,’ he said, careful not to touch her. ‘Flavia, are you all right?’ Her shoulders heaved as she dragged breath into her lungs and shoved it out, her hands crossed over and pushing at her chest. He saw the blood running down the back of her right hand. The cut looked deep enough to leave a scar, he thought, then marvelled that he could think of such a thing at such a time.
‘Flavia, are you all right?’ – hoping there were no other cuts. ‘Flavia, I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder. All right?’
He thought she nodded. He placed his hand on her, held it there, as if to give her some contact with the rest of the world. She nodded again, and gradually her breathing slowed, but still she did not look up.
Hearing Vianello come up to them he said, ‘Call them, then go down and take a look at her.’
‘I already did,’ the Inspector said. ‘She’s dead.’
When she heard that, Flavia raised her head and looked at Brunetti. It was only then that he remembered the young man with the key, smiling at Flavia and saying he’d lower the platform with the Styrofoam panels because she hated it so much.
Behind him, he heard Vianello move off and start to make a phone call.
He removed his hand from her shoulder, and he saw her register the gesture. ‘She told me she knew where my children live,’ Flavia said.
He got to his feet and stood looking down at her. Then he put his hands under her arm and helped her to her feet.
‘Come on, we’ll walk you home,’ Brunetti said.
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