Liquid Desires (11 page)

“If you think my problems are over now, you're sadly mistaken,
caro
,” she said, looking straight ahead along the line of neatly clipped yews. “However Flavia died—suicide, accident, or God forbid! murder—I feel responsible. How can I not? One minute she's all wrought up and desperate for me to accept that Alvise is her father, and the next she's dead. All night I've been tortured thinking about her and worrying about myself, and about what it means to me now that she's dead. The burden hasn't been doubled. It's been tripled, quadrupled! I don't know if I can bear it.”

Despite her distress, however, the Contessa didn't hesitate when they reached a junction but went to the left and almost immediately to the right. All they could see above the hedges were the upper stories of La Muta, the clear blue sky, and the top of the viewing tower in the center.

The Contessa stopped and looked at Urbino.

“She
can't
have been Alvise's daughter! I've searched through all my records from my conservatory days, but I didn't find the Brollo name anywhere. And as for Violetta Grespi—or Violetta Volpi as she is now—I'm almost convinced she must be related in some way to Flavia Brollo's mother. Sharing the Grespi name would be too much of a coincidence. Well, whether she's related to Flavia Brollo's mother or not, Violetta Volpi could give me back my peace of mind. Of course, if she
does
say that Alvise was Flavia's father, how will I know whether she's being spiteful by lying or being spiteful by telling the truth? Oh, it's impossible!”

“The truth is what you want, Barbara, no matter what it is.”

Urbino didn't toss this out lightly. The Contessa was a highly moral though not at all moralistic woman. She prided herself on doing what was right and facing things squarely.

“And don't worry. We'll recognize the truth when we hear it,” Urbino assured her with more conviction than he felt as they resumed their slow pace. “What's much more important is how Flavia died. If she committed suicide, it's going to be a hard blow. There's going to be regret and guilt. But if Flavia was murdered, it's not going to be any better—”

“‘Better'!” the Contessa repeated. “They're equal evils as far as I'm concerned.”

“But if she was murdered, Barbara, it could have been because of Alvise in some way, and we
have
to know.” The Contessa's gray eyes widened in fear. Urbino squeezed her arm gently. “But things should be clearer tomorrow after Zavarella hands in his report.”

They were on a long, curving stretch now with several alternate passages to their right but the Contessa ignored them.

“I'm depending on you more than ever before. Do what you have to do. After poor Flavia's outburst at Florian's, there's no way that her accusation about Alvise is going to be kept a secret. It might even be better this way. It won't seem as if I have anything to hide. People might be more willing to tell you the truth—and if there
is
a relationship between her death and Alvise you'll be in the best position to find out and help the police. You've proven so good at it in the past,” the Contessa added, giving him a brave little smile.

They had reached a spiral junction, one of several in the maze. The Contessa came to a halt, but not because she had lost her way and was tempted to read one of the covered signs that said
LIFT IF LOST
in three languages. She was looking at Urbino in dismay.

“Am I being a fool? Should I just let it go? Fidelity leaves nothing behind but a clean sheet—a clean
page
,” she corrected herself quickly, “but infidelity—betrayal—that's something else entirely, isn't it? A person can always find proof of that—or something that looks enough like it. I have to keep my two feet squarely on the ground. If I don't I'm lost, absolutely lost!”

She looked around her with a slightly bewildered expression, as if illustrating just how lost she could become. As if to compensate, she turned down one of the paths with an almost aggressive quickening of her stride.

“But now that poor Flavia is dead—possibly murdered—there's no way that Alvise and I aren't going to be dragged into things whether I want it or not. There's absolutely no way I
can
let it go, is there,
caro?
”

They were such good and close friends that their silences were almost as communicative as their conversations. The Contessa leaned more heavily on Urbino as the minutes passed, but she continued along the gravel path without the slightest hesitation. After more twists and turns, the marble bench at the center appeared. Behind it were rose bushes, the viewing tower, and a classical statue of a nymph—Alvise's gift to his wife during the summer of the maze.

As Urbino sat next to the Contessa on the bench and opened the hamper with the sandwiches, chilled wine, and mineral water, a shout floated down to them from the tower.

“Hey, you two! I'm up here!”

It was Eugene, whom they assumed hadn't yet returned from his trip into town. Urbino and the Contessa looked up at the tower. Eugene's round, flushed face smiled down at them.

“It took you two a mighty long time to get through! I was watchin' you all the way. Mind if I join you?”

“Please do, Mr. Hennepin. We're having a little repast.”

“‘Repast'! I love the way you Countesses talk. I'll be down in a jiff.”

His head disappeared. Footsteps clattered down the staircase.

“I like your ex—brother-in-law,
caro
. He's so—so”—she searched for a word to do the man justice—“so
primitif
, in the best sense. He doesn't seem to think before he speaks. It's absolutely delightful! I find him charming.”

“Charming?”

“Are you jealous? Or are you worried that this charming man is going to tell me all the secrets about you and Evangeline that you've hugged so close all these years? Don't begrudge me what little pleasure I can find right now!”

Eugene burst through the Gothic-arched opening.

“Sorry to barge in on your little ‘repast' like this, Countess, but I wouldn't want you to think I was spyin' on you from up there.”

“Please call me Barbara.”

“How about Countess Barbara? You can call me Eugene. You've got a mighty fine contraption here—and thank the Lord you had the good sense to put up those signs. They should have them in Venice instead of the ones pointin' in two different directions with the same name! I walked through lickety-split. You were just pokin' along. Why, thank you, Urbino, don't mind if I do have a bit of wine, but I'll hold back on a sandwich. Now you two just pretend I'm not here and go right on with your confab. I won't pay you no mind.”

But no sooner did he say this than he reached into his pocket and took out a list on which he had written everything he had bought so far in Venice. For the next hour, there at the center of the maze, he solicited the Contessa's advice about what other things he should invest in. The Contessa gave every appearance of being interested.

2

During dinner a large unoccupied part of the Contessa was waiting for Oriana's call. So conversationally expansive, however, was Eugene that an observer less attuned to the Contessa than Urbino might have thought that her attention was completely captivated.

“Urbino was always a mite strange,” Eugene was saying now as he sat in full possession of a Louis Quinze armchair in the
salotto verde
. “How could he help it? No brothers and sisters, and only a meager sprinklin' of great-aunts and cousins in the whole wide world! Practically an orphan even before his poor momma and poppa were killed in the car crash. You'd think someone with hardly any kin would want a passel of kids of his own, but Evangeline and him, they never had none. You might have had a son, Urbino. Maybe he would have grown up to work in the Hennepin business even if you never wanted to, not that I ever faulted you. You know I was on your side.”

Urbino, who had never regretted being the only child of two only children and who had never wanted to be part of a large, potentially smothering family, said nothing.

“Your sister has a lovely name, Eugene,” the Contessa said, giving Urbino a secret little smile from the Brustolon sofa. Behind her on the wall was her collection of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century fans from Venice, Spain, France, and England, which, for Urbino, always seemed to whisper back the questionable conversations they had masked in a long-gone era.

“We call her Evie most times,” Eugene said proudly, “but Urbino always called her Evangeline.”

“I believe she's remarried since she and Urbino divorced, hasn't she?”

“Married to our cousin Reid—our
second
cousin,” he emphasized, “but things don't look too good for them now. Evie's cuttin' loose. Says it'll be better for little Randall in the long run.”

“Little Randall?”

“Evie and Reid's son—nearin' on ten, he is. Evie misses him something terrible. She still has a few more things she wants to do here”—he looked meaningfully at Urbino—“but she'll be happy enough to head on back home if the plane'll take all the duds she's been buyin'!”

“Do you mean your sister is here in Venice, Eugene? Urbino didn't tell me that.”

“No, not here in Venice, Countess Barbara. She's hangin around Florence, goin' to all the museums and buyin' up half the town. She'd
like
to come to Venice, but we'll have to see about that. I'm givin' her a call tomorrow.”

“Please tell your sister Evangeline that if she does decide to come, I'd be happy to show her around. It would be delightful to do the museums and shops with her. Just say that I'm a good friend of Urbino—unless she wouldn't think that was a favorable recommendation.”

The Contessa laughed lightly and even, Urbino was not a little surprised to see, nervously.

“What I meant was that, since she and Urbino are divorced, she might—”

“Oh, she doesn't have anything against Urbino! She only says the nicest things about him. Sometimes I try to get her to say something bad, just for a hoot. I'll say something like, ‘Well, Evie, what do you think Urbino is up to in that palace of his over in Venice? Whyever did he sell that big place on Prytania and want to live in a tiny run-down building?' And to think it's called a palace! Why it's called a palace is beyond me. But when I saw your palace on the Grand Canal, Countess Barbara, Urbino said it was only called a house! Everything seems upside down in Venice!”

Urbino, who had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable, started to explain again why the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini was referred to as a “casa” in Venetian usage instead of a “palazzo.” Eugene and the Contessa listened patiently, but they seemed to consider his explanation a somewhat unwelcome digression from a much more interesting topic.

“So, Eugene, how does Evangeline respond when you say such things about Urbino?”

“Oh, she defends him, Countess Barbara. Yes, she certainly does.” Eugene nodded his head vigorously. “She says that he was always a reserved kind of guy. It was one of the things that took her fancy. ‘He don't mind bein' by himself, Genie. He likes his peace and quiet there. Venice is the perfect place for him—all that water and fog.' Wait until I tell her that we found a body floatin' in the Grand Canal and that Urbino knew the girl! That'll shoot to smithereens her idea that it's peaceful and quiet here. From what I hear tell there've been a good number of bodies around ever since Urbino turned his back on his own country.”

Eugene laughed, then took a sip of his scotch.

When the telephone sounded from across the hall, the Contessa glanced nervously at Urbino. Rosa, the Contessa's maid, came in.

“It's Signor Occhipinti, Contessa.”

A look of disappointment, then one of relief, passed in rapid succession over the Contessa's face.

“Countess Barbara's real nice,” Eugene said when she left. “Nothing airish and biggity about her at all. And she's a good looker for someone her age. I noticed you kind of squirmin' before. If you don't want me sayin' anything about you and Evie, I'll keep my trap shut.”

Urbino, knowing that putting a gag on Eugene was impossible, told him that he didn't have any secrets from the Contessa.

“A new one on me, Urbino—you not havin' secrets! Your mouth has always been shut tight! I don't even think Evie was able to pry any secrets from you, though she pretends she did just to keep me wonderin'.”

Fortunately Evangeline, even though she shared a lot of qualities with her brother, was far less garrulous and a lot more discreet.

“I can tell that Countess Barbara is curious about you. You must be keepin' her pretty hungry. Maybe I should—”

What Eugene was threatening—or offering—was lost when he cut himself off as the Contessa reappeared.

“Silvestro will be stopping by. He seems upset about something. He just got back from Venice. He was there for a few days on business at the Ca' Rezzonico. Milo's gone to collect him with the car.”

“I've been meanin' to ask you, Countess Barbara. It's obvious that you're not hurtin' for money, if you don't mind my sayin' so. You got this big spread here and that huge marble palace in Venice. Then there's the Bentley and, from what Urbino tells me, a motorboat, but why didn't you ever get around to buyin' yourself a fancy gondola?”

Urbino enjoyed the momentarily helpless look on the Contessa's face. Perhaps she was beginning to see that even if Eugene was, in his fashion, “charming,” he could also be more than a little disconcerting.

“Quite frankly, Eugene, I would love to have one.”

“What's holdin' you back?”

“Well, it's just that going around in a gondola, pleasurable though it would be, might be considered rather affected. It would seem—”