Liquid Desires (12 page)

“Ha! Ha! You surprise me, Countess Barbara! A fine woman like you concerned with what the neighbors think! Well, as the Good Book says, I'm a stranger in a strange land here. I'm sure you know what you're talkin' about. But you aren't even Italian yourself! You're a foreigner like that Guggenheim gal—and
she
had a gondola.
She
didn't care what the neighbors thought!”

“No, she certainly didn't,” the Contessa agreed. She poured out more tea for herself. “Eugene, I wonder if you have a photograph of your sister Evangeline.”

“I certainly do. I got pictures of just about all the Hennepins—at least the immediate family, and that's close to a double dozen.”

Eugene reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out a thick wallet. Opening it, he extracted a photograph from one of numerous plastic envelopes.

“Here's our Evie, Countess Barbara.”

The Contessa took the photograph. It was Evangeline's engagement photograph that had appeared in the
Times-Picayune
more than fifteen years ago.

“Why she's absolutely exquisite. What beautiful dark hair—and such beautiful eyes. What color are they?”

“Light green, almost like a cat's, and skin like magnolia. Everybody used to say she looked just like Scarlett O'Hara—and Evie wasn't one to disagree. That picture's a tad old, but she doesn't look much different now. She's the kind of woman who's agin' right well—just like yourself, Countess Barbara, though Evie's a whole lot younger.”

The Contessa looked up from the photograph at Urbino. He hoped she couldn't see the smile he was trying to curb.

“But Evie
has
changed,” Eugene went on. He looked directly at Urbino as he explained. “Not physically, but she's changed—yes, she certainly has. Evie's become a sweet, lovin', stable woman.”

The Contessa exchanged a quick glance with Urbino. Was she thinking of the antonyms to Eugene's “sweet, lovin', and stable,” or was she only now beginning to realize what might be behind Eugene's praise of his sister?

“Well, Eugene, you just tell this lovely young woman that she's welcome here or at the Ca' da Capo whenever she decides to come,” the Contessa said, handing back the photograph. “You can tell her that I'm your new friend.”

“Oh, she already knows who
you
are, Countess Barbara! Urbino's great-aunts told her years ago that he was fast friends with an honest-to-goodness Countess!”

“I'm happy to hear that, Eugene,” the Contessa said, although her expression clearly showed less pleasure than bemusement. She reached over and patted Urbino's hand. “How sweet to let me indulge my understandable curiosity with your charming ex—brother-in-law, Urbino. You see, Eugene, you're the first person from Urbino's past I've ever met.”

“‘Past'?” Eugene frowned with evident displeasure. “I don't think of myself as bein' part of his
past
, ma'am. You don't know nothin' about us Hennepins—and you don't know nothin' about
Southerners
—if you think that just because the water's gone down the river it's still not flowin' as strongly as it ever did! Urbino might be holed up in his poor excuse of a palace but he can't escape.”

Eugene was prevented from going into more detail by the ringing of the telephone. This time it was for Urbino. The Contessa looked at him anxiously as he left the
salotto
.

“Urbino!” Oriana Borelli said huskily over the line. “I thought it best to ask for you. How's Barbara holding up? I'm afraid I have bad news. Filippo's old nurse, Graziella Gnocato, told me that Regina Grespi Brollo and Violetta Volpi
were
sisters. It came as a surprise to me, but neither Barbara nor I knew Regina Grespi. She was away from Venice a lot, staying in sanatariums around Milan and in Switzerland. Graziella looked after Regina for periods of time after Regina married—in fact, one of them was right before she died. It seems that Regina got all the beauty in the family—something I'm sure Violetta resented, not being anywhere near a beauty—but not much of the luck. She ended up drowning herself at Lago di Garda about ten years ago. Graziella is an invalid now herself, living in a dismal flat in Santa Marta, poor thing, and looked after by her niece. Tell Barbara I'm devastated that there's this connection between the dead girl and herself, but maybe it's not as bad as it looks. I've got to run.”

When Urbino went back to the
salotto
, the Contessa turned worried eyes to him. Eugene was in the middle of lamenting that he hadn't found very much to buy in Asolo in his brief foray into town before dinner except for villas.

“I got to admit I was tempted. Kind of shocked me at first when I saw all those millions of lire, but it doesn't amount to all that much when you figure it out with your calculator. You never know, Countess! I might end up bein' your neighbor one of these days—here or maybe even in Venice. Then there would be at least one neighbor you wouldn't have to be afraid of! Excuse me, Urbino, I guess I mean two!”

For the next quarter hour, Eugene regaled them with his impressions of life in Italy, at the top of the list being the constant ringing of church bells and the shocking quickness with which Italians belted back their morning coffees while standing up at bars. All the while the Contessa wore an interested expression on her face that didn't deceive Urbino. She was thinking of nothing but the phone call.

“And then there's this ‘passage' thing,” Eugene was saying when they heard footsteps approaching along the hall.

“The
passeggiata
,” Urbino corrected almost reflexively.

“That's it. One minute there's hardly a soul anywhere. But you just turn your back and the next minute the street is just swarmin' with people—men, women, children, little bambinos, grandparents—all dressed up in their best duds, huggin' and kissin' and talkin' as if they haven't seen each other in years—and it happens every single day like clockwork! Then they disappear as fast as they came out. And as for that wind from hell—what's it called, Urbino? The sambuco?—Why, I could barely move nary a muscle in my body! But I pressed on. I wasn't goin' to let a wind come between me and my sight-seein'!”

Silvestro Occhipinti appeared in the doorway just as Eugene was finishing. When Eugene saw him, Eugene leaned forward to Urbino and said in a stage whisper, “Well, what do you know. I saw this same bald little fellow in town today, draggin' along a cocker spaniel. Talkin' two-forty when he wasn't sneezin' away, but I'm not sure if he was talkin' to the dog or to himself. Most of it was in Italian, but I did hear him say something about God bein' in heaven.”

Occhipinti looked at Eugene with a frown on his birdlike face.

“Browning, signore, the best poet after Dante!” Occhipinti insisted in his high-pitched voice.

Eugene stood up and put out his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Signor Browning. My name's Hennepin—Eugene Hennepin.”

3

The Contessa quickly straightened out the confusion. After Urbino poured wine for Occhipinti, she maneuvered the little man into reluctant conversation with Eugene, who, for simplicity's sake, was introduced as Urbino's “American friend.” While the two new acquaintances were talking—or, rather, while Eugene was going on about his custom-made gondola and Occhipinti was darting little looks at the Contessa—Urbino told her about Oriana's call.

The Contessa went white under her carefully applied makeup and started to twist her Florentine gold wedding band. When she realized what she was doing, she forced her hands down into her lap.

She was about to say something when Occhipinti turned away from the still-speaking Eugene and said, “Yes, Violetta Volpi. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I heard you mention her name, Signor Macintyre. She's one reason why I had to come tonight, Barbara. The girl they found in the Grand Canal—her mother's maiden name was Grespi. That was Violetta Volpi's maiden name.
You
remember Violetta. ‘Balls and masks begun at midnight, burning ever to midday'—Violetta Grespi was at them all, and for a while she took me with her. And isn't Flavia the name of the girl who came here last week, the one you were asking me about, Signor Macintyre?”

Urbino said it was and that it appeared that Violetta Grespi Volpi was her maternal aunt. Occhipinti's small, round eyes widened and his thin-lipped mouth made a perfect pantomime of surprise.

“Now isn't that something! Who would have thought it!”

“What else did you have to tell Barbara, Signor Occhipinti?” Urbino asked.

Alvise's faithful old friend looked uneasily in Eugene's direction. The Contessa told him he was free to speak.

“If you say so, Barbara dear. Do you remember what I said to you last week, Signor Macintyre, about this Flavia Brollo—although we didn't know what her last name was then?” He didn't wait for Urbino to answer, but went on energetically, the light glancing off his bald head. “‘A face to lose youth for,' I said, ‘to occupy age with the dream of, meet death with'! Do you remember? And I also said she looked familiar.”

Urbino nodded.

“Well, I've remembered why she looked familiar and wanted to tell you.” Occhipinti seemed seized by an eagerness to be of help. He was breathing quickly. “It was because of my villa, La Pippa, you see! I've seen the girl with the actress who's renting it. She might even have been staying with La Lennox!”

Here was an additional connection between Occhipinti and the dead woman. Not only had he kept company with Flavia's aunt Violetta right after the Contessa and the Conte were married, but also Flavia had struck up a friendship with the very person who was renting Occhipinti's villa. If all this was merely coincidence, Urbino sensed that it was a coincidence that seemed to make Occhipinti uncomfortable. The little man had hurried over to the Contessa's villa fresh from his return from Venice to tell them about having seen Flavia with Madge Lennox.

Eugene, quite understandably, looked eager for an explanation to all the confusing things he was hearing, but this time it wasn't forthcoming from Occhipinti—nor from Urbino or the Contessa, both of whom were waiting for Occhipinti to go on. It was obvious he hadn't yet finished.

“But don't worry, Barbara,” Occhipinti said, looking at her earnestly through his thick spectacles. “This Flavia Brollo is dead. She won't bother you anymore.”

“But it's
not
over yet, Silvestro. It's not going to be over until I know the truth about Alvise.”

The old man's face clouded.

“Let him rest in peace. The truth! Our Alvise was the best of men.” Occhipinti's high-pitched voice was filled with conviction. “‘Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also'—it's advice you should listen to.”

“The young woman's mother—Violetta's sister—drowned in Lago di Garda, Signor Occhipinti,” Urbino said. “Barbara didn't know Violetta Grespi very well. She didn't even know she had a sister, let alone one who had killed herself. You had a villa on Lago di Garda years ago. Do you remember anything about the death of Violetta's sister?”

Occhipinti closed his eyes, lifted his head back, and opened his mouth wide. Urbino found it a rather peculiar prelude to whatever he was about to reveal about the death of Regina Brollo, but then the man sneezed—not once, but several times.

“Excuse me. Nothing worse than a summer cold. I must have got it from a woman in my building. Wouldn't it be fitting if I ended up dying from a cold the way Browning did? Ha, ha! But I shouldn't tempt fate, should I, by saying such things, even if there are much worse ways to meet the ‘pale priest.' No, Signor Macintyre, I'm afraid I don't remember anything about any drowning. I didn't even know myself that Violetta had lost her sister. We didn't keep in close contact at all. I know she has a reputation as an artist now. I've even seen some of her paintings. Not to my taste.” He paused before going on. “I never really liked her very much, Barbara. She used to say such bad things about you. I know how upset you were about what that silly girl said last week but it's all nonsense. I'm sure that Violetta Grespi—I mean Violetta Volpi—put her up to it.”

“I'm hoping Urbino can see her and straighten things out.”

“But I can pay her a visit, Barbara.”

“No, thank you, Silvestro.”

The little man seemed crestfallen, even upset.

“Urbino has the advantage of not knowing Violetta Volpi,” the Contessa explained in an attempt to assuage the man's apparently wounded feelings. “It might make things easier.”

“He didn't know Alvise either, did he?” Occhipinti said. “No, he didn't, so how can he know how you and I feel about this girl's accusation?”

The Contessa didn't seem to have the energy or inclination to pursue things any further. Eugene was still waiting for an explanation, but the Contessa deftly introduced a less disturbing topic that she knew would engage Alvise's old friend and Urbino's ex—brother-in-law.

“Mr. Hennepin was saying before you came, Silvestro, that he's interested in villas. He was looking at the notices at the real estate bureau.”

But before Occhipinti would allow himself to rise to the bait, he stared at Barbara and, putting as much urgency as he could into his reedy voice, said, “‘Let who lied be left lie!'”

But hadn't Occhipinti come to La Muta precisely not to let things lie? Urbino asked himself. It didn't quite make sense. And who was the birdlike man referring to? Flavia Brollo, her mother, Regina, or possibly even Alvise? The puzzled look on the Contessa's face seemed to indicate that she was just as uncertain as Urbino was himself.

4

Not until much later that night, after Occhipinti had left and Eugene had gone up to his room, were Urbino and the Contessa able to talk alone together in the
salotto verde
. The Contessa had agreed to a glass of Remy Martin and was sitting once again on the Brustolon sofa, peering down into the wide glass.