Sheila Connolly - Reunion with Death (12 page)

We talked and talked some more. Nobody mentioned the late professor or death, or even the Medicis. Instead, we were still busy filling each other in about the last forty years of our lives. From the bits and pieces I overheard from all directions, people had done a lot of interesting things, and I wondered if I’d have time to talk to all of them, not about the murder but about what they’d done, who they’d become. Funny—when we’d been applying to colleges, in another century, no one had considered that we’d come together like this to see what we’d done with the education we had been given. We’d all worked hard, and it was clear that we’d used what we’d learned in different ways.

It was again past two when Jean stood up and said, “I hope you aren’t villa’d out yet, because we’ve got one more villa to see.” A few groans issued from the crowd. Jean ignored them. “At this one we can’t go inside the building, but the gardens are spectacular. Everybody powder your noses and we’ll hit the road.”

After our potty break, we hit the road again. I was totally lost by now. I knew we were sort of circling around Florence, but I couldn’t have retraced our steps if you’d paid me. Still, it was kind of nice, not being responsible for any of it. If we got lost, we got lost. We’d get unlost soon enough.

Once again Dorothy treated us to snippets from the detailed handouts as we rode along. “All these gardens we’re visiting aren’t just pretty—they embody any number of symbolic elements, not to mention showing off some pretty fancy technology with fountains and such. Very formal though—you know, central axes and grid patterns. I guess the fake natural gardens came later.”

I was amazed when we turned out to be the first van to arrive at our latest destination. GPS worked! We parked, and once we climbed down from the van we gave Brenda a standing ovation for her achievement. She bowed proudly. Then we strolled back the way we had come until we found the discreet entrance to the Villa Medicea di Castella, the latest in our string of Medici homes. Yup, Lorenzo the Magnificent had owned it but had given it to a cousin also named Lorenzo, and then Cosimo—the one who later became Grand Duke of Tuscany—had restored it. End of history lesson. The formal garden was lovely, with row upon row of lemon trees in massive pots. Who knew there were so many lemon varieties? Big ones, small ones, round ones, lumpy ones, all ensconced in massive terra-cotta pots that the pamphlets claimed were stashed in warm greenhouses each winter. I couldn’t imagine trying to move a pot that large. I suspected in the modern world forklifts were involved—but in the past?

The highlight of the garden was an amazing grotto built into the rear wall, farthest from the house itself. It was filled with carvings of exotic animals (who would never have appeared together in life, but still). I was admiring them all (and taking pictures) when Ann came up beside me.

“Interesting—gorgeous and creepy, all at the same time,” she said.

“I know what you mean. Did this qualify as entertainment back then? Instead of television, the counts and dukes and assorted guests came out here and contemplated the flowers and lemons and the weird animals?”

“It was a simpler time,” Ann said, then giggled. “Oh, look—the rest of the gang finally showed up.” She pointed at the people from the other three vans, who were just now straggling in through the entrance. Way to go, Brenda!

Even with all of us meandering around the garden, it wasn’t crowded. I climbed the steps to the upper terrace, where I found I could see the airport where we had arrived a few days earlier. Then I leaned on the parapet and lost myself in calculating how many guest rooms the villa might have, and where the heck they put all the servants. What was the ratio of servant to guest, if you were a Medici offering entertainment to your peers? For that matter, where did they park all the horses and carriages?

Cynthia wandered up beside me. “We got lost.”

“We didn’t. This is nice.”

“Yes, it is. Can you imagine living like this?”

“Nope. Does anyone anymore?”

“No one I know. Although I gather that Newport was something like this in its heyday. And I’ve seen some pretty swanky spreads in Manhattan. All it takes is lots and lots of money.”

“Bet it’s hard to find good help these days.”

“Speaking of help …” She stopped, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“What?” I demanded, turning to look at her.

“I should tell you now, I did go out again, after you fell asleep.”

“Not to meet the slimy professor, I hope!” The thought was unpleasant.

“No, not him. But I did meet someone else … you know the bartender guy?”

“At the villa? What, you got together with him?” I wasn’t sure I believed what I was hearing.

“Not just him. He has a twin brother.”

I stared at her, and then I burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Cynthia looked hurt. “Why? I’ve always wondered about twins … Hey, it’s not like it’s going to happen again. Ever. Call it a last hurrah.”

“What happens it Italy stays in Italy, eh? Did they live up to your expectations?”

“Yup, and that’s all I’m going to say. But I did learn one thing from the bartender. Our dead professor? He asked for a bottle of wine and two glasses, and one of the twins dropped them off at his room after dinner.”

I stopped laughing. “So either he was planning to get really drunk or he was meeting someone. Who hasn’t told anyone. Shoot.”

“Exactly. Maybe you were right.”

Of course, anything resembling evidence was long gone by now. I looked back over the lovely, peaceful lemon garden spread out below us. The Medici may have been schemers and connivers, but it looked like we had one of our own.

Chapter 11

Compared to some, it had been a relaxing day, wallowing in art and gardens and good food. It was bittersweet coming back to the villa at Capitignano because we all knew we were leaving it the next day. After the chilly start, even the weather had warmed for us. When the vans drove up the driveway and parked, the lowering sun cast gold light on everything. In the parking area we milled around a bit aimlessly, reluctant to retreat to our rooms but unsure of what we wanted to do.

“Anybody want to walk up to the church?” Bonnie asked of no one in particular.

“Sure,” I said, to my own surprise. I wasn’t one to take walks for their own sake, but I wanted to see what lay up the hill—and take pictures of more views, preferably without bodies. Yes, I knew that I took too many pictures of the same things, but I was always hoping for that one perfect shot, and modern cameras made it easy to keep trying.

Nobody felt like joining us, so Bonnie and I set off. I had known her but not well, so I wondered what we’d find to talk about. We had to go down the long driveway to go up the hill to the church, but we weren’t in any hurry. The drive bordered the vineyard and was flanked by a row of tall thin cypresses. It was as close as I had come to the vines, but it was too early in the season to see much in the way of grapes, so I contented myself with admiring the orderly rows, neatly staked.

“What made you decide to come on this trip, Bonnie?” I asked as we set out.

She trudged forward intently, watching where she put her feet. “I wanted to do something different. I can’t recall the last time I took a real vacation—one just for fun, and just for me. And I guess I was curious to see how we all turned out. You?”

“About the same. I majored in art history but I never got a chance to use it much. I keep trying to remember why I chose that in the first place, other than the fact that I had idealistic—or do I mean unrealistic?—ideas about what the academic world was like. Plus, I thought it meant that I would be able to travel regularly and make it tax-deductible.” I grinned at her.

“How’d that work out?”

“Not too well. Couldn’t find work in my chosen field, so I found what my parents would have called a ‘real’ job, and got married, and had a child, and the travel part kind of kept slipping down the list. I haven’t been to Italy since right after I graduated, and you know how long ago that was. As for being here, I guess that like you, I kind of wondered if everybody else had taken the same kind of roundabout path as I did, or if they’d managed to stick to their first choices. And how I’d feel if they had succeeded.” I stopped myself: that was more frank than I had intended to be. But it was honest: I’d often wondered if I had stuck it out just a little longer in art history … No, that was water under the bridge; there was no going back.

“Are you enjoying the trip?” Bonnie asked.

“Yes, I am. I have to say I was kind of worried before I got here—I thought everybody would be more successful than I am, more content with who they are and where they are in their lives. Almost like when I first arrived at the college, you know? Everybody was smarter and more sophisticated, and I felt like such an imposter.”

Bonnie flashed a shy glance at me. “We all felt like that, but we didn’t know anyone else well enough to admit it, not at first. And it’s probably not much different now. You think everyone on this trip has led a perfect life? I haven’t, I can tell you. And you know something? The perfect ones probably wouldn’t bother coming to something like this. It’s the ones with questions who showed up.”

I laughed. “Damn it, Bonnie, I wish I’d known you better. But I’ve learned something about myself since I got here. I thought I’d feel more nostalgic about all the art, since I was an art historian. I’ve always wondered, what if, you know? But now that I’m here, it’s been great to see it, but mostly I have to laugh at the Medicis—they were so into impressing everyone by throwing a lot of money around. Now I guess I take a broader view of the context of the art than I used to. You know, back when I first studied art history, everybody was so busy analyzing style that they never looked at how it came about. I mean, medieval cathedrals wouldn’t have existed without somebody to pay for them, right? But nobody ever talked about the finances.”

Bonnie laughed. “I hear you. I think students today have a much more comprehensive view than we did. Where did the time go?”

“I wish I knew. Is that a fig tree?” I pointed.

“I think it is—how cool is that? Wonder what else grows around here?”

“Are you a gardener?” I asked, more to be polite than because I cared.

“Nope, no time for it. Besides, everything I touch dies.”

“Ditto. But I like to look. I love to see things I’ve only read about. That thing there looks like a dandelion on steroids, doesn’t it?” I pointed to a large yet airy puffball.

We wandered up the hill, stopping to admire a weed with pretty flowers, a group of sheep, and yet another view. We both took pictures of all three. It didn’t take much longer to reach the church at the top of the hill. It was deserted, but the door was open. However, the inside was disappointing. St. Cresci might have had his head chopped off, but there was little evidence of his gruesome martyrdom visible. Still, it was cool inside, so we sat quietly for a few minutes.

“Too bad that thing with the professor had to happen,” I ventured almost reluctantly, since I’d been enjoying just talking with Bonnie without any ulterior motive.

“He had it coming,” Bonnie said with a venom that surprised me. “The gods are just.”

“What do you mean?” I turned in my pew to face her.

“Well, I never took a class from him, but one of my roommates did. She told me he was a real sleazeball.”

“Like he came on to her?”

“He did that with every girl—excuse me, woman—who didn’t have a hunchback and only one eye. But it got worse. If you turned him down, he made a point of cutting you down for as long as the class lasted. He all but called you stupid in front of everyone. You know how insecure we all were back then—it really stung.”

“And nobody ever said anything to anyone?”

“Who would they tell? I don’t think they’d invented the term
bully
then, for that kind of behavior. Worse, I think we all felt we were at the college by accident, and we didn’t want to make waves. As far as I know, nobody ever said anything.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, is that roommate here on this trip?”

“No. She kind of cut off all contact with the college and the class after she graduated. But it’s certainly possible that someone else he treated like that is here. I can’t be sure because nobody has talked about it, at least not when I could hear it. Maybe I’ve already said too much, but I won’t pretend that I’m sorry he’s dead. You weren’t one of his ‘girls,’ were you?”

“Not me. I never took his class, never met the man until yesterday, and didn’t like what little I saw of him. I guess that’s a good thing. You ready to start down the hill?”

“Sure. I hear there’s a special farewell dinner tonight. With meat.”

When I thought back, I realized that we had been eating a lot of pasta here. In any case, the subject of the professor was closed, and Bonnie and I enjoyed a leisurely walk down the hill from the church, then up the hill to the villa. We paused partway up to catch our breath.

“Looks positively medieval, doesn’t it?” Bonnie said. “If you ignore a few electrical wires and that tractor over there, it could be any era at all.”

“You’re right. This whole area feels kind of timeless, until you go into a town, with those fancy modern things like streetlights and trains.” I looked up at the villa and worked out where the swimming pool lay. Unlike in the States, there was no fence, no guardrail. Just a flagstone and concrete pavement surrounding the pool that went up to the edge—and to the hill that fell straight down twenty or more feet. But wouldn’t a falling body have rolled? Bounced? Wouldn’t Anthony Gilbert have tried to stop his fall? Maybe not, if he was drunk or drugged or dead when he went over the edge. “Let’s get moving—I think I smell grilling meat.”

I stopped by the room to change into a slightly “nicer” shirt, in honor of the occasion, and found Cynthia there. She looked up from her tablet.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked.

“I took a nature walk, believe it or not. Bonnie and I went up to look at the church.”

“Anything interesting up there?”