Vintage Love (118 page)

“Do go on,” she urged him.

“Well, in the sixteenth century Michelangelo was seeking a focal point for his piazza, and he saw this great statue of the mounted emperor still richly gilded. He discussed it with his patron, Pope Paul the Third, who agreed it would fit in well. But the Canons of St. John the Lateran were loath to part with the statue and had to be both threatened and bribed before they let it go.”

“And it was brought here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Michelangelo supervised the placement of this most famous of Rome’s statues, making it seem right in its new setting. The story goes that when he had placed it on its new pedestal he went up to the horse and commanded it to walk.”

“Let us take a closer look at it,” she said.

They went down by the great statue and she was even more awed by its perfection. The emperor astride the horse was calm and dignified. His hand was raised in a friendly salute. His clothing was plain and the expression on his serious face made her think of Father Walker.

Henry said, “He had great intelligence, this Marcus Aurelius. He not only put aside the affairs of state to write his ‘Meditations’ but he also refused to listen to ugly rumors that his wife was unfaithful. His reaction to these stories was to raise a statue to chastity.”

Della was staring up at the statue. She said, “There are still traces of the gilding to be seen on it.”

“I know,” Henry said. “There is a prophecy of doom that says when the last of the gilt disappears Rome will perish.”

They had a thoroughly enjoyable morning, the sort she had hoped for when they first departed for Rome. But only now were they beginning to savor some of the charm of the city. In the back of her mind there remained concern for Irma, and hurt at the way Raphael had deceived her. But in her new happiness with Henry she was better able to rise above those troubling thoughts.

After their tour they sought out a small, sidewalk café and were greeted cordially by the stout owner. They sat at a table on the outer fringe where they had a good view of the sidewalk and the street.

Della said, “I forgot about some of the unpleasant things for a little while this morning.”

“I’d like to put them behind us forever,” Henry said.

She nodded at him across the table. “Let us hope we’ll soon be able to do that.”

She had barely ordered when a formidable female in a long brown silk dress and broad-brimmed brown hat came swooping down on her. “My dear child,” the woman with the atrociously made-up face gushed. “How wonderful to meet you again.”

“Madame Guioni,” she said in a faint voice.

The old woman turned her ugly smiling face to study an embarrassed Henry. Poking him with her parasol, she exclaimed, “And you are that good-looking English lawyer who accompanied us on the train.”

Henry was politely on his feet. “It is good to see you again, madame.”

Madame Guioni turned her attention to Della once more and said, “Someone told me you had returned to England. All of your party!”

“They were wrong,” she said. “I’m still at the Palazzo Sanzio and so is Henry.”

“Ah,” the garish old woman said. “Then I expect you have heard the sad news about Prince Raphael!”

As Della heard the woman’s words her throat was gripped with fear. In a taut voice, she asked, “What about Prince Raphael?”

“Dead!” Madame Guioni said. “His body found floating in the Tiber. Apparently a suicide!”

“A suicide?” she gasped.

“The morning newspaper said his wrists were slashed. I expect he did it and then threw himself in the river. Likely from one of those yachts!”

Henry said, “This was all in the morning paper?”

“Oh, of course,” Madame Guioni said. “You people, not reading Italian, would not have noticed it. Prince Raphael was one of those penniless princes. Like Prince Sanzio, he had a good family name but nothing else.”

“I would not expect him to kill himself,” Della said, still shocked.

The woman in the brown hat and dress shrugged. “I’m not surprised. You know how it is with that racy set. They live as if there is no tomorrow! Spending money madly one day and having nothing the next! I must say the Guioni Brothers were not like that. They were hard workers and even after their winery made a fortune they spent money prudently.”

Henry said, “Did the paper say if there would be a police investigation of the Prince’s death?”

“No,” Madame Guioni replied with disdain. “In my opinion it will be hushed up. They do that for royalty, however impoverished.”

Della found her voice to ask, “You think he may have been on a yacht?”

“That is what the newspaper story suggested,” the ugly widow Guioni said. “Prince Raphael traveled with a racy set. He was often in company with the rich. Some of the newly rich like to have titles around them and pay for it. And the Tiber has a host of pleasure yachts.”

“It sounds likely,” Henry said, glancing at Della to see how she was taking it.

Della interpreted his gesture and said, “It’s all right. I’m over the worst of it now.” And to Madame Guioni she went on to explain, “Your news was shattering. I spent a good deal of time in Raphael’s company.”

“Of course! I’d forgotten,” the older woman said. “Do forgive me, my dear.”

“I’m over the shock,” she said. “And, of course, I’m grateful to you for telling us. It might have been more upsetting to learn of it some other way.”

Madame Guioni was sympathetic. “You mustn’t worry, my dear. People like Prince Raphael often do things like that. I’m sure no one in his social set will think anything of it.”

Henry said, “It will also be a shock to Prince Sanzio.”

“Ah, yes,” Madame Guioni said. “And he is such an old man now. With nothing but poverty in his background. Creditors constantly hound him, I’m told.”

Della wanted to hear no more. She got up and said, “We must get back to the palace.”

“So nice to see you again,” the gaudy Madame Guioni said. “Do you think you will remain in Rome much longer?”

“At this moment it is difficult to tell,” she said.

“If you do stay let me know,” Madame Guioni said. “I do want to have a party for you. Let you meet the right people. Everyone wants to attend my parties! Everyone!”

“Thank you,” she said, coolly polite and anxious to be rid of the woman. “You are very kind.”

Madame Guioni beamed on her. “Not at all, my dear. I simply delight in having parties. And do give my love to Prince Sanzio! The poor old thing!”

“Let us get away from here,” Della said between her gritted teeth as she tugged at Henry’s arm and started him walking away from the formidable woman.

Henry said, “I’ve never seen you so angry.”

“I detest that horrible old woman,” Della said in a rage. “How dare she talk about Raphael and Prince Sanzio in that manner?”

“She is completely without feeling,” Henry said. “You must have seen that from our first meeting with her in the train.”

“When she tried to bully poor Father Anthony! At least he was a match for her!” Della fumed on.

“He’s dead too,” Henry said. “We seem to be losing acquaintances at a fast rate.”

They slowed their pace when they were a safe distance from the arrogant woman. Della said bleakly, “Most of them have been murdered because of the Madonna.”

“Do you think Raphael was murdered?”

“I’m sure of it,” she said. “He probably had some sort of quarrel with Barsini.”

“And Barsini had his wrists slit and then threw him into the Tiber?”

“Raphael would never slit his own wrists. He had a horror of physical hurt.”

“So another of the thieves has been eliminated.”

“Yes,” she said. “Without Barsini being suspected.”

“Who next?” he wondered.

“A good question,” she said. “Maybe you or I.”

Henry nodded. “We are targets for them.”

“Maybe Irma.”

“Isn’t Barsini in love with her?”

“She has been his mistress,” Della said bitterly. “There is a difference. Especially when he’s probably had sexual relations with all the women in his group.”

“You tried to help her.”

“And it ended with her saving me.”

“What now? Does this change any of your plans?”

“I’m more anxious than ever to locate Pasquale Borgo if that is possible.”

“My latest word from the lawyers was to come by their office tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t want to wait that long,” she complained. “But I suppose I must.”

“You know these Italians,” Henry said. “They take their own time doing anything.”

“Except the Barsinis,” she said with a deep sigh. “We better get home and see if Prince Sanzio has heard the news.”

All the way back she remained silent, thinking of Raphael and finding it impossible to think of him as dead. She had every reason to hate him, he had betrayed her in the most reprehensible fashion. Because of him she had found herself standing naked on a stage before a group of Satanists. She would have been publicly raped had not Irma come to take her place!

Yet she found herself remembering the good times she’d had with the handsome young Prince. When he wished, Raphael could be charming. Yet he had been caught up in all of Barsini’s corrupt activities and he was too weak to get away from the group. It had been almost inevitable that he would come to some sort of violent end.

Her last glimpse of him had been in that room at the villa. He’d wound up looking shamefaced and talking utter nonsense. After that she would have found it impossible to have any respect for him. But she was sad to know he had met such a sordid end. He might have been salvaged.

When they arrived at the palace it was Guido who let them in and hurriedly showed them the newspaper. “A terrible business,
Signorina
Standish.”

“It is all of that,” she agreed.

“You see the story,” the midget said, excitedly pointing a finger to the paper.

All Della could make out were the words “Prince Raphael.” The rest of the article was lost on her. She said, “How is Prince Sanzio taking it?”

“Badly,” the little man said. “I’m sure he is terribly worried about the Princess Irma. After all, she has not yet returned.”

Della said, “She is with Barsini.”

“They think Prince Raphael fell in the river from a yacht,” the midget said. “Barsini owns a yacht! It is well known!” His wizened face was a study in misery.

She said, “I must go to the Prince.” She left Guido in his upset state and Henry followed her. They found the old Prince seated in his wheelchair staring disconsolately out the front window of the great living room. He did not turn or show any other emotion as they approached.

Della knelt before him. “We heard the news and came hurrying back!”

Prince Sanzio had the pallor of a man about to collapse. He stared at her with tormented eyes. “I shall never see my lovely Irma again!”

“You must not give up hope,” Della told him.

“That is wrong,” Henry agreed, standing behind her.

Prince Sanzio looked dreadfully old and weary. He said, “She is with Barsini. I have no question in my mind he had Raphael murdered.”

She said, “The papers term it a suicide.”

“Never!” the old Prince said. “You know as well as I do Raphael would never do that.”

“I would not expect it of him,” she admitted. “But no matter what has happened to him it doesn’t follow that Irma will meet a similar fate.”

“Anyone close to Barsini is in great danger!”

“I know that,” she said. “Henry and I are still trying to discover certain things. If we are successful we may be able to rescue Irma and end this nightmare.”

“What sort of things?”

“They have to do with the stolen Madonna,” Henry said.

The old Prince looked angry. “I do not care about the Madonna. I only care about the beautiful girl I raised as my own daughter.”

“We understand,” she said. “And we will try to help.”

The old man looked at her and said, “All this began with the discovery of that letter! The letter which told of Irma’s family! We would have been better off if we had never received that information! If you had never come to Rome!”

Della was taken back. “I’m sorry you feel that way!”

The old man’s manner changed at once. He reached out a thin hand and gently caressed her auburn hair. “Please, it is not I who am saying such things! I’m half mad with fear for my darling. I did not mean it. I take pleasure in just looking at you, so much do you look like her.”

“It is all right, Prince,” she said quietly. “We know what a strain you are under.”

“I’m debating whether to call the police and see if they can bring her back,” he said.

Henry frowned. “That might be dangerous. If Barsini thinks she knows too much about his evil doings he’d arrange to have her die in some convenient accident before the police could make her talk.”

The old man in the wheelchair looked stunned. “You are right,” he said. “Barsini will not stop at anything now. He is a desperate man!”

“He is,” Della said. “And a greedy one! We hope to trap him through his greed!”

“Only bring my daughter safely back to me,” Prince Sanzio said.

They left him still filled with bleak despair. It was then she decided she wanted to return to the Vatican again and ask Father Walker’s opinion of what had happened. She was also anxious to have the priest meet Henry.

But before they went out again she had to placate Aunt Isobel. The old woman was in bed in her room with smelling salts in her hand. When Della came in to see her the old woman said, “We are all doomed!”

“Nonsense!”

Aunt Isobel glared at her. “Tell that to your close friend Prince Raphael!”

Della said, “I know his death has been a blow to you. We are all of us shocked.”

“I’m a good deal more than shocked,” the old woman said. “I’m terrified. I hate this old house. We have had only bad luck since we’ve been in it.”

Soothingly she promised, “We shall soon be leaving for home.”

“I have heard that before,” Aunt Isobel said. “You have Henry Clarkson to console you! I have no one!”

“We are both ready to help you!”

Her aunt touched the smelling salts to her nose and then demanded, “Where are you off to now?”