Vintage Love (97 page)

Della leaned forward. “Then it should be easy. When will you take me to him?”

“When do you wish to go?”

“As soon as possible.”

Irma shrugged. “This afternoon after siesta. I’m sure he will be at his villa. He is having a gathering tonight.”

“A gathering?”

The other girl nodded. “Yes. Perhaps he’ll decide to invite you.”

“Do you mean a Satanist gathering?”

Irma said, “I’d rather you talked with the Count.”

• • •

Della wore a lace and silk afternoon dress of pale blue and her straw hat and parasol were of the same delicate shade. She waited in the reception hall until Irma came down to join her. Irma wore a less elaborate dress of pink.

She gave Della a look and said, “I see you wish to catch Barsini’s attention.”

Embarrassed, Della said, “Not at all. I just wanted to make myself presentable.”

“You have,” Irma assured her with a small smile.

The carriage had been ordered and was waiting. They sat together talking more like sisters than in the past and Della began to hope she might at last be learning to communicate with her newfound sister.

Irma was clearly making an effort to be more friendly. She chatted about the places they drove past and had the carriage halt for a moment by the
Baracocia Piazza di Spagna.

“So unusual!” Della said, studying the sunken stone boat, in the thick of traffic, and the flowers on the steps only a few feet away. Water fell from various tongues and spigots in the boat, whose stone was pleasantly corroded.

Irma said, “My tutor once told me it was built to commemorate a flood of the Tiber in 1595 when a barge went ashore on this spot. It is by the father of Bernini, his only conspicuous work in the city. He, my tutor said, happened to have been born in the year of the flood.”

The carriage continued on in the warm late-afternoon sunshine until they reached the splendid villa of Count Barsini. It was in no way run down as was the palace of Prince Sanzio. The towering stone house suggested wealth and arrogance both outside and in. They were ushered in by a middle-aged male servant in livery and sent to wait in a living room of massive size with huge portraits lining its walls.

“Barsini lives well,” Irma told her.

“That is easy to see,” she said.

There was a smile on the other girl’s face. “I’m interested in seeing his reaction when he meets you. I mean because your resemblance to me will startle him.”

“He knows we are twins, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Irma said. “But I did not warn him how much we look alike.”

The servant came for them, informing them coldly, “The Count will now receive you.”

They followed the servant up a stairway and along a corridor to the rear of the house. There, in a room with a balcony overlooking the Tiber, was Count Barsini. He was seated at a desk with a glass by his hand when they came into the bright, high-ceilinged room.

He rose and came forward to greet them. Della was first struck by his height. He was at least six feet tall, if not more in a country where most people were short. His head was shaved bald but he had a short black beard. His eyes were strange, too bright and darting, as he glanced about. His face was oval and handsome in a menacing way.

He greeted Irma first. “My dear, I did not expect to see you until this evening. You should perhaps have remained at home to rest.”

She said, “Della wished to meet you.”

The strange eyes darted her way now and he smiled in a way that made her uneasy. He bowed and took her hand and kissed it. “I call it amazing!” he said. “I could be talking to Irma! You look exactly like her!”

Della said, “We are amused by it.”

His eyes were fixed on her, appraising her, studying her physical details so that she felt almost naked before his arrogant scrutiny. “You have her body as well,” he said softly.

Irma spoke up: “I want to see something about tonight. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two to become better acquainted. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Just as you like,” Count Barsini said courteously. But she had an idea that Irma left because she knew it was what he would wish.

Della said, “You have a magnificent home.”

“You have only seen a small part of it,” Barsini said. “I also have a fine estate in the country.” He pulled up a chair for her by the desk. “Do sit down?”

She moved past him to the French doors opening onto the balcony. At the doors she turned and said, “I’d rather go out here. The sun is going down and the sky and river are so lovely.”

“As you say,” the bald man said in friendly fashion. “What would you care to drink?”

“A gin and tonic perhaps.”

Barsini clapped his hands and a servant appeared from behind a door at the rear of the room. He gave orders for drinks and then came out on the balcony to join her. He wore a white linen suit of finest cut, silk shirt with hard collar and a crimson tie with a pattern of tiny yellow dragons on it.

He said, “I could easily pretend I was standing here with Irma.”

“We look alike,” she said. “But we are quite different.”

“Your British upbringing,” he suggested. “The British are a cold lot.”

“You think so?” They were standing by the balcony railing above the river. She gave him a challenging smile.

“It has been my experience,” he said. “But you have more courage than Italian women.”

“I wouldn’t want to claim that,” she said.

The servant brought their drinks. The Count handed her the gin and tonic and took his own from the tray. Sipping his drink, he studied her and said, “So you wished to know me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you can help me.”

Barsini stroked his short beard. “Why should I?”

“I hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Well, we won’t worry about it,” he said. “Go on.”

She looked at him straight in those bright, nervous eyes. “What do you know about the theft of the jeweled Madonna?”

He frowned. “Jeweled Madonna?”

She said, “You needn’t pretend surprise for my benefit.”

Barsini smiled slowly. “As I said, you Englishwomen are not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of being attacked,” she said. “And I have been several times bacause some people wrongly think I have that stolen Madonna.”

The bald man smiled on. “Suppose I tell you I know nothing of what you are saying?”

“I’ll know you’re a liar.”

He winced. “So unladylike!”

“My English showing again,” she said.

“But the English have great ladies,” he told her. “No. I think it must be a family thing. Irma also has a great deal of spirit.”

“What about the theft?”

Barsini sipped his drink and stared out across the river. He said, “Have you noticed that Rome is built along this ancient Tiber.”

“Please let us keep to the subject!” Della insisted.

He gave her an amused look which was close to being contemptuous. He said, “You wish to play a game?”

“If finding out the truth about that theft is a game.”

He glanced away again, sipping his drink. He said, “Did you ever hear of a man called Brizzi?”

“No.”

“He is a master thief! Notorious, not only in Italy, but in all the world.”

“What about him?” she asked.

Still not looking at her, but staring out at the river, he continued, “I have heard, and this is hearsay, that not too long ago Brizzi masterminded the theft of all his long career. With the aid of a renegade priest formerly employed by the Vatican, he managed to steal one of the great treaures of the Church, the Madonna of St. Cecilia.”

“The jeweled Madonna?”

“Yes. There was some confusion after the theft and, unhappily for Brizzi, the Madonna fell into other hands. He is on the lookout for it and so are his henchmen. In fact, many people want it.”

“Including you?”

He at last turned to her with a cold smile. “Why not?” She said, “Why do these criminals think I have it?”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Certainly not!”

“Then I cannot imagine why you have been bothered. These men are clever. You might call them supercriminals.

They make few mistakes. They must have some reason for thinking you know where the Madonna is.”

“I know nothing about it,” she said angrily. “And I wish you would let them know.”

He shrugged. “I can deliver your message but I cannot promise to make them believe it.”

“They must!”

“They are not all that agreeable,” Barsini said. “And you are very young to die!”

She put aside any attempt at discretion and, facing him, accused, “I think you masterminded that theft! That there is no Brizzi! And that you gave the stolen Madonna to Irma to send to me in England. But your messenger was intercepted and I never received it. Now no one will believe me!”

“You accuse me of the theft?”

“Yes.”

“That is a very serious accusation,” the bald man said, touching his beard in his absentminded fashion. “But I will not hold it against you.”

“How kind of you!”

He went on, “Have you discussed this remarkable view of the theft with Irma?”

“No. I have said nothing to her.”

“Why not?”

“I believe you to be the brains behind the plot. Prince Raphael says my sister has not been herself since she came under your influence.”

The tall man laughed lightly. “The Prince is such an innocent.”

“Do you say that because he is decent?”

“No. I say it because he is stupid. And I warn you I have a total dislike for stupidity.”

“You think me stupid as well?”

Barsini said, “You have to be to come here making such mad accusations!”

“I’m not sure they are so mad,” Della told him firmly.

He smiled again. “Still, I like your spirit.”

“Thank you.”

“I will help you if I can.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I hoped you might.”

“I will make inquiries in certain quarters,” Barsini went on. “Perhaps I will find something of value for you.”

“I will be grateful.”

Barsini’s eyes, with their mad brightness, fixed on her again and his gaze was so eerie it sent a chill down her spine. She found herself speculating if he might be a drug addict of some sort.

He said, “I will expect to be paid for helping you.”

“I understood you are a very rich man.”

“I will not expect payment in money,” he said quietly. “But I shall expect your gratitude.”

She said, “You will have it as long as the form it takes is not too personal.”

“I have a gathering tonight,” the bald man said. “Your sister will play an important role in it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said, staring at Della. “I would like you to be here. You might discover an entire new meaning to your life.”

“I’ve never been interested in Satanism!”

“My version is rather different from most,” he assured her. “I have found great beauty in the worship of Satan. And what better spot to indulge in his worship than here in Rome, the seat of the cult founded by his archenemy.”

She turned her back on him. “It does not interest me.”

“I have my price,” he said. “If I’m to look into the Madonna theft.”

“Do something for me,” she begged him.

“My condition stands.”

“That I must be at you gathering?”

“Yes. It will do you good to see another side of this Holy City.”

“I’m sure it is another side.”

“Also, you ought to be especially interested. Your sister is playing a big role in tonight’s proceedings.”

“Oh?”

“Another reason for you to join us,” he urged her.

She turned to give him a searching look. “I will in no way have to take part?”

“In no way,” he assured her. “You will be merely an onlooker.”

“And you will try to get some word about the Madonna?”

“I have said I would,” he assured her.

“Very well,” she agreed, feeling at the same moment that she was making a major mistake. “I will come.”

The bald man looked pleased. “Excellent! It will be the experience of your life! We shall discuss it afterward.”

Della was about to make a reply when her twin sister came out onto the balcony to join them. There was a smile on her pale face. She said, “Well, you two look as if you’d managed to get along splendidly.”

Barsini chuckled and stroked his beard. “I had to keep telling myself I was not with you.”

Irma said, “I wondered what you’d think about us.”

“I’m delighted,” the bald man said. “To think there are two beauties such as you!”

Della told her sister, “The Count has persuaded me to come to the gathering tonight.”

A passing shadow of concern crossed her sister’s face. She gave the Count a glance. “Do you think she will enjoy it?”

He towered above them as he said, “I’m sure she will find it educational.”

“I see,” Irma said, at once more subdued.

She remained in that mood for much of the remaining conversation on the balcony. Then it was time for them to leave and the Count escorted them all the way down to their carriage.

He helped them into the vehicle and for a moment at Della’s side. He said, “I did not tell you. The theme of our gathering tonight is a variation on the sacrifice of the Vestal Virgins.”

Then with another of his enigmatic smiles he stood back for them to drive away. He waved as they were driven up the hilly, cobblestoned street leading from the villa. Della was startled by this final statement on his part.

She turned to her sister. “What does he mean?”

Irma grimaced. “It is his idea of a joke.”

“There was some meaning behind it,” she insisted. “Why not tell me?”

Irma said, “He has devised a ritual. You will see it. I will be part of it and you may not approve. It will be like seeing yourself involved.”

“I am attending only as an onlooker.”

Irma smiled at her grimly. “That was my role at first.”

“Tell me about the ceremony.”

“I cannot,” she said. “We are bound to secrecy. But I will tell you about the original Vestal Virgins. The sect was suppressed in
A.D.
394 after having flourished for eleven centuries. The temple virgins were chosen from among the women of the best families, and they were allowed to return to ordinary life after thirty years if they wished. If in the time they were dedicated to the temple they had intercourse with a man, it was termed incest. The punishment for it was being buried alive.”