Farewell to the Flesh (14 page)

Was Hazel going to tell him that Val Gibbon had been so good as to have qualms about marrying into wealth? Somehow he doubted it.

“We have to be very careful of the promises we make to the people we love. They can take on an unbelievable force once the people are gone. I promised my father that when I married I would have my fiancé sign a prenuptial agreement. He was worried that I might attract fortune hunters. I saw no reason not to promise. Money has always been the last thing I've thought about.”

What she was saying was leading into such a delicate area that Urbino thought it best not to say anything, but to wait for her to tell him what she wanted to tell him in exactly her own way. Now that she had reached this point she seemed to want to get through it as quickly as possible.

“Val and I planned to be married this summer. I told him about the promise I had made my father, told him that I felt I couldn't break it. We had a fight. He said that he had no interest in my money, but that asking him to sign meant that I didn't trust him, that I didn't believe he loved me. I was so confused. Val in no way acted like someone who was after my money. I've developed a sixth sense about it. His pride was hurt, you see. He even had tears in his eyes.” She blinked back tears of her own as she stared at Urbino. “It wasn't the same between us after that. Nothing I said seemed to change anything. Sometimes I thought all he wanted me to say was that I wouldn't ask him to sign and then he would tell me that he would, that he just wanted me to trust him. But I just couldn't, even if there was a good chance he would end up signing the agreement on his own. It would have been the same as not honoring my promise at all, don't you see?”

Urbino did see but he was surprised. This kind of fidelity to a promise was from a more scrupulous generation, one that had believed in the value of renunciatory gestures, that hadn't been so concerned with personal gratification. It didn't seem to suit Hazel Reeve.

“I know what you're thinking,” she said, and then went on to show how little she did. “You're thinking that Val was a cad, that he had been after my money all along, but you're wrong. He always had plenty of money of his own. He didn't need mine. He wouldn't let me pay for anything. Things would have worked out for us. He was a good man but he was hurt. I could have made him see things differently.”

What powers of persuasion did she think she had? She seemed confident of them. Or was she being too optimistic, misjudging both her own powers and Val Gibbon's good nature?

For the next few minutes she gave her attention to the fish but seemed even less interested in it than before. Urbino thought it might be a good idea to leave her alone and excused himself to go to the rest room. It was occupied so he slipped into the garden for a few minutes, turning his jacket collar up against the chill.

Taking a turn under the grape arbor, bare of leaves at this time of year, Urbino mulled over what Hazel had told him so far this evening. It certainly added a great deal to the little she had told him last night at the Palazzo Uccello. He wondered if she would have kept her promise to her father. Would she have had a greater fidelity to him or to the man she loved? Either way, a betrayal was involved. He didn't envy Hazel her dilemma, but it was a dilemma she had been delivered from by Gibbon's death. Had she faced the same problem with the man before Gibbon—the “quintessential innocent,” as she had called him? She seemed to be particularly concerned to protect him.

Hazel appeared to be in the grip of a great emotion but it might just as plausibly be fear as grief. But was it fear for herself or someone else?

When Urbino got back to the table, Hazel wasn't there. He thought she had gone to the rest room herself until the
padrona
told him that the young lady had gone outside, that she had said she was feeling overheated. Urbino paid his check, got his cape, and was opening the door out to the quay when he heard his name called. It was the Contessa. She was in the little room with the fireplace, sitting, as she always liked to, with a view of the door.

He went over to her table and said good evening to a tired-looking Mrs. Pillow and her stepson, who seemed to be in high spirits. The Contessa gave him one of her radiant smiles.

“I see you're on your way out already. We're barely settled in our seats.” She looked pointedly behind him. “Were you dining alone? You should have joined us.”

“Not alone, no, but my companion isn't feeling well. She's getting some air outside. You'll have to excuse me.”

“But of course,
caro
. Perhaps we can meet her when she's feeling better.”

Urbino went out to join Hazel.

14

Hazel assured him that she was fine, that she had suddenly felt hot and needed some air, just as she had told the
padrona
. It was too dark to see how well—or ill—she looked but it was obvious from the slight crack in her voice and the way she kept touching the hair at her forehead that she didn't feel well. He gave her his arm and they walked toward the Ca' Rezzonico boat landing, retracing their earlier steps. Within a few moments they had left the isolation of the quay and were among groups of laughing revelers.

Hazel seemed disinclined to talk. He mentioned the Montin but she only nodded absently. At one point she shivered and he was tempted to put his arm around her but there was something about her manner—something, it seemed, apart from her not feeling well—that put him off. He felt that she was behaving coolly and he assumed it was because of what she had told him. She was probably already regretting it. Maybe she had discovered that it was much easier to tell these things to Commissario Gemelli.

For his part, Urbino felt a little upset with her. He hadn't sought her out last night and she
had
said that she wanted to be of as much help as she could. She should have known that this would entail revealing some things that might be painful and embarrassing to her.

By the time they reached the Campo San Barnaba, however, Urbino had softened. The poor woman had suffered through a great deal during the past two days. He was little more than a stranger. It was only understandable that she might be regretting having told him what she had. With Gemelli she had had no choice. Urbino might be striking her as a Nosey Parker. And she had seemed to be a little upset with him when he had been reserved about the details of his own personal life.

The silence between them was becoming more uncomfortable. Most of the people around them were in high spirits. One of them, wearing a black half mask and floppy jester's hat with a bell, threw confetti over them. Hazel brushed the confetti from the top of her head.

“That's where Katharine Hepburn fell into the canal in
Summertime.”
He pointed to the other side of the busy
campo
. “And that shuttered shop to the right is where she met Rossano Brazzi.”

“I never saw the movie.”

She stopped. As she looked across the
campo
, he thought she wanted him to explain the movie.

“It's about this middle-aged American schoolteacher who comes to Venice one summer and—”

“I know the story. I just never saw the movie.” Her face caught the light from the lamp overhead, giving it a washed-out appearance. Its impassive cast contributed to the masklike effect. She touched his sleeve. “This is all very nice, Urbino, but I'd like to go back to Porfirio's by myself. I have a lot of things on my mind. A long walk might help. No, don't insist and don't be upset. I wouldn't be a good companion for what would remain of our evening.”

She made an attempt at a smile but it only succeeded in giving a grotesque expression to her face. “I'd either retreat completely into silence or snap out at you. Thank you, Urbino. It was enjoyable.”

She turned around to go back under the
sottoportego
.

“It would be better if you went the other way.”

If she heard him, she didn't respond. He watched her until she went up the steps of the bridge beyond the
sottoportego
, the lights striking golden highlights from her bent head. Along with most of the shouting, singing people around her, she was headed away from the Cannaregio toward the chaos of the Piazza San Marco.

15

“I accept your apologies,” the Contessa said without any preliminary the next morning when he called her. “Not yours exactly,
caro
—but your dinner companion's last night. Don't try to spare me. I'm beyond the age of illusion. How could she want to meet me, especially after what you've told her about me—or
failed
to tell her! I noticed this little thing hurrying out as fast as she could. I thought to myself that a nervous wren like her—whoever she was—seemed to be impatient to fly to her fate in the Piazza.”

“I'm not exactly sure where she went after dinner.”

“You're not? I guess she did fly away then. I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

“What about you and Mrs. Pillow and her stepson? She looked a bit haggard. Was anything the matter?”

“A poor night's sleep,
caro
. After a certain age it adds a decade to your looks. It's unfortunate they're staying at the Splendide-Suisse. It's in the middle of everything. Berenice heard people shouting all night in the
calle
. While I was waiting for her in the foyer, I thought I would go mad. Such confusion! I know it's
Carnevale
, but the desk should have more control. I've been thinking of asking them to stay here but I'm not sure how she'll take it. She's always been independent,” she said as if she had stayed in contact over the decades with the Berenice Reilly of her adolescence. “We enjoyed ourselves last night. I'm afraid I did all the talking. Tonio kept asking me questions about Berenice.”

“I thought you and Berenice had a pact not to say anything about the past.”

“Not to say anything
embarrassing
. My memories were all flattering. She wasn't upset at all, and Tonio enjoyed hearing about those days. I'm meeting her today at Florian's at four-thirty. Why don't you join us? It will probably be the last time I'll go near the Piazza until after Ash Wednesday.”

“I'll come a little earlier and tell you what I've learned since we discussed the Casa Crispina guests the other night on the phone.”

16

Urbino got to the Casa Crispina just as Xenia Campi was about to leave for the Piazza. She was standing by the reception desk in her long dark coat and knit cap. Her face seemed larger and rounder than usual, almost swollen, but her eyes, without their usual heavy makeup this morning, were disconcertingly smaller.

“It's about the aura I saw around Signor Gibbon, isn't it?” she said with a self-satisfied smile. She loosened her heavy woolen scarf, preparing herself to go into more detail. When Urbino didn't immediately respond, she quickly added, “It's about my alibi.” She was clearly determined to display her prescience one way or another.

“I do want to ask you about the evening of Gibbon's death, Signora Campi.”

“Aha!” Her sound of triumph rang with all the conviction of her belief in her powers.

“You said you sat in the lounge that evening.”

“Yes, reading my Madame Blavatsky in the chair over in the corner—the one with the ottoman.” The chair was to the left of the reception desk and would have given her a good view of the front door and the staircase going up to the second-floor guest rooms. “I was tired and went to bed about a quarter to ten. I was in the Piazza all day. Gibbon was running around there, taking photographs. He even took some of me until I stopped him.”

“When did you get here?”

“About eight-fifteen, right after dinner. I stopped in my room first for my shawl.”

“Was anyone else here while you were?”

“Only Sister Agata, but she was asleep most of the time. The Polish man staggered out fifteen minutes after I got here. Maybe, being a Pole, he wanted some cold air but he obviously should have been in his bed under blankets. I wasn't surprised when the boat came for him later. It was about nine-fifteen when Gibbon left. I've worked it out in my mind because I know it's important. The American staying with his mother and sister left ten minutes later. He practically bumped into the Polish man, who was coming back in. I don't think either one of them noticed me.”

“Was there anything about Gibbon that was unusual?”

“Not that I could see, except that he wasn't dressed warmly. He had his camera with him. I guess he was going back to the Piazza.”

“Did you leave the lounge at any point?”

“Only for five minutes right after the American man left. I went to my room for a glass of anisette to take the chill off. I saw the American girl coming out of her mother's room and asked her if she wanted some anisette, too. She wasn't very friendly and seemed to be in a hurry. I might as well have just stayed in my room after I had the anisette. It made me sleepy and I didn't last much longer out here after I got back. When I went to bed, Sister Agata was snoring away as she always does. I don't know why they put the poor woman on the night shift. We could all be robbed blind—or worse.”

“After you went to your room, did you hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“Not a thing.” She rearranged her scarf more tightly around her throat and started to pull on her gloves. “My room is away from most of the noise. Thank God those young people are at the far end of the hall.”

Once again Urbino asked her if she knew any young women other than Dora Spaak whom Gibbon had been attentive to, but she shook her head vigorously, then gave a knowing smile.

“Did you remember to look deep into the American girl's eyes for the ghost of death, Signor Macintyre?” Xenia Campi looked deep into Urbino's own eyes with her small ones. When he didn't answer, she laughed. “I can tell that you did! I hope she didn't think you were interested in her. She's starving for attention. Visits to her mother's room aren't enough for her when she wants to be in the Piazza like the other fools.”