The Gilder (28 page)

“Wow. This is amazing!” It seemed so unlike the Sarah she had known, but somehow absolutely perfect for the Sarah who now stood next to her.

Sarah linked her arm through Marina’s and led her into the room. “I know, it’s quite different than you probably remember.” There was no mistaking the pride in her voice.

“That’s an understatement,” Marina murmured, running her hand along the back of a chair covered in butter-soft, ecru leather.

“It was a gradual evolution, but once I started, there was no turning back. Not just this room, but me as well. Everything changed when I started sculpting. I don’t know how to describe it. I just kept discovering parts of myself that I didn’t know were there. And then I started showing my work and people started buying it, and then Sergio saw my work... .” She laughed in a way Marina remembered, as if she were clapping her hands together with pure joy. “I guess the rest is history.” She reached for Marina’s arm again. “Speaking of history, come and look at this.”

Marina followed her through the archway to the bedroom, where a low bed was piled with soft cushions and pillows.

“Marcella made me this.” Sarah pointed at a patchwork coverlet folded at the foot of the bed. She stroked it lovingly. “I didn’t know it, but she saved all my old clothes, and a few years ago, she gave me this.” She pointed to a square of celadon fabric. “Do you remember this? It was from that dress I had when I first met you. I think I wore it to death.”

Marina stared at the quilt, recalling the day she’d worn the dress around the apartment as she watered the plants, and contemplated the kind of woman she’d turn out to be. She ran her hand over the quilt.
A liar, that’s the kind of woman I’ve turned out to be.

“I know it doesn’t really go with the new décor, but it was such a sweet thing for her to do for me. I think she was afraid that I’d eradicated myself, that she was partly responsible with the new clothing. And, of course, she helped with the decorating, too.”

“Have you?” asked Marina in an effort to quiet her self-accusations.

“What? Erased my past?”

Marina nodded, running her hand over the quilt.

Sarah moved toward the living room and motioned Marina to follow. “Not at all. I think I’ve just grown into myself. I didn’t realize until Thomas died how much I was living his life.” She took two glasses and a bottle of wine from the blond sideboard. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s unusual. I think women do it all the time. I know, too, that you were trying to point that out when you encouraged me to get back to my drawing. I just couldn’t see it at the time.”

Marina accepted the glass of wine Sarah offered and took a seat on the couch.

Sarah sat down next to her. “Since we’re talking about the past, there’s something I need to tell you that I should have told you a long time ago. I tried putting it in a letter, but it never sounded quite right.” She took a sip of wine. “Besides, I’m awful about writing, as you well know.”

Marina sat immobilized, her wineglass halfway to her mouth.

Sarah had put her glass down and was twisting her gold bracelet around and around her wrist. “I’ve always felt badly about how I led you on. You know, all those years ago. I flirted with you shamelessly, passing it off as some sort of bohemian, bon vivant behavior. And I did love you, of course I did, and I loved having you as my friend, but I wasn’t looking for a lover, and I think that’s how it came across.”

Marina felt her face flush but didn’t speak.

“It’s just that Thomas always took everything for himself, and I was afraid that if I didn’t secure you as
my
friend that he would take you, too. He liked it that you liked him and worked with him, but there was a part of him that couldn’t stand that you liked me better, or that I spent so much time with you. Please, don’t look so stricken. It makes me feel terrible.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just trying to understand,” Marina croaked. She sipped her wine without tasting it. Was this the moment to tell Sarah that Thomas had, in fact,
taken
her, that she had allowed him to, and now had a gray-eyed, brown-haired memento?

Sarah went on. “And I’m ashamed to admit it, but I think partly I was getting back at Thomas for his relationship with the contessa.”

“Oh my God, the contessa. I forgot to tell you. I saw her last night.”

“What? Where?”

“She was at the reception at the Accademia.”

“Did she see you? You didn’t talk to her, did you?”

“No, I hid behind a pillar and watched her weaving her evil web.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face. “It’s her fault Thomas was murdered.”

“Murdered? What do you mean
murdered?
” Marina was genuinely shocked.

Sarah stood up. “Let me show you.” She crossed to an Asian desk, the most ornate object in the room, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory, and withdrew a folder from the top drawer, then returned to the couch and sat down next to Marina. “You’re not going to believe this.” She began handing the photographs to Marina one by one.

Marina was stunned. Not because she didn’t believe it—she’d seen it with her own eyes—but because it was here in Sarah’s lap. And there was so much of it! She didn’t see a shot of the scenario she’d observed that night, but the sadomasochistic theme was prevalent. Each photograph featured one couple, either homosexual or heterosexual, and many included the contessa in the directorial mode. There were a number with transvestites, but she wasn’t sure in which category they belonged, straight or gay.

“Evidently, Thomas had a career I didn’t know anything about.” Sarah’s words were bitter, brittle.

“But how does this relate to his death?”

Sarah stood up abruptly and began to pace. “I knew that bitch had some hold over Thomas. He never would have done anything like this on his own. He wasn’t a pervert. Maybe he had a mother-fixation thing with her. I know he had a weird relationship with his own mother. I don’t mean sexual, but she was one of those women who couldn’t get her husband’s attention so she made Thomas into her little companion and confidant.” Sarah tapped her forefinger against her temple. “Very fucked up.”

Marina picked up a few of the photographs that had fallen to the floor when Sarah stood up. “Are you saying you think she killed him?”

“No, no.” Sarah came back to the couch and picked up the stack of photographs. “Look at these people.” She slapped the photographs onto the coffee table side by side.

Marina had never seen Sarah this angry, even the time Thomas went off with the contessa during their summer holiday. She was like a woman possessed as she covered the table with sordid images. It gave Marina a few moments to really examine the collection as a whole. She was pretty sure they’d all been taken in Thomas’s studio, on the same Oriental rug she’d seen that night, although there were a few that involved chains and straps attached to a wall she couldn’t place.

Sarah had finished creating her montage. “Look.”

Marina looked but didn’t understand.

“I
know
these people. Not personally, but I’ve seen them around over the years. They are all pals of the contessa, and most of them are bigwigs, city officials, the local aristocracy, captains of industry. Can you imagine the power this gave her, the blackmail potential?”

It all sounded a bit far-fetched to Marina. “Why would the contessa need to blackmail anyone?”

“She probably didn’t. With her, it was all about control. That was her drug of choice. They were all just puppets on a string, victims of their own perversions.”

“I can see that one of these ... clients ... might get nervous about having this kind of stuff floating around, but
murder?
Besides, wouldn’t they want to get rid of the contessa? She was potentially the biggest threat, wasn’t she?”

“You can’t just eliminate someone like the contessa. She’s too well connected. It makes more sense to get rid of the person who’s actually manufacturing the photos, which would send a pretty clear message to that bitch.” Sarah shook her head. “Maybe they just wanted to scare Thomas, and when it went too far, they decided to get rid of anything that might tie them to him.”

Marina wanted to take Sarah seriously but was beginning to feel like she was in a Mickey Spillane novel. “Did you take all this to the police?”

Sarah slumped back onto the couch. “No, I didn’t see any point. I didn’t even find these until four or five years after Thomas’s death. It would just have been embarrassing.”

“Where did you find them?”

Sarah was putting the pictures back into the folder. “They were taped to the underside of a drawer in the bedroom. I only found them because I was redecorating. Whoever ransacked his studio must have found a set there; otherwise, they probably would have come looking here.”

“Did you ever confront the contessa?”

“No, I figured she’d just sneer at me. I did something much better.” She shuffled through the photographs and withdrew one with the contessa in it. Oddly enough, it was quite similar to the one Marina had seen in progress, except this one involved a middle-aged woman and man in the horse and rider position. The contessa wore a tight skirt, fishnets, four-inch heels, and stood behind them with glasses perched on the end of her nose and a nasty-looking metal ruler in her hand. “I took one like this and wrote ‘murderer’ across her forehead with a marker, then sent it to her in the mail.”

“God! That must have given her a shock.” Marina was feeling a little shocked herself. It was becoming more and more difficult to reconcile this new Sarah with the mild-mannered one of old.

Sarah closed the folder. “I felt a little bad after I sent it. She was crushed, absolutely devastated by Thomas’s death. But still ... she deserved it.”

“Wow, that’s quite a story. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

“I know I must sound like a crazy woman, but I wanted you to have the whole story. I haven’t talked about it in a long time. I didn’t realize how angry I still am. Anyway, it’s water under the bridge. Maybe I’ll burn these photos some day. I don’t know why I keep them.”

Marina felt suddenly exhausted. “It’s late, I should go.”

At the door, Sarah gave her a hug. “I just want to say again how sorry I am about playing with your feelings all those years ago. I really did cherish our friendship. Can you forgive me?”

Marina moved out of her embrace. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Outside, the temperature had dropped and Marina welcomed the cold slap to her face. She turned up the collar of her coat, jammed her hands into the pockets, and decided to take the long way back to the hotel. Her thoughts bounced back and forth between Sarah’s murder theory and the strange confession about exploiting their relationship. Their friendship had begun so long ago and the memories were now so distorted that she didn’t really know how to think about any of it. Should she feel foolish? She might have fallen in love with Sarah without the flirtation. Should she be angry? She tried on indignation, wondering if it would qualify as justification for sleeping with Thomas. What if Sarah’s manipulations had made her vulnerable to him? Perhaps she wasn’t to blame after all. No, she couldn’t stretch it that far. She’d behaved badly, betrayed her friend, and would continue to do so until she told her the truth. However, the thought of adding another layer to Sarah’s surfeit of pain gave her pause. It seemed cruel to lay yet more betrayal at her feet.

In Piazza della Signoria, a group of young people in various stages of embrace sat on the edge of Neptune’s Fountain as a lone guitar player strummed and sang softly from the stoop of a café. She turned toward the Duomo, noticing that Christmas lights had appeared on some of the side streets. She’d forgotten that the holidays were not far off and couldn’t imagine how she’d traverse the slippery slope that lay between here and home. Not that home was looking too much like a safe haven these days. The thought of Zoe prompted her to quicken her steps back to the hotel.

To Marina’s utter relief, Zoe came to the phone. She asked Zoe about the photography club, but it only opened an avenue she’d hoped to avoid.

“Is it true that my dad was a really good photographer, or is that something you made up, too?”

Marina was so pleased that Zoe was talking to her that she let the barb go. “Yes, he was. He was quite well known in Italy and made a good living at it.”

“Did he, like, take pictures of people for money or was it all art stuff?”

Marina tried not to think of the pictures she’d seen that evening. “Sometimes he’d do some commercial work, if it was for someone he knew and liked, but mostly he did his own work.”

“Did you really work with him?”

“Yes, sweetie, I really did work with him. I helped him in his darkroom and I went with him a few times when he was scouting ideas for a show.” There was a long silence. “Zoe, are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Marina could hear the beginning of tears in Zoe’s voice. “Sweetie ...”

Zoe sniffed. “I was just wondering if you know where he is. What happened to him after he died?”

The thought had never crossed Marina’s mind. “You mean, where is he buried?”

Zoe was crying hard but managed a few words. “Yes, I ... I thought maybe you could ... could visit him for me.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know where he is, but I’ll find out, okay?” Again there was silence, and she imagined Zoe nodding at the other end of the phone the way children do before they understand that the person at the other end can’t see them.

“Zoe?” Marina could still hear her crying.

Lydia came on the line. “I’m sorry, Marina, I don’t think she wants to talk anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have asked about the photography. It just set her off.”

“It’s not your fault. She’s been wound up since she came home from Shutterbugs, yesterday.”

“Shutterbugs?”

“That’s the name of the club. Cute, huh?”

“Yeah. But what do you mean ‘wound up’?”

“She started talking about how she could have had a father, you know, while Thomas was alive. I tried to tell her that wouldn’t necessarily have been the case, but she wouldn’t hear it. Anyway, what do I know? Do you think he would have wanted to be involved, if he’d known about her?”