The Innocent (23 page)

—You ought to be ashamed of yourself, speaking to your wife like that and in public, too.

—And you mind your own business! She’s my wife and I’ll speak to her any way I want!

‘He told his wife to suit herself but he was off. He got up and left the table but Costanza didn’t budge. After a minute or so, she leaned towards Monica and said:

—He’s going nowhere. I’ve got the car keys and the house keys.

‘An hour later the two women were in a huddle and those who were listening in said they came to an ad hoc financial arrangement that suited them both and confidences were being exchanged:

—If you knew what I went through in that first twenty years of marriage, it’d make your hair stand on end. A different one every week. I couldn’t hold my head up. And the money it was costing when we’d two children to bring up.

—It was the same with mine until he had his stroke. After that it was whine whine whine and he wouldn’t so much as blow his own nose. Ten years of that I had. It’s a good thing we live longer. At least we get a bit of peace and quiet at the last.

‘Lorenzini says there’s no question of Monica pressing charges for assault.’

‘In that case, there wasn’t really a row.’

‘Yes, there was. I haven’t got to that yet. While all this was going on, Nardi was chatting up some woman at another table. Had his arm round her, by all accounts. When they noticed, both Monica and Costanza got up and marched over there. That’s when the real row started. Lorenzini had to break it up.’

‘You mean they attacked her? Physically attacked her?’

‘No, no … They attacked him. Got a few good ones in before it was stopped, too. Lorenzini admits he was wary of Monica’s nails in particular—and he wasn’t in uniform, of course, so they could easily have pretended not to recognise him.’

‘Well, all I can say is, there’s no understanding what some women see in some men.’

‘No …’ admitted the marshal with a worried frown. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well. Anyway, Lorenzini says Nardi cleans up well. He had his teeth in and it seems he has a very good voice for a love song. Seductive, Lorenzini said.’

‘Well …’

‘Birthday cake for Giovanni!’ shouted Lapo, carrying it out, held high. He was followed by a very smart young waitress bringing spumante and glasses. The rest of the diners joined in the toast and the singing. Lapo sat with them a while.

The smart young waitress was on loan from the restaurant opposite where the young owner turned out to have a feeling for the Quarter after all.

‘It’s just for this month. Things get a lot busier in July. But in any case, we can’t keep our Sonia at home looking after her grandma for any longer than that. She’s been terrific but it’s not right to sacrifice her and if the wife stopped at home I’d have to employ a cook. We can’t afford that. My mother-in-law could have a third stroke or she could go on for years, bedridden after this second one. There’s no way of knowing. What could I do?’

‘What will you do?’

‘After I’ve sold up? Well, there’ll be a bit of money in the bank. The wife fancies taking over a little stationer’s and toy shop not far from here. It’ll be a lot less work for her and she’s used to a bit of company. I’ll probably spend a bit more time in politics. I might be looking for your vote next time round.’

‘That won’t surprise me at all. Your regulars are going to miss you. Where are they going to eat?’

‘Here. That was part of our agreement. My regulars go on eating here at lunchtime at a special all-in price. He turned out to be a decent enough bloke, after all, even though he is Milanese.’

They left for Santa Croce and took their seats in time to watch the first horses in the procession file into the floodlit square. The crowd remained peaceable enough at the passage of judges, halberdiers and guildsmen, but there was tension in the air when the two eliminated teams appeared and a groundswell of aggression rose with the entrance of the finalists. For now it gave vent to nothing worse than carnations raining down like arrows to crisscross the sandy pitch in white and bright dyed blue. The marshal hoped for the best but violence was always to be budgeted for and he thought it likely that he would regret having said yes to this.

But when the canon fired and the first scrum erupted into a fight, Giovanni pulled at his arm. The marshal turned, frowning at the effort to hear him despite the roaring, raging crowd. Giovanni’s eyes were popping with the pleasure of pasta and beefsteaks and cake and spumante and football, and fireworks to come.

‘Dad, it’s brilliant!’

On the other side of Giovanni, Totò, well fed and happy, was bouncing up and down waving a white flag for Santo Spirito, screaming support. On the marshal’s left, Teresa squeezed his arm, whether in enthusiasm or apprehension he didn’t know. But the nightmare faded. He started concentrating on the game. You could never tell. Maybe this year the Whites would win.