The Savage Garden (40 page)

     HE HAS TO COME. HE HAS TO COME.

    It was an annoying and persistent little mantra. He would shake it out of his head only for it to barge its way back in again a few minutes later.

    After fighting it for three hours, he wasn't just bored, he was exhausted. And hurting. The aspirins were wearing off. It didn't help that he was hunched in a tight recess at the back of the altar.

    He unfolded himself from his hiding place and lay flat on the stone floor, arms at his side. It struck him that he was not alone, that both Flora and Emilio lay close by, stretched out in exactly the same fashion, and it gave him comfort.

    He stared at the roof, barely discernible in the faint light from the lone candle on the altar—just a dim mesh of beams and crossbeams. He imagined it being built, men high overhead on wooden scaffolds, hammering the structure into being, the blue vault of a summer sky above them.

    He closed his eyes, picturing it, and felt himself drifting off to sleep. He snapped upright, shunted himself back beneath the altar, huddling on his haunches, knees against his chest.

    He has to come. He has to come.

    Maybe he's already been, then gone away. Maybe he saw the ladder lying on the ground against the wall of the chapel, the one pushed over by Adam after he'd clambered through the window. It had been an awkward maneuver, but a necessary one, Maurizio being unlikely to enter the chapel unless the door was locked from the outside, the key safely beneath its rock.

    Christ, he wanted a cigarette. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone so many waking hours without one. There was that production of Ibsen's
Hedda Gabler
at the Cambridge Arts Theatre, over three hours of excruciating student overacting unbroken by an interval, although the blond girl from Newnham playing Hedda had been very easy on the eye. What was her name again? She had a brother at Corpus Christi with a claret-stain birthmark on his neck . . .

    He was awakened by a rasping noise. He recognized it immediately as the mechanism of an old lock groaning in protest. He stiffened, straining his ears. He heard the creak of hinges. And then whispers.

    He hadn't come alone! He'd brought someone with him. Or something. Something shuffling, scampering. A dog padding around, getting its bearings, sniffing out the dog-history of the place. Not good. Bad.

    A male voice hissed a command, calling the animal to heel. But for how long? A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, making a quick sweep of the interior, casting the shadow of the altar against the back wall.

    Adam cowered. He hadn't entered the chapel through the door, so there was no scent for the dog to pick up on, not unless it went wandering. He knew the dog—a collie with a bunch of other stuff thrown in, young and skittish, but hardly an attack dog. He could remember being pleasantly surprised that Maurizio and Chiara didn't feel the need for a pedigree animal.

    Another sound now, off to his left. A bag of tools being laid on the ground. A hand rummaging inside. Then silence. Followed by a scraping noise. Maurizio working away at the join around the plaque. Best to wait awhile before surprising him.

    The dog had other ideas.

    He didn't see it until it appeared right in front of him, wagging its tail and panting.
Good game, but I found you,
it seemed to be saying.

    He tried to push it away. It licked his hand and let out a small yelp.

    "Ugo."

    Definitely Maurizio's voice.

    Ugo gave a couple of merry barks and the flashlight beam swung around to the altar.

    Adam cut his losses and crawled out from his hiding place, squinting into the light. He turned on his own flashlight and fired it at Maurizio's face, blinding him back. After a moment's standoff, they both lowered their beams toward the floor.

    Adam stroked Ugo's head, a gesture intended to give the impression that he was relaxed and in control. Maurizio's body was braced as if for a fight, his face as pale as ashes. The screwdriver in his hand looked far from innocent.

    "Why are you here?" he asked darkly.

    "I don't know."

    "Why?" insisted Maurizio.

    "I didn't have a choice. I had to find out."

    Maurizio turned suddenly and used the screwdriver to prize the plaque free of the wall. His torch revealed nothing behind other than bare, raw stone. There was certainly no gun, and no bullets.

    "Very clever," muttered Maurizio. "Very clever."

    Instinct told Adam to keep his own confusion to himself. Where the hell was the gun?

    Maurizio sat himself down on the end of a pew. There was something defeated about his body language that Adam found hard to square with the man, so he kept his distance.

    "Well, now you know."

    "Why?" asked Adam. "He was your brother."

    "It happened. I don't have to explain to you."

    "Because of all of this ... a house, some land?" He wanted to believe that something else had played a part—a clash of ideologies, anything other than simple greed.

    "But you made sure. With his own gun?"

    Maurizio didn't reply; he stared at his hands, as if they alone had been to blame for his actions.

    "Where was Gaetano?"

    "He arrived as the Germans were leaving. He was coming upstairs when he heard the shots." Maurizio raised his head and added flatly, "There's nothing you can do."

    "I can tell your mother."

    "Yes. And she will do nothing."

    "How do you know?"

    "Because I won't permit her to."

    "Oh really?" scoffed Adam.

    A slyness crept into Maurizio's smile. "You're an intelligent boy—work it out."

    Even in the half-light Adam could make out the cold and creeping cunning in his eyes. Maurizio seemed to be saying he was ready to add matricide to fratricide, if that's what the situation called for.

    "It's your decision."

    Ugo's sudden bark sounded like a triumphant cry, applause for the brilliance of his master's devilish strategy.

    
"Zitto,"
spat Maurizio. But Ugo had no intention of remaining silent. He barked again, bounding toward the door of the chapel.

    Maurizio moved with impressive speed, but the door still swung open before he got there.

    Maria stepped into the chapel, shielding her eyes from the glare of Maurizio's flashlight.

    "Maria ..."

    Maria pulled the door shut behind her, her face set in stone. "I heard everything."

    Maurizio's eyes flicked back and forth between her and Adam, searching for a connection. Adam could have told him there was none, if Maurizio hadn't figured it out for himself.

    "What are you doing here?"

    "Listening."

    "Who for? My mother?"

    Maria didn't reply, but her silence seemed to speak to Maurizio.

    "Who, then?" he asked. "Antonella?"

    Again, Adam saw nothing in Maria's face that constituted an answer. Maurizio clearly knew how to read her better. "Of course ... she knows it will come to her if I don't get it," he said, his tone suggesting that the pieces were now falling into place for him.

    Adam, on the other hand, was struggling to keep up, his mind reeling, trying to process the information.

    He gave up the fight when Maurizio added, "Whatever she's giving you, I'll give you more." "She's giving me a lot."

    "It's nothing."

    Maria took her time before replying. "I want a house of my own. Not an apartment. And I want money."

    "How much?"

    "Enough so I don't ever have to worry again."

    "It's yours," said Maurizio.

    Adam didn't intend to speak. The English words just exited his mouth. "Maria, what are you doing?"

    She glanced at him, her expression ashamed but resolute. "What about him?" she asked Maurizio.

    "What can he do? He's leaving tomorrow. He already knows he has no choice."

    Maria nodded again and made for the door.

    "Maria . . ." pleaded Adam.

    She stopped and turned. "What? Who are you? What do you know? You know nothing." She thrust a finger toward the villa. "All my life my father worked for her, and what did he get? Nothing. What will I get? Nothing. That is the way it is. All I want is to die beneath my own roof and pay for my own funeral. Is that so much to ask? Well, is it!?"

    Maurizio made a calming gesture with his hands.

    "Who are you?" Maria went on. "You're a child. You know nothing."

    In the silence that followed her departure, Adam reached out a hand to steady himself against a pew. It wasn't enough. He had to sit down.

    Maria was right. He knew nothing. He was entirely out of his depth. He looked up to see Maurizio standing over him, nothing triumphant in his look, just a quiet certainty.

    They left the chapel together. Maurizio locked the door and placed the key in his pocket. He raised his face toward the stars, then turned his gaze on Adam. "I mean what I said about my mother. It's your decision."

    Sleep was out of the question. He didn't even try. He sat on the terrace and chain-smoked. Bewilderment and an overwhelming sense of his own naïveté battled for possession of his head. He was unable to absorb what he'd witnessed. He knew there had been a trade—Maria had sold her silence for a hefty price—but what was all the talk of Antonella?

    She knows it will come to her if I don't get it.

    He hadn't misunderstood Maurizio's words. Or Maria's response to them. He ran their exchange over and over in his head— feverishly testing it, challenging it—until the creeping dawn light had dimmed all but the brightest stars. Then he got to his feet.

    Nearing the farmhouse, he stopped briefly to admire the new sun stretching its pale fingers over the hills. If he hadn't delayed for that moment, he would have been walking across the yard, caught in the open, when the door at the top of the outside staircase swung open and Fausto stepped from the farmhouse.

    Adam dipped out of sight behind the corner of the barn. Fausto! It wasn't possible. He resisted the urge to check, certain that his eyes hadn't deceived him, wishing that they had. What was Fausto doing creeping from Antonella's house at dawn?

    He hurried around the back of the barn. From the corner of the farm buildings he had a broken view through a cluster of cypresses on the track leading to San Casciano. Fausto passed along it, grave and pensive, slightly stooped. Adam followed, sticking to the trees.

    Fearing detection, he was obliged to fall behind when Fausto reached the outskirts of San Casciano. Twice he almost lost him in the labyrinth of streets. The third time, he did lose him, but by then he had a pretty clear idea of where Fausto was headed.