Alibi: A Novel Page 19

  I took another breath and forced my mouth into a smile so that it was in place when I turned. “Too much wine, probably.” Taking out a handkerchief to wipe my forehead, avoiding his eyes.

  “Hm,” Bertie said, still staring. “You sure?” But when I nodded, he let it go. “Is that where you’ve been hiding, at the bar?”

  “No, in plain sight,” I said, then stopped, disconcerted by his white shirtfront, almost a duplicate of Gianni’s. I smiled again. “Dancing.”

  “By yourself.”

  “No, Claudia’s here.”

  “Ah,” he said flatly. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “And miss this?”

  “I’ll have one of those,” he said, glancing back at the room while I got out another cigarette. “No, you wouldn’t want to miss this. Mimi’s had her ball, hasn’t she? I don’t suppose people will talk about anything else for months. Extravagant, my god. Even for Mimi. Celia de Betancourt’s here, did you see? She can’t get over it. And you know there’s no one richer than a South American. Forty of them own everything or something.”

  “They’re lining up at the trough,” I said, gesturing to the food tables. Claudia seemed to have been swallowed up in a swarm of gowns. An old man with medals on his chest, an operetta figure, was pointing to chafing dishes as a waiter filled his plate.

  “Well, the food,” Bertie said. “I don’t want to think where she got it all. Flown in, someone said. But it can’t be legal, not all this. Rosaries for days, that’s what it would cost me.”

  “The Church doesn’t seem to mind,” I said, pointing with my cigarette to a heavyset priest filling his plate.

  “Ah, Luca,” he said. “Well, the Church takes the world as it finds it.”

  “I’ll say,” I said, watching him spoon cream sauce over his plate, then looked away, still not sure of my stomach.

  “It’s only the next, you know, that concerns them. Poor Luca. It’s a weakness, all that hunger.”

  “Maybe he should see real hunger. The kind in this world.”

  “Adam, if you’re going to start, I’m leaving. Here, of all places? You can’t be serious. In your nice formal clothes. Eating Mimi’s caviar. Oh dear,” he said, catching a glimpse of the priest wolfing down a bulging mouthful, a comically greedy moment.

  I made a sound, trying to laugh. “Who is he? One of your monsignors?”

  “No, no, just a father now. A Maglione before.”

  I turned. “A relative?”

  “A cousin, I think. It’s impossible to keep track here. They branch and branch. Just assume everyone’s family and you’re safe. Why, do you want to meet him?”

  “No, I was just curious. A priest in the family—”

  “Ah, of course. And now yours. I hadn’t thought of that. I knew we’d get you a priest somehow. Well, if he is a cousin. Let’s ask Gianni.”

  I shook my head. “He’s not here.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, looking up sharply.

  “He’s late.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nearly midnight. He’s not late.”

  “Well, he hasn’t turned up. We asked the police to check—you know, if any accidents had been reported.”

  “We who? Grace?”

  I nodded. “She talked to Cavallini. He’s here.”

  “Yes, the wife,” Bertie said, an absentminded response, dotting i’s.

  “He seems to think Gianni stopped off somewhere on the way. Got delayed somehow.”

  “Stopped off? Where?”

  “To see somebody. A lady friend. An old Venetian custom, according to Cavallini.”

  Bertie stared at me. “Are you out of your mind? Do you think Gianni—”

  “I don’t know, Bertie. But he’s not here.”

  “Something’s wrong,” Bertie said, serious.

  “Cavallini called the Questura. They checked the hospitals. Nothing.”

  “And Grace is—?”

  “Putting a good face on it. She doesn’t want to ruin Mimi’s party.”

  “Oh, these ladies. And he’s probably lying in an alley somewhere.”

  “Bertie, for god’s sake.”

  “Sick. Of course it would never occur to you. At my age, it’s the first thing you think of. Happen any time—just walking down the street. You feel a little queer and—” He gave a small shudder to finish the thought. “Well, you’d better get your mother home. She won’t keep putting a good face on it.”

  “But we don’t know there’s anything wrong,” I said, hearing myself, genuine.

  “Of course there’s something wrong.” He puffed on his cigarette, thinking. “Has there been any trouble between them?”

  “Between who?”

  “Gianni and your mother,” he said, stressing each word. “Don’t be dense.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, thrown by this, an unexpected idea.

  “Well, it has happened before, you know. Cold feet at the altar. Still, not at the biggest party of the year. He simply wouldn’t. Ah, Luca.”

  The heavy priest had lumbered over. There were introductions, the Maglione connection established, but I scarcely paid attention, jittery again, wondering if Bertie would notice. Then two more minutes of aimless chatter. “But where is Gianni?” Father Luca said, finally out of conversation. “I’ve been looking for him.”

  “He was called to the hospital,” Bertie said quickly. “A shame, really. To miss a party like this.”

  “Yes, very splendid. Such food. Not since the war.” Just the thought of it seemed to send him back to the table. “You’ll excuse me? I think a little coffee before I go.”

  “Why did you say that?” I said to Bertie.

  “What do you want people to say? If they start wondering, they won’t talk about anything else, and Mimi’ll never forgive her. Have some sense. Even so, you ought to take her home.”

  “You act as if it’s some kind of scandal.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Anyway, I can’t. I’ve got to get Claudia home.”

  He had another puff, brooding. “Lovely for her, at least.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That he’s gone missing. Not exactly her favorite, was he?” He studied me. “You weren’t best fond, either.”

  “Missing. You talk about him as if he were dead,” I said evenly. “He’s not dead.” My voice steady, not a waver.

  “All right, all right, never mind. Here she comes.” He nodded toward Claudia, carrying a plate. “Looking pretty, I must say.” He peered at me over the tops of his glasses. “Calmer, I hope.”

  “That’s all over.”

  “Really,” he said, neutral. “And with everyone waiting for a rematch.” He was already reaching out for her free hand. “Claudia. So pretty.”

  “Signor Howard,” she said, tentative, not trusting the smile. “You’ve just come?”

  “Late, yes, I know. Mimi’s already scolded me. But I’m not the only one, I gather.”

  “No,” Claudia said, looking directly at him. “How is it at the Accademia?”

  Bertie ignored this, staring frankly at the necklace, not even pretending to hide his curiosity. “It’s wonderful. Wherever did you get that?” he said.

  Claudia touched it. “Adam’s mother gave it to me.” She caught his raised eyebrow. “For the evening.”

  “And rubies, no less. You can always tell.”

  “Yes, it’s beautiful. It was so kind.”

  “Well, it’s all in the family, isn’t it?” Bertie said, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray. He looked at me. “I’m glad to see everyone’s getting along so well. I’d better see what I can do about Grace. You two enjoy yourselves. I’ll get her home.” He lifted his hand in a little wave as he left.

  “He thinks something’s wrong,” I said.

  Claudia looked up from her plate, heaped with food. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t know anything. Just that something’s wrong.”


  “Oh,” she said, putting the plate on the table.

  “Not hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Eat something. You can’t put down a full plate. People will notice.”

  She shook her head again and I picked up the plate and forked some veal.

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Why not? Something is wrong. He just doesn’t know what.” I was eating quickly now, almost gulping the food down, no longer nauseated, surprised to find that I was hungry.

  “Did you see the way he looked at me? Someone from the back rooms. Not someone who wears necklaces.”

  “He’s just jealous.”

  “How can you laugh?”

  “I don’t know.” I put the plate down. “I don’t know how I’m doing any of it.”

  But suddenly it was easier. I felt another surge, warm and full of food, a primitive well-being, filling up with life again after hours of empty dread.

  “All right, one more dance to show you off, then we’ll go.”

  “Yes?” she said eagerly.

  “If he’s not here by now, whatever happened must have already happened. While we were here.”

  She looked at me, unsure, but followed me back to the ballroom. Bertie, near the door with my mother, was leaning over to talk quietly, presumably arranging to go. The floor had thinned out but was still lively.

  “You know what he was thinking?” Claudia said, looking at Bertie. “ ‘What is she doing here? That type. Ha. Looking for a rich American.’ ”

  “And you found one,” I said, smiling. That was safe now too, something I hadn’t thought about before, my mother protected. I glanced toward the door. She and Bertie were talking to Mimi, heading for the stairs. “That’s better,” I said. “You want them to see you smile.”

  She looked away, then danced closer, putting her head next to mine, trembling again. “What kind of people are we? To smile now.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Now I’ve done everything. I thought before it was everything, but now there’s this too.”

  I pulled back to face her. “Think what he was,” I said.

  She didn’t say anything.

  I had said one dance, but then it became two, another. My mother had disappeared, and with her any talk about Gianni. We drifted with the music. I could feel the heat of her through her dress. Maybe this is what happens after, I thought, every sense stronger than before, as if we’d taken some extra portion from the dead. Food, touch, just being alive. In Germany, after combat, the troops were ravenous. Rapes happened then. Relieved not to be dead, proving something.

  Around us, the beautiful room spun by in slow circles. Claudia had put a hand behind my neck, pulling us close, so that everything smelled of her. We were no longer pretending, with one eye to the others.

  When we left, the crush for coats and umbrellas had begun, so that we were lost again in the crowd. No one noticed us leave, no one looked at the time.

  We avoided the boats and walked back through San Ivo, the way Gianni would have come earlier. The calles were nearly empty, just the occasional umbrella bumping into ours in the narrow passages. Claudia was quiet, leaning against me. When we reached San Polo, she stopped under an arch near the hotel.

  “Here,” she said, reaching behind and unclasping the necklace. “Take it.”

  “You don’t—”

  “No, it’s hers. What if something happens? If I lose it.”

  “If you lose it,” I said dubiously.

  She held it in her hand, looking down at it. “So. No more Cinderella.”

  “There’s no rush.”

  She pushed the necklace into my hand. “Listen to me. We can’t do this. I knew when he looked at me, Signor Howard. Tomorrow everybody asks questions. The ball, that’s finished now. And who do they question? How do I explain all those things? That night, everybody saw me with him. My job, all those things. Where is he? And who’s the one to suspect? Me. The easy one. Who else? Even if they don’t find him.”

  “Without a body they can’t—”

  “What’s the difference? It’s still me. And then you.”

  “Stop it,” I said, grabbing her. “Don’t talk like that. No one is going to suspect anything.”

  Her eyes were darting. I put my hand to the side of her face, as if I could stop her thoughts by touching it.

  “They’ll come for me.”

  “They’re not going to come for you.”

  “Yes, they will. They’ll come.” Her eyes were wide, staring at me.

  “No. They can’t. They can never get you.”

  “Yes.”

  I put a finger to her lips. “Never. Don’t you see? You were with me.” I moved the finger slowly along her lip, then rested it on her cheek. “I’ll be your alibi.”

  She started to shake her head, turning it into my hand, but I held my finger there so that her eyes couldn’t move away.

  “And you’ll be mine,” I said. “We’ll be safe.”

  She stared at me for a minute more, then lowered her head.

  “They’ll come,” she said, barely audible.

  I brushed my hand down her cheek. “No,” I said, as quiet as she had been. “No,” I said again, a murmur, then suddenly a door slammed, someone leaving the hotel, and she jumped, startled, and reached for me.

  “Oh.” A muffled sound, no louder than the water dripping in the passage. She pulled me close to her, turning her face away from the light, holding on to my coat until we heard the footsteps grow fainter in the campo, heading off toward the Rialto.

  “It’s no one,” I said, my mouth close to her ear, but she was holding me even tighter, her arms around me, then one hand behind my neck, bending me toward her, kissing my face in a kind of rush, tasting it.

  “Oh, I don’t care,” she said, still kissing me, as if the slam of the door had been a shot and she were running away from the evening, from whatever was going to happen. “I don’t care.” Clutching me to her. I felt her breath and then my mouth was open too, moving down to her neck, excited, both of us panting, the promise at the end of the evening, everything finally letting go, feeling the flush in my face again.

  “We can’t,” I said, my face in her hair.

  “Stay with me,” she said, moving her neck so I could kiss it again.

  “I have to know what’s going on there tonight.”

  “No, stay,” she said, kissing me. “What we would do. That’s what you said.” She pulled me closer until I knew she could feel me against her, already hard. “A party. And then you didn’t come up?” Moving now, pressing into me.

  “Is that what we would do?” I said, kissing her again.

  “Yes,” she said, her hands on me, holding me. “Don’t you want to?”

  All evening, every sense working up to it. Spurting blood. The bundled tarp splashing into the dark water. My mother’s dressing room, warm with powder. The white skin at the back of her neck.

  “The hotel clerk will say we were together,” she said.

  “Claudia—”

  “I know, I know. How can we do this? After. And I still want to. I want to,” she said, her breath on my face again.

  “I can’t stay all night,” I said, my voice sliding away, skidding. “I have to get back. We have to be careful.”

  “Yes, careful. A little while then.” She pressed her face against my coat. “Before they come.”

  “Nobody’s going to come.”

  My mother was still up when I got back, coiled in a chair near the space heater, a full ashtray on her lap.

  “You’re a sight,” she said, raising her eyebrows, as if she could see through the rumpled jacket, the loose collar, to the rest of me, still sticky.

  I stood in the doorway to the sitting room, surprised to see Inspector Cavallini on the couch. At this hour his presence was beyond the call of any duty. Was he waiting for me, the body already found, questions raised?

  “I thought someone should be here,
” he said, answering whatever he saw in my face. “So Signora Miller would not be alone.” Courtly to women, a man who visited Maestre. A brandy snifter was on the table near the couch.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I said. “Any news?”

  “Nothing,” my mother said. “Something terrible’s happened.”

  “Signora, we don’t know that,” he said gently.

  “Of course it has. What else could it be? What’s awful is not to know.”

  Cavallini looked at me with an open palm of resignation. “I’ve sent a man to Dr. Maglione’s house. He will call if—”

  “He comes home? He won’t. Something’s happened,” my mother said.

  “No word at the hospitals? Anywhere?”

  “No. So a great mystery. But, let us hope, with a simple explanation. The best thing now would be to sleep,” he said, turning to my mother.

  “Sleep,” she said. Her face was pale but not splotched with tears, just in retreat, her eyes distant, the way they had been after my father died, days of it, not crying, away by herself. “I don’t see what we’re waiting for. Why can’t you trace his movements? He left the house, we know that. For Mimi’s. Unless he forgot and came here.”

  “No, I was here. Until we went to Mimi’s.”

  “But darling, I called. There was no one here.”

  Inspector Cavallini looked up from his brandy.

  “Oh, that was you?” I said quickly. “Somebody called, but I didn’t answer.”

  “Darling, you might have picked up. It rang and rang. I mean, even in the shower—”

  “I was busy,” I said, my voice a little clipped, nervous.

  But Inspector Cavallini took it for embarrassment, his eyes amused over the glass.

  “Busy?” my mother said.

  “Signorina Grassini was here as well, perhaps?” Cavallini said.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I still don’t—oh, darling.” She stopped, flustered. “Really.”

  “Getting ready for the ball,” Cavallini said, having fun with it.

  “Yes. Anyway, he didn’t come here.”

  “Well, he must have gone somewhere,” my mother said. “Somebody must have seen him. You have to ask.”

  “Signora, at three in the morning who should I ask?” Cavallini said. “You understand, my hands are tied in this. What is there to investigate? We tell everyone to listen for the accidents, a sickness, but that’s all we can do. It is not a crime to miss a party. Even such a party.”