Cat O'Nine Tales: And Other Stories (32 page)

“Only one,
sir,” said Malik. “Is there any alternative?” “Oh, yes,” replied the
Commissioner. “You can spend the rest of your life in jail.”

O
ther
than the fact that they had been to school together, the two of them had little
in
common
.

Gian
Lorenzo
Venici
had been a
diligent child since his first roll call at the age of five, whereas Paolo
Castelli
somehow managed always to be late, even for his
first roll call.

Gian
Lorenzo felt at home in the classroom with books,
essays and exams, where he outshone his contemporaries.

Paolo achieved
the same results on the football field, with a change of pace, a deceptive turn
and a shot at goal which beguiled his own team as well as the opposition. Both
young men progressed to St. Cecilia’s, the most prestigious high school in
Rome, where they were able to display their talents to a wider audience.

When their
school days were over, they both graduated to Roma:
Gian
Lorenzo to the nation’s oldest university as a scholar, Paolo to the nation’s
oldest football club as a striker. Although they didn’t mix in the same
circles, they were both well aware of the other’s achievements.
While
Gian
Lorenzo collected honors in
one field, Paolo won them on another, both achieving their goals.

After leaving
university,
Gian
Lorenzo joined his father at the
Venici
Gallery. He immediately set about converting those
years of study into something more practical, as he wished to emulate his
father and become the most respected art dealer in Italy.

By the time
Gian
Lorenzo had begun his apprenticeship, Paolo had been
appointed captain of Roma. With the cheers and adulation of the fans ringing in
his ears, he led them to championship and European glory.
Gian
Lorenzo only had to turn to the back pages of any newspaper, on an almost daily
basis, to follow the exploits of his former classmate, and to the gossip
columns to discover
who was the latest beauty to be found
dangling from his arm
: another difference between them.

Gian
Lorenzo quickly discovered that in his chosen
profession long-term reputation would be built not on the occasional inspired
goal, but on hours of dedicated research, combined with good judgment. He had
inherited from his father the two most important gifts in any art dealer’s armory–a
good eye and a good nose. Antonio
Venici
also taught
his son not only how to look, but
where
to
look, when searching for a masterpiece. The old man only dealt in the finest
examples of Renaissance painting and sculpture, which would never appear on the
open market. Unless a piece was exclusive, Antonio didn’t venture out of his
gallery. His son followed in his footsteps. The gallery bought and sold only
three, perhaps four, paintings a year, but those masters changed hands at
around the same price as one of Roma’s strikers.

After forty
years in the business,
Gian
Lorenzo’s father knew not
only who possessed the great collections, but more important, who might be
willing or, better still, needed to part with the occasional masterpiece.

Gian
Lorenzo became so engrossed in his work that he missed
the injury Paolo
Castelli
sustained while playing for
Italy against Spain in the European Cup.

This personal
setback placed Paolo on the sidelines of the football field, as well as the
newspapers, especially when it became clear that he had reached his
sellby
date.

Paolo left the
world stage just as
Gian
Lorenzo strode onto it. He
began to travel around Europe representing the gallery in an endless quest to
seek out only the rarest examples of
genius,
and,
having acquired a masterpiece, to find someone who could afford to purchase it.

Gian
Lorenzo often wondered what had become of Paolo since
he’d stopped playing football and the press no longer reported his every move.
He was to discover overnight when Paolo announced his engagement.

Paolo’s choice
of marriage partner ensured that his exploits were transferred from the back
pages to the front.

Angelina
Porcelli
was the only daughter of Massimo
Porcelli
, president of Roma Football Club and chairman of
Ulitox
, the largest pharmaceutical company in Italy. A
marriage of two heavyweights,
declared
the banner headline in one of the tabloids.

Gian
Lorenzo turned to page three to discover what merited
such a comment.

Paolo’s
bride-to-be was six foot two–an advantage for a model, I hear you say–but there
the comparison ended, because the other vital statistic the reporters latched
on to was Angelina’s weight. This seemed to vary between three hundred and
three hundred and fifty pounds, according to whether it was reported by a
broadsheet or a tabloid.

A picture is
worth a thousand words.

Gian
Lorenzo studied several photographs of Angelina, and
concluded that only Rubens would have considered her as a model. In every
picture of Paolo’s future bride, no amount of skill displayed by the couturiers
of Milan, the stylists of Paris, the jewelers of London, not to mention the
legions of personal trainers, dietitians and masseurs, was able to transform
her image from sugar plum fairy to prima ballerina. Whichever angle the photographers
took, however considerate they tried to be, and some didn’t, they only
emphasized the transparent difference between her and her
fiance
,
especially when she stood alongside Roma’s former hero. The Italian press,
clearly obsessed by Angelina’s size, reported nothing else about her of any
interest.

Gian
Lorenzo turned to the arts pages, and had quite
forgotten about Paolo and his future bride when he strode into the gallery
later that morning.

As he opened
the door to his office, he was greeted by his secretary, who thrust a large,
gold-embossed card into his hand.
Gian
Lorenzo
glanced down at the invitation.

Sienor
Massimo
Porcelli
has pleasure in inviting to the marriage of his daughter, Angelina, to Signor
Paolo
Castelli
at the Villa Borghese.

Six weeks later
Gian
Lorenzo joined a thousand guests in the grounds
of the Villa Borghese. It soon became clear that Signor
Porcelli
was determined his only child would enjoy a wedding that not only she, but
everyone else present, would never forget.

The setting in
the Borghese Gardens, perched on one of the seven hills overlooking Rome, with
its imposing terracotta and cream villa in the background, was the stuff of
fairytales.
Gian
Lorenzo strolled around the grounds,
admiring the sculptures and fountains while catching up with old friends and
contemporaries, some of whom he had not seen since his school days. Some twenty
minutes before the ceremony was due to take place, a dozen liveried ushers, in
long blue coats trimmed with gold braid and wearing white wigs, moved among the
throng. They invited the guests to take their seats in the rose garden as the
wedding ceremony was about to commence.

Gian
Lorenzo joined a large crowd as they made their way
toward a recently constructed stand with an elevated semicircle of seats
surrounding a raised stage with an altar as its centerpiece; not unlike a
football ground where a different form of worship takes place on a Saturday
afternoon. His connoisseurs eye took in the magnificent view over Rome, a scene
made even more dazzling by the number of beautiful women, dressed in clothes
that he suspected had never been worn before, and in some cases would never be
worn again. They were complemented by elegantly dressed men in tailcoats and
white shirts, with only different colored ties and cravats to suggest the
peacock in them.
Gian
Lorenzo looked around to find
that he was surrounded by leading politicians, captains of industry, actors,
socialites, as well as many of Paolo’s old teammates.

The next actor
to take his place on the stage was Paolo himself, accompanied by his best man.
Gian
Lorenzo knew he was a well-known footballer, but
couldn’t recall his name. As Paolo strode down the grass path and onto the
pitch,
Gian
Lorenzo understood only too well why
women could not take their eyes off the man.

Paolo walked up
onto the stage, took his place on the right of the altar and waited to be
joined by his bride.

A forty-piece
string orchestra, almost hidden among the trees behind the altar, struck up the
opening chords of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. A thousand guests rose from
their seats and turned to see the bride as she progressed slowly up the thick
grass carpet on the arm of her proud father.