Liquid Desires (29 page)

“See it? Of course I didn't see it! Did
you?
” the bald-headed man was quick to ask.

“I saw it yesterday.”

Once again, without any hesitation, Alvise da Capo-Zendrini's old friend asked, “Is it true what Signora Lennox said, then? That I haven't changed since that picture was taken?”

Occhipinti stared at Urbino with his round, birdlike eyes. Urbino didn't quite trust this pose of innocence.

“Neither the picture nor the clipping that went along with it was in the scrapbook,” Urbino said, staring down at Occhipinti.

“But Signora Lennox said the picture was.
She
saw it.”

“She did, but it wasn't there by the time I looked through the scrapbook.”

Occhipinti shrugged.

“Nothing to do with me. ‘Innocent am I, innocent as a babe, as Mary's own'!”

The old man's look, however, didn't match his words. He looked as guilty as a child with his hand in a cookie jar.

“Could you describe the photograph, Signor Occhipinti?”

“It must be the one of me and Alvise at Browning's Ca' Rezzonico with some municipal officials and a man from London—a relative of Browning. It was taken about fifteen years ago when I lent the Ca' Rezzonico some of my things for an exhibit.”

A young girl on a bicycle came flying down the alleyway next to the Hotel Duse. Pompilia started barking loudly, and Occhipinti pulled back on her leash with more force than was necessary.

As they approached the real estate office, Urbino decided to risk shaking the man up slightly.

“Perhaps you've forgotten that you
have
seen Flavia Brollo's scrapbook, Signor Occhipinti,” he said.

“Are you trying to upset me? I know you have to ask a lot of questions about this girl, but don't treat me like Barbara's enemy.”

“How does your signature come to be in the scrapbook? I didn't even know ‘Ugolini' was one of your names.”

Occhipinti seemed genuinely puzzled, and even more so when Urbino added, hoping his memory wasn't too inaccurate, “‘I have lived, and now, with one more kiss, can die!'”

“Some of the words are wrong,” Occhipinti said, “but that's from
In a Gondola
. I don't understand.”

“It's what you wrote in the scrapbook.”

The old man seemed to take several moments to think.

“I remember now,” he said in a barely audible voice. “I
did
write in her scrapbook, but it was a long time ago.”

Occhipinti seemed surprised by his own memory.

“So you did know Flavia Brollo?”

“Know her? She was just a young girl at the time! I didn't see her from that time until she turned up in Asolo.”

“But why didn't you tell me you knew her?”

Occhipinti had a defeated look on his little face.

“Because of Alvise—and because of Barbara! It was at Lago di Garda the summer before Alvise died. He was staying at my villa there. Barbara thought that a change of scene would be good for him, and she had to be in Milan. That's when I met Flavia Brollo. We
both
met her, you see—Alvise and I.” Occhipinti looked down at his hands. His chest was heaving quickly like a frightened bird's. “And we also met her mother.”

Occhipinti halted next to the Caffè Centrale, where the Contessa had told Urbino about her life with Alvise the day after her garden party. Urbino had come a long way in his understanding of Flavia Brollo since then, but he still had a good distance to go.

Occhipinti looked at Urbino.

“Signora Brollo was beautiful,” he said. “She had ‘great eyes, deep with dreams of Paradise'! Even then you could see that her daughter would grow up to look just like her, but beauty like that is a curse. Both mother and daughter, dead in their prime, and the same way!”

“So you know that Regina Brollo drowned?”

“Oh, yes, I read about it. My sister and I had sold the villa on Lago di Garda by then or else we might have been there when it happened. I was here at Villa Pippa.” He paused before adding, “And Alvise had died that winter.”

“You said that Alvise also met Regina Brollo.”

“Yes, on the garden terrace of the Grand Hotel. I had gone inside to make some telephone calls and when I came out young Flavia was there with Alvise. Alvise introduced us, and Flavia asked me to sign her book. She had just got it for her birthday. I did, and then Alvise did, too. Signora Brollo came out and Flavia introduced her. We chatted about the weather and the Grand Hotel, and that was it. I never saw Signora Brollo again—and as for her daughter, not until she showed up at the Contessa's party.”

“But you soon realized who she must be because she looked so much like her mother? And you must have remembered that you and Alvise had met her—as well as her mother?”

Occhipinti nodded almost reluctantly.

“But it was the only time we ever saw her!”

“Violetta Volpi says that you met her sister on several occasions years ago when you were seeing each other. She says that Alvise might even have been with you.”

Occhipinti let out a long, audible breath.

“She's lying,” he said.

“Signor Occhipinti, you know how much Barbara wants to get to the bottom of this. She wants the truth, no matter what it is.”

Occhipinti gave a high-pitched laugh.

“Don't be so sure of that, my friend! People might say that but they usually don't mean it. Maybe she thinks she can deal with the truth but it would break her.” He paused. “You wouldn't want to be the one responsible for that, would you? But what am I saying, Signor Macintyre? ‘How each loved each, he her god, she his idol'! Never doubt it!”

Occhipinti hurried off in the direction of the civic museum. As he was going past the winged-lion fountain, he started to gesticulate with his free hand, and a few indistinguishable words were carried to Urbino on the gentle breeze.

11

An hour later when Urbino went in search of the Contessa along the pebbled path above the maze at La Muta, he was taken aback to find her dressed in a stunning pair of white silk palazzo pants. It was the first time he had seen the Contessa in pants. They became her, giving her less a contemporary look than one reminiscent of Marlene Dietrich and the 1930s.

“And what are
you
looking at, may I ask?” the Contessa challenged him, lifting her well-defined little chin. “If a woman can't wear what she wants in the privacy of her own home, what would you suggest she do? Oh, I know what you're thinking, but your dear Madge Lennox's pants are distinctly along the harem line—to go with those turbans she wears, I assume. At any rate, I don't intend to parade around in these,” she added, looking down at what she considered her own much more suitable version of Madge Lennox's preferred attire.

Just how little intention the Contessa had of parading she immediately showed when she took Urbino's arm and started to stroll with him down the pebbled path.

“So tell me,
caro
,” the Contessa said, glancing at his satchel. “Have you run away so abruptly from the heat and crowds of Venice or from your charming ex-brother-in-law? You'll notice that I'm not vain enough to assume you might quite simply have run
to
me for no other reason than my company. You—”

The Contessa stopped suddenly and looked at him. Her gray eyes were touched with fear.

“You have bad news. You had to tell me in person. Oh,
caro
, I've had a premonition all day.”

It was true, of course. Urbino did have bad news. The time had come to tell the Contessa everything that he had held back from her so far about Alvise. Earlier, as long as he had had only Mirko's word to go on, he could justify not saying anything to her, but now he could spare her no longer. She had to know. He couldn't allow her to keep thinking that Alvise had had nothing at all to do with the Brollos, that Alvise's entry in Flavia's scrapbook might have been forged. Although Urbino had brought the scrapbook with him so that she could authenticate Alvise's signature, it no longer seemed necessary in light of what Occhipinti had just told him.

The Contessa must have seen the hesitation in his eyes, for she rushed on to say, with a touch of pique, “Do you know what it's like for me? Do you know what I think about every single minute of every single day and night? I can't lose Alvise in this way—no, not after he's already gone. I can't! I refuse!” she added, as if it were up to her.

The Contessa put a hand to her face. For one of the few times since he had known her, she was crying. A sob escaped, and her shoulders heaved. Urbino put his arm around her.

“Is it something else in the scrapbook—some letter, some document? What is it, Urbino? You have to tell me the truth.”

Still with his arm around her, Urbino first described how Graziella Gnocato had heard Regina Brollo tell Flavia that Alvise was her father. Flavia had confided the same thing in Mirko, Urbino said. Then he recounted the argument that Mirko claimed he and Flavia had overheard at Lago di Garda the summer of Regina Brollo's suicide.

“Violetta Volpi shouted to Lorenzo that Flavia wasn't his daughter and asked him why he didn't admit it. Mirko and Flavia heard Alvise's name mentioned and then there was a slap. Violetta started to cry and then so did Regina. Lorenzo warned Violetta to leave Regina and him alone.”

The Contessa was stunned.

“Regina Brollo herself? She was the one to tell Flavia?” The Contessa gave a hollow, humorless laugh. “I suppose she would know, wouldn't she? What did Annabella say? ‘It would be a strange mother who doesn't know her child's father'!”

She eased herself from Urbino's arm and went over to lean against the trunk of a palmetto, her back to him. She seemed to be taking deep breaths. When she turned around, she said, “Don't be angry with me, Urbino, but I refuse to believe it. The memory of an old woman? The ramblings of a drug addict? And we only have
his
word for the argument at Lago di Garda! Remember that we're dealing with what we think is murder here. No, I'm sorry, Urbino,” she repeated. “All this isn't enough and don't try to convince me it is.”

“I understand—and I agree with you.”

“You do,
caro?
”

She came over to him and slipped her arm through his. They continued along the pebbled path toward the maze.

“Yes. But there's another thing. It's Silvestro. He's hiding something.”

“Then I'll see him right away! I'll tell him he
must
tell me. I don't want to be protected by him—or you—or anyone else! He's in a position to put me out of my misery. I won't believe a senile old woman or a drug addict, but I'd believe Silvestro.”

“Please, Barbara. Let's sit down.” He guided her to the marble bench near the opening of the maze. “I may be wrong. He might be hiding something that has nothing to do with Alvise—or with Alvise and Regina Brollo.”

“What did he say?” the Contessa asked in a resigned voice.

Urbino told her about Occhipinti and Alvise's meeting with Flavia and Regina at Lago di Garda shortly before Alvise had died and about how Occhipinti denied that he and Alvise had ever met Regina before—or after—that day. It was best to get everything out in the open at the same time. The Contessa had a handkerchief pressed to her mouth as Urbino continued.

“Silvestro is holding something back. He was in Venice at the time Flavia was murdered and I'm sure I saw him on Tuesday evening in the San Polo quarter, but he denies it. He's hiding something, Barbara, but I don't know what his reason might be, not yet, anyway.”

“His reason? To protect me and Alvise! Don't be a fool!”

Urbino stared at the Contessa until she turned away and looked at the opening of the maze.

“I'm sorry,
caro
. It's just that everything is turning so ghastly for me. My heart is in a thousand pieces.”

“If there were any way I could make all this just disappear, I would do it, Barbara.”

“Oh, I know you would! There's no reason to feel guilty. Since I have to know the truth, I don't want to know it from anyone but you. Thank God you're here for me.”

Urbino felt a surge of love and admiration for the Contessa. He suspected that she was stronger than he was. He hadn't acted at all as well when he discovered Evangeline's infidelity. But Urbino reminded himself that the Contessa and he still didn't know for sure about Alvise and Regina. Would they ever? He hoped for the Contessa's sake that they would. She would be able to take anything except having to live the rest of her life with doubt.

He took the scrapbook from his satchel and showed the Contessa Alvise's signature. She nodded her head slowly in assent, saying quietly, “Yes, it's his.”

Urbino now told the Contessa about Flavia's visits to the Guggenheim to see the Dalí painting and about his conversations with Novembrini, with Violetta and her neighbors, with Nicolina Ricci's father, and—just a short time ago—with Madge Lennox. He finished with Tina Zuin and her apparent relationship with Novembrini.

The Contessa shook her head slowly. It was a lot to take in. She sat there thinking for several minutes. Urbino didn't interrupt her.

“But Flavia's death could have absolutely nothing to do with my Alvise, even if he
was
her father,” the Contessa said eventually. “Regina Brollo killed herself. Flavia was obviously troubled, and her friend Nicolina Ricci was viciously raped and murdered—there's enough to explain the poor girl being driven to suicide.”

She stopped speaking suddenly and shook her head.

“Oh, it's no use, Urbino! Even if I
am
right, I'm not going to feel any better unless I
know
I am—about Alvise or about Flavia. Which just brings us back to the beginning, doesn't it? I'm afraid that our hands aren't on all the ropes, not yet, if ever! Listen, Urbino. It might be more convenient if you just borrowed the Cinquecento so that you can use it to go back and forth between here and Venice. You can put it in the garage at the Piazzale Roma. I hardly ever use it. That way you can pick up and come here whenever you want.”