The Vatican Rip (16 page)

I waited until Anna’s breathing had evened out. She had quickly become used to my reading till all hours, though at first she played hell about the light. Now she just let me read.

The trouble was we were becoming acutely conscious of each other. At least, I was of her, and a few times I saw her regarding me with an odd look. We’d become very reserved in a curious sort of way. I was worn out being polite. Still, we both understood the reason we were together: the rip, the whole rip and nothing but the rip. That’s what I told myself.

I let myself out in my bare feet. She had given me a key the second day. The only risk was the couple of groups who lived upstairs, one small family right at the top and an elderly couple who worked as caretakers to the furniture place next door. It felt clear. In the alley I donned my socks and shoes and set off down the glittering, dark alleys.

A few minutes later I was on the workshop roof. It was easy enough. People forgot about roofs and floors when protecting places. Torch in my left pocket so I could cling with my right hand, and I began to climb, only partly paralysed with fear.

Some kind of gauze, a little separated, covered the window. When I think of it now it was lucky they were so preoccupied in that great oval bed. Bonny and plushily expensive, but modern crap, of course. Like the expensive Axminster carpet and the velvet drapery. And the splendid wall mirrors. And the oak panelling. It was a tasteful and elegantly appointed bedroom, and it was being put to proper use. Gold light shone from a Garian porcelain bedside lamp. Piero lay beside Adriana, hands behind his head as he talked at the ceiling. She lay on her side facing me, eyes closed. They seemed to be having words. Clinging there, my impressions were indelible: a glass with a small demilune of drink, a woman’s satin robe over a chairback. The mirrors. The tight set of Adriana’s mouth. Her lovely skin shining golden.

I realized with a sudden shock her eyes had opened and fixed on the window. She did not move. I froze, breaking into a sweat. My face was only a foot from the glass. I drew it slowly back and sank gently down below the level of the sill, hoping she hadn’t seen me.

A few shaky minutes later I was tiptoeing into my pad. Anna gave me the fright of my life.

‘Welcome home, Lovejoy,’ her voice said, not a bit sleepy. ‘You found her little love nest?’ I could swear she was smiling. The little bitch had known about it all the time. She could have saved me all that bother.

‘Well, yes.’

As I lay down, knackered after my pointless exertions, she put her geriatric voice on, for devilment. ‘Signor Peci’s been the pretty signora’s stud for some time now. She likes them strong and handsome, Enrico. In case you’re interested.’

‘Don’t call me Enrico.’

She cackled and I heard her turn over. I lay there sickened. Why I should feel like that I don’t know, but at least now Piero’s resistance to my winch was finally explained. No wonder he’d gone pale around the gills. I’d suggested turning his private knocking-shop into a store room for reproduction ‘antiques’. There’d be no question of the decision Adriana would make – after giving my scheme a token consideration, for the sake of appearances.

‘Poor Lovejoy.’ I heard her mattress creak as she huddled down to sleep. ‘You’ve a worse surprise to come.’

‘What do you mean?’ I tried again, getting mad. ‘Anna.
What
surprise?’

She wouldn’t say any more. I lay there wondering why it was suddenly so important to me and finally decided it was because Adriana’s emporium was the one place with everything I needed for the rip. Satisfied with my logic, I eventually rolled over to sleep.

‘
Cretino
,’ Anna murmured.

The Holy Father blessed sixty thousand of us on that Palm Sunday. He spoke vehemently of the cross of faith and our responsibility. Not all life could be at our own behest or lived at the whim of desire, it seemed.

How right he was.

I applauded with the rest when he waved a cream-coloured frond in farewell. It was great to be part of a happy crowd. Anna thought so too, for she was busily working the dip in the thick tourist clusters round the fountains.

During the early part of the day, when the Holy Father was celebrating Mass on St Peter’s steps, I reached my final decision. The well-guarded Arch of Bells was out. Its pace of life was too casual, far too intimate. Also the giant Portone di Bronzo was out. I’d glimpsed inside when somebody was admitted for an audience. The habit those vigilant Swiss Guards had of standing on the steps ready to move either way was most disconcerting.

St Anne’s gate was not too bad, for all it had distressed me when I first clapped eyes on it. I decided that was our exit line. Anna had been incredulous.

‘You decide the way
out
first, Lovejoy? When you haven’t even got
in
?’

‘In is no problem.’

She was furious. ‘Might your one and only partner know why?’

I grinned at her. ‘They’ll invite me in, love.’ I got my own back by refusing to say any more.

During the mass exodus from the Square later I missed Anna, though I observed some disturbance over near the Vatican City post office. A policeman stopped me near the Cancello di Sant’ Anna, giving me a momentary infarct.

‘That your auntie over there in the police car?’

‘Eh?’

‘That old lady. She’s been pickpocketing.’

Everybody was looking. ‘Er, yes. Good heavens!’ I pushed through the crowd towards the car. A tired policeman in the front seat was smoking a cigarette. Anna was hunched shamefacedly in the back, putting on an act of dizziness.

‘This old bag—’ the cop began.

‘Auntie!’ I cried in relief. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘—causes us more trouble than the rest of Rome.’

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’

‘Now, signor.’ The copper with me tapped my shoulder. ‘Now. We tire of her. Understand? You take her in hand, or else . . .’

‘I will! I promise!’

If you looked after her properly she wouldn’t need to steal.’

‘You are right, signor,’ I said, all humble. With my hand on my breast and my heart seething with murderous intentions towards Anna I smiled apologetically.

We warn you,’ the boss cop said, wearily exhaling smoke into my face like he was doing me favours. ‘You are responsible in future. Okay?’

They took my name and address and let us off with a warning. I even had to sign for the silly old bitch. I grabbed Anna and backed off into the crowd, bowing and scraping to the cops as I went. All the way I said nothing, dragging Anna home in a blaze of white-hot fury, and once there it happened without any conscious decision. I didn’t even give her time to have a shower. I gave her a damned good shaking, and called her all the names under the sun for risking the rip and getting us booked like that.

She took it in silence, struggling a bit at first and sobbing a little.

‘I’m sorry, Lovejoy,’ she snuffled after I’d nearly calmed down.

‘So you ought to be,’ I snapped. ‘You’re now a registered felon on the cops’ frigging books.’

‘I’ll make it up—’

‘There’s no time.’ As I said it my heart was in my boots. I felt ill at the thought.

‘I’ll ditch old Anna, build another character—’

‘The fucking rip’s next week, you silly cow!’

‘Next week?’ Stricken, she raised a tear-streaked face. ‘We must put it off—’

‘Rips can’t be postponed. They’re cancelled, or done. Silly bitch.’

‘But, Lovejoy—’

Then I nicked her handbag – why change a profitable habit? – and slammed out into the alley. The trouble with allies is they try to help, and nothing is more trouble than that. Within an hour I’d got plastered on white plonk, and that evening was thankful it was Sunday. I could barely totter to the restaurant whose name Adriana had written down.

* * *

I worked so hard planing and chiselling that I could see wood wherever I looked.

I’d better explain. A rent table is not your usual rectangle or flapped circle, nothing like that. Think of a mushroom, a top on a pedestal. It was used for what its name says, collecting rent from the peasantry. The serfs’ coins went on to a decorated centre, which sinks like Sweeney Todd’s chair and drops the gelt into the pedestal below. Some are oval. Arcellano’s was angled, with drawers all round. It stands to reason that
every
drawer can’t be rectangular, or they would have no space to enter. Slices of cake are wedge-shaped for the same reason. So some of the drawers have to be phoney for the exterior to look right.

I was using wood cannibalized from cheap furniture about thirty years old, plus a few panels quite a bit older. Incidentally, when you are forging furniture don’t turn your nose up at chipboard. It’s a hell of a weight but it’s cheap, it veneers like a dream, and it won’t warp in central heating. Very few whole-thickness woods have all those merits.

As my plan called for two rent tables I was wood from floor to ceiling. A lucky find was a supply of beeswax and turpentine at the furniture makers’ next door to Anna’s place, and a reasonable range of wood varnishes from the main Corso. The adhesives you can get nowadays are great, but a few have one terrible drawback – a characteristic stink – so those have to be avoided. I’d also need a controlled temperature of 68° Fahrenheit or so to do all this glueing and varnishing, and as I’m very keen on knowing what the relative humidity is playing at around furniture, another battle with Adriana was obviously called for. The trouble was Piero would say the opposite to whatever I proposed. Him having the monarch’s ear, so to speak.

During an afternoon break Anna conducted me to a couple of furniture warehouses. The tables I finally decided I liked were crummy and modern enough to break your heart.

Anna noticed quick as a flash and burbled, ‘Why, Enrico! They’re exactly like the ones in—’

I trod neatly on her foot and ordered three, for delivery next afternoon. ‘They’re just the thing I need in the workshop, Auntie,’ I explained loudly.

On the way home Anna demanded, ‘Has the beautiful signora said you could buy them on her account?’

‘Not yet.’

‘But you expect she will agree?’

‘Yes,’ I lied, looking Anna straight in the eye.

‘They’re expensive, Lovejoy.’

‘They’re for the rip,’ I said coldly. ‘What’s expense between friends?’

She saw sense. ‘Why did you tell the man to deliver the tables at four o’clock? The emporium’s closed—’

‘Anna, love,’ I told her wearily. ‘Shut it.’ She was driving me mad. ‘And you forgot your voice, you silly bitch.’ Old Anna had twice spoken with the mellifluous voice of a young woman. I’d had to kick her into the right gear.

She gave me a mouthful. ‘It’s working with a selfish brute like you!’ But I could tell she was shaken.

It was in this happy mood of fellowship we parted, Anna furiously plunging into the nearest crowd of tourists and me slamming off to the workshop for another few hours’ beavering.

Mondays are always busy with customers. Several times I was interrupted by Fabio to try the tray dodge, which began to get on my nerves. It seemed every few minutes. Still, whoever pays the piper. Whether it was the row with Anna or the knowledge of Piero’s special, erm, position with regard to Adriana I honestly don’t know. But by closing time I was thoroughly cheesed off. When Adriana called me in to hand me my restaurant chit I refused to accept it.

‘No, thank you, signora.’

Piero was bolting the back yard. Fabio was checking the window grilles.

‘Where will you eat, Lovejoy?’ Her frigging trump card.

‘I’ll manage.’

She flamed. ‘Like you did the other night, I suppose. With that fat tourist?’

So she knew of that. Good old Fabio. Or Piero. Or yet another of Arcellano’s goons? Christ.

‘She wasn’t fat.’

‘And you naturally know for absolute certain
how
fat!’

I’d never seen her so pale and angry. It was one of those days. Everything was in a bloody mess at the emporium and I didn’t even know if Anna and I were still speaking.

‘Signora,’ I said, because I was fuming too, ‘all my childhood I had food tickets on the charity. I’ll have no more. Please decide what you think I’ve earned. Give me any cheap antique you think will come near it. I’ll manage the way I always have. Antiques is my game. Greed appears to be no different in Rome than anywhere else.’

I left her to make the choice and went out to help with the locking up, though one of the others always checked them after me again anyway.

We did our reporting session as usual, me last. I told her I’d ordered
two
modern cafeteria-type tables that afternoon and told the suppliers to bill the emporium.

Fabio started up instantly. ‘Of all the nerve.’

‘They were needed for glue tables in the workshop.’

‘Will there be any further expenses, Lovejoy? I mean, this is your last requirement?’

‘No. An old box iron, but I can make one of these.’

‘Very well. But in future ask first. Is that understood?’

I drew breath to explain that there was very little future left, but Fabio broke in with an exasperated ‘Oh!’ so I turned to go, writing the whole bloody thing off, when Adriana said, ‘Lovejoy. Here, please.’

Please
? She was holding out a sealed envelope between her fingers, avoiding my eye by the trick of paying attention to Fabio’s complaints. I hesitated, but took it and went to shut the workshop windows.

I opened the envelope. A posh monogrammed card was inside. It read,

Signora Adriana Albanese requests the pleasure of Signor Lovejoy’s company this evening at supper in the Gold Season Restaurant, Rome.

Eight-thirty for nine o’clock.

I had the sense to put it in my jacket pocket before I turned round. Piero was waiting there in the doorway.

‘All done, Lovejoy?’ he said without inflection. It could have meant anything.

I said, ‘Nearly.’ And left.

I felt a real scruff in the Gold Season. The carpet absorbed me up to my ankles. The walls were discreetly illuminated along their entire lengths, gold light warming the restaurant as far as the crystal fountain in the centre.