Wolf Whistle (19 page)

‘Claudia! We were just saying, weren’t we, Fannia, what a wonderful concert this afternoon. Such a pity you missed the finale.’

‘And the Bull Dance was breathtaking, such mastery of horseflesh.’

‘So generous of you, Cousin, to lay on not only a banquet for us later, but to treat us to apperitifs of rose wine now, before we get changed.’

The Dragon From Hell sidled up. ‘I must say, daughter-in-law, you have done us proud.’

That was the plan. ‘Thank you, Larentia.’

‘I speak for us all, when I say we’ve enjoyed every minute.’

Oh, me too. ‘I’m so pleased.’

‘You’ve spared no expense—’

Tell me about it!

‘—and I want you to know we appreciate the effort you’ve put in on our behalf, don’t we, ladies?’

Was there no end to deafening choruses?

‘Also.’ She tapped one claw against her jewelled goblet. ‘I fear I owe you an apology.’

Damn right. ‘Water under the Milvian Bridge, Larentia.’

‘No, no, credit where it’s due,’ the old woman said, and Claudia winced. That was the trouble. By noon tomorrow, credit would not be where it was due, and the moneylender seemed very preoccupied with kneecaps of late.

‘I refer, of course, to the urchin.’

‘Jovi?’ Claudia passed round a plate of raisin bread.

‘I was talking to him—’ Interrogating, more like. ‘—and I may have jumped to conclusions.’ Old Leatherchops began to pick plump yellow raisins from her chunk of bread. ‘What I mistook for a speech impediment appears to be the nasal twang of the slums.’

I know. Claudia nibbled at the sticky, warm dough. Mine took years to eradicate.

‘He told me what happened, and how you brought him back here—’

Oh, Jovi. Please don’t have mentioned the man in the frock.

‘—fed him honeyed apricots and pies, and I understand you’ve even posted a reward for his mother to come forward.’

None too successfully, either. Two women had turned up, neither of them the little chap’s ma. Claudia had doubled the reward to lure the money-grabbing bitch out of her hole. ‘Charity is my middle name.’

Since her bread now resembled a colander, Larentia began to plug the gaps with the raisins on her plate. ‘Moreover, you have managed my son’s business most admirably…from what you tell me, of course.’ At least the old fossil had the grace to blush. ‘I mean, it’s obvious the firm’s prospering.’ A crabbed hand swept through the air towards the bronze goddess in the corner and encompassed the lavish spread which the servants were still laying out.

It worked. The old harpy was finally won over. Claudia resisted the urge to shout ‘Yahoo’, and reached for the scented wine instead.

Larentia had replaced all the raisins in the bread, except for one, which appeared not to fit anywhere. Claudia raised her glass to her lips.

‘So.’ Larentia popped the spare raisin in her mouth. ‘As you’re doing so well for yourself, we’ve all decided to stay on.’

Wine sprayed all over Claudia’s gown.

*

‘Madam, please.’ Cypassis trotted behind her mistress as she marched up and down the bedroom floor. ‘That’s the third curl to break loose.’

Claudia threw her arms in the air. ‘You are out, do you hear me, o-u-t, out.’

‘But—’ The big-boned peasant girl lunged with the curling tongs and missed.

‘Thanks to your stupidity, my house has been turned into a trout farm and all you can say is stand-still-madam-there’s-three-ringlets-on-the-prowl—’

‘Four, actually.’

‘—when you should be prostrate on your knees, begging me not to sell you at auction. Why didn’t you tell me those trunks were coming in, not going out?’ She grabbed the handmirror. ‘What do you mean, four?’

‘Five, now,’ Cypassis puffed. ‘If you’d only keep still a second—’

‘How am I supposed to feed them?’ Moneylenders are not the only people who get the hump when you forget to settle up. The fowler was turning pretty nasty, too. ‘Not that you care. Or whether I end up with a bathsponge for a brain from endless bloody small talk.’ Small talk! Any smaller and it’ll be downright invisible. ‘Now, are you going to fix my hair or run up and down this room all night long? I can’t see a thing for curls in my eyes.’

Claudia plumped down in the chair. Why? Why, when right across the city you’ll hear nursemaids crooning lullabies and schoolboys stammering over homework, can I hear nothing but teeth grinding like pine nuts in a pestle? The mirror crashed against the wall and left a gouge in the plaster. What am I supposed to do about that bloody gold and silver plate?

‘Tomorrow you stay by the back door, and if anyone calls who looks like a debt collector, you’re to say,’ she put on a squeaky voice, ‘are you the doctor, come about the typhus? Practise.’

‘Are-you-the-doctor-come-about-the-typhus.’

‘Good. Now what about the wine stain, do you think it’ll come out? I’m very fond of that apricot tunic and—ye gods, what’s that?’

Screaming had broken out from the kitchens. Pans and plates clattered off the tiles, there were shouts, shrieks and curses, then a table overturned. Claudia rushed out of her room and leaned over the gallery.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Cypassis, but that—’ she pointed to a small creature with a long tail and a round black face, ‘—looks like a monkey shinning up the atrium drapes.’

‘Ah.’ The broad-cheeked Thessalian scratched at her ear. ‘Jovi’s pet must have slipped its leash.’

‘Which auction block would you prefer to be sold at, Cypassis? The one in the Forum by the Arch of Augustus, or would you prefer to watch dead goats float down the Tiber as you stand by the Sublician Bridge?’

‘I thought it was one of your jokes, madam, honest I did. It came in a little brown sack with a note saying “With love from the man in the frock”.’

Wait till I get my hands on his windpipe!

‘Perhaps that’s what kept Miss Fortunata awake, the monkey?’

‘Fortunata is a silly, neurotic cow, that’s what kept her awake, Cypassis. Now show that simian the door.’

‘But Jovi loves it!’

‘NOW!’

Drusilla arrived to check out the kerfuffle, but Claudia scooped her up and shut the bedroom door, amid howling protests. ‘You’ve done enough damage, thank you, chasing Herky-Perky round the cellar.’ Her fingernails raked the cat’s upturned chin. ‘I say, it wasn’t you chasing mice in the night, giving the old ducks the idea that we’re haunted?’

‘Prrrrr.’

‘Ghoulies and ghosties, indeed.’ She set down the cat. ‘Wait a sec.’

‘Mrrr?’

‘Doesn’t Fannia sleep on the right of Gaius’ bedroom?’

‘Mrrow.’ Drusilla reared up to be cuddled.

‘And Fortunata on the left?’

‘Brrip, brrip.’

‘Sorry, poppet.’ She unhooked the cat’s claws from her lilac linen robe, and noticed six small snags remained as souvenirs. ‘It’s probably nothing more complicated than a hiccup in our chemistry experiments—some of the knockout drops stronger than others.’

Playing up their, shall we say, hallucinogenic properties? Claudia deposited a carmine outline of her lips between the cat’s crossed eyes and, checking the hall was clear of aunts and monkeys, ran lightly down the stairs. I know you, Gaius Seferius. You’ll have far better ways of spending your afterlife than clumping around scaring your cousins. But all the same. It was no coincidence that the occupants of both rooms either side had heard noises. Best check it out.

‘Package for you, ma’am,’ called a bald Sarmatian slave, and handed across a small hide pouch sticky with mildew. ‘Left inside the vestibule.’

‘Inside?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He pointed to a mosaic fish. ‘Right there.’

Tentatively. Claudia opened the bag. Inside was a strip of peach-coloured linen, and a letter folded in four. Her stomach lurched at the familiar cramped writing…

‘
so
you will know i’ve not abandoned you i send this blindfold and when we fuck i’ll
—’ The parchment trembled in her hands. By the gods, this man is sick! Where does he get these vicious, warped fantasies? She forced herself to read on, and the last line jarred her to the marrow,
‘and know i am watching you’.

Hugging her body, she scanned the busy street. Pack mules weighed down with panniers. Itinerant salt vendors. A young blade in his chariot. Early carousers heading for taverns. Nothing sinister. No one lurking in doorways. No suspicious characters loitering on corners. For the first time, Claudia wondered why he called himself Magic…

She ran up the stairs fishing Gaius’ key from the folds of her gown. Stupid, bloody thing. Wouldn’t stay still. Get in that lock, dammit. Now turn. Turn, I said! There was sweat on her forehead when she closed the door and leaned her weight against it.

The room had not changed since her husband had died here. Garish walls, loud textiles. Friezes where there ought to be frescoes, too much silver, too much marble, a leopardskin rug. To Gaius, these things spelled success, confirmation of his rise to equestrian status, but for now, the room was strangely comforting.

She gripped the bedrail for support. Her heart seemed to be playing kettledrums with her rib bones, and someone had stolen her lower limbs and filled the gap with aspic.

Why did he do this? Why did he write these reams of filth? What was he hoping to achieve? If it was a power trip this Magic character was on, he was out of luck. Any signs that he terrified her Claudia kept to herself, and if they were ‘genuine’ protestations of love, why didn’t he reveal himself? She did not have the answers, but one thing was certain. Magic was creeping closer and closer…

Claudia released the bedrail and wiped the dust off her hands down the pastel lilac linen. Her husband was nothing if not orderly, everything sat in its place. His desk, his inkwells, his basketweave chair. Even his symbol of rank, the equestrian sword, still hung in his sheath on the wall. A lump rose in her throat. Last August. She had walked in and found him slumped upon that very weapon. For a moment, she could still hear the flies and smell the blood…

‘Gaius, you silly daft sod.’

Picking up his clothes-brush, she ran the ox’s tail several times through her loosely clenched fist. That, too, he’d had dyed a typical vivid scarlet, because nothing Gaius ever did was subtle. She smiled. Including haunting, if that’s what he put his mind to. He wouldn’t have settled for a half-hearted clump across the timbers. Gaius Seferius would have done it in style, wailing like a banshee. They’d have heard him as far as the Capitol.

After the funeral, Claudia had insisted this room remain locked, on the pretext of preserving his memory. (Where else could she conceal the true company accounts?) Only Claudia had a key, and since she gave up housework once she heard it gave you warts, thick cobwebs had congregated on the gilt-encrusted rafters and you could have carted out dust by the bucketload.

So, no, it was not Gaius’ ghost who’d walked this room overnight. The hairs on the back of her neck curled and prickled.

Phantoms do not leave their footprints in the dust.

Phantoms do not leave their imprint on the bed.

XVIII

When you think about it, there are only two ways to deal with fear. Let it in, or kick it out. And since Claudia was not the type of woman to allow a canker-worm to eat away her character, she left her fear licking its wounds in a dark recess of her consciousness.

‘Why, Claudia, what on earth are you doing with that hammer?’

Trust Julia to be wandering round, when she ought to be in her room preparing for the banquet.

‘Um.’ High female laughter floated down into the atrium. ‘Fannia asked me to fetch one.’ She gave a silvery laugh herself. ‘You know how eccentric she is.’

Julia’s hooded eyes narrowed. ‘She was always odd, that woman. Told me once, she not only shared a bed with her husband, she actually enjoyed what he…you know. Did to her.’ Her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Frankly, that hammer doesn’t surprise me.’

Stifling a laugh, Claudia returned to her room. ‘What’s the matter, poppet? Still hankering after the monkey?’ Watching Drusilla disappear into the night, Claudia wished she could follow. We’ll stay on until after the Megalesian Games, Larentia had said. Claudia pressed the heels of her hands against her eyeballs. Hell, that’s another ten days, I’ll be dead before then. She rubbed the back of her neck and looked out. Poor old Rome! Never allowed to settle down for the evening with a good book and its feet up, already it’ll be cracking its knuckles, primed for the work which lies ahead. Musclemen cranking open the huge city gates to let wheeled traffic through, dressmakers squinting through lamplight they cannot afford because the client’s changed her mind—and pity the poor fisherman, who cannot rely on tides coinciding with daylight.

Claudia slammed the shutters and wished that had been her mother-in-law’s face.

It would be hard, the next ten days, but provided no cracks appeared in her facade, Larentia shouldn’t catch so much as the faintest rattle of a closeted skeleton, no matter how keen her goddammed hearing. It was called keeping up appearances, and Claudia was an expert.