The Bernini Bust

when even the most optimistic get their first glimpse of senile decay looming up over the horizon.

A fine lunch of truffles, mushrooms and Frascati did something to reconcile him to the vale of tears through which he was passing at such alarming speed, however, and he was in a much more benevolent mood by the time he loaded himself into the passenger seat of Flavia's car and they set off erratically on the road once more.

True to his Californian decision, he not only refrained from criticising the speed at which she drove, he even managed to avoid flinching every time she overtook. But as far as he could see there was no absolute ban on asking where they were going, even if it was a surprise.

She just smiled, and kept on driving. Only as they swept on to the road to Gubbio did he begin to have an inkling and even then he kept his conclusions to himself. It would be a pity to spoil it by guessing.

He was right though; she parked near the main square, led the way down the side streets and knocked on a door. Signora Borunna answered, and smiled as Flavia apologised for disturbing them.

The smile was not as gentle as before; rather there was a sad tinge about it which she found disconcerting. But they were invited in and Flavia explained that she wanted to take up the offer of a piece of sculpture. To buy, of course.

'I'm sure Alceo would be honoured, my dear,' she said quietly. 'I shall go this minute and find him. He's in the cafe up the road.'

She walked to the door and then hesitated.

'Signorina, please,' she said, turning round to face them. 'I need to ask you something.'

'By all means,' she replied, a little puzzled by the woman's manner.

'It's Alceo, you see. He's not been the same - since he heard about poor Hector. He feels, well, he feels a little guilty.'

'Why on earth should he feel guilty?' Flavia asked, even more surprised.

'Well, that's it, you see. I was wondering if you would listen to him. Tell him he did nothing wrong. I know it was unforgivable, but it was with the very best intentions . . .'

'Signora, I don't understand a word of what you're saying.'

'I know. But it would be good if Alceo would unburden himself. And if you could find it in your heart to forgive him . . .'

'I can't imagine what there is to forgive. I'll gladly listen, though.'

She nodded, apparently reassured, and went off to fetch her husband. While she was gone Argyll slowly went round examining the man's handiwork. They were, he said, wonderful. Even though they were new, he would love one of these. And what a marvellous present, he added, giving her an appreciatory squeeze.

'I wish I knew what's got into Signora Borunna,' she said as Argyll held up a madonna and indicated that his life would be complete if he were to be given that. 'Seemed such a jolly person last time I was here.'

'Soon find out,' he replied as the door opened once more and the pair of them came in, the wife leading and the sculptor dragging in behind.

Borunna was greatly changed; grey and haggard, he looked as though he had aged a decade in a couple of months. He now looked old, and didn't look happy. The tranquil contentment had vanished.

Flavia had been brought up to believe that telling people in their seventies that they looked awful was insensitive, so she confined herself to greeting him cautiously and introducing Argyll. She omitted to mention the madonna; that would have to wait until later. But what exactly was she meant to say to him?

Fortunately Borunna helped her out. Eyes cast down, he slumped into a battered armchair, took a deep breath and began for her.

'I suppose you want a full confession,' he said heavily.

Both of them were completely bemused by now. So she sat down and decided it would be best not to say anything at all.

He took that as agreement and began again. 'Well, I'm glad. Especially now. I've felt so dreadful since I heard about Hector being killed. I should have told you everything then. But I wanted to protect him, you see. When I think I could have saved him . . .'

'Perhaps you ought to start at the beginning?' Flavia prompted, hoping that this would enable her to make some sense of it.

'I was only acting for the best,' he said. 'I knew that Hector would lose the bust, but compared to being put in jail, or deported, that seemed to be getting off lightly. I thought he'd approve, you see. And he would have done, if I hadn't made such a fearful mess. I provoked him, you see. It was my viciousness that caused all this.'

'And how, exactly, was that? In your own words, that is,' she said, looking up for inspiration at Signora Borunna.

He sighed heavily, rubbed his eyes, thought long and deeply and eventually brought himself to begin his tale. 'Hector came round to our house when he got back from the Swiss border. He was in a dreadful state. Absolutely panicked. His life was coming to an end, he said. The bust had been confiscated, he'd already spent the money he'd been paid for it, he would be prosecuted for smuggling.'

'This is 1951, you mean? Right?'

'Of course.'

'Just making sure. Carry on.'

'He was worried that was just the beginning. What if they searched out where it had come from? I reminded him that he'd claimed to have bought it at a sale. He had, he told me. But he didn't know how it got into the sale in the first place. What if it had been stolen? He didn't know, but he knew who was going to get any blame.

'It took us an entire evening to calm him down. He was completely distraught. Never, he said, would he do anything so stupid again.

'It looked as though he wasn't going to get away with it. About a week later he received two letters. One was from the Borghese saying that their examination of the bust was complete, they were convinced it was genuine and would he come round to discuss it. Another from the police, saying that papers in his case had been passed on to the public prosecutor's office which would inform him in due course of any action to be taken. That, as you know, meant that some action would be taken.

'Hector was crazy with worry. And, to be frank, he was driving us crazy as well. He was not a bad man, you see. If he'd been a real crook he would have handled it much better. He was careless and got caught out, that was all.

'I felt sorry for him. We both did, my wife and I. She was particularly keen that we try and help him. They were such good, old friends. Then I got the idea . . .'

Here he lapsed into an introspective and depressed silence again. Flavia sat impassively, waiting for him to come out of it and continue the story.

He did eventually, looking at her properly for the first time with an almost defiant look.

'It was a good idea. I went to the local library and found a picture of the bronze copy of the bust in Copenhagen . . .'

'So that was how you knew about that,' she said, speaking for almost the first time.

'Yes, that's right. And I studied it carefully, and made drawings. Dozens of them. Then I went to my workshop in the Vatican.

'I didn't have much time, so the workmanship was not my best, but it was passable. I used old fragments of marble that were left over from a job we'd done repairing bomb damage. In three days I had enough to pass muster. I made an appointment at the Borghese and went round, with my notepad and my fragments.

'I was shown into the office of a little man in the museum. I must say, I didn't like him. One of those cold, arrogant, snobbish little men you come across sometimes. The sort who rhapsodise about sculpture but sneer at sculptors. I was a communist in those days, and perhaps a bit more sensitive to these things. It made me all the more determined, especially when it came out that he was the man who'd been assessing Hector's Bernini.

'So I ask him, 'Are you finished?'

''Oh, indeed,' says he.

''And what do you think?'

''I don't see how it concerns you. But, if you're interested, it's a very fine piece. One of The Master's best early works. It would have been scandalous had it been lost to the country.'

''I'm sure Hector didn't mean ...'