‘What did you make of Arianna?’
‘The cleaning lady?’
‘My mother, actually.’
Zen gulped.
‘I didn’t realize…’
‘My real reason for agreeing to see you,’ the prince continued evenly, ‘has nothing to do with this hand-over you called about. For various reasons, not least a demand I received this morning from the electricity company, leads me to think that the moment has come for me to present my bill. Before doing so, however, we need to conclude two pieces of outstanding business. The first concerns your recent tendency to somnambulism. What time is this Minot person arriving with the “item” you wish to appraise?’
Zen snapped his fingers apart and together again.
‘An hour? Maybe less.’
‘In that case, we’re going to have to deal with this more peremptorily than I would ideally wish,’ Lucchese replied, flexing his own fingers with a loud detonation of joints, which apparently caused him no discomfort. ‘My preliminary analysis has led me to the conclusion that you have recently suffered the loss — or, what is almost more disturbing, the unexpected reappearance — of a child, sibling or parent. Is this in fact the case?’
Zen nodded.
‘Which?’ demanded Lucchese.
‘All three.’
The prince stared at him in disbelief.
‘I recently discovered that my mother’s husband was not in fact my father,’ Zen explained. ‘Also that I have a half-sister living in Naples.’
‘That’s two,’ Lucchese prompted him in a deliberately unempathetic tone.
Zen gazed down at the puddle of unclean light forming on the floorboards as the sun grazed up against the cloud cover outside.
‘A former girlfriend of mine also informed me that she was pregnant, and that I was the father. She subsequently announced that she had had an abortion. In which case, I have lost a child as well.’
Lucchese’s mask of professional indifference withered and crisped like a letter thrown on a fire. He rose and embraced Zen warmly, patting his back.
‘In a case like this, caro dottore, it’s not a question of trying to work out why you were sleepwalking, but of asking ourselves why you didn’t throw yourself off the nearest high building! You must have the constitution of a rock.’
Unseen, Zen smiled wearily.
‘Several times, I thought I might be going mad.’
‘A sure sign that you weren’t.’
Lucchese released him and reached into his pocket for some papers which he shuffled about nervously.
‘I needed to get that straight, you see, because of the second piece of business I mentioned. I refer, of course, to the results on those DNA tests you wanted done. They arrived this morning.’
Zen stared at him as though in terror.
‘So soon? But I thought…’
‘My brother runs the lab in Turin which processes these things. I arranged for your samples to be moved to the top of the list.’
‘And what…? That’s to say, are we…?’
Lucchese did not reply. Zen sighed.
‘It’s bad, then.’
‘That depends. It’s certainly definitive. I talked to my brother in person this morning, and he made that absolutely clear. So I wanted to make sure that you are aware of the potential consequences, psychological and otherwise, and to assure myself that you are strong enough to cope with it.’
Zen stared at him bleakly.
‘I can cope with anything. It’s my speciality.’
The prince resumed his seat, looking over the papers in his hands.
‘Nevertheless, let’s just run over the background story. You say this woman Carla approached you at your hotel, claiming to be your daughter. Do you have any reason to believe her?’
‘I had an affair with her mother once, long ago. In Milan,’ he added, as though this explained everything.
‘You realize that if she were proven to be your daughter, you would have to take on various legal and financial responsibilities that might well be onerous?’
Zen shrugged.
‘I just want to know the truth.’
Lucchese gave him a smile spiced with a grain of contempt.
‘So, in theory, anyone could just walk up to you in a public place, having done a little research on your former mistresses, and claim to be your love child?’
Zen turned away to the window. Down in the Via Maestra, a host of strangers passed to and fro in eager intent or sociable procrastination.
‘I’m no more credulous than the next man,’ he said. ‘But I suppose that having just lost Carlo…’
‘Who?’
‘That’s what I decided to call the child Tania was carrying. I decided that it was a boy, and I named him Carlo. So when a young woman named Carla appeared, claiming to be my daughter…’
He swung around to confront Lucchese.
‘But my feelings are not important, principe. If Carla Arduini is my daughter, I’ll do the right thing by her, whatever it may cost me.’
Lucchese rose to his feet and made a slightly ironic bow.
‘Your words do you credit, dottore. But, as it happens, you can relax. The tests carried out by my brother reveal beyond a shadow of a doubt that this Arduini woman is not related to you in any way whatsoever.’
Zen gazed at him in silence.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
He held out the papers to Zen.
‘It’s all here, not that it will make any sense to you — or to me, for that matter. But my brother has assured me that it’s absolutely conclusive. Despite her impressive musical expertise, this Arduini woman is clearly a common gold-digger, out for what she can get. Luckily you have the might of science on your side, dottore. Tell her to try her luck elsewhere, or sue her for slander if you want. The courts will back you all the way.’
Zen took the papers and glanced at them abstractedly.
‘Thank you,’ he mumbled.
Lucchese frowned.
‘Aren’t you pleased?’
‘I suppose so. It’s just a shock, that’s all. I’d assumed…’
‘In the past, lots of men have been caught that way! But thanks to the miracles of modern technology, we can now get at the truth. Which in this case turns out to be a lie.’
The doorbell sounded. Lucchese rose and left the room. Zen subsided on to the sofa and sat looking over the results of the DNA tests. At length the prince reappeared.
‘Minot has returned,’ he announced. ‘This is the item which he referred to. You have five minutes to examine it, following which you may question him if you wish. The item itself will remain in my keeping for the meantime. May I have the papers which you are offering in exchange, by the way?’
Zen produced a long brown envelope from his coat pocket and handed it over. Lucchese perused the contents briefly, then passed Zen a crumpled piece of cheap paper which felt empty. He opened it gingerly, disclosing a sliver of what might have been plastic, translucent except for a brownish smear on one side.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘A fingernail, by the look of it,’ the prince remarked, inspecting the object. ‘From a male adult, in his fifties at least, used to manual work, and not overly fastidious about personal cleanliness. Oh, and he uses scissors rather
