‘Give them to me, and I’ll tell you what really happened to Rosetta.’
At least, that’s what he seems to say, but of course it’s quite impossible that he could have spoken those words, or indeed anything remotely resembling them.
‘Don’t you want to know the truth, Ada, after all these years? Give me your nephews and I’ll tell you!’
It is only now that she belatedly realizes that the figure before her is not Aurelio Battista at all, but some species of demon which has assumed his form. As always, the knowledge that she is not faced with anything real and irremediable is both disturbing and obscurely comforting. She is determined to retain the initiative, however. She is an old hand when it comes to dealing with this sort of thing.
‘What do you know about it?’ she demands with a sneer.
The creature before her leans closer.
‘I know about Rosa Coin.’
It steps back, nods once, then turns and walks off, merging almost immediately into the massed shadows.
‘Come on, Auntie dear,’ urges Nanni.
Before her, in the open doorway, Daniele stands looking at her with the same smile as all those years ago, when he used to stand for hours beneath her window, waiting for her to show her face.
‘You’ll catch your death standing out there in the cold,’ he tells her kindly.
But she is not standing. She is sliding, slipping to the icy pavement where she thrashes about like a landed fish, gasping for air, biting her tongue in a vain attempt to silence the endless screaming in her head.
By the time Zen reached home he had got the trembling under control, but his breath was still spastic and his heart clamoured for attention. It was only when he saw lights on in the house that he remembered that Cristiana was waiting for him.
Her presence, so ardently desired just a little while ago, now seemed an inconvenience he could well have done without. After what had just happened he needed time to unwind, to unclench his knotted psyche and become himself again, the self he recognized and was prepared to take responsibility for. The last thing he wanted at such a moment was to have to play sophisticated and ambiguous courtship games with the daughter of an old family friend.
Cristiana must have heard the front door open, for she was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. The tight- fitting red sweater and jeans she was wearing emphasized the contours of her figure. As Zen reached the landing, she stepped forward and laid her hand on his shoulder. She was bending forward, as if to kiss him, when she saw the expression on his face and drew back.
‘What’s wrong?’
He shook his head.
‘Nothing.’
He led her inside the living room and closed the door behind them, shutting out the world.
‘I ran into Ada Zulian out walking with her nephews,’ he said as he took off his coat and hat. ‘One of them threw a snowball at me. It sounds childish, but it actually hurt quite badly. It hit me on the ear, and he’d squeezed it down to a ball of ice.’
‘What did you do?’
Zen shrugged awkwardly.
‘There were only one thing to do, really, and that was ignore it.’
‘You could have thrown one back.’
‘That would really have been stupid. Besides, it would have missed. I’m a hopeless shot.’
Cristiana disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Isn’t there a law against assaulting police officials?’
‘Of course, but I can’t invoke it. Everyone knows that I tried and failed to bring that pair to court. If I charged them with assaulting me with a snowball, I’d make myself a complete laughing-stock. Which is precisely what the little bastard was counting on.’
Cristiana reappeared with a bottle of spumante and two glasses. Zen forced a smile.
‘What are we celebrating?’
‘My freedom.’
As she untwisted the wire cage securing the cork, Zen had an involuntary mental image of Enzo Gavagnin’s blue, partially severed thumbs.
‘How do you mean?’
Cristiana popped the cork and filled their glasses.
‘Finish telling me about Ada Zulian. What did you do in the end?’
‘Oh, I was wonderful! I ignored the nephews and went for Ada herself.’
She handed him his drink.
‘Cincin!’
They clinked glasses.
‘What do you mean, you went for her?’ asked Cristiana.
Zen sighed deeply.
‘I’ve had quite a stressful few days, one way and another, and getting hit by that snowball was the last straw. I’m afraid I went completely over the top.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I…’
He broke off, biting his lip.
‘Christ, it was unforgivable!’
Cristiana took his hand and drew him down to the sofa.
‘I’ll forgive you.’
He sat staring blankly at the worn patch of carpet which covered the centre of the floor.
‘I told her that I knew what had happened to her little girl, the one who disappeared.’
He turned to meet Cristiana’s eyes, then looked away again.
‘I said I’d tell her if she agreed to testify against her nephews.’
Cristiana nodded briskly, as though all this was quite in order.
‘And what did she say?’
Zen laughed harshly and gulped at his wine.
‘She didn’t say anything. She threw a fit. Collapsed in the snow, writhing around, foaming at the mouth, screaming her head off.’
‘God!’
‘It happened right in front of Daniele Trevisan’s house. He and the nephews took her inside.’
He glanced at Cristiana.
‘I’d like to know how she is. I don’t suppose they’d talk to me, but…’
‘Of course.’
She picked up the receiver and dialled.
‘Mamma? I’m over at Wanda’s. She says that Lisa Rosteghin heard from Gabriella that Ada Zulian has had some sort of fit in the street right outside Trevisan’s place. Have you heard anything about it? No? Well, listen, could you phone Daniele and find out? We can’t, you see, because he’d want to know how we found out and then it might come out about Gabriella and Beppo Raffin, the kid who lives across the street, whereas you could make out you heard from Signora Vian…’
She paused, gazing vaguely into indeterminate space.
‘No, don’t call us. We’re… we’re not actually at Wanda’s. We went out. I’ll phone back in a few minutes. Okay? Ciao.’
She turned back to Zen and sipped her wine.
‘And your freedom?’ he asked.
She laughed.
‘That was just an excuse to open some bubbly. Do you know what my bastard husband has done? Flown to Rome with that bitch Populin! He’s got a cover story — some televised debate on the break-up of Italy — but
