until this emergency situation at work blows over…'
A lot more negotiation, maneuvering and mutual mendacity had followed on both sides, but in the end the two men agreed, albeit somewhat grudgingly, to what Zen proposed. He had given them a brief tour of the flat, pointing out such details as the tricky gas tap and the trip switches which went if you attempted to use more than one electrical appliance simultaneously, reminded them to double-lock the door and turn off the lights when they went out, then picked up the overnight bag he had packed earlier and left before they had time to change their minds.
Some weeks earlier, when they had first discussed this idea, Valeria had mentioned that since he was putting himself out in this way on behalf of the family, the least she could do in return was to provide him with a roof over his head. He had assumed that she was thinking in terms of a hotel room, but when the issue came up again she had pointed out that with her daughters away there were two vacant bedrooms in her apartment, and that he was welcome to stay there.
It had never for one moment occurred to Zen that this invitation was the result of anything other than expediency, and perhaps the thrift which notoriously characterized wealthy families. What with the costs of the girls' trip to London, to say nothing of Zen's incidental expenses, which Valeria had agreed to underwrite, this was going to end up costing her several million lire. What more natural than that she should wish to save the additional extravagance of hotel accommodation for her collaborator?
It was only when Valeria came to the door to greet him that another possible scenario occurred to Zen. It was indeed thrust upon him, in the form of the formidable and breathtakingly visible bosom which nuzzled him in the ribs as Valeria leaned forward to give and receive their usual — and, as he had always thought, entirely conventional — peck on the cheek. Her black gauze gown, cut very low both front and back, left just enough to the imagination to arouse interest. A pervasive scent, subtle but heady, completed these discreet provocations.
'So how did it go?' she asked, bolting the door behind Zen and taking his bag.
'Fine, excellent, perfect, great, no problem,' he burbled incoherently.
Valeria produced a smile he had never seen before, like someone unwrapping a fragile family heirloom from its cocoon of tissue paper.
'You're a wonder!' she said.
The Squillace apartment could not have offered a greater contrast to the building in which it was situated, a ponderous and brooding edifice seemingly cobbled together from discarded designs for a museum, railway station or opera house. Its pointlessly grandiose dimensions suggested the pretensions and insecurity of recent riches rather than real power and permanence, an impression strengthened by the large quantity and low quality of the decorative details, which betrayed a vulgar terror of the unadorned and the asymmetrical.
But once inside the apartment, everything was light, bright, sparse and stylishly luxurious. The overall tone was Milan: ranks of cupboards in white polyester resin with bare wood fittings, lots of glass and steel shelving and tables, long low sofa units, bare parquet floors with one or two oriental rugs, pale grey walls enlivened with a few large modern oils.
'We used to entertain a lot when Manlio was alive, so we needed the space/ Valeria said as they entered the salon, which stretched some thirty feet across the entire width of the apartment, divided into a sitting and dining area. Through the open windows, a scattering of lights and a vast blankness hinted at the fabulous view which the place must command by day.
Valeria guided Zen to a corner of the sofa set and seated herself beside him.
'But it's not worth moving now/ she continued. 'As soon as the girls get married, I'll go home.'
'Where's that?'
Terrara.'
He looked surprised.
'I didn't realize you were from the North.'
'Oh, yes, and o/it, too. I only moved down here because of Manlio. For the girls it's different, of course. They were born and brought up here. To them it's their home.'
'So how did you meet your late husband?' Zen asked politely.
'At a wedding. He was the best man and I was one of the bridesmaids. The groom was a cousin of Manlio who looked after certain business interests he had in EmiliaRomagna.
Manlio proposed to me two weeks later.'
She looked at Zen intently.
'That's who it is!' she exclaimed, laying her hand on Zen's arm.
'Who what is?'
'I knew you reminded me of someone, but I couldn't think who. Of course, it's Orlando! You could be twins.
I've got a photograph somewhere, I'll show you.'
She got up to fetch it, but at that moment the telephone sounded, a confident rich burble. The call wasn't for Zen, although plenty of people were desperately trying to contact him at that very moment. But his own phone was out of action, and he had been careful to avoid telling anyone where he was staying.
Valeria was on the phone for some time, evidently talking to her daughters in London. She had, Zen realized, a good body, but he still wasn't interested. No more romantic complications for him. He was very comfortable with the role he had been playing since coming to Naples: the philosophical observer who looks on with wry amusement at the follies of others but is too wily and cynical to risk becoming entangled himself.
She turned towards him, catching him eyeing her, and smiled unexpectedly.
'I'm sure it'll all seem better in the morning, darling. Anyway, I've got to run, there's someone at the door. Try and get some sleep, and give me a call in the morning. Bye!'
She hung up and drifted back towards Zen.
'So how are they finding London?' he asked.
'They say it's just as dirty as Naples, the traffic's even worse, there are more beggars and it's cold and raining.'
'But they're going to stick it out?'
'Filomena sounded a bit homesick. She's always been the weaker one. She gets moody quite easily. But Orestina's made of sterner stuff, and proud too. And in the end Filomena will go along with whatever her sister decides.'
She stood over him, smiling.
'Now, then, would you like something to drink? Some tea? A nightcap?'
'Tea would be wonderful. And then I must get some sleep. I have rather an important case on at the moment, and I'll need to be up early.'
'Is it something to do with this Strade Pulite business?'
Valeria asked, heading off towards the far end of the room.
'No, no. That has nothing to do with me.'
He got up and followed her across the dining area into a luxuriously equipped kitchen.
'Well, I don't know who's behind it/ Valeria remarked, filling a kettle, 'but I wish them the best of luck. The people they claim to have abducted are the very ones poor Manlio worked with for years and trusted like his own family, and who then left him to fend for himself against the judges without lifting a finger to save him!'
She set the kettle on the stove.
'Which reminds me, come in here and I'll show you that picture.'
She led the way into a small room furnished with a desk, filing cabinet and a small set of bookshelves. The air smelt faintly of cigar smoke.
'This was Manlio's office/ Valeria said. 'I don't need the space, so I just left everything as it was, what was left of it.
The Guardia di Finanza came and took everything away.'
She turned and pointed to a large framed photograph mounted on the wall behind the desk.
'That's the one.'
The picture showed a convivial group of men in what looked like a restaurant. There were ten or more of them, all men, all looking towards the camera, all smiling or laughing.
'See that man in the centre?' said Valeria, pointing with one fleshy heavily ringed finger. 'The one sitting at
