‘When they phoned to say he’d been released I suddenly realized what that would mean. We’ve been happy these past months, haven’t we? Happy as never before. And that happiness is precious, because people like us know so little of it. The others are rich in happiness, yet they want to take away what little we’ve got. You remember the letter he sent. You remember what he said about us. Why should people be allowed to say things like that? You know it’s unfair, you know it’s wrong. And it was all about to start again. We would have been separated again, kept apart from one another. You would have been trapped at home, having to listen to his cruel, obscene gibes. You couldn’t stand that. Why should you be expected to stand it?’
Although she was very close to him now, she still did not touch him. He turned away, and for a moment she thought that she’d lost him, that he was about to rush to the door, scream for the guards, denounce her.
‘Perhaps I’ve done the wrong thing,’ she went on, almost whispering. ‘Perhaps I’ve made a terrible mistake. Even mummies aren’t perfect, they make mistakes sometimes. But babies have to forgive them, don’t they?’
After an interminable moment he looked back at her, and she knew she was safe. That dash to the door would never happen, for it would be like running off a cliff.
‘What are we going to do?’ he moaned.
‘We must plan and act, Silvio. That statement will be used against me.’
‘But since it’s all lies…’
‘It’s all lies, yes. But it’s not all untrue.’
Just as she had once paid tribute to her employer’s cleverness, she now gave Gianluigi Santucci his due. It was very cunning, the way he had woven details like the wig and the pistol and the fake appointment with Cinzia into a tissue of lies. Yes, there was enough truth there to give the investigators plenty of material to get their teeth into.
‘Besides, if they’ve arrested the kidnappers then sooner or later they’ll find out that it was my number they called on Monday morning to announce Ruggiero’s release.’
‘But that’s not true! They called us at the house on Tuesday! I remember that perfectly well. Pietro took the call.’
Ivy shook her head wearily.
‘No, that was a recording I made when they phoned me the day before. The gang was given my number before the ransom drop, because it wasn’t being tapped by the police. Don’t you remember?’
Silvio gestured impatiently.
‘Who cares what they say? It’s just their word against yours. I’ll get you the finest lawyers in the country…’
‘That’s not enough. The judicial investigation is secret, don’t forget. However good a lawyer you get, there’s nothing he can do initially. Besides, the Santuccis will be working against us, and there’s no telling what line Daniele and Pietro will take. No, it’s going to be a struggle, I’m afraid. We must prepare to fight on a much wider front, and that means we’re going to need friends, all the friends we can get. Russo, for example, and Fratini. Possibly Carletti. I’ll send you a list later. We must think flexibly. We might make it seem all a grotesque plot which Gianluigi is orchestrating in order to compromise the Miletti family. The new investigating magistrate will remember what happened to Bartocci. Hopefully she’ll think twice about venturing too far on flimsy evidence in the teeth of sustained opposition. And if she does, we’ll put it about that her zeal is not wholly inspired by a fervour for the truth, tie her in to Gianluigi’s interests in some way.’
She had been thinking aloud, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm as she began to see her way clear. But Silvio just moved his big head from side to side as though trying to dodge a blow.
‘I can’t do all that!’ he wailed.
This brought her down to earth with a bump. She gripped his arms tightly, pouring her strength and determination into him.
‘Nonsense! Remember what happened with Gerhard, after they arrested Daniele. You managed then.’
‘But you were there too!’
‘And I’ll be here this time, to help you and tell you what to do. But you must do it, because I can’t. Don’t you see that? You must! No one but you can.’
But his look remained vague and distracted. She took his head in both her hands, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
‘You know what happened to your real mummy, don’t you?’
He bridled like a horse, but her grip was firm, holding him steady.
‘She died, Silvio. She died because you didn’t love her enough. Because you were too tiny, too weak. Do you want that to happen to me, too?’
He twisted away, a look of unspeakable horror on his face. After a moment he sighed massively and turned back towards her.
‘I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever has to be done.’
Satisfied, Ivy drew him down, tucking his nose into the hollow in her shoulder-blade where it loved to nestle.
As they embraced she gazed up at the crucifix on the wall. The figure on the cross was oddly distorted, suggesting not the consolations of the Christian faith but the realities of an atrocious torture. It looked as though the crucifix had been broken and then crudely glued together again, she thought idly.
‘There, there,’ she murmured. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’
‘ By the way, do you know that they’ve arrested the kid nappers? ’
‘ Silvio, the kidnappers didn’t kill Ruggiero.’
‘ But they’ve confessed! ’
‘ They didn’t do it.’
‘ How do you know? ’
‘ Because I did.’
‘ That’s silly. Don’t say things like that. It’s horrible. It frightens me.’
‘ It frightens me too. But if we face it together it won’t be so frightening. You know that nothing can frighten us as long as we’re together.’
‘Right, that’ll do.’
Geraci pressed a button on the tape recorder and Chiodini clapped his enormous hands together.
‘We got the bastards, didn’t we? We really got them!’
Zen looked at them both.
‘You can never be sure, can you? But on balance, yes, I would say that this time we’ve got them.’
TWELVE
It was raining in Rome. People said Venice was wet, but it seemed to Zen that it rained even more in the city of his exile. It had something to do with the way the two places coped with this basic fact of life. Venice welcomed water in any form, perfectly at home with drizzle or downpour. The city was rich in cosy bars where the inhabitants could go to shelter and dry out over a glass or two, secretly glad of this assurance that their great ark would never run aground. But Rome was a fair-weather city, a playground for the young and the beautiful and the rich, and it dealt with bad weather as it dealt with ageing, ugliness and poverty, by turning its back. The inhabitants huddled miserably in their draughty cafes, gazing out at this dapper passer-by with his large green umbrella and his bouquet of flowers, taking the rain in his stride.
Two weeks had passed since Zen’s return from Perugia. His working days had been dominated by the readjustment to the humdrum world of Housekeeping and his personal life by the apparent impossibility of getting together with Ellen. Whenever he tried to arrange to see her it seemed to be the wrong day or the wrong time. In the end he’d begun to suspect that she was putting him off deliberately, but then this morning she had phoned out of the blue and invited him round to her flat for dinner.
‘ I’ll get us something to eat. It won’t be much, but…’
He knew what she meant by throwaway phrases like that! She had probably been planning the meal for days.
