The Savage Garden

    'Did she tell you what happened to her face?'

    The directness of the question threw him momentarily.

    'Your mother did.'

    'I was driving.'

    'I know.'

    'And Antonella was the one asking me to go faster. Did my mother tell you that?'

    'No.'

    'No, of course she didn't. No one remembers that.'

    He looked at her and saw a drunk and guilt-ridden mother still groping for excuses many years on.

    'You don't believe me? It's true. She was . . .selvaggia. Not like Edoardo. Una piccola selvaggia.'

    A little savage.

    He could feel his hackles rising now. Looking to dilute her responsibility was one thing; harboring a hateful grudge against the daughter she'd disfigured seemed downright unreasonable.

    'Were you drunk when it happened?' he asked, biting back a more aggressive riposte.

    'Is that what you heard?'

    'No.'

    The tension went out of her frame. After a moment, she said in a lowered voice, 'Yes, I was drunk. Emilio was dead . . . just two months before.' She glanced away. 'I loved my brother.'

    Yet another junction in the cat's cradle of cause and effect: Emilio's murder and the scars on Antonella's face.

    Adam turned to the dance floor, where Antonella was spinning in the arms of some new admirer. 'Look at her,' he said. 'Look at the way she is. She doesn't mind. Why should you?'

    Caterina seemed on the point of mouthing a response, but she walked away without speaking.

    A moment later, Harry came striding up to him.

    'Great idea, Paddler.'

    'What?'

    'She said yes.'

    'Who?'

    'Who do you think? I asked her and she said yes she would, if circumstances were different.'

    'Good, so now you know.'

    'No,' said Harry, 'now I have to go and wait for her in the olive grove.' He slapped Adam on the back. 'Great bloody tactic.'

    'Harry . . .'

    Harry didn't turn; he just waggled his fingers in the air as he slipped away through the crowd.

    'Oh shit,' muttered Adam.

    He twisted back to the barman and asked for a bottle of mineral water.

    Not long after, the numbers started to thin out. The champagne caught up with Grazia, who lost the ability to stand, let alone dance, at which point Edoardo and Adam bundled her into the car. Antonella drove. She said she'd be back to pick up Adam and Harry at eleven o'clock, which was less than eight hours off. Adam made a futile search for Harry. Then he headed for his bed.

    Maurizio must have been watching him, tracking his movements, biding his time. He intercepted Adam at the head of the steps leading to the parterre.

    'Do you have a cigarette?' he asked, his voice a gentle drawl.

    Adam reached inside his jacket for his cigarettes and lighter.

    Maurizio's hand shot out. 'I thought so,' he said, indicating the label sewn near the pocket. 'It's my brother's suit.'

    'Is it?'

    Maurizio took hold of Adam's shirt cuff, exposing the cuff link. 'And these are his too.' The voice was calm, the eyes coldly attentive, but his fingers trembled with a barely suppressed rage.

    'I didn't know.'

    'No?' Maurizio took a cigarette from Adam's pack and lit one. 'And when you stole the key from my mother's room, did you know what you were doing then?' He smiled thinly, relishing Adam's discomfort. 'Maria told me. She thought I should know.'

    'I've apologized to your mother.'

    'And what were you looking for up there?'