you!’ announced Teresa, pointing an accusatory knitting needle at the screen.
‘Eh . . . ?’
‘He knew all along. I told you she was being followed when she supposedly went to the hairdresser’s.’
‘Oh.’
‘By that man in the red sports car. I think he’s in league with the husband as well as blackmailing her.’
‘Ah.’
‘Salva, I’ve never known anybody as slow to catch on as you—see, he’s phoning him, so I’m right.’
She was right, thought the Marshal, about his being slow to catch on. Anybody with their wits about them would have kept quiet in front of any friend of the Marchesa Ulderighi’s until he’d found out who it was. He suffered his way through the rest of the film, the knot of anxiety in his chest growing tighter every time he tried to reason it away. He wanted to go to bed, though he was convinced that he’d never sleep. Oddly enough, he did fall asleep, and almost at once, but he woke much earlier than usual with the same thoughts running through his head as when he’d closed his eyes.
‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Teresa said, opening the window and pushing back the shutters. A shaft of fresh morning sunlight lit the room, carrying with it the scent of bay leaves from the Boboli Gardens. The knot of anxiety in the Marshal’s chest tightened.
‘Where was it stolen from? Where did you leave it?’
‘Right under my house in Via del Leone. The chain was on the wheel but it wasn’t chained to a pole or anything. I could kick myself. Ever since I got it I’ve hoiked it up three flights of stairs to my flat every night but last night after I’d been out to the cinema I was just so exhausted and I thought, well, who’d want to steal a bike like mine? It’s one of those mini things and I got it second-hand so it can’t be worth more than the price of a meal.’
‘The price of a fix, perhaps.’
‘I suppose so. I shouldn’t be wasting your time on it, I know.’ She was young, probably a student. Pretty, too, but that wasn’t why the Marshal was letting her waste his time, as she put it. He had a whole queue in his waiting-room of typical Monday-morning complainants with stolen bikes, mopeds and cars and minor break-ins after a weekend’s absence. On top of that were the season’s tourists glumly reporting snatched bags and cameras and lost passports. And he was going to give them all the time they wanted.
‘Have you checked with the vigili? ’ The municipal police sometimes removed bicycles as well as towing away cars if they were left in a street due to be cleaned that night.
‘I did check. Tuesday’s our night for street cleaning but I called them anyway. They said they didn’t take anything from Via del Leone last night.’
Lorenzini tapped on the door and came in.
‘Excuse me, Marshal, but do you think I’d better deal with the German couple? Their flight’s at three this afternoon and they’ll have to go back to the consulate from here and get themselves temporary passports . . .’
‘All right.’
‘I can deal with all of them if you have to—’
‘No. No . . . just the Germans. I’ll see to the rest. Now then, Signorina, I suppose you don’t happen to know the frame number of your bicycle?’
Lorenzini shot an astonished glance over his shoulder as he went out but the Marshal didn’t care. He was doing his job, wasn’t he? His job was here, doing what he was doing now, not playing a part in the farce going on at the Palazzo Ulderighi. He had about as much chance of making a serious inquiry there as he had of finding this girl’s bicycle.
‘Do you know what I mean by the frame number?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know it. To tell you the truth—I know I can’t expect you to go looking for it but I was so blazing mad when I saw it had gone and that I’d miss my lecture that I started marching around the streets in a fury looking for it. Well, somebody’s got it, haven’t they? And I thought: Just let me see anybody riding past on my
‘Eh . . . ?’
‘He knew all along. I told you she was being followed when she supposedly went to the hairdresser’s.’
‘Oh.’
‘By that man in the red sports car. I think he’s in league with the husband as well as blackmailing her.’
‘Ah.’
‘Salva, I’ve never known anybody as slow to catch on as you—see, he’s phoning him, so I’m right.’
She was right, thought the Marshal, about his being slow to catch on. Anybody with their wits about them would have kept quiet in front of any friend of the Marchesa Ulderighi’s until he’d found out who it was. He suffered his way through the rest of the film, the knot of anxiety in his chest growing tighter every time he tried to reason it away. He wanted to go to bed, though he was convinced that he’d never sleep. Oddly enough, he did fall asleep, and almost at once, but he woke much earlier than usual with the same thoughts running through his head as when he’d closed his eyes.
‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Teresa said, opening the window and pushing back the shutters. A shaft of fresh morning sunlight lit the room, carrying with it the scent of bay leaves from the Boboli Gardens. The knot of anxiety in the Marshal’s chest tightened.
‘Where was it stolen from? Where did you leave it?’
‘Right under my house in Via del Leone. The chain was on the wheel but it wasn’t chained to a pole or anything. I could kick myself. Ever since I got it I’ve hoiked it up three flights of stairs to my flat every night but last night after I’d been out to the cinema I was just so exhausted and I thought, well, who’d want to steal a bike like mine? It’s one of those mini things and I got it second-hand so it can’t be worth more than the price of a meal.’
‘The price of a fix, perhaps.’
‘I suppose so. I shouldn’t be wasting your time on it, I know.’ She was young, probably a student. Pretty, too, but that wasn’t why the Marshal was letting her waste his time, as she put it. He had a whole queue in his waiting-room of typical Monday-morning complainants with stolen bikes, mopeds and cars and minor break-ins after a weekend’s absence. On top of that were the season’s tourists glumly reporting snatched bags and cameras and lost passports. And he was going to give them all the time they wanted.
‘Have you checked with the vigili? ’ The municipal police sometimes removed bicycles as well as towing away cars if they were left in a street due to be cleaned that night.
‘I did check. Tuesday’s our night for street cleaning but I called them anyway. They said they didn’t take anything from Via del Leone last night.’
Lorenzini tapped on the door and came in.
‘Excuse me, Marshal, but do you think I’d better deal with the German couple? Their flight’s at three this afternoon and they’ll have to go back to the consulate from here and get themselves temporary passports . . .’
‘All right.’
‘I can deal with all of them if you have to—’
‘No. No . . . just the Germans. I’ll see to the rest. Now then, Signorina, I suppose you don’t happen to know the frame number of your bicycle?’
Lorenzini shot an astonished glance over his shoulder as he went out but the Marshal didn’t care. He was doing his job, wasn’t he? His job was here, doing what he was doing now, not playing a part in the farce going on at the Palazzo Ulderighi. He had about as much chance of making a serious inquiry there as he had of finding this girl’s bicycle.
‘Do you know what I mean by the frame number?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know it. To tell you the truth—I know I can’t expect you to go looking for it but I was so blazing mad when I saw it had gone and that I’d miss my lecture that I started marching around the streets in a fury looking for it. Well, somebody’s got it, haven’t they? And I thought: Just let me see anybody riding past on my
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