What We May Become, page 12
FOUR
Slowly, the house began to heal itself. The extra staff were kept on, on a temporary basis, to set the place to rights. Broken crockery was swept up and discarded behind the garage, the debris raked in carefully among the compost and kitchen scraps, the piles kept at a respectable distance and out of the line of sight of the house. The linen from all the bedrooms – even rooms that hadn’t been used in years – was gathered up and washed, and left out to air in the bright sunshine, as if to erase any memory of unwelcome guests, past or present. The heavy draperies and oriental rugs were hauled outside and beaten with rattan carpet whips, the children running in and out of the colorful hangings, laughing as their mothers scolded them to get out of their way. Giorgio and the other men argued with each other as they moved heavy armoires and chests of drawers from where they had been left standing in the middle of rooms, repositioning them carefully against ornate panel molding. The tiny slivers of crystal that had fallen into the crevices of the parquet flooring were painstakingly removed with a toothbrush, Francesca going along on all fours. Windows were thrown open, plumbing fixtures polished, the great clawfoot tubs and enameled sinks scrubbed until they shined. Fruit was ripening on the estate’s orchard, and the old men and children harvested it while the women busied themselves preserving, putting up beveled glass jars of jams and jellies, sliced peaches in syrup, apricot preserves, tying them up with matching red and yellow and orange ribbons. The women could also sew, and from Bugari’s vast, unused storeroom they replaced the worn kitchen towels and aprons, and added new sheets and duvet covers to the well-stocked linen cupboards. Francesca asked and, without even consulting Bugari, Giuliana herself gave permission for the women to fashion shorts and shirts and dresses for their threadbare children who now ran about the estate in bright colors, prints, and stripes instead of their usual homespun drab, matching hair ribbons trailing behind the girls as laughter re-entered the old house.
Of course, the first of all these chores had been disposing of Adler’s body. Travere had asked to borrow one of the luxury automobiles to drive into town, only to be told by Giorgio – in a whispered side conversation out of earshot of the rest of the household – that they no longer worked, their engines having run down years ago. Frustrated, Travere had walked the long way into town by himself, returning with the report that the local police refused to come out for the death of one more German, telling Travere to deal with it himself. In the end, he had had to pay a local farmer for the use of his horse cart – the detective inspector riding atop the rickety contraption, the bloated corpse following unceremoniously behind – and dig the grave himself, in some undisclosed spot. The German’s possessions – with the exception of the identity cards and letters, which Travere said were evidence – were divided among the staff to use, or barter with, or sell on the black market in the nearest big town. And, after Travere returned, handing the shovel back to Giorgio and heading upstairs to wash off the dirt, the only physical sign that Adler had ever visited the estate was the half-dozen missing figurines on Signora’s mantlepiece, the spaces between crystal satyr and nymph left empty in memory of where they had once danced.
That was the only physical sign Adler had been there. But there were other ways he had left his mark, the most notable of which was the change in Bugari. After Travere had finished his interviews, Bugari took to her room, delegating all decision-making to her housekeeper. She made no appearances downstairs after that time, neither to eat nor to oversee the reordering of her house. Giuliana herself prepared and brought up meals that remained largely untouched when she returned, hours later, to clear them away. Diana asked to see her employer but was turned away by Giuliana as she came out of Bugari’s suite one day, carrying yet another tray of uneaten food. No, Signora was not well enough to receive her. No, she did not desire a doctor to be called. No, she did not want a nurse, either. Diana had followed Giuliana downstairs, insisting in broken Italian that she at least be told the nature of Bugari’s ailment, when Travere emerged from the cellar into the kitchen where the two women were arguing.
‘Excuse me, but I have a permission to ask of Signora.’
Giuliana scowled at the man. Diana thought it was at least partly due to his forgetting to address the housekeeper in her own language but, to Diana’s amazement, Giuliana responded in English.
‘Signora cannot be disturbed, at this time. What is it you wish?’
‘You understood English, all along?’ Diana demanded, incredulous. Giuliana’s only response was a blank stare, before turning back to Travere.
‘I … I was going through the items downstairs,’ the man continued, glancing from one glaring woman to the other. ‘From everyone’s accounts, that is where Adler was focusing the energies of his search, before his death. That he had exhausted the rest of the house and was only concentrating there.’
Giuliana remained impassive.
‘He had catalogued some of it already,’ Travere went on. ‘But much more of it remains. As you know, the item Adler was searching for may shed direct light on who his murderer was. It is very important I find that item, to find who killed him. But, as I said, there is still much to go through. Very much. I would not believe so much could be contained there.’
At last Giuliana spoke, setting the heavy silver tray down with a bang.
‘This house is vast, and the cellar large, and Signora has led a full life and has many beautiful possessions to show for that.’
She began taking the items off the tray, one by one, handling them carefully, almost reverently.
‘And I am a busy woman, signore. Signora Bugari has given me some authority during her illness. What is it you would ask permission for?’
Travere looked tentatively again from Giuliana to Diana. Ever since the change she had seen in him that first day – when he had seemed to switch from a solicitous companion to a driven detective – the relationship between Diana and Travere had been strained. Her interview with him in the sitting room had been a formal reiteration of the facts she had already volunteered during their long walk together. He had barely looked at her throughout the brief interrogation, staring instead at the identity card Diana had handed Signora on her first day of employment. Travere had turned the card over and over again in his hands, as if searching for secret lettering, or the key to a code for what was happening, reading and rereading her name. Since then, Diana had seen little of the inspector, occupying herself with Paolo. But the boy was growing stronger and more independent, running outside, preferring the company of Sarina and Dorothea, and especially of Francesca who smothered the skinny boy with huge, motherly hugs that were no longer for her lost sons but for Paolo himself. So, with time on her hands, with the last of the housecleaning winding down and the extra staff preparing to return to the village, Diana would run into Travere on the steps, outside on the terrace, once by the reflecting pool itself. Their eyes would meet awkwardly, looking away almost instantly, a murmured buon giorno or buona sera before they moved off in different directions. That is how Diana felt. As if the two of them had been companions going in the same direction on that hot, sunny day, his courteous words and solicitude for her well-being a balm after the harshness of war (he would help her reunite with her army, he had told her – promised her – that). And then he had seen Adler’s body in the reflecting pool and their paths had diverted. Something in him had snapped, becoming someone else entirely. An interrogator who upset the staff – Diana thought again of the woman covering her mouth with her apron, of Alfredo hurrying down the hallway, his woolen cap left behind him in the sitting room, forgotten. And Bugari. Shortly after her interview, Bugari had taken to her room, refusing to see anyone but Giuliana, withdrawing from her own home. What had happened behind those closed doors to make so strong a woman seem to lose the very will to live? What had Travere said to her?
Travere swallowed hard before speaking.
‘As I mentioned, there is yet a great deal to catalogue in my search. I was unsuccessful in obtaining help from the local police – they have no interest in this matter. I therefore would ask permission for someone from this household to assist me, in an official capacity.’
Giuliana finished polishing the last of the silverware on the tray.
‘I cannot help you, signore. I am overworked as it is and very soon I will again be in charge of this great household, by myself.’ Giuliana’s voice seemed to tremble slightly, but she went on in a stronger and more menacing tone. ‘And do not think you can ask my husband for help; he is an old man and will have the rest of the harvest to bring in, on his own.’
Travere took a deep breath.
‘I would not dream of interfering with your work, or the work of your husband. But you must see it from the official point of view, as well. There has been a death here, under unusual circumstances. I must resolve what is behind it so I may leave and return you to normalcy as promptly as is possible. This is what we all want, I am sure.’
He looked up at Diana, who could not turn her eyes away in time. She had seen the searching look he gave her.
‘I would ask Miss Bolsena to assist me, just until the work is done and I can make my report. I promise, I will not stay one day beyond what is absolutely necessary.’
Giuliana shrugged her shoulders, hoisting the heavy tray again with a little wince of pain.
‘This you do not need permission for. Signorina is employed here. If she can accomplish her assigned tasks, what she chooses to do with her free time is her own affair.’ Giuliana trudged out of the room, yelling at a cat that had snuck in through the side door and gotten underfoot.
Travere looked at Diana, the first time they had held each other’s gaze since the day they met. He took a step towards her.
‘I know I get caught up in my work …’ he began softly, then stopped. Diana wondered that he knew the English phrase, that he could make the words sound warm and appealing now when, so often, even on their walk together, his expressions had come across as stiff and wooden.
‘I get caught up in my work, but that’s only because I feel so strongly about what I’m doing. I … I don’t mean to …’ Here he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘How do you Americans call it? I don’t mean to be a jerk.’
He smiled, a wide, winning grin.
‘What I mean to say is, I’d like to start again with you, if I can. This time, on the right foot. And I could really use your help, if you’d be willing.’
Diana didn’t respond. She still held his gaze, but as the seconds passed without her responding, the smile disappeared from Travere’s face and he stepped away from her, resuming his formal manner.
‘The sooner I can complete my report here, the sooner I leave you all in peace.’
Still Diana didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to make of Travere, of his changing demeanor and fluctuating moods. One moment, he was smiling – flashing his surprisingly white, perfectly formed teeth – using expressions that should make any American girl give a guy another chance. The next he was buttoned-up, closed in on himself. Cut off. Hidden. She did not fully trust this detective who did not always act like a detective – she thought again of his stepping through the puddles that first day, compromising the scene of the crime, turning out the man’s pockets like a common thief. She remembered Bugari’s words, that maybe Travere was just what he proposed himself to be – a man gathering information. He had waved his hand in the direction of Adler’s dead body when he said it, and Diana had supposed that he meant information about Adler’s killer. But what if he meant he had come to gather information not about the person who had killed Adler but about Adler himself. The mysterious man Diana had first met strangling her employer. Who had destroyed the idyllic nature of her home. Who had torn the place apart looking for something so valuable he was delaying his own escape at the end of a war he had lost; that was so valuable Signora had seemed willing to let him destroy her home if it meant she could keep him from discovering it. Diana might not trust Travere, might not know what to think of him. But she knew, without a doubt, what she had thought of Adler. She thought again of his fingers around Signora’s throat, of the way his thumb had tapped against her own wrist, of his hand holding out sweet candies to the boy on the lane, and she knew the man had been evil. The man had been evil in life and, the thought came to her suddenly, perhaps he had left something behind that could continue his evil, even after his death. If Diana’s helping now could stop that, could help find that evil – if it existed – and destroy it, it would be worth whatever risk she ran with Travere. But she couldn’t raise the detective’s suspicions as to her real motives. She would have to make it seem that she was helping him for her own reasons. That she didn’t suspect he was only there to uncover Adler’s secret. That she wasn’t only there to destroy it when they found it together. Thinking quickly, she held out her hand.
‘You offered once to take me to my army, after you were finished here. Well, it looks like the quickest way back home for me is to help you now.’
Travere looked surprised, almost disappointed, frowning for a moment. Then his smile reappeared as he pumped her hand up and down and led her to the top of the cellar steps.
Diana started down a long flight of wooden stairs. They creaked and groaned loudly under her feet. At the bottom, she found herself in a basement crowded with boxes, crates, and steamer trunks of all sorts and sizes. The ceiling was arched and high, but exposed lightbulbs hung from a wire at eye level. The boxes were crammed so close together she could not make out how far the rows extended in each direction, but they seemed to go on forever. She reached out her hand and ran it over a nearby trunk covered with old packing labels. Her fingers left a trail in dust that had not been disturbed in years. She looked more closely and could just make out the faded lettering on some of the labels. Milan. Paris. Vienna. The brass hinges on the trunk were corroded and beginning to crumble. A thin layer of green mold covered the dark leather, a brown water stain near the bottom the only thing to show where labels had peeled off years earlier. Diana looked from the trunk to the rows of boxes behind it, and then back at Travere, who had joined her at the foot of the stairs.
‘There’s so much. How could anyone ever get through it all? Do you really think the thing Adler was looking for is in there?’
Diana crouched down low, trying to peer between boxes. She could see for about ten or twelve feet by the light of the naked bulbs before everything disappeared into darkness.
‘You can see why I was eager for help.’
Travere pushed his way through a narrow aisle that had been formed between boxes, motioning for Diana to follow.
‘As far as I can make out, Adler started at the far wall and was working his way back here. You can tell from the dust. The boxes nearest the stairs haven’t been touched.’
Diana rubbed the fine dust from the packing trunk between her fingers, as she pressed forward. Travere picked up a flashlight from one of the crates and handed it to her.
‘The lights only go so far.’
Diana switched it on. The crates were piled two or three high and hemmed them in on both sides. The glow from her flashlight seemed to grow brighter as she played it against old lampstands and forgotten hat boxes crumbling with age.
‘Here we are,’ Travere announced, as he stepped aside. In front of them rose a stone wall against which boxes had been stacked high to make a small clearing. In the open space sat a low stool with several boxes arranged in front of it. Papers were scattered over the floor.
‘This is where Adler was looking,’ Diana said, bending down and picking up one of the papers. She ran her flashlight over it. It seemed to be a receipt of some sort, handwritten, the paper old and brittle.
‘Yes. These boxes against the wall, I believe, he has already searched. The papers inside are disarranged, and he has marked each box with a small x.’
Diana played her light over the dozens of boxes and crates and could just make out a faint mark on each.
‘OK, so it’s one yard down, nine to go,’ she whispered, exhaling, then shook her head. ‘No, never mind. It’s just an expression. But what are we looking for? There must be hundreds of boxes to go through, but I’m not sure I’ll be much help if I have no idea what I’m looking for.’
Travere was silent. Diana replayed her last sentence in her head, wondering if she had used an obscure word, or if he could still be trying to figure out her allusion to football. She looked at his face in the dim light, expecting to see a puzzled expression, but he was looking intently at her.
‘Diana, I have a theory. Don’t ask me to explain it all right now. But … you’re a nurse.’
‘Yes?’ Diana wondered where his train of thought was going.
‘You took science and math classes, I mean, as part of your training?’
‘Sure. I mean, it was mostly practical training but, early on, to weed us out, yes.’
‘Then look for anything like that. Mathematical figures. Scientific equations. Anything with numbers or formulae or variables. Things like x and y—’
‘Yes, I remember what variables are,’ she replied, a little shortly.
‘Yes, forgive me, I get excited when I think I am on the correct path. So, you and I, we will look for those things.’
‘And if your theory is wrong? What if he was just looking for something simple like, I don’t know, hidden treasure, or gold or something?’
‘I do not believe I am wrong. I could be, but I, personally, do not believe in it. A man like Adler does not remain in enemy lands after his army has lost just to gain wealth. Unless …’ Travere paused, placing his own torch upright and prying the lid off one of the untouched crates. ‘Unless that wealth is immense, and the item he has come for is small enough to carry off with him.’
Travere moved the stool closer to Diana, holding it formally for her as if seating her at a table. She sat down. Then he pulled over the open crate and knelt down next to her on the hard stone floor.
