The Bottom of Your Heart (29 page)

The baroness smiled at her, while still focusing on her stitching: “Calm down,
tata
. Don't make any unnecessary effort, you can't move, I already told you that.”

“Barone', then who is it that just caressed my hand? I could feel someone touching my hand.”

Marta shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe a sigh, or a gust of wind. Or perhaps the kind thoughts of someone who loves you. It must have been Luigi Alfredo.”

“What, the young master? Where is he?”

The baroness sighed.

“Who can say. It's not as if we can see them. Maybe he's here, by your side, right this second.”

“But I can't see anyone, Barone' . . . there's no one here but you and me.”

Marta laughed softly: “No, we're not alone. See?”

And she cocked her head toward the far side of the room, where there was a tall old man, standing straight as a rod and dressed to the nines.

“Oooh, the baron!” said Rosa, her heart pounding in her chest. She'd always been in awe of that frosty, silent man.

Marta lowered her voice, as if to avoid being overheard: “Yes, that's him. He's over there because he's ashamed, but he still wants to see what happens. It matters to him, too, you know?”

“It matters to him about who, Barone'?”

Marta held up the newborn baby outfit against the light and scrutinized her work.

“About his son, of course. This is the only way we have, after all.”

Rosa was baffled: “What way, Barone'? To do what?”

“To find out about him. To let him know that we love him. You're our only contact.”

Rosa didn't understand.

“What do you mean, your only contact? What are you talking about?”

Marta stopped stitching and looked at her: “Because he loves you dearly,
tata
. And he's suffering the pains of damnation right now, sitting next to you. He's afraid. He, a man who feels the pain of others, a man who thinks he's insane, is suffering as he's never suffered before. That's why we're here, his father and I. To see if we can comfort him just a little.”

Rosa considered the matter.

“I'm so sorry, Barone'. I never managed to find him a wife, help him start a family. I knew that I wouldn't live forever, that my time would come. But in the end all I could do was set Nelide up here at home, at least in time to teach her how to cook. I failed. Forgive me, Barone'. Forgive me.”

“What on earth are you taking about? Utter nonsense. You were a marvelous
tata
, and you did everything within your power, and then some. You see this little romper for a newborn baby girl? It's for you, for when you're here with us. I'm stitching ever so slowly, because when it's finished, you'll be reborn. And then Luigi Alfredo will be left all alone. Let's hope that by then, he'll be ready.”

Rosa asked: “Ready to do what?”

Marta stared at a point in the middle distance.

“Ready to share his life. To understand that it's still possible to love, even when you're bearing the burden that we carry.”

“What burden, Barone'? What burden does the young master carry, what burden did you two bear? Will you tell me?”

“And why should I, poor
tata
? You wouldn't understand. You just need to get a little sleep now. Don't worry: I'm a slow stitcher.”

L
ivia reached Gambrinus right on time.

The driver pulled up in Piazza Trieste e Trento and walked around the car to open the door for her on the side facing the café. She stepped out, provoking a couple of shrill wolf whistles of approbation as she did so—whistles that she more or less ignored. It was the driver—also as a way of establishing his own presence—who shot an angry glare at the idlers sprawled at the outdoor café tables, fanning themselves with their straw boaters and twirling their mustaches as they waited for pretty girls to go by, maybe those leaving evening services at the nearby church of San Ferdinando.

Stepping briskly, Livia walked into the café. Two young men lept to their feet: such a woman, alone in a café, was rare catnip for them. They hurried after her into an interior space, but a human colossus sitting at a table rose to his feet and barred the way, crossing his arms and blocking the threshold. The two men exchanged a glance of surprise, then one adjusted the knot of his tie, the other smoothed the crease of his jacket, and, crestfallen, both returned to their lookout posts.

Livia looked down at a sheet of paper she held in one hand and crossed the empty room to take a seat by the plate glass window overlooking Via Chiaia. She caught a faint whiff of lavender and looked up from the list of drinks, locking eyes with a distinguished, middle-aged man of average height standing not far away.

“
Buonasera
, Falco,” Livia said.

The man bowed his head in a respectful greeting. He held a leather briefcase in one hand, just as he had every other time that Livia had seen him.

“
Buonasera
, Signora. May I sit with you?”

“You summoned me to an urgent meeting, you offered to send a car and driver to bring me here, from what I can see you've reserved the entire interior dining room at Gambrinus, so I'd have to say that, yes, you're free to take a seat.”

As if Livia's irony had gone clear over his head, Falco executed a second small bow, and sat down across from her. A moment later, the waiter arrived with a tray.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a vermouth. Perhaps at this time of the day you'll enjoy it.”

Livia shot him a look.

“You know where to find me. You know what I do, how I dress, and where I shop, the places and people I visit. I'm hardly surprised to learn that you also know what I like to drink, or even that you decide for me what I'm going to drink, which amounts to the same thing. So vermouth will be fine,
grazie
.”

The man returned the look, unblinking: “Believe me, Signora, the last thing I want to do is inconvenience you. And I'm sorry to hear that you've come to think of my presence as a nuisance. We do our best to be discreet, that's in the nature of the . . . work that we do. But when we are forced to intervene, we intervene. Though we try to do it cautiously, we have no choice.”

“Oh, really? So tell me, why have you been forced to intervene this time? And then, answer me this: why on earth have you chosen to summon me here with a written note? You've always simply materialized as if by some magic spell in my living room, without even being announced. This time, instead, you've actually written to make a date.”

“A date, you say? Far too bold for my style, I'm afraid. The loveliest and most alluring woman in the city is far above anything I could hope for. I've told you before, just think of me as a sort of guardian angel. If I reach out, it's only to help you.”

Livia leaned forward and spoke harshly: “Falco, let's not kid each other. Guardian angel, my foot. What I am for you, and for your governmental structure, or section, or department, or whatever the devil you choose to call it, is a tremendous pain in the neck. That's what I've been for you since the day I decided to move down here. May I ask why you insist on taking such good care of me even though I never asked you to? Would you please just let me live my life in peace?”

The man sipped his espresso, gazing lazily out at the people strolling past in the street outside, though the intense heat had winnowed down the usual crowds. Then he set down his demitasse and spoke.

“That's very good. The coffee is one of the best things about this city. I've been around and believe me, if there's one thing I always miss when I travel it's the coffee here at Gambrinus. I believe that its distinctive aroma was the deciding factor in my choice of this café as our meeting place. A pity you don't drink espresso.”

Livia had no intention of going along with that digression.

“I'll drink what I please, Falco. And I don't have to account for my tastes to you. Now, if you'd be so good, will you answer my question? Why won't you stop spying on me?”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry to hear you use this tone with me, and most of all I'm sorry that I must be the target of your ill will. You want to know why we keep spying on you? I'll answer your question.” He took a drink of water. “You, see, we do surveillance on a great many people. You'd be surprised to know the number. These aren't always prominent individuals, they aren't necessarily troublemakers or subversives. There are a variety of reasons we might decide to put someone under surveillance. And believe me, my dear lady, it's not an easy task or a particularly enjoyable one. We make use of a network of informants who do not belong directly to my . . . structure, in fact, I'd say that in our surveillance we rely for the most part on ordinary people. Tradesmen, strolling vendors, even priests. Everyone spies on everyone else. And they report back to us. The most complex part of the work we do, Signora, has to do with separating the chaff from the wheat in these reports, lest we take seriously warnings that are actually just people settling scores, avenging old grudges, working out their envy or jealousy, or simply slandering their fellow men.”

Livia recoiled in disgust: “My God, what a filthy mess this country's become. I'm almost ashamed to belong to . . .”

Falco raised a hand: “Please, Signora. Don't say things that I'd be forced to remember from this day forth. Please. It's hard enough already.”

The man at the entrance was leaning against the doorjamb, making a great show of indifference. Falco went on: “In any case, with you it's different, and you know that. We don't watch over you, to use the terminology we prefer, because we suspect you of any significant activity, though I have to say that some of your indirect acqaintances, as you well know, are of some concern to us. Our care as far as you're concerned . . .”

Livia snapped: “Your care, is that what you call it?”

“. . . stems from other issues. You, Signora, are very, very dear to someone in Rome who is very, very important. This matter was communicated to us the day you arrived in this city, and we are still held responsible for anything that happens to you or even anything that might happen to you.”

“Which means that if I want to rid myself of this obsessive surveillance all I need to do is make a phone call to . . . to some girlfriend of mine? Would it really be that simple?”

“No, Signora. It wouldn't be that simple. Certainly, you'd never see me again; and you'd hear nothing more from me, or from my . . . colleagues. But if anything, our observation would become even more strict. For example, you rightly asked why we're meeting here and not in your home.”

“Well, why are we?”

“I thought it best in order to protect you from the person whose job it is to keep an eye on your apartment, a person who doesn't know me and might well take me for someone else entirely.”

Livia restrained an impulse to laugh: “Really? You're telling me that you don't even know each other? Incredible, quite a show of efficiency . . .”

“No, Signora. You're wrong. Our decision not to introduce those performing surveillance to each other makes it possible to cross-check the honesty and accuracy of their reports.”

At this point she really did laugh out loud: “Honesty, you say! What an interesting choice of language, my compliments. Let's get to the point, Falco, why did you want to see me?”

“As you wish. Now, then, you've decided to host a party, am I right? Quite a party indeed, with a great many guests. So . . .”

Livia interrupted him, aghast: “But . . . but how could you know that? I've hardly mentioned it to anyone! Then that means my housekeeper, Clara . . .”

Falco shook his head: “No, no. The domestic servant Clara Fenizia, twenty-two years of age, is not in contact with us. Let's just say that the orders you placed with your suppliers, as well as a few phone calls and one or two meetings, are what alerted us. I must ask you for your guest list, Signora. We need it so we can deploy the appropriate security measures.”

Livia shot to her feet, her lips white with fury: “I won't give you a single thing, Falco. Not a thing! I'm a free woman, until proven otherwise, and in my own home I'll do as I please with anyone I like.”

She'd raised her voice; a few people outside turned their heads to look. The man at the threshold took a step in their direction, clearly worried, but Falco stopped him with a wave of his hand, without bothering to look up.

“You know, Signora, like all truly beautiful women you become even lovelier when you're angry. Please, sit down, and listen to what I have to say.”

Livia sat back down, reluctantly, her hands, clad in black gloves, clenched into fists.

“We'd get that list in any case, you realize that, don't you? Only it would cost us more effort and we'd run the risk of leaving off a few names. We are quite sure that you plan to invite people who are very important to us. And I'd never dream of trying to cause you any difficulties. It's just that there might be some . . . incompatibilities among your guests. What we'd like to do is spare you any potential awkwardness that might result from unwished-for meetings. That is the reason for my request.”

Falco's heartfelt tone made it clear to Livia that she'd been needlessly rude and excessively aggressive. That was the political situation: what was the point of taking it out on someone who had only tried to be kind, however odd a form that kindness might take? Perhaps even at his own risk and peril.

“Please forgive me, Falco. I went too far. You understand, I'd given up on this idea of a party, then things changed and now it seems like it would be a nice thing to introduce myself, and introduce someone I care about, to the better sort of people in this city. And on that occasion, I'd like to do something that I haven't done in too long. Far too long.”