The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy Read online

  “Did you have a rest?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I see.” Hilary was busy with the kettle and cups, and now she pulled out a packet of biscuits and put them on the table. “Come on, start with a biscuit, the tea won’t be a minute.”

  “What! It won’t look very good, us sitting here eating, when he arrives.”

  “Never you mind about that, I’ll offer him a cup too.”

  Ruggero di Girolamo was punctual, and if he was a little surprised to see a couple of ladies having tea, he gave no sign of it, and accepted a cup himself, which he took with neither milk, nor sugar, nor even lemon. He sipped the tea and looked at the two women. The old lady was obviously the key witness, ha ha. He thought, I hope they haven’t brought me here to hear senile chattering. She looks to be in a bit of a state. He had been introduced to her as Pia Pieri and he guessed her to be at least seventy. He would be very cautious, as they often got muddled at that age. Hilary Wright seemed very protective, and he wondered what the connection was. He decided to leave the conduction of the meeting entirely in the English woman’s hands.

  He leant back in his chair, and said, “This tea is very good.”

  “Thank-you,” she said. “Would you like a biscuit, they’re very nice ones.”

  He took one, surprised to find they were his favourites. He kept wanting to laugh. It was absolutely ridiculous, him sitting there having tea with them. The Englishwoman was very cool, and seemed completely at her ease. He’d needled her a bit at the interview, but she had come through it well, and now look at her, offering him tea and biscuits as though they were old friends. Of course, he realised it was all for the benefit of the old lady, who every now and then dared to glance quickly at him, and then away again, as though he was dangerous.

  He felt strangely attracted to Hilary. He gave her an appraising look, which she intercepted, before looking away from him, and turning her attention to Pia.

  She patted her hand and said in an encouraging tone, “Well Pia, do you feel ready to tell Dr. di Girolamo what you saw?” She smiled at her and spoke to her, as one would to encourage a shy child.

  He smiled himself in what he hoped was a benevolent manner, and said, “When you’re ready.”

  Hilary gave him a glance of approval. It was going to be alright, and it was. Pia got the whole story out with the minimum of fuss, and she was much more straightforward than usual, as though his presence had given her the ability to become concise. He thanked her very much, at the end and left without commenting on her statement. Hilary accompanied him to the door and said “Thank you for being so kind to her. I hope we haven’t wasted your time.”

  “As I told you before, I ask the questions.” She looked down and then hesitantly added, “By the way, I have heard something, that you probably already know.” He waited.

  “Well it’s just that apparently Ettore had the keys to several people’s houses, foreigners houses I mean, and it seems he sometimes used them, when they were away. The houses I mean, not the keys. Oh well, of course I mean, he had to use the keys to get into the houses. Sorry, I’m not being terribly clear am I?” He remained silent, staring at her. She was beginning to feel rather stupid, and feeling that she must be turning pink, took a deep breath and finished rapidly. “Well, I mean he wasn’t alone when he did so, so I thought I should tell you in case you didn’t know, as if he was using Nigel’s house, then he wouldn’t have been alone, and so….” she trailed off. As he still said nothing she added hesitantly, “I just thought that if someone had been with him, they might have seen the murderer, or even be the murderer.”

  “When did you hear this?”

  “Yesterday, I think.”

  “I see. Where did you hear this?”

  “Oh it was just gossip in the shop, but a friend confirmed that she had seen him in a house, and not alone, and she’s not going to be happy if I tell you her name.”

  “Ah, you keep finding me reluctant witnesses.” He smiled at her. “Well I will not ask you for now. Perhaps you could tell this person, that I might like a signed statement, as I do like everything in writing, just for the record.”

  “Yes I’ll do that.”

  She watched him walk to his car; he looked back at her and smiled, before putting on his sunglasses and setting off. As the car passed her, he actually grinned, and she thought how absolutely silly she must seem to him. A middle-aged, flustered idiot. No wonder he grinned. What must he think of her? Well, what did it matter anyway; at least she had done what she wanted to do. Then she went back in, to congratulate Pia, and reassure her once again.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Frannie and Jake were playing cards on the terrace. Terry, their mother, came out with some homemade lemonade and glasses.

  “Are you kids going swimming today?” she asked

  “Maybe. We’re waiting for Roberto to phone. It’s nicer if we go in crowd. Giulia has already said she’d like to come too.”

  “What about this evening, are you eating here or what?”

  “Definitely ‘or what’,” said Jake. “I’m playing in the five-a-side football tournament tonight, and I’m eating with the other guys afterwards.”

  “Here,” said Franny. “Is it OK if Giulia eats here too, mom?”

  “Of course. I was just counting heads.”

  The phone rang, and Jake jumped up shouting, “I’ll get it.” He spoke fluent Italian, as did Franny, because they had spent long periods of their childhood in the local schools. They had a lot of friends in Borgo San Cristoforo, and loved the time they spent in Italy.

  Jake came back. “OK everybody, we’re on for the pool, Roberto’s coming round to pick us up in a quarter of an hour.”

  “Do you kids ever see Marco these days?” asked Terry. He had been a frequent visitor at the house when the kids were younger, and had been in the same class as Jake.

  “UH uh!” said Jake

  “I suppose that means ‘no’ and you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Brilliant. I’m going up to get my swimming gear.” He raced back into the house and up the stairs.

  “Franny?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well why don’t you two see him any more?”

  “Oh Mom, he’s changed so much. He hangs around with these awful kids, and they’re doin’ stuff, and anyway everyone says he’s a faggot. Sorry I mean gay.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. No I’m not. He’s always stoned or worse, and he was Ettore’s ‘boy’.”

  “Why I had no idea. I never knew Ettore was gay.”

  “Well, we reckon he was what dad calls ‘ambidextrous’, you know, swinging on both sides of the bed.”

  “Bi-sexual, dear, is the correct term.”

  “Really Mom, do we always have to be so damn ‘correct’. Anyway, that’s why we don’t see Marco anymore.” She looked uncomfortable, got up and slouched off to get her gear. Jake came back downstairs, looked at his mother and said, “No, don’t tell me Franny’s been spilling the beans. Ah, I see you blush…. so ‘bean’ is the operative word eh? Just please keep your mouth shut on this one. Don’t go telling all your friends.”

  “As if I would.”

  He gave her a long hard look. “I mean it, Mom.”

  A car drew up and hooted. Franny rushed downstairs to join her brother and then they all drove off, shouting their good-byes, leaving Terry to digest what she’d just heard.

  A metallic clanging noise startled her and she ran to the back of the house. Their nearest neighbour, Poldo, was vigorously bashing a saucepan with a metal ladle. His bees had swarmed and this was the method guaranteed to halt their flight, ensuring that they stopped in a nearby tree, and did not head off to the woods, where retrieval would be impossible. She could see the gigantic black swarming mass hanging in a tree near their common boundary, on her side of the fence.

  Poldo, her neighbour came puffing over to her, red in the face,

  “I’ll come and get
them later, when it’s cooler. Can I bring my ladder round, through to your side? I promise I’ll drive carefully this time.”

  A week earlier he had driven his three-wheeled truck right through her flower border in order to reach the tree where his bees had swarmed.

  “Of course you can.”

  The bees swarmed every summer and as he had ten hives this was a fairly frequent occurrence.

  He gave her a smile, and said, “I’ll bring you over some honey. Do you need eggs, we’ve got a glut?”

  “That would be lovely thanks, but you must let me pay for them this time.”

  “No. I shall be very offended if you pay for them. After all the bees are on your land, and I have to disturb you to come and get them, and then, there was the flowerbed last week. So we’re quits.”

  She gave in. She never seemed to manage to pay for anything, and was worried that one day, there would be some kind of monumental repayment, in the form of a favour, or a permission of some kind, that she would be hard put to refuse after months of kindness received. John kept telling her not to worry, but her grandmother had taught her Italian proverbs that seemed to apply to the situation, and she knew that ‘all chickens come home to roost’ and ‘non si prende niente per niente’ both of which meant that sooner or later, she would have to repay what she had been given.

  Later, towards evening, she was presented with a jar of chestnut flower honey, nearly black in colour and with a very strong, distinctive taste, which was her favourite, and a basket containing twenty large brown eggs which she knew would have deep yellow yolks and be wonderful, and totally unlike anything she could buy in the shops. She desperately rummaged in the cupboard searching for something with which to repay these gifts, and finally hit on a jar of green tomato pickle, which she had made the previous autumn. At least a partial repayment, though she knew she risked something else arriving within the next few days, some unbidden, but none the less welcome gift of superb vegetables to supplement her own unhappy ones, a jar of home made jam, or a plate of succulent figs, and she would be back where she started, in some kind of debt.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nigel had caught a summer cold. His eyes watered, his nose ran, his head throbbed, he felt hot and feverish, and he coughed incessantly. Robin had given him aspirin and tucked him into bed. On his bedside table were packets of paper handkerchiefs, orange juice (freshly squeezed with a little lace doily over the glass), aspirin, cough syrup, a thermometer, and a small ice bucket full of ice cubes.

  “Well, that’s me done for,” groaned Nigel. “No going to the concert for me.” He miserably blew his nose and looked at Robin with watering eyes. “But I want you to go.”

  “No, I’ll stay here with you.”

  “Look, I’ve got all I need, and I know how much you wanted to go. It’ll do you good to get out of here. The only place you’ve been, since we got back, is the police station. Please go. It’ll take your mind of things.”

  “You’re probably right, but I’ll stay all the same. I can’t face going alone.”

  “Look Robin, you’re bound to meet some one down there, I know John and Sebastian are going, and you haven’t seen them for ages, so you won’t be alone.”

  “Mmm, I’ll think about it.”

  “Well don’t think too long, you haven’t that much time, and you know how long it takes you to get ready.”

  Robin fussed around tidying up. It was true she was longing to get away, but she wanted to go miles away and forever. She couldn’t tell Nigel that she didn’t want to live here any longer, wished they’d never come here, wished they’d never met Ettore, wished things could be as before, and never would be again. Tears sprang to her eyes. Everything was ruined. The murder had changed their lives irrevocably, and now there was this policeman with his embarrassing questions, and almost worse, there was the blackmail. If they had to, maybe they could bluff that one out, but she couldn’t help feeling that Nigel should never have given in to him. It looked so bad. It made him look guilty. Oh God! If only it had never happened. But it had, and living with it was destroying her. She had to pull herself together. She had no desire to go out and talk to people but, on the other hand, to get into the car and go down the coast might pull her out of it. She turned to Nigel and said, “If you’re really sure you’ll be alright, then I’ll go. I’ll phone you when I arrive, and again after the concert.”

  “I’ll be fine, really. I’ll probably read a bit and then doze off, so don’t worry about phoning. Just go!”

  She went off to shower and change. Riffling through the clothes in the huge wardrobe in the dressing room, she decided to wear a knee-length silk dress, with buttons down the front, in a wonderful golden /beige colour that shimmered as she walked. Her long legs were tanned and she wore cream-coloured sandals, high-heeled as always, and carried a soft, cream coloured, leather bag.

  “My God,” she said to herself. “Italians certainly know how to make shoes and bags.” She was beginning to feel better already. She loved the sensual feel of the silk against her skin. She picked up a gossamer light, beige stole. Her make-up was applied with a rather heavy hand, but what the hell, she thought, it’ll be dark. She screwed in her golden hoop earrings and pouted at herself in the mirror. “Not bad for forty-five!” she said, admiringly, to her reflection in the mirror. She went into their bedroom and struck a pose, in the doorway, for Nigel to admire her. He approved heartily. “My God, you’ve really got yourself tarted up. Be a good girl, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She could hear the slight edge in his voice, and reacted to it immediately. She came closer to the bed and glared at him. “Very funny,” she said acidly. “That certainly gives me lots of leeway.”

  “For God’s sake Robin, don’t start on about that again. It was a long time ago. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve already paid me back in kind. What did you get up to while I was in England selling the house? I can’t see you being chaste for two months? Well never mind, I won’t ask. We all know chastity was never your forte my dear.”

  “Oh God, if you’re going to go raking up the distant past again, I can’t stand it.”

  “Sorry sweetie, but once a whore.”

  “Don’t you dare. I hate you Nigel, when you do this to me. I’m falling apart, can’t you see that. You know that since we’ve been together, I have never even looked at anyone else. We were talking about your little escapade, which, if I remember rightly, wasn’t so long ago. You always twist things. You’re guilty, but I’m made to suffer.”

  “OK forgive me, come and give me a kiss,” he looked contrite. “No, don’t, you’ll catch my cold.” He coughed and blew his nose again “The trouble is, you’re too damned good looking, and I’m an old man, and I can’t bear the thought of you with another man. I think I’d kill you if you did that to me.”

  “Well I haven’t and I won’t.”

  Nigel looked so sorry for himself that she added, “Darling you’re not an old man, you’re lovely and I adore you.”

  “Do you?”

  She smiled at him, and he continued, “Alright enough of all that, it must be this fever addling my brain. Now go! And send my love to John and Sebastian.”

  She blew him a kiss and picking up her bag and stole, took the car keys from the hook. “Bye darling. I’ll phone.”

  The Mercedes purred its way down the winding road to the coastal plain. She began to relax. Her nerves were shot to pieces or she would never have snapped at Nigel like that. She should have known how he’d retaliate. Please God, this nightmare would soon be over and things would get back to normal. She had been seeing things out of proportion shut up in the house. They must carry on as normal. Why not have a party? That would be a good way of re-establishing the status quo. It would be proof of innocence. She began to plan it in her mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hilary checked herself in the full-length mirror. She was wearing a long black skirt, a red silk shirt, sandals with a medium heel, and lipstick, but no other make-up,
as her tanned skin needed none. She heard the beep-beep that always announced Bruno’s arrival. It always irritated her, and this evening, even more than usual. Why couldn’t he park the damn car and ring the doorbell. She grabbed her bag and hurriedly left the house. Bruno was outside in the car, champing at the bit, as she always said.

  “Ciao, you look good,” he greeted her.

  “Thanks, you look alright yourself,” she replied tartly.

  He laughed and said “Feminist! I don’t see why I’m not allowed to compliment you.”

  “Nor I, you.”

  “OK, truce. I won’t do it again, it’s just that I keep forgetting.”

  The car drove swiftly down the winding road. It was a sultry evening and Hilary mentally thanked God they would be eating on the terrace of the restaurant, and then going on to an open-air concert. It would have been unbearable to have to be inside. She felt a moment’s qualm and asked, “Did you book seats for the concert?”

  “Yes I did, and the table at the restaurant, outside on the terrace, of course.”

  “Lovely.” They drove on in silence for a bit “Well, how was the holiday?”

  Bruno had been away a month in the north of Italy, on a walking holiday and visiting relatives, as his family came from there. He had come to live in Borgo San Cristoforo by chance.

  “It was fantastic. You should have come with me. The mountains were wonderful. The silence was incredible after a year listening to kids yelling.”

  Bruno was the headmaster at the local secondary school. He had been transferred five years before and had liked it so much that he had decided to stay on a few years. Meeting Hilary two years earlier had made him determined not to move away.

  “I almost wish I had.”

  “Next year you must. Tell me about the murder enquiries. What do the police say? Do they have any idea who did it?”

  “I’ve no idea. I was called in, to make a statement, and practically accused of doing it myself, or I think I was. That Dr. di Girolamo has a strange sense of humour. Every time I decide he must be joking, he gets deadly serious and threatening. Anyway it wasn’t very pleasant. They took my finger-prints you know.”