Chapter 16

Chapter 16 - Another Death in Girotondo

Angela woke up early the next morning. Her head was hurting from the wine and her stomach from her behavior the night before. Her stomach had always spoken to her. Now it growled loudly. She shuddered at the memory of the previous night. What was she thinking? What had she become? She found no answers just shame and the beginnings of disgust again. She sat at the kitchen table. She had no energy to make herself breakfast. She scolded herself. All of a sudden she knew that she hated who she was becoming.

The telephone rang. It was Giacomo. He invited Angela to join him for a coffee in one of the bars in Girotondo. It was one of the quieter bars. Angela agreed. It sounded like he needed her.

Just as she was heading out of her house, the telephone rang again. It was her father in law, il Conte.

“Angela, I need to see Bruno. I have spoken to the Doctor and…”

“No, it’s far too dangerous, no.” Angela cut him off.

“But, but, you see, it doesn’t matter any more. It doesn’t matter. I’m ill, very ill. So, I’d like to see my son. And that is that.” Il Conte growled out like a wounded bear.

“Let me speak to il dottore. I’ll get back to you. Now you look after yourself.”

Angela scolded herself for not sounding more concerned about il Conte’s health. But there was no time. She needed to get to il Dottore. She instantly dialed his number. Within a few minutes she had explained clearly and concisely to il Dottore that he would speak to il Conte and explain in no uncertain terms that he fully endirsed the other doctor’s opinions and that no-one, no-one other than Angela must be with Bruno until he was fully recovered. Even if il Conte was not well, and il Dottore confirmed that he was not. He was not allowed to visit Bruno incase he passed his illness onto others. Angela ensured that he repeated this last sentence many times over. And Angela didn’t need to remind il Dottore of the previous night. He was like putty in her hands. Angela shuddered again as she put the phone down and sped out of the house.

Angela forgot that it was the weekly market day. But as she exited her front door she was swiftly reminded. The noise was loud. Men with gravely voices were shouting out their best deals of the day, women were fussing around them and the café was packed. The Piazza was already teaming with people and Angela even spotted the first few tourists huddled at one end of the Piazza taking photographs. She instantly knew they were English. It was so easy to tell.

She spun round to leave the market, and walked straight into Signora Malaventa.

“So, how did il Dottore’s visit go last night?” Signora Malaventa enquired with her head cocked to one side.

“Oh, not well. He concurred fully with all the other experts, as I expected. Oh well.” Angela looked suitably forlorn.

Signora Malaventa looked shocked. It was as though this was the last thing she expected to hear from Angela. Signora Malaventa was about to open her mouth again when Angela shouted out that she was late and fled. Signora Malaventa spun around and watched Angela depart the Piazza. She watched her like an owl watches it’s prey.

By the time Angela reached Giacomo she was flushed and she was late. He was sitting in a corner of the café. As he looked up at her she instantly saw the concern in his face. Then he started twitching. His cheek kept connecting with his eye. The spasmodic, out of control muscle, made it hard for him to talk. She had not seen him twitch so badly since he was a teenager. Angela panicked.

“What’s wrong Giacomo?”

“I think he, he, knows. I think he knows” Giacomo stammered.

“I don’t understand.” Angela didn’t know where Giacomo was headed but she knew she had be found out.

“I just don’t know how. I don’t know how.” Giacomo looked as though he might be about to cry.

Angela stared hard at him. Who knew? How could anyone have discovered her secret? Perhaps someone had seen her the night she buried Bruno. Her mind raced. Her eyes darted from side to side.

“Who, Giacomo, who?” Angela pleaded. Now she was practically in tears.

“My father. My blasted father. Who else.”

Angela’s head sank. So that was why he telephoned her asking to see Bruno. He was onto her. The bastard! She tried to calm down, tried to come up with yet another plan. Her mind refused. It was racing too fast. She tugged at her hair in frustration and stress. What a pair the two of them made in that café, Bruno twitching like a terrified badger and Angela tugging at her brown locks.

It was only a while later when Angela was at her whit’s end that he came out with it.

“I don’t know how he found about Davide and I. We’ve always been so careful. Someone must have seen us together and told him. It was bound to happen one day. But we’ve been so careful. I don’t know what he’ll do now. He could do anything. His heir a queer little wimp. He’ll kill me.” Giacomo stared down at his coffee in humiliation.

And Angela knew she was free. Free for a while longer and it felt great. The magnitude of her relief was hard to fathom and harder for her to hide. But hide it she did as she tried to comfort Giacomo.

Angela always regretted that she couldn’t do a better job of comforting and advising Giacomo. He had always been there for her and always said exactly the right thing. She wished she could have done more for him. And when a few days later she got the call from her father, that terrible, terrible day she wished it with all of her heart. She cried wishing only that. And she of course also cried for their great loss. And she cried for the way in which Giacomo died. He shot himself in their vineyard after having drunk a large flask of wine. Of their wine. Of their deepest, reddest wine. They said that it was almost impossible to make out what was his blood and what was wine. But dead he was and Angela suddenly felt like she had lost the only real friend she ever had. She was alone all over again. She could practically see the darkness closing in all around her.

And at the funeral she stood alone with her son, both all in black. She said nothing and she looked at no one. She felt like a rock abandoned in the sea, alone for ever and cold. So she held onto her son and she preyed for Giacomo. She prayed for her soul mate and her saviour and she cried. She only stopped crying when il Conte approached her.

“Now you look after your husband. For now he will take over the estate and you two will become the future Conte and Contessa Grimaldi.”

Angela could only smile at the old Conte. She said nothing.

copyright ©Philip L Letts 2007