“Good, that way you can change my bandages. See you at one o‘clock, at the Trattoria San Calogero.”
Something in Ingrid’s voice didn’t sound right. She seemed troubled.
Among the many gifts the Good Lord had given her, Ingrid also had a knack for punctuality. They went into the restaurant, and the first thing the inspector saw was a couple sitting at a table for four: Mimì and Beba. Augello sprang to his feet. Though the proud owner of a poker face, he was blushing slightly. He gestured for the inspector and Ingrid to join them at his table. The scene from a few days earlier was repeated in reverse.
“We don’t want to disturb you ...” said Montalbano hypocritically.
“But it’s no disturbance at all!” countered Mimi, even more hypocritically.
The women introduced themselves, smiling. The smiles they exchanged were open and sincere, and the inspector thanked Heaven. Eating with two women who didn’t hit it off would have been an ordeal. But Montalbano’s sharp detective’s eye noticed something that troubled him: there was some sort of tension between Mimì and Beatrice. Or was it merely that his presence made them feel awkward? They all ordered the same thing: seafood antipasto and a giant platter of grilled fish. Halfway through a grilled sole, Montalbano became convinced that his second-in-command and Beba must have been having a little spat when he and Ingrid interrupted them. Christ! He had to make sure the two made up by the time they got up from the table. He was racking his brain trying to think of a solution when he saw Beatrice place her hand lightly over Mimì’s. Augello looked at the girl, the girl looked at him. For a few seconds, they drowned in each other’s eyes. Peace! They’d made peace! The meal went down better for the inspector.
“Let’s take separate cars to Marinella,” Ingrid said as they were leaving the trattoria. “I have to be back in Montelusa soon. I’ve got an appointment.”
Montalbano’s shoulder was feeling much better. As she was changing the bandages, she said:
“I’m a little confused.”
“By the phone call?”
“Yes. You see—”
“Later,” said the inspector. “Let’s talk about it later.”
He was basking in the cool sensation of the salve that Ingrid was massaging into his skin. And he liked—why not admit it?—feeling the woman’s hands practically caressing his shoulders, arms, and chest. All of a sudden he realized he was sitting there with eyes closed, about to start purring like a cat.
“I’m done,” said Ingrid.
“Let’s go out on the veranda. Want some whisky?”
Ingrid consented. For a spell they sat in silence, staring at the sea. Then the inspector began:
“How did you happen to call her up?”
“Well, it was a sudden impulse, really, when I was looking for the postcard to give you her number.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“As soon as I said it was me, she seemed terrified. She asked me if anything had happened. I felt in an awkward position. I wondered if she knew her lover had been murdered, but in any case she’d never told me his name. So I replied, no, nothing had happened, I just wanted to know how she was doing. Then she said she would be away for a long time. And she started crying.”
“Did she explain why she had to stay away?”
“Yes. I’ll try to give you the facts in order, though what she told me was confused and fragmented. One evening Vanya, knowing that her husband was out of town and would be away for a few days, brought her lover to her villa near Santoli, as she’d done many times before. As they were sleeping, they were woken up by someone entering the bedroom. It was Dr. Ingrò. ‘So it’s true,’ he muttered. Vanya says her husband and the boy looked at each other a long time. Then the doctor said: ‘Come with me,’ and he went into the living room. Without a word, the boy got dressed and joined the doctor. What struck my friend most was that ... well, she had the impression that the two already knew each other. And rather well.”
“Wait a minute. Do you know how Vanya and Nenè Sanfilippo first met?”
“Yes, she told me the time I asked her if she was in love, right before she left. They met by chance, at a bar in Montelusa.”
“Did Sanfilippo know who your friend was married to?”
“Yes, Vanya told him.”
“Go on.”
“Then the husband and Nenè—Vanya, at this point in her story, said to me: ‘His name is Nenè—the husband and Nenè went back into the bedroom and—”
“She said ‘his name is’? She used the present tense?”
“Yes. I noticed it myself. She still doesn’t know that her lover was murdered. So, as I was saying, the two came back and Nenè, with eyes lowered, mumbled that their relationship had been a terrible mistake, that it was his fault, and that they must never see each other again. And then he left. Ingrò did the same a short while later, without saying a word. Vanya didn’t know what to do; she felt disappointed by Nenè’s aloofness. She decided to stay at the villa. Late the following morning, the doctor returned. He told Vanya that she had to go back to Montelusa at once and pack her bags. Her flight to Bucharest had already been booked. Somebody would drive her to the Catania airport at dawn. Left alone in the house that evening, Vanya tried to call Nenè, but he was nowhere to be found. The next morning she left. To her friends, including me, she explained her departure with the excuse that her father was sick. She even told me that the time her husband came to tell her that she had to leave, he wasn’t resentful or offended or embittered, but only worried. Then, yesterday, the doctor phoned her and advised her to stay away from here as long as possible. And there you have it.”
“But why do you feel confused?”
“Because ... in your opinion, is that normal behavior for a husband who’s just caught his wife in bed, in his house, with another man?”
“You yourself said they no longer loved each other!”
“And does the young man’s behavior seem normal to you? Since when have you Sicilians become more Swedish than the Swedish?”
“See, Ingrid, Vanya’s probably right when she says Ingrò and Sanfilippo knew each other ...The kid was an excellent computer technician, and there must be plenty of computers at the Montelusa clinic. When Nenè first hooked up with Vanya, he didn’t know she was the doctor’s wife. When he finds out—maybe because she told him—they’re already taken with each other. It’s all so clear.”
“Bah!” said Ingrid, skeptical.
“Look: the kid says he’s made a mistake. And he’s right, because he’s definitely lost his job. And the doctor sends his wife away because he’s afraid of the consequences, the gossip ... Say the two got some bright idea, like running away together ... Better not to let them have the opportunity.”
From the look Ingrid gave him, Montalbano realized that she was not convinced by his explanations. But since that was the way she was, she didn’t ask any more questions.
After Ingrid left, he remained seated on the veranda. The trawlers were heading out of the port to fish through the night. He didn’t want to think about anything. Then he heard a harmonious sound, very close by. Somebody was whistling softly. Who? He looked around. There was nobody. It was him! He was the one whistling! As soon as he realized this, he couldn’t whistle anymore. Therefore there were moments when, like a double, he could actually whistle. He started laughing.
“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” he mumbled.
“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
The third time he was no longer laughing. In fact he had turned dead serious. His forehead was sweating a little.
He filled his glass with straight whisky.
“Chief! Chief!” said Catarella, running after him. “I gots this letter here I’s a sposta give to you poissonally since yesterday. ‘Sfrom that lawyer Guttadadaro, who said I’m only sposta give it to you poissonally in poisson!”