She shook herself free of him, fighting for some way in which she could say this next thing with a shred of impartiality. “Brother, you know the answer, because you feel it just as much as me. Beyond these walls there is life!”
Jacopo Levi studied me, seeking an answer. Our joint decision went beyond music. For Rebecca these hours in La Pietà represented freedom, where she was no longer bound by the twin iron chains of her sex and her race. Jacopo, too, shared in that moment, for he adored his sister more than anything on earth.
“I suggested this course of action, Jacopo,” I told him. “Why ask me where I stand?”
“Of course,” he said with some reluctance. “Then it is up to me. Well…”
Rebecca gazed at her brother, trying not to appear too hopeful. “There is no need to rush this, Jacopo,” she said softly.
“Rush?” he wondered. “And things will stand differently tomorrow?”
Neither of us answered. He reached forward and drew up our hands together. We clasped each other’s wrists in amity and determination, then Rebecca, tears starting to well in those dark, almond eyes, broke away, snatched off a chain from her neck, and gently placed it round my head. I found the object attached to it: a small silver figure, six-pointed, like two triangles turned against each other, which they call the Star of David.
“Would I make a good Jew?” I asked, feeling the points of the emblem and wondering how many Hebrew necks this had embraced.
“There is no such thing as a good Jew or a good Gentile,” Jacopo replied. “Only honest men and honest women. Until the world learns that, we’ll all be living in a sorry place.”
“Amen,” I said without thinking, and we found ourselves gripped by a fit of the giggles.
21
The third way
At Daniel’s request they assembled around the dining table at nine. Laura had placed pastries and cups of macchiato on the table for the men. She sat quietly sipping an orange juice, uncomfortable for a reason he could not guess. Daniel finished his coffee in two straight gulps. He was, he realised, rapidly becoming addicted to this halfway house between the harsh, tiny fix of espresso and the milky bulk of the cappuccino. It was part of a rapid process of assimilation. At times he even found himself starting to think in Italian.
He explained the events of the previous night and Massiter’s offer. Scacchi whistled when he disclosed the terms. The air made a peculiar noise as it travelled through his false teeth. The old man looked particularly yellow this morning, Daniel thought.
“You let this girl play the piece?” Laura asked. “Why? You mean she’s better at it than you?”
“Yes. Much better. The best player in the whole school, according to Fabozzi.”
“And if you’d played it, he would never have known.”
He was unable to understand whether Laura was trying to criticise him or not.
“I can’t say.”
“Then we might as well have gone straight to the Englishman and offered him the thing on a plate,” she observed.
Scacchi tore a croissant in half and nibbled at a small portion. “It’s a good price, Laura. I thought we might generate a little excitement by putting around some rumour about the work’s existence, then setting those who desire it against each other. But Massiter knows more about this particular world than I. His logic seems irrefutable. Furthermore, even if the piece is successful, it could take many years before it earned the sum of money he seems willing to place on the table this very day.”
Laura’s green eyes opened wide. “The Englishman is asking you to commit fraud!”
Scacchi shook his head. “That’s a very narrow interpretation of the facts, my dear. Under the thesauri inventio, I have every right to the object, since it was found on my property. That surely includes the right to dictate how it’s brought to market.”
She threw up her hands in disgust, uttered an arcane Venetian curse, and turned to Daniel, pleading. “Don’t even begin to consider this, I implore you. I know you think this is some grand adventure, and we’re all players in it. But what Scacchi suggests is criminal, and you must surely know as much.”
“I had not realised you possessed a legal mind,” Scacchi observed crossly.
Daniel tried to interpret the expression on Laura’s face. It was not anger; it was concern — for all of them.
“I think I’m old enough to make up my own mind,” Daniel said, hoping to calm the temperature.
“All children say things like that,” Laura moaned, still staring at him.
Scacchi tapped his hand lightly on the table, as if to bring the meeting to some kind of order. “I’m asking for nothing more than a small white lie.”
Paul shook his head. “Hey. Let’s cut the crap, Scacchi. If Daniel puts his name on the thing, we’re screwing people. Period.”
“We’re making them pay an appropriate sum for a great work of art,” Scacchi insisted. “And who’s to say the rightful owner did not leave his music with the thought it might enrich whosoever found it?”
“Who’s to say it wasn’t stolen in the first place?” Paul insisted.
Scacchi would not budge. “That’s irrelevant. Now that Massiter has pointed the facts out to us, do you think there is a single hole in his argument? Without copyright for the thing, the amount of money it can earn anyone is marginal, surely?”
Paul sighed. “Probably. You’re right about what it’s worth with copyright too. The piece couldn’t earn the kind of money he’s offering in years.”
“There,” Scacchi announced with a triumphant look. “That’s settled, then.”
“What exactly is settled?” Laura demanded. “You have not even asked Daniel his opinion of the matter. You simply assume he will agree to this ridiculous idea.”
“Daniel!” Scacchi said. “It’s your choice. I shall, of course, treat you fairly. Let’s say ten percent. At the end of the summer, when Massiter pays the second part.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Fifteen, then,” Scacchi offered. “We can do business here, surely.”
“I don’t want your money, Scacchi! Not a penny of it. You’ve been generous enough to me already.”
Laura’s eyes rolled in disbelief. “Please don’t pretend this is for gratitude alone, Daniel. That may be a part of it, but I think you are still playing some romantic game in your head. This is not a fairy tale. What Scacchi suggests will make you a criminal, whether you are caught or not.”
“I think that is an exaggeration somewhat.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really? So what do you think your mother would say on that matter if she were here?”
“You never knew my mother, Laura. You have no idea what she would say.”
“I know her son. He wouldn’t be who he is if she couldn’t see the difference between good and bad. I know—”
“Laura!” Scacchi barked angrily. “Enough. He hasn’t even agreed yet.”
“He doesn’t have to. I can see it in his face.”
The old man scowled. “It’s entirely up to you, my boy. If there’s something else, name it.”
Daniel was silent, wondering at the heat and the emotion in this conversation. There had rarely been a cross word or a raised voice at home in England, only lassitude and, underpinning everything towards the end, despair. This was the world as he had imagined it: full of colour and life and some enticing uncertainty about what the coming days would bring.