As he was about to enter the Trattoria da Enzo, Montalbano heard someone call him. He stopped and turned. Elena Sclafani was getting out of a sort of red missile, a convertible, which she had just parked. She was wearing a track suit and gym shoes, her long hair flowing onto her shoulders and held in place only by a light blue headband slightly above her forehead. Her blue eyes were smiling, and her red lips, which looked painted, were no longer pouting.
“I’ve never eaten here before. I’ve just come from the gym, so I’ve got a hearty appetite.”
A wild animal, young and dangerous. Like all wild animals.
And, in the end, like all youth,the inspector thought with a twinge of melancholy.
Enzo sat them down at a table a bit apart from the others. But there weren’t many people there in any case.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“Is there no menu?” asked Elena.
“It’s not the custom here,” said Enzo, looking at her dis-approvingly.
“Would you like a seafood antipasto? It’s excellent here,” said Montalbano.
“I eat everything,” Elena declared.
The look Enzo gave her suddenly changed, turning not only benevolent but almost affectionate. “Then leave it up to me,” he said.
“There’s a slight problem,” said Montalbano, who wanted to cover himself. “What’s that?”
“You suggested we go out to lunch together, and I was happy to accept. But …”
“Come on, out with it. Your wife—” “I’m not married.”
“Something serious?”
“Yes.” “Why was he answering her? “The problem is that when I eat, I prefer not to talk.” She smiled.
“You’re the one who’s supposed to ask the questions,” she said. “If you don’t, then I don’t have to answer. And anyway, if you really must know, when I do something, I like to do only that one thing.”
The upshot was that they scarfed down the antipasto, the spaghetti with clam sauce, and crispy fried mullets, all the while exchanging only inarticulate sounds along the lines ofahm, ohm,anduhm,which varied only in intensity and color. And a few times they saidohm ohmin unison, while looking at each other. When it was over, Elena stretched her legs under the table, half closed her eyes, and heaved a deep sigh. Then, like a cat, she stuck out the tip of her tongue and licked her lips. She very nearly started purring.
The inspector had once read a short story by an Italian author that told of a country where making love in public not only caused no scandal but was actually the most natural thing in the world, whereas eating in the presence of others was considered immoral because it was such an intimate thing. A question came into his head and almost made him laugh. Want to bet that before long, because of age, he would be content to take his pleasure from women merely by sitting at the same table and eating with them?
“So where do we go now to talk?” asked Montalbano.
“Do you have things to do?”
“Not immediately.”
“I’ve got another idea. Let’s go to my place, I’ll make you some coffee. Emilio’s in Montelusa, as I think I already told you. Did you bring your car?”
“Yes.”
“Then just follow me, so you can leave whenever you like.”
Keeping up with the missile was not easy. At a certain point Montalbano decided to forget it. He knew the way, after all. In fact, when he arrived, Elena was waiting for him at the front door, a gym bag hanging from her shoulder.
“That’s a very nice car you’ve got,” said Montalbano as they were going up in the elevator.
“Angelo bought it for me,” the girl said almost indifferently while opening the door, as though she were talking about a pack of cigarettes or something of no importance.
This girl’s trying to pull the rug out from under me,thought Montalbano, feeling angry either because he’d thought of a cliche or because the cliche corresponded exactly with the truth.
“It must have cost him a lot of money.”
“I’d say so. I need to sell it as soon as possible.”
She led him into the living room.
“Why?”
“Because it’s too expensive for my budget. It consumes almost as much gas as an airplane. You know, when Angelo gave it to me, I accepted it on one condition: that every month he would reimburse me for the cost of fuel and the garage. He’d already paid for the insurance.”
“And did he do as you asked?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me something. How did he reimburse you? By check?”
“No, cash.”
Damn. A lost opportunity to find out if Angelo had any other bank accounts.
“Listen, Inspector, I’m going to go make coffee and change clothes. In the meantime, if you want to freshen up …”
She led him into a small guest bathroom right beside the dining room.
He took his time, removing his jacket and shirt and sticking his head under the faucet. When he returned to the living room, she still wasn’t back. She arrived five minutes later with the coffee. She’d taken a quick shower and put on a big sort of housecoat that came halfway down her thigh. And nothing else. She was barefoot. Stretching out from under the red housecoat, her legs, which were naturally long, looked endless. They were sinewy, lively legs, like a dancer’s or an athlete’s. And the best of it—as was immediately clear to Montalbano—was that there was no intent, no attempt to seduce him on Elena’s part. She saw nothing improper in appearing this way in front of a man she barely knew. As though reading his mind, Elena said: “I feel comfortable with you. At ease. Even though that shouldn’t be the case.”
“Right,” said the inspector.
He felt comfortable himself. Too comfortable. Which wasn’t good. Again it was Elena who came back to the matter at hand.
“So, about those questions …”
“Aside from the car, did Angelo give you any other gifts?”
“Yes, and rather expensive ones, too. Jewelry. If you want, I can go get them and show them to you.”
“There’s no need, thanks. Did your husband know?”
“About the gifts? Yes. Anyway, something like a ring I could easily hide, but a car like that—”
“Why?”
She understood at once. She was dangerously intelligent.
“You’ve never given presents to a lady friend?”
Montalbano felt annoyed. Livia was never, not even by accident, supposed to enter into the tawdry, sordid stories he investigated.
“You’re leaving out one detail.”
“What?”
He deliberately wanted to be offensive. “That those presents were a way of paying you for your services.”
He was prepared for every possible reaction on Elena’s part, except for her to start laughing.
“Maybe Angelo overestimated my ‘services,’ as you call them. I assure you I’m hardly in a class of my own.”
“Then let me ask you again: Why?”
“Inspector, the explanation is very simple. Angelo gave me these gifts over the last three months, starting with the car. I think I’ve already told you that he had lately been overcome by…well,in short,he’d fallen in love with me. He didn’t want to lose me.”