‘A palazzo?’ Kathy was impressed, although the dour mass of the building didn’t stand out from its neighbours. ‘What do we do?’
‘We wait, I think. I’m rather afraid,’ he added regretfully, ‘that I’m going to have to tell lies again, Kathy. I didn’t realize how difficult it is pretending you’re not what you are. I thought I’d enjoy it, but it’ll be a great relief to be able to come clean with people again.’
‘Can’t you just tell her the truth?’
‘I think she’d clam up and call the old family lawyer in ten seconds flat. No, it’s got to be lies, unfortunately. And I’m afraid we’re going to have to be somewhat unfair to Dr Beamish-Newell.’
‘Play the “hell hath no fury” angle, you reckon?’
‘Very possibly.’
They spent the whole day, singly and together, in and around the cafe, without catching sight of anyone leaving the Palazzo Trissino-Montanari.
‘She could be anywhere,’ Kathy said, as the puzzled cafe proprietor finally presented their bill.
‘Yes. But it’s Sunday today. Maybe tomorrow will be different.’
‘If we’re doing this again, I’m going to bring a cushion. These metal chairs are all right for half an hour — no more.’
Brock nodded. ‘They design them that way on purpose.’
By the following mid-morning they had finished the previous day’s Sunday Times which Kathy had found on sale at a kiosk nearby, and were beginning to have doubts. Not a single person or vehicle had passed through the stone archway into the palazzo. And then, suddenly, she was there, stepping out into the sun.
She looked elegant and poised — a simple skirt and silk blouse, cashmere jumper loose over her shoulders, to which her auburn hair just reached. She paused and felt for the dark glasses resting on the crown of her head and brought them down on to her aristocratic nose.
‘I knew I should have brought more clothes,’ Kathy muttered.
‘Keep on her tail while I settle up with Gregorio,’ Brock said, and disappeared into the cafe.
A couple of minutes later he was hurrying along in the direction he had seen them take. At last he spotted Kathy standing at a shop window, staring at the clothes inside.
‘They’re lovely,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t afford a single thing.’
‘Where is she?’ he puffed.
‘Other side of the street, in the hairdresser’s.’
‘Oh no, she could be hours.’
They found another cafe and resumed their watch, this time insisting on paying as soon as they were served. Towards one o’clock Gabriele reappeared, her hair not noticeably shorter, and they set off again, following her into the great Piazza dei Signori, through the colonnades of Palladio’s Basilica and into a small piazza on the other side. Here, outside the Ristorante del Capitanio, she found an empty table with a white linen tablecloth, inside an area enclosed by neatly clipped, boxed hedges. It was the last free table.
‘What now?’ Kathy joined Brock at a postcard stand beneath the colonnade.
‘Follow me,’ he said, and set off towards the restaurant.
At the door the proprietor vaguely indicated that he might be willing to attend to them in due course. Brock began to speak, then paused. ‘Momento; he said, and approached Gabriele’s table. With a little bow he said, ‘Scusi … excuse me. It isn’t Mrs Beamish-Newell, is it? Gabriele Beamish-Newell?’
She looked up, surprised at first, then doubtful.
‘Brock,’ he beamed, ‘David Brock. You remember? I was one of your patients, years ago, at Stanhope! Must have been ‘80 or’81.’
She removed her sunglasses slowly and looked at him coolly. Her eyebrows were fixed in that half-way position when you’re not sure but don’t necessarily want to give offence-yet.
He laughed. ‘Of course, I didn’t have the beard then.’
‘Ah.’ Her face lightened a little, but not much.
‘You look wonderful, if you don’t mind me saying, Mrs Beamish-Newell. What an amazing surprise to see you like this! But then this is your part of the world, isn’t it? I’ve often thought of you, you know, and what a wonderful job you did for us all at Stanhope. I was thinking that only last week in fact, when I was there, and considering how much things had changed since your day.’ He shook his head a little sadly.
‘You were there last week?’ Some genuine interest registered.
‘Indeed. I go back from time to time. But …’ He frowned. ‘Oh dear. Have you been back at all recently?’
She shook her head slightly, her immaculately shaped hair brushing across the collar of her blouse. ‘No. There have been many changes?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes. And especially in the past year, since … well.’ He shrugged and smiled vaguely.
‘Since what?’
‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t comment.’ Then, apparently changing the subject, ‘You know, I could say that you’re responsible for my being here. I became quite interested in the architecture of Stanhope, and through that in the work of Palladio. That’s the reason my niece’ — he indicated Kathy still standing at the doorway of the restaurant — ‘and I are here. To see it in the flesh.’
‘Your niece?’ Gabriele looked politely in the direction of his hand.
‘Yes. I’ll introduce you. Do you mind?’
He called Kathy over. ‘Isn’t that a marvellous coincidence, us looking for a restaurant for lunch, and who should I spot but Mrs Beamish-Newell, whom I’ve spoken of many times. Do you remember, Kathy?’
‘Of course.’ They shook hands.
‘I use my family name now — Montanari, Gabriele Montanari. Perhaps — ’ she looked undecided ‘- perhaps you would care to join me?’
‘Are you sure? How marvellous! We’d love that. Just for a bit. We don’t want to be in the way.’
‘Not at all. My life is very boring these days. It will be interesting to hear of Stanhope. I am expecting a friend, but …’ She shrugged.
‘Well, you just let us know when you want us to go, Gabriele. May I call you that?’
She tilted her head gracefully. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t recall your — ’
‘David. And this is Kathy.’
‘Your niece, yes. How nice.’
She looked carefully at Kathy, who tried not to show her surprise.
‘So, what is the latest gossip from Stanhope?’
‘It isn’t the same, Gabriele. I always believed it was you who brought the humanity to the place. These things are intangible, I know, but so important. And when you left, I was proved right. It seemed to have less … soul. More like a business. But perhaps I shouldn’t speak out of turn about your former husband.’
‘Oh, speak out of turn as much as you like, David. And his wife, what do you make of her?’
‘Mmm.’ Brock appeared to struggle to find an appropriate word. ‘What would one say? Efficient?’
‘Yes, one might say that.’
‘A trifle … cold?’
‘Efficient and cold. Yes. A bitch, in other words.’
Brock gave a little splutter and looked down, nodding his head vigorously.
‘You are smiling, Kathy. Have you met her?’
‘Yes, I have. I thought she was a bitch, too.’
‘Good, we are getting somewhere. Now, I see my friend coming. Before she arrives, tell me what happened a year ago.’
‘Oh well, there were some new staff changes. One in particular. Quite a disruptive influence, one would have to say. Charming, but …’ Brock raised his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Tell me.’
‘Well, perhaps you would rather we left you to have lunch with your friend in peace, Gabriele. In any case, I don’t really like to speak ill of the dead.’
Her face drained of colour and she froze in her seat. At that moment a dark-haired woman in an expensive but overworked costume with gold accessories arrived at the table.
‘Gabriele, cara!’
‘Ciao, Violetta.’ Gabriele half rose, still looking shocked, brushed checks with her friend and murmured introductions.
‘You are most hospitable, signora,’ Brock said, ‘but we don’t want to intrude. We should leave you in peace.’