Chapter 5
MONDAY EVENING
Anna and I went back downstairs at six-thirty and found the lounge empty apart from Marina, who was standing by the bar, clearly waiting to serve drinks – and I wasn’t going to say no. She gave us a smile, but I had a feeling she was having to force it.
‘Good evening. What can I get you to drink?’
Anna opted for a glass of sparkling water, but I accepted a cold beer gratefully.
I introduced Anna to her, and we chatted for a few minutes.
Marina told us that she had been born and brought up down in the main valley, but that she and Paolo had been living here now for over four years, and it was clear that she loved the valley and the villa.
From what she told us, they had the place almost exclusively to themselves for nine months of the year, if not more, and having to cater for the family and their guests the rest of the time seemed like a pretty fair deal to me – and to her.
She told us that her husband was in the kitchen preparing tonight’s dinner – local speciality dishes – and she asked us where we were from.
Anna was still extolling the beauties of Florence and Tuscany when we were joined by Umberto – already nicknamed Captain Birdseye inside my head. There was no sign of his wife, Gloria, but she was probably still upstairs getting ready. Seeing the beer in my hand, he nodded approvingly.
‘An excellent choice. It’s brewed less than three kilometres from here as the crow – or, more precisely, the eagle – flies, but in order for us humans to get to the brewery, we have to go right back down into the main valley, turn left and drive for four kilometres before turning left again and travelling two more kilometres up the next valley.
’ Without being asked, Marina handed him a beer and he took a long, appreciative mouthful.
‘That’s the thing about living in the mountains.
Everywhere is so near, but often so inaccessible.
’ He pointed out of the window into the darkness.
‘Only two kilometres from here and you’re in Val-d’Isère, France.
Unfortunately, unless you travel by helicopter like my brother, it’ll take you half a day to get there in the car, or a full day of hard climbing if you’re on foot.
’ He smiled at me through his beard. ‘I’m afraid my mountaineering days are over. ’
I decided that I rather liked Umberto. ‘I never had any mountaineering days. Skiing, yes, but climbing definitely not. I get vertigo looking down the stairs.’ For no particular reason, except that I’m a detective and that’s what I do, I queried his relationship with his brother as diplomatically as possible.
‘Are you involved with the business these days?’
He shook his head. ‘No, that’s Bartolomeo’s baby. Our parents founded the business back in the seventies, but it was only when Bartolomeo took it over from them and nurtured it that it grew and prospered. Now he has to look after it – and worry about it.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Does he have much to worry about?’
Umberto shrugged. ‘There’s a lot of competition these days.
I don’t think his profit margins are what they used to be.
And with the death of Vincenzo, his partner, he’s got a whole lot more on his shoulders.
Still…’ he waved at our opulent surroundings ‘…he doesn’t seem to be doing too badly, does he? ’
I pricked up my ears. ‘His partner died? When did that happen?’
‘Not that long ago: only a matter of weeks. A car accident.’
‘What did you say his name was? Vincenzo?’
Umberto nodded. ‘Yes, Vincenzo Mazzini. He was a good man.’
I filed this information away for future reference and tried another question, doing my best not to sound too inquisitive – after all, people had been told that I was here as a writer, not a detective. ‘And you haven’t been involved with the company. Can I ask what you’ve been doing?’
‘Teaching fertile young minds – well, some of them at least – the joys of mathematics. I’ve spent most of my working life lecturing at Turin University.’
I smiled at him and indicated Anna at my side. ‘I’m married to a university lecturer myself.’
The conversation then developed into an exchange of opinions between Anna and Umberto about working conditions at Italian universities.
While they were still deep in conversation, I saw Fiona come in, without Orlando, and I went over to join her.
She had changed into a tasteful, formal evening dress and she looked absolutely gorgeous – although still careworn.
Oscar was clearly smitten as he immediately came trotting over with me to greet her, tail wagging.
I looked towards the fireplace but couldn’t see his hirsute buddy, so I queried it with Fiona.
‘No sign of Winston the monster dog. Who does he belong to – Bartolomeo?’
She looked up from petting Oscar. ‘Yes, but he lives here most of the time. My father-in-law’s so rarely here that Winston probably thinks Paolo and Marina are his aunt and uncle, if not his masters.
’ She glanced around. Marina at the far end of the bar was nearest, but even so, Fiona dropped her voice, her tone disapproving.
‘Bartolomeo burns the candle at both ends – his personal life and his business life occupy him twenty-four seven, and he pushes himself far too hard. If he carries on like this, he’ll end up having a heart attack.
’ She raised her voice and called across to Marina, switching seamlessly to fluent Italian.
‘No risk of burglars in this house with a guard dog like Winston, is there?’
Marina looked sceptical. ‘If somebody broke in here, they might trip over Winston or he might lick them to death, but he hasn’t got an aggressive bone in his body.’
I looked down and reflected that I could almost have said the same thing about Oscar, except that there had been several memorable occasions in the past when he had managed to surprise me by transforming from sloppy, food-obsessed house dog into a real guard dog and coming to my rescue in difficult situations.
I had also noted Fiona’s reference to her father-in-law’s personal life and I interpreted this as confirmation that he spent much of his time when he wasn’t working running after anything in a skirt – not necessarily the perfect role model for his son and daughter.
I looked back at Fiona, who had just been handed an Aperol spritz – the lurid-orange colour reflecting the flames in the fireplace at the other end of the room – and I felt I should comment on her linguistic prowess.
‘You speak super Italian. Have you been living over here for long?’
She nodded, but I couldn’t miss the shadow that passed briefly across her face before she answered.
‘Eight years last July. Orlando and I married young. We’ve been living in Turin ever since.
We met at university. I spoke a little bit of Italian, but the first few years over here were an uphill struggle – not least because so many of the locals speak the Piedmontese dialect, and that’s almost like a different language. ’
‘Was Orlando at university in the UK?’
She shook her head. ‘No, he was doing an MBA at Harvard Business School, and I was doing an MA in the History department, specialising in Egyptology. Nowadays, I work at the Egyptian Museum in Turin – it has one of the largest collections of any museum outside Cairo, and I was very lucky to get a place there.’
Beautiful and brainy, I reflected. She was a lucky girl. Why, then, had I glimpsed that shadow cross her face and why did she emanate an air of melancholy?
At that moment, the door opened and her husband came in and, as he did so, I had a feeling even Oscar must have noticed the way the smile disappeared from Fiona’s face, to be replaced with what might even have been apprehension.
Ignoring her, he went over to the bar where Marina, without having to be asked, poured him a large glass of single malt.
He took a big mouthful and only then did he come over to where his wife was standing with me.
‘Good evening.’ It wasn’t clear whether he was addressing Fiona or me, but I did my best to turn on the charm – not necessarily one of my strongest points.
‘Good evening, Orlando. Fiona has just been telling me about how the two of you met.’
In response, he just nodded absently and took another sip of whisky. Fiona joined in – tentatively.
‘Dan was complimenting me on my Italian, and I was telling him that we live in Turin.’
He nodded but gave no response, so I tried again. ‘Is that where the centre of operations of the company is?’
This at least did elicit a response, albeit far from expansive.
‘Yes, although increasingly, we manufacture all over the world.’
‘Are you involved in the sales side or are you more technical?’
‘Promotion and marketing.’ Nobody could accuse him of being too loquacious.
I tried again. ‘Your uncle was telling me that there’s a lot of competition in your business. I imagine that promotion and marketing are vitally important.’
I saw his eyes flick across the room towards Umberto, who was still deep in conversation with Anna.
‘My uncle has nothing to do with the business.’ His tone was dismissive, and I began to see why his wife was looking apprehensive.
Clearly, Orlando had got out of bed the wrong side this morning – as my gran used to say.
Then, possibly realising that he wasn’t behaving as hospitably as the son of the host should, he added a grudging afterthought.
‘But he’s right. It’s not an easy market these days.
People don’t have as much disposable income as they used to have – at least, not our main demographic. ’
‘Which is?’ I was pleased to see that he had at least been able to string a few sentences together.
‘Traditionally young adult, roughly the eighteen-to-thirty bracket.’ He took another smaller sip of whisky and continued.
‘That’s why we’re trying to get Selena on board, so as to extend our appeal to an older demographic.
The people with the money are more her age than mine these days.
’ His English – albeit with an American accent – was very fluent, and I realised I was in a house full of polyglots.
Still on my charm offensive, I offered him some consolation. ‘Well, I’ve just bought myself one of your jackets before coming here, so your marketing must be doing something right. Selena and I are pretty much the same age.’ I gave him a grin. ‘Although not in the same income bracket.’
He didn’t smile at my attempt at humour, and conversation lapsed awkwardly. It was a relief when I heard a discreet cough at my shoulder.