WHEN DID YOU HAVE A MANTILLA?
.
ZEN and ME ARIANNA IV
I do not write detective stories.
I write about Zen and the women through whose lives he wanders.
Cabal is a mysterious organisation which was mentioned a few times in the book of the same name. Michael Dibdin created it along with the delightful Inspector Zen and almost as charming Amadeo.
He also created Arianna, although his Arianna is not the same as the lovely lady in the TV series.
I borrow them for my own entertainment only.
Zen, Amadeo and Arianna were of course played by Rufus Sewell, Ben Miles and Valentina Cervi.
My thanks, as always, to them for the pleasure they have given me.
The Cardinal and the Camerlengo are my inventions.
As a cradle Catholic, I have to say that I have never come across an institution called the Cabal except in my British History lessons, Restoration period.
I have to say too, in view of the recent scandals relating to the Church, I have never in my forty plus years, met a member of the clergy who was not good and reverent.
Perhaps that is my good fortune.
.
.
The song which belongs to this story is 'He Touched Me' by Ira Levin, sung by Barbra Streisand
HE TOUCHED ME
He touched me; he put his hand near mine
And then he touched me
I felt a sudden tingle when he touched me
A sparkle, a glow
He knew it, it wasn't accidental
No, he knew it
He smiled and seemed to tell me so, all through it
He knew it, I know
He's real and the world is alive and shining
I feel such a wonderful drive towards valentining
He touched me; I simply have to face the fact
He touched me
Control myself and try to act
As if I remember my name
But he touched me, he touched me
And suddenly nothing is the same
'Cause he touched me, he touched me
And suddenly, nothing, nothing
Nothing is the same
.
WHEN DID YOU HAVE A MANTILLA?
I opened the door into the dimly lit passage. A man rushed past me fast, almost knocking me down. I stepped back in the reveal of the doorway, caught my breath and turned to follow him down the dank, low, barrel-ceilinged passage.
Something in the shadows caught my eye. I looked back. A white face with dark burning eyes floating in the darkness.
I gasped, horror choking me.
A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and painfully thin, its black hair and cassock blending with their darkness
"You there! What are you doing here?" It was more a hiss than a whisper.
"Uh! Uh!"
I gestured back towards the door I had come through. My fear was still gripping my throat.
"Uh… the Cardinal Farnese … I have been visiting…."
"Ah! Cardinal Lorenzo…..? "I nodded.
He moved further into the light from the low wall lamp. And I could see now his scarlet sash.
He too was a Cardinal.
"He is a friend of yours?" The silky smooth voice held a faint sibilant accent that somehow jogged my mind.
I nodded again.
"Ah!" A needle sharp comment without words.
A trickle of fear ran against the base of my spine.
I didn't know why.
He was frightening me but the razor-like authority in his voice sharpened my wits.
"Always keep your lies as near to the truth as possible." I could hear Ludo saying.
"Family friend, of many years, uh Eminence,"
"They tell me he is quite low?"
"Uh ... That is why they sent for me."
"And why, may I ask, did Cardinal Lorenzo's staff see fit to send you out this way? And to send you out unescorted?"
"I was brought in this way and directed out the same way. I don't know why... uh ... on my own. I think they were attending …." I let it trail off.
"Hmm."
The black eyes swept over me, back to my face, studying it. "It is very late. How will you get home?"
"Prince Orvini? Um, his Eminence's aide?"
"I know who Prince Orvini is."
"He sent his car for me. They said it would be waiting at the end of the alley."
"Hmm." He studied me again for a moment, then jerked his head.
"On your way then."
I fled through the shadows of the passage, slipped through the low door, out into the narrow dark alley.
. * * * .
I always used that dark cobbled passage when I visited Lorenzo, Cardinal Farnese. A door off it, opened into an old monk's cell that was part of the apartments assigned to him in one of the ancient Palaces of the Vatican.
I knew why Cardinal Lorenzo had me use it. I could come and go without being seen. I had been visiting him in the little room for several years now but had never before met anyone else using the passage. As far as I knew, it led only to the Cardinal's apartments.
He was one of my regular clients, though of the last few months, it was purely company that he had needed.
I had been surprised to receive a call from Prince Orvini; the Cardinal had been poorly for some time now.
"He would like to see you." was all he said.
Cardinal Lorenzo was indeed poorly. He did not have much longer in this world. I knelt beside his bed and kissed his hand.
"It is good of you to come, my child," his breathing was appalling. "You have always been sweet and kind to an old man. I want to give you this."
This was an emerald ring. A huge, oblong cushion -cut surrounded by a crust of tiny diamonds in an antique gold setting.
I shook my head, more than a little touched.
"Yes, yes, I want you to have it."
He put it in my hand and closed my fingers over it.
He looked over my shoulder and waved a feeble hand to shoo his aides away.
"You come here often, yes?" He gasped a few breaths.
"You have other 'friends' in the Vatican?" he whispered. "Not me alone?"
I was surprised, though why should I be? There wasn't much happened in the Vatican that he didn't know.
"Be careful, my child, be careful."
He signed a cross on my forehead, a little wave and closed his eyes.
I stood and his people closed back in.
Prince Orvini took my arm to guide me out.
I showed him the ring. "He gave me this."
I didn't want to be accused of theft, but he merely nodded as if already aware of the gift.
. * * * .
The question was, why should another Cardinal be in the hidden passage in his apartments and, so late?
And who was he seeing out in such a rush?
As I reached the waiting car, I realised who the Cardinal in the passage was.
Miguel, Cardinal Garcia -Alvarez, Camerlengo of the Holy Roman Church.
That is, after His Holiness the Pope, the most powerful Prince of the Church.
Why should he be there?
How stupid of me!
Of course, he too was visiting Cardinal Lorenzo.
But then, he would use the great main doors, wouldn't he? And what about the man who nearly knocked me down, in that dank little passage?
I shivered; the remnant of the chill of fear caused by Cardinal Garcia -Alvarez eased away.
I sank into the luxurious back seat of Prince Orvini's Mercedes.
If his Eminence, Lorenzo died tonight, I would not have the privilege of riding in it again.
I felt a little sad, I would lose a client, yes, but I would miss him as a friend, and our gossipy chats full of laughter and wit.
I sighed; it was late and I was tired and as we swept out of the Vatican into the City, the shakiness seeped away and I let it slip out of my mind.
. * * * .
Two days later, I went to a soiree at the Palazzo di Bianchi, a select little event, a little music, a few nibbles, and social not business. I decided to leave a little early and as my cab was pulling away from the portico, I saw two men together in its shadows. Two men that I would have expected to be on nodding terms perhaps, in a salon but not squeezed together in secret.
They had not socialised in the Contessa's salon and yet here they were huddled together outside in a dark corner.
Hmm.
Interesting.
I thought perhaps I would ring Zen in the morning. If I thought it interesting, I was sure Zen would find it useful to store at the back of his mind.
Zen?
Detective Chief Inspector Aurelio Zen of the Murder Squad, Polizia Roma.
And me?
I am his … how shall I say... his Autolyca, his picker up of unconsidered trifles, his informer or a little more offensive , his snout.
Acting, unpaid.
Yes, unpaid! My very well paid job is that of escort.
My less well known but even more lucrative one is prostitute.
Yes, well! There we are.
There are much more glamorous names for it, I know; courtesan, lady of the night, cocotte, file de joie, call girl, but basically that is what I am.
It's not illegal, prostitution; not in Italy.
When I went on the game first, Ludo told me, "Prostitution is not illegal. Soliciting is. So is not paying your taxes. If you do either of those, they will sling you in the pokey, ducky."
So I took his advice and I always pay my taxes and my telephone bills.
Does Zen know?
Of course. That was how we met.
No, no! He is not a client! He was investigating Prince Ludovico Ruspanti's suicide; and Ludo was my friend, my mentor.
Me…?
Oh, I'm Arianna. And that is all you need to know.
.
. * * * .
"Ludo's place. Six, this evening."
I had rung Zen.
The usual. I would say "It's me."
He would tell me a time and a place to meet.
That would be it.
Ludo's place was the Castel Sant Angelo Bridge where we had scattered Ludo's ashes. We had met there a few times .When I had something , usually it seemed very little but if it jarred to me then Zen could usually slot it in somewhere.
He would be waiting on the bridge, I would pass by him to the end of the bridge, cross the road, go down the steps to the embankment and wait for him join me in the roof bar of the Hotel Rivoli.
When we met elsewhere, it was the same sort of procedure.
I don't know why he always insisted on this rigmarole.
"Purely precautionary." he said.
"Purely unnecessary, if you ask me." I had replied.
It was a warm evening. I examined my wardrobe.
Yes. There's that black strappy D&G number that clings in the right places.
Hmm, even at this time of the evening, I would have to slather loads of sunscreen on. My skin does not take kindly to the sun but I do love this dress. Ludo loved it too; I had worn it to his funeral along with a pair of killer sling backs and the sheerest of black pantihose, not my working fishnets, and a great cartwheel hat.
Hmm. Yes, I think so, though not the hat. Not tonight.
I examined my makeup minutely. Yep, OK. I piled my hair up and slid a black silk flower into it.
And if you think that it's a bit overdressed for a snout meeting her cop controller, well that is my business.
A quick squirt of Bvlgari Rose noir. And I was off.
I parked my car on the near side embankment and plonked my sunglasses on the tip of my nose. I sauntered up onto the bridge and I could see him ahead.
He was leaning on the balustrade reading a folded newspaper, the ubiquitous cigarette between his fingers.
No hint of acknowledgement but I didn't expect one. I knew he would have seen me. I went on my way to the roof bar where we would meet.
I took my usual table in the shade of the far vine covered wall and ordered a black coffee. A man came onto the terrace from the outside stairs.
It wasn't Zen.
He took a table at the far side from me.
Ten minutes passed.
My cell phone vibrated in my bag.
A text.
Take yr time, drink yr coffee & go home! Will contact. DELETE
This had never happened before. I did what he told me, I drank my coffee and I went home.
I had a job later at the Palazzo della Farnesini, the Foreign Ministry; escort only, no extras, so I was home by nine thirty p.m.
No message.
At 11.45p.m. I gave up and went to bed.
It seemed that I had been asleep for hours but it was only just after midnight when I woke up. At first, I couldn't make out what had woken me, it sounded like distant machine gun fire. It scared the daylights out of me till I realised it was my cell phone vibrating on my night table.
Who the hell was it at this time of the night?
Need I ask?
Who else?
Another text.
Don't put light on. Slip latch yr service door.
With a groan I swung my legs out of bed and stumbled across to my chest of drawers to find a pair of knickers. I pulled them on along with a black tee and a pair of black leggings. I made sure the kitchen door was closed before I put on the light.
The door to my apartment block's service stairs was in the minute lobby off my kitchen; where they led, I had no idea. I had never ventured there.
He obviously had.
I checked the kettle on my way through and flipped it on. I slipped the latch. I shook some instant into two mugs, and got two cornetti out of the fridge. I leaned against the counter. Still bleary, I wondered which would be first the kettle or Zen.
I yawned a jaw splitting yawn and before I had recovered, he was in there with me.
"Hell, Zen! You're like a bloody panther."
"That kettle for me? Thank God! I'm dying for a coffee."
The kettle clicked off.
"It's instant."
He shrugged his indifference.
He parked his behind on the counter and crossed his ankles.
I shoved a mug across to him, picked up the other and l leant on the counter next to him.
"What the hell is this all about, Zen?
"Um? Sugar? "
"Three sugars?"
"If they are spoonfuls, yes, if cubes, five please. "
Muttering exasperatedly, I got the sugar.
"Sugar! Your arteries must be all furred up! As for your lungs… Pah!" I pushed myself up on the counter.
"There's a cornetti, if you want it, and jam!"
"God, I need this. I'm famished and frozen."
"What happened today? You were on the bridge, you said nothing. What's going on, Zen?"
"You were being tailed."
"Who would want…." my voice died away as I took in the expression on his face.
"Good question. Who would want to tail you? And why?" I stared at him.
"There was a man in the bar; he came in soon after me."
"Oh! Nothing as simple as that. He had taken over from someone on the bridge. I probably wouldn't have noticed if it had only been one."
He bit into his cornetti.
"At least a three man tail." At my querying look. "Two on foot, one in their car. They followed you home, to the Foreign Ministry, and one stayed outside here till the car came back to pick him up. I came up then. I've got its number; I'll follow it up."
I turned and looked at him and I realised that he was wet.
"You're wet!"
"Yeah, well, it happens when it rains."
"Give me your jacket! I'll dry it. And here's a towel. Dry your hair! How long have you been out there?"
"I've tailed you both since I picked him up this evening."
"Haven't you got the sense you were born with? Couldn't you have called someone out? "
"I couldn't use my car, I might have lost him. And what's the use of an informant if everyone in the Questura knows it."
We sat pondering over our coffees.
"Why would anyone want to tail me, Zen?"
"I was hoping you could tell me that."
I puffed out my mouth in a disclaimer. A little chill on my back.
"No? Righ-ht ! Let's see what we can work out.
What did you want to tell me?"
"Oh! Um. Nothing much. I was at a do at the Palazzo de Bianchi on Wednesday. Umberto Bertoni was there, and the euro M.P Castelli. They were at opposite sides of the salon all night .Barely even acknowledging each other. Yet, when my cab was pulling away, I saw them heads together in the shadows of the portico."
"Perhaps they were scoring a trick."
"I don't think so, Zen! Believe me, I would know."
He studied me without seeing me.
"I thought you might find it interesting." I said limply
"Yeh, yeh! Something to bear in mind."
"But you are not interested!"
"I didn't say that. But I don't think it a good enough reason to tail you."
The chill on my spine deepened.
"You think this is serious?"
"I'll know that when I know who and why. Right, let's have a look at your service door."
He examined it. Hinges. Locks. Frame.
"Hmm, seems good enough but get a couple of stronger bolts."! He walked through the kitchen to my living room, his eyes searching. "A couple of extra bolts on your front door, too."
"You home tomorrow? I'll send someone around to have a sweep for bugs. He'll ring you before he comes. Name of Angelo. He'll do your bolts as well."
. * * * .
Maybe it was auto suggestion but over the next few days, I became of a prickle on the back of my neck, an uneasiness, a feeling of being watched, I would turn but saw no-one.
Nevertheless, I had a severe case of the jitters.
Three days later, Cardinal Lorenzo Farnese went to meet his Maker.
Requiescant in pacem.
I had a cellulare number for Prince Orvini. For emergencies.
Well, I thought, this was an emergency.
I asked about the funeral. I should like to attend, should the prince think it appropriate.
"Yes, by all means. We all need as many prayers as we can get, even the Cardinal."
His voice was a little choked.
I was surprised. I had not thought that cold man had any emotions.
.
As befitted a Prince of the Church, his Eminence was to be buried with the full pomp of a sung Requiem mass in St Peter's.
I wore my Donatella , a black long sleeved georgette shift, floating gently around the knees, black tights, low-ish heeled black suede shoes , my hair up in a French pleat and, de rigueur , for the Vatican, my black lace mantilla.
After a moment's thought, I slipped on the emerald ring he had given me.
I arrived early and took a place at the back. A cursory prayer and I sat back and watched the arrival of the great and good, and the not so good. The President, Heads and Ministers of State, Nobility, Capos of the major Mafia Families.
Minister of the Interior Guerchini arrived.
Amadeo Colonna was shown to his place beside the Minister; his eyes had flicked over me in brief acknowledgement as he passed and now he knelt, his head bowed for a moment.
I was a little surprised at first, then not.
Amadeo was not only one of the State's most senior civil servants, but his family is one of the oldest and powerful families in the country, its ties going deep into both the State and Church.
The Basilica filled.
The mighty organ began its Processional and the long column of priests and clerics swayed their way to Bernini's Baldacchino, where Cardinal Lorenzo lay before the altar. The scent of the incense filled the air and the Requiem began.
The Camerlengo was the principal celebrant.
He began to sing the' Credo', the beautiful ancient words set in their beautiful plainsong wakening memories in me.
Mama and my Nanny instructing me in the Faith; Mama gently, Nanny a little more forcefully.
I could hear Mama's soft voice.
'Once a Catholic, Arianna, always a Catholic. Every Catholic child is attached to the Faith by a fine invisible thread. You may stray, but Mother Church will reel you back when she is ready.'
I sighed to myself, "Maybe she will, Mama but it hasn't happened yet."
But the glory of the Gregorian chant and the wonder of the liturgy still could fill me with emotions almost forgotten.
Credo in unum deum
Yes Mama, I believe in one God.
Pater omnipotentem.
The Father Almighty.
Factorem caeli et terrae
Creator of Heaven and Earth.
The eternal words filled me.
I believe.
Yes, I believe, though I do not practice my faith. How can I? While I break His rules, how can I accept the comfort of his Church?
The Camerlengo's Spanish accent flowed over me until a niggle crept in and got stronger until it drove everything else out.
I had heard the sibilant sound before.
My mind was scurrying around my skull like a horde of mice.
Yes! In the passage that last night.
And before then.
I had heard it before.
In the Cardinal's apartments, yes.
The Requiem came to an end, the crypt was opened and Cardinal Lorenzo's coffin was lowered through.
The clergy processed to the sacristy and I waited until most of the congregation had begun to move out.
I was almost at the great bronze double doors of the central portal when the jostle from the bottleneck caused by them, brought me face to face with Amadeo. His face was sad and a little strained. He put his hand out to steady me against the flow or perhaps it was to detain me.
As the crush eased, he was looking over my shoulder and saw someone. His face grew blank.
I turned and saw the Camerlengo, now in a black cassock, his face cold. Their eyes held for a moment, and then they nodded icily.
And I saw in my mind's eye.
.
That little monk's cell.
The phone ringing. His Eminence Tst Tst'ing.
"Excuse me my dear."
I had tiptoed to the inner door to listen. Whispered words, the Cardinal's angered "No!" Faintly, Amadeo's voice and then another voice, a sibilant lisping Spanish accent "…Cabal…. Third level …."
The Camerlengo. Again the Cardinal, "No! NO!"
.
I gasped, my breath caught in my throat.
The Camerlengo's glance dropped to me, the liquid black eyes, searching my face; he recognised me.
I heard Minister Guerchini call Amadeo. He nodded briefly again and left to join the Minister. The Camerlengo's eyes followed him and returned to me. They rested on me for a moment and then he nodded again and moved away.
I had not realised I was holding my breath until I heard it rattle up in my throat.
I pushed my way through the last remaining few of the congregation until I burst out of the dim cool of the Basilica into the bright glittering heat outside. I stood looking around and began to move faster and faster till I was running, pushing my way through the crowds, running across St Peter's Square.
I turned down a narrow street, the pale stone trapping the heat
I don't know which way I went, shaking, shaking until I stopped, bending over with a stitch and the tears stinging behind my eyes, I saw the cool green of trees ahead of me.
Elaborate gates lead into a park.
I went through and sat on the first bench.
The mice still tearing around my head till I took my cell-phone out of my bag.
It was when I heard his "Zen "that everything broke.
"Hello hello?"
I gabbled "Zen, Zen."
"Yes , Yes?"
"It's me, it's me."
"Arianna? Arianna ? What is it?
"Zen …. I must see you ... tell you … Now Zen, now ..." I could hear the trembling in my voice.
"Stop! Don't say anymore. Where are you?"
"I don't know... Vatican , Vatican Gardens... Uh... Uh, the gates by the Vatican Post Office. The first bench."
"Is anybody there? Watching you?"
"No. I don't think so; there doesn't seem to be anybody around."
"Stay there, I will be there as soon as I can. Wait there. Have you got that?
"Keep your eyes open. Don't go with anyone. Wait for me. I'll be there as soon as I can. "
The cellullare clicked in my ear.
My eyes flicking around to the gates, over the park, back to the gates and in the background, the shhushh of the fountains and the chirping bird song.
I sat there.
The fountains went on playing and the birds singing, behind them the faint distant hum of traffic; and over all, I could hear the rasping gasp of my breath.
I heard the clocks across the city chime; the half hour , three quarter , the hour and joining in, the Basilica's bells began the Noonday Angelus but I didn't see him till he slid onto the bench beside me.
"Anybody about?"
It flooded out of me.
"Zen …Zen. I am scared…."
He moved closer and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. .
"OK. Tell me!"
"I was at the Cardinal's Requiem…." and my chattering teeth took over.
"I don't know why I am so scared."
"Righ-htt" his voice was soothing. "Tell me what you think is important."
"You remember?" I was breathless and hiccupping. "When I first started working for you … the Cardinal? I listened at the door? I heard his Eminence talking to Amadeo and another man. They said something about Cabal and his Eminence was angry?"
H e lit a cigarette, his eyes fixed on my face.
"My client, he was Cardinal Farnese." I was gabbling. "Last week Orvini phoned me; he was low but he wanted to see me. I went in the usual way; the little door in the back alley … Orvini was waiting in the little cell room; he took me through the apartment to the Cardinal's bedroom. "
"He was slipping lower; he gave me a ring." I moved my hand that he might see it.
"Orvini took me back to the little room so I could leave by the secret way. I came out of the door into the passage and a man rushing past, nearly knocked me down. There was another man in the shadows, a Cardinal. He questioned me. He had an accent. It seemed familiar. He frightened me. I remembered later who he was. The Camerlengo."
My mouth was dry; I licked my lips nervously, my throat tightening.
"I was at the Cardinal's Requiem this morning: Amadeo was there, the Camerlengo was singing Mass and I remembered where I had heard his voice before … that first time with Lorenzo and Amadeo?
When I was leaving after Mass, Amadeo caught my arm as if he wanted to speak to me and the Camerlengo came up behind us.
They looked at each other. God! The dislike, hate even. Oh! Zen, they were so cold.
Guerchini called Amadeo and the Camerlengo looked down at me; he recognised me but he just nodded and walked away. I was frightened... I ran …"
He stared ahead.
"Zen?"
Hmm?" He lit another cigarette.
"Do you think...? Am I being stupid?" the quiver was still there.
"No. I don't think that."He took a long draw on his cigarette.
"The Cabal, Zen? Do you think it has something to do … The Camerlengo...?"
"Hmm. Well, normally I would say no... but he has been around twice now, in places you would not expect. I don't believe in co-incidence. And..umm.. "
"What?"
"Hmm ? .. Oh, it's slipped my mind now"
I've known Zen a while now; nothing slips his mind. He had changed his mind about telling me.
He would tell me when he was ready, so I went with it.
"What about Amadeo? He has been …"
"Yes. Amadeo is a different matter. "
He chewed his lip.
"Arianna, there have been three deaths. Too many for my liking. Cioni, Ruspanti, Perotti."
At my startled look, he said, "Before you say it, yes, Ruspanti committed suicide; but look, why would he suddenly want to? Why the empty box?
"He was on a high; he thought he had it made for him and Perotti. Something terrified him into doing it. Losing him is why Perotti did it, and that goes to the same account in my book.
We know Cioni was murdered. He must have seen something."
And there's Amadeo's connection."
He hesitated, then went on.
"His brother.
He was a High flyer in the Church, a Monsignor destined for higher places. Something terrified him; he wanted to see me. To talk to me. He never turned up. Disappeared.
And the links to all three? The Cabal whatever it is, the Vatican …and the Camerlengo."
He stubbed his fag-end out.
"Zen, what about the third level?"
A little jerk of his head, a twist of his mouth.
"You don't know…?"
He shrugged
"Mother of God, Zen, I'm so scared. "
I could hear the tremble in my voice again. "I don't know why it all frightens me. Then these people following me"
"And that's another question."
"You haven't found anything…" my voice trailed away.
He didn't answer or meet my eye.
He knew something; he wasn't going to tell me.
And the tears came. Floods of hysterical tears.
"Sh, Sh." He put his arm around me and stroked my hair as he would a frightened kitten.
"Hey !Hey! Come on. This isn't you."
He held me closer until the sobs eased.
"And Zen, Zen, I've lost my mantilla." The tears started again
"A mantilla? Did you ever have one? When did you need a mantilla?"
I could hear the laugh in his voice.
"Of course I had one. I wore it to the Requiem this morning. It was my Nonna's."
"I don't believe you had a Nonna."
"'Course I did." I mumbled. I knew he was teasing me along to staunch the flow of tears
Shh-s sh " He looked down at me. I was suddenly aware of what a mess I must look. My face red, make up washed away, eyes puffy, my hair falling down. He took a strand of hair and gently tucked up into the pleat, and another. He held another and looked at it curling over his fingers, then at me and suddenly, we were kissing, a long slow gentle kiss.
I opened my eyes; he was so close I could see his fine skin, the long girlish eyelashes, his eyes, green, with the little fleck of brown in one. He looked away briefly, then came back and his mouth closed again on mine, a different kiss this time, hard, hungry, demanding, his tongue seeking every part of mine. I could taste him, cigarettes, faint coffee, fainter toothpaste, all of him.
Zen.
It went on, I didn't want to stop. My hand found its way inside his jacket on his ribs, a faint whisper of his sandalwood cologne, of cigarette smoke, coming up to me. His hand curved around my throat, stroking it, down, up into my hair to cup the back of my head, holding it fast.
His mouth holding mine.
He tore himself away.
"Christ Arianna, what are we doing? In a park? The bloody Vatican Gardens?"
"We could go to my place" I said.
He turned his head slightly away from me.
"As inviting as that may be, I don't think that would be very wise."
He eased away. My hand, resting on his chest, slid around under his arm to hold him close again and hit something hard and smooth.
It shook me.
He was carrying.
All Italian police carry guns, I know that.
It still came as a shock.
A shock? They terrify me.
My profession may be on the seamier side of life but guns do not often crop up in it.
In fact, the only other time I came up against a gun, I was with Zen.
So yes, you could say a shock.
Like having a bucket of cold water thrown over you.
Well! It cooled me down …
I straightened up.
"No, perhaps not very wise."
I waited.
He studied his shoes.
"It's a long time since I kissed anyone..." his voice trailed away.
"You and me both."
We looked at each other, each remembering the last time.
"What are we going to do, Zen?
"Well, I think we should move from here, before someone spots us.
Maybe have a cup of coffee?"
I sniffed, wiped my face with the sleeve of my Donatella, sniffed again and he gave me his hanky.
"I meant about "
He winked.
"I know what you meant. Wait and watch. Take it slowly. See what comes to the surface."
His eyes held mine, he nodded twice, three times questioningly; I nodded back.
Look Arianna, I have said this before..." he hesitated. "When I asked you to keep your eyes open, I didn't think things would go this way. I thought little bits of gossip. Odds and sods. Yes!
Not down this road. This is a dark dirty one. We don't know where it's going.
If you want out…?
I will understand."
" You know who put the tail on me."
He shifted uneasily.
" Some low life."
He shrugged again, "No-one much."
I sniffed
"Why would a low life want to tail me? You have an idea where it leads back."
He didn't answer.
I sniffed again. Blew my nose and gave him back his hanky.
"They are not going to frighten me off."
He smiled.
"That's my girl."
My heart bumped with love for him.
Yeh! Yeh! I said it, didn't I?
I love him.
I have loved him from the beginning.
That first day.
I had decided to tease him by undressing in front of him and he, very old fashioned gentlemanlike, turned his back.
I love him for his intelligence, his integrity, his principles; for his cynical amusement at the world, his face, his hair, his beautiful eyes, his long legs; for his body that I still ache for.
Yes, now I've told you that too. Yeah, we have done it.
Twice.
I will tell you something else; making love with the one you love lifts it up into the stratosphere.
If we never do it again, and I don't know if we will ever do it again.
With his job, I don't know from day to day whether I will even see him again but I will have had this with him.
So if , to be with him sometimes, I have to hang onto his coat-tails, be dragged down dark alleys, along risky roads , scared out of my wits , I will continue to hang on .
For as long as he wants me.
. .*************************************************************************.
.The Vatican Gardens do exist and the Vatican Post Office is situated just off the main road that leads to the Gardens' main gates.