Page 2 of Murder in Verona

I nodded approvingly. ‘Generous brother. The most I’ve ever got from my brother is a bottle of Scotch at Christmas. What about maintenance? Is there a Bugatti garage around here?’

‘I expect so – after all, they’re still making cars – but she’s surprisingly handy when it comes to car mechanics. She doesn’t do any of the heavy stuff any more, but I often see her with her head under the bonnet of that thing.’

I was impressed and made a mental note to update my views on elderly ladies.

Signora Argento retrieved a walking stick from the car and came over to the café, walking with some difficulty. As she did so, Monica appeared from inside and greeted her with a smile.

‘Signora Violetta, lovely to see you. Your usual?’

Violetta Argento smiled back and nodded before taking a seat at the table alongside ours. Oscar, always pleased to meet a member of the opposite sex, pulled himself to his feet and wandered over to say hello. He was greeted with a warm smile as she immediately made a fuss of him. While she did so, I took a closer look at her. She was quite tiny, but she still had a commanding presence and her eyes were bright, although thedark rings below them indicated the depth of her grief for the death of her son. After greeting my dog, she looked across at Giovanni and said hello to him. He was quick to introduce me in return.

‘Good evening, Signora Violetta, have you met my good friend Dan Armstrong? He’s English.’

‘Good evening, Signor Armstrong.’ She smiled graciously and I felt almost as if I were in the presence of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. ‘Are you here on holiday?’

After a couple of years here, I’m getting quite good at identifying Italian accents and I could immediately tell that she wasn’t originally from Tuscany. At a rough guess, I would have said she was from somewhere further north – but not from as far north as me. I gave her a smile in return. ‘Good evening, Signora, I’m pleased to say that I live here now, in fact not that far from you.’ I went on to explain exactly where my little house was and it was clear that she recognised it from my description.

‘And what is it you do, Signor Armstrong? You look far too young to have retired.’

I took considerable heart from this observation although, in fairness, she was probably at least twenty years older than me so, inevitably, I was bound to look young in her eyes.

‘I used to be in the police force in London and now I have my own investigation agency here in Florence.’ I saw an immediate glint of interest in her eyes and was quick to debunk any notions she might have had of me as another Philip Marlowe. ‘It’s mostly boring stuff like missing persons or, I’m afraid, marital infidelity.’

A sour expression appeared on her face. ‘I can well believe it in this day and age. Whatever happened to people’s moral compass?’

Fortunately, I was saved from any further discussion of this thorny subject by the arrival of Monica with Signora Violetta’s ‘usual’ drink. To my further surprise, I saw that this was a glass ofbeer, just like the one I was drinking. Somehow, I’d been expecting either lemon tea or at most a glass of sherry – although the Italians don’t go in for sherry the same way my parents and their friends still do.

After Monica had gone off, Signora Violetta returned her attention to me. ‘A private detective, you say? How fascinating, and how useful.’ For a moment, it looked as though she was going to say more, but then she sat back and sipped her drink.

I said nothing and gave her time but at that moment my phone started ringing and I saw that it was Anna. She had moved in with me two months ago to see how we got on together and things were going really well between us in spite of a few wobbles caused by the constraints of my job, which sometimes took me away from her. I’d been doing my very best to concentrate as much of my attention as possible on her rather than on my work, in the hope of avoiding our relationship ending up like my ill-fated marriage.

I answered the call. ‘Ciao,bella.’

‘Ciao, Dan, I imagine you and Oscar are at the bar, right?’

‘You know me so well,carissima.’ Our normal language together is English, which she speaks almost perfectly after having lived and worked in the UK and having formerly been married to an Englishman for twenty years or so. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m still in Florence and I’m calling to ask if you feel like coming into Florence and staying at my place tonight. Virgilio and Lina have invited us for a meal.’

This sounded good although I knew that it would be even hotter down in the city. She was still hanging onto her apartment and, luckily, it’s in a five-hundred-year-old building whose thick stone walls do a pretty good job of keeping the temperature acceptable.

‘Sounds good to me. Give me half an hour to walk back up andcollect the car and I’ll be with you by seven-thirty or so. Is that okay?’

‘Perfect. I’ll call Lina back and say yes.’

After putting down the phone, I picked up my beer and drained it, my mind on the elderly lady alongside me. Had I imagined it or had she been about to consult me about something? I glanced at my watch again and realised, regretfully, that this would have to wait, or I would be late for my dinner date in Florence.

2

SATURDAY EVENING

I got to Florence in good time and left my van in the courtyard of the Renaissance building in thecentro storicowhere I had my office. From there, it took me twenty-five minutes to walk to Anna’s apartment just on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio but I knew from experience that I would have struggled to find a parking space any nearer. On a cold January day, it would have been no more than a fifteen-minute walk, but now, in midsummer and at the height of the tourist season, the city was absolutely packed. It took me an age to navigate my way through all the sightseers, making sure that Oscar didn’t stick his cold, wet nose where he shouldn’t. Nevertheless, as usual, even the oppressive crowds weren’t able to extinguish my love for this wonderful city. Every time I walk around the centre, I make a point of looking out for new discoveries – whether a particularly beautiful fresco painted high up on a Renaissance façade, or something as simple as an iron ring in a wall where horses would once have been tethered. Yes, Florence just exudes history.

Anna knows all about Florentine history. She’s a lecturer in Medieval and Renaissance History at Florence University and overthe past few weeks, she had been spending quite a lot of time in the university library, researching a paper she was writing on Cosimo il Vecchio, the founder of the Medici dynasty. Being with her had considerably broadened my cultural and historical knowledge, although there was so much history here in Tuscany that I knew I had no chance of ever reaching her giddy heights.

I found her wearing a light summer dress and looking gorgeous. Oscar evidently agreed as he trotted across to stand up on his hind legs against her, tail wagging furiously. She scratched his ears then shooed him off, caught hold of my arm and led me straight back out again to meet up with Virgilio and Lina.

Virgilio Pisano is my best friend here in Tuscany and we have a lot in common. I used to be a detective chief inspector at Scotland Yard, and he still works as an inspector in the Florence murder squad. He and I play tennis together and I sometimes help him out when he has a case involving English speakers. In return, he often puts business my way. His wife, Lina, started working for me as my PA in April this year and has taken a load of work off my shoulders as Dan Armstrong, Private Investigations has begun to gather pace. Tonight, Anna informed me, we were meeting them at a new pizzeria that had only recently opened. This was on the south bank of the River Arno, a fifteen-minute walk from Anna’s apartment, and there were tables outside in a little square close to the remnants of the old city walls.

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