Page 19 of Murder in Verona

He was probably in his early thirties and his cousin maybe a year or two older. What rapidly became clear, however, was that Romeo almost completely ignored his cousin. Instead, I could see that he was definitely enjoying sitting next to Anna – in spite of her being fifteen or twenty years older than him – and it didn’t take long before he was starting to get on my nerves with his constant banter, accompanied by regular touches of her hand and arm. I was just toying with the idea of trying to persuade Oscar to go around to tear him limb from limb – some hopes unless he had a pork chop in his pocket – when Anna took direct action. Totally ignoring Romeo, she leant across him and spoke directly to Veronica.

‘Does your cousin have an on/off switch? His constant flirting soon gets on your nerves, doesn’t it?’

An expression of hurt pride appeared on Romeo’s face and I had to struggle to restrain a smile. Veronica replied with a grin. ‘You have to admire his self-confidence, but I know what you mean.’ She looked up at the now red-faced man. ‘Romeo, just for once, could you try to forget that you think you’re the greatest lover who ever lived?’

This was the perfect intro for me. ‘I thought that position wasreserved for Rodolfo Argento. From what people have been saying, it seems that he thoughthewas the reincarnation of Casanova.’

The expression on Romeo’s face changed from annoyance – and no little degree of embarrassment – to clear animosity. ‘Rodolfo was totally up himself. What woman could possibly be interested in a narcissist like him?’

Veronica gave him her sweetest smile. ‘It’s amazing how many narcissists there are about – some really close at hand.’

Clearly, by this time, Romeo had had enough and he jumped to his feet. Oscar looked up in surprise as the man gave us a peremptory nod of the head. ‘If you’ll excuse me, there’s somebody over there I need to see.’ And he headed off across the room. As he did so, Anna and Veronica dissolved into fits of giggles and I reached over to grasp Anna’s hand on the tabletop.

‘Poor guy, he’ll probably never flirt with another woman again.’

Veronica shook her head. ‘Water off a duck’s back to Romeo. Look at him now.’

Sure enough, the reincarnation of Casanova had settled down on a table with two women and was soon chatting them up assiduously. Veronica stood up and excused herself. ‘I might need to rescue those two before long, so I’d better go.Buon appetito.’

As she walked off, any further consideration of Romeo was interrupted by the arrival of a new face.

‘Mr Armstrong? I wonder if I could join you.’ The new arrival was a very attractive woman and I had already worked out who she was by the time she introduced herself. ‘I’m Alessia Ricco, Rodolfo’s wife… widow.’

11

WEDNESDAY EVENING

Alessia came across as charming. She told us she had spent the last few days performing in Naples and Salerno and had driven back this afternoon in her beloved old Porsche. She smiled a lot and projected a friendly personality, although it appeared to be an effort. The impression she gave was that she was still grieving for her husband but, of course, that might have been an act. My ex-wife often accused me of being too cynical, but a lifetime in the murder squad had made me loath to take any possible suspect at face value. Nevertheless, when Anna and I offered our condolences, a shadow passed over the widow’s face and her eyes dropped. If it was an act, it was a good one.

‘I still can’t believe he’s gone. It seems only yesterday he was telling me about his plans for the next few months.’ Her voice broke as she spoke and I gave her a few moments before continuing with the enquiry, keeping my tone low and respectful.

‘I understand he’d just been told that he would be singing in Venice at Christmas in front of some very illustrious company.’

‘Yes, he was very excited about that.’ She produced a tissue andwiped real tears from her eyes. As any actor will tell you, that takes a bit of doing so, I told myself, maybe she was genuinely grieving. Still, I couldn’t help querying what she had been doing since his death.

‘And you’ve been performing, so soon after his death? Couldn’t you have got out of it?’

‘My agent was all for cancelling my tour but, to be honest, performing takes my mind off things, so I was determined to carry on with the commitments rather than just mope around here on my own.’ She looked up and the pain in her eyes looked genuine to me. ‘It was just at night, alone in the hotel, that it was tough.’

I decided not to mention my reason for being here, but the grieving widow’s mind was clearly working along the same lines as my own. She looked me straight in the eye and spoke in measured, serious tones. ‘The police had a theory that Rodolfo might have tried to kill himself. That’s rubbish. Life was good for him. There’s no question about that.’

‘So if it wasn’t suicide, the only viable explanation is brake failure. Do you think that’s a possibility?’

She shook her head decisively. ‘Out of the question. That car was in perfect condition – I used to drive it myself whenever I could and it ran like clockwork. He was always working on it and there’s no way he could have overlooked something as serious as a problem with the brakes.’

I didn’t add the obvious conclusion that the car might have been tampered with. Instead, I let Anna steer the conversation back to music and we settled down to eat. Dinner was every bit as good as lunch. It started with some excellent cured ham and salami accompanied by fresh figs, and this was followed by a ham and mushroom risotto. The main course was a tasty chicken stew and I was amazed that my fellow diners weren’t all grosslyoverweight if they ate two meals like this every day. Presumably, their lessons kept them busy, the tennis courts kept them fit, and quite probably a certain amount of extra-curricular hanky-panky helped to burn off a few calories. The wine was as good as ever, although Anna and Alessia stuck to mineral water. After an excellent crème caramel, I decided to lay my cards on the table for her.

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard from Violetta, but she’s asked me to come up here and look into what might have been the real cause of your husband’s death – I’m a private investigator based in Florence. She’s convinced that his death was no accident and that somebody must have deliberately tampered with the Jaguar’s brakes. To that end, I wonder if you’d be able to give me a few minutes of your time. I really need to know as much as I can about Rodolfo.’

I had been keeping a careful eye on the widow as I explained what I was doing here and I observed the very positive way she reacted. ‘No, Violetta hasn’t said anything and it was Dolores who just told me now that you and Anna might be interesting to talk to – although she didn’t go into any detail. I’m very pleased to know that’s why you’re here because I totally agree with Violetta – not something I do very often. He was murdered; I have no doubt about that. Any help I can give to find the person who robbed me of the love of my life, just ask.’

I gave her a little smile, once again impressed at her apparent sincerity. ‘Thank you, that’s excellent. Are you happy to have that conversation now or would you prefer to get a good night’s sleep first? You have had a long drive, after all.’

‘I’m fine and I’m more than happy to talk to you now. Would you like a coffee first?’

After ordering coffees, I pulled out my notebook and embarked on a series of questions.

‘I couldn’t help noticing that you said you don’t often see eye to eye with Violetta. Could you tell me how you would categorise your relationship with your mother-in-law?’

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