Page 46 of The Tuscan Child
Renzo’s face was now also showing embarrassment as he translated.
“He was only being friendly,” I said. “I told the men that I would like to see the neighbourhood and this man, Gianni, offered to show me how he made cheese.”
“How he made cheese? Is that what they call it now?” The inspector looked at the young agent and chuckled.
My uneasiness was displaying itself as anger now. “Inspector, I was sitting at a table with other men. They laughed and said that I should watch out for Gianni, so I was aware that he was perhaps not to be trusted. So when he offered to walk me home, I refused. And luckily another man called Alberto said he would escort me as he had to go past Paola’s farm on his way home.”
“So that was the last time you saw Gianni?”
“The only time.”
There was a long pause while the inspector stared at me. “So tell me, Signorina Langley. Is it normal in your country for a girl to approach a table full of men alone, to accept a glass of wine from them? This is accepted behaviour?”
“First, I am not a girl. I am a woman of twenty-five and I am about to take the exam to become a lawyer,” I said. I thought I detected a flicker of reaction at the word “lawyer.” “And second,” I went on, “I wanted to find out about my father and I felt quite safe approaching people in the town piazza. I accepted a glass of wine because it would have been rude to refuse.”
“And then?”
“Then I walked home. I already told you a man called Alberto offered to escort me since he had to pass the farmhouse where I am staying. I accepted his offer as it was getting dark. He escorted me to the front door. I thanked him and went in to have dinner with Signora Rossini and her daughter. Then I went to bed. That’s all I can tell you.”
“You heard nothing after that? A man was killed and pushed into a well and you heard nothing? I find this strange. Unbelievable almost.”
“I drank wine,” I said. “I am not used to it, and it must have made me sleep extra soundly.”
He made a sound half between a cough and a laugh. “You know what I think?” the inspector said. “I think that Gianni was attracted to you. A young lady from a distant city, maybe with different standards from our local girls. He has heard about London girls and their loose ways. He wanted to make a conquest. He came to your room to see you later that night. Maybe he tried to force himself on you. You resisted. You hit him with a rock and knocked him out, then, frightened by what you had done, you hid his body in the well.”
“That is absurd,” I said, looking up at Renzo to translate for me. “For one thing I would not have been strong enough to hit a man like Gianni over the head if he was already attacking me.”
“Very well, let us say that you pushed him away. A commendable action for an upright young woman. He tripped, fell backward, and struck his head against a rock. Not murder at all, but self-defence. Understandable. Any jury would see that you were defending your honour.” He paused again.
“But not true,” I said. “And how could I have put his body into the well? I told you I was not strong enough to lift the lid alone.”
“So you got the signora to help you.” He wagged his finger at me again. “Together you pushed this poor man into the well, where he drowned.”
I took a deep breath, fighting to remain calm and in control as Renzo translated. “If I had done as you say and stuffed his body into the well, would I have alerted the signora in the morning that I had no water for my shower? Would we have removed the cover, found the body, and then called the Carabinieri? No, I would have kept quiet about the body. I would have left the town, caught the first train back to England, and by the time anybody discovered the body I would have been gone.”
The inspector listened to this as it was translated into Italian. I realised I was waving my arms as I spoke, in true Italian fashion. I noticed a strange expression crossing Renzo’s face. Then he said, “I can waste no more time on this, Inspector. I have business to attend to. You will please excuse me. It is quite obvious that this young woman did not kill Gianni.”
“Then why,” the inspector said, “were her fingerprints on a big stone found beside the well? Answer me that one.”
“I can answer,” I said, not waiting for Renzo to translate. “That stone was on top of the lid. I lifted it down first when I attempted to open the lid.”
“Ah, so you do speak Italian,” the inspector said.
“Not well enough to say what I want to,” I answered. “And I don’t understand when people speak rapidly.”
“We will leave this matter until next week,” the inspector said. “I am not convinced that she is innocent. I will need to question this Signora Rossini as well. She may have been a partner in crime. But I will get a confession out of her if she is guilty. We need to do more tests, question more witnesses. The whole place will be searched for clues and fingerprints. But I will be kind to you, Signorina. I will not take you to the jail in Lucca. I will permit you to stay here in this town until we get to the bottom of this crime. You are not permitted to leave, do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Very well. You may go for now.” He waved us out of the room.
As I came out of the darkness into the bright daylight, my wrist was grabbed. I gasped, struggled, and looked up at my attacker. It was Renzo. He was glaring at me, a look of fury on his face.
“Where did you get that ring?” he demanded. “Have you robbed my house?”
I looked down at my hand. “It is my signet ring,” I said. “My family crest. My father gave it to me for my twenty-first birthday.”
“But no, you are wrong,” Renzo said. “It ismyfamily crest. My family. Your father must have stolen it while he was here.”
