The imperial ladies, who had enjoyed a relaxed holiday for many months, threw themselves into a flurry of treatments and primping. Lucilla and Lara had a hot time meeting their requirements. The Triumph only lasted a day, but it was a long one, from a dawn start, through an interminable procession at a snail’s pace, to a public banquet. The ladies had to be on show for most of it, prepared to be stared at even though most of the crowd’s attention would be fixed on the endless marching groups of proud officials, seedy priests, tetchy sacrificial animals, exhausted musicians, bored soldiers, the painted floats that constantly creaked to a standstill, wobbly bearers carrying slightly suspect booty, and glum prisoners. At last came the gleaming chariot which carried the Emperor, dressed in white in the role of Jupiter, while a slave supposedly muttered, ‘Remember, you are only mortal.’
‘Germanicus is deaf to that!’ scoffed Lara.
Lucilla was rarely at home while they were preparing their charges for greeting the victorious general, but once the Triumph was over she knew that the Praetorian’s half of the apartment might be claimed. Despite this, she was so used to being alone there that she was badly startled one evening. As she prepared her supper, she heard noises; someone was in the house.
‘Sorry,’ said the man in the corridor, seeing her alarm. ‘I am-’
‘I know who you are.’
‘Your co-tenant. Name of Vinius, Gaius Vinius.’
‘Gaius Vinius what?’
‘I only use two names.’ What a poser!
‘You could have knocked.’ Lucilla glared at him.
‘I’m not a passing sponge salesman.’ No help from him. He softened. ‘Yes, I need a way to let you know it’s me.’
‘Whistle a tune?’
‘I’m not the bread boy either.’ He looked disdainful. ‘I’ll call out, “It’s me — Vinius”.’
‘Yes, that should work,’ snorted Lucilla sarcastically, as she turned away. He had not changed; she still found his attitude overbearing.
His damaged face was unforgettable. His current wife had said, in a rare moment of discernment, that some people would see Gaius Vinius as half disfigured, some as half handsome. Now meeting him for the second time, Lucilla was still making up her mind.
She had forgotten he was taller than average and subtly powerful despite a medium build. He wore a plain grey tunic, with a worn belt and boots; reassuringly he was unarmed. Lucilla noticed again how his dark hair looked finely trimmed, his hands beautifully kept. She liked his grooming. He seemed fastidious, though not offensively vain. She noted his wedding ring again and, now, a signet ring.
If he remembered her, he gave no sign.
Vinius looked around his investment. It was a year since he had been here, at a time when the renovations were still incomplete, with dust sheets and scaffolding everywhere. Now it was cleaned up and occupied, it looked, felt and even smelt different. He was pleased with what he had taken on. Fortunatus had given him a good tip.
After he eyed up the corridor, he came to the doorway of the tiny kitchen. There was no room for two, so he leaned against the gathered curtain. He saw a stone bowl beneath the tap, a counter barely a plank’s width, high shelves, a low-level rubbish bucket. Nosily, he watched Lucilla cutting sheep’s cheese into a bowl of lettuce. Refusing to feel intimidated, she mentioned the suggested partition.
‘Yes, that should ruin the aspect successfully!’ He gazed back at the corridor. ‘I suppose you are anxious in case I put in sub-tenants?’ Vinius clearly thought himself a wit: ‘I’ve offered it to a large family with no sense of hygiene and four screaming brats.’
‘That’s a relief.’ Calmly Lucilla tossed olives into her bowl. She had huge qualms about the other rooms’ future. ‘I was dreading you would dump some ghastly mistress on me. You’d both have noisy intercourse; she’d be a spiteful piece who would leave dirty bowls in the sink until she forced me to wash up after her…’
‘I like the sound of that!’ He grinned. He seemed more hollow-cheeked and unhappy than Lucilla remembered, perhaps less sure that grin of his would impress. He need not have worried. ‘Honestly, I have not decided what to do. I apologise for taking my time. I promise to discuss any plans with you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lucilla coldly.
More relieved than she would admit to him, she scattered pine nuts on her food; she did not offer Vinius anything. They were equals as co-tenants. If he felt peckish, he could bring in a hot pie.
He made a fuss checking the miniature griddle, said it was dangerous and he would speak to the letting agent about putting in protection at the back of the fire basket. When she first arranged her own bowls and cutlery, Lucilla had left one empty shelf for his use; she watched him wondering whether to challenge this. He crossed to his own two rooms, working out which she had allocated; he checked dimensions with a folding measure his brother had lent him, then appeared to be about to poke his nose into her rooms too.
Lucilla blocked his path. Vinius stopped, reassessed his rights, grudgingly revised his view of hers. They had a short face-off.
Vinius cleared his throat. He looked her in the eye, finally acknowledging that day at the station house. ‘Flavia Lucilla. I see you grew up nicely.’
‘Oh, have we met before, soldier?’ Since his face was unforgettable, this amounted to an insult.
Oddly, he just smiled. ‘I let you down, I know… You did stay on my conscience but I was transferred out straight after the fire. I hope someone else came to look into your loss.’
‘There was no loss.’
‘Ah.’
They stood, three feet apart, in the corridor, either side of where the partition would be, if the agent ever had one constructed.
‘Your mother had a lover back then. What happened to him?’
‘I have no idea.’ Lucilla moved back towards the kitchen, not wanting to think about Orgilius, not wanting Gaius Vinius to sense that the man had seduced her. He would probably say he could tell that someone had. Still, that was how a man saw things.
Vinius was smitten by the alteration in Flavia Lucilla. She had changed much more than him. No longer a neglected child, she was neat, vibrant and kitted out daintily, in the tradition of her trade. Strappy sandals. Fancy hems on her dress. Plaits tied into a topknot with ribbons. In quiet moments, she and Lara did each other’s hair, nails, pedicure, brows. Lucilla frequently changed her appearance, enough to show she had an eye for fashion while never looking like a rival to the women she tended.
‘How is your mother?’
‘She died.’
‘Sorry to hear it.’
‘At least I found my sister. We work together now.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Lara — why?’ Lucilla asked truculently; Vinius was questioning her as if he were still an investigator.
‘Calm down! If I’m knocking about here, I may run into her.’ It was meant to make Lucilla feel unreasonable, though Vinius noted she merely scowled. He knew he could sound high-handed. ‘So your sister does not live with you?’
‘She is married with a family.’
His inquisitiveness was annoying. It forced Lucilla to retaliate: ‘You’re not dossing here with your wife then?’
Vinius looked surprised at the idea. ‘We live near the Market of Livia, by the Servian Wall…’ He pushed away the thought of Verania. They had a couple of rooms in a tenement, adequate (in his opinion) but cruder than this place.
‘Oh yes, I heard you keep secrets. You don’t intend your wife to know you have this place.’
He flinched. ‘My damned brother talks too much.’
‘He does!’ scoffed Lucilla, to make him wonder.
‘What other nonsense has Fortunatus regaled the whole neighbourhood with?’
Lucilla raised her neatly shaped eyebrows. ‘Not too much. What’s exciting you? Everyone around here thinks you are a man of mystery.’