‘I don’t think-’ Minnie began.
‘But of course you can. It’s just a little way past the Via Veneto.’
‘The Via Veneto?’ Luke queried.
‘That’s where my office is,’ Minnie said. ‘I’ll give you a lift if you wish. Goodbye, Netta. I’ll see you tonight.’
Luke didn’t speak until they were on the road.
‘I thought your office was in the Residenza. That was the address on your letters.’
‘You might say I have two practices,’ Minnie said. ‘There’s my official one in the Via Veneto, and my unofficial one here in Trastevere.’
‘And the unofficial one is for friends, relatives-any of the locals likely to end up in a police cell?’ he hazarded.
‘I also act for my neighbours when they need help with a tyrannical, money-grubbing-’
‘Meaning me?’
‘No, meaning Renzo Tanzini. I fought him for ages and then he-’ She checked herself suddenly. ‘This isn’t the time.’
‘No, this is where I thank you for helping me out. Send me your bill, and Charlie’s, and I’ll settle them promptly.’
‘There’s no need for that.’
‘It’s a good chance for me to get into Netta’s good graces.’
‘Surely you’ve managed that already?’
‘And that makes you madder than anything, doesn’t it? In your ideal world she’d hate me as much as you do.’
‘I don’t hate you, Signor Cayman, I merely require fair dealings for your tenants.’
‘And you don’t think you’ll get them from me?’
‘The tone of your letters didn’t inspire hope.’
‘The tone of your letters made me think of an elderly harpy with hobnailed boots.’
She gave a wicked chuckle that he found oddly pleasing. ‘And I’ll crush you, wait and see.’
He barely heard the words. Something in her voice had alerted him and, against his will, he found himself remembering Hope’s words. ‘…a soft vibration that’s always there when a woman has a passionate nature…’
Nonsense. Hope had invented it to tease him, and the power of auto-suggestion made him hear it now. Nevertheless, he found himself trying to provoke her into a response.
‘I’m sure you’ll try.’
‘Oh, I’ll do it,’ she promised, ‘but not just yet.’
Did he imagine it, or was there a special vibration in her tone as she said the last words?
They had reached the Via Veneto and were gliding along its length.
‘Which office is yours?’ he asked.
‘Up there on the left.’
He studied it as they went past, and was impressed. He made the rest of the journey in thoughtful silence, breaking it only briefly when she dropped him at the hotel. She barely acknowledged his goodbye, speeding away in a dashing style that he couldn’t help admiring.
His phone rang. It was Olympia, the girl he’d ‘lost’ a couple of days ago. It felt like a couple of years, so much had happened.
‘Luke, are you all right?’
He stretched out on the bed. ‘Of course I am. Don’t worry about me.’
‘It’s just that you left so suddenly, and I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye-and thank you.’
Her voice was sweet and husky, and now he remembered how it could entrance him. That, too, seemed to have slipped into the past a little.
‘How’s Primo?’ he asked.
‘As grateful to you as I am for bringing us together.’
‘Don’t start painting me as a noble loser,’ he begged.
‘A noble, generous loser.’
‘Olympia, please!’
She laughed and it was charming, but his heart was safe. He hung up, feeling relaxed.
He stripped and went into the shower to scrub the police cell off. Now his thoughts were all of the coming battle, and how he should confront Signora Minerva. She had surprised him by being younger, prettier than his mental picture. Yet instinct told him that she was also more formidable and totally unpredictable.
Now he recalled something from early that morning. When Minnie had swept out of the cell on her way to his hotel, he and Charlie had been left to talk things over, and Charlie had said, ‘Minnie and my brother Gianni adored each other. She hasn’t been the same since he died.’
‘She’s a widow?’ he’d said, surprised, for there was something about her air of glowing life that hadn’t made him think of a widow.
‘Has been for four years. And it’s not for lack of offers. All the men are after her.’ He’d sighed. ‘Including me.’
‘You’re just a kid.’
‘That’s what she says. Not that it would make much difference if I weren’t. I’m not Gianni. Gianni was everything. When he died, she died.’
It had meant little at the time, but now he tried to connect that picture with the vibrant, lovely woman he’d encountered since, and it was no use. It didn’t fit. The surface denied the reality. Or maybe the other way around. How did a man tell?
Mentally he set that down on his plan of campaign. It could be very useful.
Even if he hadn’t known where the Residenza was Luke would have spotted the party from a great distance. The courtyard was glowing, lights were on all over the building and more light poured out into the street.
He was reminded of the Villa Rinucci in Naples, his home for many years now, ever since Hope, his adoptive mother, had married Toni Rinucci. It stood high on a hill, and at night its lamps could be seen for miles inland and out to sea.
He had always loved the place. Even after he’d moved out to his own apartment in Naples, he’d looked up the hill at night before going to bed, and the sight had warmed his heart.
There was a wide gulf between the luxurious villa and this down-at-heel tenement, and it was disconcerting to have the same feeling here as he found at home.
It was the lights, he told himself reasonably. Light always created the illusion of warmth and friendliness, and he wasn’t going to start being sentimental about it.
But there was also the laughter and the sound of welcoming voices, and these, too, spoke of home, so that when he entered the Residenza he was smiling.
Behind him came the taxi driver, puffing under the weight of Luke’s contribution to the party. When Netta called down to him from an upstairs window he indicated the cases of beer and wine. Cheers broke out above and the stairs shook under the pounding of feet. Several young men burst out into the courtyard, scooped up the cases and Luke with them. In moments he was upstairs, being embraced by Netta, who screamed joyfully in his ear, making him wince.
He’d met all the family briefly that morning, but now he met them again. Alessandro, Benito, Gasparo-all Charlie’s brothers-plus Netta’s brother Matteo, his wife Angelina and their five children. Netta’s husband Tomaso slapped him on the back, hailing him as a saviour, and various other uncles and aunts clamoured for his attention, until he thought the little apartment would burst at the seams.
He couldn’t see Minnie but in the crowded room it was hard to be sure, so he looked again, and then again. But there was no sign of her. He found himself curious to know how she would dress for this party.
Charlie bounded up to him, offering a drink.
‘Thanks, but I’m sticking to orange juice,’ he said. ‘I’m not taking any risks tonight.’
‘Go on, have a beer.’
‘Don’t press him, Charlie,’ said a female voice. ‘He doesn’t want to end up burdened with you again.’
It was her. How long had she been standing there? When had she come in?
She was dressed with a flamboyance that surprised him. He’d never pictured her in trousers, but there they were, dark purple, fitting snugly over her hips, topped off with a silk blouse of extravagant pink. The effect was stunning.
Her fair hair was drawn back off her face, emphasising her delicate bone structure and fair skin, and she might have been a different person from the austere advocate of the morning.
‘Thanks for coming to save me,’ he said.