Alibi

CHAPTER EIGHT

There was only enough hot water for one bath, so we took turns. While I was drying off near the space heater, Claudia went through my mother’s closet, her head wrapped in a towel, her skin flushed from the warm soak.

“You’re young. That already puts you ahead. Wear anything.”

“To a party like this? It’s easy for you.”

“If it still fits,” I said, picking up my jacket from the bed. “I haven’t worn it in three years. That’s nice.”

She was holding up an evening gown with a scalloped neck, as creamy and soft as lingerie.

“It’s from before the war.”

“Here, let me help.”

She slid the dress over her head.

“It’s loose,” she said.

“This much?” I pinched in some fabric at the back. “We can pin it. You’ll look wonderful.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she said, flouncing out her damp hair. “Everyone will see it’s old.”

“They’ll still be looking at you. That’s all we want.”

“Look at all this. Powder, everything. How can she have so much?”

I left her at the mirror, patting her face, and went to dress, hurrying, even managing my tie in a few minutes. Then I headed downstairs to check the water entrance, running a flashlight along the edge of the tarp. There were a few dark splotches of dampness on the stone floor, possibly from our dripping clothes, but nothing that looked like blood. One more check tomorrow in the daylight. What else? The ashtray in the hall. Not even a trace. When I got back to my mother’s room, Claudia was still at the dressing table, putting her hair up.

“We have to hurry.”

“There’s nothing else I can do with it,” she said, ignoring me. “This way it doesn’t matter if it’s wet.”

I saw the white back of her neck, like a girl’s, then looked into the mirror as she blotted her lipstick. The room was warm now, close with the smell of perfume and powder.

“You look beautiful.”

She met my eyes in the mirror, then looked down, suddenly upset.

“I can’t do this. All the time thinking-” She stopped, then reached for another tissue and raised her head to look at me again. “Where are the pins?”

It needed only two, which I covered in the back with the sash. The shoes were more difficult-we had to stuff wadded tissue into the toes to make them fit.

“So,” Claudia said, standing in front of the mirror, smoothing the skirt. “It’s okay?”

“Almost.”

I went into my mother’s closet and pulled out the false panel in the glove drawer that hid her jewel case. You had to lift the top tray of rings out to get to the bigger pieces. I took out a necklace.

“I can’t wear-”

“She’s not wearing it,” I said, fastening it behind her neck. “She won’t mind.”

She fingered the stones, just gazing into the mirror for a minute.

“My god. Are they rubies?”

“I don’t know. Garnets, maybe. Anyway, they suit you. Your coloring. Ready?”

But she stood there, still looking, then made a wry grimace. “All my life I wanted to go to those parties. In one of the palazzos. With jewels. And now-like this.”

Mimi’s ground-floor layout was similar to ours; a long hall stretching from the Grand Canal to a calle, flanked by old offices and storerooms converted tonight into cloakrooms and little parlors. As I’d expected, there was a crush at the water entrance, a swarm of flashbulbs and dripping umbrellas and harried maids running back and forth. Most of the maids were new, borrowed from friends or hired for the evening, and none of them recognized me. We were just part of the crowd in evening dress streaming in from all directions, handing over wet coats, adjusting hair in powder rooms, stamping our shoes dry on the marble floor. In the confusion of arrival, with everyone talking at once and music coming from upstairs, no one noticed us. We might have come in at any time. I glanced up to see if Mimi was on the stairs, receiving, but she had evidently already joined the party. Better still.

At the top of the stairs was a landing, an anteroom before the main sala, a place to catch your breath and gather your skirt, and for a moment we stood there, dazzled. Mimi’s ballroom was one of the grandest in Venice, as large as the Rezzonico’s, and tonight every inch of it seemed alive with light. The center chandeliers were electric, but the walls were lined with sconces holding real candles, hundreds of them, backed by mirrors, so that the effect was watery, constantly in motion, the nighttime equivalent of sunlight reflected off the canal. At the end of the room the high windows tapered to gothic points, but the walls themselves were rococo, paneled Arcadian scenes framed in gilt, moldings of swirling plaster. Waiters passed trays of champagne. Women glanced at themselves in mirrors. After the dark lagoon, the bulky tarp splashing over the side of the boat, I felt we had stepped into another world-not this one, maybe the one the room had been meant for, not real even then.

“Adam, you did come.” Mimi after all, standing guard at the door. Her hair, swept up, was sprinkled with jewels, not a tiara but tiny diamond pins, bits of starlight. Could she see it on my face? Washed now, but still somehow streaked with his blood? I felt my hands shaking and dug my nails into the palms. We could do this, had to.

“Hours ago,” I said, nodding toward the crowd below.

“And you’ve brought Miss-”

“Grassini,” Claudia said.

“Yes, I remember. So glad,” she said, shaking hands, her eyes sweeping down to take in Claudia’s dress. She turned to me. “How nice you look. Out of uniform.” A raised eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t have evening clothes. Grace said you couldn’t find-”

“And then I did. I hope it’s all right.”

“Darling, don’t be silly. I’m desperate for young people. Half the men here seem to have canes. When did we all get to be such an age?” She paused. “You’re supposed to say, You didn’t.”

I lifted my head, focusing, digging my nails in again. “You didn’t.”

“Charm itself, isn’t he?” she said to Claudia. “And so quick. I don’t suppose you’ve brought Gianni.”

“No. Isn’t he here?” I said, not looking at Claudia.

“Not yet. I don’t know how Grace puts up with it. I wouldn’t. He’d be late to his own funeral.”

Claudia moved involuntarily, catching Mimi’s eye. “Well, a doctor,” she said.

“Yes, but at this hour. Oh dear,” she said, looking over my shoulder toward the stairs. “Count Grillo. I never thought-the stairs.” I turned to see a white-haired man making his way up slowly, gripping an attendant with one arm and the banister with the other. “Maybe I should have him carried. But so embarrassing. My god, when I think how he used to-”

“An old flame?”

“How he used to dance. Don’t be fresh. Go and be conspicuous. Maybe you can get the orchestra to liven things up a bit.” She turned to Claudia. “We’ll talk later. I’m so glad you came. You look lovely.” She moved over to the head of the stairs. “Ernesto, how marvelous. No, don’t hurry. Oodles of time.”

A waiter came by with champagne.

“They’re going to start wondering where he is,” Claudia said, looking at her glass. She shuddered suddenly, like someone caught in a draft.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. “I’m nervous. I don’t know why. Not before, not even in the boat. And now here, a place like this.”

“Have some champagne.”

“Oh, just like that. Champagne-as if nothing’s happened.”

“I want people to see us having a good time,” I said, spreading my hand, steady now, toward the ballroom. “He won’t be missed for hours. He’s a doctor. They’re like that. Things come up.” I put down my glass on a little table. “So let’s be conspicuous. Dance?”

She looked up at me, biting her lip. “It’s my fault, all this.”

I held up my arms, ready to dance.

“And now for you, this trouble. What if you had never met me?”

I took the champagne glass out of her hand. “Yes, what if?” I said, then put my arm behind her back and moved her into the room.

The orchestra, in formal cutaways, was playing “Why Do I Love You?” but slightly off-rhythm, as if they were sight-reading, more familiar with Strauss than a twenties show tune. Not that it mattered. The dancers were moving at their own pace, peering over shoulders, the music just an excuse to look around at one another. Everything gleamed-jewels, the huge mirrors, even the long parquet floor, polished probably for days. I thought of Byron’s famous party, when they threw gold plates into the canal.

“So you can dance too,” Claudia said.

“Miss Hill’s dancing class. We all had to go. The boys hated it.”

“And the girls?”

“They liked to get dressed up.”

She glanced around the room. “So nothing changes. Look at the clothes. Is it all right, the dress?”

“Perfect.”

“Ha, perfect. The poor relation.”

“Not too poor,” I said, putting a finger to the necklace. Off to the left I caught a quick flash of light, stronger than a candle.

“Jewels. If my father could see me-” She looked away, frowning. “Maybe it was for him, what happened. For him.”

But at that moment, my face suddenly warm, I knew it wasn’t. Not for him, not even for Claudia. I’d wanted to do it. I wasn’t in the cold boat anymore, unable to think. I’d wanted to do it. Even now I could feel the odd excitement of it, my arms shaking as I held his head under.

“What’s wrong?” Claudia said.

“Nothing. Just a little warm. Dance over there-I want them to take our picture.”

Another flash went off, and now the heat drained away from my face, as if my blood were running back and forth, like the tide in the lagoon.

“Adam? What are you doing here?” My mother was standing with a couple at the edge of the dance floor. I leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“I decided you were right, so we borrowed a dress. Your idea, remember?”

My mother was taking in Claudia, giving a surprised glance at the necklace. Then she smiled, extending her hand, not missing a beat. “Claudia, how nice.”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

My mother waved this away. “Wonderful what being twenty years younger can do for a dress. It’s perfect on you.” And I saw in her smile that she thought some other bargain had been struck, an end to the trouble, our coming a promise of smoother days ahead, more precious than rubies. Her face beamed with a kind of warm relief. “Oh, but let me introduce Inspector Cavallini. Signora Cavallini.”

“Inspector?” Claudia started, not expecting this, but the Cavallinis, half turned to the dance floor, missed the flicker in her eyes.

“Signorina Grassini, isn’t it?” my mother went on. “I’ve become so bad at names. And my son of course you know. I think you met at Harry’s.”

There were the usual nods and handshakes, something to fall back on while I collected myself.

“Yes, I remember,” I said quickly, a signal to Claudia. “I hope you’re not on duty tonight.”

“Only as an escort,” he said, smiling. “It’s my wife who brings me.” Signora Cavallini nodded, accepting this. She had the grave, long face of someone invited for her family connections.

“Well, if Gianni doesn’t get here soon you will be,” my mother said. “I’ll have to send you out to find him.”

“Ah, if every woman did that when the man is late, the police would never sleep.”

“Adam, you did call him.”

“Yes. At the hospital. I told him to meet you here. He’s probably around somewhere. It’s a mess downstairs. We were here for ages before we found you.”

Claudia looked away.

“No, it’s not like him. Well, it is like him, but not this much, if you see what I mean.”

“Excuse me, would you turn this way, please?”

The photographer stepped back onto the dance floor, motioning with his head for us to stand closer. A flash went off and there we were, evidence, Claudia and I standing next to the police. For one wild moment I wanted to laugh, caught by the unexpectedness of luck.

“Perhaps you would not worry so much if you were dancing,” Cavallini said. “May I?”

After a nod to Signora Cavallini, he led my mother out to the floor, leaving us to make small talk with his wife. It was a pity about the rain, but the ball was lovely, the way Venice used to be. So much food. Of course, it was easier for foreigners. When even this ran out, I looked at my mother, chatting happily while she danced, and I felt queasy again.

Signora Cavallini, whose English was poor, must have been as bored as we were, because she led her husband away before he could ask for another dance. They drifted into the next room, where supper would be served later, picking up glasses of champagne along the way.

“My god, what a country. Even the policemen go to balls. Imagine at home,” my mother said.

“How does Mimi know him?”

“His wife, I think. Of course, with Mimi you never know. She casts a pretty wide net. Look at them all,” she said, waving to the room. “And she was so worried. ‘They won’t come out in the rain.’ Well, they’d come out in a monsoon. You’ll never guess who’s here. Celia de Betancourt. I thought, the war really must be over if she’s back. Venezuela all this time. Imagine the boredom of it.”

“Who?”

“Darling, you remember. You were fascinated by her when you were little. On the beach. She would just tan and tan.”

I made a helpless gesture.

“Well, anyway, she’s here. Still brown as a berry too. Of course it’s sunny there, I suppose. That’s her, over with Mimi. Remember?”

I looked across the floor at a woman in a strapless taffeta gown, her dark neck entirely covered in diamonds.

“That’s some necklace.”

“The jewels are past belief. I think even Mimi was stunned. They said the war would put an end to all this, and just look.”

“I hope it’s all right,” Claudia said, touching hers. “About the necklace.”

My mother said nothing for a minute, her face soft and pleased, then put her hand on Claudia’s. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Adam’s father gave it to me. Awful to think of it just sitting in a box somewhere. It’s nice to give it some air.”

“Like a pet,” I said.

“You know what I mean. What’s the point of having them if you don’t wear them? Anyway,” she said to Claudia, “I’m glad you did.” She turned to me, her eyes moist. “You look so like your father in those clothes. So like. He loved to dress up, you know. Parties.”

While you were-where? I thought, then felt dismayed for thinking it.

“So handsome. Well,” she said, and then, making a connection known only to herself, “You know, it’s not like him, not really. I’m worried. It’s all very well that policeman pooh-poohing, saying men are late, but he wouldn’t be late for this. What did he say to you?”

“Just that he’d see you here. It’s not that late,” I said, glancing at my watch. “He’ll be here.” Suddenly I wanted a cigarette, anything to steady the jumping in my stomach.

“But I called his house. He left hours ago.”

“Maybe he stopped for a drink somewhere.”

“A drink. And then fell into a canal, I suppose,” my mother said, dismissive. “Tonight of all nights.”

“The inspector didn’t seem to think-”

“Oh, I know what he thinks. Some woman. Why else would a man be late? A little stop along the way. I wouldn’t put it past him — he practically winks at you when he talks. But that’s not Gianni.” She put her hand on Claudia’s again. “I hope Adam explained things. What he’s like. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, you know. He wouldn’t know how.”

Claudia moved her hand, looking away.

“Anyway, you’ve come to dance, and I’m just fussing and ruining things. Off you go. I’ll wait here like Penelope with my weaving.” She made a shooing motion with her hands toward the dance floor.

The orchestra had switched to a piece of generic ball music, lilting and sweet without being recognizable as anything in particular, something to talk under as we danced. People were passing back and forth between the ballroom and the food tables next door, balancing little plates of hors d’oeuvres.

“What are you going to say to her?” Claudia said when we’d moved away from the edge.

“Nothing.”

“But if they never find him-think how it will be for her. Never to know.”

“If they never find him, we’ll be safe. She’ll be-”

What? All right? Frantic? Waiting for some word, the phone to ring. How long before a disappearance becomes painless, just a mystery? I looked at Claudia.

“We can’t say anything. You know that, don’t you? We can’t.”

She nodded.

“I’ll get her to go away somewhere. Maybe Mimi-”

“She won’t leave now. She’ll look for him.”

“She can’t look forever. It’ll pass,” I said weakly, not even convincing myself.

We stared at each other for a moment, not talking, just moving our feet in aimless circles to the music, then her eyes grew shiny and she turned her face away.

“Oh,” she said, a moan, cut off, turned suddenly into a kind of nervous giggle that caught in her throat. She pitched her head forward onto my shoulder to stifle it, steady an unexpected shaking.

“We have to get through this,” I said. “Then we’ll be all right.”

“Can’t we leave now? Everybody’s seen us.”

“If they find the body, they’ll try to fix a time of death. People have to think we were here all night.”

“How would they find it? You said he’d go to the bottom. In the lagoon.”

“If they find it.”

“Oh, god. And then what?”

“Then we were here all night. Having a good time.”

I pulled her hand to me, bending my head to kiss it, then saw my own fingers and froze. There were little rims of rust under the nails. No, blood. When I’d clenched my hands earlier, had I dug them in so deep? I opened my hand. No marks on the palms. His blood. Where anybody might see it if he looked closely enough. Cavallini hadn’t noticed, shaking hands, but what if we met again? I might be lighting a cigarette, bringing my fingers up, the rims suddenly visible, unavoidable. The smallest thing could give you away.

I turned Claudia’s hand over, spreading it. “Let me see. No, you’re all right.”

“What?” she said, startled, clutching her hand.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, letting my arms fall. “Have some champagne. Right back.” Turning away, not even waiting to see her expression, explain anything. Time enough later.

The nearest men’s room was on the other side of the stair landing, unmarked but guarded by a footman placed there to direct ladies down the hall. Inside, another servant was acting as washroom attendant, turning taps and handing out towels. Count Grillo stood in front of the toilet bowl, still supported on one arm, his pee a trickle that barely made a sound as it hit the water. I dug my fingernails in again, waiting.

When he finished, flushing and then slowly buttoning up, I stepped forward to take his place, but nothing came out. I was too anxious now even to pee. But I had to-otherwise why had I come? And then the attendant turned on the tap, the sound of gushing water like a cue, and it was all right. I slumped a little, my breath spilling out too.

Count Grillo took forever to dry but finally shuffled away. I rubbed my hands around the bar of soap, lathering them, keeping my back to the attendant. My knuckles were raw, not broken but scraped-what happened to hands in a fight. I ran one nail under the others and dug at the dried blood. More soap. When I rinsed, there was just enough blood to stain the water, a thin pale stream. I stood for a minute staring at it, light rust, like something that might have come out of an old water pipe. There all along. Shaking hands with Cavallini, with scraped knuckles and blood under my fingernails. But he hadn’t seen, hadn’t thought to look. And now it was too late, the red running into the soapy water, then out some ancient drain to the lagoon. Safe.

“ Prego.” The attendant had leaned forward, holding out a hand towel, the word loud in my ear. Had he been close enough to see? It didn’t have to be Cavallini. Anybody. Just one glance at the basin, the eye drawn to the unexpected stain.

“ Momento,” I said quickly, turning my shoulder to block his line of sight. What if any of it had stuck to the porcelain? But I couldn’t wash the bowl, not with him standing there. I lathered once more, then rinsed, holding my hands out for the towel but keeping the water running, a last chance to let it wash away. The attendant reached over and turned off the tap. Not looking at the water, busy now with the towel, taking it from me and putting it in the hamper. Involuntarily I looked down at my hands. Pink from all the soap and water, but no more rims, no evidence. When I looked up, I found the attendant staring at me, his eyes a question mark. I dropped my hands, folding the rough knuckles out of sight. He kept staring and for a minute, feeling chilled, I thought he had seen, was trying to decide what to do, but then he held up a clothes brush and I saw that he was just waiting for me to turn around so that he could dust me off, make the rest of me as clean as my hands.

An hour later we called Gianni’s house again, this time using Claudia to speak Italian.

“ Non in casa,” my mother said, “that’s all I can get out of them. Well, I know he’s not at home.”

Claudia took the phone and spoke rapidly for a few minutes, but learned nothing more. He’d left the house on foot before eight. Dressed for the party. Did he say he was going anywhere first? No, he said he had to hurry, he was a little late.

The hospital knew even less. He’d left at the usual time. For home? Yes. And he hadn’t been back? No, he was going to a big party.

My mother now fidgeted, genuinely worried, as if Claudia’s Italian should have produced different answers.

“But it’s ridiculous,” she said.

“No one just vanishes.” “No,” Claudia said. “So he must have a reason.”

I looked at her, expecting to see her eyes dart away, but she met mine evenly, no longer skittish, her balance restored somehow by having to lie to my mother. Or maybe the lies were becoming real to us, what had really happened.

“Maybe he did fall into a canal,” my mother said. “You think I’m joking. Bertie says it happened all the time during the war, in the blackout. Several people died. Funny, isn’t it? The only war casualties. No bombs. Just people falling into canals.”

“Where is Bertie, anyway?”

“He always comes late. Always. He doesn’t dance, you know. He just turns up for supper and a good look around.”

“Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s coming with Bertie.”

“Gianni? Why would he do that? They’re not chums, really. No, something’s wrong. I know it. Seriously, what should I do?”

“I don’t know. Where else would he be? With friends?”

“Darling, instead of me? Something’s happened.”

“Maybe you should talk to Inspector Cavallini,” Claudia said.

I looked at her, but she ignored me, concentrating on my mother.

“Yes, but what do I say? I don’t want to ruin Mimi’s party.”

“Ask him to call the Questura. If there has been an accident. Somebody in the canal. Anything like that.”

My mother hesitated, frowning. “They’d report that, wouldn’t they?” She nodded, thinking to herself, and turned away, touching my arm absentmindedly as she left.

“You’re sending her to the police?” I said, watching my mother head into the other room.

Claudia shrugged. “He won’t do anything. But maybe he’ll remember. That we went to him before anything was wrong.”

Inspector Cavallini, indulging my mother, made the call to the Questura. Nothing had been reported, no accident, no body stumbled over in a dark calle. He asked someone to check the hospitals for anyone brought in with a heart attack, a stroke, anything sudden, but Venice had been quiet, huddled in out of the rain.

“You know, she’ll make it worse,” he said, drawing me aside, his voice confiding, man-of-the-world. “A man stops somewhere, sometimes it’s difficult getting back. Maestre, perhaps, somewhere on the mainland-many go there. And then a delay, the train is late. So, the arguments. Often this happens. A part of life.”

“He wouldn’t go to Maestre in white tie.”

“He was in white tie?” Cavallini said, looking at me.

“I suppose so,” I said quickly. “They said at the house he was dressed for the party. I just assumed-anyway, too dressed for Maestre.”

“Somewhere in Venice, then. A visit. It’s usually the case.”

“Or someone sick. A medical emergency.”

“Perhaps,” he said, dubious. “But then he would call, yes?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s sick himself.”

“Then someone will find him. Meanwhile, make your mother easy. Maybe sick, yes, but maybe delayed, a simple matter. Ah, Signora Miller,” he said as my mother came up. “Nothing has been reported. So I think it’s a matter for the patience.”

“But they’ll call you here if anything-”

“Yes, I asked them to do that. Don’t upset yourself. I think next you’ll hear the apologies.”

“Thank you,” my mother said, still frowning, concerned.

Then Mimi was with us.

“Grace, I’ve been looking-is anything wrong?”

“No, no,” my mother said, brightening.

“Don’t tell me he still hasn’t shown. It’s Maggie and Jiggs. You need a rolling pin. They’re all stinkers, aren’t they? Have you had supper?” she said to the rest of us. “There’s lovely food. I’m going to borrow Grace for a minute.” She took my mother’s arm. “Come on. Ernesto’s in a pout, and you always know what to say to him.”

She was moved off, a boat in tow, and we were alone with Cavallini again.

“Thank you for doing all this. I’m sorry-at a party.”

He shrugged. “These things happen. She’ll be angry, yes? When he comes.”

“Yes.”

He gave a sly smile. “Yes. Another night would have been better.” An old hand at slipping out. I wondered if he kept a girl in Maestre, in a small flat near the factories, for visits.

“Dance?” I said to Claudia, eager to get away.

The orchestra, looser and more confident, finally upbeat, was playing Cole Porter. It was the music everybody had wanted, what they’d flirted to on the Lido, and the floor was crowded. Soon the older guests would begin to drift away or settle themselves with plates of food, but just now the whole room seemed to be dancing, moving back and forth in flickers, like the candles. The stairs were empty. Everyone who was coming had already arrived. How long before even Cavallini became alarmed? He was watching from the edge of the floor, a knowing smile still on his face. Knowing nothing. And I realized then that no one knew, not anyone in the bright, crowded room, and the secret carried with it a kind of perverse pleasure. No one knew. We were a couple dancing to “Night and Day,” that was all-something for Cavallini to gossip about later with his wellborn wife.

“Not too much longer,” I said.

“All right,” Claudia said, preoccupied. She moved with the music for a few more minutes, then said, “What will she do?”

“She’ll go back to Ca’ Venti. She won’t stay here. Not with Mimi. But we don’t have to wait. We should do what we would normally do.”

“Can we eat something first? It’s terrible, I know, but I’m so hungry.”

Food had been available all night, passed on trays and anchoring long tables in the next room, but now a new buffet had been set up, a lavish late supper, hot in silver chafing dishes, with waiters to carry your plates to a table. There were glass bowls of caviar and carving trolleys of roast veal, fruit arranged in pyramids. It was, in its way, more opulent than the ball itself, as if rationing had never existed, imaginary. Even in Venice, which had had an easy war, it was disturbing to see so much food.

“You go,” I said to Claudia. “I want a smoke first.”

I went over to the balcony windows facing the canal, lit a cigarette, and almost at once became nauseated, the queasiness I’d felt all evening suddenly lurching in my stomach. It might have been the close room, the sight of the rich food, the smoke on an empty stomach, but I knew it wasn’t, just what was left of the nervous energy that had started when I’d pushed him against the wall. Everything up and down, the freezing rain in the lagoon, then a ballroom hot enough for bare-shouldered gowns; pushing his head down in the water, my fingers still streaked with blood, everything in me pumping, willing me to do it, then polite evasions, the puzzled, hurt look on my mother’s face. I opened one of the windows and gulped in some air. It was surprisingly cold, like the air in the lagoon, stinging on my warm face. Below, a vaporetto heading to Salute was passing Mimi’s water entrance, still busy with lights and boats tied to the striped poles, gondoliers waiting on the dock with cigarettes cupped in their hands. A murder had been committed, and no one knew. I took another breath, then drew on the cigarette again, steadying myself. He was gone. This is what it felt like-not remorse but a grim satisfaction, and this tension in the stomach. No going back. A constant tremor on the surface of your skin, alert, because all that mattered now was not getting caught.

Getting caught. My stomach lurched again and I found my shoulders shaking, my body heaving, not bringing anything up, just gasping for air. He wasn’t going to come late. I’d choked the life out of him, the last breath. How could it not be in my face, a red stain? My shoulders moved again. Somebody would see. I’d give everything away, out of control.

“Adam, whatever is the matter?” Bertie said to my back. “Are you all right?”

I tossed the cigarette and gripped the window frame, willing my shoulders to be still. Nothing escaped Bertie. I nodded, keeping my back to him.

“I just felt funny for a minute. Some air.” I drew some in, making a point.

“Funny?”

I looked down again at the men on the dock. The rain had let up. You could hear the music coming from the ballroom. It might be hours before anyone asked for his boat. One of the gondoliers passed a bottle, something to hold off the damp. No one knew.

I took another breath and forced my mouth into a smile so that it was in place when I turned. “Too much wine, probably.” Taking out a handkerchief to wipe my forehead, avoiding his eyes.

“Hm,” Bertie said, still staring. “You sure?” But when I nodded, he let it go. “Is that where you’ve been hiding, at the bar?”

“No, in plain sight,” I said, then stopped, disconcerted by his white shirtfront, almost a duplicate of Gianni’s. I smiled again. “Dancing.”

“By yourself.”

“No, Claudia’s here.”

“Ah,” he said flatly. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“And miss this?”

“I’ll have one of those,” he said, glancing back at the room while I got out another cigarette. “No, you wouldn’t want to miss this. Mimi’s had her ball, hasn’t she? I don’t suppose people will talk about anything else for months. Extravagant, my god. Even for Mimi. Celia de Betancourt’s here, did you see? She can’t get over it. And you know there’s no one richer than a South American. Forty of them own everything or something.”

“They’re lining up at the trough,” I said, gesturing to the food tables. Claudia seemed to have been swallowed up in a swarm of gowns. An old man with medals on his chest, an operetta figure, was pointing to chafing dishes as a waiter filled his plate.

“Well, the food,” Bertie said. “I don’t want to think where she got it all. Flown in, someone said. But it can’t be legal, not all this. Rosaries for days, that’s what it would cost me.”

“The Church doesn’t seem to mind,” I said, pointing with my cigarette to a heavyset priest filling his plate.

“Ah, Luca,” he said. “Well, the Church takes the world as it finds it.”

“I’ll say,” I said, watching him spoon cream sauce over his plate, then looked away, still not sure of my stomach.

“It’s only the next, you know, that concerns them. Poor Luca. It’s a weakness, all that hunger.”

“Maybe he should see real hunger. The kind in this world.”

“Adam, if you’re going to start, I’m leaving. Here, of all places? You can’t be serious. In your nice formal clothes. Eating Mimi’s caviar. Oh dear,” he said, catching a glimpse of the priest wolfing down a bulging mouthful, a comically greedy moment.

I made a sound, trying to laugh. “Who is he? One of your monsignors?”

“No, no, just a father now. A Maglione before.”

I turned. “A relative?”

“A cousin, I think. It’s impossible to keep track here. They branch and branch. Just assume everyone’s family and you’re safe. Why, do you want to meet him?”

“No, I was just curious. A priest in the family-”

“Ah, of course. And now yours. I hadn’t thought of that. I knew we’d get you a priest somehow. Well, if he is a cousin. Let’s ask Gianni.”

I shook my head. “He’s not here.”

“What do you mean?” he said, looking up sharply.

“He’s late.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nearly midnight. He’s not late.”

“Well, he hasn’t turned up. We asked the police to check-you know, if any accidents had been reported.”

“We who? Grace?”

I nodded. “She talked to Cavallini. He’s here.”

“Yes, the wife,” Bertie said, an absentminded response, dotting i ’s.

“He seems to think Gianni stopped off somewhere on the way. Got delayed somehow.”

“Stopped off? Where?”

“To see somebody. A lady friend. An old Venetian custom, according to Cavallini.”

Bertie stared at me. “Are you out of your mind? Do you think Gianni-”

“I don’t know, Bertie. But he’s not here.”

“Something’s wrong,” Bertie said, serious.

“Cavallini called the Questura. They checked the hospitals. Nothing.”

“And Grace is-?”

“Putting a good face on it. She doesn’t want to ruin Mimi’s party.”

“Oh, these ladies. And he’s probably lying in an alley somewhere.”

“Bertie, for god’s sake.”

“ Sick. Of course it would never occur to you. At my age, it’s the first thing you think of. Happen any time-just walking down the street. You feel a little queer and-” He gave a small shudder to finish the thought. “Well, you’d better get your mother home. She won’t keep putting a good face on it.”

“But we don’t know there’s anything wrong,” I said, hearing myself, genuine.

“Of course there’s something wrong.” He puffed on his cigarette, thinking. “Has there been any trouble between them?”

“Between who?”

“Gianni and your mother,” he said, stressing each word. “Don’t be dense.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, thrown by this, an unexpected idea.

“Well, it has happened before, you know. Cold feet at the altar. Still, not at the biggest party of the year. He simply wouldn’t. Ah, Luca.”

The heavy priest had lumbered over. There were introductions, the Maglione connection established, but I scarcely paid attention, jittery again, wondering if Bertie would notice. Then two more minutes of aimless chatter. “But where is Gianni?” Father Luca said, finally out of conversation. “I’ve been looking for him.”

“He was called to the hospital,” Bertie said quickly. “A shame, really. To miss a party like this.”

“Yes, very splendid. Such food. Not since the war.” Just the thought of it seemed to send him back to the table. “You’ll excuse me? I think a little coffee before I go.”

“Why did you say that?” I said to Bertie.

“What do you want people to say? If they start wondering, they won’t talk about anything else, and Mimi’ll never forgive her. Have some sense. Even so, you ought to take her home.”

“You act as if it’s some kind of scandal.”

“Not yet.”

“Anyway, I can’t. I’ve got to get Claudia home.”

He had another puff, brooding. “Lovely for her, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

“That he’s gone missing. Not exactly her favorite, was he?” He studied me. “You weren’t best fond, either.”

“Missing. You talk about him as if he were dead,” I said evenly. “He’s not dead.” My voice steady, not a waver.

“All right, all right, never mind. Here she comes.” He nodded toward Claudia, carrying a plate. “Looking pretty, I must say.” He peered at me over the tops of his glasses. “Calmer, I hope.”

“That’s all over.”

“Really,” he said, neutral. “And with everyone waiting for a rematch.” He was already reaching out for her free hand. “Claudia. So pretty.”

“Signor Howard,” she said, tentative, not trusting the smile. “You’ve just come?”

“Late, yes, I know. Mimi’s already scolded me. But I’m not the only one, I gather.”

“No,” Claudia said, looking directly at him. “How is it at the Accademia?”

Bertie ignored this, staring frankly at the necklace, not even pretending to hide his curiosity. “It’s wonderful. Wherever did you get that?” he said.

Claudia touched it. “Adam’s mother gave it to me.” She caught his raised eyebrow. “For the evening.”

“And rubies, no less. You can always tell.”

“Yes, it’s beautiful. It was so kind.”

“Well, it’s all in the family, isn’t it?” Bertie said, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray. He looked at me. “I’m glad to see everyone’s getting along so well. I’d better see what I can do about Grace. You two enjoy yourselves. I’ll get her home.” He lifted his hand in a little wave as he left.

“He thinks something’s wrong,” I said.

Claudia looked up from her plate, heaped with food. “What did he say?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t know anything. Just that something’s wrong.”

“Oh,” she said, putting the plate on the table.

“Not hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Eat something. You can’t put down a full plate. People will notice.”

She shook her head again and I picked up the plate and forked some veal.

“Why would he think that?”

“Why not? Something is wrong. He just doesn’t know what.” I was eating quickly now, almost gulping the food down, no longer nauseated, surprised to find that I was hungry.

“Did you see the way he looked at me? Someone from the back rooms. Not someone who wears necklaces.”

“He’s just jealous.”

“How can you laugh?”

“I don’t know.” I put the plate down. “I don’t know how I’m doing any of it.”

But suddenly it was easier. I felt another surge, warm and full of food, a primitive well-being, filling up with life again after hours of empty dread.

“All right, one more dance to show you off, then we’ll go.”

“Yes?” she said eagerly.

“If he’s not here by now, whatever happened must have already happened. While we were here.”

She looked at me, unsure, but followed me back to the ballroom. Bertie, near the door with my mother, was leaning over to talk quietly, presumably arranging to go. The floor had thinned out but was still lively.

“You know what he was thinking?” Claudia said, looking at Bertie. “ ‘What is she doing here? That type. Ha. Looking for a rich American.’ ”

“And you found one,” I said, smiling. That was safe now too, something I hadn’t thought about before, my mother protected. I glanced toward the door. She and Bertie were talking to Mimi, heading for the stairs. “That’s better,” I said. “You want them to see you smile.”

She looked away, then danced closer, putting her head next to mine, trembling again. “What kind of people are we? To smile now.”

“Don’t.”

“Now I’ve done everything. I thought before it was everything, but now there’s this too.”

I pulled back to face her. “Think what he was,” I said.

She didn’t say anything.

I had said one dance, but then it became two, another. My mother had disappeared, and with her any talk about Gianni. We drifted with the music. I could feel the heat of her through her dress. Maybe this is what happens after, I thought, every sense stronger than before, as if we’d taken some extra portion from the dead. Food, touch, just being alive. In Germany, after combat, the troops were ravenous. Rapes happened then. Relieved not to be dead, proving something.

Around us, the beautiful room spun by in slow circles. Claudia had put a hand behind my neck, pulling us close, so that everything smelled of her. We were no longer pretending, with one eye to the others.

When we left, the crush for coats and umbrellas had begun, so that we were lost again in the crowd. No one noticed us leave, no one looked at the time.

We avoided the boats and walked back through San Ivo, the way Gianni would have come earlier. The calles were nearly empty, just the occasional umbrella bumping into ours in the narrow passages. Claudia was quiet, leaning against me. When we reached San Polo, she stopped under an arch near the hotel.

“Here,” she said, reaching behind and unclasping the necklace. “Take it.”

“You don’t-”

“No, it’s hers. What if something happens? If I lose it.”

“If you lose it,” I said dubiously.

She held it in her hand, looking down at it. “So. No more Cinderella.”

“There’s no rush.”

She pushed the necklace into my hand. “Listen to me. We can’t do this. I knew when he looked at me, Signor Howard. Tomorrow everybody asks questions. The ball, that’s finished now. And who do they question? How do I explain all those things? That night, everybody saw me with him. My job, all those things. Where is he? And who’s the one to suspect? Me. The easy one. Who else? Even if they don’t find him.”

“Without a body they can’t-”

“What’s the difference? It’s still me. And then you.”

“Stop it,” I said, grabbing her. “Don’t talk like that. No one is going to suspect anything.”

Her eyes were darting. I put my hand to the side of her face, as if I could stop her thoughts by touching it.

“They’ll come for me.”

“They’re not going to come for you.”

“Yes, they will. They’ll come.” Her eyes were wide, staring at me.

“No. They can’t. They can never get you.”

“Yes.”

I put a finger to her lips. “Never. Don’t you see? You were with me.” I moved the finger slowly along her lip, then rested it on her cheek. “I’ll be your alibi.”

She started to shake her head, turning it into my hand, but I held my finger there so that her eyes couldn’t move away.

“And you’ll be mine,” I said. “We’ll be safe.”

She stared at me for a minute more, then lowered her head.

“They’ll come,” she said, barely audible.

I brushed my hand down her cheek. “No,” I said, as quiet as she had been. “No,” I said again, a murmur, then suddenly a door slammed, someone leaving the hotel, and she jumped, startled, and reached for me.

“Oh.” A muffled sound, no louder than the water dripping in the passage. She pulled me close to her, turning her face away from the light, holding on to my coat until we heard the footsteps grow fainter in the campo, heading off toward the Rialto.

“It’s no one,” I said, my mouth close to her ear, but she was holding me even tighter, her arms around me, then one hand behind my neck, bending me toward her, kissing my face in a kind of rush, tasting it.

“Oh, I don’t care,” she said, still kissing me, as if the slam of the door had been a shot and she were running away from the evening, from whatever was going to happen. “I don’t care.” Clutching me to her. I felt her breath and then my mouth was open too, moving down to her neck, excited, both of us panting, the promise at the end of the evening, everything finally letting go, feeling the flush in my face again.

“We can’t,” I said, my face in her hair.

“Stay with me,” she said, moving her neck so I could kiss it again.

“I have to know what’s going on there tonight.”

“No, stay,” she said, kissing me. “What we would do. That’s what you said.” She pulled me closer until I knew she could feel me against her, already hard. “A party. And then you didn’t come up?” Moving now, pressing into me.

“Is that what we would do?” I said, kissing her again.

“Yes,” she said, her hands on me, holding me. “Don’t you want to?”

All evening, every sense working up to it. Spurting blood. The bundled tarp splashing into the dark water. My mother’s dressing room, warm with powder. The white skin at the back of her neck.

“The hotel clerk will say we were together,” she said.

“Claudia-”

“I know, I know. How can we do this? After. And I still want to. I want to,” she said, her breath on my face again.

“I can’t stay all night,” I said, my voice sliding away, skidding. “I have to get back. We have to be careful.”

“Yes, careful. A little while then.” She pressed her face against my coat. “Before they come.”

“Nobody’s going to come.”

My mother was still up when I got back, coiled in a chair near the space heater, a full ashtray on her lap.

“You’re a sight,” she said, raising her eyebrows, as if she could see through the rumpled jacket, the loose collar, to the rest of me, still sticky.

I stood in the doorway to the sitting room, surprised to see Inspector Cavallini on the couch. At this hour his presence was beyond the call of any duty. Was he waiting for me, the body already found, questions raised?

“I thought someone should be here,” he said, answering whatever he saw in my face. “So Signora Miller would not be alone.” Courtly to women, a man who visited Maestre. A brandy snifter was on the table near the couch.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said. “Any news?”

“Nothing,” my mother said. “Something terrible’s happened.”

“Signora, we don’t know that,” he said gently.

“Of course it has. What else could it be? What’s awful is not to know.”

Cavallini looked at me with an open palm of resignation. “I’ve sent a man to Dr. Maglione’s house. He will call if-”

“He comes home? He won’t. Something’s happened,” my mother said.

“No word at the hospitals? Anywhere?”

“No. So a great mystery. But, let us hope, with a simple explanation. The best thing now would be to sleep,” he said, turning to my mother.

“Sleep,” she said. Her face was pale but not splotched with tears, just in retreat, her eyes distant, the way they had been after my father died, days of it, not crying, away by herself. “I don’t see what we’re waiting for. Why can’t you trace his movements? He left the house, we know that. For Mimi’s. Unless he forgot and came here.”

“No, I was here. Until we went to Mimi’s.”

“But darling, I called. There was no one here.”

Inspector Cavallini looked up from his brandy.

“Oh, that was you?” I said quickly. “Somebody called, but I didn’t answer.”

“Darling, you might have picked up. It rang and rang. I mean, even in the shower-”

“I was busy,” I said, my voice a little clipped, nervous.

But Inspector Cavallini took it for embarrassment, his eyes amused over the glass.

“Busy?” my mother said.

“Signorina Grassini was here as well, perhaps?” Cavallini said.

“Yes.”

“Well, I still don’t-oh, darling.” She stopped, flustered. “Really.”

“Getting ready for the ball,” Cavallini said, having fun with it.

“Yes. Anyway, he didn’t come here.”

“Well, he must have gone somewhere,” my mother said. “Somebody must have seen him. You have to ask.”

“Signora, at three in the morning who should I ask?” Cavallini said. “You understand, my hands are tied in this. What is there to investigate? We tell everyone to listen for the accidents, a sickness, but that’s all we can do. It is not a crime to miss a party. Even such a party.”

“What do I do?” my mother said. “Officially. Do I fill out a form?”

“Not tonight,” Cavallini said, putting his empty brandy glass on the table. “Tomorrow I will make more inquiries. So we see. And you, signora, please, some rest. If I need you to help me.”

“Help? How?”

“You are his fiancee, yes? So who knows him better?”

“Yes,” my mother said vaguely.

“Till tomorrow, then,” he said, taking my mother’s hand. “Make yourself easy.”

“Thank you. I’ve kept you so late.”

He made a small “it’s nothing” gesture.

“I’ll see you out,” I said, leading him to the stairs.

“You have some pills for her? To sleep? Tomorrow will not be pleasant.”

“What do you mean?” I said. We were walking down the stairs, then through the hallway where Gianni and I had fought. Without thinking, I glanced up at one of the sconces, as if it might be dripping blood, but everything was in shadow, kept dim by night-lights.

“She’s right. A man like that-why would he run away? He wouldn’t. So why is he missing?” He left it open, a question that answered itself.

“Let’s hope not,” I said, opening the door for him, reaching up to the old handle, then quickly dropping my hand, moving the raw knuckles behind me.

“Yes, we can hope. Meanwhile, some sleep, I think. You too.” He turned in the doorway. “The maid? She doesn’t answer the phone?”

My hand went farther back, as if it were moving on its own.

“Yes. Oh, you mean tonight. They all went to Mimi’s to help.”

“So you were alone in the house.”

“Well, not alone.”

“I meant you and Signorina Grassini.”

“Yes, why?”

“I’m sorry to ask before, in front of your mother. I know how it is. An opportunity, yes? How do you say, the mice play when the cat’s away?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, amused, then patted my arm. “To be such an age.”

I leaned against the door after I’d locked it, looking down the hall, my forehead sweaty. One slip was all it took. I needed to go through everything tomorrow with Claudia. Exact times. When she had left her hotel, how long it had taken to get here. The rest was safe, playing while the cat was away.

“You don’t have to wait up,” my mother said.

“He’s right, you know. There’s nothing we can do tonight. You should get some sleep.”

“I know. I just want to sit for a bit.” She was picking at her gown, the black velvet skirt now flecked with ash. “I’m frightened.”

“I know.”

“He could be hurt. Dead.”

“Yes.”

She looked up. “Well, that’s a change anyway. Cavallini-the man’s impossible. Every time I say something, he just tut-tuts and pours another brandy.”

“I said could be.”

“And now I’m supposed to help. How? I don’t know where Gianni goes, what he does. It’s funny, isn’t it? You know somebody, and then something like this happens and you don’t. I mean, I know him, who he is, but the details-” Her voice trailed off.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out the necklace, and handed it to her.

“Here. Before it gets lost.”

“Yes,” she said, looking at it. “You know, I never thought. What a night for a robbery. Everyone at Mimi’s. No one home. Perfect, wouldn’t it be?” She paused, her eyes still on the necklace. “You’re serious about this girl?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Not the best time to talk, is it? I can’t think about anything.”

“I know.”

“Of course, it doesn’t matter what I say, really.” She reached out her hand to cover mine. “You know that I’m always-”

I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “It can wait. Get some sleep, huh?”

“But, Adam, if it’s-I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You’ll be fine. You’re always fine.”

“I’m not always fine, you know,” she said, looking down at her lap. “Not always.”

I stood there for a minute, uneasy, not knowing what to say. Then she patted my hand. “Well, look at the time. Off to bed.”

“Do you want a pill?”

“No, I don’t want to miss anything,” she said, without irony.

“All right,” I said, flustered. “I’m going to have a bath.”

“Darling, you’ll wake the maids.”

“A short bath.” I leaned over to kiss her forehead again. “Don’t sit up too long.” As I left, I lifted my head toward her. “That’s some dress.”

A faint smile, acknowledging the gesture. “It was all right in the end, wasn’t it?”

“Mimi couldn’t take her eyes off it.”

She nodded, a wry grimace. “Hm. But I didn’t wear it for her.”

“No,” I said, meaning, “I know, I’m sorry,” whatever she wanted it to mean, more an embrace than a word.

There was enough hot water for a soak, and everything that had happened began to drain away as my head grew logy with steam. Every part of me ached with a different exhaustion-my shoulders from rowing and lugging the tarp, my legs from the party, my back just from being on edge. But it was going to be all right. My mother would be all right too, though she couldn’t know that now. I washed away sweat, whatever else my skin had picked up. Clean. While the cat was away. Who was to say otherwise?

I looked at my hands again. No rust. But I grabbed the brush anyway and ran it over my nails, pulling the skin back to get the bristles in under the rims. Back and forth, scouring, until they were pale. I sank against the tub, relieved. It was gone; I’d caught it in time. What else? I closed my eyes for a second, back in the dim light of the downstairs hall, seeing everything again, the brocade chair I’d used to pull myself up, the sconce where he’d hit his head, the smug face over the white shirtfront.

I sat up, eyes wide open. The smallest thing could give you away. I got out of the tub quickly and toweled off, and grabbed a robe. No time to dress. The maids would be asleep anyway. I went down and crossed through the piano nobile. No light was coming from the sitting room-my mother must have finally gone up. Down the main stairs, grateful for the carpeting, steps that didn’t creak.

The marble in the hall was cold on my bare feet. I walked over to the door of the room where I’d waited. Reconstructing. He’d had his cigarette here. But I’d already cleaned the ashtray. I’d backed him into the wall there-exactly which sconce? I took a handkerchief and wiped both, looking for any smears, flakes of blood. What if one of the maids came? Then he’d pushed me here. I walked slowly, trying to move with the fight in my head to the spot where he’d lost it, where the shirt stud had popped out. A tiny thing, not even thought of until the bath, but lying here somewhere, waiting to give us away.

I got down on my hands and knees and felt along the dark floor under one of the side tables. It might have rolled, might be anywhere. Every inch, if I had to. They’d know it was his. I patted the floor in front of me. If I turned on the lights, someone would get up, come down to investigate, and then I’d make up something else and someone would ask about that and-an endless spiral of detail, easy to slip up.

I moved my hand in front of me, barely touching the marble, hovering over it like a mine sweeper. The stud must have rolled until it hit the wall. I ran my hand along the edge of the room, then stopped, thinking I’d heard a sound upstairs. I held my breath for a minute, listening, but there was only the water lapping outside, the faint creaking of the boat pulling against its rope. Yes, we’d been near this end, the stud popping out of the shirt. Maybe with blood on it-even more damaging.

I kept feeling my way along the floor, carefully sweeping around the table legs, the crevices where it might hide forever, until they found it. And then there it was. Round, smooth metal, the gold warm even in the dim light. I snatched it and looked at it. The smallest thing. I went to put it in my pocket, then decided to keep it in my hand, to feel it until I could get rid of it in the deep water off the Zattere. Then everything would be all right again.

I put my left hand up to my forehead, surprised to find that I was sweating again, even with my feet cold on the floor. But my whole body was awake, and I knew then what it was going to be like, even when it was all right, a wariness that took over your life, what happened to animals, who either killed or became prey.