‘Of course.’
She picked up the receiver and dialled.
‘Mamma? I’m over at Wanda’s. She says that Lisa Rosteghin heard from Gabriella that Ada Zulian has had some sort of fit in the street right outside Trevisan’s place. Have you heard anything about it? No? Well, listen, could you phone Daniele and find out? We can’t, you see, because he’d want to know how we found out and then it might come out about Gabriella and Beppo Raffin, the kid who lives across the street, whereas you could make out you heard from Signora Vian…’
She paused, gazing vaguely into indeterminate space.
‘No, don’t call us. We’re… we’re not actually at Wanda’s. We went out. I’ll phone back in a few minutes. Okay? Ciao.’
She turned back to Zen and sipped her wine.
‘And your freedom?’ he asked.
She laughed.
‘That was just an excuse to open some bubbly. Do you know what my bastard husband has done? Flown to Rome with that bitch Populin! He’s got a cover story — some televised debate on the break-up of Italy — but basically we’re talking dirty weekend.’
She touched Zen’s hand.
‘Have you got a cigarette?’
He dug out his battered pack of Nazionali. It had a rumpled, collapsed look. Zen squeezed the sides experimentally.
‘Precisely one,’ he said, shaking the remaining cigarette free.
‘Oh, I won’t take it if it’s your last.’
He removed the cigarette from the packet and placed the tip against her lips.
‘Let’s share,’ he said.
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t been trying so hard to act the good little wife for the benefit of the press,’ Cristiana went on, inhaling deeply.
Zen squeezed her hand sympathetically.
‘Quite apart from that,’ he murmured, ‘it might not be such a bad idea to keep a certain distance from Dal Maschio.’
Cristiana passed him the cigarette.
‘You mean he’s in some sort of trouble?’
He put the tip, damp from her saliva, into his mouth.
‘Would that bother you?’
She glanced at her watch.
‘I’d better see what Mamma has found out before she gets impatient, tries Wanda’s number and discovers that she hasn’t seen me since yesterday.’
Rosalba Morosini had evidently found out quite a lot, and proceeded to give her daughter a lengthy account which Cristiana subsequently passed on to Zen in abridged form.
‘Ada’s all right. They were about to call a doctor when she came out of it. The nephews tried to get her to lodge a complaint, but Daniele refused to testify against you.’
‘Good for him.’
Cristiana stared at him.
‘Do you really know what became of the little girl?’
Zen handed her back the cigarette.
‘No more than I know what became of my father.’
She crushed out the cigarette and poured them more wine.
‘And Nando?’
Zen tried to shrug it off.
‘Oh, I expect I’m just jealous, that’s all.’
She looked at him acutely.
‘That’s not all.’
He looked away.
‘Not quite all, perhaps.’
She took his hand between hers and carried it to the upper slope of her breast. They looked at each other.
‘This is strictly confidential, of course,’ he began.
‘Of course.’
Somewhere in the distance, a ship’s hooter sounded a long, mournful note.
‘There is no evidence against Dal Maschio himself,’ Zen murmured, moving his hand slightly. ‘But some of his associates appear to be implicated in a number of investigations currently proceeding…’
He broke off.
‘I sound like a policeman,’ he said.
‘You are a policeman.’
‘I don’t want to be. Not now.’