and thirteen minutes, but shortly after half past ten its time was up and they all filed back into the other room.
But despite the slightly more relaxed atmosphere, the situation remained blocked. There was continued speculation about what could have happened to Valesio, whose thoughtlessness in not ringing to apologize and explain was agreed to be typical. The origins of the problem were traced back to his mother, a Swede who had fallen in love first with Perugia and then with a Perugian, and who as a foreigner could not be expected to know how to bring up her son properly. But Zen was beginning to suspect that Crepi had been outmanoeuvred, that Valesio was staying away deliberately under orders from the Milettis in order to prevent any discussion of the kidnapping. So why didn’t they all go, for God’s sake? The farce had been played out to the bitter end and there was nothing to stop them making a graceful exit. The fact remained that no one appeared to have the slightest intention of doing anything of the kind.
At last the sound of a motor was heard outside, and everyone perked up.
‘Ah, finally!’ cried Cinzia. ‘He’s impossible, you know, really impossible, and yet such a nice person really. My mother always told me whatever I did never to marry a lawyer. He’ll be late for his own funeral, she used to say, and I must say Gianluigi for all his faults is always on time.’
This paragon of punctuality exchanged a glance with Silvio.
‘That’s a motorcycle engine,’ he remarked.
Crepi got up and walked over to the window.
‘Well?’ Cinzia demanded. ‘Who is it?’
‘There’s nobody there.’
‘Exactly, there’s nobody here!’ a new voice exclaimed.
Six heads turned in unison towards the other end of the room, where the door had opened a crack.
‘Or rather I’m here,’ the voice continued. ‘It comes to the same thing, doesn’t it?’
‘Stop playing the fool, Daniele!’ cried Cinzia sharply. ‘You know what my nerves are like. What must you think of us, dottore? You must forgive him, he’s a good boy really. It’s my mother’s fault, God rest her. A good woman, a wonderfully warm person, but she hadn’t read Freud of course. I shudder to think how she must have toilet-trained us all.’
The door swung open, but Daniele remained standing on the threshold. He was tall and shared his sister’s good looks, which were set off by about a million lire’s worth of casually elegant clothing: Timberland shoes, tweed slacks, a lambswool sweater and a Montclair skiing jacket.
‘What are you doing?’ exclaimed Silvio in a tone of sullen irritation. ‘Come in and close the door!’
A contrived look of surprise and puzzlement appeared on Daniele’s handsome features.
‘What do you think I am, some kind of gatecrasher? Someone who just barges into parties he hasn’t been invited to? I wasn’t brought up on a farm, you know.’
Antonio Crepi gestured impatiently.
‘Oh, come along, Daniele! We haven’t got time for this kind of thing. You know very well that I invited the whole family. If you couldn’t be bothered to come that’s your business, but don’t waste our time with these childish scenes.’
‘Oh, the whole family, eh? That’s not what I was told.’
He came in and closed the door, staring pointedly at Silvio.
‘If you’re so fussy about your manners suddenly, then you might at least greet Antonio’s guest,’ chirped Cinzia. ‘This is Commissioner Zen, who’s come up specially from Rome to help save father. He’s from Venice, lucky man. What a beautiful city! I’m just crazy about Venice.’
Daniele swung around and peered at Zen’s feet with comically exaggerated interest. He frowned.
‘That’s odd. I’ve always been told that the policemen in Venice have one wet shoe. You know, because when they’ve finished their cigarettes they throw them in the canal and …’
He mimed someone stubbing out a cigarette with his foot and started to laugh
But despite the slightly more relaxed atmosphere, the situation remained blocked. There was continued speculation about what could have happened to Valesio, whose thoughtlessness in not ringing to apologize and explain was agreed to be typical. The origins of the problem were traced back to his mother, a Swede who had fallen in love first with Perugia and then with a Perugian, and who as a foreigner could not be expected to know how to bring up her son properly. But Zen was beginning to suspect that Crepi had been outmanoeuvred, that Valesio was staying away deliberately under orders from the Milettis in order to prevent any discussion of the kidnapping. So why didn’t they all go, for God’s sake? The farce had been played out to the bitter end and there was nothing to stop them making a graceful exit. The fact remained that no one appeared to have the slightest intention of doing anything of the kind.
At last the sound of a motor was heard outside, and everyone perked up.
‘Ah, finally!’ cried Cinzia. ‘He’s impossible, you know, really impossible, and yet such a nice person really. My mother always told me whatever I did never to marry a lawyer. He’ll be late for his own funeral, she used to say, and I must say Gianluigi for all his faults is always on time.’
This paragon of punctuality exchanged a glance with Silvio.
‘That’s a motorcycle engine,’ he remarked.
Crepi got up and walked over to the window.
‘Well?’ Cinzia demanded. ‘Who is it?’
‘There’s nobody there.’
‘Exactly, there’s nobody here!’ a new voice exclaimed.
Six heads turned in unison towards the other end of the room, where the door had opened a crack.
‘Or rather I’m here,’ the voice continued. ‘It comes to the same thing, doesn’t it?’
‘Stop playing the fool, Daniele!’ cried Cinzia sharply. ‘You know what my nerves are like. What must you think of us, dottore? You must forgive him, he’s a good boy really. It’s my mother’s fault, God rest her. A good woman, a wonderfully warm person, but she hadn’t read Freud of course. I shudder to think how she must have toilet-trained us all.’
The door swung open, but Daniele remained standing on the threshold. He was tall and shared his sister’s good looks, which were set off by about a million lire’s worth of casually elegant clothing: Timberland shoes, tweed slacks, a lambswool sweater and a Montclair skiing jacket.
‘What are you doing?’ exclaimed Silvio in a tone of sullen irritation. ‘Come in and close the door!’
A contrived look of surprise and puzzlement appeared on Daniele’s handsome features.
‘What do you think I am, some kind of gatecrasher? Someone who just barges into parties he hasn’t been invited to? I wasn’t brought up on a farm, you know.’
Antonio Crepi gestured impatiently.
‘Oh, come along, Daniele! We haven’t got time for this kind of thing. You know very well that I invited the whole family. If you couldn’t be bothered to come that’s your business, but don’t waste our time with these childish scenes.’
‘Oh, the whole family, eh? That’s not what I was told.’
He came in and closed the door, staring pointedly at Silvio.
‘If you’re so fussy about your manners suddenly, then you might at least greet Antonio’s guest,’ chirped Cinzia. ‘This is Commissioner Zen, who’s come up specially from Rome to help save father. He’s from Venice, lucky man. What a beautiful city! I’m just crazy about Venice.’
Daniele swung around and peered at Zen’s feet with comically exaggerated interest. He frowned.
‘That’s odd. I’ve always been told that the policemen in Venice have one wet shoe. You know, because when they’ve finished their cigarettes they throw them in the canal and …’
He mimed someone stubbing out a cigarette with his foot and started to laugh
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