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Authors: Magdalen Nabb
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good morning if you meet her in the courtyard but her face is saying “how dare you set foot in this building”. You know we’re not allowed to use the lift?’
‘I heard not.’
‘But the rent is based on precisely that sort of thing, you know, whether there’s a lift and so on. She charges us for it but we don’t get keys to use it. She wouldn’t let us use the main entrance if there were another, you can be sure of that! They’re all alike, these people, keeping their old lifestyle going at the expense of the middle classes and looking down their noses at us at the same time. That’s the reason, of course. They’re dependent on us and that’s why they hate us, whereas creatures like that poisonous little gnome and their mad old nurse are dependent on them and so get treated well.’
‘You must be very unhappy living here,’ observed the Marshal.
‘Well, I’m looking for something else, yes.’ Dr Martelli’s face which had become flushed during her short diatribe paled again. Even so, her fingers which had been tapping on the polished arm of her chair continued their rhythmic movement. Her small hands were strong-looking, the nails short and neatly trimmed. For some reason he couldn’t explain, the Marshal felt convinced that as a child she had bitten them. She had, of course, made it clear that she was an anxious person. As gently as he could he persisted.
‘Can you tell me anything more about this commotion, this row? Can you actually hear what’s said from here?’
‘No, not at all. You can imagine how thick these walls and floors are. No, just that they were quarrelling—and when they stopped someone, I suppose it was him, went down in the lift. The lift’s the last thing I can remember hearing, so at that point I must have fallen asleep. It’s awful when you think about it, isn’t it? I heard someone in the last stages of desperation going down there to shoot himself and I turned over and fell asleep.’
‘But you didn’t know,’ the Marshal pointed out.
‘I know I didn’t know. It’s just ironic, that’s all. The way we can all live in such proximity but we might just as well be miles apart for all the help we are to each other. I didn’t know him very well but what bit I did know of him I liked. His eyes were sad . . . He looked as though he had a heart, do you know what I mean? And for a man with a heart to live with a woman like that . . .’
‘He married her,’ the Marshal said.
‘Well, people do marry people, don’t they? She’s a very beautiful woman, even now. Think what she must have been like twenty years ago. She’s also sexy, which is something else again. Men do like her. You must have met her.’
‘I . . . yes.’ All he could remember feeling was fear. He could hardly admit to that.
‘Then you know what I mean. Hugh fancies her, I’m convinced. Hugh Fido, the painter next door. She’s commissioned a portrait from him. Of course, being a man he doesn’t get treated as badly as I do, and the same probably goes for Emilio. Have you met Emilio? The pianist?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘And of course they’re artists, which might have something to do with her accepting . . . Anyway, Catherine and I probably get the worst treatment, though even Catherine’s been invited to tea once—I’ve just thought of something!’
‘Yes?’ The Marshal prepared to make a note.
‘No, no, sorry, nothing to do with all that. It’s amazing. I’d never have got it if it hadn’t been for talking to you. Do you know what it is? Hugh is her court painter, Emilio is her court musician, and Catherine—that’s Catherine Yorke who has a little studio flat on the courtyard—is a restorer and the Ulderighi woman has got her to work on the books that were damaged in the flood, books and documents, plans of the house and so on. Don’t you see?’
‘No . . . No, not really.’
‘You must see! She can ignore the fact that they pay rent and mentally fit them into her
‘I heard not.’
‘But the rent is based on precisely that sort of thing, you know, whether there’s a lift and so on. She charges us for it but we don’t get keys to use it. She wouldn’t let us use the main entrance if there were another, you can be sure of that! They’re all alike, these people, keeping their old lifestyle going at the expense of the middle classes and looking down their noses at us at the same time. That’s the reason, of course. They’re dependent on us and that’s why they hate us, whereas creatures like that poisonous little gnome and their mad old nurse are dependent on them and so get treated well.’
‘You must be very unhappy living here,’ observed the Marshal.
‘Well, I’m looking for something else, yes.’ Dr Martelli’s face which had become flushed during her short diatribe paled again. Even so, her fingers which had been tapping on the polished arm of her chair continued their rhythmic movement. Her small hands were strong-looking, the nails short and neatly trimmed. For some reason he couldn’t explain, the Marshal felt convinced that as a child she had bitten them. She had, of course, made it clear that she was an anxious person. As gently as he could he persisted.
‘Can you tell me anything more about this commotion, this row? Can you actually hear what’s said from here?’
‘No, not at all. You can imagine how thick these walls and floors are. No, just that they were quarrelling—and when they stopped someone, I suppose it was him, went down in the lift. The lift’s the last thing I can remember hearing, so at that point I must have fallen asleep. It’s awful when you think about it, isn’t it? I heard someone in the last stages of desperation going down there to shoot himself and I turned over and fell asleep.’
‘But you didn’t know,’ the Marshal pointed out.
‘I know I didn’t know. It’s just ironic, that’s all. The way we can all live in such proximity but we might just as well be miles apart for all the help we are to each other. I didn’t know him very well but what bit I did know of him I liked. His eyes were sad . . . He looked as though he had a heart, do you know what I mean? And for a man with a heart to live with a woman like that . . .’
‘He married her,’ the Marshal said.
‘Well, people do marry people, don’t they? She’s a very beautiful woman, even now. Think what she must have been like twenty years ago. She’s also sexy, which is something else again. Men do like her. You must have met her.’
‘I . . . yes.’ All he could remember feeling was fear. He could hardly admit to that.
‘Then you know what I mean. Hugh fancies her, I’m convinced. Hugh Fido, the painter next door. She’s commissioned a portrait from him. Of course, being a man he doesn’t get treated as badly as I do, and the same probably goes for Emilio. Have you met Emilio? The pianist?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘And of course they’re artists, which might have something to do with her accepting . . . Anyway, Catherine and I probably get the worst treatment, though even Catherine’s been invited to tea once—I’ve just thought of something!’
‘Yes?’ The Marshal prepared to make a note.
‘No, no, sorry, nothing to do with all that. It’s amazing. I’d never have got it if it hadn’t been for talking to you. Do you know what it is? Hugh is her court painter, Emilio is her court musician, and Catherine—that’s Catherine Yorke who has a little studio flat on the courtyard—is a restorer and the Ulderighi woman has got her to work on the books that were damaged in the flood, books and documents, plans of the house and so on. Don’t you see?’
‘No . . . No, not really.’
‘You must see! She can ignore the fact that they pay rent and mentally fit them into her
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