Dead Lagoon - 4 by Michael Dibdin Page A

the evening. But we’ve got to think about the future. We can’t go on in the way we have been, and my apartment isn’t large enough for all of us to share, so unless we get some money from somewhere …’
    He broke off and listened, sighing.
    ‘I’m not angry! But quite frankly I’ve got enough problems as it is without having you phoning me up to nag me because I don’t sound sufficiently sorry about not being there. Understand? Under the circumstances, I think you could show a little more consideration.’
    He held the receiver away from his ear. It continued to emit angry squawks. He set it down on the table and walked back to the window. Cristiana Morosini had disappeared. He walked back to the table and picked up the phone, but the vocal ostinato had been replaced by a steady electronic humming.
    Replacing the receiver, he walked through to the kitchen and opened the window there. The increased flow of air immediately cancelled all the existing currents, scouring out a new deep channel from one window to the other. Zen leant on the windowsill and gazed morosely down at the darkly mobile surface of the water in the canal below. He had completely failed to strike the right note with Tania. She had wanted to be reassured, to be soothed and wooed, and he hadn’t been able to do it. It was like a language he had once learned, but had forgotten.
    Similar episodes had occurred before, but never when they were apart. Until now, separation had always brought out the best in them, and when they were together such failures were quickly forgotten. But now they were apart, a conversation such as the one they had just had became emblematic of more general shortcomings, problems and inadequacies in the relationship as a whole. Judging by Tania’s manner, she felt that there was no shortage of these.
    He let his spent cigarette drop into the canal. The tide was high again, just as it had been when he had looked out from the bedroom on the morning of his arrival. He closed the window and walked back to the living room, where he picked up the plastic shopping bag. He eyed the phone briefly. It wasn’t too late to call Tania back and apologize, to talk the whole thing through and …
    He turned away and carried the shopping through to the kitchen, where he arranged the items artistically on the bare shelves. It was too late. He felt divided from Tania by infinitely more than the actual distance between them. It was as if she were on the other side of the world, or even some other world.
    He stood back, admiring his work. It might not be the home beautiful, but at least he could have a cup of coffee in the morning. As for the evening looming up before him, big, blank and empty, that was a much less alluring prospect. He would have to find somewhere to have dinner, for a start. The prospect of eating alone in some dreary, over-priced trattoria did not appeal. When he spoke to Tania, he had deliberately exploited the draw-backs of his situation for dramatic effect, but the fact remained that in many ways it was not enviable. Despite this, he hadn’t the slightest desire to be anywhere else, least of all back in Rome.
    As though in response to this thought, the phone began to ring again. For a moment he toyed with the idea of not answering. The last thing he wanted was to have to resume the laborious task of trying to communicate meaningfully with Tania. He had nothing whatever to say to her. But it would only make matters worse in the long run to hide there, pretending not to be home. Heaving a deep sigh, he walked through to the living room and picked up the receiver.
    ‘Aurelio Battista, is that you?’
    ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘Oh thank God you’re there! I’ve rung twice already but there was no reply. I think I’d have gone mad if you hadn’t answered this time!’
    ‘ Contessa ?’
    ‘They’re here! It’s worse than ever! They’ve got knives! For God’s sake come quickly!’

    By the time he turns up, of course,