It felt wrong and only made me more sure he was keeping something back.
I walked round the back of the Biondi villa to number 67 on the street behind. I found a buzzer with Biondi-Malaguzzi on it and held it down.
‘Chi è?’ asked an uncertain male voice.
‘Castagnetti. I’m looking for Chiara.’
I heard him summon Chiara to the intercom. ‘Sì?’
‘Chiara? It’s Castagnetti. The private detective hired by your parents.’
‘Yes?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Now?’
I told her it was important and she buzzed me in. ‘Fifth floor,’ she said.
I took the lift there and she was standing in the doorway in an apron. The smell of the evening’s dinner was still in the air.
‘Any news?’
‘Some. Most of it unexpected.’
‘Like?’
‘Can we talk in private?’
She put her hands behind her back to untie the cords and pulled the apron over her head. She put it on a hook on the back of the kitchen door and introduced me to her husband, a tidy sort of man who had a dishcloth in his hand and was putting away the plates. She led me through a sitting room where two young boys were watching television and into a small office. Her fingers, nails varnished, held the door open for me, before shutting it behind us. It felt like an admission that there were secrets to spill.
She spun the office chair round and sat down, crossing her elegant legs. I sat in the red armchair opposite her.
‘You used to work for Tony Vespa at the Di Angelo studios.’
Her face was rigid. ‘I thought you were looking for Simona.’
‘I am. And the search has led me here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Vespa tells me you quit working for him and for the studio. He told me you dropped out of the game.’ I paused to let her finish the story, but the secret was so buried she seemed unable to say it.
She was staring at the bookshelf behind me, her head tilted back like she was scared of the way the past was rushing back towards her. She took deep breaths, her chest rising and falling as she sighed loudly.
‘It was so long ago.’ Her eyes were glazed over as if she were about to fall asleep. ‘We didn’t even understand what was going on.’
‘We?’
‘Anna and me.’
‘Anna Sartori?’
‘Right.’
‘How did you know her?’
‘She showed up here one day. Not here, at my parents. She was the daughter of a friend of my father’s from the countryside. She came to see us as she’d moved to Rome and didn’t have many friends. We immediately became close. She was like the older sister I’d never had. She was wild, a real hell raiser, and I just got taken along for the ride.’ She was still focused on one spot of the wall behind me and as she spoke she stared at it as if it were a window on the past. ‘Anna and I would go out to parties that went on until midday the following day. The sort of parties where there was everything. Amazing food, a pool, endless drinks, any stimulants you needed, if you know what I mean. It was like everything was allowed. It was another world. I had only just left school. I don’t think I had ever had more than a sip of wine in my life, and suddenly I was at these parties where people were . . .’ She shook her head.
‘What?’
She shrugged. ‘When you’re young, you think there are certain things you’ll never do. But then you start making little compromises, giving in to tiny temptations, until you’re doing all the things you thought you were going to avoid. The whole process is imperceptible. You just get used to being around rich, older men who are charming and generous. You get used to seeing people doing drugs, to going to parties where anything goes, you get used to being tipsy, to swimming naked with strangers, to being touched at sunrise when you’re too tired or wired to object.’
She suddenly turned her gaze on me, like she was anticipating criticism. She still looked so young it was hard to think it must have been twenty years ago.
‘I was so
I walked round the back of the Biondi villa to number 67 on the street behind. I found a buzzer with Biondi-Malaguzzi on it and held it down.
‘Chi è?’ asked an uncertain male voice.
‘Castagnetti. I’m looking for Chiara.’
I heard him summon Chiara to the intercom. ‘Sì?’
‘Chiara? It’s Castagnetti. The private detective hired by your parents.’
‘Yes?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Now?’
I told her it was important and she buzzed me in. ‘Fifth floor,’ she said.
I took the lift there and she was standing in the doorway in an apron. The smell of the evening’s dinner was still in the air.
‘Any news?’
‘Some. Most of it unexpected.’
‘Like?’
‘Can we talk in private?’
She put her hands behind her back to untie the cords and pulled the apron over her head. She put it on a hook on the back of the kitchen door and introduced me to her husband, a tidy sort of man who had a dishcloth in his hand and was putting away the plates. She led me through a sitting room where two young boys were watching television and into a small office. Her fingers, nails varnished, held the door open for me, before shutting it behind us. It felt like an admission that there were secrets to spill.
She spun the office chair round and sat down, crossing her elegant legs. I sat in the red armchair opposite her.
‘You used to work for Tony Vespa at the Di Angelo studios.’
Her face was rigid. ‘I thought you were looking for Simona.’
‘I am. And the search has led me here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Vespa tells me you quit working for him and for the studio. He told me you dropped out of the game.’ I paused to let her finish the story, but the secret was so buried she seemed unable to say it.
She was staring at the bookshelf behind me, her head tilted back like she was scared of the way the past was rushing back towards her. She took deep breaths, her chest rising and falling as she sighed loudly.
‘It was so long ago.’ Her eyes were glazed over as if she were about to fall asleep. ‘We didn’t even understand what was going on.’
‘We?’
‘Anna and me.’
‘Anna Sartori?’
‘Right.’
‘How did you know her?’
‘She showed up here one day. Not here, at my parents. She was the daughter of a friend of my father’s from the countryside. She came to see us as she’d moved to Rome and didn’t have many friends. We immediately became close. She was like the older sister I’d never had. She was wild, a real hell raiser, and I just got taken along for the ride.’ She was still focused on one spot of the wall behind me and as she spoke she stared at it as if it were a window on the past. ‘Anna and I would go out to parties that went on until midday the following day. The sort of parties where there was everything. Amazing food, a pool, endless drinks, any stimulants you needed, if you know what I mean. It was like everything was allowed. It was another world. I had only just left school. I don’t think I had ever had more than a sip of wine in my life, and suddenly I was at these parties where people were . . .’ She shook her head.
‘What?’
She shrugged. ‘When you’re young, you think there are certain things you’ll never do. But then you start making little compromises, giving in to tiny temptations, until you’re doing all the things you thought you were going to avoid. The whole process is imperceptible. You just get used to being around rich, older men who are charming and generous. You get used to seeing people doing drugs, to going to parties where anything goes, you get used to being tipsy, to swimming naked with strangers, to being touched at sunrise when you’re too tired or wired to object.’
She suddenly turned her gaze on me, like she was anticipating criticism. She still looked so young it was hard to think it must have been twenty years ago.
‘I was so
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