Juggling the Stars by Tim Parks Page B

morning that I discovered what had happened.’ Say he’d stayed in a hotel and they’d check up immediately. He’d found a review of yesterday’s
Madame Butterfly
at La Scala, so he was quite ready there.
    Signora Trevisan watched him attentively from a face grey with worry.
    â€˜Go and make us coffee,’ she said quickly to Paola. Her eyes were bulging and red. ‘Oh God, I was so hoping she’d run away with you or something stupid like that.’
    â€˜I’m afraid not,’ Morris said politely and tried a faint smile. But she turned away. Explanation over - she had no time for him of course. He was only ‘something stupid’, a harmless hypothesis that sadly had to be jettisoned.
    â€˜You’re saying you haven’t seen her at all then?’ Bobo asked curtly.
    This was more difficult. Morris turned and found the scrawny lad’s face a mask of severity. He was getting off on playing family protector, naturally, in the absence of other menfolk.
    'That’s correct,’ Morris said, taking the plunge. ‘Not since I came to dinner here, in fact.’ If only the damn girl hadn’t left the house in that stupid tracksuit he wouldn’t have to worry about this at all. Only a halfwit ran away in a red tracksuit. He felt quite angry with her.
    Bobo was exchanging glances with the mother when the telephone rang and Morris was so tense now he started in nervous surprise, a twitch of all his right arm and shoulder. If Massimina …
    It was Antonella to ask somebody to come and take her place at the hospital. She couldn’t stand it any more.
    â€˜How is the old lady?’ Morris asked Bobo in a low, respectful voice.
    â€˜ln coma,’ he said with relished grimness. “Dying.’
    'I'm sorry,’ Morris said (if he’d had a hat he’d have been holding it in his hand - he could see it now). ‘All these things coming together one on top of the other,’ he commiserated as Signora Trevisan put down the phone. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
    The woman looked about to burst into tears and dispatched Paola at once to take over from Antonella. All at once, seeing those damp eyes, Morris felt genuinely sympathetic. Still, if only they’d let him court the girl in a regular conservative fashion, none of this would ever have happened.
    Inspector Marangoni was bulky and somewhat aggressive. Having been obliged to drive out of Quinzano under a blazing sun, he was obviously determined not to show any excessive deference to the Trevisan family, however miserable their plight might be. He sat down hard in the inevitable straight-backed chair and addressed himself exclusively to Morris. Beside him sat his assistant, small and slim; a dry, expressionless, olive face with quick eyes. Morris was pleased to notice they were both sweating quite as much as he was.
    â€˜Parla italiano, Signare, capisce tutto ?’ The others watched.
    â€˜He really speaks very well,’ Signora Trevisan began.
    â€˜Please allow me to carry out the questioning alone. Signora. To satisfy regulations I must have the answers from the young man’s own lips.’
    Morris smiled, deferential and indulgent together. ‘I speak fairly well. If there’s anything I don’t understand, I will say.’
    â€˜You have some kind of documents identity card?’
    Morris felt inside his leather case and produced his passport. ‘Her Britannic Majesty … requests …’ Most decent of her.
    â€˜Permesso di soggiorno
in Verona?’
    Tm afraid I don’t have it with me at the moment.’
    â€˜It’s not important.‘ The inspector paused, staring directly into Morris’s eyes. ‘So, you had some kind of relationship with the missing girl?’
    â€˜I wanted to have. Her mother forbade us to see each other.’
    Signora Trevisan opened her mouth to objects but the inspector hurried on.
    â€˜You never