Wilful Behaviour by Donna Leon Page A

about liking something , a colour or a food or something like that. Not a specific thing like a book or a movie or an actor, just something general; now that I think about it, it might have been a colour, and she said something like, “My mother likes…” and then she said the name of the colour, whatever it was, perhaps blue. I really don’t remember, but I know I thought at the time how strange it was that she spoke of her as though she were still alive.’
    ‘Did you ask her about it?’
    ‘Oh, no. Claudia wasn’t the sort of girl you could ask. If she wanted you to know something, she’d tell you. Otherwise, she spoke of other things or just ignored the question.’
    ‘Did that offend you?’ Vianello asked.
    ‘Perhaps at first, but then I realized what she was like and that there was nothing I could do about it. Besides, I liked her so much it didn’t matter, didn’t matter at all.’ Signora Gallante picked up her cup and held it to her mouth, lowering her face as if to drink from it, but then the tears got the better of her and she had to put the cup down and reach for a handkerchief. ‘I don’t think I want to talk about this any more, gentlemen.’
    ‘Of course, Signora,’ Brunetti said, finishing his tea, which had grown cold while they talked. ‘I’ll just see if the doctor’s finished and have a word with Lucia if that’s possible.’
    Signora Gallante clearly disapproved of this, but she said nothing and busied herself with wiping away her tears.
    Brunetti went to the door of the bedroom and knocked , then knocked again. After a time, the door was opened by the doctor, who put his head out and asked, ‘Yes?’
    ‘I’d like to speak to Signorina Mazzotti, Dottore, if that’s possible.’
    ‘I’ll ask her,’ the doctor said and closed the door in Brunetti’s face. After a few minutes he pulled the door open and his head appeared again. ‘She doesn’t want to talk to anyone.’
    ‘Dottore, would you explain to her that what we want to do is find the person who killed her friend. I know Signorina Mazzotti’s parents are on their way from Milano to take her home, and as soon as that happens it will be very difficult to speak to her.’ Brunetti didn’t mention the fact that he had the legal right to forbid her to leave the city. Instead, he added, ‘We’d be very grateful if she’d agree to talk to us now. It would help us a great deal.’
    The doctor nodded his understanding and, Brunetti thought, his sympathy and closed the door again.
    When, at least five minutes later, the doctor opened the door again, Lucia Mazzotti stood behind him. She was taller and thinner than he’d thought and now, seeing her full face, he saw just how pretty she was. The doctor held the door for her and she stepped out into the corridor. Brunetti led her into the sitting room and waited while she took a seat on a straight-backed chair. ‘Would you like the doctor to stay here while we talk, Signorina?’ he asked.
    She nodded, then said yes in a very soft voice.
    The doctor sat on the edge of a sofa. He set his bag on the floor at his feet and leaned back, silent and still.
    Brunetti took another straight-backed chair and placed it about a metre from Lucia’s chair, careful to arrange it so that she remained in shadow and his face in the light that came in from the window behind her. He wanted to create as much of an atmosphere of openness as he could between them to relax her into speaking easily. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. She had the green eyes so common to redheads, red-rimmed now from crying.
    ‘I want to tell you how very sorry I am about this, Signorina,’ he began. ‘Signora Gallante has been telling us what a sweet girl Claudia was. I’m sure it’s very painful for you to lose such a good friend.’
    Lucia bowed her head and nodded.
    ‘Could you tell me a little bit about your friendship? How long have you shared the apartment?’
    The girl’s voice was soft,