Part 13 (1/2)

It was when Leone's name began to pepper Felix's anecdotes and observations, when there was evidence of his visits a book on philosophy or a cake made by nuns that she found her jealousy inexplicably mounting. Once, her return home had interrupted the two of them in pa.s.sionate discourse that floundered at the sight of her into awkward silence. Leone had been wearing an open neck s.h.i.+rt she could see the throb of his throat; his hand had been resting on Felix's knee. He'd left soon afterwards sheepishly, in Gina's over-active imagination. Glancing into Felix's room she was sure she could see the sheets disarranged. She hadn't been able to keep her suspicions to herself.

'You're f.u.c.king him, aren't you?'

'For G.o.d's sake, Eugenie, he's a priest.'

Felix only used her full name when he was annoyed with her, but she didn't care. 'When did that ever stop them?'

'There are other kinds of relations.h.i.+p, you know. Besides, where am I going to find the energy?'

And that was the irony. Gina wouldn't have minded if Leone had been his s.e.xual partner, but she was supposed to be Felix's soulmate, his closest companion. No one else. 'You're not even a Catholic.'

'Is that what's bothering you? Don't worry, he's not trying to convert me. We do talk about spiritual things, it's true, in a way you couldn't with a lay person. But mostly we discuss what's going to happen to those boys; there's a constant stream and he can't see the end of it.'

'That doesn't explain why he's around so much, like he's got a hold over you, persuading you to give all your stuff away.'

'You've got completely the wrong end of the stick. Have you ever thought about why he's stuck in that parish? Why he runs all those activities the Vatican doesn't really approve of, however Christian they might be? Because they're never going to advance him anyway. He blotted his copybook years ago. Like me, he wants to make his peace with G.o.d.'

She hated it when he became sanctimonious. Her Felix, long-time mentor and confidante, was refres.h.i.+ngly sharp and sceptical. 'Well, I can tell he doesn't think much of me.'

'You are so paranoid.'

'He thinks I'm bad for you,' Gina complained.

'Does anyone really give a monkey's, at this point in time, about what's good for me?'

She had left it at that. She didn't want to row with him; she didn't want him to see the shallow resentful side of her (although he knew it well enough) and Leone had continued to visit. They'd both agreed he wouldn't fit in with the other wedding guests (or be interested in attending), yet now here he was, ringing the bell for the second time, knowing they had to be at home.

Gina crossed into the hallway and pressed the intercom. She left the front door to the apartment ajar and went over to the kitchen counter. She packed coffee grounds into the basket of an espresso pot and set it stuttering on the hob. Then she chopped peaches and bananas into the goblet of a liquidiser and added a stream of milk to the churning fruit. As the frullata foamed and settled, the visitor pushed the door shut behind him.

The Lion King was wearing a grey suit; he took off his hat, ran his hand over his balding scalp, polished his gla.s.ses. Apart from his clerical collar, his appearance was un.o.btrusive, discreet: a low-grade functionary, someone who had no wish to stand out. His skirts, as Felix called them, turned him into a different person altogether, a man of power and charisma, but they were inconvenient on a bicycle.

He held out a small parcel. 'Forgive me for disturbing you so early,' he said. 'I've brought some more CDs for Felix. There's a recent recording of Aida from La Scala and...' When Gina didn't take it from him, he put the packet down on top of the bookcase. 'How is he today?'

'Hard to tell, he's only just woken up. Not too bad, I think.'

'And how are you?'

'Me?'

'Yes.'

'Well, I'm on top of the world, aren't I? It's my wedding day. Or had you forgotten?'

'I hadn't forgotten.' He smiled, acknowledging their edgy relations.h.i.+p.

She couldn't resist baiting him. 'But you thought you'd make a last ditch appeal to my n.o.ble nature? Call a halt.'

'The Church regards marriage as a sacrament,' he said mildly.

Gina, suddenly aware the s.h.i.+rt she'd been sleeping in was ripped and stained, felt s.l.u.ttish and dirty. 'Here,' she said, pouring a coffee and handing it to him. 'Take this.'

He poised the cup on his palm. 'I don't condemn...' he began.

She was already backing into her bedroom. 'I need to get my dressing-gown. I won't be a minute.'

When she returned in a pink silk wrap, brus.h.i.+ng her hair loose from the band that had held it, he was roaming the walls walls which had once displayed three pictures deep and a dozen across. The white s.p.a.ces left behind were framed in a darker, dingier shade of emulsion.

'See how many he's sold off already! It's not like I'm his only beneficiary.' She filled a second cup and clasped it with both hands, looking down into the black swirl of the coffee. She thought about spiking it with a dose of grappa to make caffe corretto, but it was a little too early, even for her. 'And that closet in the hallway that used to be full, you know, of Armani, Versace, whatever, is practically empty.'

Father Leone observed, 'He's a very generous person.'

'Exactly! You've done well out of him too.' Gina's reflection bounced back at her from the priest's lenses. She couldn't make out his expression. There was no sound or movement from Felix's room. 'I'm not holding a gun to his head, you know. As if I cared about any of this stuff!'

'You will acquire it, however,' he reminded her. 'Also the lease of the apartment.'

'Are you blackmailing me, Father?'

He spread his hands a common enough gesture, but unusually flamboyant for him.

Gina pressed the heel of her palm against her temple as if it were the only way to stop her head exploding. Then she said, 'He booked his plot last week, you know.'

He looked puzzled at the change of subject. 'I'm sorry?'

'The same day we went to choose my ring, which I paid for myself, by the way, with my own money. It's in the Protestant Cemetery, his plot I mean, along with Keats.' She sat on the worn velvet of the chaise longue, pulling up her legs so her chin was resting on her knees. 'Do you know what happened after his funeral?'

'Keats'?'

'Felix told me. Apparently he had to be buried before daybreak that was the law for non-Catholics. Outside the city walls too. And then by the time his friend, Severn, got back to the lodgings they'd shared, the police were there. The police and his landlady. D'you know what they were doing? They were destroying everything Keats had ever touched. Bed linen, cus.h.i.+ons, every bit of furniture. They were even sc.r.a.ping down the walls and taking out the windows. Because they thought consumption was contagious. They thought you could catch it by sitting on the same chair, playing the same instrument, drinking from the same gla.s.s. Severn was so angry he took his stick and smashed all the crockery to smithereens to save them the trouble.'

She sprang to her feet again, driven by her own restlessness. Her wrap billowed open in the movement; she pulled the tails of its belt together and knotted them tighter. Her fingers curled around the small pot of nail varnish that she'd dropped into one of its patch pockets. In a fit of frustration she raised her arm and flung it across the room. She was aiming at a blank patch of wall rather than Leone, but she nearly hit him all the same; her aim was lousy. There was a small tinkling sound.

The brief moment of satisfaction left her. 'd.a.m.n!' She foresaw the ineradicable trail of deep magenta splashed onto wall and rug. Nail varnish what an idiotic choice. But the bottle hadn't broken. It had caught the edge of one of the remaining pictures, splintering the gla.s.s. As Gina watched, the rest of the gla.s.s s.h.i.+vered and fell out of the frame which slowly dropped off its hook and onto the trunk beneath.

In two strides, Father Leone was beside her, taking her hand between his. She held his gaze. 'It's possible, wouldn't you say, Father, for a bad person to do good things?'

'Who is this bad person?'

'Me. I'm talking about myself. I'm trying to explain that even if I'm the self-absorbed gold-digging all-round bad influence that you think I am, I can do the odd good deed without needing to be bullied or cajoled or made to feel guilty.'

'Gina...'

'I'm the opposite of you, that's all. As a good person, I mean, who did a bad thing.' She regretted the words as soon as she'd spoken them. It was an intrusion. She wasn't supposed to know about the priest's past; Felix shouldn't have told her.

A movement from the bedroom made them both turn. A shuffling in the doorway, a voice croaking: 'I was promised a frullata.'