chance of learning what has happened to Paolina.
‘Before I tell you what plans there are I must be brought up
to date with developments. Come, madam,’ he lays his hand
confidentially upon her own, ‘be so good as to tell me what has
occurred.’
She looks the priest sidelong and suspiciously, obviously
weighing up whether or not to confide further in him, then makes
the sign of the cross and embarks on her story. ‘It was in the air,
you know, you could feel something was going to happen.’ Vivaldi
smiles benignly despite his inner turmoil. When will she get to the
point? Hurry UP woman!
She peers through the blinds at the house on the other
side of the street, still shrouded in silence, then moves closer to the
priest and says in a low voice, ‘It must be the devil’s work. Must be.’
Vivaldi nods again in encouragement.
‘He was always a bit of a strange man, right from the
moment they first came to live here. That must be fifteen years ago.
Yes, because my husband Giorgio was still alive. He was a wig-
maker too, you know, the best in the street. Even after the Frogs
arrived. Oh yes, Monsieur Pietro was planning to make his fortune
here with his fine French ideas. But nobody wanted that around
here. He might as well have gone back to his own country, taking
his stupid new styles with him, but there you are. It’s a crying
shame!’ she pauses, her thoughts apparently wandering.
‘What’s a crying shame?’ asks the priest
‘Oh yes, he was a good man, my Giorgio. He’s left me well
provided for. Always set money aside and didn’t mess me about. He
was a fine man. No woman could have wished for better.’
How long have I got to sit through this, wonders Antonio
in desperation.
‘I knew right away, the minute I clapped eyes on that man
Giraud, as he calls himself, I knew he was a completely different
kettle of fish from my Giorgio. Oh, dear, oh dear,’ she murmurs,
once more crossing herself. ‘Could that man drink, my heavens!
And then the trouble started. Constant rows; it drove us mad.
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