The Glassblower of Murano - Marina Fiorato [62]
She ran across the still-warm stones of the campo and fumbled for her keys. In a childish game she felt she was outrunning the unseen assassins.
If I can just reach my door ...
As she fitted the key in her lock she expected a hand to pluck at her sleeve, or even clutch at her throat ... struggling with the latch she wrenched the door open and fell inside. She backed the door closed and leaned in the dark, breathing hard. Seconds later she left her skin as the phone began to ring. Shaking, she moved into the kitchen and picked up the receiver. But it was not the rasping tones of a horror film cliche. It was him.
`Alessandro!'
She sank into a chair and switched on the lamp. As the pool of light spread and she listened to the longed-for voice, the shades of her daymares fled.
He laughed at the fervour of her greeting.
`Detective Bardolino to you.'
`You passed!ff
'Yes.' Pride in the voice. `I have a week of orientation here and then I start at division, back in Venice.'
She could not dampen his enthusiasm with her own troubles. Il Gazzettino was a local paper, and news of her humiliation or Corradino's reputation would not yet have reached Vicenza. Plenty of time to talk of that face to face. She suddenly felt terribly tired, and besides, a small sense of shame lodged just below her heart would not let her tell this man of her tarnished ancestor. While Alessandro talked about his weeks away and the exam, Leonora felt the fear and panic abate. She felt confident in the circle of his conversation as if protected by his nativity. Of course Corradino was no traitor. It was not true. It was an ugly rumour perpetrated by his rival. And what did it matter anyway? Corradino was long dead, and his work lived on to testify for him.
But it does matter. I want to know for myself, to find out for certain.
Something Alessandro had said floated back from memory. `When we first met, you told me that you might be able to help me find out more about my family ... my father. Well, I'd like to, if you can make any suggestions?'
Alessandro considered. `When your mother and father were together in Venice, did they have any friends or colleagues that may still be here?'
`There was someone. A lecturer at Ca' Foscari. I met him when I was very little.'
`Can you remember his name??
`It was Padovani. I remember because my mother explained to me that his name meant "comes from Padua". She taught me an old rhyme ..
`Ah yes, Veneziani gran signori, Padovani gran dottori ..
'Vicentini mangiagatti, Veronesi tutti matti.'Leonora finished. `I always wondered why theVicenzans ate cats in the rhyme. But I suppose it's better than being mad, like the Veronese.!
'Ah yes, but the best thing to be of all is a great lord, like the Venetians.' Alessandro interjected proudly.
`Anyway, Professore Padovani still sends Christmas cards to my mother. But I don't know if he's still at Ca' Foscari '
She could hear him stretching on the other end of the line. He was clearly tired, but his voice was alert and she was encouraged that he was treating her enquiry in earnest. `Then I think the thing to do is to talk to this man, if he is still there. He will certainly know something of your father, which seems a good place to start. Go tomorrow,' he said with his customary dispatch, `because on Sunday I'm back for the day and we'll do something, if you're free.'
She clutched the receiver with joy, feeling like a teenager. But with a desperate effort for detachment, she stayed with her theme. `D'you really think I can find out about him, after all these years?' And it was Corradino she meant.
`Sure. He only died in, what was it? 1972? And, you know, if you want to find something out, you should really have a Detective on your team.' She could hear him grinning down the phone as he signed off with promises to see her on Sunday.
Leonora felt a sudden resolve to unravel the mystery of Corradino, and felt that the Professore