Cat O'Nine Tales And Other Stories Part 19

"He claims to adore her," said Gian Lorenzo, "calls her his little angel."

"In that case, I wouldn't want to meet up with his idea of a big angel."

"But if he felt otherwise," suggested Gian Lorenzo, "he could always divorce her."

"Not a chance," said the Contessa, "you clearly haven't been told about their pre-nuptial agreement."

"No, I haven't," admitted Gian Lorenzo, trying not to sound interested.

"Her father had much the same opinion of that clapped-out footballer as I do.

Old man Porcelli made him sign an agreement which spelled out that if Paolo ever divorced his daughter he would end up with nothing. Paolo was also forced to sign a second doc.u.ment stating that he would never reveal the contents of the pre-nuptial to anyone, including Angelina."

"Then how do you know about it?" prompted Gian Lorenzo.

"When you've signed as many prenuptials as I have, darling, you hear things."

Gian Lorenzo laughed and called for the bill.

The maitre d' smiled. "It's already been taken care of, signor," he said, nodding in the direction of Paolo, "by your old school friend."

"How kind of him," said Gian Lorenzo.

"No, her," the Contessa reminded him.

"Please excuse me for a moment," said Gian Lorenzo. "I must just thank them before we leave." He rose from his place, and made his way slowly across the crowded room.

"How are you?" said Paolo, who was on his feet long before Gian Lorenzo had reached their table. "You know my little angel, of course," he said, turning to smile at his wife, "but then how could you ever forget?"

Gian Lorenzo took Angelina's hand and kissed it gently. "And I will also never forget your magnificent wedding."

"Medici would have swooned," said Angelina.

Gian Lorenzo gave a slight bow in acknowledgment.

"Is that the Contessa di Palma you are dining with?" asked Paolo. "Because if it is, she has something my little angel desires." Gian Lorenzo made no comment. "I do hope, Gian Lorenzo, that she's a client, not a friend, because if my little angel wants something, then I will stop at nothing to ensure she gets it." Gian Lorenzo still considered it wise to remain silent. Never forget, his father had once told him, only restaurateurs close

deals in restaurantswhen they hand you the bill. "And as it's a field I know little about," continued Paolo, "and you are acknowledged as one of the nation's leading authorities, perhaps you would be kind enough to represent Angelina on this occasion?"

"I would be delighted to do so," said Gian Lorenzo, as the head waiter placed a chocolate trifle in front of Paolo's wife, with a bowl of creme fraiche on the side.

"Excellent," said Paolo, "let's keep in touch."

Gian Lorenzo smiled and shook his old friend by the hand. He well remembered the last occasion Paolo had made such an offer.

But then some people consider such suggestions nothing more than polite conversation. Gian Lorenzo turned to Angelina and bowed low before walking back across the restaurant to rejoin the Contessa.

"Time for us to leave, I fear," said Gian Lorenzo, glancing at his watch, "especially if I'm to catch the first plane to Rome in the morning."

"Did you manage to sell my Ca.n.a.letto to your friend?" asked the Contessa, as she rose from her place.

"No," replied Gian Lorenzo, as he waved in the direction of Paolo's table, "but he did suggest that we keep in touch."

"And will you?"

"That might be quite difficult," admitted Gian Lorenzo, "as he didn't give me his number, and I have a feeling Signor and Signora Castelli will not be listed in the Yellow Pages."

Gian Lorenzo took the first flight back to Rome the following morning. The Ca.n.a.letto was to follow him at a more leisurely pace. No sooner had he set foot in the gallery than his secretary rushed out of the office, spilling out the words, "Paolo Castelli has already called twice this morning. He apologized for not giving you his number," she added, "and wondered if you would be kind enough to phone him, just as soon as you get in."

Gian Lorenzo walked calmly into his office, sat down at his desk and composed himself. He then tapped out the number his secretary had placed in front of him. The call was first answered by a butler, who transferred him to a seeretary, before he was finally connected to Paolo.

"After you left last night, my little angel spoke of nothing else," began Paolo.

"She has never forgotten her visit to the Contessa's home, where she first saw her magnificent art collection. She wondered if the reason you were meeting with the Contessa was..."

"I don't think it would be wise to discuss this matter over the phone," said Gian Lorenzo, whose father had also taught him that deals are rarely made on the telephone, but almost always face to face.

One needs the client to view the picture, and then you allow them to hang it on a wall in their home for several days. There is a crucial moment when the buyer considers the painting already belongs to them. Not until then do you start to negotiate the price.

"Then you'll have to return to Venice," said Paolo matter-of-factly. "I'll send the private jet."

Gian Lorenzo flew to Venice the following Friday. A Rolls-Royce was parked on the runway, waiting to take him to the Villa Rosa.

A butler greeted Gian Lorenzo at the front door before escorting him up a large marble staircase to a suite of private rooms that exhibited barren wallsan art dealer's fantasy Gian Lorenzo was reminded of the collection that his father had put together for Agnelli over a period of thirty years, now considered to be one of the finest in private hands.

Gian Lorenzo spent most of the Sat.u.r.daybetween mealsbeing escorted round the one hundred and forty-two rooms of the Villa Rosa by Angelina. He quickly discovered that there was far more to his hostess than he had antic.i.p.ated.

Angelina showed a genuine interest in wanting to start her own art collection, and had clearly visited all the great galleries round the world. Gian Lorenzo concluded that she only lacked the courage of her own convictionsa not uncommon problem for the only child of a self-made ma.n.a.lthough she didn't lack knowledge or, to Gian Lorenzo's surprise, taste. He felt guilty for making a.s.sumptions based only on comments he had read in the press. Gian Lorenzo found himself enjoying Angelinas company, and even began to wonder what this shy, thoughtful young woman could possibly see in Paolo.

Over dinner that night, Gian Lorenzo could not miss the adoration in her eyes whenever Angelina looked at her husband, even though she rarely interrupted him.

Over breakfast the following morning, Angelina hardly uttered a word. It was not until Paolo suggested that his wife show their guest round the grounds that his little angel once again came alive.

Angelina escorted Gian Lorenzo round a sixty-acre garden that possessed no immovable objects, or even havens where they might rest to cool their brows. Whenever Gian Lorenzo made a suggestion, she responded with enthusiasm, clearly willing to be led, if only he would take her by the hand.

Over dinner that night, it was Paolo who confirmed that it was his little angels desire to build a great collection in memory of her late father.

"But where to begin?" asked Paolo, stretching a hand across the table to take his wife's hand.

"Ca.n.a.letto, perhaps?" suggested Gian Lorenzo.

Gian Lorenzo spent the next five years commuting between Rome and Venice as he continued to coax pictures out of the Contessa, before rehanging them in the Villa Rosa. But as each new gem appeared, Angelinas appet.i.te only became more voracious. Gian Lorenzo found himself having to travel as far afield as America, Russia and even Colombia, so that he could keep Paolo's "little angel" satisfied. She seemed determined to outdo Catherine the Great.

Angelina became more and more captivated by each new masterpiece Gian Lorenzo put before herCa.n.a.letto, Caravaggio, Tintoretto, Bellini and Da Vinci were among the natives. Not only did Gian Lorenzo begin to fill up the few remaining places on the walls of the villa, but he also had statues crated and sent from every quarter of the globe to be sited alongside other immigrants on the vast lawnMoore, Brancusi, Epstein, Mir, Giacometti and, Angelina's favorite, Botero.

With every new purchase she made, Gian Lorenzo presented her with a book about the artist. Angelina would devour them in one sitting and immediately demand more. Gian Lorenzo had to acknowledge that she had become not only the gallery's most important client but also his most ardent studentwhat had begun as a flirtation with Ca.n.a.letto was fast turning into a promiscuous affair with almost all the great masters of Europe. And it was Gian Lorenzo who was expected to continually supply new lovers. Something else Angelina had in common with Catherine the Great.

Gian Lorenzo was visiting a client in Barcelona, who for tax reasons had to dispose of a Murillo, The Birth of Christ, when he heard the news. He considered that the asking price for the painting was too high, even though he knew that Angelina would be willing to pay it. He was in the middle of haggling when his secretary called. Gian Lorenzo took the next available flight back to Rome.

Every paper reported, some in great detail, the death of Angelina Castelli. A ma.s.sive heart attack while she was in her garden trying to move one of the statues.

The tabloids, unwilling to mourn the lady for a single day, went on to inform their readers in the second paragraph that she had left her entire fortune to her husband. A photograph of a smiling Paolotaken long before her deathran alongside the story.

Four days later Gian Lorenzo flew to Venice to attend the funeral.

The little chapel in the grounds of the Villa Rosa was packed with Angelinas family and friends, some of whom Gian Lorenzo hadn't seen since the wedding celebration, a generation before.

When the six pallbearers carried the coffin into the chapel, and lowered it gently on a bier in front of the altar, Paolo broke down and sobbed. After the service was over, Gian Lorenzo offered his condolences, and Paolo a.s.sured him that he had enriched Angelinas life beyond recompense. He went on to say that he intended to continue building the collection in her memory. "It is no more than my little angel would have wanted," he explained, "so it must be done."

Paolo didn't get in touch with him again.

Gian Lorenzo was about to dip a spoon into a pot of Oxford marmaladeanother habit he had acquired from his fatherwhen he saw the headline. The spoon remained lodged in the marmalade while he read the words a second time. He wanted to be sure that he hadn't misunderstood the headline. Paolo was back on the front page, declaring it was "love at first sightturn to page 22 for details."

Gian Lorenzo quickly flicked through the pages to a column he rarely troubled himself with. "Gossip Roma, we give you 587/595 the truth behind the stories." Paolo Castelli, former captain of Roma, and the ninth richest man in Italy, is to marry again, only four years after the death of his little angel. "There's more to her than meets the eye," declared the headline.

The paper went on to a.s.sure its readers that there couldn't be a bigger contrast between his first wife, Angelina, a billionairess, and Gina, a twenty-four-year-old waitress from Naples, and the daughter of a tax inspector.

Gian Lorenzo chuckled when he saw Gina's photograph, aware that many of Paolo's friends wouldn't be able to resist teasing him.

Every morning Gian Lorenzo found himself turning to Gossip Roma, in the hope of learning some new t.i.tbit about the forthcoming marriage. The wedding, it seemed, would be held in the chapel of the Villa Rosa, which only had enough s.p.a.ce to seat a mere two hundred, so the guests would be restricted to close family and friends. The bride could no longer leave her little home without being pursued by a legion of paparazzi. The groom, they informed their readers, had returned to the gym, in the hope of losing a few pounds before the ceremony took place. But the biggest surprise for Gian Lorenzo came when Gossip Roma claimedin an exclusivethat Signor Gian Lorenzo Venici, Roma's leading art dealer, and old school chum of Paolo, would be among the fortunate guests.

An invitation arrived in the morning post the following day.

Gian Lorenzo flew into Venice on the evening before the ceremony and checked into the Hotel Cipriani. He decided a light meal and an early night might perhaps be wise when he thought about the previous wedding.

Gian Lorenzo rose early the following morning and took some time dressing for the occasion. Despite this, he still arrived at the Villa Rosa long before the service was due to commence. He wished to stroll among the statues that littered the lawn and become reacquainted with some old friends. Donatello smiled down on him. Moore looked regal. Mir made him laugh, and Gia-cometti stood tall and thin, but his favorite remained the fountain which graced the center of the lawn. Ten years before he had removed each piece of the fountain, stone by stone, statue by statue, from a courtyard in Milan. Bellini's The Escaping Hunter looked even more magnificent in its new surroundings. It gave Gian Lorenzo particular pleasure to see how many other guests had also arrived early, clearly with the same thought in mind.

A single usher in a smart dark suit walked among the guests suggesting that they might like to make their way to the chapel as the ceremony was about to begin. Gian Lorenzo was one of the first to heed his advice, as he wanted to be well placed to watch the bride make her entrance.

Gian Lorenzo found a vacant seat on the aisle about halfway back that would allow him an uninterrupted view of the proceedings. He could see the little choir in their stalls, already singing vespers accompanied by a string quartet.

At five minutes to three Paolo and his best man entered the chapel and walked slowly down the aisle. Gian Lorenzo knew he'd been a well-known footballer, but he still couldn't remember his name.

They both took their places by the side of the altar, while Paolo waited for his young bride to appear. Paolo looked fit, tanned and trim, and Gian Lorenzo noted that women still stared at him with adoring eyes. Paolo didn't notice them and a grin that would have excited comment from Lewis Carroll never left the bridegroom's face.

There was a buzz of expectation as the string quartet struck up the opening chords of the Wedding March, to herald the entrance of the bride. The young woman walked slowly down the aisle on the arm of her father, and drew intakes of breath as she pa.s.sed each new row.

Gian Lorenzo could hear her approaching, so he turned to look at Gina for the first time. How would he respond, when asked to describe the bride, to someone who hadn't been invited to the ceremony? Should he emphasize her beautiful long, thick, raven hair, or possibly comment on the smooth olive texture of her skin, or even add some remark about the magnificent wedding dress that he remembered so well? Or would Gian Lorenzo simply tell all those who inquired that it had become immediately clear to him why Paolo had declared that it was love at first sight. The same shy smile as Angelina, the same bright enthusiastic twinkle in her eyes, the same gentleness that was clear for all to see, or was it, as Gian Lorenzo suspected, that the journalists would only report that she fitted snugly into Angelinas old wedding dressthe yards and yards of silk forming a magnificent train behind the bride as she walked slowly toward her lover.

Also by Jeffrey Archer.

NOVELS.

Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less.

Shall We Tell the President?

Kane & Abel.

The Prodigal Daughter.

First Among Equals.

A Matter of Honor.

As the Crow Flies.

Honor Among Thieves.

The Fourth Estate The Eleventh Commandment Sons of Fortune False Impression SHORT STORIES.

A Quiver Full of Arrows A Twist in the Tale Twelve Red Herrings To Cut a Long Story Short The Collected Short Stories PLAYS.

Beyond Reasonable Doubt Exclusive The Accused PRISON DIARIES.

Volume One h.e.l.l, Volume Two Purgatory and Volume Three Heaven.

SCREENPLAYS.

Mallory: Walking off the Map False Impression.

end.