David Wishart - Finished Business

‘So what changed things?’

She frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, you’re not exactly tucked away now, are you? Or am I wrong?’

Her face cleared. ‘Oh. That’s because of the sale.’

‘What sale?’

‘Of the Old Villa.’

‘Old Villa?’

‘It was the original building, in Lucius’s grandfather’s time. He was the one who made the family fortune.’ She grinned. ‘Not legitimately, I suspect, because the family are very tight-lipped on the subject. Anyway, he decided to build a new villa, much grander, with the original forming one of the wings. Only like Lucius, he and his wife didn’t really get on, so he kept it for her as a separate property. The only link between the two is a single corridor, which I’m having bricked up.’

‘ You’re having bricked up?’

‘Oh, yes. At my end, at least, and as soon as I can, really. I own it, you see. Lucius sold it to me last month, when the divorce came through.’

‘ Sold it to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You, ah, mind telling me how much for?’

‘Not at all; that’s no secret.’ Another grin. ‘It set me back all of five silver pieces.’ Jupiter! ‘Oh, it was all done perfectly legally: cash paid over in front of witnesses, proper signed bill of sale and everything. I can show you, if you like. The family — I mean Lucius Junior, of course — was furious, but there you are, he’ll just have to put up with it. And my Lucius added a clause guaranteeing access in perpetuity, so that’s all right. Naturally, it means that by sitting here I’m currently trespassing on his property, which might technically be actionable, so I’d be glad if you didn’t mention that when you do see him.’

‘Fine.’ It wasn’t, altogether, but there you go; at least she’d been upfront, and I could always get the other side of the story from Junior himself. ‘Why did he do it, do you know? Sell you the Old Villa for five denarii?’

‘Because he wanted to. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Is it?’

She sighed. ‘Look, it wasn’t my idea, if that’s what you’re thinking. You can believe me or not as you like, it’s up to you, but that’s what Lucius told me himself. If you want my guess — and it’s only a guess — he liked me a lot more than he liked his son, let alone his wife, and he wanted to show it. Not just with money, but with part of his life. And this estate was his life — that and his hobbies. That was one reason he and Sullana didn’t get on. You know he was consul once? Or suffect consul, at least.’ I nodded. ‘Well. That was ten years ago, and he hasn’t been near politics since. He just gave that side of things up completely. No serving on committees, no speeches in the senate, no angling for inclusion on diplomatic missions, no sucking up to the Movers and Shakers’ lobby. Nothing. All he wanted was to live quietly. Sullana’s ambitious. She didn’t understand it, and it drove her up the wall.’

‘What sort of man was he? In himself, I mean. I know about his wife, but how did he get on with his sons? He had two of them, didn’t he?’

‘That’s right. The other one’s Marcus. I’m sorry — again I can’t tell you anything about him. I know he exists, and that’s his name, but absolutely nothing else. We’ve never met, of course, and Lucius only mentioned him once in passing. I suppose, if Lucius didn’t exactly disinherit him, he’ll have some claim on the property?’ There was the hint of a question in her voice.

‘Yeah, I’d assume so, but I’m no lawyer. Perhaps it’ll be in the will.’ Casually, I added, ‘Have you seen that?’

‘No. That side of things has nothing to do with me, or I assume not. The property sale was quite separate, and that went through while Lucius was still alive.’

‘And how about the elder son? Lucius Junior? What was his father’s relationship with him?’

‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘That’s a long, sad story in itself. Junior’s one of nature’s strivers, not too clever but desperate to get on. You know he’s running for a city judge’s post this coming year?’ I nodded again. ‘If he gets it, it won’t be because he’s fit for the job. The poor sap’s never been really fit for any job he’s gone for, and it’s a miracle that he’s got as far as he has. The trouble is that his father has always known it and made sure he knows it too. So. That tell you something about how they viewed each other?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, it does.’ Like she’d said, it was sad. ‘So how was Surdinus with everyone else? Outside the immediate family? With you, for example.’

‘Exasperating.’ She gave me another straight look, and I was surprised to see the beginning of tears in her eyes. ‘Very, very kind, generous, and loving, but exasperating. Stubborn as a mule. Whether he was right or wrong, you couldn’t shift him, or stop him doing what he’d decided to do. He had very firm opinions and views on every subject under the sun, whether he knew anything about it or not. And he was always — in his own mind — right.’

‘He have any enemies?’

‘Absolutely none, or none that I know of, certainly. He never really had an opportunity to make any. He’d lots of friends, though. Or maybe not friends — professional acquaintances, rather. Men who shared his hobbies. You know he was interested in philosophy?’

‘Yeah. Naevia Postuma told me that.’

‘Not just abstract philosophy, although that was part of it. He was a … practical philosopher, if that’s not a contradiction. An astrologer. He cast horoscopes, and he was very good at it, too; so good it was frightening.’

‘You like to give me an example?’

She was quiet for a long time, staring at a point on the far side of the garden. Then she said, in a small voice: ‘Yes.’

I waited. Nothing. Finally, she turned to me, and this time the tears were definitely there.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘I haven’t mentioned this to anyone else, and I won’t. But I’ve decided that I like you, right, and I feel someone should know, besides me.’ I said nothing. ‘Five days ago, Lucius came to me to say he’d just finished casting his own horoscope for what was left of the year. It was quite clear, he said. Before the year was out he’d be dead.’

‘ What? ’

‘He was quite calm, perfectly reconciled. He said that he’d had a good life, on the whole, and I wasn’t to be upset when it happened. That he’d done his best according to his own beliefs and was glad to go. He thanked me and hoped that I’d be happy. Those were his exact words. He wouldn’t say any more on the subject, even though I pressed him very hard, begged him, in fact, and it was the last time I saw him alive.’ She stood up. ‘Now, that’s all I can tell you. You’d best be getting up to the house.’

And she walked back through the gate, leaving me staring.

Shit!

The villa, like I say, was huge: a central block with two flanking wings reaching out to enclose symmetrical hedged walks studded with bronze and marble statues. In front of the main entrance was a big fountain: Centaurs and Lapiths fighting, with the water coming out of their mouths. Impressive as hell. I glanced over at the wing to the left: it was older and just a bit shabbier, and sure enough it wasn’t properly integrated with the main building. Also, it had an entrance of its own. No sign of Tarquitia, though, and the place looked deserted.

What the two entrances had in common was that both of them were hung with greenery, the sign of a house in mourning.

There was a bell-pull to the right of the door. I pulled it, and the door was opened immediately by a slave in a mourning tunic.

‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I’m here at the request of your dead master’s niece, Naevia Postuma.’