Lindsey Davis - Ode to a Banker

'What does that mean?'

'The staircase to your private apartment lies unguarded and, as I found today, it's deserted. Did a lover ever stroll upstairs to visit you?'

'Stop insulting me.'

'Oh, I am full of admiration – for your courage. If Chrysippus was often working in the library, you were taking quite a risk.'

'I would have been – if I had done it,' said Vibia harshly. 'As it happens, I was a chaste and loyal wife.'

I gazed at her and murmured gently, 'Oh hard luck!'

Although she had, as they say, kept the keys of this house for three years (though in practice, I suspected Chrysippus was the kind of man who clung on to the keys), Vibia lacked experience. She was at a loss how to make me remove myself- or to summon up heavies to have me removed. She was trapped. Even when I was rude, she could only complain feebly.

'Tell me,' I challenged with a bright smile. 'Diomedes used to see his father often; was he able to come and go freely?'

'Of course. He was born and brought up here.'

'Oh! So had the loving son been allocated a room here?'

'There was a room he had always had,' Vibia replied frigidly. 'From childhood.'

'Oh how sweet! Near yours, was it?'

'No.'

'Proximity is such a fluid concept I shall not test this with a measuring rule… When he visited so regularly, nobody would think much of it?'

'He was my husband's son. Of course not.'

'He could have been visiting you,' I pointed out.

'You have a dirty mind, Falco,' retorted Vibia, with that trace of coarseness that had always stopped her being entirely respectable.

'Young stepmama, and idle stepson of her own age – it would not be the first time nature secretly held sway… Somebody told me, you wanted more to do with Diomedes than was proper.'

'That person slandered me.'

I tipped my head on one side. 'What – no secret hankering?'

'No.'

These flat little negatives were starting to fascinate me. Every time she came out with one, I felt it hid a major secret. 'You were quite rude about him when you were first interviewed.'

'I have no feelings either way,' said Vibia – with that deliberate neutrality that always means a lie. During all this part of my questioning, she had been looking at the oriental carpet evasively.

I changed the subject suddenly: 'So how do you feel about Diomedes marrying your relative?'

For one brief moment that wide mouth pursed. 'It is nothing to do with me.'

'Lysa said you helped arrange it.'

'Not quite.' She was scrambling to recover her composure. I sensed that Lysa had bullied her into something here. 'When I was asked what I thought, I did not raise objections.'

'And was that failure to object,' I demanded, 'so important to Lysa and Diomedes that they rewarded you with all this lovely property?'

At that, Vibia did look up. In fact, she became elated. 'Lysa is so annoyed to lose it. That's the best part for me – she is furious to see me living in what used to be her house.'

'For a matchmaker's pay-off,' I told her bluntly, 'the price is extortionate. As a banker by proxy, I am astonished that Lysa agreed.' No reaction. 'Now that you are a lone woman living without masculine protection, what, may I ask, are you doing about your stepson's childhood room?'

Vibia was well ahead of me. 'Obviously it is no longer respectable for him to come here. People might suggest something scandalous. This letter I am writing'- she produced the document she had been frowning over when I first walked in – 'says Diomedes must remove his things – and not come here again.'

'Such concern for propriety. His bride will be grateful to you, Vibia!'

She was very anxious to distract me. By chance, it seemed, the young lady had lifted her arm onto the back of the reading couch and her richly beringed hand had lolled against my left shoulder. Was it chance, or was Fortune for once looking after me? Now, with a faint jingle from a delightful silver bracelet, her small fingers began slowly moving, caressing my shoulderbone as if she were unaware of doing it. Oh very nice. She was definitely moving in on me. Feminine wiles. As if I had not encountered enough of them in my career.

I leaned back my head, like a man who was perplexed, and fell silent. Then, just as the fingertips began exploring that sensitive, rather tingly area of my neck where the tunic edge met my hairline, Passus knocked on the door. I breathed a sigh of relief – or was it regret?

'I'm just off now, Falco.' He had a scroll bundle with him. 'This is the stuff you wanted -'

'Thanks, Passus.' Both of us managed not to grin, as I jumped up from the couch and collected the scrolls from him. 'I'm finished here.' That was one way of putting it. 'I'll walk along with you. Vibia Merulla, thank you for your help.'

I bade a rapid farewell to the widow, and safely fled.

Again, I decided against lunch at the Clivus Publicius popina, part from not wanting to give Passus the idea that I dallied atfood stalls – where Petronius and the rest were bound to have told him informers flocked like summer pests. I could now see two of the scriptorium authors leaning on the bar. Had it been the playwright or the love poet, Urbanus or Constrictus, I would have gone down there and joined them but it was the gangling Scrutator spouting at the flashily dressed Turius. Not in the mood for either, I went the other way, up towards the crest of the Aventine and home. There I invited Helena out for an early lunch at a more local eatery.

'Falco, you have a shifty look about you!'

'Certainly not.'

'What have you been doing?'

'Talking to Passus about literature.'

'Lying dog,' she said

Even when I gave her the scrolls to read she still looked suspicious for some reason. She leaned over and sniffed my shoulder; my heart pounded a little. I dragged her out to eat before the interrogation became too drastic.

Flora's Caupona was always quiet, though not normally as tense as we found it today. A couple of self-effacing regulars were sitting up straight at the inside table obediently waiting for their order. Apollonius, the waiter, walked forward to welcome us. He was a retired teacher – in fact, he had taught me at school. We never mentioned that. With his usual dignity, he ignored the peculiar atmosphere, as if he had not noticed it.

'We have lentils or chickpeas today, Falco.'

'Jupiter, you're taking the pulse regulations seriously.' Most other food stalls had probably just disguised their pots of fish and meat by leaving them off the chalked-up menu.

'Or perhaps something cold?' he enquired.

'Something cold!' Helena gasped. It was so hot outside, we couldhardly move two yards without sweat drenching us. 'Junia, just because the edict says you can only serve pulses hot, doesn't mean you are forced to provide steaming porridges even in August!'

My sister clasped her hands upon the spotless pot-counter. (Not her effort; Apollonius took a strange pride in his demeaning work.) 'We can make you a salad specially – seeing as you are family,' she condescended primly.

Her son was playing with a model ox-cart where a second table had once stood. We put Julia down with Marcus Baebius and they soon started screaming at each other noisily. I waited for the customers to leave because of the racket. They stuck it out like a bunch of stubborn thick-ribbed limpets that had been excrescences on a harbour groin for twenty years.

Helena and I took a bench outside, the only remaining seat. Junia had made Apollonius prepare the salad, so she came out to patronize us.

'How are you two getting on? When is that cradle going to be occupied again?' Helena stiffened. From now on, she would go to enormous lengths to keep her pregnancy from Junia. 'And how is that wonderful new house of yours?'