Joseph Kanon - Alibi

He looked over his glasses at me. “And you, have you been smiling?”

“Nonstop,” I said, nodding. “Seen the ring?”

“You haven’t tried to bite it.”

I laughed. “No, it’s real. Family, apparently. His mother’s.”

“Very nice,” Bertie said, then sighed. “Oh dear. But she does look radiant, doesn’t she? So where’s the harm? Now what? Not speeches.”

There had been a tinkling against glass, the usual rippling ssh, people clustering. Gianni stood with my mother, waiting for quiet, then began speaking in Italian, presumably a welcoming toast, received with a few ahs and general approval. I just let it roll past me, that indistinct liquid sound of someone else’s language, and looked again around the room. Where was she? He paused-were we supposed to applaud? — and then started to repeat the speech in English: thanks to us for being there, the reason no surprise to anyone who’d seen them together, the wonderful, unexpected thing that had come into his life, their double good fortune, of which this speech was an example, in being able to express joy twice, in Italian and English, the honor she had bestowed on him, their hope that all of us would be as happy as they were. All said nicely, charmingly, every note on key. More ahs, raised glasses, a public kiss, and, finally, applause.

“Well, it’s done,” I said, raising my glass to Bertie. “Cheers.”

“God bless.” He took a drink.

“Now what?”

“Kiss the bride,” he said, pointing to the group forming around my mother.

“They’re not married yet.”

We were starting toward the other end of the room when Claudia came through the door. She looked slightly flushed, as if she’d run up the stairs, and the color made her pretty, more striking than her muted blue dress intended.

“Hello, there’s Claudia,” Bertie said, surprised. “With whom, I wonder.”

“Me, actually,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. He turned to me, eyes peering over his glasses, assessing.

“Really,” he said.

“We met at your party. You remember.”

“And now you’ve become friends.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “What a family. The guests aren’t safe with either of you. Next you’ll be running off with the help.”

I smiled. “Not yet. Excuse me,” I said, about to head for the door.

“Adam,” he said, stopping me, voice lower. “You’re not serious about this.”

“Bertie, some other time? She doesn’t know anyone in the room.”

“Well, no, she wouldn’t, would she?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, don’t snap. I just meant it might not be suitable, bringing her here. What will Grace think?”

“She’ll think we’re friends.”

Bertie sighed. “Never mind. It’s always talking to a post, isn’t it? Just have a care, that’s all. You don’t want things to get complicated. Rush into things.”

“Tell her,” I said, nodding toward my mother, still hugging people. Bertie followed my gaze.

“Well, Grace.” His face softened with fondness. “She’s not the type, is she, to look behind things? We’ll have to keep an eye out for her. She was always like that, you know. Always wanted watching. So one does, somehow.” He turned back to me. “But I can’t take on two.”

Claudia was still near the door, looking tentative. When I finally pushed my way through the crowd, she smiled, relieved, then retreated again when I kissed her.

“Not here,” she said.

“It’s all right, no one’s looking.”

“But in public.”

“Come meet my mother.”

She touched her hair. “Where is the ladies’ room?”

“You look fine.”

“No, not for that. For the toilet.”

I laughed. “Sorry. Downstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.”

But before we could move out of the room, Mimi came over, martini glass in hand.

“Adam, there you are.” A cheek kiss. “Are you making a speech too?”

“I’m saving it for the wedding.”

“Thank god for that,” she said, then looked expectantly at Claudia.

They nodded to each other as I introduced them.

“Where has Adam been hiding you? I hope he’s bringing you to my ball. If he doesn’t, I’ll ask you myself,” she said to Claudia.

“Thank you,” Claudia said, not sure how to respond.

“Oh, purely selfish. Try finding anyone under forty these days. Though I must say,” she said, turning to me, “Grace looks ten years younger. Ten years. I suppose that’s love?” Her voice arched up.

“I suppose.”

“Maybe we should all try it. Except I have. Much good it did me.” She glanced again at Claudia. “But how long have you-?”

“We met at Signor Howard’s,” Claudia said, placing us.

“Bertie, the old cicerone. Lucky he didn’t match you up with a priest,” she said to me. “What can it mean, all the padres? In and out, all day long. What do they talk about?”

“What’s new on the Rialto.”

“Just like-chums. Hard to imagine, isn’t it? To me they still seem-I don’t know, something you see on the bus, not anyone you’d ever meet. Of course, Marian says in Rome it’s nothing but. Priests everywhere. But that’s Rome. I’m sorry,” she said to Claudia, “I hope I’m not-”

“No, no.”

“Thank god. I’m forever getting myself into trouble. You say the first thing that comes into your mind and then you see the faces. Not like you, darling. Always so careful.”

“Am I?”

“Grace says you’re thrilled. I thought, really? Or is he just being his usual diplomatic self? Our own little nuncio.”

“Why shouldn’t I be thrilled?”

“No reason in the world,” she said, a quick return. We looked at each other for a minute.

She turned to Claudia. “You will come, won’t you? To my ball? It’s going to be very special, like the ones before the war. Modern dress-I hate period. Carnival’s the worst. Those wigs, all itchy and hot. You wonder how they stood it. Oh, here she comes. Clever Grace.” A smile for my mother, making her way toward us.

“Excuse me,” Claudia said. “A moment.” She slid away from us and darted down the stairs.

“Adam,” Mimi said, her voice low, no longer chirping, “what’s all this?”

“Ladies’ room. She’ll be back.”

“No, this.” She wagged her finger between me and the spot where Claudia had stood. “The way she looks at you.”

“Does she?” I said, grinning.

“Don’t gloat.” She looked at me and laughed.

Then my mother was there and Claudia was put aside. There was someone she wanted me to meet. Mimi wanted to know about the caviar, which you couldn’t get in London now for love or money. Gianni knew a man who got it from Russia somehow. I smiled, thinking about the old Venetian trading routes, evidently still going strong. We had more champagne. My mother was happy. Where was Claudia?

I started down the stairs to check and stopped halfway, spotting her over the rail. There was no one else in the hall, and in the quiet she was standing at the water entrance, brooding, looking across the moldy landing stage to the canal. My mother had had the arched doorway opened and the steps lined with torches, in case anyone wanted to arrive by water, but no one had. Instead the lights flickered on the lonely utility boat we kept there and a jumble of paving stones covered with a tarp, once intended to repair the landing steps but abandoned by the marchesa until some money was found. In the cold, Claudia’s breath steamed.

“Get lost?” I said, coming up to her.

“It’s like a dungeon. So damp.”

“I know. Even at low tide the steps get covered now. Come on, you’ll catch cold.”

“What did she say about me?”