Joseph Kanon - Alibi

“An old flame?”

“How he used to dance. Don’t be fresh. Go and be conspicuous. Maybe you can get the orchestra to liven things up a bit.” She turned to Claudia. “We’ll talk later. I’m so glad you came. You look lovely.” She moved over to the head of the stairs. “Ernesto, how marvelous. No, don’t hurry. Oodles of time.”

A waiter came by with champagne.

“They’re going to start wondering where he is,” Claudia said, looking at her glass. She shuddered suddenly, like someone caught in a draft.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. “I’m nervous. I don’t know why. Not before, not even in the boat. And now here, a place like this.”

“Have some champagne.”

“Oh, just like that. Champagne-as if nothing’s happened.”

“I want people to see us having a good time,” I said, spreading my hand, steady now, toward the ballroom. “He won’t be missed for hours. He’s a doctor. They’re like that. Things come up.” I put down my glass on a little table. “So let’s be conspicuous. Dance?”

She looked up at me, biting her lip. “It’s my fault, all this.”

I held up my arms, ready to dance.

“And now for you, this trouble. What if you had never met me?”

I took the champagne glass out of her hand. “Yes, what if?” I said, then put my arm behind her back and moved her into the room.

The orchestra, in formal cutaways, was playing “Why Do I Love You?” but slightly off-rhythm, as if they were sight-reading, more familiar with Strauss than a twenties show tune. Not that it mattered. The dancers were moving at their own pace, peering over shoulders, the music just an excuse to look around at one another. Everything gleamed-jewels, the huge mirrors, even the long parquet floor, polished probably for days. I thought of Byron’s famous party, when they threw gold plates into the canal.

“So you can dance too,” Claudia said.

“Miss Hill’s dancing class. We all had to go. The boys hated it.”

“And the girls?”

“They liked to get dressed up.”

She glanced around the room. “So nothing changes. Look at the clothes. Is it all right, the dress?”

“Perfect.”

“Ha, perfect. The poor relation.”

“Not too poor,” I said, putting a finger to the necklace. Off to the left I caught a quick flash of light, stronger than a candle.

“Jewels. If my father could see me-” She looked away, frowning. “Maybe it was for him, what happened. For him.”

But at that moment, my face suddenly warm, I knew it wasn’t. Not for him, not even for Claudia. I’d wanted to do it. I wasn’t in the cold boat anymore, unable to think. I’d wanted to do it. Even now I could feel the odd excitement of it, my arms shaking as I held his head under.

“What’s wrong?” Claudia said.

“Nothing. Just a little warm. Dance over there-I want them to take our picture.”

Another flash went off, and now the heat drained away from my face, as if my blood were running back and forth, like the tide in the lagoon.

“Adam? What are you doing here?” My mother was standing with a couple at the edge of the dance floor. I leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“I decided you were right, so we borrowed a dress. Your idea, remember?”

My mother was taking in Claudia, giving a surprised glance at the necklace. Then she smiled, extending her hand, not missing a beat. “Claudia, how nice.”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

My mother waved this away. “Wonderful what being twenty years younger can do for a dress. It’s perfect on you.” And I saw in her smile that she thought some other bargain had been struck, an end to the trouble, our coming a promise of smoother days ahead, more precious than rubies. Her face beamed with a kind of warm relief. “Oh, but let me introduce Inspector Cavallini. Signora Cavallini.”

“Inspector?” Claudia started, not expecting this, but the Cavallinis, half turned to the dance floor, missed the flicker in her eyes.

“Signorina Grassini, isn’t it?” my mother went on. “I’ve become so bad at names. And my son of course you know. I think you met at Harry’s.”

There were the usual nods and handshakes, something to fall back on while I collected myself.

“Yes, I remember,” I said quickly, a signal to Claudia. “I hope you’re not on duty tonight.”

“Only as an escort,” he said, smiling. “It’s my wife who brings me.” Signora Cavallini nodded, accepting this. She had the grave, long face of someone invited for her family connections.

“Well, if Gianni doesn’t get here soon you will be,” my mother said. “I’ll have to send you out to find him.”

“Ah, if every woman did that when the man is late, the police would never sleep.”

“Adam, you did call him.”

“Yes. At the hospital. I told him to meet you here. He’s probably around somewhere. It’s a mess downstairs. We were here for ages before we found you.”

Claudia looked away.

“No, it’s not like him. Well, it is like him, but not this much, if you see what I mean.”

“Excuse me, would you turn this way, please?”

The photographer stepped back onto the dance floor, motioning with his head for us to stand closer. A flash went off and there we were, evidence, Claudia and I standing next to the police. For one wild moment I wanted to laugh, caught by the unexpectedness of luck.

“Perhaps you would not worry so much if you were dancing,” Cavallini said. “May I?”

After a nod to Signora Cavallini, he led my mother out to the floor, leaving us to make small talk with his wife. It was a pity about the rain, but the ball was lovely, the way Venice used to be. So much food. Of course, it was easier for foreigners. When even this ran out, I looked at my mother, chatting happily while she danced, and I felt queasy again.

Signora Cavallini, whose English was poor, must have been as bored as we were, because she led her husband away before he could ask for another dance. They drifted into the next room, where supper would be served later, picking up glasses of champagne along the way.

“My god, what a country. Even the policemen go to balls. Imagine at home,” my mother said.

“How does Mimi know him?”

“His wife, I think. Of course, with Mimi you never know. She casts a pretty wide net. Look at them all,” she said, waving to the room. “And she was so worried. ‘They won’t come out in the rain.’ Well, they’d come out in a monsoon. You’ll never guess who’s here. Celia de Betancourt. I thought, the war really must be over if she’s back. Venezuela all this time. Imagine the boredom of it.”

“Who?”

“Darling, you remember. You were fascinated by her when you were little. On the beach. She would just tan and tan.”

I made a helpless gesture.

“Well, anyway, she’s here. Still brown as a berry too. Of course it’s sunny there, I suppose. That’s her, over with Mimi. Remember?”

I looked across the floor at a woman in a strapless taffeta gown, her dark neck entirely covered in diamonds.

“That’s some necklace.”

“The jewels are past belief. I think even Mimi was stunned. They said the war would put an end to all this, and just look.”

“I hope it’s all right,” Claudia said, touching hers. “About the necklace.”

My mother said nothing for a minute, her face soft and pleased, then put her hand on Claudia’s. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Adam’s father gave it to me. Awful to think of it just sitting in a box somewhere. It’s nice to give it some air.”

“Like a pet,” I said.

“You know what I mean. What’s the point of having them if you don’t wear them? Anyway,” she said to Claudia, “I’m glad you did.” She turned to me, her eyes moist. “You look so like your father in those clothes. So like. He loved to dress up, you know. Parties.”