To Die in Tuscany by David Wagner (uplifting books for women .txt) 📗

“No.”

“Then he wants to talk to you alone. Don’t forget to ask him where he was this morning. You can tell me this afternoon what he said. I’m sure you’ll remember everything.”

“I’ll try.”

* * *

Betta had expected that the director of a famous museum located inside one of Italy’s architectural treasures would have an impressive office, and that was certainly the case. She had been in many spectacular offices in Rome, starting with that of the Culture Minister, but they had nothing on the room where Vitellozzi toiled. To begin with, there was the view: the hills of Le Marche spreading like an undulating green carpet outside the windows. Her eyes then were drawn to the ceiling frescoes where a parade of allegorical figures marched among clouds and exotic birds. A wavy geometric pattern flowed through the tiles on the floor, and gilded puti looked down from decorations above doors and windows. With all of that in competition for a visitor’s attention, no additional art was needed, but the museum director had hung two paintings in ornate frames on the wall opposite the windows. He didn’t have the pick of the collection—the famous masterpieces had to be on public view—but Betta was sure there was enough art available that didn’t fit in the main rooms to provide him with a good selection. She was surprised that he had chosen a rather obscure sixteenth-century artist whom she recognized only because she’d seen his work in the museum in her native Bassano. It was a style she favored, with deeper colors and thicker brushstrokes than were fashionable among the artists of that period.

Vitellozzi rose from his chair behind a desk made from one large plank resting on sawhorses of the same aged wood. A small stack of files made up the only paper on a working surface that also held a phone, computer, and cantilevered desk lamp. Unlike on the previous day, he wore a white shirt with a tie of conservative design. His dark suit jacket was draped over the desk chair, and he made no move to slip it on, a subtle indication of where he placed Betta in the pecking order of the Italian cultural world. That impression was confirmed when he motioned for her to take a seat at the meeting table at one side of the room rather than in one of the comfortable upholstered chairs arranged near his desk. This was to be all business, which suited her fine. The required coffee offer was made and politely declined, and he settled into the place at the head of the table.

“Thank you for seeing me again, Dottor Vitellozzi.”

He waved a hand to indicate that thanks were not necessary. “You must forgive me for the chaos yesterday, but it ended well. By the evening, the exhibit was in place, and all that needs to be done today is to bring in the food and wine. We will see you this evening, I trust?”

“Yes, it will be a pleasure.”

He pushed back the chair and crossed leg over knee. “It is on days like this that I am reminded how fortunate I am to be the director of a magnificent institution like this. Who would not want to work surrounded by some of mankind’s most magnificent creations? And that includes this palace, of course.” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. “You know, this room may have been a hideaway for the duke when he wanted to get away from his court. There’s no historical evidence to prove it, just conjecture, but I like to believe it’s true. Can’t you just picture him sitting here reading one of the many books in his famous library, occasionally looking out over the hills of his dukedom? Perhaps pondering the ideas of great philosophers or planning his next military campaign? Who knows what ideas were spawned in this very room?” He sighed. “But you have not come here to consider the life of Federico da Montefeltro.”

It was a different Annibale Vitellozzi, and not just because he was more formally dressed. This was a contemplative, mellow museum director rather than a brusque, harassed exhibit-hanger. Betta had been ready for the same personality, and ready to dislike the man. Now she wasn’t sure. Would he today be more likely to open up about Somonte?

“Yesterday I neglected to ask you if Somonte had the drawing with him when he visited you here.”

Vitellozzi looked up at the mythological commotion on the ceiling as he tried to remember. “The drawing.” His eyes returned to Betta and he nodded. “Yes, he certainly did. Had it in a leather case that he seemed quite proud of. I had not seen the sketch when Bruzzone put it on sale, since without any funds to purchase it, there was no reason for me to go look at it then. It would have only increased my frustration.”

“As you must have felt when you finally did see it.”

“I can’t lie to you—I was angered as I held it in my hands. I’m sure that Somonte sensed my anger, but he seemed to enjoy it. He was that kind of person.”

“So you think that was the purpose of his dropping in?”

“Ostensibly he came by to talk about the arrangements for tonight. As I told you yesterday, he was paying the bill for much of the event, and he wanted to know about the program. I was planning to recognize his contribution and thank him, of course, and I still will, though the tone will be more somber. His widow will come, I assume, and she will be the one thanked.”

Betta changed the subject, but only slightly. “The leather case has turned up.” She watched his reaction carefully.

“The…the case with the drawing? It was inside?”

“No, it was empty.” She took her phone from her pocket and hit the screen while Vitellozzi watched with a puzzled look on his face. After a moment,