Marco Vichi - Inspector Bordelli 04 - Death in Florence by Marco Vichi

girl with a fine profile seated next to him. He’d better forget about her if he wanted to enjoy the film.
    The newsreel began. New cars at the Turin Salon, movie actors smiling, motorcycle races, industry thriving, beautiful Italy looking to the future and marvelling at the wealth it didn’t have. Even the advertisements talked about carefree worlds where life was comfortable and cheerful, the women attractive and families happy. That was how one governed a poor country: by making it dream.
    At last the film began, and between one gunfight and the next, Bordelli managed to distract himself. Then it was time for the intermission. The moment the lights came up, a dense mumble of voices rose from the floor. The inspector turned to look at the girl. Very pretty, with black hair and a fine little nose. Instinctively he thought of the words of Amelia the fortune-teller:
Soon you will meet a beautiful dark young woman …
    Beside her sat another girl with chestnut curls. They were both wearing skirts short enough to make one seasick. He kept ogling the dark girl, fascinated by her mischievous face. All at once she turned and looked at him. She had magnificent eyes animated by a treacherous childish sparkle. It lasted only a second. The girl looked away and whispered something into her friend’s ear, and they both giggled. He blushed at the thought that they mere making fun of him. When the ice-cream man appeared with his box of frozen delights strapped around his neck, it was a relief. Bordelli bought a chocolate-covered cone and bit into it with gusto, as he used to do as a child. He tried to ignore the girls. Every so often he would catch sight of their naked legs and melt into impossible dreams. He couldn’t help it. Women’s legs had always had a powerful effect on him. Their ankles and feet, too, were fascinating. Often, after making love, he would fall under the spell of a small foot sticking out from under the sheet, as though he were looking at some mysterious, archaic sculpture. Sometimes a woman would catch him staring and ask him what he was looking at, and he would change the subject, lacking the courage to tell the truth …
    The two girls next to him must have had superb little feet, to judge from their hands and their slender ankles. Better not to think about it. There were so many other girls all around him there. Most of them were in couples, and there was a lot of passionate kissing going on. Then darkness returned, and the film resumed. It was gripping, and you could have heard a pin drop. Whenever a close-up appeared of the good guy, who was also good-looking, one could hear a buzz of female voices. Bordelli watched the screen but was unable to forget about the dark girl next to him. He could hear her breathe, feel her move lightly in her seat, and at moments he could smell her real scent under her perfume. The girl smiled, and Bordelli saw her bright white teeth glimmer in the dark. With childish stubbornness he wanted to believe that the fortune-teller had been right, that this was in fact the young woman foretold by the tarot. Damn, he felt as if he was already falling in love. It was always like this, whenever he went out alone. He could fall in love with two slightly parted lips, a batting of eyelashes, a naked shoulder blade he saw passing in the street. Perhaps it was his secret remedy for feeling less alone, so he could keep on dreaming.
    He decided to forget about the fortune-teller’s predictions and concentrate on the film instead. The final duel had the whole audience holding its breath, even though everyone knew that the handsome chap would win … And he did. In the final scene, too, it was Mr Good Looks who was lord and master. He rode away on his horse, alone as every hero must be, full of money, victorious, riding off to new adventures …
    The lights came on and the two girls were the first to stand up. Bordelli remained seated. He took it hard. Though unable to admit it, he had been