Property of Blood by Magdalen Nabb Page B

me: We have special dogs who will help us find your signora and you must help the dogs by giving me a piece of clothing for them. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, Signor.’
    ‘Something the dogs can sniff at and then … do you understand me?’
    ‘Yes, Signor.’
    The Marshal sighed. He understood that she would answer Yes, Signor’ if he asked her to jump out of the window and would then continue to stand rooted to the spot as she was doing now. He also understood that this sort of thing was why his Captain had sent him here. He’d try once more and if he failed, he’d try and send her to fetch the daughter back.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Silvia, Signor.’
    He gave her his big white handkerchief.
    ‘Thank you, Signor.’
    ‘Unfold it. Dry your eyes.’
    ‘Yes, Signor.’ She doubled it up, put it in her overall pocket, and dried her eyes with her hand and sleeve.
    ‘Now then, Silvia, your signora’s clothes. Clothes …’ He looked around him but there wasn’t a scrap of clothing in sight.
    Silvia opened one of a long line of gold-and-white wardrobe doors. This was progress.
    ‘My signora hundreds of clothes,’ she wept proudly. ‘Hundreds …’ She went on opening and suddenly yanked out something long, frothy, and very transparent.
    ‘This one when Mister Patrick come from States. My signora very sexy for Mister Patrick—oh, my signora…’ She collapsed in tears again, remembering reality. The transparent frothy thing fell from her small hands.
    The Marshal picked it up. It was obviously freshly laundered and of no real use to him.
    ‘Laundry,’ he said, getting a grip on her shoulder. ‘Where is your signora’s laundry? Her washing?’ She had probably washed every scrap after ten days. She looked unhappy about it but led him into the bathroom, all white and gold and very large.
    A laundry basket! He opened it without much hope but a couple of lacy scraps of underwear lay at the bottom. He helped himself.
    Silvia was horrified and a crescendo of “My signoras” followed him as he returned to the bedroom, slipping the underwear into a polythene bag from his pocket. He felt almost as bad about it as she did. A total stranger pawing her signora’s intimate clothing—unwashed intimate clothing—with his big clumsy hands! He was glad to get away from her tears and squeaks of protest and find his own way back to the white drawing room.
    Leonardo was talking very quiedy into the phone, his free hand holding his forehead. His sister was perched on the arm of the sofa beside him.
    ‘All right. I’ll come down.’ He hung up.
    ‘Leo, you can’t possibly. It’s ridiculous! I’ll go down.’
    But he picked up his jacket and put it on cautiously as if any sudden movement would increase his pain. He stroked her arm gently, calming her. ‘They need me. I’ll be all right.’ He got to his feet and, seeing the Marshal, said, ‘I’m sorry…’
    ‘Please don’t worry. I can see you’re in no fit state to talk to me. I’ll come back when you’re better—but, excuse me, surely your sister’s right. You can’t be thinking of going anywhere?’
    ‘Only down to the workroom. Otherwise they can’t get on. Will you walk down with me?’
    ‘Of course.’ If only because he’d probably need to hold him up. The Marshal had never seen anyone look that ill and be on their feet. Yet he started, albeit unsteadily, down the broad staircase.
    ‘Don’t you want the lift?’
    ‘Sorry. The noise, movement… I can’t.’
    They made it down the stairs but as they crossed by the fountain the young man stopped, swaying. The Marshal steadied him.
    ‘My mother… oh, God, I don’t know anymore what’s best…’
    ‘It will be all right. If you’ll let me talk to you. If you’ll trust me.’
    But the Marshal realized he was talking to himself. The young man’s deep-set eyes were blank. He could no longer hear or move.
    ‘Help me …’
    ‘I’m here to help you, believe me—’
    ‘No.