Free Property of Blood by Magdalen Nabb Page B

crossed his mind that she was hiding her brother from him rather than vice versa.
    ‘Signorina …’ He was willing to pretend he didn’t know her but he stood his ground. ‘I beg your pardon for this intrusion but I’m looking for Brunamonti, Leonardo Brunamonti.’ She didn’t stand aside, even then, so it was by edging round her that he saw the young man on the white sofa untangle himself from the rug and sit up very slowly. At the floor by his feet lay an airman’s leather jacket. The Marshal felt sure it had been lying there since he came back on that fateful night. Yes, he was right. That was surely the handle of a dog lead sticking out of the pocket.
    Leonardo’s face was a shock. It was to be expected, of course, that he would not have slept, would be distraught, but his face had a greenish pallor, his skin was dry, and black rings circled his eyes, which he seemed barely able to keep open. In fact, after attempting to see the Marshal, he dropped his head into his hands and mumbled, ‘Shutter …’
    Only one inner shutter was open in the long room and the girl went then and closed it, leaving the thinnest possible crack of light by which they could see each other. Even that wouldn’t have been possible had not the room been almost entirely white. The Marshal found this whiteness odd but there was no time now to wonder why. He went and stood before the sofa. Leonardo was evidently as long and thin as his sister. He peered up between his fingers and murmured as though afraid of the slightest movement of his face. ‘Why are you here? Who … ?’
    This couldn’t be just stress. That woman below had said he wasn’t well, and the possibility that this was an abstinence crisis crossed the Marshal’s mind at once.
    ‘Have you been sitting by the phone for ten days?’
    No answer. He dropped his head further and pressed his fingers to his temples as though to prevent it from bursting apart His voice seemed to come from another world.
    ‘How did you find out?’
    ‘An informer. There’s no point in your worrying about that now and you needn’t fear that anything we do will put your mother’s life at risk.’
    The phone rang and Leonardo almost screamed before he grabbed at it.
    ‘Patrick … I can’t…’
    His sister took the receiver from him.
    ‘Patrick? He can’t talk, he’s too ill. I know he should. I’ve told him. I can sit by the phone. Patrick, listen, the carabinieri have found out—I don’t know—an informer or something. There’s somebody here now. I think you should talk to that agency and cancel everything. She’s my mother, Patrick, and Leo’s in no condition … When? I’ll pick you up from the airport. I’ll pick you up!’ She replaced the receiver. Her brother was lying down again, holding, with splayed fingers, a corner of the rug over his face.
    The Marshal indicated an inner door. ‘Could we …?’ He almost tiptoed out behind her. Whatever the reason for it, the young man’s pain was a palpable presence that hung heavy in the shuttered white room where the air could not have been changed for days.
    ‘I’ll take you to my room. We can talk there.’
    This room, when they reached it, seemed amazingly large for a single young woman. It was probable, of course, that all the bedrooms in such a palazzo were as big as this. Even the massive carved bed was lost in such a space. Facing the door, two broad steps led up to a high window with pale shiny curtains looped back in front of the shutters.
    ‘We can sit here.’ A long oak desk with a round leather chair in front on which she sat, remaining bolt upright, her hands posed in her lap. This time, though, she seemed a little excited and began twisting the diamond ring round and round her long finger as she talked.
    ‘Please sit down. I don’t think he suspected me, do you?’
    ‘No, I’m sure not.’ The Marshal sat down on a high-backed carved armchair that felt like a throne. ‘He’s much too distressed to care,