This didn’t sound like the Alice Graceland I remembered from the movies, so I assumed it to be a secretary. Presumably the grande dame didn’t answer her own phone.
I spoke in English. ‘Hello, my name’s Armstrong, Dan Armstrong. I’ve been asked to speak to Alice Graceland. Is now a good time?’
There was recognition in her voice when she answered. ‘Of course, Mr Armstrong, I’ll put you through.’ The line went dead for only a couple of seconds before I heard a different and instantly recognisable voice.
‘Mr Armstrong, hello. I’m delighted to hear from you. Thank you for calling.’ Hearing her voice took me back to old times sitting on the sofa with my ex-wife, wishing I could solve crimes with the panache of Alice Graceland. Her English accent on the phone to me was far less pronounced than the posh accent she adopted in her Elisa Banbury mysteries.
I took a deep breath and responded. ‘Good morning, I’m only too happy to speak to you.’
‘Can I ask where you’re calling from?’
‘I’m in Florence. I live and work here now.’
‘If you’re not too busy, I’d be very grateful if you could come and see me as soon as you can. Might that be possible? If so, when do you think you could you get here?’
‘Where are you calling from? Are you in Florence as well?’
‘I’m sorry, I should have said. I’m in Venice. Would you be able to come up and see me here?’
I thought quickly. Venice is almost three hundred kilometres north of Florence. In spite of having lived in Italy now for three years, I had yet to visit that famous city, although it was high onmy bucket list. As far as I could remember, I didn’t have anything too pressing on my agenda this week. ‘I could probably come as soon as tomorrow or Wednesday. I’ll have to check with the office to see what appointments I’ve got. I can call you back in a couple of minutes.’
‘That sounds excellent, thank you. I do hope you’ll be able to make it. I look forward to hearing from you.’ She sounded pleased, and when the call ended, I glanced down at Oscar.
‘What do you reckon? Is this my entry to the wonderful world of Hollywood, or is it something more banal?’
Oscar’s ear twitched, but he didn’t bother to open his eyes, so I called Lina at the office. She is my PA, receptionist, telephonist, occasional dog walker and friend, as well as being the wife of Virgilio, my best friend here in Italy. Commissario Virgilio Pisano is a senior police officer in the Florence murder squad, and we have a lot in common. He sometimes asks me to work alongside him, particularly when the case involves English speakers. Employing Lina has made my life a whole lot easier – not least because she handles the endless stream of Italian bureaucracy and, more importantly today, my diary.
I told her I had to go to Venice, and she confirmed that she felt sure she could rearrange the only appointment I had scheduled for tomorrow so that I could head north. I asked her to do that and told her I would explain what it was all about when I got back to the office. I immediately phoned Alice Graceland back. This time, she answered the call herself.
‘Mr Armstrong? Thanks for calling back. Are you going to be able to come and see me?’
‘Yes, indeed, I can come tomorrow.’
‘That’s excellent.’ She sounded delighted, and my spirits rose some more. ‘Give me your email and I’ll get my PA to send you a train ticket.’
I was tempted to tell her that I might consider driving but, in fairness, this would involve three hours on the road each way, so maybe the train was the sensible option. I dictated my email and was about to ask her for her address in Venice when she surprised me.
‘I’ll send my PA to collect you from the station.’
‘How will I recognise him or her?’
I heard an amused note in her voice. ‘You’re the private investigator, DCI Armstrong; you’ll work it out.’
I set down my phone on the table with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was intrigued and excited at the prospect of meeting such a big-name actor and, in spite of my best efforts to temper my expectations, I couldn’t help wondering whether this might presage some major step forward in my literary career. However, I told myself firmly that she almost certainly wanted me in my capacity as a private investigator.
I called Anna to give her the news, and she sounded fascinated. When discussing our forthcoming wedding over the past weeks since I had popped the question, and she had said yes, she and I had even toyed with the idea of slipping away for a quiet wedding in, of all places, Venice, but that was still in the melting pot. Considering that she had been born and bred in Florence and was immensely proud of her home town, I had been surprised to hear her describe Venice to me as the most amazing city in the world.
In view of her love of the city, I asked her if she wanted to come with me the following day. I suggested that she could take Oscar for a walk around the ‘amazing city’ and look for possible wedding venues while I had my meeting with the famous actor, but she had no hesitation in refusing.
‘Venice in the middle of July? You must be joking! If you think Florence is crowded at the moment, you can double or treble thatfor Venice. Here at least there are lots of streets for the tourists to wander around, but in Venice, the main roads are canals and many of the streets are little more than narrow walkways. Poor Oscar would probably be trampled underfoot and I wouldn’t do much better. No, you go and see your Hollywood icon, and I’ll stay here and look after Oscar, but don’t say I didn’t warn you about the crowds.’
Oscar and I exchanged glances. I would be sorry not to have him with me – he’s pretty much a permanent fixture at my side these days – but I knew Anna was right. Besides, she would spoil him rotten in my absence, and that would suit him down to the ground.
2
TUESDAY MORNING
Next morning, I caught the 9.20Frecciarossahigh-speed train to Venice. I was impressed to find that Alice Graceland’s PA had booked me tickets in business class rather than normal second class, and I had to admit that the journey was a lot more comfortable and relaxing than it would have been in my Volkswagen minivan.
