Opening the cardboard mail tube she had been carrying, Stella withdrew a large coloured print. Stretching it out so that her friends could make out the image, she stood back for a moment to catch her breath.
They both inspected the print, confused and concerned.
Splayed across the table top was Gentileschi’s violent depiction of Judith, biblical heroine, decapitating Holofernes, biblical monster. Stella pulled her own printed copy from her satchel. She turned it over so that they could see her handwriting.
‘Never again,’ read Carlotta with a questioning inflection.
With a loud slap, Stella slammed the tattered paper on top of the store-bought print.
She leaned over the table, balancing herself on her two outstretched arms. With a face full of determination, Stella lowered her voice menacingly and said, ‘Let’s get him.’
ventisette
Thetermosifonegave off a comforting warmth to spite the chill of the impending winter.
Marcella and Stella were at opposite ends of the sofa, while Carlotta sat in the grey wingback chair by the window. Each clutched a steaming mug of hot chocolate; the perfect remedy for problems of the heart.
‘Just to be clear, what you are suggesting is a revenge attack?’ Carlotta double-checked. ‘Sì?’
‘Not exactly,’ Stella clarified, taking another sip. ‘More like a series of karmic events designed to interrupt his life and perhaps embarrass him publicly, which we of course will plot and enact.’
‘I love it.’ Marcella’s bright eyes and flared nostrils did more than emphasise her support. ‘Maybe we could frame him for a crime?’
‘What?’ Stella erupted. ‘Absolutely not! Nothing illegal. Just . . . very inconvenient for him.’
‘Not even a little bit illegal?’ Marcella pinched her thumb and index fingers together to indicate just how illegal she was suggesting, then cackled loudly, accidentally spilling some of her hot chocolate between her breasts. ‘Vabbè, a luckyFiorentinocan enjoy it at midnight.’
They tittered with delight.
Carlotta went to retrieve the poster Stella had purchased at the gallery from the kitchen table. ‘Now, care to explain this? I won’t be beheading anyone, just so you know.’
‘No. Pass it here.’ Stella replied. Carlotta handed her the poster and Stella stretched it across her lap. ‘This is Judith. This guy here,’ she pointed to the dying man, ‘is Holofernes, an army general. The biblical story goes that his army is sent in to occupy the land of Judith’s people. Not happy about it, one night Judith gets dressed up and makes her way over to Holofernes’s base camp. She pretends to come in peace, to meet with Holofernes to arrange a treaty on the land. Well, Holofernes asks her to stay for a special meal. He becomes very drunk and when he falls asleep, Judith strikes and decapitates him with a sword. Long story short, her people were liberated and his army retreated. She was a hero.’
Carlotta asked, ‘So what does this story have to do with your situation?’
‘Well, when things ended badly with Andrew – and I won’t say much more on the matter – I turned to this painting, rather by mistake, to find solace and peace.’
‘This graphically violent image brings you peace? Stellina . . .’ Carlotta was pointing to the blood gushing from Holofernes’ neck.
‘Well, peace is what it represents. This is a woman who used a man’s shortcomings against him. She was sneaky, cunning and resourceful, and took it upon herself to seek justice for the greater good. Plus,’ she continued, ‘this was painted by Artemisia Gentileschi, the first woman ever to be admitted to the Academy of the Arts of Drawing in Florence. This painting, as well as its artist, are very important to the art world. Artemisia was assaulted as a young woman. Some people say that she painted Holofernes to look like her attacker, and that she painted her own face on the figure of Judith.’
‘You are the Judith character in this situation?’ Carlotta asked.
‘I guess you could say that. And Holofernes is Vincent.’
‘But what about the old lady?’ Carlotta peered over Stella’s shoulder.
‘That’s Judith’s maid servant. That would be you, Carlotta, as you helped trap Vincent in his own web of lies.’
‘And where am I? I’m important, too,no?’ Marcella demanded.
Stella smiled. ‘You are Artemisia, the painter. You constructed this whole thing. You set it up, created the little world and brought us all together. Artemisia used her own painful experience to shape this painting, just as you used your painful experience with Federico as a lens through which you sensed something wasn’t right with Vincent. You acted on that and protected me, just as Judith did her own people.’
‘I am happy that my . . . pain . . . could do some good, Stellina.’ Marcella’s gaze dropped into her mug. For good measure, she added, ‘Bastardo!’
Taking a final mouthful of hot chocolate, Stella was finally prepared for the long, detailed version of how Vincent’s unravelling came to pass. ‘Tell me everything that happened. I think I’m ready to hear it.’
Dressed and ready for dinner, the three set off on foot.
