Until today.
Max got down from the table, everyone rearranged a plate or a glass, and cutlery clattered on the tiles. Javier said, ‘Okay then, I’ll open another bottle.’
The atmosphere was beginning to be upbeat until …
‘Wait,’ Cuneo requested very quietly.
‘What?’
‘I said, please wait a second.’
Salvatore stared fixedly at his plate. Water was dripping from his chin into the salad dressing.
‘Capitano. Mio caro Massimo. Dear Zelda, Javier, my friend. Little Elaia, dear little Elaia.’
‘And Lupo,’ the young woman whispered.
‘I too have a … confession to make.’
His chin was resting on his bulky chest.
‘It’s like this … Ecco: Vivette is the girl I loved, and for the past twenty-one years, I’ve been scouring every river in France, every marina, every harbour for her.’
Everyone nodded.
‘And?’ Max asked tentatively.
‘And … she’s married to the mayor of Latour and has been for twenty years. She has two sons and an unbelievable, gigantic triple backside. I found her fifteen years ago.’
‘Oh,’ Zelda sighed.
‘She remembered me, but only after she’d mistaken me for Mario, Giovanni and Arnaud in turn.’
Javier leaned forward. His eyes flashed. He was now pulling very quietly on his cigarette.
Zelda smiled nervously. ‘Surely you’re joking?’
‘No, Zelda. I carried on regardless, looking for the Vivette I’d met on the river one summer’s night many years ago. Even when I’d long since found the real Vivette. Because I’d found the real Vivette I had to carry on looking for her. It’s—’
‘Sick,’ Javier cut him off sharply.
‘Papa!’ cried Elaia in horror.
‘Javier, my friend, I’m so—’
‘Friend? You lied to me and to my wife! Here, in my house. You came to us seven years ago and served us up your … your pack of lies. We gave you work, we trusted you, for God’s sake!’
‘Let me explain why.’
‘You used your little romantic comedy to wheedle compassion out of us. It’s nauseating.’
‘Please stop shouting,’ Jean said sternly. ‘He certainly didn’t do it to spite you. Can’t you see how hard this is for him?’
‘I can shout as much as I like. And it’s no surprise you understand him. You don’t seem to be right in the head either, what with that dead woman of yours.’
‘You’ve gone too far, Monsieur,’ snapped Max.
‘I’d better leave.’
‘No, Cuneo, please. Javier’s on edge. We’re waiting for some laboratory results about Lupo.’
‘I’m not on edge, I’m disgusted, Zelda. Disgusted.’
‘The three of us are leaving. Right now,’ said Perdu.
‘Good riddance,’ hissed Javier.
Jean stood up. So did Max.
‘Salvo?’
Only now did Cuneo look up, streaming tears and bottomless sadness from his eyes.
‘Thank you very much for your hospitality, Madame Zelda,’ said Perdu.
She gave him a thin, despairing smile.
‘Best of luck with Lupo, Mademoiselle Elaia. I am very, very sorry for what you’re going through. From the depths of my heart,’ he said, turning to the sick girl. ‘And I hope for your sake, Monsieur Javier, that your wonderful wife goes on loving you and that one day you realise how precious that is. Good-bye.’
It was clear from Javier’s expression that he wanted to punch Perdu.
Elaia ran after the men across the dark, silent garden. Her footsteps in the damp night-time grass were the only sound apart from the chirping of the crickets. Elaia walked alongside Max in her bare feet. He took her gently by the hand.
As they stood by the boat, Cuneo said hoarsely: ‘Thanks for the … lift. With your permission, Giovanni Perduto, I’ll pack my stuff and leave.’
‘No need to stand on your dignity and slip off into the night, Salvo,’ Perdu replied serenely.
He climbed up the ship’s ladder, and Cuneo followed him hesitantly.
When they had struck the flag from the prow, Perdu asked with a little laugh: ‘A gigantic triple backside? What the hell’s that?’
Cuneo answered uncertainly: ‘Well, imagine a triple chin … on someone’s backside.’
‘No, I’d rather not,’ snorted Perdu, barely stifling a chuckle.
‘You’re not taking this seriously,’ Cuneo complained. ‘Just imagine if the love of your life turned out to be an illusion. With a horse’s backside, a horse’s teeth and a brain that was presumably reeling from kenophobia.’
‘A fear of empty spaces? Scary.’
They smiled shyly at each other.
‘Loving or not loving should be like coffee or tea; people should be allowed to decide. How else are we to get over all our dead and the women we’ve lost?’ Cuneo whispered dejectedly.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t.’
‘You think so? Not get over it, but … then? What then? What task do the departed want us to do?’
That was the question that Jean Perdu had been unable to answer for all these years.