The girls turned towards the door as it opened. Irma was doing her nails with a towel spread over her knees and Anna was reading a flyer about a romantic film, A Dream of Love. Gioia sat motionless, hands on her knees, chin squared. The only thing that made her interesting was her blue eyes, clearly defined by long lashes, and the youthful freshness of her skin. She was staring straight ahead with such a dark look on her face that it seemed as if she were about to cry.
Clara appeared in the doorway and glanced at the card in her hands. “Hurry up, girls! There’s a crowd. Anna, put on 2412; Irma, 2437. And Gioia, you get into 75 from the evening gowns with capes,” she ordered. She turned and yelled into the corridor, “Papina, come and help the models!” She repeated the three numbers after checking them on her card and then disappeared. Irma threw the towel and her nail file in the air.
“I told you so. Eleven-thirty, and it’s starting already. This whole day is going to be a laugh, just wait and see! And after yesterday’s crimes, the clients will be coming in droves to see the designs, just to snoop. It stinks of corpses in here!” She opened the wardrobe and slid through the numbers. “I knew it. Number 2437 is the one I hate!”
She took the hanger and removed the garment, throwing it on the carpet. Quickly wriggling out of her skirt, she tugged at her jacket zipper and she too appeared in her white silk chemise, tall and imposing as a young willow.
“Quick, Papina. Get the trousers ready for me. It’s just the right day for beachwear!”
Papina had grey hair and a purple face. She was like a trained mouse, one of those small white ones that sit up on their tails and then fall flat, their stomachs slapping the ground. She got up on her tail and stayed there through some miracle of balance, to the confusion of all who saw her walking around on her little bow legs and funny round feet. Yet her hands were so quick and lively that one couldn’t even feel her buttoning up a dress, lacing a belt or pulling a skirt round the hips to adjust it.
As she took the blue trousers and yellow sash from the wardrobe for Irma, she walked behind Gioia and shook the girl’s shoulders.
“Quickly, my lovely! If you sit there under a spell, the prince can’t carry you off to the wedding…”
She’d read all the fairy stories and took delight in being irresistibly droll, so instead of wedding she’d said werewolf; she was imitating Macario, whom she’d seen at the cinema.
Gioia stood up, shook herself and started taking off the black dress she was wearing. Anna went over to her.
“Be brave, darling! You’ve had a tooth pulled, and in a short while you won’t feel any more pain. What can you do? It’s probably better this way.”
Gioia looked at her like a frustrated dog and sighed.
“You say that because you didn’t know him like I did. We were going to be married.”
“Him?!” Irma burst into laughter as she put on her trousers. But Anna gave her such a hard shove that she had to lean against the wardrobe in order not to fall over.
“Can’t you see she’s really suffering?”
“She’s a fool to suffer. Valerio wasn’t worth it.”
“Well shut up, then!”
Gioia’s eyes were full of tears.
“Come on, lovely! Now you’ll need your make-up artist. Sit here while I tell you a yoke…” And Papina, armed with a handkerchief, wiped her tears dry with one hand while helping her to take off her dress with the other.
Just then, De Vincenzi appeared in the corridor, coming from the direction of the lift. He’d arrived at Corso del Littorio a few minutes before and no one had seen him yet apart from Cruni and the doorman. He stopped by the open door of the models’ room and looked in. Anna saw him and said, “Yeeees…” The other girls turned round and fell silent.
He smiled. “Good morning, ladies. I’m here to speak to you as well.”
Marta’s voice came from behind him.
“Good morning, Inspector. They’re waiting for the girls in the showroom. Couldn’t you question them later?”
“But of course! What are you doing? Is it another catwalk show?”
“Oh, no. But the clients are here. They’ve asked to see a few dresses and we always show them on the girls.”
“I see.”
He started for the door of the office, stealing a glance at Marta beside him.
“No, Clara will take care of it. And anyway, I doubt it will come to anything. Those ladies are here because of the scandal. Have you read the papers?”
De Vincenzi smiled. “It was inevitable. What about Signora O’Brian?”
“She’s in her room. I haven’t seen her yet this morning. I think she’s suffering.”
“That’s also inevitable. May I go in?” He put a hand to the door—the one through which Evelina must have passed so many times.
“Go ahead. Signor O’Lary is in the office.”
They found Madame Firmino in Evelina’s room. She was no longer in her dressing gown, but wearing a masculine outfit in iron-grey, with wide trousers falling over cork-soled shoes. She came up to De Vincenzi.
“All night I thought about what the police do when they come across two bodies and no definite clues that permit them to proceed with an arrest. You may be able to throw some light on this for me, Inspector, because on my own I couldn’t think of an answer to the question.”
She spoke ironically but looked feverish. Her apparent indifference masked a very serious worry, and her nerves couldn’t have been the firmest or soundest, despite her sun cures.
“Madame Firmino, the police can do nothing but watch and wait. But who told you there weren’t any clues in this building?”
“A clear, small fingerprint? Cigarette ash? So did the murderer sign their work?” She gave a fake laugh and turned on her heel so that she was facing Evelina’s desk. “In the meantime, Evelina is no more! And don’t tell me she didn’t take up much space!”
There was real emotion in her voice, but De Vincenzi felt the young woman was moved more on her own account than that of the poor spinster. It was easy to guess that Madame Firmino was afraid, and she’d probably barricaded the door to her own room the previous night. But of whom was she afraid? She leant against the desk, staring at De Vincenzi.
“What would you say, Inspector, if I packed my bags and returned to France? Would you try to stop me?”
“I believe so, Signorina—for the next few days anyway.” He shook his head disconsolately. “I don’t believe I can let you go.”
“I thought as much!” She turned to look at Marta. “Cheer up, Marta! I’m thinking about a charming little design we could launch, a graceful cape in black silk, dotted all over with tiny silver skulls. It’d make a splash, and we could call it Number 13!”
“Dolores!” Marta exclaimed reprovingly. She must have been very upset to have used Dolores’s real name. “Why not go and take the sun rather than standing here spouting foolishness?”
Madame Firmino shrugged and threw her cigarette on the floor. Just then, O’Lary appeared at the office door. He looked at the two women first, then at De Vincenzi.
“A good thing you’re here, Inspector.” His voice was shaky and his forehead pearled with sweat. “Cristiana phoned me just now from her room. She’d like me to go up there. She says she’s found another orchid in her bathroom. Another orchid—and there wasn’t one before.”
“Oremus” was pale.
“I’ll go up to Signora O’Brian. But I’m asking you, O’Lary: don’t phone to let her know I’m coming. I forbid you.”
He spoke so harshly that Prospero and the two women stiffened as if he’d lashed them.