"I'm sure Dr. Kappa has it all in hand. By the way." Valdieri turned away from the window in the manner of detectives in films, as though suddenly remembering a minor point of little importance. "Are you aware of activity by the Knights of the Holy Succession at this clinic?"
Bernetti kept his hands in the desk drawer. "I hear all sorts of things."
Valdieri sensed it might be profitable to keep this one going. He'd broken through the defiance at last. "You and I must go through a list of personal questions. Sooner rather than later."
Bernetti forced a laugh. "This sounds serious. Men from the Vatican in dark suits disturb me. Men from the Vatican in clerical robes of black and purple are positively alarming."
Valdieri pointed to the only picture on the wall above the desk. "Someone in your family?"
Bernetti nodded. "My nephew in Firenze. It was taken last year on his tenth birthday."
Valdieri picked up a small framed photograph from the desk. "Tell me about this." The picture showed Bernetti and Kappa in front of Bernetti's desk holding an award scroll, and looking pleased with themselves. "I was given a citation by the Medical Association of California for services to neurosurgery."
"Recently?" Valdieri studied the photograph closely, trying to make his question sound casual.
"Three months ago. The chairman flew here specially from LA."
Valdieri nodded. "Most revealing."
Bernetti looked at the picture on his desk, then up at the wall. He managed a half smile as he stood up. "Before you say anything more, Your Excellency, let me make you some coffee."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Convent of the Little Sisters of Tourvillon
WIDE ROWS of flowering lavender separated the Little Sisters from the hospital. After a light breakfast Valdieri spent fifteen minutes in private prayer before strolling across the gardens to the Convent, breathing deeply to experience the nostalgic perfume of his childhood.
The antiseptic smell of the clinic had proved rather overwhelming during the night, reminding him of a disagreeable hospital stay in Rome six years ago for the removal of a particularly vicious bunion.
The Mother Superior received him in the large hallway of the Convent. "Please, Your Excellency," she said with a strained smile, "do not judge Sister Angela too unsympathetically. Would you like to see her now?"
Valdieri looked in surprise at the Mother Superior. "Is that possible? I understood Dr. Kappa was somewhat reticent about granting permission."
"Permission indeed!" The woman in white bristled with indignation. "I would like to remind Dr. Kappa that the Convent and the Sisters are my responsibility. There is to be an unexpected visit by the Holy Father, just to see our little Convent, and Dr. Kappa talks about giving his permission for one of my Sisters to be seen? Why else would the Holy Father come to Tourvillon but to see the Sisters?"
Stephen Valdieri kept a careful distance between himself and the tall figure in the white habit. Obviously the elderly Sister Angela was not the only member of the Order currently in the dark. "Why else indeed?"
The Mother Superior raised a finger to her lips and spoke in a hushed tone. "There is much about Sister Angela's past we do not know. She was, I believe, a rather wild young girl. Some say she is a little simple."
"And is she?" The evaluation seemed to be given a little too quickly.
"It is what I was told when I first came here as Mother Superior."
"Then you have had many years to form an opinion of your own."
"I can believe she was once a willful child."
"I'm sure we were all willful children once." Glancing at the woman in white Valdieri let his smile evaporate. The incumbent of the Convent, superior both in name and attitude, had plainly never been a child. The woman with the dark skin must have somehow materialized as a formidable figure of authority. He had encountered many such women in his childhood and they still sent tremors through his stomach. "Speaking generally of course."
The barbed comment was ignored. "Please do not intimidate Sister Angela. She is not used to men."
The Archbishop shook his head as he looked guardedly at the large woman. It was odd how men could intimidate women, but no one thought that women could intimidate men. "Has she lived here all her life?"
"She was taken in by the Sisters in their mercy while still an infant. I believe she grew to be a stubborn child and received very little outward benefit from her schooling. Perhaps that is why she is not considered as able as the other Sisters." The Mother Superior paused, as though appreciating for the first time a possible justification for the Sister's lack of full integration into the religious community. Then she added as an afterthought, "I am sure you will like her."
"You lock her room?" Valdieri was surprised to see the large key in the door.
"A recent custom, Your Excellency. Dr. Kappa requested it. Sister Angela has been known to wander across to the clinic and talk to the patients in French, which of course they cannot understand. She is unable to speak English and Dr. Kappa is concerned that his patients might become anxious in her presence."
It was certainly time the custom lapsed. But he refrained from comment and made a mental note to take action later. "The Holy Father will meet Sister Angela in your cappella as soon as he has recovered from the journey."
"Thank you, Your Excellency."
The Mother Superior slowly opened the old but polished wooden door to the small room, to reveal sparse furniture and an elderly Sister in a white habit. "A guest to see you, Sister Angela."
The timid nun who looked to be well into her eighties was already on her feet. She bowed her head meekly.
"An important visitor is coming to see you next week," Valdieri explained, trying not to put on a patronizing voice, but realizing he had done so nonetheless.
"She doesn't know yet," said the Mother Superior quickly. "We thought it best."
Valdieri attempted a smile to give the frail Sister reassurance. "He will want to hear about your visions in the garden."
"It was a long time ago, Your Excellency." Sister Angela stood smartly to attention, her eyes solidly on him. "I was a silly, wanton girl when it happened."
"And who told you that you were silly and wanton?" Valdieri found it hard to conceal his annoyance at words that could never have been composed within this Sister's head.
"Reverend Mother did, Your Excellency."
The Mother Superior took a sharp breath. "She is confused, poor child."
The thought of this elderly Sister still being a child was unexpected. "I think, Reverend Mother, she means an earlier Mother Superior."
Sister Angela put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, Reverend Mother, I was indeed remembering another. And the bishop. He was called in to speak with me. They both told me I was a wicked child to pretend such a thing."
Valdieri nodded slowly. It was easy to believe that this account was verbatim. "Now, Sister Angela, you must think back to the time in the garden most carefully. Sometimes children play games. Games of pretend."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Valdieri could clearly hear the Mother Superior draw in another quick breath. If only he could be here alone with the old nun, it would be so much easier to find out for sure what had really happened in 1934. How embarrassing it would be if the story collapsed at the first question from the Holy Father.
"You will answer the Archbishop's questions carefully, Sister."
"Yes, Reverend Mother."
It disturbed Valdieri to witness the overbearing pressure being applied to this frail Sister. "You moved to the Order in Rome? Si?"
The eyes came alive. "Si."
"And you speak Italian well? Con facilità?" This switch to Italian was the way to get round the lack of privacy. "Let me hear you."
The tired eyes darted to the Mother Superior and back. "In privato?"
The problem was solved. Valdieri smiled, and continued in Italian. "It will be a secret, whatever you want to tell me about the visions in the gard
en."
"Like the confession, Your Excellency?"
Aware of the frustration shown by the French-speaking Mother Superior, Valdieri kept the smile on his lips. Everything said in Italian would be solely between this Sister and himself. "Yes, like the confession. Do you have anything you would like to confess?"
"I was walking in the garden. It was nearly time for tea and I was rather late." Sister Angela's eyes stared at the white wall as though glimpsing a rerun of something that was still vivid. Her Italian was perfect. "It is why I was late for tea, but no one believed me when I got back. Reverend Mother said it was just an excuse for my disobedience."
"But it wasn't?"
"No, Your Excellency, I swear to God that the Lady in blue spoke to me."
"She might have been one of the Sisters, or perhaps a stranger." Valdieri smiled reassuringly. "Could it have been someone you had not seen before?"
"Oh no, Your Excellency, she was standing in the air. And she smiled."
Perhaps none of the Sisters smiled. Perhaps that was how Sister Angela knew it was a holy vision. "And I believe she spoke to you."
"She wanted to give me three messages. The first time I saw her she said the enemies of France would destroy the Convent. That must have been true, because the German soldiers came a few years later. It was very frightening when they surrounded the buildings with their guns, shouting at us to open the doors." Still the Sister's eyes were fixed on the wall. "Many of my friends were killed. I ran away to live in the village for a year." She paused. "Your Excellency, I did become a willful and wicked girl when I lived in the village."
Valdieri watched the feeble figure hold out a pitifully thin hand. "Do you not think the Lord has forgiven you for that, Sister Angela?"
The smile was spontaneous. "Yes, I know the Lord has forgiven me because I know that Jesus died for me on the cross. And you must trust me when I say that the Lady really did talk to me in the garden."
"And there were three messages?"
The eyes came alight again. "The next day the Lady returned and said that this would be a place of healing for the sick. Isn't it wonderful the way the clinic was built? I know her words did not come true until many years later, but she spoke the truth you see. That is how I know she was really there."
"And the third message?"
"I am not sure." The Sister's eyes showed an unexpected consternation. "The Mother Superior would not allow me to return on the third night -- or ever again. But now my prayers are for the safety of the Holy Father."
Valdieri felt his pulse quicken. "I think you know something of the third message. Is it a special secret?"
"The Lady never came back to explain it properly."
"Yet you know something?"
The Sister's eyes went to the Mother Superior and back again. "I overheard someone using the phone." Suddenly she began to sob. "It was the surgeon, Your Excellency. He is going to harm the Holy Father. Deep in my heart I know it was connected with the third message."
"And this was when you were still a child, before the war?"
"Oh no. It was a week ago, perhaps two. I am not certain."
"And the visions with the Lady?"
"They were a long time ago, Your Excellency. I am old now."
"Then you must tell me what you heard last week."
"You have a kind face, Your Excellency, but perhaps the Lady does not wish me to tell you what I heard. I will pray about it, and we will talk later."
Valdieri watched, wondering. Sister Angela had every reason to resent Dr. Kappa if he kept her locked away like this. Mixing the past with the present was a classic example of someone approaching dementia, but the Sister seemed aware of the passing of time. Even so, it would be difficult to draw any firm conclusion as to the reliability of the 1934 vision. Was it wise to let this confused old woman speak at length with the Holy Father?
Five minutes later the Mother Superior closed the door behind them, turning the key in the lock before accompanying him down the corridor.
"Well?" she asked. "In your experience, and giving the answer in French please, is it possible to know if a person is telling the truth?"
Valdieri ignored the caustic tone. "What do you think, Reverend Mother?"
"Who can say?"
"That Sister thinks she saw someone in the Convent garden, and whoever she saw, the event has had a profound effect on her. She also claims a more recent experience that has disturbed her very much, but somehow I doubt the two are related. Sister Angela is unclear, even in her own mind."
"I would like to know why there was no clear third message in nineteen thirty-four."
"The answer to that is only too obvious." Valdieri straightened his purple skullcap. "Unfortunately the Mother Superior refused to allow Sister Angela to return to the garden. No attendance, no proper message. Bluntly, Reverend Mother, your predecessor blew it."
"So we will never know?"
"Perhaps there is a way." The Mother Superior brought out the worst feelings in him. He felt like a mischievous boy again in his convent school, dared by unseen witnesses to avenge a million pupils.
"Your Excellency?"
"It occurs to me that the lady in the visions might be tempted to reappear again, if a very holy person were to stand long enough in the garden."
They emerged into the courtyard where the fragrance of the lavender again brought back strong memories of those school days.
He smiled. "Is there such a person in the Convent of the Little Sisters of Tourvillon today, Reverend Mother? Other than Sister Angela of course."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Avignon
THE DOORBELL rang continuously when Matt and Zoé were still in bed, their small CD player turning out the harsh tones of an Ibert flute sonata. Matt lurched to the window to see the roof of a yellow delivery truck in the narrow street below. The small package needed a signature.
"This is what I call a fast service." He returned to the comfort of the large, creaking bed.
"What is it?"
"It's from Ken Habgood."
"My samples are back already?"
"Hardly. Hey, keep off, I'm trying to open it up."
"I thought you liked the warm hands. What is it?"
"The bugs."
Zoé picked up one of the small black boxes that were no bigger than a matchbox. She looked at Matt who had thrown his head back in laughter. "Something is funny?"
"Typical of Ken. Just look at his letter. These bugs are the cheapest you can get, but if I lose them he's going to stop my pay for two months."
"He is joking?"
"I wouldn't bet on it."
"Then he should give you more money and only stop your pay for one month. How do they work?"
"We need a radio -- which he hasn't sent."
"Well, he certainly saved on the costs. Can we still use them?"
"Our car radio should be able to find them." Matt turned in surprise. "What do you mean, can we still use them? The job is terminated as far as I'm concerned. Finished. Over. Got it?"
"You wanted to help Leanne."
He jumped off the bed and pulled on his jeans. "Leanne's dead. We can't help her now. Alain won't want us tapping phones and planting bugs. Just forget about it, Zoé."
"But you said..."
"For one thing Leanne's death probably wasn't suspicious. And for another..."
"Yes?"
"I'm a private investigator, spelt P-R-I-V-A-T-E. I'm on holiday and I'm in another country. And that's only for starters. PIs can't hold an inquiry into a suspicious death."
"Alain would want to know who murdered Leanne."
"Will you stop it!" Zoé's persistence was becoming annoying. "You're pouting. I hate it when you pout. I'm going out to buy some croissants. If you're so keen to do something, make the coffee."
"So, who is Monsieur Grumpy this morning?"
Matt picked up one of the small black boxes. "We'd never use junk like this on proper surveillance work. I'm surprised Ken
sent them."
"Could you listen from far away?"
"From a quarter of a mile -- if you're lucky."
"A quarter of a mile is like a hundred kilometers. Please, let us do it. For the sake of my friend Leanne."
"I don't think you understand imperial measurements. A quarter of a mile is about 400 meters." Matt pulled on his sneakers. "And don't keep saying that about Leanne. You're still pouting. It doesn't suit you."
She threw the packaging at him. "So you are not going to help?"
"Help, girl? Just think about this sensibly. Suppose we find a way to get into the clinic, and manage to place these bugs on their phone and in their offices."
"I thought you knew how to do it."
"I don't even know how to get inside. We've only been as far as the gate and it's obvious they have good security. I've already told you, no one rushes into surveillance. But okay, supposing we could manage to get in."
"Yes?"
"And then we get caught."
"We do?"
"Let's say we do, yes. If Leanne was right and they're as guilty as hell, what would they do to us?"
"Tell me," said Zoé puckering her lips and making a move to entice him back into bed.
"They strap us down on the operating table and drill holes into our heads, right through into our brains."
"That is not a nice thing to say." Zoé sounded shocked.
"It's what you think they did to Leanne."
"No, it is not. Not exactly like that. Anyway, perhaps they are not guilty of anything."
"In that case they hand us over to the local police who lock us away for a few days. Either way we're not going to enjoy the rest of our holiday."
Zoé lay back on the bed, her top open. "Such a shame you got dressed, lover boy. If you want to enjoy your holiday ... Now who is it?"
The doorbell rang again, just the once this time. Matt opened the window and looked down into the street. "It's Alain. I'll go."
"Then be polite. I will come as soon as I am dressed. Make us all some coffee, Saint George."
Matt invited Alain in and they sat together, waiting for Zoé to appear. Matt picked up one of Zoé's magazines, rolled it tightly, and whacked a large fly out through the back door. The open window had allowed several sizeable insects to invade the kitchen during the chilly night. Avignon was unpredictable for temperature, but the forecast said this would be the hottest day of the year.