Auntie Poldi and the Sicilian Lions by Mario Giordano Read Free Book Online

“Wellwellwellwhat’sallthisthen?” Which, in mongrel speak, meant, “Yes, that’s right, you’re welcome to jump up and scrabble me with your dirty paws.” The two mutts, which needed no second bidding, left big, black smears of volcanic soil, humus and dust on her caftan. Then, before Poldi could curse, they scampered off in search of rats and more adventures.
    Dusty, sweaty and grimy, Poldi was promptly intercepted in the lobby of Russo’s palm-tree empire by two security guards in black tracksuit bottoms and sports shirts and ushered off the premises. “Very sorry, signora, but you need an appointment – no, nothing to be done without an appointment, Signor Russo’s a very busy man – no, you really can’t see him without an appointment, no, not even if you have come specially from Germany, send us an email or phone for an appointment with one of our garden consultants, they’ll gladly call on you without obligation and give you an estimate, but you’re also welcome to order online, have a nice evening, signora.”
    â€œI did tell you,” Valérie sighed when Poldi returned, crestfallen, to Femminamorta.
    The two mongrels, Oscar and Lady, were good-naturedly rollicking around her and biting each other’s tails. Grumpy and thirsty, Poldi flopped down behind the wheel of her Alfa. She badly needed a beer to dispel the frustration and thirst that were warring within her.
    Valérie came over to the driver’s window. “Do you really think something has happened to Valentino?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Poldi grunted wearily. “I simply want to find him before it does, know what I mean?”
    Valérie nodded. “But Russo employs more than a hundred people. Why should he know where one of his part-timers has got to?”
    Poldi was feeling really thirsty now. She needed a beer. Or two. Or something stronger. Most of all, she wanted it quickly, but she gave Valérie’s question some thought.
    â€œKnow what it’s like when you wake up in the morning and something is troubling you? An almost imperceptible change in the temperature? The wind has veered, the light is different, something is creeping up on you, the ice beneath your feet is creaking softly. Perhaps you had a bad dream that was meant to warn you, but you can’t remember it. There’s nothing left but this sense of unease that pursues you all day long, whispering unintelligibly in your ear.”
    Valérie stared at her.
    â€œWhat I mean is, Valérie —”
    The young woman made a dismissive gesture. “I think I get it. Would you care to accompany me to an informal little serata this evening, Poldi? The host is a cousin of my father’s. He’s a frightful bore, but his wife Carmela is a fantastic cook. She’s recently been doing a show on Channel Five where she presents clever variations on traditional Sicilian dishes.”
    â€œIsn’t there some young man who would give his right arm for the chance to escort you?”
    Valérie laughed. “Maybe I’d sooner go with a woman friend. Besides, Russo is also invited.”
    Poldi beamed.
    The serata proved to be rather less free and easy than expected because the host, Domenico Pastorella di Belfiore, known as Mimì, was a great admirer of the German poet Hölderlin.

3
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Tells of Poldi’s introduction to Hölderlin, of some less impoverished descendants of the Sicilian Bourbons, and of what there was to eat. In a fit of melancholy, Poldi really lets fly. When she’s sober again she makes an unpleasant discovery and dials the wrong number.
    Shortly before nine, when Valérie collected Poldi from Torre to chauffeur her to Acireale, the French girl was wearing a strapless, figure-hugging black dress and sneakers. Poldi, freshly showered, titivated and discreetly scented, had