I made a sound, trying to laugh. “Who is he? One of your monsignors?”

“No, no, just a father now. A Maglione before.”

I turned. “A relative?”

“A cousin, I think. It’s impossible to keep track here. They branch and branch. Just assume everyone’s family and you’re safe. Why, do you want to meet him?”

“No, I was just curious. A priest in the family—”

“Ah, of course. And now yours. I hadn’t thought of that. I knew we’d get you a priest somehow. Well, if he is a cousin. Let’s ask Gianni.”

I shook my head. “He’s not here.”

“What do you mean?” he said, looking up sharply.

“He’s late.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nearly midnight. He’s not late.”

“Well, he hasn’t turned up. We asked the police to check—you know, if any accidents had been reported.”

“We who? Grace?”

I nodded. “She talked to Cavallini. He’s here.”

“Yes, the wife,” Bertie said, an absentminded response, dotting i’s.

“He seems to think Gianni stopped off somewhere on the way. Got delayed somehow.”

“Stopped off? Where?”

“To see somebody. A lady friend. An old Venetian custom, according to Cavallini.”

Bertie stared at me. “Are you out of your mind? Do you think Gianni—”

“I don’t know, Bertie. But he’s not here.”

“Something’s wrong,” Bertie said, serious.

“Cavallini called the Questura. They checked the hospitals. Nothing.”

“And Grace is—?”

“Putting a good face on it. She doesn’t want to ruin Mimi’s party.”

“Oh, these ladies. And he’s probably lying in an alley somewhere.”

“Bertie, for god’s sake.”

“Sick. Of course it would never occur to you. At my age, it’s the first thing you think of. Happen any time—just walking down the street. You feel a little queer and—” He gave a small shudder to finish the thought. “Well, you’d better get your mother home. She won’t keep putting a good face on it.”

“But we don’t know there’s anything wrong,” I said, hearing myself, genuine.

“Of course there’s something wrong.” He puffed on his cigarette, thinking. “Has there been any trouble between them?”

“Between who?”

“Gianni and your mother,” he said, stressing each word. “Don’t be dense.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, thrown by this, an unexpected idea.

“Well, it has happened before, you know. Cold feet at the altar. Still, not at the biggest party of the year. He simply wouldn’t. Ah, Luca.”

The heavy priest had lumbered over. There were introductions, the Maglione connection established, but I scarcely paid attention, jittery again, wondering if Bertie would notice. Then two more minutes of aimless chatter. “But where is Gianni?” Father Luca said, finally out of conversation. “I’ve been looking for him.”

“He was called to the hospital,” Bertie said quickly. “A shame, really. To miss a party like this.”

“Yes, very splendid. Such food. Not since the war.” Just the thought of it seemed to send him back to the table. “You’ll excuse me? I think a little coffee before I go.”

“Why did you say that?” I said to Bertie.

“What do you want people to say? If they start wondering, they won’t talk about anything else, and Mimi’ll never forgive her. Have some sense. Even so, you ought to take her home.”

“You act as if it’s some kind of scandal.”

“Not yet.”

“Anyway, I can’t. I’ve got to get Claudia home.”

He had another puff, brooding. “Lovely for her, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

“That he’s gone missing. Not exactly her favorite, was he?” He studied me. “You weren’t best fond, either.”

“Missing. You talk about him as if he were dead,” I said evenly. “He’s not dead.” My voice steady, not a waver.

“All right, all right, never mind. Here she comes.” He nodded toward Claudia, carrying a plate. “Looking pretty, I must say.” He peered at me over the tops of his glasses. “Calmer, I hope.”

“That’s all over.”

“Really,” he said, neutral. “And with everyone waiting for a rematch.” He was already reaching out for her free hand. “Claudia. So pretty.”

“Signor Howard,” she said, tentative, not trusting the smile. “You’ve just come?”

“Late, yes, I know. Mimi’s already scolded me. But I’m not the only one, I gather.”

“No,” Claudia said, looking directly at him. “How is it at the Accademia?”

Bertie ignored this, staring frankly at the necklace, not even pretending to hide his curiosity. “It’s wonderful. Wherever did you get that?” he said.

Claudia touched it. “Adam’s mother gave it to me.” She caught his raised eyebrow. “For the evening.”

“And rubies, no less. You can always tell.”

“Yes, it’s beautiful. It was so kind.”

“Well, it’s all in the family, isn’t it?” Bertie said, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray. He looked at me. “I’m glad to see everyone’s getting along so well. I’d better see what I can do about Grace. You two enjoy yourselves. I’ll get her home.” He lifted his hand in a little wave as he left.

“He thinks something’s wrong,” I said.

Claudia looked up from her plate, heaped with food. “What did he say?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t know anything. Just that something’s wrong.”

“Oh,” she said, putting the plate on the table.

“Not hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Eat something. You can’t put down a full plate. People will notice.”

She shook her head again and I picked up the plate and forked some veal.

“Why would he think that?”

“Why not? Something is wrong. He just doesn’t know what.” I was eating quickly now, almost gulping the food down, no longer nauseated, surprised to find that I was hungry.

“Did you see the way he looked at me? Someone from the back rooms. Not someone who wears necklaces.”

“He’s just jealous.”

“How can you laugh?”

“I don’t know.” I put the plate down. “I don’t know how I’m doing any of it.”

But suddenly it was easier. I felt another surge, warm and full of food, a primitive well-being, filling up with life again after hours of empty dread.

“All right, one more dance to show you off, then we’ll go.”

“Yes?” she said eagerly.

“If he’s not here by now, whatever happened must have already happened. While we were here.”

She looked at me, unsure, but followed me back to the ballroom. Bertie, near the door with my mother, was leaning over to talk quietly, presumably arranging to go. The floor had thinned out but was still lively.

“You know what he was thinking?” Claudia said, looking at Bertie. “ ‘What is she doing here? That type. Ha. Looking for a rich American.’ ”

“And you found one,” I said, smiling. That was safe now too, something I hadn’t thought about before, my mother protected. I glanced toward the door. She and Bertie were talking to Mimi, heading for the stairs. “That’s better,” I said. “You want them to see you smile.”

She looked away, then danced closer, putting her head next to mine, trembling again. “What kind of people are we? To smile now.”

“Don’t.”

“Now I’ve done everything. I thought before it was everything, but now there’s this too.”

I pulled back to face her. “Think what he was,” I said.

She didn’t say anything.

I had said one dance, but then it became two, another. My mother had disappeared, and with her any talk about Gianni. We drifted with the music. I could feel the heat of her through her dress. Maybe this is what happens after, I thought, every sense stronger than before, as if we’d taken some extra portion from the dead. Food, touch, just being alive. In Germany, after combat, the troops were ravenous. Rapes happened then. Relieved not to be dead, proving something.

Around us, the beautiful room spun by in slow circles. Claudia had put a hand behind my neck, pulling us close, so that everything smelled of her. We were no longer pretending, with one eye to the others.

When we left, the crush for coats and umbrellas had begun, so that we were lost again in the crowd. No one noticed us leave, no one looked at the time.