Page 16 of The Venice Murders

‘Bianca Benetti?’ she queried. ‘Yes, she is here. Bianca is one of our housekeeping staff. I will ring to see if she is available to come.’

They were invited to take a seat in the lobby and, after a lengthy wait, were gratified to see the pretty girl that Flora had met in Abbeymead step out of the lift and look around. Flora stood up and waved to her.

Bianca nodded, a head of thick curls bouncing in acknowledgement. Even dressed in the hotel’s uniform of brown-striped dress and cream pinafore, Bianca made an impression, her curvaceous figure brightening the somewhat drab attire.

‘It is Flora, no?’ she said, her English heavily accented.

‘That’s right. I remember meeting you at the Priory.’

‘That was a good time,’ the girl said a trifle sadly. ‘I miss England. I miss Sussex.’

Flora knew the feeling although, strangely, she had felt little homesickness this time, and had to keep reminding herself to telephone Alice, as she’d promised, and reassure her that all was well and neither she nor Jack had so far fallen into a canal, though she wouldn’t mention the man who had.

‘Please, come and sit down.’ Jack made space for the girl on the Venetian-red sofa and she sank down beside Flora.

‘Sally asked me to call and say hello if we had time this week,’ Flora began gently. ‘I didn’t think we would but…we heard the news…about your…about Franco…and thought that we really must come.’

Bianca stared at her feet, and for the first time Flora noticed how drawn she looked.

‘We are so sorry, Bianca.’ Better to pretend ignorance of a broken engagement. Father Renzi might not, in any case, be right.

‘Accidents happen,’ she said, her voice lacking any trace of emotion.

Flora was taken aback. Even if Francohadbroken the engagement, he’d been this girl’s fiancé.

‘Franco—’ she began delicately, only to be interrupted.

‘How did you know of Franco?’

‘He checked us into our hotel – we’re staying at the Cipriani. After we heard what happened to him, and realised he was engaged to someone we actually knew, we felt we had to call.’

Bianca’s smile was taut. ‘Not any more engaged. We said goodbye last month. I am sorry to hear that anyone has come to harm in the canal, but Franco – he is nothing to me now.’

There was a long pause while Flora strove to think of something to say. She had expected a heartbroken fiancée, even a heartbroken ex-fiancée, but Bianca’s cold indifference was discomfiting.

‘I have spoken to Sally, you know,’ the maid said. ‘She told me you were coming here – on your honeymoon.’

The sudden change of conversation had Flora blink. It was evident they would not be speaking of Franco, as she’d hoped.

‘Really?’ she stuttered. ‘I didn’t know you and Sally spoke that often.’

‘Sally is a good friend. She understands.’

What exactly Sally understood was difficult to fathom – it seemed unlikely that Bianca was about to clarify – and, really, it was Franco who interested them.

Flora decided to try again. ‘Can I ask when it was that you last saw Franco?’

The girl looked surprised. It must seem a strange question, Flora acknowledged, but then Bianca shrugged at the oddity as though she couldn’t remember or couldn’t be bothered to.

‘You don’t remember him telling you any worries he had?’

The maid’s expression was derisive. ‘Franco? Worries? No chance. He was king of his own little castle.’

And what did that mean? But before Flora could ask for enlightenment, the receptionist had walked over to the small group and tapped Bianca on the shoulder.

‘I am sorry to interrupt,’ she said in English, ‘but you are wanted, Bianca. Room 233 are unhappy with their pillows.’

The girl rose gracefully to her feet. ‘I must go, but I hope I will see you again before you leave Venice. You should take a boat trip. Here.’ She delved into her apron pocket and brought out a card. ‘This is my father. He is a boatman and has a brand new vessel. He knows all of Venice very well and will take you wherever you want.’

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