Page 30 of The Venice Murders

‘Will the tourists still come? I guess it’s tourism that earns the island its money.’

‘They’ll come as long as they can, I imagine, but it’s probably fishing that brings in more. At breakfast the other day – when you’d gone on your mission to find a handkerchief! – the waiter was telling me the seafood here is magnificent and a fraction of the price you pay in Venice. We’ll make sure we have a decent lunch, so look out for a likely restaurant.’

They had come on this trip specifically for the chance to talk to Piero Benetti but, as the hours slipped by and they explored further into the island, their mission was almost forgotten: a coffee in the colourful square of Piazza Baldassare Galuppi, a visit to the church with its beautiful old statues and mosaics, and several astonished minutes gazing at the bell tower which leant at such a crazy angle it should rightly have fallen down years ago. It seemed that the simple enjoyment of sauntering, hand in hand, through eye-catching streets had pushed them to relax in a way they hadn’t since they’d first come to Italy.

‘I’d like to buy a few souvenirs before we leave,’ Flora said, as they began to retrace their steps along the main road. ‘I thought maybe some lace – as we’ve walked, I’ve been noticing the window displays. I’d love to take something back for Alice. Perhaps for Kate as well, if it’s not too old-fashioned.’

When Jack’s eye was caught by a beautifully dressed shop window they were passing, he pulled her over to take a look. ‘What about this place? Do you see anything you like?’

Flora stared through the glass. ‘Plenty,’ she said, fixing her gaze on a trio of lace sunshades sitting proudly on a pedestal. ‘Those are beautiful! Are they handmade, do you think?’

‘Almost certainly. Burano exports lace all over the world.’

She pressed her face to the window, taking in every curve and stitch of the three sunshades. ‘They really are exquisite.’

‘Let’s go in. I can’t imagine Alice using a sunshade, but you might see something else you like.’

‘All too possible, I’m afraid, and all of it expensive.’

Nevertheless, she followed him inside, wandering slowly past shelves filled to the brim with bales of differently patterned lace. Flora admired everything she saw: intricately worked tablecloths, runners and napkins to match, fans and collars, and fabulously worked blouses.

The shopkeeper came forward, a hopeful expression on his face. ‘You would like to try?’ He unhooked one of the blouses from its rack.

‘No, no,’ she said hurriedly, fearful of the cost.

‘It is handmade. Needle lace,’ the man explained. ‘Very difficult work – each woman makes only one stitch that is her own, so the garment must be passed from one to the other.’

‘It’s quite beautiful, I can see, but…this is what I’d like.’

Jack saw her point to a case of lace bookmarks, small and delicate. One of them depicted the Madonna and child and she swooped on it. ‘This is lovely. And so unusual. And these – the one of the lagoon and there’s one of the Doge’s palace. They will be perfect for my friends. Thank you.’

Once the shopkeeper had wrapped the small presents in coloured tissue and tied them with a satin ribbon, he presented the parcel to her with a solemn handshake. ‘If you are interested in Burano lace, signora, there is a school of lace not far from here. You may visit and watch the women at work.’

‘I’d love that!’ She turned to Jack, her face bright with anticipation. ‘Can we go?’

He looked at his watch. ‘If we do, we’ll run out of time. Or we’d have to miss lunch.’

‘And that would be a tragedy,’ she said teasingly.

As it happened, Flora was delighted they hadn’t missed lunch. By dint of turning off the main street and into a smallcalle, they found a restaurant patronised by local people and with meals at what appeared a bargain price. Their surroundings might have been basic but the food they ate was anything but. A first dish, a risotto with fish and asparagus, proved one of the tastiest Flora had so far eaten, followed by asecondoofbranzino al fornowith a fresh salad dressed in oil, honey and oregano. A jug of the local white wine appeared and soon disappeared. When it came to dessert, though, she knew her limits.

‘Pudding?’ Jack asked, after the waiter had cleared their plates.

‘Not in a million years.’ She was very glad she had worn a dress with a forgiving waistline.

‘Thecannolilook pretty good,’ he tempted.

‘I’ll be leaving you to find out!’

He looked again at his watch. ‘Maybe not. Our captain doesn’t appear the most patient of men. We’d better not be late for him.’

‘Although…’ he said, as they walked back into the street, ‘there’s just enough time formyshopping.’

Surprised, Flora watched him race across the nearby bridge to the walkway on the other side of the small canal, then race back, a posy of white freesias in his hand.

‘For you, signora.’ A solemn bow accompanied the flowers. ‘To celebrate a wonderful day!’

Flora threw her arms around him, dangerously close to crushing the flowers, and, to the delight of an elderly passer-by, kissed him thoroughly.

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