Page 42 of The Venice Murders

‘Sorry,’ she said, her breath coming in spurts. ‘Mi dispiace.’

He pointed to a wooden bench. ‘You have a seat, signorina.’

‘Thank you. It’s signora, by the way – my husband will be here very soon.’

And he was. Of all the times in her life that she had been glad to see Jack, this was probably the most precious.

At the sight of her, his eyebrows rose, but a broad smile filled his face. ‘Thisisa surprise! You found your way here!’

‘I did,’ she said, trying to look unconcerned. She needed time to think, unsure whether she should speak of this morning’s terror, but sensing quite strongly that it might be best to remain silent on her abortive visit to the priest. ‘Did you have a good morning?’

He nodded. ‘Actually, quite brilliant. Arthur is a star suggesting the idea. I reckon I’ve enough—’ He broke off. ‘Your hair?’

‘Don’t worry. I didn’t go. I couldn’t find a salon I liked.’

‘Thank goodness for that. I thought I should be noticing something different.’

‘No difference. The same old Flora. Shall we go?’

‘Anywhere in particular?’

‘To lunch first, if you’re hungry, then back to the hotel and the swimming pool? The cloud is clearing again.’ She looked up at the rapidly expanding patches of blue. ‘How about an afternoon on a sunlounger?’

It would be a chance to catch her breath.

16

The following morning, a slight mist covered the lagoon leading Jack to suggest it was a day to visit a gallery. Apart from the Scuola Grande and the paintings hanging in Vivaldi’s church, they had seen little of Italy’s glorious art and he was keen that Flora managed a glimpse, at least, of the Accademia.

He was about to mention a trip across the lagoon to St Mark’s and a gentle walk from there to the gallery when, after cutting a peach into precise quarters, Flora said, ‘I think we should go to Asolo.’

Jack was temporarily confounded. ‘Not the priest again.’

‘The priest again,’ she affirmed.

Flora had kept her silence on yesterday’s adventure, but it had done nothing to set her mind at rest. On the contrary, it had made her surer than ever that a connection existed between what was happening to Father Renzi and the small town where he’d once been priest. Someone must have been watching his house in San Polo, watching Santa Margherita and, when she’d walked there yesterday, seen her knock on the priest’s door and followed her into the church. For some reason, she had posed a threat. Her pursuer – and there was no doubt they’d been the footsteps of a man – had clearly meant her harm or why not call out for her to stop, shout an explanation of why he was following? He’d not done so and his pursuit had been dogged. It was only when she’d outrun him and reached safe harbour that he’d given up.

‘Something has happened since we last spoke to Father Renzi,’ she said with conviction. ‘At the concert, he was a changed character. Not the courteous man we’d met before, the friendly man who was very, very keen that we help him find Signora Pretelli. Quite suddenly, he didn’t want to speak to us. And since that incident at the Pietà, he’s made no attempt to get in touch.’

The grey of Jack’s eyes had darkened. ‘It’s a strange development, I agree, but if we think something has changed, something new has happened to the man, we should be going to San Polo and speaking to Renzi himself, rather than travelling miles to a town neither of us know.’

‘We should,’ she admitted, ‘except I think it would be a wasted journey.’ She’d had time now to reflect on yesterday’s events. ‘I’m fairly sure Renzi will refuse to say what’s occurred to change his attitude. At best, we’ll be met with a blank face and told everything is fine. And it isn’t. I know it.’

Meditatively, Jack stirred his coffee. ‘I’d love to see Asolo,’ he admitted. ‘If only for itself. The town is reputed to be very beautiful. But in order to help Father Renzi? How will a trip there tell us anything?’

‘It’s the place it all started. It’s where Franco comes from, where Filomena and her nephew come from, and the horrible Tascas, and where Renzi was the priest for years.’

Jack continued stirring his coffee. ‘All true, and you may be right.’ He gave a sudden smile. ‘You very often are, though I’m not convinced that Asolo is the key to the mystery. Still…itisa very lovely town.’

‘You’re willing to be persuaded?’

He nodded. ‘I guess so. Even if we discover nothing, it will be a great day out,’ but then added, more in hope than expectation, ‘you wouldn’t rather take a trot around the Accademia?’

‘We’ll go to the gallery before we leave the city, I promise. Tomorrow. But today, let’s take a train to Asolo. I imagine youcantake a train there.’

The hotel reception confirmed that you could indeed take the railway to Asolo, but it would mean a change of trains, a change of station, then a bus, and then a smaller bus. They would advise hiring a car, with or without a driver, which they could book in a matter of minutes.

In for a penny, Jack decided. ‘A car is certainly a better choice, and could you book a driver as well?’ He saw Flora’s look of surprise and no wonder. It was by far the most expensive option.

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