Page 43 of The Venice Murders

‘But, of course.’ The receptionist beamed. ‘I will book it immediately. Guido will take you to the Piazzale Roma and you will find the car waiting for you.’

Guido, they presumed was the Cipriani boatman.

‘Can we afford it?’ Flora asked, anxiously, as they climbed the stairs to their room to gather essentials for the day ahead.

‘We can’t afford not to. Do you want to spend most of the day on a broiling bus or an endless succession of trains? This way, we’ll have time to interrogate the whole town!’

Passing through the lobby on their way to the hotel boat, they were stopped before they reached the door. The receptionist had darted from behind her desk to wave at them.

‘You have a telephone call, Signora Carrington.’

‘Me?’ Flora looked confused.

‘But yes.’ The girl awarded her a professional smile. ‘It is a friend, I believe. You may take it in the kiosk. It is more private there.’

Still clutching Jack’s hand, Flora crossed the foyer with him to the alcove that contained the public telephone. She held the receiver so that he could be sure to hear before pressing the button that would transfer the call. It was Sally’s voice that came down the line.

‘Sorry to encroach on your holiday again, Flora, but I had to phone. I need to go home – to sort out the Priory. There’s trouble there, though I can’t imagine what’s been going on. Anyway, I’m leaving this evening on the eight o’clock train from Santa Lucia and I won’t have time to say goodbye in person. I felt I had to spend my last day in Venice with Bianca. She’s so very upset.’

‘Something has happened to her?’ Flora half turned to her husband, pulling a small face.

‘Not Bianca, her father. He’s not at all well. He’s had trouble with his heart before and now he’s feeling quite ill again. It’s the debt, I think.’

‘The debt?’

‘For the new boat. He had to borrow to pay for it, apparently, and there’s some problem about repaying the money. I’m not sure exactly what and I don’t like to ask.’

‘Perhaps you’ll find out today,’ Flora suggested.

‘Perhaps. I just want to buy her lunch and hopefully boost her spirits a little. But I’ll see you both when you’re back in Abbeymead. When do you leave?’

In answer to Flora’s raised eyebrows, Jack held up three fingers.

‘We’ve three more days here,’ Flora said. ‘Not long. But have a safe journey, Sally, and we’ll see you very soon. Oh, and give our love to Alice.’

‘Well, what do you make of that?’ she asked, replacing the receiver.

‘Not much, except that Sally is playing the good Samaritan before going home to knock a few heads together. Meanwhile, my lovely wife, we have a beautiful town to explore!’

Piazzale Roma was busy. As the entrance to the city and the only place in central Venice accessible to motor vehicles – the square acted as the main bus station – it teemed with cars, coaches, motorbikes. And lorries carrying every kind of goods.

Maggiore, the hire car business, had its offices next to a ramshackle garage and as soon as Jack stepped off the Cipriani boat, he could smell the diesel permeating the air. Taking Flora’s hand, he made for the office door. There were papers to sign and a driver to meet, a grey-haired stalwart, a Signor Gallo he noticed from the badge, who pointed them to an open-top Alfa Romeo, at least ten years old but classically elegant in deep blue with a red leather interior.

‘Asolo?’ Jack said, unsure if their destination had appeared anywhere in the reams of paperwork he’d signed.

‘Sì, Sì,’ the man said, solemnly opening the wide single door and gesturing them to take the rear seat. In a minute, he’d pressed the starter, the engine had burst into life and they were on their way.

‘We take road to Treviso,’ their driver said over his shoulder.

‘Treviso?’ Flora queried in a low voice.

‘Asolo is north of Treviso,’ Jack reassured her, ‘but I imagine we’ll bypass the town. This is Liberty Bridge, by the way. It’s the only road access into Venice from the mainland.’

‘Liberty Bridge? The war again?’

He nodded. ‘Built by Mussolini in the thirties, but after the war renamed for the end of the Fascist regime. It runs into the Via Della Libertà.’

‘Of course it does!’

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