Page 52 of The Venice Murders

‘Oh, here…here it is.’ She passed Flora a crumpled scrap of paper. ‘And thank you again. You’re such a good friend. And you, too, Jack.’

Brushing aside the thanks, Flora walked her friend down to the Cipriani landing stage and asked Guido if, as a favour, he could take Sally back to the Minerva, no more than a five-minute boat trip. Trying to suppress his impatience, Jack waited for her return. How much of what was left of their honeymoon, he wondered, would be spent tending a heartbroken girl?

He was still waiting when the young man working behind the reception desk looked up and saw him, prompting a walk across the foyer to hand Jack a slip of paper.

‘Sorry, Signor Carrington. I did not see you at first. There has been a telephone call for you this afternoon.’

‘Thank you,’ he said a trifle dazedly.

There seemed, all of a sudden, to be too much happening. Too many phone calls. Too many visitors. He’d not yet made complete sense of Sally’s news. Dying instantly from a heart attack, particularly after prior warning, wasn’t that uncommon, he supposed. And Piero Benetti had a temper – they’d experienced that for themselves – which couldn’t be good for a faulty heart. Nevertheless, it seemed very sudden. And suspicious? One thingwascertain, with Benetti dead, one of Flora’s chosen suspects for Franco’s murder had dropped out of the picture.

‘Is it important?’ Emerging from his reverie, he saw that Flora had returned and was staring at the note.

Opening it, he read the few lines it contained. ‘Important? I don’t know. You judge.’

She took the slip of paper from him, her eyes widening as she read. ‘We have an invitation to Casa Elena?’

‘A command, I’d say, not an invitation.’

‘Maybe, but it is nicely phrased,’ she said consolingly.

‘Really? I get the feeling we’re expected to jump to it immediately. Sybil Carrington has spoken and we must be there for lunch tomorrow.’

Flora subdued a sigh. The fraught relationship between mother and son could be difficult to navigate and spending the whole of tomorrow on tenterhooks, dancing around the two of them, was not what she’d envisaged for one of their last days in Venice. Nor, in fact, was holding Bianca’s hand for hours.

‘I suppose we’ll have to go,’ Jack muttered. ‘The note sounds slightly desperate as well as peremptory.’

‘And Bianca Benetti?’

‘I’m afraid Bianca will have to wait. We can’t do it all! For the Lord’s sake we’re on holiday and being summoned to go here, there, everywhere. It’s ridiculous!’

It was unusual for Jack to lose his calm so completely, but a honeymoon in Venice had been a dream in the making – until real life had intruded too sharply.

‘Bianca lives on the Lido,’ she said soothingly. ‘Sally told me. Is there any way we can combine the two visits? One to Casa Elena and one to Bianca, and save the last day for ourselves?’

‘Not a chance. They’re miles apart. If we have to go to my mother tomorrow, our last day will be spent providing a supply of handkerchiefs and a shoulder to cry on.’

‘We don’t need to be with Bianca all day. While we’re at the Lido, we could go for a paddle. And you could go for a swim,’ she said hopefully.

It took a while for Jack’s frown to disappear. Then his face brightened. ‘Yes, we could. And…we could have lunch at the Hotel La Perla. It’s old-school posh. All Edwardian glamour and art deco. Right on the beach, too. You’d love it.’

‘Decision made then. We go to the count’s tomorrow and see Bianca the following day.’

‘Then we go home,’ he said, gloom descending once more.

‘We have to go home but we can come back. Maybe not at the Cipriani next time – the Minerva perhaps?’

‘You’re right! We can and we will!’

Swooping down on her, he lifted her off her feet, swinging her in a circle, and making the young receptionist watching from behind his desk burst into laughter.

‘No more!’ Flora protested. ‘Put me down. You have a journey to organise – to the count’s magnificent estate.’

20

Once again, they found themselves at the Maggiore office in the Piazzale Roma, Flora hoping that this might be their last visit to the business, but the familiar figure of Signor Gallo emerging from the doorway had her smile.

‘Signor Carrington and Signora Carrington. More adventures,’ he said, tugging his newly pressed suit jacket into place.

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