Page 11 of The Venice Murders

‘To the count and he’s my main concern.’ Her voice had softened and she seemed genuinely to care for her husband. Marriage had evidently mellowed Sybil a little. But only a little.

‘This business is bothering him hugely,’ she continued, ‘coming on top of the dreadful stuff in his own family. You know he has a heart condition? I worry about him. As the most influential person in the district, Massimo feels a responsibility; he was the only person of authority the priest could think to ask for help. But he has no idea what to do or where to start. You might, though. And you should.’

There was an awkward silence, Jack refusing to take up the challenge and Flora sensing the unwisdom of intervening between mother and son.

‘How much time would it take to go to Santa Margherita and talk to the priest?’ Sybil asked abruptly. ‘Don’t bother with the painting – I never could abide religious art and, in any case, the art theft chaps can deal with that matter – but a woman disappearing. An elderly woman, defenceless, alone. That’s too important to ignore.’

‘OK.’ Jack gave in. ‘We’ll talk to Father Renzi, but that’s all we’ll do. We’ve only days in Venice and we’re going to enjoy every one of them. I’m determined they won’t be spent sleuthing!’

‘Do what you can,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘And come to Elena before you leave the city.’

‘Before you go…Sybil.’ Flora couldn’t bring herself to call her by anything closer. ‘Have you ever heard of Franco Massi?’

Sybil frowned. ‘Who is he?’

‘He was a receptionist here at the Cipriani.’

‘Oh, staff,’ she said indifferently. ‘No idea.’

‘Still the same mother,’ Jack murmured in Flora’s ear, as they escorted her to the launch waiting to ply its way back to St Mark’s.

‘What about you?’ his mother asked, pausing on the landing stage. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be sightseeing this morning?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘I’ve thought of something I should do first. We’ll take the boat later.’

Turning back to the hotel as the launch disappeared in a cloud of spray, Flora took his hand. ‘What have you thought of?’

‘Nothing, but I needed space to breathe. We’ll bag the boat when it returns.’

‘If you really mean to speak to the priest today, the Scuola visit won’t be possible. We’ll have to postpone,’ she said hopefully.

‘Not so!’ He shook his head in mock sadness, unable to suppress a smile. ‘You don’t escape that easily. The Scuola happens to be in San Polo and so does Santa Margherita. According to the count.’

‘We can do both?’

‘It seems we can, though what good it will do…but the Tintorettos, they’ll be a treat to enjoy!’

5

The journey to San Tomà was uneventful and, as they stepped off thevaporetto, a sign high on the wall pointed them towards the Scuola Grande.

‘See!’ Jack said, taking her hand. ‘Signs – just what we need.’

Walking through the streets of San Polo revealed a new Venice from the city Flora had so far seen. The old artisan quarter was a district of quiet lanes, narrow passageways and meandering canals, with some of the houses they passed being the oldest buildings in Venice: walls washed in red ochre, iron balconies gently rusting and terracotta roofs that dipped and swayed in dizzying fashion.

‘It’s quite different.’ Flora stood and gazed up at the window boxes filled with flowers. ‘So old and absolutely no souvenir sellers.’

‘Not in this part of San Polo, but the Rialto market isn’t far. I guess there’ll be plenty of stalls there.’

‘Near where we ate?’

He nodded. ‘Pretty close. It’s the liveliest area, I’d say. Plenty of tourists to keep it busy.’

‘I like ithere. It feels lived-in, as though there are still native Venetians in this part of the city, unconcerned with visitors and simply going about their daily routine.’

A large, dusty square had opened in front of them, the Campo San Rocco according to Jack’s map and, at one end, an impressive white stone building – the Scuola Grande. Last night, before falling asleep, Flora had read a few pages of the one guidebook she’d brought, not wanting to feel completely ignorant. The Scuola, she’d read, had been established by a group of wealthy Venetian citizensin the fifteenth century, dedicated toSan Rocco – popularly regarded as a protector against the plague – and concerning itself with a profusion of trades and crafts. Nearly a hundred years later, Tintoretto had provided it with paintings.

‘Apart from housing your wonderful Tintorettos, any idea how the building is used? I can’t imagine that local artists and craftspeople belong to the school these days.’

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