Page 23 of The Venice Murders

‘Asolo is in the Veneto?’ she asked, adopting a useful ignorance.

‘It is, signora, and very beautiful.’

‘Thank you. We might visit. And I’ll have theamaretto gelato, please. How about you, Jack?’

As soon as the owner had strode back into the restaurant, Flora turned to him as he knew she would.

‘You see? Thereisa connection.’

‘And what are we to do about it? He didn’t appear exactly helpful, did he?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I may go for a little walk after the ice cream. To find the toilet.’

‘Flora…’ he warned.

‘I’m allowed to go to the Ladies. And if I should lose my way…’

Jack leaned across the table, his voice low. ‘What, exactly?’

‘I could explore. There must be a lot more to the restaurant than this terrace and the tables inside. A cellar maybe.’

‘And if you find a cellar, what then?’

‘I’ve no idea, but it’s surely worth a little scrummaging. A man is dead, a painting stolen and an elderly lady who should be safe at home is still missing.’

The gelato, brought this time by their waiter – Flora remarked on the change – was mouthwatering. The owner, she checked again the name over the door, Silvio Fabbri, had disappeared into the dim interior of the restaurant. There were a few lamplit tables inside but the warmth of the summer evening had the majority of customers choose seats on the long terrace.

Crunching her napkin into a ball, she got to her feet and gathered up her handbag. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said.

‘Don’t be – and never mind the cellar. Stick to the bathroom,’ Jack advised.

‘But of course!’

A waitress was serving the several indoor tables and pointed Flora in the right direction. A flight of stairs towards the back of the restaurant led to a half landing and the women’s washroom, but then continued on, leading down to…she would find out.

Checking over her shoulder that she was unwatched, Flora sped down the staircase to discover that the restaurant boasted an enormous basement which must, she calculated, stretch beneath the businesses on either side of La Zucca. It was far larger than she’d expected. And far more interesting. From the furthest end came the clank of pots, the smack of china, the shouts of people under pressure – that would be the kitchen. But the sounds were at a distance and, turning in the opposite direction, she began to explore what else this cavernous space contained. Doors were her first thought. At least six, side by side, all shut and all probably locked.

But maybe not. Flora walked up to the first and was about to try the handle when a slight noise caught her ear. No more than a faint scuffle. She turned quickly but before she could face whatever had made the noise, a hand gripped her shoulder, hard and painful. She caught her breath and waited.

‘Signora, you are lost?’

She twisted round and his clasp lessened slightly. A young man, tall and muscular, with dark curly hair. His smile seemed to mock, a smile that Flora didn’t like.

‘The bathroom,’ she said, hoping he’d swallow the excuse. ‘I’m looking for the bathroom.’

‘But you have come too far, signora,’ he said in English. ‘Troppo lontano. Please, I show you.’ The clasp on her shoulder intensified once more and Flora felt herself propelled towards the staircase she had recently descended.

‘Up,’ he said. And it was a command rather than a request.

‘Matteo, sei tu qui sotto?’ The voice from above was harsh and impatient.

‘Sì, sto arrivando.I am coming.’ The man named Matteo gave her a little push and she was forced to climb the stairs, coming face to face with a second young man, this one wearing an angry expression and a none too clean shirt.

He ignored her and spoke in rapid Italian while Matteo, it seemed, attempted to soothe him. To reassure him? she wondered. Dialogue crackled back and forth until her guide seemed suddenly to realise that Flora stood close by and was listening.

‘This is where you want, signora.’ He waved a hand towards the cubicles she’d seen earlier.

Flora thanked him and smiled at his companion. In return, she received a scowl.

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