Page 70 of The Venice Murders

She let go of his hand and hitched up her skirt. ‘OK, but you’ll have to watch me having fun!’ And trailing her feet through the wet sand, she skipped and jumped over the small waves that broke on the beach.

When she had thoroughly saturated the skirt of her best sundress, Flora walked back to him and took his hand. ‘You were right about getting drowned. I’ll have to dry off before the hotel allows me through its doors again.’

‘We won’t go back. Thinking about it, we don’t need to. From here, we can walk up to the promenade and you should be dry by the time we find Bianca’s house.’

Jack came to a sudden halt, his gaze intent. ‘You know…’ he began, ‘… you do know you look amazing?’ He bent to kiss her and, in return, received a very wet embrace.

‘Flora…’ His voice was not quite even. ‘I’m so thankful you’re here with me. Last night…I was scared…so very scared for you…’ He broke off, as the sound of bells drifted towards them across the lagoon.

She was shocked, realising for the first time how frightenedhehad been. ‘I’m safe, Jack,’ she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek, ‘and I’ll be with you – always.’

For a while they walked in silence, the swish of the sea in Flora’s ears, the sun on her skin, the smell of oleander in the air and, at this moment, she wished they could stay here for ever.

‘We should go?’ he asked softly.

From his pocket, he pulled a folded square of paper that somehow he’d managed to purloin from the Cipriani’s reception desk.

‘Just checking,’ he said, peering down at the map. ‘And it seems about time to make a move – sadly, your paddle is over, my love. Still, at least we’ve had a morning to ourselves and there’s still an evening ahead.’

Reluctantly, Flora took the sandals he was holding out to her and followed him off the beach and onto the promenade. Here, she was forced to spend several minutes brushing sand from her feet before she could begin to walk comfortably.

‘From what this map is telling me, the Benetti house is several streets inland,’ Jack murmured, as he steered them into a road that ran directly north from the hotel. The map, it turned out, had told him correctly and Bianca’s home was easily found.

From the pavement, they looked up at what was superficially an impressive building. It was only slowly, Flora thought, that you realised the pink brickwork was crumbling, in parts quite badly, the windowsills flaking paint and the roof missing some of its terracotta tiles. A flight of steps led to a thick wooden front door. A door that, worryingly, was standing ajar. Had Bianca forgotten to close it? Left it open for ventilation? Or was she close by and intending to return very shortly?

‘Stay here, Flora.’ Instinct, she knew, was telling Jack that trouble might lie on the other side.

‘But—’ she began to protest.

Jack, though, was already climbing the stairs.

27

Even before he reached the top step, he heard the voices. A girl, her voice cracking, seeming to plead with an unknown visitor. Or was it visitors? Then a heavier, harsher voice. An uttered curse, an angry bellow, and the sound of a chair falling to the floor.

Jack slipped through the open doorway, his ears straining to hear more, unaware that Flora had followed him up the flight of steps and into the house.

The narrow hall was empty, but from the room ahead came the unmistakable noise of scuffling bodies, of more chairs being overturned, and finally a girl’s frantic cry.

Without waiting to hear more, Jack rushed forward, pushing wide the half-closed door that lay ahead and, abruptly, coming face to face with two hulking men. They were holding a girl between them, both her arms clamped tight to the men’s sides. Her head was bowed and her hair a tousled mess, but she was a girl he recognised. Bianca Benetti.

One of the men, still holding firm to his captive, took a step forward so that his breath came hot and nauseous into Jack’s face.

‘Uscire!’ he barked.

‘I’m sorry.’ Jack was at his most urbane. ‘But I don’t speak Italian.’ He had no intention of going anywhere, not until he’d seen these blockheads out of the house and Bianca safe.

‘Get out!’ the man snarled in English.

‘Not yet, I think.’ Jack offered them a polite smile. ‘We’re here to see Signorina Benetti. We’re having tea with her.’

Walking past the two men – true gorillas, he thought – Jack pulled out the remaining kitchen chair and sat down at the small, square table, a benign smile on his face. The men appeared nonplussed. Should they let Bianca go and attack this man before throwing him down the front steps, or should they continue to hurt and harass the girl while he looked on? Or would it be best simply to accept defeat and leave? Jack could imagine the various options passing through their minds until a mutual choice was silently agreed upon and option number one became their preference.

Damn it, he thought. Fate was playing games with him. Again. Not content with demanding he escape an underground prison and a watery death, it had now decided that he must take on these two towering brutes in what would be an unfair fight – and somehow triumph.

In unison, the men advanced on Jack, having flung Bianca to one side so roughly that she collapsed against a kitchen cabinet. Grabbing him by the shoulders, they began to heave him from the chair, prior to administering the punishment they had in store. Immediately, he allowed his body to fall limp and, for the moment, that confounded them. But their hold on him faltered only for that moment and, when they rejoined the battle, it was with even more force than before. They had levered him halfway out of his seat when Flora determined enough was enough.

A saucepan was at hand, she saw, usefully abandoned on the draining board, and, rushing into the room, she snatched it up and aimed it at the head of the man nearest her. It landed with a satisfyingly loud thwack, a second stroke sounding even louder. Once again, the man’s hold on Jack slackened, this time very considerably. He slewed around, slightly punch drunk, his face a blob of scarlet, and Flora braced herself for his counter-attack. Bianca, though, having recovered her breath and her feet, had snatched another saucepan hanging from the line of hooks on the cabinet and was busy inflicting a similar injury on the second man.

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