Page 30 of Vengeance in Venice
Constance nodded. “I hope it isn’t him,” she said as they emerged from the passage. “But then, I haven’t met anyone yet Iwantit to be. Except Savelli’s own thugs. That Pellini…”
“Well, they’re worth looking into, if we can find someone to talk about them.”
“Elena herself might. She doesn’t like them.”
Solomon handed her down into the boat, then climbed after her.
“Where to?” Alvise asked.
Constance glanced up at the sky, where the sun was beginning to peek through the clouds. There was even a patch or two of blue. She looked at Solomon. “Giusti?”
He nodded.
“Palazzo Giusti,” Alvise said, and picked up his oar. As the sun came out, he lifted his voice and began to sing, and Constance was beguiled all over again. She took Solomon’s hand and let Venice enfold her.
*
Clearly, the PalazzoGiusti had once been an impressive structure. It was old, probably older than the Zulian, and at a distance, still a gracious, beautiful building. Only as they drewcloser could Constance see that some of the stonework was crumbling, and the whole house had an air of neglect.
The door was opened quite casually by an ill-dressed young man who blinked in surprise when he saw them on the doorstep. Solomon asked for Giusti, and the servant held open the door and waved them inside with a gesture somehow more resigned than mocking.
The theme of neglect continued inside. Although clean enough, the paint was faded, and some tiles were broken. The entrance hall, which should have been as impressive as Savelli’s, was empty of furniture and hangings and caused their footsteps to echo loudly.
The servant strode along, and they hurried to keep up as he led them upstairs and along another faded, empty passage to a set of open double doors. He called inside, saying something about a lady and gentleman, and stood back.
Giusti himself appeared at the door, clearly surprised and curious, though his face broke into a grin when he saw them. His bruises looked less angry but more colorful.
“My friends! Welcome to my abode, crumbling as it is. Luigi, if we have wine, bring it.”
The room retained an ancient, faded beauty. A once-lovely carpet that the moths had found had lost most of its color. There were patches of brightness on the faded walls where pictures had been removed. Again, the furniture was sparse, but there was enough to be comfortable, though the upholstery was threadbare and had probably also suffered from moths at one time. But the old, exposed beams of the ceiling had been recently varnished, and the windows had been thrown open to the sunshine, flooding the room with light and the kind of view one never tired of.
“You are admiring the faded glory, signora?” Giusti said with a crooked smile.
“It is a beautiful room,” Constance replied honestly, taking the seat he indicated on the sofa. Solomon sat beside her.
“It is still home. To be frank, I have no money to keep it as it should be kept, and none to go anywhere else—not without selling it, and I can’t quite bring myself to do that.”
“You gave all your money to the revolutionary cause?” Solomon said.
“It seemed a good idea at the time. It was to herald a new age of prosperity for all the people of Venice, only it didn’t quite.”
Although Giusti spoke lightly, deprecatingly, Constance glimpsed a deeper pain in his eyes. The revolution had mattered to him. Whatever he pretended, he cared. It was possible—even probable—that when he accompanied Solomon to rescue Constance from Savelli, he had done it as much from kindness and gratitude as from a desire to hurt Savelli in any way he could.
“Have you no means of business?” Solomon asked.
Giusti shrugged. “Little enough before the revolution, less now. Austria takes what it can and crushes native entrepreneurial efforts. Venice loses business to other ports.”
“It shouldn’t,” Solomon said thoughtfully.
Constance could see there were ideas forming and percolating in his mind. From Giusti’s steady gaze, he knew it too.
With a hint of hope, he said, “What is your business, Mr. Grey?”
“Largely shipping. I like Venice.”
Giusti’s eyes flared for a moment, but he seemed too polite to press further. “That is good for us. Ah, rejoice! There is wine. And even cicchetti.”
Luigi poured the wine and offered the plate of cicchetti before leaving the jug and the plate on the table and striding off.
