Page 37 of Vengeance in Venice
“When did you last see Signor Savelli?” he asked.
“The day before he died. When we heard about the government contract. He was quite gracious about it.”
He could afford to be, since he had won it. “Did you mind?”
“It hardly ruined me.”
“How was he that day? Did he seem well? Worried or distracted?”
Premarin seemed about to wave away such concerns, but his hand fell back to his side as he considered. “Actually, he was a little…unlike himself. He did not appear to be particularly elated—not as I would have been—to win the contract. Hewasdistracted, as though something else entirely was on his mind.”
“Did he tell you what that was? Give you any clue?”
“He was not a confiding sort of a man. And to my shame, I did not inquire. I was thinking of my own disappointment.”
They were drawing nearer to the basilica now. Lots of somberly dressed people were walking in. The service would be well attended. Solomon wondered if this would be any comfort to the widow.
Premarin halted and turned to face him. “Mr. Grey,” he said seriously, “I would advise you to leave the matter in the safe hands of the police. Foscolo is a good man. And no one wants the truth more than Herr von Lampl, who is ambitious and quite obsessive. You are quite safe from prosecution. You are recently married, yes? Enjoy Venice with your wife.” He beamed and offered his hand. Leaning closer, he whispered, “And in a day or so, perhaps you and I might talk business.”
*
Constance, aware ofthe constant conversation in front, found her own companion harder work. For one thing, Signora Premarin spoke no English, and Constance had very little faith in her own poor Italian. Also, the younger woman’s wide-eyed stare was quite disconcerting. Constance had to make all the effort.
“It is a tragic day for Signora Savelli,” she said in Italian. Or, at least, she hoped that was what she said. “Are you a close friend?”
The girl shook her head with surprising firmness and issued a sudden blast of words, which Constance eventually untangled enough to understand that Signora Savelli was her husband’s friend and much too clever for poor Bianca Premarin. Signor Savelli, however, was the kindest man in the world.
“Kind?” Constance repeated, to be sure she had understood the word. No one had mentioned Savelli’s kindness before.
“To me,” the girl said with a blushing, proud, yet secretive smile.
Constance tried again. “Did the couple visit you?”
“Yes. Sometimes.” A pause. “We visit them also. We dine together.”
“When did you last dine together?” Constance asked hopefully.
“Last week.”
“Ah. Um… Were they a happy couple?”
“Beautiful,” said Signora Premarin reverently, but again with the secretive smile.
“How long have you been married, signora?”
“For two years.”
“Then you have a lively stepfamily.”
The girl shuddered, though it may have been due to a sudden gust of chilly wind as they entered St. Mark’s Square.
“Did you see Signor Savelli again? After the last time you dined together?”
This time, color flooded the young woman’s face and she increased her pace, muttering, “My husband…”
By the time they caught up, the men were already shaking hands to part and there was much bowing and curtseying before the Premarins turned toward the great doors of the church,and Constance and Solomon stood gazing up at the stunning stonework and glass.
She had already seen the wondrous inside of the church, but she doubted one would ever get used to the beauty, either of the inside or out.
