Page 56 of Vengeance in Venice
“I never had that. Just friends. You miss your family.”
Elena nodded and seemed about to speak when Maria came in with the promised bowl of soup, and yet more water with wine. Behind her came another maid, who set a little table for Elena with a glass of wine and a plate of cicchetti.
Constance waited until the servants had gone and she taken a drink and a spoonful of soup. Then she said, “Your family truly never forgave you for your marriage?”
Elena swallowed her first bite before she answered. “I thought they would in time, when everything settled down again and they realized Angelo was good for me and for Venice. I thought my sister at least would come secretly and maybe talk the others around. She didn’t. To them, I am a traitress. I betrayed them and Venice and Ludovico Giusti.”
“You must have loved your husband very much.”
Elena’s gaze was on her food, which she ate, perhaps to give herself time to change the subject. Constance, since her stomach didn’t seem notice the soup, took another spoonful.
Unexpectedly, Elena said, “I’m not very sure I know what love is. I thought I was madly in love with Ludovico—all that excitement and desperation to be together, so overwhelming when mingled with our noble cause. Democracy, independence, a united Italy. It was childish. I understood that during the siege.”
“It must have been awful.”
“Men died all the time. And then there was cholera, other diseases, and everyone began to die, even children… I felt responsible. I kept thinking,What have I done?And then,What is Ludo doing?Fighting to the bitter end, always at thefront, leading raiding parties into the countryside against the Austrians and their allies. The city was hell, andwehad done that to it. No one else seemed to see that. Except Angelo Savelli. He wrote to me from the beginning, you understand, because he and Ludo had fallen out when we pushed the Austrians from the city. When Ludo was reported lost during one of his raids, it was just part of the hell. And then Venice surrendered, and the Austrians came back. My family—those who were still alive—fled to our country house, but I stayed behind.”
“Why?” Constance asked.
Elena shrugged and sipped her wine. “I don’t know. Because I deserved the hell, I think, and I felt somehow that I had to see it through to the very end. And Angelo was still that one sane voice amongst the horror.”
“You married him for protection,” Constance guessed.
“Protection,” Elena agreed. “And sanity and respect. And love, I thought, a more mature love this time, not the madness that was Ludo, which had brough us all to hell.” She gave a twisted smile. “But Venice survives, as you see. Divisions remain, ill feeling, betrayal, but mostly, everything goes on as it did before 1848.” Her smile, such as it was, faded, and she took another sip of wine. “Ludovic came back, of course, because he was not dead but severely injured and in hiding from the Austrians. Everyone pretended not to notice so that he could stay. Only I was forced to decide between him and Angelo, because by that time I was betrothed to both of them.”
“You no longer loved Giusti?”
“I hated Giusti like myself, for what we had done. We were bad for each other, and I was no longer some innocent, melted by a dashing smile and a few passionate kisses. There is nothing important in those things. So I chose Angelo.”
“Were you happy?”
She considered. “Individually, neither of us was happy. Together we survived, and Angelo’s business thrived. I entertained his friends and his rivals, kept his house. The city’s scars began to heal. Was it love? I don’t know. I don’t think I ever understood him any more than he understood me.” She gave a small, hard laugh. “A sad tale, is it not?”
“Yes,” Constance said with pity. “I think…I think you did your best, which is all any of us can do, whatever the situation. And I think you loved them both—in different ways, perhaps—as they loved you.”
Elena met her gaze. “I might have thought so, except that I have seenyouwithhim. Your husband. No one has ever looked at me as he watched you, so devastated by your illness, such stark, raw emotion.Thatis love. And I have never known it. I doubt I am capable of feeling it or inspiring it.”
Constance felt her face warm. In return for the other woman’s confession, she said, “I do love him. I always did, though I didn’t always recognize it. Nor could I believe he would ever feel the same for me.”
“Why not? You are one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen. You have warmth and wit and intelligence. I think men must find you fascinating.”
Constance smiled. “I worked at that. Let us just say that I have a past.”
“And he forgave you?” Elena asked with sudden intensity.
“Not so much forgave as… It ceased to matter very quickly. There is a bond between us. I think it was there from the first time we met, when we never even spoke. The feeling terrified me.”
Absently, Constance ate her soup, aware of the other woman’s curious gaze.
“Who do you think killed my husband?” Elena asked.
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
Elena sighed, and Constance laid her spoon in the bowl. She seemed to have eaten almost all the soup, which surprised her. She hoped her stomach would not mind.
“To be honest,” she said, “I like nearly everyone we have found with a motive and even the vaguest opportunity. The most likely suspects are surely the men your husband hired to protect you.”
“To watch me,” Elena said bitterly. “I think he imagined Giusti would kidnap me—after four years—or perhaps that I would run away with him. And that was why Giusti kept the jewels—to keepme.”
