Page 57 of Vengeance in Venice
“Jealousy comes with love. I am not immune. Nor is Solomon.”
“Excess, obsession, was not something I ever suspected of Angelo. Giusti, yes. But nothim.”
“Are you not afraid to live in the same house as those men?”
“I pay them, so no. Besides, I want them where they can be found, even kicking their heels with boredom.”
“And if your husband refused to pay them for something?” Constance persisted. “It is the most easily explained solution.”
“Except that whoever killed Angelo probably poisoned you too, and our men have no access to the British consulate. And in any case, no one saw any of them leave the house the night Angelo died, let alone skulk at the back door.”
Constance shifted restlessly. “But then, no one saw or heard anything or anyone.”
Elena’s eyes fell, as though involuntarily, and Constance stared at her.
“You don’t sleep well,” she said slowly. “Even before your husband’s death, you didn’t sleep well. Elena, did you see someone outside the house?”
“No. I saw no one.”
You are lying again. It seemed the unexpected confidences were over. But Constance could not allow that. If she was in danger still—if Solomon was—this mystery could not be allowed to drift on unsolved. She needed to press Elena, make her tell the truth. Yet she knew instinctively that this was not the kind of woman who responded to bullying or nagging. Her trust, this apparently greater trust, had to be won more subtly.
Forcing herself, she changed the subject.
“Tell me about the Premarins. I believe they are friends of yours. You dined in each other’s homes. Did this friendship survive the government contract that your husband won against Premarin?”
Elena’s brow twitched. “Oh, that. It had only just been signed, but I can’t imagine Nicolo Premarin bearing a grudge. He is the most pragmatic of men, and I doubt he needed the money. I certainly can’t imagine it driving him to murder Angelo in the middle of the night.”
“But his wife is a curious lady, is she not?”
“Bianca?” Elena said in disbelief. “She must be the least curious person I have ever met.”
“Then she is not a friend of yours?”
“She was often around. Like a shawl you don’t much like, but it serves its basic purpose.”
Definitely not a friend. “She does not like you either,” Constance remarked.
Elena shrugged. “She wouldn’t. She knows Nicolo proposed to me.”
“Didhe, now?” Constance leaned forward eagerly. “When did he do that?”
“Oh, around the time the Austrians retook the city. He wanted a mother for his children, I think. I turned him down.”
“And subsequently became engaged to Angelo…” There were possibilities there they had not considered. Personal jealousyadded much to annoyance over a contract. Surely together theydidconstitute a serious motive?
“I suppose Bianca cannot forgive me. She liked Angelo, though.”
“I had that impression,” Constance said carefully.
Elena, who was not slow, widened her eyes. “Seriously? She had atendrefor Angelo?”
“He never mentioned it?”
“I doubt he noticed. I certainly didn’t, though now you mention it, she was always more animated around him, and she did gaze at him as though he were some kind of oracle. Or god. I thought she looked at all men like that.”
“Perhaps she does. But would it be possible that she somehow inveigled Angelo into an affair with her?”
Elena opened her mouth, surely to annihilate the preposterous idea. But then she only stared blindly at Constance, clearly considering it. “A woman who was no threat to his pride or his sanity,” she said slowly. “He need not even consider it betrayal in his mind… Which would be wrong, so wrong, to both of us, and to Nicolo. No, I cannot imagine it. You do know that she tells lies? Fantasies, probably.”
