Page 61 of Vengeance in Venice
Solomon regarded her, taking in the bruised eyes and the obvious exhaustion of her body, weighing her condition against the urgency of finding and arresting the murderer. “In the morning,” he said reluctantly. “When we are fresher and you, hopefully, will be even stronger.”
“I might be able to eat solid food tomorrow,” she said hopefully, and his lips tightened in fresh fury.
Whatever the motive of the killer, this wasdamnablypersonal for Solomon.
*
Constance felt somuch better in the morning that she nibbled some bread with her clear beef soup, and insisted on bathing and dressing, after which she walked downstairs on Solomon’s arm and ensconced herself in the drawing room, from where she could look out over the canal.
The magic of Venice had not faded, she decided. It had just acquired more facets. Like people. Like London.
Rather to her own and Solomon’s surprise, Giusti presented himself punctually at half past ten as Solomon had suggested in his note. He entered looking almost fearful, though his face lightened considerably at the sight of Constance.
“Signora!” he said, striding forward with his arm outstretched. “I am so glad to see you up and about.”
She gave him her hand without rising. “I am definitely recovering, though lamentably weaker than a newborn kitten!”
“I called when I first heard the rumors—which are flying around the city, by the way. Surely you cannot have been poisoned at the British consulate!”
Solomon waved him to a chair. “Sadly, there is no doubt about it. The doctor is convinced.”
“But this is shocking! Could it have been an accident?”
“An accident affecting only my wife’s glass?”
Giusti grimaced. “But why?”
“The only reason we can think of is because we were asking questions about Savelli’s death,” Solomon said.
Giusti nodded, frowning. “Attack your wife and ensure you both leave… But that still leaves the police, who are asking much the same questions. And Foscolo was there for some of the time, at least. I suppose that would be too obvious… But this is terrible! Is that why you asked me to call? To say farewell?”
“Oh, we are not leaving just yet,” Constance said.
His eyes widened with surprise but no obvious chagrin. “You are a brave lady,” he said warmly. He cast a quick glance at Solomon. “Could you not persuade her?”
“No one is more stubborn than my wife,” Solomon said evasively.
“Coffee?” Constance offered. The idea of drinking wine so early in the morning still went against her nature, although the Venetians seemed happy to do so throughout the day.
The servants brought coffee in and served it, for which Constance, ridiculously exhausted after coming all the way down the stairs, was grateful.
“Guisti,” Solomon said, once they were all comfortable, “on the night of Savelli’s death, after you and I collected Constance from his palazzo, you went straight to your own home and stayed there, yes?”
Giusti regarded him, his face suddenly, deliberately blank. Constance caught her breath.
And then, to her annoyance, the door opened again and Mario the manservant announced, “Signora Savelli.”
It was as though a bolt of lightning shot through the room. Giusti leapt to his feet. Elena walked in and stopped dead just inside the door. Her gaze locked on Giusti and the blood seemed to drain from her face.
Giusti, grasping the back of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white, stared at her for one tense moment, then tore his gaze free and flung words over his shoulder at Solomon.
“Yes. I was at home all night.” Only then did he bow to Elena.
She, however, was no longer looking at him, but at Constance. “I have called at a bad time. But I am glad to see you up and about. I shall come back in the afternoon.”
She spun around to go, but Constance would not allow it. It suddenly angered her that they, surely the people at the center ofthis tangled mystery of murder and hate and lies, should try to drag it out further.
“Stay,” she said peremptorily.
