Page 84 of Vengeance in Venice
Fortunately, perhaps, a servant returned bearing a sealed letter on a tray, which he presented to Solomon, then bowed and departed.
Solomon broke the seal and caught his breath. It was in English and written by a fine hand.
My dear Mr. Grey,
It is imperative that we meet where we will not be seen or overheard. I dare not be seen helping you, but please know that you and your wife are in danger. Her illness was no accident and I can provide you with proof of her would-be murderer. You, sir, must present this proof, not I, for I should not be believed and would end up like poor Savelli. You must take this chance and bring all to justice.
Come to the Rialto Bridge tomorrow at dawn. Tell no one and burn this letter immediately.
Yours in desperation,
Rudolf von Lampl.
“I think,” Solomon said thoughtfully, “your theory is about to be tested.”
“What theory?” she asked.
“That you are up to anything. This is from Lampl. He wants to meet tomorrow at dawn. And he wants me to burn this letter.”
She leapt up from her chair, snatching the letter and reading its carefully phrased English. “He has signed it to make you think he is genuine,” she said, her voice high with sudden fright. “But he isn’t, Solomon. It’s a trap.”
“He does seem to have baited his first.”
*
Giusti had neverlacked courage. But as he marched boldly up to the front door of the Palazzo Savelli, he wondered if he was being the most arrant coward, for he would not even ask to see her. He couldn’t.
He rapped confidently on the door while his heart quailed.
As soon as the door opened, he thrust his parcel into the surprised hands of the servant. “For Signora Savelli, with the compliments of Ludovico Giusti. Please give it to her immediately.”
He was already turning away on the last word when the servant stood back, opening the door wide to reveal Elena herself, halfway across the foyer. She seemed to be frozen in mid-stride, as though she had heard his voice. She looked…stricken.
His throat closed up. He could not speak.
But his paralysis seemed to release hers. Her expression smoothed and she walked gracefully toward him. He would have bolted, if he could.
“Signor Giusti.”
It was formal, but better than “Leave.”
He bowed and forced his tongue to move. “Signora. I did not mean to disturb you.”
The servant offered her the package, and she took it, her unreadable gaze still on Giusti.
“I am not disturbed. Come in.”
Oh dear God, help me…He could not refuse, did not want to, although this meeting was what he had been trying to avoid.
He stepped inside, heard the door close behind him as he followed Elena through the charming foyer and up the staircase to her drawing room. It all looked different since he had last been here. Not faded and empty like his own place, but fresh and splendid and curiously comfortable. Homely. It had never been homely before.
She sat in one of the chairs grouped by the window and, at her invitation, took one at a respectful distance. She put the parcel on the table between them as another servant appeared with wine and cicchetti.
She waited until they were served and the servant departed before she again picked up the parcel.
“How are you?” he blurted, though whether he was trying to distract her or himself with such a stupid question, he didn’t know.
“Bored,” she said. “The house feels empty. Now that everyone has presented their dutiful condolences, they leave me respectfully—and with some relief—in peace. Patriotic Venetians despise me anyway, and Angelo’s friends suspect I killed him.”
