Page 38 of Vengeance in Venice
They turned reluctantly, retracing their steps to return to their boat. Constance dragged her mind back to order.
“That girl,” she said, “was infatuated with Savelli.”
Solomon looked startled. “Really? Were they having an affair?”
“That would rather turn everything we think we know on its head, wouldn’t it? But honestly, I don’t see it. I think it’s all in her mind, like a fantasy. A young woman married—no doubt by her family—to an older man who must present quite an unheroic figure to a romantic girl. And then there is Savelli, young and handsome and equally successful, apparently kind to her.”
“Not more than kind?”
She shrugged. “There is no accounting for taste, but if I were married to Elena, I would not look twice at that girl. I’m not sure Premarin does.”
“But from Savelli’s point of view… He is married to that strong woman whose feelings he suspects of ambivalence at the least. Would the doe-eyed devotion of a starry-eyed young woman not be appealing?”
“No one has suggested either Savelli was unfaithful. Her infatuation might have been balm to his troubled soul, but I doubt he acted upon it. She is not exactly grieving, from what I observed. It’s just a story to her. Did you learn anything from Premarin himself?”
Solomon shrugged. “Just that Savelli won a lucrative government contract they both wanted and didn’t seem to appreciate his good fortune enough. This was the day before he died, and Premarin found him a little distracted. He admitted heresented not being granted this contract—though he might get it now that Savelli is dead, I suppose. I don’t know what happens to the business.”
Contance blinked. “It would be quite cold to murder someone just to win a bit of business.”
“Especially when they seem to have been friends of a sort. Besides, Premarin might be quick, clever, even ruthless, but he is hardly stupid enough to take such a risk as to murder a man at his own back door.”
“Not for business. But then, no one would murder for such a reason, would they? There has to be something deeper involved.”
Solomon cocked an eyebrow. “Like Premarin’s wife?”
“Many men do regard their wives, however neglected, as possessions, and they certainly don’t like other men to touch.” She sighed. “Though on the face of it, she is unlikely to inspire a crime of passion.”
“What if it isn’t?” Solomon said, his face suddenly intense. “Think about it. One blow straight through the heart—can that be luck? Or is it the skilled attack of an assassin? And there were plenty of those, surely in his own house.”
“Because he didn’t pay them?” she said doubtfully. “Dismissed them for abducting me? Then why would they stay? They are still at the Palazzo Savelli.”
“Because they acted for Elena.”
Her breath caught. “Could she do that?Wouldshe? If she wanted to be with Giusti, why did she choose Savelli?”
“Because he is rich. Giusti has nothing. This way, she has the chance of Giusti and, presumably, Savelli’s fortune.”
Constance did not like it. She could tell Solomon didn’t either, yet they had to consider it. And it made a horrible kind of sense. “She was so helpful to us when I expected her to throw us out.”
“Perhaps she could afford to be. At worst, she can cast the blame on whichever bravo committed the murder. Her hands are clean, and it is her word against his.”
She shook her head. “But why was Savelli outside in the dark without his coat? Dealing with some perceived crisis made up by his murderer? It’s possible, isn’t it? But there’s no proof, and I don’t like it.”
“Premarin wants us to leave it all to the authorities. He seems to admire Foscolo. And Lampl. In fact, he thinks we should just relax and enjoy our honeymoon.”
“It’s a valid point of view, but I would rather know the truth before they haul you off to prison.”
“I’m sure it will be a great comfort.”
*
Inside the Basilicodi San Marco, Bianca Premarin fixed her gaze upon the beautiful face of theMadonna Nicopeia, the icon that had been Venice’s pride and joy for centuries. Signor Savelli had told her once that it had been stolen from the Christians of Byzantium, which was probably why it meant so much to her. Not because it was stolen or came from a country that no longer existed, but because he had talked to her about it.
The smell of incense, and the droning voices of priests and mourners, spilled suddenly into her consciousness and she realized he would never talk to her again. She would never see him again. He was dead.
Grief flooded into her eyes, along with sheer hopelessness. What did she have now, except her rich old husband and his maddening children?
No wonder the Madonna looked disappointed in her, pointing to her own child. In sudden terror, Bianca recognizedher terrible sins, sins she could never confess, let alone be absolved of. She was doomed to hell for love. For murder.
