Page 8 of Vengeance in Venice
*
The last fringesof her fright had vanished altogether by the time Constance left the Palazzo Zulian the following morning. After all, she was no delicate flower, by birth or experience, and there were other delicious attractions, namely making love with Solomon and reveling in his tender care.
And then there was Venice herself. Whether bright or cloudy or teeming with rain, there seemed to be some special quality to the light that enchanted.
Although it had rained a little earlier in the morning, by the time they left the palazzo in search of their favorite coffeehouse, the sun was out. They walked arm in arm toward the nearest bridge, where they paused to watch some of the distinctively shaped Venetian boats go by. Pointed at one end and built for maneuverability around the canals and the lagoon, they were known as gondolas to some. A few belonging to the wealthy were very ornate, brightly painted and scattered with comfortable seats and cushions—like the one about to pass beneath the bridge now. It held only one occupant, a prosperous, very correctly dressed Englishman whom she was sure she had seen at the opera the night before.
“There he is again,” Constance said, nudging Solomon. The man tipped his hat, meeting her gaze quite openly, as though he remembered her.
“Savelli?” Solomon said at once.
“No! The man who was at the opera. He does seem to be everywhere.”
The man and his boat vanished beneath the bridge and Solomon and Constance moved on.
“He bothers you,” Solomon remarked. “Do you think he was connected with what happened last night? Did you see him when the thugs seized you?”
“Oh, no. I think last night was a purely Venetian affair.”
“Unless he too has some tenuous connection to Giusti.”
“It’s more likely to be connection to my establishment,” Constance said dryly, referring to the very expensive and discreet house of ill repute that she ran in Mayfair. “He certainly looks rich enough to afford it. Though I don’t recall ever seeing him there.”
Of course, since meeting Solomon and beginning their inquiry business, Silver and Grey, she was at the establishment less often. But she still cared about it. She had never wanted respectability—in fact, scandalous impropriety had worked very much in her favor—until she met Solomon, and even now it was for his sake that she sought a kind of rehabilitation. His wife should not be a whore, a brothel madam.
And yet she would not give it up. Too many people relied on her. Besides, there was no point. Her reputation would only follow her. It was Solomon, seeing her torn between his world and her own, who had begun a kind of reformation for her reputation, reinventing the establishment as a charity in the minds of some rich and powerful people.
In fact, it had always been half charity. She took a few—a pitifully few—endangered girls off the streets and gave them a choice of a safe place to ply their trade or help to enter a new one. But Solomon had brought a handful of well-chosen friends to one of her nightly “parties,” inviting them to donate to hercharity. So now, the philanthropic and respectable gentlemen rubbed shoulders with those who came for the girls. And if Constance would never be invited for tea with their wives, well, shedidreceive the odd distant nod of acknowledgment for her good works. Plus, the establishment had considerably more money to contribute to the education and training of the women who wanted out of the old life.
Solomon still deserved better, of course. But he had chosen Constance, as she had so irrevocably chosen him. It still stunned her that she was his wife as well as his partner. Somehow, she was even his love, and God knew he was hers…
She caressed his sleeve as they walked on, and he covered her hand with his. This unique man, this unique city… Who cared about last night’s little fright? She breathed a sigh of utter contentment and knew from his posture, from his very silence, that he felt it too.
They drank coffee and breakfasted, seated at a table in the morning sunshine beside the water, talking idly and watching the world glide by, listening to the sounds of the birds and the gentle lapping of the water mingling with nearby laughter and the shouted conversation between a woman at an upper window and someone in a boat below. She loved the musical sound of the language, though she recognized few words. The Venetians had their own dialect, of course…
When they had eaten and drunk enough, they strolled back to the palazzo. Constance opened the French doors of the drawing room and stepped onto the little balcony. It had already become a particular pleasure to absorb the sights and sounds and smells of the city from here, while writing letters or reading. When it rained, she simply moved into the doorway.
Solomon came out to join her, but did not sit down in the other chair. “I have a little business to attend to. I shall not be long.”
Her stomach tightened with a return of last night’s nerves. For while it was quite likely that Solomon had spotted some business opportunity in Venice, she knew it was not that kind of business he meant.
She reached behind her, catching his coat. “Sol—”
He detached her hand and kissed it. When she opened her mouth to remonstrate him, he bent and kissed her lips.
He said, “I have to speak to Savelli if we are to reconcile him with Giusti. And just at first, it has to be me alone.”
He was right, of course. She had to trust him not to pick a fight, but, remembering his barely contained fear and fury last night, that was not easy.
Her heart in her mouth, she watched him emerge into the street below and climb into the boat via the steps opposite their front door. He looked up, smiling, and lifted his hat. She waved back, as though all was well. But it was not. She knew it was not.
*
Solomon was notgoing to pick a fight with Savelli. But he absolutelywouldspeak to him and leave the man in no uncertainty as to his opinions. Nor had he ruled out involving the Venetian police or the British consul, but exactly what he would do depended very much on Savelli himself.
He should have known Constance would not buy his “business” excuse. He had not meant to leave her with such anxiety, but it had to be done.
This time, Alvise tied the boat up at the front of the Palazzo Savelli, on the Grand Canal itself. And Solomon, almost with the ease of the native, stepped straight off and ran lightly up to the front door, where he rapped the large, ornate knocker loudly.
