Page 70 of Vengeance in Venice
“Oh, he was there, following his wife, whose oddities he appears to be well aware of. He might even be taking responsibility for some of them. He claims to be jealous no longer, merely ashamed, and both he and Bianca seem to have been heading homeward when they and Rossi saw each other.”
“He could have taken a few minutes away from watching his wife in order to entice Savelli outside,” Constance said.
“He would need to have gone through the house, without his wife seeing Savelli letting him in. And even if that were possible, why would Savelli show him out the back way, where he has no means of transport?”
“Savelli’s own boats were there.” She sighed. “You’re right, though, it doesn’t make any sense. Have we finally reduced our suspects to none?”
“It would seem so.”
They were silent for a little while, gazing out of the window at the breathtaking view. Not as magnificent as the Grand Canal, but with its own quieter, morerealbeauty.
“The weapon,” Constance said suddenly. “That’s what I was trying to think about when Rossi distracted me. We have not seen it. Do you suppose the police gave it back to Elena?”
“We can ask her. Though I don’t see what we can learn from it at this stage. It was Savelli’s own weapon and left in his body.”
She reached out and took his hand. “Is this our first failure, Solomon? On our first case since our marriage?”
His thumb caressed her wrist. “Perhaps one should not go investigating on one’s honeymoon. There are too many other distractions.”
“I have so loved those distractions,” she said, carrying his hand to her cheek.
“So have I,” he said, just a little huskily. “God, so have I.”
“I am very much better,” she said.
He smiled, sliding his hand from her cheek to her nape and making her shiver. “Temptress.”
They stayed like that as the afternoon wore on, and though she waited with her heart skittering, she knew he would not take her to bed. Not yet.
In present circumstances, his abstinence only emphasized his care of her. And in any case, just being with him like this as the afternoon drew to a close, and an unsolved and apparently insoluble mystery hung over them, was strangely sweet, and more, much more, than enough.
*
In the morning,Constance woke up feeling much more like herself. She was frustrated that Solomon insisted she drink acup of coffee before she rose and then insisted on helping her dress. But the anxiety in his eyes—how long had it taken her to recognize all those expressions she had once found so veiled and difficult?—lightened to approval as she ate her egg and bread for breakfast.
“I shall come with you to call on Elena,” she said firmly, and he merely nodded. If anything, he seemed amused by the challenge in her manner.
Alvise grinned as he helped her into the boat, and he sang all the way to the Palazzo Savelli.
Although the servant let them into the foyer at once, he left them there while he carried their names to his mistress. Pellini, one of the bodyguards who had abducted Constance, lounged near the front door, watching them in a surly manner, as though he expected them to steal the silver.
“Ifhedidn’t kill Savelli himself,” Constance murmured, observing him in return, “he probably still thinks you did.”
“I’m a possibility to him, no doubt, but so is Giusti, whom his fellows were busy beating to a pulp when we first saw them. Unless, as you say, he did it himself. The bodyguards are about the only suspects we have left.”
The servant came back and conducted them solemnly to the drawing room, where Elena sat not in splendid isolation but in the company of the Venetian policeman Foscolo, who scowled at the very sight of Solomon and Constance.
Elena, on the other hand, was openly delighted to see them, coming forward at once with her hand outstretched. “Signora, should you be out so soon?”
“It’s an experiment,” Constant said lightly. “I feel I will go mad trapped indoors.”
“I know the feeling. You have met Signor Foscolo, of course.”
Foscolo nodded curtly. He looked undecided as to whether to vacate the premises in disgust or stay where he was in the hope of discovering the point of their visit.
“Wine?” Elena asked. “Or is it too early for your English sensibilities?”
Constance shuddered. “Certainly for this English stomach.”
