Venetian Vendetta: The Tremayne Mysteries Series Page 8

  She nodded. ‘Dino mentioned it.’

  ‘The business may not have been going great guns, but it’s still worth money. A lot of money would be my guess. It occupies a prestigious position and the land alone would fetch a fortune. But if it were sold when the old lady was alive, the proceeds would have flowed into Mamma Moretto’s coffers. Her son would have had to make do with whatever she was willing to hand over, which by all accounts wouldn’t have been very much. So a motive for murder? Much better than Mario, the fantasist.’

  ‘It might be, but for one thing.’

  Archie got up, fidgeting with the briefcase he carried. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Luca isn’t going to sell. He intends to keep trading.’

  ‘You know that for a fact?’ Archie frowned, annoyed perhaps that his suspect had been dismissed as quickly as hers. ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Dino. He mentioned the negotiations with the buyers from Florence. Dino has been the middle man.’ Archie raised a satirical eyebrow. ‘Yes, I know, he would be. But he knew what he was talking about. He seemed deflated that the sale might not go through now.’

  ‘And because Luca isn’t selling, you’re back to your fantasist? It still won’t fly. Mario would have to be seriously deranged to murder for a pipe dream.’

  ‘I think he is.’ For Archie, it was ridiculous that a man would behave in such a fashion, but it was too near Nancy’s own experience for her to dismiss it.

  He spread his hands, shrugging off the suggestion, and making for the door. ‘I had a Mario in my life,’ she said to his retreating form. ‘And I thought him capable of murder.’

  He stopped and walked back to her. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Recently.’

  ‘Did Leo know?’ His eyes locked with hers, and she was startled once more at how blue they were.

  ‘He knew.’

  There was a pause and she could see his mind turning. ‘And then he came to your rescue. So that’s what this is all about.’

  He didn’t specify what he meant by ‘this’, but he didn’t need to.

  ‘Leo and I are very happy together,’ she said.

  He gave a sour smile. ‘Who could doubt it?’

  *

  When he’d gone, she went up to her bedroom feeling bruised, as she so often did after talking to Archie. It seemed that at every turn he must accuse her of marrying for her own ends. In a way she had, but it didn’t stop her caring for Leo, a man she admired as much for his good nature as for his professional expertise. Even if they were never to reach the heights of passion, it was surely possible to walk through life together in friendship.

  And what, after all, was it to do with Archie Jago? He was her husband’s employee, nothing more. So why did she want so desperately for him to believe she loved Leo and had married in good conscience? Deep down, she knew why. If she convinced Archie, she would convince herself—that she hadn’t sold out for security, that this marriage would work, that temptation would not come her way. She thought of Archie’s blue eyes and his negligent form draped across the doorway.

  What on earth was she doing? Swiftly she shut her mind down and walked to the window. The soft splash of oars drifted through the open casement, then, further away, the swish of a light boat moving fast and the ripple of waves against the bulwarks of the canal. The sounds of an old Venice, defying the noise of the modern world. She felt her heartbeat settle.

  Gradually she allowed herself to think again of Marta Moretto. Could Luca really be a suspect? If the signora had gone ahead with the sale, her son might not have benefited. Now she was dead, he was set to inherit the business. If he chose, he could continue with the buyers from Florence and easily pay off the debts he’d accumulated. So why was he intent on keeping Moretto going, particularly as the business was failing? Intent enough to kill, to stop the sale going ahead? But to murder his mother! It was unthinkable.

  Tomorrow was Sunday and Leo had mentioned at breakfast that Dino di Maio had invited them to spend the day with him on the Andiamo, sailing to Burano and being treated to a splendid lunch. ‘The weather’s set fair,’ Leo had said, ‘and I know you’ll love the place.’ Nancy was reluctant to spend an entire day with Dino but, after her trip to the Lido, eager to see more of the outlying islands. She’d learned, too, that Signora Moretto’s funeral was to be the day after, so a breezy Sunday spent on the water might be welcome.

  Leo was going to the funeral. Despite his seeming lack of warmth for Marta, he had felt it right to attend, but had stressed that Nancy should feel no obligation to join him. She hadn’t had to think about her response. Marta’s strange words that afternoon on the Zattere, her shadowed face, her haunted eyes, and then the terrible image of a body falling, none of these had left Nancy for a moment. She would go to the funeral; it was the least she could do for the poor woman. She had managed so little else.

  Chapter Eleven

  A motoscafo arrived promptly at the palazzo’s landing stage at ten the next morning. Dino, true to character, had sent the most luxurious boat plying the Venetian canals to take them to San Basilio. Nancy was the first one downstairs and waited at the landing stage, eager to board. Her husband arrived shortly after, with a last few instructions for Archie who had followed him down: two or three London appointments to confirm, a packet of books to despatch and several letters that needed answers. After Archie’s fracas with Salvatore, it was as well, she thought, that he was staying behind.

  ‘See if you can put this Morris chap off, Archie.’ Leo frowned and handed over an envelope. ‘He’s a persistent blighter.’

  ‘I’ll try, but he’ll almost certainly write again.’

  ‘You can make my response as abrupt as you like. It might do the trick.’

  ‘It might.’ Archie looked dubious. ‘I’m pretty sure it won’t, though.’

  ‘No, damn it. He’s like that sergeant we had in the Second Battalion. What was his name?’

  ‘Adamson?’

  ‘Yes, you’ve got it.’ Leo punched his companion lightly on the arm. ‘Sergeant Adamson. My God, but wasn’t he persistent? Kept coming to me with tales of gambling in the barracks even though he’d not a shred of evidence to back it up.’

  Archie’s face assumed a bland expression. ‘Doesn’t mean it wasn’t going on, though, boss.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘That would be telling tales, wouldn’t it?’

  Both men laughed and Leo waved a goodbye, following Nancy into the boat’s cabin. ‘See what you can do anyway,’ he called after Archie.

  ‘I will. Have a good day.’

  Nancy settled back on the embroidered seat, looking past tasselled curtains to the bustle of a Venice morning. The sun was hot and bright, the sky cloudless, and ahead were several blissful hours on water. The Giudecca Canal, glittering a thousand diamonds, was hectic with activity: water buses, ferries, gondolas, delivery barges, mingling in terrifying fashion but amazingly without mishap. A group of young boys were swimming off the Zattere and she smiled at the games they were playing.

  She was getting used to this pampered lifestyle and it worried her. She had worked all her adult life and worked hard, and it felt strange to have hours every day free of necessity, free to do exactly as she pleased. When they returned to London, she could foresee a similar life emerging. Leo had a housekeeper, Mrs Brindley, whom Nancy had found dour and unbending in the short time she’d spent at Cavendish Street. It had been obvious the woman would not willingly relinquish control of the household, especially to a girl who’d appeared in her employer’s life apparently out of nowhere.

  As for a job, she could not return to Abingers, not married to Leo. He worked independently, but was regularly requested by the auction house to authenticate a painting, or sit on a particular committee, or represent them in the newspapers or on the wireless. For a married woman to work was difficult enough, but if she were to return to Abingers as a humble assistant, it would be embarrassing for him and awkward for her. She had to accept tha
t her life there was over, but it left a void and it was one she needed to fill. Something other to pursue, a new goal to achieve.

  In a moment of startling clarity she wondered if that was the real reason she was so intent on discovering the truth of Marta Moretto’s death. Was it perhaps not the simple response she’d assumed, of one person to another, of sympathy for a woman who had not deserved such a fate from one who could help bring the perpetrator to justice, but rather a desire to find purpose in her own life?

  ‘We’ll be at San Basilio in ten minutes,’ Leo said, seeming anxious at her continued silence.

  ‘That’s good, but in any case I’m enjoying the journey.’ She smiled reassuringly.

  *

  Dino was waiting to greet them at the port. The sleek Italian suit had gone, but his yachting outfit was only a fraction less smart. A peaked white hat, she thought, that’s all he needed to pose as the captain of an ocean-going liner.

  ‘Leo and Nancy!’ he exclaimed, as though he was surprised to see them. ‘How wonderful. You have come.’

  He slapped Leo vigorously on the back and raised Nancy’s hand to his lips, a gallantry that made her feel awkward. But he was smiling and gracious, and evidently wished to be a good host.

  ‘Please, come this way. You will find the yacht in excellent condition. I have had Salvatore polishing for the whole of yesterday!’

  They followed him across the dock, their shadows dark against the expanse of concrete, and made their way to the commercial quay at the far side where the Andiamo was berthed. Nancy caught sight of a sharply cut prow and gleaming white bodywork, the yacht moving lazily on the gentlest of waves. Polished silver rails and glistening glass bore testimony to Salvatore’s efforts. He was at the helm and waved to them. Beside him was a young boy—an apprentice, Nancy assumed.

  They had reached the short gangway, Dino standing back to usher them on board, when a man bustled towards them from a nearby warehouse.

  ‘Signor Di Maio, buongiorno. I have not seen you for so long.’ The man spoke in rapid Italian.

  ‘Signor Montisi.’ Dino shook the man’s hand—with reluctance, Nancy thought. ‘These are my friends,’ he said in English. ‘Mrs Tremayne and Professor Leo Tremayne.’ He turned back to them. ‘Nancy, Leo, this is Signor Montisi. He is the Port Superintendent.’

  ‘How very good to see you.’ The man was a little too hearty and Nancy wondered why. Perhaps Dino was a very important customer and exerted unusual influence at the port.

  She glanced sideways at her host, waiting for him to continue a conversation he had evidently hoped to avoid. He was no longer looking at Signor Montisi, but directly behind the man to a figure who had followed the Port Superintendent out of the brick-built warehouse. A younger man, as far as she could judge. She watched more closely. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken conversation going on between them, but then Dino turned to the Superintendent, his face wiped clean of expression.

  ‘We must be going.’ His tone was brisk, verging on nervous. ‘I am taking my friends to Burano for lunch and I’d like them to see as much of the island as possible.’

  ‘The island is most beautiful,’ Signor Montisi agreed.

  ‘Who is your colleague?’ Nancy’s question came out of the blue. She hadn’t meant to speak, but something about the young man’s steady gaze disturbed her. As one, they turned to look at the figure silhouetted in the doorway.

  ‘That is Pietro,’ the Superintendent said, with a puzzled half laugh. ‘He is my assistant. A very good assistant, too. Since he is in place, my lunch takes three hours!’ And he gave another small laugh. ‘But please, I am keeping you.’

  One more round of handshakes followed before he turned back to his office. Nancy was first to walk up the gangway, but at the top she stopped to look across to where the young man still stood in the doorway watching the yacht. Watching Dino? Dino himself had turned his back, deliberately, or so it seemed, and was busy fussing over a consignment of wine being loaded on board.

  It had been an odd incident. Pietro’s appearance had certainly disconcerted their host. For once, Dino had lost his smooth polish. He’d seemed flurried, agitated even. But none of it showed when he finally climbed aboard and ushered them into a large cabin. After the glaring light of the quay, Nancy felt as though she had stepped into a black cave and it took a while for her eyes to adjust. Out of the darkness, a figure came towards them. A woman. And dressed in an emerald silk sheath that was the tightest Nancy had ever seen, skimming her body and leaving little to the imagination.

  ‘This is Francesca Moretto.’ Dino introduced her. ‘She is joining us today. Francesca, let me introduce you to Nancy and Leo Tremayne.’

  The woman nodded and extended a limp hand. ‘How nice to meet you,’ she said in English. Her tone of voice suggested she wasn’t at all sure this was the case.

  The engines had started up and they began to slide away from the dock. Leo smiled encouragingly at the woman. ‘It’s a beautiful day for a trip to the islands. We’re very lucky.’

  ‘Yes.’ The word was almost dragged out of her.

  ‘I take it your husband was unable to come,’ he continued. ‘Such a shame.’

  Francesca gave a vague nod in Leo’s direction. She had no intention, it seemed, of taking the conversation further, but continued to stand in the middle of the cabin and look around her, as though she was waiting for the entertainment to begin.

  Nancy hardly knew what to make of her. She was amazed that Marta’s daughter-in-law had come on a pleasure cruise so soon after the woman’s death, but then Luca had attended the Cipriani party on the very next morning. Perhaps that was the way the Moretto family dealt with death. But why was only the wife here? And how would she find anything to say to the woman? She looked around for Leo, hoping for support, but with a murmured excuse he had joined Dino on the top deck.

  With a sinking heart, Nancy turned to her fellow guest. ‘I met your husband the other day,’ she said, grappling for something, anything, to say. ‘At the Cipriani.’

  ‘Oh that.’ Francesca’s bored expression became more pronounced. ‘So tedious these conferences, don’t you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been to one,’ Nancy confessed.

  ‘You didn’t attend? But then you wouldn’t, I suppose.’ She looked Nancy up and down.

  She is mentally pigeonholing me, Nancy thought angrily. Fitting me into a box, the one for dimwits and hangers-on. But aloud, she kept her tone neutral.

  ‘Your husband was at the hotel to represent Signora Moretto, I believe.’ She wanted to see Francesca’s reaction to the mention of her late mother-in law; it might offer a clue to Luca’s own relationship with Marta.

  ‘Now I think of it, I remember Luca coming back from the Cipriani. Not a great bash, I believe, but it’s always possible to do some business at these things. A little flattering here and there, you know. And Luca is good at that.’ Flattery might be her husband’s sole attribute, the words implied, but not one Francesca herself chose to emulate.

  Nancy felt sorrow for the dead woman. Her family seemed to have no feeling for her. There had been no expression of sadness or regret at her passing; her death had not rated even a mention, her absence at the Cipriani gone unnoticed. The party had simply been an opportunity to do business. And that word ‘bash’. Where had that come from?

  ‘You must have lived in England for some time,’ she hazarded.

  ‘Years. The most god-awful years of my life. Boarding schools! But I don’t suppose you know about those either.’

  For a moment, the woman’s evident disdain crushed Nancy, but then a surge of indignation had her furiously biting back a retort—as a guest she felt constrained not to quarrel.

  ‘Come on up, the two of you.’

  Leo’s voice saved her and she turned with the ghost of a smile to make for the staircase that led to the upper deck. This proved smaller than the one below, but a dining table and chairs sat above the bow and to the stern
another open space filled with sunbeds and parasols.

  Francesca had followed her, tottering dangerously up the stairs in four-inch heels, and looking annoyed.

  ‘Sorry,’ Dino was quick to say, as her head appeared at the top of the staircase. He helped her up the last two steps, but when she glanced at him, her eyes were cold. ‘A little late, my dear,’ she said sourly.

  He stroked her arm. Sorry,’ he said again, and Nancy saw Francesca’s expression soften a little. ‘You can pour me an aperitivo to make up for it.’

  ‘Right away.’

  Dino smiled at her and something in the smile made Nancy suddenly aware that she was in the presence of two lovers. Her first reaction was shock. At home such blatant immorality would have the lovers universally shunned, but she was in Italy and maybe they did things differently here. Venice, though, was a small town and a hotbed of gossip, she’d learned from Concetta. No secrets, the maid had said.

  Nancy’s second thought was for poor Luca, who must suffer greatly from the wagging tongues. She wondered if Leo had realised the situation, or perhaps he already knew. He must, if gossip was as rife as Concetta suggested. She could see why the woman was attracted, of course: Dino was wealthy, clever, stylish, and from what Nancy had seen of Luca, Francesca’s husband was anything but. As well as being deeply in debt. A gold-tap kind of woman, Archie had said. He’d summed up Francesca precisely.

  Dino waved them into the easy chairs. ‘I’ve asked Salvatore to sail around some of the smaller islands on the way. More time for us to enjoy the sun and the sea.’ He gestured towards a drinks trolley parked beneath the awning. ‘Nancy—what will you have?’

  ‘A juice, if you have one.’

  ‘A bit tame for a jolly day out.’ Francesca’s tone was shrivelling. ‘You don’t drink?’

  ‘Not at eleven in the morning.’

  ‘You should try it some time. It does wonders for one’s energy—and for one’s skin.’ Her eyes lasered in on Nancy’s face.

  Nancy schooled her expression to blandness, though she could happily have pushed this objectionable woman over the side. ‘Thank you for the thought, but I’m sure a succo d’arancia will work just as well.’ She might be a guest, but she would not be browbeaten.