Venetian Vendetta: The Tremayne Mysteries Series

by Merryn Allingham

  ‘Because she didn’t involve him in the business in any meaningful way, if you’re to believe the gossip. She wasn’t close to Luca, treated him as an employee and not much else, it seems.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t see that would stop her telling him.’ Nancy was trying to keep an open mind, but it was hard. She was so certain that Marta had died because of what she knew.

  ‘And there’s another problem with it,’ Archie said. He sounded a trifle smug. ‘If Marta had told her son what she’d discovered, wouldn’t she have let Dino know? Made it clear to him that she’d passed on information to Luca? She’d be piling on the pressure and ensuring that Dino was aware someone else knew what was going on. It would be a way of protecting herself. But it means that Di Maio would have to kill them both.’

  ‘They were both killed.’

  ‘But Luca didn’t die until ten days later. If we’re saying that Dino killed him because of what he knew, why didn’t he kill him on the same day that he supposedly killed Marta? Or very shortly afterwards. And that’s going some. I guess you have to plan a murder, maybe even pace it to avoid suspicion, but ten days? Any time during that period Luca could have gone to the police.’

  Nancy walked on in silence. Archie’s argument seemed unassailable… but not quite. ‘Luca died after Marta’s will was read, didn’t he? Perhaps Marta left papers with the will, a letter maybe, and Luca learnt of Dino’s crime only after his mother’s death.

  ‘He may have gone to Dino with the letter. He’d be apologetic for even raising the subject. We mustn’t forget he’s a close friend. He’d say he didn’t really believe his mother’s accusations, but he needed to put the matter to rest. Of course, Dino would have the perfect answer. “Your mother was old, on strong medicine,” he’d say. “Look what happened at La Fenice—and her letter is rambling, clearly the work of someone who’s unwell. We’ve been friends for years, can you really imagine me doing something like that?” He’d suggest they destroy the letter and if Luca demurred, seemed uncertain… maybe demanded money to destroy it—he’s in financial trouble after all—that would be it. Dino won’t pay and the next day he kills Luca.’

  Archie looked at her admiringly. ‘You’re a wasted talent. Forget art, you should be writing a novel.’

  He could mock, but she was more and more certain something like that must have happened. ‘Whoever killed Luca Moretto had some kind of business connection with him. Remember the money in his mouth?’

  The ghastly image floated into her vision. For the last few hours she had managed to forget, but now she felt her stomach twist and heave.

  ‘A mouth stuffed with money is pretty graphic,’ Archie admitted. ‘But murder is a desperate game. Why would Dino risk such a thing? If the police questioned him about possible forgery, he could just brazen it out. And without sufficient evidence, they’d have to believe him. But murder someone! There’s no death penalty here, but he’d be banged up for a very long time, whereas forgery carries a far lighter sentence. Would he risk killing for it?’

  They’d reached the palazzo and once in the lobby, Nancy stood and listened. The house was wonderfully quiet—she had made it back in time.

  ‘It wouldn’t just mean a prison sentence, though, would it?’ She turned to Archie before climbing the stairs. ‘If Dino were found guilty, he’d be a disgraced man. No one would want to do business with him. He might even lose his own. And even if he were never convicted, the gossip would be as dangerous. His reputation would be shot to pieces and I doubt he could afford that. I don’t think he’s as well off as he makes out.’

  ‘You know what I think?’ she asked, as she was half way up the staircase.

  ‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’ Archie was close behind.

  ‘Dino has been speculating—we know he’s a gambler—and has had his fingers burned. But unlike Luca he’s managed to keep the poor state of his finances quiet and still passes in the world for a wealthy man. That would make sense.’

  ‘So would a lot of scenarios. You’re going to have to leave it, Nancy. Forget Marta Moretto. And hope Dino is eventually nailed for forgery and your protégé escapes prosecution. Which reminds me—’ Archie had turned towards the staircase leading to his room, but now walked back towards her. ‘How are you going to check Renzo actually makes it onto a ship?’

  ‘That’s simple. Concetta. I know she’ll help, be my stand-in as it were. I’ll leave her enough money to make certain the boy gets to his father. And a little extra—so that she can buy herself something special.’

  They were standing facing each other in the large, open space outside the salon, and Archie was looking hard at her.

  ‘It’s my money, not Leo’s,’ she said defensively. ‘I saved it while I was working. For my wedding, if you want to hear a joke.’

  Before she realised what he was doing, Archie had put his hands on her shoulders and was holding her in a firm grasp. ‘You’re a kind woman, Nancy,’ he said.

  His hands were warm and strong and she felt her body tingle—a powerful sensation she had not felt for months. In fact, had never truly felt. A kind of recognition. Exciting but very dangerous. Desperate to make light of the moment, she laughed off his comment. ‘You’re not such a grump yourself.’

  His eyes met hers and for an instant she held her breath. Then quickly he dropped his hold. ‘Though definitely not a Boy Scout,’ he said lightly.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ten minutes after Nancy had walked through the palazzo door, Leo returned from the Questura. She felt a rush of relief as she heard him bounding up the stairs. The tingle was still there and disturbing, and she wanted to forget it. She wanted to lose herself in Leo. He was her husband and he loved her dearly. Archie Jago was nothing to her. Indeed, since the moment they’d first encountered each other, he’d been a constant irritant.

  She met Leo at the top of the stairs and hugged him tight, then linked her arm in his and walked him into the salon.

  ‘So what happened at the Questura? You’ve been an age.’

  ‘Why don’t I tell you over lunch? I’m ravenous.’

  He seemed younger and happier, as though a weight had been lifted, and though she tried not to, she found herself wondering why. Then scolded herself for doing it.

  ‘That’s a marvellous idea,’ she agreed. ‘Shall we eat out? Where shall we go?’

  ‘The sun came out on my way back and I thought we’d take a walk. Towards the Giardini, then maybe on to the Arsenale? Did you ever get to the gardens?’

  ‘No,’ she confessed. ‘I meant to the day you went to Rome, but it was too hot to venture far.’ She hoped the excuse sounded credible.

  ‘It’s not too hot today, and we can pick up some lunch on the way.’

  Emerging from the tangle of narrow streets a short while later, they began to saunter along the Riva towards the Arsenale.

  ‘So what did the police want with you?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘As I thought, questions about my relationship with Luca Moretto. Did I know him personally? Had I had dealings with him? How much did I know about them? Did he have any enemies, and so forth? I really wasn’t too helpful. I had to tell them that on the few occasions I’ve dealt with the Moretto business, it has always been the signora I spoke to. And socially, I know Luca only through Dino Di Maio. I’ve probably met him twice, three times at most.’

  ‘It took a time for you to tell them that.’

  On one level, she was glad of it. She had travelled to the Giudecca and back while Leo was out, but three hours was a long while to answer a few questions. Again, there was the niggling worry that he was keeping something from her.

  ‘That’s the Italian police for you, but I think I probably escaped lightly. They kept me waiting an age before they even spoke to me. Then I had to repeat everything I’d said to one detective, to several more from different offices. After that, I had to wait for my statement to be typed up—in triplicate—and finally I had to read it through—they w
ere watching to make sure I read every word—and sign each copy. It’s a wonder it didn’t take longer. Shall we walk through the gardens?’

  ‘Yes, let’s. I’d like to see them.’ They turned in through green iron gates and sauntered down the gravel pathway.

  Nancy looked around her. ‘The grass is looking a trifle brown, but not for much longer, I imagine.’

  ‘No. The rains will come very soon I’m sure, and the dreaded acqua alta with them.’

  The phrase made Nancy think of Marta and the basement the signora was unable to use in the winter months. If only she could have secured justice for the poor woman. Instead, Dino might never be caught and, if he were, would spend just a few years in prison and then be free. True, he might have lost the trappings of a life of luxury, but he would have a life. Marta would not. Nor her son. And perhaps not her daughter either. Increasingly Nancy was concerned for Angelica, but she could see no way of helping her.

  ‘The café is closed.’ Leo sounded disappointed. ‘I was thinking we could eat there.’ They had turned a corner in the path and a small red-roofed building stood to one side, its shutters down and a general air of desertion surrounding it. ‘We’ll have to walk further, on to the Arsenale.’

  Nancy slipped her hand in his. ‘That’s fine. It’s good to be outside. Perhaps we can find a café with a garden.’

  They walked out on to the Riva and within a few minutes came across a small trattoria situated on one of the narrow streets running down to the lagoon, its tables spilling across the pavement.

  Leo stopped. ‘No garden, but why don’t we eat here?’

  Bright chequered tablecloths fluttered in the breeze and a window of salami and round cheeses looked inviting. Leo took up the wine list and pronounced it good, then led the way to an empty table in the shaded alleyway.

  The food was excellent, but Nancy couldn’t shake herself free of the morning’s events and ate sparingly. Despite her best efforts, Renzo’s woebegone face and Archie’s firm touch, continued to trouble her.

  To mask her lack of appetite, she encouraged Leo to talk. ‘You must be very happy to be going home. To Cornwall, I mean.’

  He smiled across at her. ‘I’m hoping you’re a little happy, too.’

  ‘Of course, I am. I’m looking forward to seeing the house and meeting your father and brother. Perry is an unusual name—is it short for Peregrine?’ It seemed suitably aristocratic.

  ‘He’s Perran, in fact. True Cornish, which is as it should be. Perry is a true Cornishman.’

  ‘And runs a true Cornish business?’ She laughed.

  ‘He does. Now that Dad is frailer, he’s certainly the boss. My father never really got to grips with the mine, to be honest, so it’s good to see it being run by an expert. Dad was like his own father. Neither of them saw the need to know much about tin mining. They employed managers and appeared at intervals to give the miners a wave and a pat on the back. But Perry is different. He’s made it his business to know the ins and outs of the process. He has a manager, but they work together.’

  ‘I was surprised when you said the mine was still working. I thought tin was exhausted back in the last century.’

  ‘Wheal Agnes is one of the few mines left. And that’s thanks in large part to Perry. He went to Camborne, to the School of Mines there, and studied the best extraction methods. It made him very safety conscious, too, and the men are grateful for that. They trust him and they work well for him. The mine doesn’t produce anywhere near as much tin as it did in its heyday, of course, but enough to pay the men and fund Penleven.’

  ‘Penleven is a large house?’ She could hear the note of anxiety in her voice but hoped Leo hadn’t.

  ‘Fairly large. And beautifully old, with wonderful gardens, but it takes a good deal of money to keep it pristine. Which is why the mine is so important to us.’

  A different world, she thought. Leo is from a different world. How would she ever cope? But she was going to have to. Two more days in this beautiful city—that was all—a few more back in London, and then she would find herself in Leo country. And Archie country, too. Something else not to think of.

  ‘We still have a little time here.’ She tried to sound cheerful. ‘What do you think we might do?’

  She saw Leo’s face fall slightly and he took a sip of wine before he answered. ‘I hate to tell you this, darling, but I have a business meeting the day before we leave. I’m afraid it’s unavoidable. I had to rearrange my schedule, or Archie had to, because of that damn trip to Rome. I should have met the chap in London, but he’s travelling back to Italy today and breaking his journey in Venice. But… we do have tomorrow still. Have you any ideas?’

  ‘The other evening you mentioned a whole list of places we haven’t had time to visit. How about one of them? There was the bell tower at San Giorgio Maggiore, I remember, and the oldest building in Venice.’

  ‘The Scuola Grande?’

  ‘Yes, that, and there was a bookshop you talked about. The eccentric one. I’d love to see it.’

  ‘The Libreria Acqua Alta? Yes, why not. It’s in Castello, very close, just north of the palazzo.’

  He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘You know, I think that’s a great idea. I want to get a present for Archie’s mother. A kind of get well, welcome home gift. And I thought I’d take her a book—I mentioned the title to Archie, but he hasn’t been able to run it to ground. We might be luckier at the Acqua Alta.’

  Nancy hoped that didn’t mean sharing the day with Archie and cast around for ways to wriggle free. She was being foolish, she knew. All the man had done was hold her by the shoulders, for goodness sake, and she was behaving like a Victorian miss. But in that instant, she had felt her breath stutter, had felt driven by anticipation, by an excitement she could never acknowledge. Even worse, Archie had felt it, too. He had been exceptionally quick to disengage himself.

  ‘Morwenna is a keen botanist,’ Leo was saying, ‘and this book, I saw it reviewed a year ago, is a complete guide to wild flowers. There are plenty of similar books out there, but what makes this one so special is the art work. The drawings were exquisite.’

  ‘I wonder how Mrs Jago is?’ Nancy asked, in a vain attempt to push the book to one side.

  ‘As far as I know, Archie has heard nothing more. But no news is good news. We’ll get the night train from Paris and as soon as we hit Dover, I’ll make sure he is on his way back to Cornwall. I can make do without him for the few days we’ll be in London.’

  *

  That night Nancy engineered an early bedtime, determined to make their marriage more of a reality. She’d had a warning today that if she were not wholehearted in her commitment to being a wife, she was courting trouble. Trouble that would fall as heavily on Leo as on herself. And he didn’t deserve that. She turned her head on the pillow and watched him earnestly reading. He must have sensed her gaze because he took off his glasses, folded them carefully, and laid them down on the bedside table.

  ‘Tired?’ he asked

  ‘Not too tired.’ She put her arms around him and drew him close.

  His face betrayed a small frisson of surprise—most usually he was the one who persuaded her into lovemaking. But he seemed touched and delighted, and with one hand gently caressed her face, and with the other looped her curls around his finger.

  ‘You have enjoyed our honeymoon, Nancy?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I’ve loved it,’ she said. ‘And I love you.’

  It was the first time she had said that to him. He gathered her up in his arms and kissed her deeply. Their lovemaking that night was long and passionate and when Leo finally let her go, she felt happy. She had managed at last to lose herself in the moment, though the image of Archie’s blue eyes had never left her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nancy’s hope that she would spend the day alone with her husband disappeared early the next morning. Archie would be with them, it seemed, at least until lunchtime. He was needed at the bo
okshop. Over breakfast she tentatively suggested they look for a book once they were back in London where the choice might be greater, but apparently there would not be sufficient time and, in any case, Leo wanted Archie alongside. The Acqua Alta might not have the title he sought, but it would have others and he was eager to buy a book that was new to Morwenna Jago, one she would treasure.

  ‘Mrs Jago has a shelf groaning with plant books,’ he said, ‘and it’s difficult to find something original. That’s a fact, isn’t it, Archie?’

  His assistant had arrived in the dining room carrying the day’s mail, which he left on the table beside Leo. ‘You’re sure to find something, boss,’ he said, with the ghost of a smile.

  ‘The shop is only a short walk from here, Nancy,’ Leo went on. ‘Once I’ve made the purchase, we’ll have the day to ourselves.’ He jumped up and walked round to her chair, then bent to kiss the top of her head.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Archie’s ironic smile before he disappeared to the top floor.

  *

  Half an hour later, the three of them were winding their way through Campo Santa Maria Formosa on the way to the bookshop. Nancy made sure she linked arms with her husband and walked ahead with him.

  ‘It’s a strange name for a shop. How did it come about?’ She was genuinely interested.

  ‘Acqua alta is their nemesis. The building gets completely flooded. The shop’s fire escape is a door leading to the canal—the sign pointing the way shows a figure swimming! They’ve certainly a sense of humour, but they’ve come up with a novel solution.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Leo teased.

  Nancy had to be content, but he was right about the short walk. In ten minutes they had reached the small passageway leading to the bookshop, itself piled high on either side with books stacked on wooden pallets.

  Once inside, Nancy looked around, intrigued by the shop’s oddities. It was chaotic: a series of over-stuffed rooms stacked wall-to-wall with books, magazines, maps and goodness knows what else. A mixture of a serious library and a flea market. She saw immediately the solution to which Leo had referred: the books were piled into bathtubs, waterproof bins, rowing boats and, in one room, a full-size gondola. When the shop flooded, the books would simply float. It was a bizarre but quite brilliant idea.