‘Do?’ He looked nonplussed.
‘Yes. How am I to fill my days? I can’t return to Abingers, can I?’
He hoisted himself onto one elbow and looked down at her, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘You wouldn’t want to, surely?’
If she thought about it objectively, he was right. She wouldn’t. Not now. Initially, she had been thrilled to be offered a job at such an important auction house, but over the years disenchantment had grown. It hadn’t taken long for her to realise the furthest she would ever progress in Fine Art was as a second assistant.
‘I enjoyed it while I was working at Abingers,’ she said a trifle defensively.
‘But you’re married now.’ The puzzlement was in Leo’s voice as well as his face. ‘You’ve no need to work.’
‘Some women do.’
‘Some women have to, Nancy. You don’t. And there is plenty to fill your days.’
‘Like what?’ she asked baldly.
‘Well, this exhibition for a start,’ he joked, his fingers flicking through the pages of the catalogue. ‘And there will be plenty more of those. You could join a book group maybe, brush up your Italian, or do some voluntary work if you really want to get stuck in.’
None of it appealed in the slightest and Leo must have felt her indifference. ‘How about starting to paint again? I know you gave up years ago, but wouldn’t it be good to go back?’
Nancy didn’t think so. When she’d first attended art school, she had been delighted to find a subject she excelled at. She might never master calculus, or be a star hockey player, but drawing, painting, even sculpting, was a different matter, and she had thrown herself into her studies with passion.
That was the problem. She no longer felt as passionate. Yet accepting that she would never make her living as an artist—the competition was just too great—she still needed a goal in life. Abingers had provided that, albeit one that in hindsight was impossible. But for a while, as she tried to work her way up the firm’s career ladder, it had given her purpose.
Leo put his arms around her again and hugged her tightly. ‘In no time, I’m sure you’ll find your life filled with engagements. You’ll be complaining how busy you are. So enjoy being free while you can—it might not last long.’ He kissed the tip of her ear.
‘Why not?’ A small hope began to burn. Did Leo have a job in mind for her?
‘Babies take up an inordinate amount of time, so I’m told.’
Babies! The word felled her. A family was something they had never spoken of. Nancy supposed most couples must discuss the possibility before they married, but she and Leo had wed in a bang, their marriage arranged in a few days. There had been no time to discuss anything beyond which dress she should wear at the chapel and how they were to obtain another train reservation to Venice at such short notice.
‘Have I said the wrong thing?’ he asked anxiously.
‘No, no. Of course not. I hadn’t thought…’
‘There’s been no time, has there? I understand. But we should be thinking about it. Before we know it, we may have a child on the way.’
‘Yes,’ she said faintly.
She had taken care to avoid such an outcome, assuming that Leo at forty-five would not want children. Most families, she knew, were complete before the husband was out of his twenties and Leo was older than her own father had been when she was born. Throughout childhood, she had felt the burden of having older parents. Would she want that for a child?
And how would this family work? Leo would often be travelling—he was in demand from individuals and galleries worldwide, and Archie would be travelling with him. She would be the one left at home, looking after the house, caring for children. She felt her heels dig a trench into the counterpane. That was not a life she wanted.
‘Concetta is off to see her aunt this evening and I’ve asked her to leave a cold meal for us,’ Leo said, swinging his legs off the bed. ‘I hope that’s okay.’
‘Concetta has an aunt? How old must she be?’
‘Around ninety, I think, and still going strong. She lives a little out of the way, in Santa Croce. The maid has been cooking all afternoon for her. But the cold meal?’
‘Yes, fine,’ Nancy said distractedly and plumped the pillow. ‘I think I’d like to close my eyes now.’
‘I’ll leave you to rest.’ He bent to give her a last kiss. ‘Rest can only do you good. Dinner at seven?’
‘Wonderful,’ she breathed, trying to ward off unwanted thoughts.
*
Hours later she was still struggling to decide how best to deal with this new anxiety when Leo suggested an early night. Archie had left before dinner to spend the evening in one of the questionable bars he frequented and for once they were entirely alone in the palazzo. Nancy tried to appear pleased at the idea, but sounded less than convincing even to herself.
She was wriggling out of her underclothes when Leo came out of the adjoining bathroom, toothbrush in hand.
‘You look beautiful.’ He stood and watched her don her nightgown, a slip of silk purchased especially for the honeymoon.
She glanced sideways at her image in the gilded mirror. The garment flattered her slim curves, its luminous cream highlighting tanned limbs and the cloud of dark chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders. She had never looked better, she thought. If only she could feel as good.
Leo came over to her and encircled her in his arms. Then kissed her deeply. ‘I’ll be back. Don’t run away!’
A few minutes later he’d closed the bathroom door and dimmed the two chandeliers that hung from the centre of the ceiling, leaving the room lit only by the gentle glow of a bedside lamp. He climbed into bed and for a moment they lay motionless, side by side. Then he turned to her, running his hands down the length of her body, caressing her slowly.
‘I thought after our conversation this afternoon, we might make a start,’ he said softly.
‘A start?’ She pretended not to understand.
‘A baby, Nancy.’
When she said nothing, he asked anxiously, ‘You do want a child? All women do, don’t they?’
It was the way people thought. It was the way most women thought. Marriage and children was a girl’s only true goal in life. That was made clear from an early age: the Janet and John books that taught them to read had Janet help Mother to cook, while John and Father did manly things with the car or the wheelbarrow. It was as though women were empty shells, hollow spaces, enduring a kind of non-existence until they became a wife and mother.
But it had never struck Nancy as a particularly fair or interesting destiny. Perhaps she had been single too long and found it impossible to envisage such a very different life. Whatever the reason, she balked at the idea. She needed to know Leo better, needed to have a handle on this marriage before she made such a huge commitment. But how to say that in a way he would understand?
‘I suppose I do,’ she answered, without any real belief. ‘It’s only that things have moved a little too fast and I’m still trying to catch up.’
His embrace tightened. ‘It’s been hectic, I know. And you’re right, we should take things slowly. But if it happens, Nancy…’
‘I’m sure I’ll adjust,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘But tonight, I’m still a little tired. How about you?’
He yawned. ‘It’s been a busy few weeks. I could sleep.’
And he could. He was asleep in minutes, his arms gradually loosening their hold. She turned slightly to burrow her face into the pillow, wishing she could sleep as peacefully. Bozzato’s attack had taken a toll on her, dredging up memories she had constantly to suppress, but she couldn’t tell Leo. If she confessed, he would want to know why she was outside the Moretto house, and inevitably the whole sorry story would be revealed.
In her heart, she almost wished for it, wished that she could tell him everything that had happened since the afternoon she had met Marta Moretto while eating an ice cream. But she couldn’t do it, not without riski
ng a coldness between them, one she knew would not easily disappear.
And if she were truthful, there were other reasons, weren’t there, to keep quiet? She was still unsure of Leo. He was loving, kind, thoughtful, all those things, but there were times when she felt him withdraw into himself. Felt him place an invisible barrier between them. It might be a natural reticence, but equally it might be there were things he’d no wish to share with her.
Neither of them had been honest with the other and, because of that, she must endure a second uneasy day in Archie’s company. Perhaps a few hours’ drive would suffice, just long enough for her to talk intelligently about the countryside through which they’d pass, when she and Leo met tomorrow evening. If Archie’s face were any indication, he was determined to drive the shortest distance possible. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of the difficult day ahead. There would be things to enjoy, she told herself severely. Beautiful landscapes, old towns, ancient churches… the convent of Madonna del Carmine. That was in the countryside, she remembered dreamily.
She sat bolt upright, the movement causing Leo to turn in his sleep. The murderous attack on her this morning, Mario Bozzato’s bizarre claims, Angelica leaving the convent. There was a question there to which she’d never found a truly satisfactory answer. Why had Angelica left? The mystery of Marta’s death had crystallised quite suddenly into one small question. Nancy could not imagine why she’d not thought about it before. Really thought about it. With barely a qualm, she’d accepted Angelica’s assertion that she had left Madonna del Carmine to return home and look after a mother in failing health.
But realistically how sick would Marta have to be for her daughter to relinquish the vocation to which she had dedicated her life? For Angelica, leaving the convent would not simply be a case of moving house or taking a new job. It would be throwing away the life she had determined on for the past ten, twelve years. Assuming a new identity, becoming a completely different person, whose values would inevitably have to change, whose principles would inevitably be compromised. There had to be something bigger, greater, behind Angelica’s decision than concern for a parent’s health.
What would it take to make a strong woman cast aside a life she loved? Could it possibly be, as Mario said, that she had deserted the convent out of love for him? It sounded ridiculous but Bozzato had been insistent. She chose me, he’d said. She chose me, not God. And he’d been haunting the Moretto house, as Nancy knew to her cost. Had he been there simply to catch a glimpse of his goddess—or had he, in fact, been coming in and out of the palazzo as a welcome guest, now that Marta was no longer alive?
If Angelica had lied about her feelings for him, if the two of them had been acting out a charade, it put Mario back in the frame as a murderer. He’d been convinced that Marta was working against him, persuading her daughter against the marriage. Maybe Angelica had begun to have doubts. Marta had left the entire Moretto estate to the convent, and though Angelica would know the will could be challenged, it would be difficult for her to go against her mother’s wishes. Might she have had second thoughts about marrying Mario without the money to ease their life together?
Bozzato could have decided on a drastic solution. He might have raided whatever savings he had and bought a ticket for Madama Butterfly, then as the cast took their final curtain call, he had struck. Mario Bozzato was a big man, a man used to physical labour, and he would be quite strong enough to heave a small woman over the barrier, even one not drugged.
Nancy laid back on her pillow, staring at the ceiling. It was nothing more than guesswork and she couldn’t really believe in it. But how was she to discover why Angelica had acted as she had? She was running out of time, her suitcase packed and ready to go, unless… the car excursion tomorrow! The words danced behind her closed lids. If she could persuade Archie to drive her to the convent, it would be one last effort to help Marta, a last chance to solve the mystery of her death. A country drive was not obviously promising, but it was all that was left.
Leo had a meeting tomorrow with Signor Trevi. Earlier Nancy had felt unhappy she would spend the day without him, but now she reconsidered. Her husband’s company would have spelt the end of her plan before it had even begun. His absence meant the freedom to throw her last card on the table.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maggiore had its offices next to a ramshackle garage and even from a distance the smell of diesel permeated the air. Ahead, she saw Archie almost at the office door and, clasping the errant hat tightly in her hand, she picked up speed. She had things to say to him before he went in.
She called out and somehow he must have heard her above the traffic because he stopped and turned slightly. ‘I’ll be a few minutes.’ He sounded irritable.
‘Archie—’ she began.
‘You’ll have to wait,’ he said. ‘There’ll be papers to sign and keys to collect. And I’ve no idea what kind of car they’ll give me.’
‘It doesn’t matter as long as it works.’ The vehicle they were to travel in was the least of her worries.
‘Oh, and I doubt they’ll have a chauffeur’s cap for hire,’ he said, his face set.
It was clear the journey was making Archie quarrelsome, but she ignored the provocation. ‘One thing before you go … can you ask them for a map?’
He turned to face her fully, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Why do we need a map? The causeway leads to the mainland. We drive along the causeway and out into the countryside, through a few random villages and then back again.’
‘Actually, I have a destination in mind.’
The frown turned to a glare. ‘What now?’
‘The convent of Madonna del Carmine. The one Marta left her money to.’
‘Jesus,’ he exclaimed, ‘you never give up, do you?’
‘I know. You can tell Him about it when we get there—Jesus, I mean.’
He gave a disgusted huff and pushed open the firm’s door, leaving Nancy feeling light-headed with anticipation.
*
The car Leo had hired turned out to be an open-top Alfa Romeo, at least ten years old but classically elegant in deep blue with a red leather interior. The front seat, Nancy noticed, was designed to take three people, but Archie very deliberately opened the wide single door in such a way that she found herself herded into the rear seat. He was here to drive her, he was indicating. Nothing more. She could see he would need careful handling on this journey.
‘Did you get the map?’ she asked.
‘No need.’ He pressed the starter and the engine burst into life.
‘Can you tell me why?’ She kept her tone mild.
‘The convent is on the road to Treviso, just south of a small place called Mogliano. Once we’re on the Treviso road, it’s a direct route.’
‘That sounds nicely simple. And thank you for taking me.’
Archie made no reply and swung the car into the line of traffic making its way to the mainland over a causeway that ran parallel to the railway bridge, the two together ensuring that Venice was no longer an island.
In a short while they were out on the road and the city left behind, but through the window Nancy caught a glimpse of a forest of cranes and smokestacks, with clouds of filthy air beginning to drift towards them.
‘Is that Mestre?’ She remembered the horror with which Marta had mentioned the town.
‘Porto Marghera. Mestre is next door. Marghera is the industrial zone, mainly chemicals.’
‘It looks a wretched place.’
‘It was more wretched after our bombers got to grips with it,’ he said drily.
‘I didn’t think Venice was bombed in the war.’
‘Venice wasn’t. Marghera was. In the thirties there used to be sixty or so working factories. The place is gradually getting back on its feet, but it will take time.’
The mention of the war seemed to have eased the atmosphere. She saw Archie’s shoulders visibly loosen and his hands on the large steering wheel relax. They were good
hands. Nancy remembered how smooth they had been when they’d touched hers, then shut the image from her mind. But he was an excellent driver and she nestled back into the plush leather, knowing she would arrive safely.
They turned off the road that bypassed Mestre and Marghera and took the one signposted to Treviso. ‘Is it far?’ she dared to ask.
‘Around twenty-five kilometres. We’ll be there in half an hour, as long as I’ve been given the right directions.’
Nancy settled down to watch the landscape flow past. The road, snaking its way towards Treviso, travelled between wooded hills, their lower slopes terraced for vines, and through numerous small villages, each with their square-topped church and war memorial. In the far distance, the sight of the snow-capped Dolomites caught her eye. The mountains were rarely visible from Venice, beleaguered as it was by waves of humidity rising from the lagoon.
They had driven in silence for a good twenty minutes and Nancy had begun to wonder if Archie had misheard the directions or, her suspicious mind prompted, whether he’d decided after all to drive at random, when he suddenly asked, ‘Why are we going to this benighted place?’
‘I’m hoping it isn’t benighted,’ she replied, relieved they were at least on their way. ‘I’ve had a hunch—and don’t groan.’
‘Have I groaned?’
‘No, but you’re just about to. I want to know why Angelica abandoned her life at the convent. I don’t believe she left to look after a sick mother and I’m still pretty sure she didn’t give up her vocation for Mario.’
‘And that’s why we’re going to say hello to the nuns? What happened to Dino as murderer in chief?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nancy said a trifle unhappily. ‘I’ve been thinking I may have got that wrong. Not that he’s not a criminal. He is. But maybe not a killer.’
‘You’re as crazy as Mario. For days, you’ve been banging on about Dino forging pictures and killing to protect his reputation, and suddenly he has nothing to do with Marta’s death.’
‘I didn’t say that. He might have. I just can’t work it out at the moment.’
Venetian Vendetta: The Tremayne Mysteries Series Page 23
