But now, Federica explained, a use had been found for it. A local artist had, somehow, got permission to use it as an exhibition space. The smallest exhibition space there had ever been, or was ever likely to be, at the Venice Biennale.
‘So what sort of work is it?’ I asked.
‘It’s a video work. The artist took a film from the podule crossing from one side to the other when it was still in operation. And so the idea is that if you can’t actually use it, you can still have the virtual experience.’
‘I didn’t realise it was still working.’
‘It isn’t. Only the elevator mechanism. No one knows if the rest of it is ever going to work again.’
‘I’m surprised the Comune are allowing it to be used like this.’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s a bit of money coming in. Who knows, if they use it for every Biennale they might cover the cost of the thing by the end of the century.’
‘And people say the Comune aren’t far-sighted. It’s actually a pretty good idea. As an artwork, I mean.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ She patted my cheek. ‘Look at you, getting interested in contemporary art. I never thought I’d see the day.’
‘Hmph.’ I tried, and failed, to put on my best grumpy face. Then we drained our glasses and strode off, arm in arm, towards the vaporetto .
Chapter 11
There was no need for me to actually be there the following morning, when Vanni called Considine in for a little chat. Nevertheless, I felt sorry for the guy, and thought I might be able to help. He was dressed as I remembered him and unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes. He gave me a weak smile.
‘Good morning, Mr Sutherland.’
‘Call me Nathan, okay? How are you, Paul.’
He shook his head. ‘Not so good. Just so tired, you know. I haven’t slept properly since . . . well, you know. I finally fell asleep just before dawn.’ He yawned. ‘Didn’t have time to shower and shave. I feel like a right mess.’
‘Nobody’s going to care. Don’t worry. It’s just a statement, that’s all.’
I’d got him a lawyer. Fitzgerald and I waited outside for them, studiously avoiding each other’s gaze. Fitzgerald broke first.
‘So what’s likely to happen?’
I shrugged. ‘Difficult to say. But remember, he’s not under arrest. He’s not actually done anything wrong. All they’re doing is talking to him.’
Fitzgerald gave a hollow laugh. ‘That’s what bothers me.’ I looked at him, but didn’t say a word. ‘He’s not good at this. You can tell that, can’t you?’
‘Look, there’s a lawyer in there with him. There’s an interpreter as well, so he’ll know exactly what’s going on.’
‘You know them?’
I nodded. ‘Fabrizio – he’s the lawyer – is the go-to guy for this sort of thing. He’s fine. Professional. The interpreter, Anna, I know quite well. Given we kind of do the same job.’
‘Can I ask why you’re not doing it?’
It was my turn to laugh. ‘It wouldn’t really be right. I mean, there’s no law against it. But it would seem a bit weird. As if every British citizen in trouble is also a business opportunity.’
‘And it’s not?’
I stiffened. ‘No. Not at all.’
We sat in silence for a few more minutes, and then he spoke again. ‘What do you think is going to happen, Mr Sutherland? Really.’
I sighed. ‘If I was a gambling man, I’d say nothing is going to happen. I think it’s a tragic accident. I think the people who put the space together are going to get their arses seriously kicked. And by that I mean prison. But I don’t think any of that is likely to apply to Mr Considine.’
Fitzgerald nodded, but his face remained impassive.
I paused, and then continued. ‘There is just one thing . . .’
He looked quizzical, but said nothing.
‘ Juditha Triumphans.’
‘You what?’
‘ Juditha Triumphans . It’s an oratorio by Vivaldi.’
‘I know what it is. I know what it is.’ He waved his hand at me dismissively. ‘What’s it got to do with Paul?’
‘Well, a scrap of paper was found in what I assume is his wallet with the words scrawled across it.’
‘And . . . ?’
‘The scrap of paper had been torn from The Times . It was part of Gordon Blake-Hoyt’s review.’
‘I don’t understand. How did the police get hold of his wallet?’ He was firing questions at me now.
‘It was found on the vaporetto . I handed it in.’
‘Well, there we go. Could have been anybody who dropped it. Anybody.’
I held up my hands, palms towards him in a placatory gesture. ‘I know, I know. It’s just that they might think it a bit . . . a bit . . .’
‘A bit what?’
‘A bit strange. That’s all.’ It sounded weak, even to my ears.
He shook his head. ‘You want to watch what you say. You could get into trouble. Saying things like that.’
‘Look, you asked me what I thought and—’
‘He’s a British citizen in trouble. Your job is to help him. Not your business to be casting aspersions behind his back.’
I was about to raise my voice when the door opened, and Paul Considine came out, accompanied by a couple of cops, his lawyer and his translator. Fabrizio smiled, patted me on the shoulder and walked straight out.
I gave Anna a smile. ‘Coffee?’
She nodded. ‘On the corner?’
‘Great. Just give me five minutes.’
Fitzgerald gave Considine a quick hug and tried to steer him towards the door, but he grabbed my arm. His eyes were red. ‘Will you help me, Mr Sutherland?’ was all he said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Will you help me, Nathan? Please?’
‘Look, Paul. You’re not under arrest. All they wanted was to speak to you. Probably that’s all it’s going to be.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m just so tired, you know? Hard to think straight, hard to answer all those questions.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do what I can, Paul. I can get you another lawyer, although I suggest we keep Fabrizio. If you want to talk to a priest or anyone I can do that, I can call people in the UK for you, I can—’
‘Not do very much really,’ Fitzgerald interrupted.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Stop apologising. Please.’ He turned to Paul. ‘He can’t do anything. He’s just the pen-pusher. The admin person.’ He smiled at me. ‘No offence meant.’ He grabbed Paul by the elbow and steered him out through the door. ‘Thanks for coming in today, Mr Sutherland, we do appreciate it.’
I stood in silence, wrapped in my own thoughts for about a minute. Arrogant little bastard. How dare he? Then I shook my head. Not my problem any more. Let Lewis bloody Fitzgerald sort it all out. Sometimes I wondered just why I did this bloody job.
I walked out on to the fondamenta . I reached inside my jacket for my sunglasses, and realised I’d left them at home. Summer was coming now. It wasn’t yet the time of the pitiless midsummer heat that made the exposed, shadowless spaces almost unbearable, but my jacket, I could feel, would be sticking unpleasantly to me by the time I got home.
The bar on the corner of Piazzale Roma would never have been my choice for a leisurely drink – there was nowhere to sit down for one thing – but the staff were nice enough and they never ripped you off. Anna was standing just outside so that she could smoke with her coffee.
I gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Same again?’
‘That’d be nice.’ I waved at the barman. ‘ Un caffè, un caffè corretto .’
Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘ Corretto?’
I nodded. The barman caught my eye. ‘ Con grappa? ’
‘Sì.’ I turned back to Anna. ‘I’m pissed off.’
‘Oh dear. What’s happened now?’
‘Considine’s agent. Or manager, or whatever the hell he is. Arrogant little pri
ck.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, that’s not the problem. How was he? Considine, I mean.’
The barman slid two coffees across the bar. Anna took a sachet of brown sugar, tore it and stirred it in. ‘Do you think these are getting smaller?’
‘I think so. Must be a health thing.’
‘Doesn’t work though, does it? Because now one just isn’t enough. So now I have to use two. Which means I’m using even more than before.’ She laughed, her voice rough with cigarettes.
I took a sip of my coffee, and felt the caffeine and sugar mix hit me at the same time as the grappa hit the back of my throat. Best coffee of the day. ‘As I was saying. What do you think of him?’
She looked sad. ‘Poor man. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He kept apologising a lot. Said he was so sorry about what had happened to Mr Blake-Hoyt.’
‘So what else did he say?’
‘Not much. Yes, it was his wallet. He’d had it when he left home on the day of the opening. Then realised he didn’t have it when he got back to the hotel. He must have dropped it on the vaporetto because he remembered validating his ticket. No, that wasn’t his writing on the piece of newspaper. Yes, he had seen the article in The Times before the accident because his agent had shown it to him. No, he didn’t like Mr Blake-Hoyt but neither did he wish him out of the world.’
‘His agent showed him the article?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just before his big event. Bastard. Why do a thing like that?’
Anna shrugged. She paused for a moment, and then continued. ‘So all in all he didn’t say much. The trouble is, he looks tired and he looks scared.’
‘Hardly surprising, I’d have thought.’
‘I know.’ She fished her cigarettes out of her bag, lit one up, and replaced them before I had the chance to ask her for one. ‘But sometimes . . . well, you know how things work . . . sometimes these things are misinterpreted.’
‘Did they mention the drugs?’
‘Drugs?’
‘Priadel. For bipolar disorder.’
‘Oh, those sorts of drugs. Yes, they did. He does take – Priadel, did you say? – because of his illness. He said he was diagnosed five years ago.’
‘Right.’ I took another sip of coffee. ‘He asked me to help him. Really help him, I mean.’
‘And?’ She raised an eyebrow.
‘And I don’t think I can. There’s nothing I can do. Not really.’
‘Then don’t worry about it. You’re doing plenty already.’
‘I know. It’s just . . .’
She laughed. ‘Oh Nathan, you are sweet at times. You’d make a terrible Italian, you know.’
I grinned. ‘I would, wouldn’t I?’
‘If you ask me, they’re probably not going to speak to him again. Somebody’s going to be in big trouble but not him.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go. Love to Jean.’
‘Jean?’ I said. She looked confused. ‘We’ve broken up.’
Her hands flew to her face. ‘Oh my God. I did know. I’d forgotten.’
I smiled. ‘It’s okay. We’re both fine. I’m with someone else now. Federica Ravagnan, I don’t know if you know her? She works in art restoration.’
She shook her head. ‘Well, you must both come round for dinner some time. You promise?’
‘Of course. Or you must come round to ours.’ We’d had conversations like this for the last five years. We knew we never would. She kissed me on the cheek, and left.
I should, I knew, be heading back home. There was still, then, no prospect of the body being released. There would be a long and shouty conversation to be had with Mr Blake-Hoyt’s brother. Therefore, I needed a good excuse not to do so. I checked my watch. It was, perhaps, a twenty-minute walk to the Frari. I’d see if Fede was in the mood for a long lunch.
I don’t know why, but I always seemed to get lost when walking to the Frari. It was annoying. I knew exactly where it was – indeed, you could hardly miss it - and yet the city seemed to move itself around as an act of petty spite whenever I was going there. It took me longer than expected and my jacket was clinging to me by the time I arrived.
It was a relief to get out of the early summer heat. The sheer solidity of the Frari meant that, like most churches, it seemed to take months to heat up properly and months to cool down again. The church was modestly busy with tourists, as it usually was, but it never attracted the numbers that crushed into St Mark’s Basilica, and the vast scale of the interior meant that it never seemed to feel excessively crowded.
As ever, my gaze was drawn through the rood screen, down through the nave and to the great, golden glow of Titian’s altarpiece, The Assumption of the Virgin . The painting’s enormous dimensions were dwarfed by the surrounding space, and yet it was almost impossible not to have your eye drawn towards it. The apostles gaze and gesture in awe, as (a perhaps unsurprisingly surprised) Mary is carried up to the heavens on a cloud supported by a swirling group of cherubim. Yet for all its movement, it was that great blaze of yellow-gold from the heavens that never failed to knock the socks off me. I found it hard to believe that it wasn’t illuminated, and wondered whether, if I passed by at night, I would see the windows glowing as if the interior was still lit by the golden, glorious light of Titian’s art.
I could feel myself starting to cool down now, and made my way to my second favourite space in the church. Allegorical figures and a winged lion lay on marble steps leading up to a pyramidal structure in the centre of which stood a half-open door, outside of which a robed, cowled figure stood bearing an urn. It should have felt incongruous in its surroundings, but it was far too perfect for that.
The tomb of Antonio Canova. Or, at least, of part of him. Most of his remains now lay in his birthplace of Possagno. But like so many visitors before and after him, his heart would always be in Venice.
I stared at the enticingly open door. I’d never, ever been able to make out where it led to. A half-open door leading into a pyramid, with a cowled figure outside bearing an urn containing Canova’s heart. I’d always wanted to take a look beyond the door. I wondered if Fede could arrange it for me?
Ah yes, Federica. I’d only just thought of her and remembered the reason I came, when she tapped me on the shoulder, making me start.
‘You seem miles away, tesoro .’
‘I was. Or at least, I was somewhere within the pyramid.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve told you, there’s not much to see. It’s just an optical illusion. It doesn’t actually lead anywhere. Nothing to get excited about.’
‘Oh, don’t spoil it.’
She gave me a hug. ‘You watch too many Dario Argento films, caro ,’ and kissed me.
‘Hmm, you’d better watch that. You’ll get us both thrown out. Lack of respect, that sort of thing.’
‘I suppose so.’ She stepped back. ‘There we go, we must be a good metre apart. I think that’s sufficiently respectful. You look hot.’
‘I’m cooling down now. But summer’s on its way.’
‘You could always take your jacket off?’
‘I don’t like taking my jacket off. It feels like I’m not dressed properly. See also shorts and sandals.’
She sighed. ‘Let me guess, the honorary consul’s job in Bergen was already taken? Now, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’
‘Oh, it’s been a bit of a tough morning. If I go home I’ll have to do some work and entertain the cat. I wondered if you fancied lunch?’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, no time today. The rood screen isn’t going to clean itself. Come round tonight though. Mother’s coming round for dinner.’
‘Oh right. Good,’ I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘You know. And she does like you. Really.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, she quite likes you. That’s progress. And I’ll cook.’
/> ‘You’ll cook?’
‘She likes me to cook. It makes her feel like she’s passed her skills on.’
‘Oh good,’ I said.
‘You’re doing it again, Nathan.’
‘I’m sorry. What time?’
‘Seven-thirty. I’ll see you then.’
I made to kiss her, but she gently pushed me back and shook my hand instead. ‘Sufficiently respectable, caro .’
I smiled.
Chapter 12
We’d never worked out what we were going to do about living together.
I enjoyed going over to the Lido. There was something relaxing and wonderfully romantic about travelling there at the end of the day; either sitting inside the cabin of the vaporetto as the rain and wind battered the outside; or sitting outside on the rear seats as the sun sank in the sky over the lagoon, the green dome of the votive temple for the fallen of World War I glowing like a beacon. Then arriving at Santa Maria Elisabetta, and looking back at the panorama of the city itself. I even liked the smell of petrol, and being in the presence of cars again. And to top it all, Fede’s apartment was nicer than mine.
The problem was – in contrast to the Street of the Assassins – the Lido really wasn’t much good as an office for the Consulate. In the event of having been robbed, or losing important documents (likely as not including vaporetto tickets) it wouldn’t do to have to take a long boat ride out to the Lido. Whereas my apartment was about as central as it got.
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