‘What on earth happened to you?’
‘I’ve just spent the last two hours imprisoned in a small unventilated space with the angriest man in Italy.’
‘Oh. And how is he?’
‘Not any less angry. I did try to explain that I was trying to save his life, but he wasn’t having it.’ I filled her in on the rest of the day’s events. ‘They got us out after about two hours. I didn’t think I’d be very welcome on the vaporetto so I decided to walk home. Signor Scarpa kept telling me he had something very important to go to later on, so I imagine he’s gone back to his hotel to freshen up. Oh, and three very large friends of his seem quite keen to catch up with me later.’
‘You are mad. No, more than that, you’re insane. I do love you, but you’re insane.’
‘Anyway, I thought I deserved a drink.’
‘Only a spritz? Don’t tell me you think it’s too early?’
‘ Beh , it’s just that I don’t like drinking Negronis anywhere other than Ed’s. It feels like I’m cheating on him.’
‘So tell me more about Fitzgerald. Why do you think he wants you to help him?’
‘Because of Paul.’
‘Because he really believes in him and wants to help?’ She sounded dubious.
I shook my head. ‘Because he’s a meal ticket for him. Lewis seems to have, I don’t know, something like Power of Attorney over his finances. Paul just gets pocket money.’
‘That makes no sense. Why would he allow that?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe he really is that bad with money. Maybe he just wants to concentrate on his art.’
She shook her head. ‘Sounds unlikely. Would anybody really be that unworldly?’
‘Unlikely, but just about possible. Have you ever heard of Peter Maxwell Davies? British composer. Nice bloke by all accounts. He entrusted all his finances to his manager. Then one day, he goes to the bank, tries to get some money out and – empty. All gone.’
‘Wow.’
‘He’d been ripped off for about half a million quid. Think his manager went to prison for false accounting.’
‘And you think that Lewis is doing the same?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But, like I said, Paul is his meal ticket. Hence persuading me not to make a denuncia . If we don’t make a complaint the only problem that Paul has is the death of GBH. And that, likely as not, is going to be laid at the door of the construction team.’
Federica took a sip of her prosecco. ‘Do you really think Considine is going around trying to murder his critics?’
‘I don’t, no. But somebody might be. What do you think?’
‘No. If you were going to do that, why do it like this? It’s silly and over-complicated. And it would just draw attention to yourself. Like in that horrible film you made me watch.’
I sat my glass down with a little more force than necessary. ‘As I’ve said before, Theatre of Blood is a classic. But, I admit you’re right. That sort of thing wouldn’t work in real life.’
‘Exactly. And when you were hurt it would have involved someone firing arrows into a dark room. Stupid way to try and kill someone.’
‘Yes. And that got me thinking.’
‘What?’
‘There was a thick, heavy curtain covering the entrance to the room. We were in complete darkness. If somebody had moved aside the curtain to shoot at us, there’d have been a flash of light, and I’m certain there wasn’t.’ I took another drink of my spritz, savouring its crisp, bitter coolness. ‘I think whoever did it was in the room with us the whole time.’
‘Every gallery has CCTV. One of them might show something.’
‘It might do. Of course, it was pitch-dark. I don’t know if anything useful would show up. More to the point, I don’t know how the hell to go about getting access to that sort of thing.’
She frowned. ‘Okay. Leave it with me. I don’t know anyone directly, but there might be friends of friends who could help. I’ll be discreet.’
‘Brilliant.’ I drained my glass. ‘Okay, I’m going to go home and attempt to become less disgusting. Will I see you later?’’
She shook her head. ‘I’d like to, caro , but I should spend some time with Mamma.’
‘Bring her over. I don’t mind cooking for three.’
She touched my cheek. ‘That’s kind. But she doesn’t like cats. I mean, she really doesn’t like them. You know what Gramsci would do.’
‘Yes. He’d want to be best friends. No problems. Give her my best.’
‘I will. It’s only for a few more days. And it sounds like you’ll be busy anyway. More sleuthing tomorrow?’ I smiled. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Despite being attacked by a crazy guy with a glass arrow and threatened by the nastiest man in Italy, you’re actually enjoying this.’
I smiled. ‘It’s an adventure, isn’t it?’
Now it was her turn to smile. ‘Yes. But just be careful, okay?’
‘I will.’ I got to my feet. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’ She moved towards me and I held up my hands. ‘I’m not nice to be near, remember?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She gave me hug, and a peck on the cheek and, if it was horrible, she did a good enough job of hiding it. ‘Speak tomorrow. Love you!’
‘I love you too.’ And with that I made my way soggily across the campo, and towards home.
Chapter 21
Lewis never called me that evening. He didn’t do so the following morning either. That didn’t particularly bother me. I was in no hurry to speak to him and, besides, I had a surgery to attend to. But three hours later, with not so much as a lost vaporetto ticket on which to spend my time, I decided that perhaps it might be best to give him a call.
There was no answer. I left a message for him and fixed myself a sandwich as I thought.
The most likely solution was that Lewis had found Paul and then he’d booked them on the next flight back to the UK. Paul wasn’t being held or charged, there was no reason why he shouldn’t leave the country. In some ways the police would probably prefer it. The death of Gordon Blake-Hoyt would be laid at the door of the construction team, and – after a few years’ wait – be laid to rest with a generally unsatisfactory verdict. Yes, they’d probably gone back to the UK. It had been a week since the opening, and artists and their entourages tended not to hang around once the initial blitz of parties, openings and deals had come to an end. At this very moment, Lewis was probably imagining my potentially violent meeting with Vincenzo Scarpa, and laughing. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like he’d just set me up in the hope I’d get a good kicking. His idea of a little joke.
I took a bite of my sandwich, and leaned back in my seat. The sudden twinge from my shoulder served to remind me that, convenient as this solution might be, there were still far too many loose ends for it to be convincing. Someone had attacked us only two days ago, and Lewis, at least, had been badly hurt. It needed investigating.
Actually, it probably didn’t. But I was going to anyway.
Lewis had told me that Paul knew both Gwenant Pryce and Adam Grant. Well enough to be able to tap them for money, if need be. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that they’d know what was going on.
I took a look at the webpages for both the Scottish and Welsh pavilions and sighed. There were no numbers to call. Of course. The exhibitions were only temporary, the staff likewise. Why have a fixed telephone line?
Scotland and Wales, then. And Lewis had volunteered to go and meet Adam Grant himself, a man who gave every impression of disliking him immensely. There was something about that which made Scotland the more interesting propos ition. Hopefully, Grant would still be around. I took my jacket off the hook. I’d stitched up the back as best I could, in a manner that could be described as almost acceptable. Federica, I knew, would demand that I throw it away as soon as she saw it, but it would do for now. Besides, I was going to meet arty people. They’d probably think it a deliberate affectation.
‘I’ll see
you later, Gramsci,’ I cried. ‘The game is afoot!’
* * *
A walk along Strada Nova in the middle of the day would be hot and hard work, so I took the boat up to San Marcuola instead. Then I walked past the casino where grumpy old Richard Wagner had breathed his last, and on to the main drag.
A young woman was in attendance downstairs, sitting behind a desk displaying catalogues, postcards and souvenir bags.
‘Is Adam Grant in today?’ I asked. She made no reply, hunched over her phone. ‘Adam, the artist. Is he here today?’ I repeated, just a little louder.
She looked up with a start, and tugged the headphones from her ears. ‘I’m so sorry. I was miles away.’
I smiled. ‘It’s all right. I imagine it gets a bit dull at times?’
She nodded, then looked embarrassed. ‘Well, sometimes. When nobody comes in. It’s nice when people want to talk about the art, though. And it’s good experience, just being here.’
‘You’re an art student?’
‘Second year. Glasgow School of Art.’ She paused. ‘Do you live here?’ I nodded. ‘That must be lovely. I wish I did.’
‘Maybe you will, one day. I hope so. God knows, we could do with more people.’
‘So you must have seen lots of things. At the Biennale. What’s the best thing you’ve seen?’
‘Apart from the Scottish Pavilion, you mean?’ She laughed, and nodded. ‘Difficult to say. I’ve not had much free time this past week.’ She looked disappointed. ‘I’m told I should go and see the dancing Frenchmen. They sound like fun.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I love that! My flatmate, Rhona, she’s taking part in that. She’s one of the dancers.’
‘Rhona? That’s not a very French name.’
‘She’s Scottish.’
‘Oh yes, I’d heard. The insuffciency of Frenchmen. It must be hard work, though?’
‘Well, they do it in shifts. Two hours on, two hours off. She says the morning session is best. Nobody really comes in at that time, but at least it’s cool. It’s so much hotter in the afternoon, and there’re more people. You have to be so much more careful dancing around all the visitors.’
‘I guess so. Still, I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be sorted out by choreography.’
She smiled, again. I’d almost forgotten why I came when she added, ‘I’m sorry, is there anything you’d like me to explain? About the art, or the artist. Would you like a catalogue? Or a bag?’ Souvenir carrier bags from the last five Biennales were scrunched up in a suitcase on top of my wardrobe. But still, the offer of a free bag was never one to be taken lightly, so I rolled one up and tucked it in my pocket.
‘I was wondering if the artist was in today?’ I said.
‘Oh yes. He’s upstairs. You’re in luck, it’s his last day.’
‘Thanks. You’ve been very helpful. Enjoy the rest of your time here.’ I patted my pocket. ‘Thanks for the bag.’
Again, she looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, but they’re supposed to be 15 euros.’
‘Oh. Oh right, sorry. Of course.’ I fished out my wallet and paid up. It was another souvenir, I supposed.
‘Would you like a catalogue as well?’
I shook my head. ‘Maybe not. Thanks anyway.’ And I made my way upstairs.
* * *
Adam Grant was wandering in a distracted manner through Elsa of Brabant’s nightmare. He stopped as soon as he saw me. I couldn’t read anything on his face, but that might, perhaps, have been the veil.
‘Mr Honorary Consul.’
‘Nathan, please. Can I call you Adam?’
He shrugged. ‘If you like.’
‘Can I just say, that’s a fabulous dress. Do you do this every day? The wandering around, I mean.’
‘Aye. It’s part of the performance. While I’m here. I’m off home tomorrow.’ He threw back the veil so we could talk more easily.
‘Right. Is someone else going to double for you? A sort of stunt bride?’
He scratched his beard thoughtfully, and shook his head. ‘No. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it right. D’you like it?’
‘Like it? I think it’s brilliant.’ He smiled. ‘I mean, you might actually be genuinely, properly mad. But it’s still brilliant.’
‘I thank you. I think. So what can I do for you, Nathan?’
I drew a deep breath. ‘It’s kind of complicated. You know Paul Considine?’
‘I used to. We kind of lost touch years ago. Why so?’
‘He’s gone missing. A couple of days ago.’
‘You sure? Not just gone back to the UK?’
‘Well maybe. But I can’t get hold of his agent either.’
‘Fitzgerald? Well that doesn’t bother me. Shouldn’t bother you either, Nathan.’
‘I don’t care about Lewis Fitzgerald. But I’m worried about Considine. And I think something strange is going on.’
‘Okay. So tell me about it.’ He stretched and gave a little grimace. ‘Back’s killing me. These heels. D’you mind if I sit down.’ I shook my head, and he made his way over to the fireplace where he sat himself down in an antique and slightly wobbly chair. He motioned me to take the one opposite. ‘Tell me about it,’ he repeated.
‘I will. But it’s long and it’s complicated. Could you start by telling me what Lewis wanted to talk about when you saw him the other day?’
‘The other day? Nathan, apart from a few well-chosen words at the opening, I haven’t spoken to him in over five years. And if he’d come here to speak to me on his own, I’d have punched his lights out.’
‘You what?’
‘I said I’d punch his lights out. You sound surprised.’
‘Not at that. I mean, you really haven’t seen him since opening day? He hasn’t been back to speak to you?’
‘No. Why would he have?’
‘He thought you might be able to help. With Paul. You and Gwenant Pryce both.’
Adam laughed. ‘Ah Lewis, Lewis. He never changes. I’m sorry, Nathan but I think he’s been taking you on a very long ride.’ Then he looked serious for a moment. ‘He didn’t ask you for money did he?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. That’s something, anyway. Just another of his little games.’
I slumped back in my antique chair. ‘Oh hell.’
‘Ah, don’t feel bad. This is just what he does. At least it’s only your time he’s wasted.’
I got to my feet. ‘Seems like it. Thanks anyway, Adam, I appreciate your time.’
‘No worries.’ He rolled up the left sleeve of his dress to check his watch. ‘Well, it’s my last day. I can knock off early if I want. Come along with me. Let’s go and pay a call on Gwen Pryce.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, we can tell you all about Lewis Fitzgerald. You may as well hear the story from both of us. Besides, I don’t know when I’ll next see Gwen again. Come on.’ He got to his feet.
I looked at Adam Grant, resplendent in bridal wear and tartan trews. ‘Er, are you going like that?’
He seemed baffled. ‘Yes of course. Part of the performance, isn’t it.’
‘Shall we get the boat, or just walk?’
‘In these heels? Let’s get the boat.’
We made our way back to the vaporetto stop. He gave a nod of his head as we walked past the casino. ‘I read that you can visit Wagner’s rooms, you know. I asked someone how you booked and they didn’t seem to know what I meant.’
‘Ah.’ I thought I knew what was coming next. ‘What did you say?’
‘How do I book a visit to the casino?’ He pronounced it in the English way.
I smiled. ‘The trouble is you say casinOH if you mean the places with the blackjack tables and roulette wheels. Whereas you say casEENoh if it’s a brothel you’re after.’
‘Oh. I thought they gave me a funny look.’
Chapter 22
Nobody batted an eyelid at Adam. You could walk around wearing anything in Venice at any time of year and people w
ould assume you’d turned up late for Carnevale, early for the Biennale, were making a film or had just arrived from a country where people dressed like that normally. It was nevertheless surprisingly easy to get seats on the vaporetto .
Gwenant gave me a little wave. ‘Mr Sutherland. How nice to see you again.’
‘Call me Nathan, please.’
‘And Adam. How are you, cariad ?’
He pulled back his veil so he could kiss her properly. ‘I’m well, hen. Heading back tomorrow.’ He tugged at the veil. ‘You know, I think I can take this off now. Can you give me a hand, Nathan? It’s just pinned in at the back there.’ I fumbled away as best I could until he was able to pull it free. ‘Phew. Much better.’
Gwenant, I noticed, had been working away at a painting, illuminated by a heavy UV lamp.
‘Something for your next exhibition?’ I asked.
‘Something for this one, Nathan. The work hasn’t been developing as quickly as I’d have liked. I’m trying to speed the process up a bit. This is the last one.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry. I must seem terribly ignorant, but I don’t understand.’
‘You will, cariad , I’ll show you in a minute. It’s lovely to see you, anyway. What brings you both here?’
Adam gave a big, broad grin. ‘Lewis Fitzgerald,’ he rumbled, lingering over the words and rolling the R.
She laughed a tinkly little laugh. ‘Oh my goodness. That awful man. I hope he’s not been trying to take advantage of you, Nathan.’
‘He seems to have sent our friend on a bit of a wild-goose chase,’ said Adam.
‘Oh dear. No money involved, I hope.’ Adam shook his head. ‘Well, there’s a relief.’
‘It seems his latest cash dispenser has disappeared. He thought the honorary consul might be the man to help him.’
I was starting to find the incessant to-and-froing irritating, and slightly unsettling. ‘He also thought you might be able to help,’ I said.
They both laughed. ‘Well I can’t think why he’d think that,’ she said, ever so sweetly, as if she were tucking her favourite grandson up in bed and wishing him sweet dreams.
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