Page 48

‘That the Massis were happy with their son’s choice of bride and unhappy that he let her down.’

‘But the business of Franco feeling tricked.’

‘It suggests, doesn’t it, that he never truly wanted to marry? He was doing the decent thing and when it was no longer necessary, he wanted out. Married life in a small Mestre apartment wasn’t for him.’

‘I’m thinking it must have made Bianca very angry.’ She cut a slice from a large tomato and matched it with a second bite of Taleggio.

‘For sure. But does that get us anywhere?’

‘I’m trying to understand what was going on in the girl’s mind, Jack. As far as I can see, she hasn’t spoken of this baby to anyone. How must she have felt when she was abandoned by her fiancé because she was no longer pregnant? She’d fallen in love with the man – OK it was an expedient kind of love – but she obviously cared for him, and everything was looking fine. They were planning a wedding, her father had loaned the money for a deposit on a just-built flat, and the new baby would make them a family. Then,pouf, it’s all gone.’

‘All true what you say, but it doesn’t mean she went looking for Franco to kill him. There were other people angry with him, too – don’t forget, we still don’t know what was behind that massive quarrel he had with Silvio Fabbri.’

Flora had silently to agree and turned back to her salad. There was so much that remained hidden. But when the waiter arrived to clear their plates and bring them the dessert menu, she ignored the treats on offer to ask, ‘Do you know the Tasca family, by any chance?’

‘Of course.’ The young man brushed back his hair. ‘Everyone know the Tascas. They are here a hundred years.’ He gave a grimace. ‘And for another hundred.’

‘And Luigi Tasca? Does he live here still?’

Another grimace. ‘Sometimes yes, signora. Sometimes, no. He is here and there.’

‘I thought he might work on his father’s farm.’

‘Forse, perhaps, but not always. One day he paint the house, then he build fence, then he clean windows.’

‘A drifter,’ Jack muttered.

The waiter seemed to understand, nodding in agreement. ‘He was soldier but then he has to go.’

‘Dismissed?’

‘Drink,’ the waiter said succinctly.

‘Do you know if he visits Venice often?’

The young man looked confused and Flora wasn’t surprised – it had been an awkward turn of conversation. Hard enough to dig for the truth among strangers, she thought, but forced to ask questions in a foreign language, it was near impossible.

The waiter surprised her, however, when he nodded and said, ‘Tasca has the motorbike. He goes to Venice with Matteo.’

‘Matteo Pretelli? It’s his aunt that lives in Venice, isn’t it?’

‘Signora Pretelli is very good cook.’ A woman, the owner, they presumed, had come out of the café to join them. ‘The boys, they visit for cake, I think! But you want Matteo?’

Why not? Flora thought. ‘He works in Asolo?’ she asked, her expression innocent.

‘At the Tasca farm. You want to go there?’

‘We were thinking of it,’ she said casually. ‘We understand that Signor Tasca runs an excellent business. We are farmers, too,’ she lied blatantly. ‘A man we met in a restaurant – in Venice – was a good friend of the signore. He suggested we paid a visit.’

The woman’s forehead puckered, as she tried to follow Flora’s words. ‘Silvio Fabbri?’ she asked at length.

‘Yes! Do you know him?’

‘Everyone know him. Everyone know everyone,’ she said simply. ‘Signor Fabbri in Venice many years, but he come to Asolo. He come to buy.’

When Flora looked questioningly at her, she said, ‘Enrico Tasca, he sell vegetables and he sell fruit, all to Fabbri – for the restaurant. They are friends from little boys.’

‘Really? We’ve just come from a visit to Signora Massi. Her husband grows fruit and vegetables, too, but he doesn’t sell to La Zucca?’