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‘He drank,’ she said at last. ‘I did not realise how much, not immediately. When I first met him, he would have two, three drinks maybe, in an evening, and that would be it, but then gradually he drank more until he would get through a whole bottle of wine in one evening, all by himself. Spirits, too. When I found out that he had borrowed money from my father, that he had no money of his own, I realised that he’d spent everything he earned in one bar or another.’

She sank down onto the chair, Flora taking the seat opposite. ‘I think that deep down Franco was not happy with his life.’ She gave a small, bitter laugh. ‘To me, it always seemed glamorous. He worked in a luxury hotel. He was an important member of their staff and he met famous people every day, people with money, with influence.’ She paused. ‘But perhaps his heart was not content.’

That fitted with what Sally had told them, Jack thought, remembering their conversation. Franco hadn’t seemed to enjoy the world he’d made for himself. He’d been born into a country family with a life as a small farmer awaiting him once he grew up. But he’d wanted more. Or thought he did. He’d travelled to England seeking his fortune, looking for new opportunities, and found them. But evidently it hadn’t made him happy, and he’d decided to return to Italy. With experience of working in a five-star London hotel, he’d won a job at the Cipriani, but contentment still appeared to elude him. There’d been regular visits to his family, long spells spent back in Asolo. Had he missed his earlier life so very much? Thinking about it now, it might well have been why he’d chosen to marry a girl from a very similar background. Bianca’s father was a working boatman on the canals of Venice, and how different was that from a farmer tilling a few fields for his living?

‘Was it your idea to buy the apartment in Mestre?’ Flora broke the long silence.

The girl shook her head, a flat denial. ‘It was Franco’s. As soon as we got engaged, he said we must buy a flat. He was certain it would be better than renting. His parents had rented their farm all their lives, he said – the house they lived in, the fields they worked – and what had they to show for it? What would they have when they could no longer work?’

‘And Mestre?’ she asked gently.

Bianca sighed. ‘It was not Franco’s idea of a good place to live but it was all we could afford. He did not like the small houses, the factories, and he hated how far he would have to travel to get to the Cipriani. What he longed for was an apartment in Venice. Don’t we all?’ Again, that small bitter laugh. ‘One in Dorsoduro perhaps, by the side of a small canal. But you have to be rich to live in Venice and we were not. There was no chance that we could ever afford such a place.’

‘If Franco borrowed the deposit from your father, then surely he could have asked the builders for it to be returned – when he broke the engagement and no longer needed the apartment?’ Jack felt baffled at the many things that seemed not to add up.

Bianca jumped up abruptly, spilling a few drops of coffee on already stained tiles. ‘He could have done, if he had ever paid the deposit,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘But he never did.’

28

‘What!’ Flora exclaimed and Jack shared her amazement. It was a very large sum of money to go missing.

‘The deposit went on drink?’ he suggested, wondering how anyone could drink that much.

‘Some of it, probably. But most of it Franco gambled away.’ Bianca must have seen the astonishment on their faces and said quickly, ‘He was not a gambler. Not usually. I did not know, but he began to go to thecasinò– he said later that it was to double the money he had borrowed, so that he could repay my father and we would not have the debt on our shoulders.’

‘I’m guessing Franco was a better drinker than a gambler,’ Jack said.

The girl nodded, averting her face. ‘All the money Papa had saved was wasted.’

‘And you knew nothing of this?’ Flora got to her feet and walked over to the girl, holding her hands out in sympathy.

‘It was when those bad men began to threaten Papa that I learn the whole story. They said they would hurt him, Flora – beat him and worse – if he did not pay the money he owed them, now that they ask for it. I begged Franco “get the deposit back from the building company”, but of course he had never paid them. He had thrown away the money. Papa could not pay and was frightened. Very frightened. It put his heart under much stress. It was what killed him.’

There was little in that you could argue with, Jack thought.

‘In effect, they were murderers.’ Flora was less dispassionate.

The girl turned, her face a cold mask. ‘No! Franco was my father’s true murderer. His true killer.’ Her voice was sheeted in ice.

Flora took a step backwards. ‘That’s quite an accusation. Did you confront Franco with it? Did you accuse him?’

The same question had sprung to Jack’s mind, but he wished that Flora hadn’t asked it. Bianca was a cauldron of emotion, none of it good, and his instinct for danger had begun to make itself felt again. He looked across at the two women, holding hands in friendship. No need to worry, he told himself. No need to make mountains where there were only molehills.

Bianca broke away. ‘What if I did?’ she asked angrily. ‘Franco caused hurt, he caused misery, caused death, and you think he should go free?’

‘What I think doesn’t matter. How did he answer your charge?’ Flora asked quietly.

Bianca’s expression was disdainful. ‘He did not answer. Of course, he did not. He was a weak man. To everyone in the world, he was confident. He looked smart and clever. But in truth, he was weak, weak, weak. He refused to meet me, did you know? After all that had happened and when he knew my father was ill and heavy with debt, he refused to talk to me. Would not give me even a few minutes.’

‘Did he say why?’

‘He said that he was too busy! A stupid excuse – that bad things were going on in Asolo and that first he must sort this out.’

‘So, instead …you went looking forhim?’ she pursued, staring at Bianca as though she would unearth every secret the girl possessed. The hazel of Flora’s eyes was almost black, Jack noticed, a danger signal if ever there was one.

Bianca made no response, her mouth clamped tightly shut.

‘And you found him, didn’t you, near the Accademia?’ Flora continued.