Page 19 of The Venice Murders (Flora Steele Mystery #11)

19

They found their driver at the café when, after a weary walk from the farm, they arrived back at the main square. In their absence, Signor Gallo had made himself comfortable, the littered table evidence of a succession of coffees and sweet treats. But whenever they gave him the signal, he said, he was ready to leave.

The drive back to Venice was uneventful, though made longer by several hold-ups in the traffic and it was sunset before they arrived at the Piazzale Roma. With Flora huddled against him, Jack had been guilty of dozing intermittently for most of the journey, and it was only the driver swinging open the passenger door that woke him fully.

Waving farewell to Signor Gallo, he gave himself a mental shake. The day had had its bright spots – the beauty of the town, in particular – and, in terms of their investigation, it hadn’t disappointed entirely. But neither had it proved to be the key Flora had hoped. Their holiday was coming to a close, they had only a few more days in Venice and, rather than chasing shadows, they should be making the very best of the time they had left. He tried to focus.

‘A vaporetto ride along the Grand Canal?’ he suggested, as they walked out of the Piazzale. ‘It’s likely to be spectacular at this time of day.’

‘It’s our only option, isn’t it?’ Flora asked, her voice flat. She sounded very tired and unusually dispirited.

It was the only choice, Jack admitted, there being no easy way of telephoning the Cipriani but, with luck, it would prove a cheering end to a day in which their fortunes had been mixed.

As they neared the vaporetto stop, a vessel had already arrived, and a stream of passengers were cramming aboard. Holding hands, they ran for it, Jack making sure they took the two open seats left vacant at the rear of the craft. The view would be everything. Lights were already blazing along the canal as they made a slow progress towards St Mark’s: elegant palazzi lit from top to toe, their reflections glittering across the canal, bringing its waters alive; brightly welcoming restaurants, their terraces decked in a profusion of fairy lights; and the boats, even the boats, plying their evening trade, had become vessels of gold. It was as breathtaking as he’d hoped.

Flora was now wide awake, her eyes everywhere. She’s forgotten her tiredness, he thought, forgotten her disappointment at how little progress they seemed to have made; both of them rendered silent by the sheer beauty of an extraordinary city.

Once at St Mark’s, they made the short walk to the familiar telephone box, still feeling no need to talk but in perfect amity. A call to the hotel had them swept across the lagoon and, in a short time, anchoring at the landing steps of the Cipriani.

In the foyer, a surprise awaited them.

‘Sally! You have found time to say goodbye!’ Flora exclaimed. ‘How nice. But won’t you miss your train?’

‘I’ve had to change my ticket. I’m staying the night and leaving first thing in the morning. It’s Bianca. Something awful.’

Jack’s heart sank. More complications, he foresaw, as Flora guided her friend to one of the foyer’s sizeable chairs. She reached out and gently touched Sally’s arm.

‘Tell me what’s happened.’

‘It’s Bianca’s father.’ Sally’s eyes filled with tears and she fumbled for a handkerchief. ‘The poor girl. She’s distraught.’

‘Piero Benetti?’ Flora asked, sounding uncertain.

Sally nodded. ‘He’s dead, Flora. He just collapsed and died – right there in their kitchen.’

It was Jack who spoke. ‘Was it another heart attack?’

‘I imagine so. There’ll be a post-mortem, of course. Bianca was with him – she said…she said that one minute he was talking to her and the next he’d clutched at his chest and fell to the floor. He was dead by the time she got to him.’

‘How dreadful!’ Flora had found her voice.

‘It was. It has been. I’ve been at her house all day, trying to help. Trying to get her to eat something, anything. Lunch went out of the window, of course. But…the thing is, Flora, I simply have to leave tomorrow. I’ve already delayed too long and I can’t take more time out. I didn’t say before but Alice telephoned me a few days ago. I knew there was a problem as soon as I heard her voice, otherwise she would never have called. There’s real trouble at the hotel – some kind of feud between two of the staff that’s upsetting everyone else. I’ve put off going back as long as I could but I need to be there to knock a few heads together.’

It was an uncanny echo of Jack’s words.

‘And your train…’

‘That’s sorted, at least the ticket is. The new schedule means I’ll be waiting around in Milan for a fair time, but I should be home the day after tomorrow. I hate leaving Bianca alone, though.’

‘Hasn’t she relatives who could stay with her?’

‘It doesn’t seem so. She has one or two good neighbours and I think they’ll call and do what they can. But I was wondering…I understand you hardly know her, but could you and Jack call, possibly? Just once would help. I can give you her address. I know she’d be happy to have your company for a while.’

Jack could see that the request had put Flora in a quandary. Had put him in one, too. They had only a few days left in Venice and playing nurse to Bianca wasn’t how either of them would have wished to spend them. But the girl had lost a father she loved dearly and it seemed she’d been left to cope alone; they should do whatever they could to comfort her, he supposed, although he doubted Bianca would see their presence as exactly comforting. But Flora would want to help, for Sally’s sake – she was clearly very upset – if not for Bianca herself.

‘We’ll do what we can,’ Flora promised, as he knew she would, ‘but we’re not here for much longer ourselves.’

‘Thank you. Thank you, both – for whatever you can do. You’ll let me know how things are with her, once you get back to Abbeymead?’

‘Her address?’ Jack prompted.

‘Oh, here…here it is.’ She passed Flora a crumpled scrap of paper. ‘And thank you again. You’re such a good friend. And you, too, Jack.’

Brushing aside the thanks, Flora walked her friend down to the Cipriani landing stage and asked Guido if, as a favour, he could take Sally back to the Minerva, no more than a five-minute boat trip. Trying to suppress his impatience, Jack waited for her return. How much of what was left of their honeymoon, he wondered, would be spent tending a heartbroken girl?

He was still waiting when the young man working behind the reception desk looked up and saw him, prompting a walk across the foyer to hand Jack a slip of paper.

‘Sorry, Signor Carrington. I did not see you at first. There has been a telephone call for you this afternoon.’

‘Thank you,’ he said a trifle dazedly.

There seemed, all of a sudden, to be too much happening. Too many phone calls. Too many visitors. He’d not yet made complete sense of Sally’s news. Dying instantly from a heart attack, particularly after prior warning, wasn’t that uncommon, he supposed. And Piero Benetti had a temper – they’d experienced that for themselves – which couldn’t be good for a faulty heart. Nevertheless, it seemed very sudden. And suspicious? One thing was certain, with Benetti dead, one of Flora’s chosen suspects for Franco’s murder had dropped out of the picture.

‘Is it important?’ Emerging from his reverie, he saw that Flora had returned and was staring at the note.

Opening it, he read the few lines it contained. ‘Important? I don’t know. You judge.’

She took the slip of paper from him, her eyes widening as she read. ‘We have an invitation to Casa Elena?’

‘A command, I’d say, not an invitation.’

‘Maybe, but it is nicely phrased,’ she said consolingly.

‘Really? I get the feeling we’re expected to jump to it immediately. Sybil Carrington has spoken and we must be there for lunch tomorrow.’

Flora subdued a sigh. The fraught relationship between mother and son could be difficult to navigate and spending the whole of tomorrow on tenterhooks, dancing around the two of them, was not what she’d envisaged for one of their last days in Venice. Nor, in fact, was holding Bianca’s hand for hours.

‘I suppose we’ll have to go,’ Jack muttered. ‘The note sounds slightly desperate as well as peremptory.’

‘And Bianca Benetti?’

‘I’m afraid Bianca will have to wait. We can’t do it all! For the Lord’s sake we’re on holiday and being summoned to go here, there, everywhere. It’s ridiculous!’

It was unusual for Jack to lose his calm so completely, but a honeymoon in Venice had been a dream in the making – until real life had intruded too sharply.

‘Bianca lives on the Lido,’ she said soothingly. ‘Sally told me. Is there any way we can combine the two visits? One to Casa Elena and one to Bianca, and save the last day for ourselves?’

‘Not a chance. They’re miles apart. If we have to go to my mother tomorrow, our last day will be spent providing a supply of handkerchiefs and a shoulder to cry on.’

‘We don’t need to be with Bianca all day. While we’re at the Lido, we could go for a paddle. And you could go for a swim,’ she said hopefully.

It took a while for Jack’s frown to disappear. Then his face brightened. ‘Yes, we could. And…we could have lunch at the Hotel La Perla. It’s old-school posh. All Edwardian glamour and art deco. Right on the beach, too. You’d love it.’

‘Decision made then. We go to the count’s tomorrow and see Bianca the following day.’

‘Then we go home,’ he said, gloom descending once more.

‘We have to go home but we can come back. Maybe not at the Cipriani next time – the Minerva perhaps?’

‘You’re right! We can and we will!’

Swooping down on her, he lifted her off her feet, swinging her in a circle, and making the young receptionist watching from behind his desk burst into laughter.

‘No more!’ Flora protested. ‘Put me down. You have a journey to organise – to the count’s magnificent estate.’