Page 25 of The Venice Murders (Flora Steele Mystery #11)

25

Flora hadn’t expected to sleep well and so it proved. The large brandies Jack had insisted on made sure that for the first few hours of the night she slept heavily, but then she was awake and with a mind that wouldn’t quieten. Beside her, Jack slept peacefully, and she tried hard not to disturb him. In truth, she doubted she could. He had the ability to sleep anywhere or any time.

He was so much stronger than she, Flora recognised. She might have all the feistiness in the world but he had the fortitude. When she thought of the life he’d led, it seemed inevitable. A child of parents who’d fought incessantly, sent to boarding school at far too young an age, then passed between mother and father like an unwanted parcel. As an adolescent, he’d coped with his mother’s erratic care – smothered one minute, screamed at the next – or his father’s dubious lifestyle of gambling for a living, with a succession of ‘friends’ filling his mother’s place. When, finally, he’d freed himself of these histrionics and landed a much-prized job on a Fleet Street paper, a cruel war had snatched the moment away. His young life, like so many others’, had been taken from him. Instead of the journalism he loved, the company of colleagues he admired, he’d been forced to become a soldier. There had been years of fighting – in Italy, on the D-Day beaches, in a liberation march across France – before he’d known any kind of normality.

And herself? No wonder she lacked the fortitude Jack possessed. She had lost her parents as a small child, it was true, but her aunt had rescued her from an orphaned state, loved her as a mother, and brought her to live safely in a small Sussex village. It was a safety she had known all her life – and continued to know. Curling up against her husband’s warm body, she was lulled by the thought. While Jack was in her life, she was safe. Her eyelids grew heavy and slowly she surrendered, falling into a deep sleep and knowing no more until the room was lit by bright sunshine and she felt her hair being stroked from her face.

‘Eight o’clock,’ Jack murmured. ‘If we’re to seek out Bianca and leave some of the day for ourselves, we’d better get moving.’

If, last night, Flora had been disinclined to ‘seek out Bianca’, this morning she was even less enthusiastic. What they both needed, she was certain, was a peaceful day. One spent together, sauntering alleys and pottering in shops, followed by a visit to the pool maybe, and a fabulous last dinner – though not at La Zucca! She was still utterly wrung out and, turning to face Jack, saw that he was looking almost as tired.

‘The ferry to the Lido will wake us up,’ he muttered. ‘I think.’ And when she didn’t reply, added, ‘There’s always lunch – we mustn’t forget the Hotel La Perla!’

Even lunch at a fabulous hotel no longer looked so attractive, but duty called and she pushed back the covers and searched for her slippers.

‘I’ll feel better when I’m washed and dressed.’ It was said hopefully.

Amazingly, she did, choosing to wear her second-best sandals – she had little choice now – and a favourite sundress. An elegant navy-and-white spotted cotton which, though she didn’t like to boast, fitted her perfectly and was a surefire way to brighten her mood. Smiling at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she enjoyed the luxury of a full ten minutes of hair brushing – the shower might have washed away the canal water, but there had still been a stickiness to her waves – before walking back into the bedroom, only to find her husband had once more fallen asleep.

Gently, she shook the one shoulder that was visible. ‘Jack! Wake up! You were the one rallying me a minute ago.’

He gave a low groan, burying himself more deeply in the bedclothes.

‘No groaning,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ve a lovely day ahead. Come and look.’

Through the long windows, she could see a thick haze overhanging the lagoon. The sun, it seemed, was in hiding today, yet Flora was anything but unhappy. Brilliant sunshine was all very well, but the cooler air brought with it a new energy, a new determination, and, despite yesterday’s terrifying experience, she felt ready to make the most of this, her last day in a city she’d begun to love.

‘A few more minutes, surely?’ he pleaded. ‘For being a hero?’

‘That was yesterday – and you’ve already had your few minutes.’

‘Such a taskmaster! And so young!’

Reluctantly, he rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, unaware of a knock on the bedroom door. Flora went to answer, immediately alert. It will be trouble, she thought, always trouble. A hotel bellboy stood in the corridor holding a small slip of paper.

‘From England,’ he said, handing it to her, his eyes bright with excitement. Evidently, this was an unusual event. ‘A telegram, signora.’

The boy had gone before Flora had time to read the message and it was with trepidation that she carried the slip of paper back into the room.

The short message took no more than a second to read. ‘Jack,’ she shouted to him in the bathroom, ‘it’s Alice.’

His head appeared around the bathroom door.

‘What’s Alice?’

‘This telegram.’ She waved the paper at him and, in an instant, he was at her side.

‘Something serious?’ He looked worried.

‘I wouldn’t think so,’ she said calmly. ‘Although for Alice it is. Look.’

SALLY MISSING. PLEASE HELP. ALICE.

Jack frowned. ‘What does she mean, “Sally missing”?’

‘Sally can’t have arrived home yet – at least, I think that’s what it means. She stayed in Venice to be with Bianca, didn’t she? I don’t think she could have telephoned Alice to tell her she’d be back a day late.’

He grimaced. ‘I’m not surprised she forgot to call. As I remember it, she was rushing to catch the later train as it was.’

‘Alice will be frantic.’ Flora put her hand to her forehead. ‘You know how anxious she gets. How she feels about anywhere beyond Dover.’

‘You’d better telephone her and put her mind at rest. When I’ve finished here’ – his razor was still in his hand – ‘I’ll meet you on the terrace. Breakfast still calls!’

At the reception desk, Flora asked if, as an emergency, she could use their telephone. It would be quicker than waiting to be put through from the kiosk they’d used previously. The young man behind the desk seemed uncertain but, as soon as she showed him the telegram, he waved her into the manager’s office and left her alone to make her call.

It was the receptionist at the Priory who answered, telling Flora that the kitchen had only an internal phone but that she would fetch Mrs Jenner herself, as long as the cook was at work today. It was a possibility Flora hadn’t considered and she made ready to end this call and try Alice’s home number instead.

There was a lengthy pause, but then Alice’s voice came down the line, breathless and tight with anxiety.

‘Flora, is that you?’ And without waiting for an answer, Alice was off. ‘Thank goodness you’ve called. I don’t know where to turn. It’s Sally, you see, she hasn’t come back. She’s got herself lost, Flora. Or she’s had an accident. One of them canals, I’m certain. I knew the girl shouldn’t have gone. I knew it. You’ll have to look for her. You and Jack. You need to do it straightway. I’m sorry about your honeymoon, I really am, but you’ll have to find her. Go to the police, that’s the thing to do. The police?—’

‘Alice,’ Flora interrupted her. She was tempted to laugh but tried to keep her voice neutral. ‘Please calm down. Sally isn’t lost. She had to stay an extra day in Venice and didn’t have time to tell you. She was travelling back yesterday and I’m sure she’ll be with you any hour now.’

‘What did you say?’

‘She stayed for an extra day,’ Flora said patiently. ‘She stayed for Bianca – you remember, the Italian girl who asked her to come to Venice.’

‘But why?’ Alice sounded bewildered.

‘Bianca has lost her father. He died quite suddenly, a heart attack, and Sally didn’t like to abandon her.’

‘Not why did she stay, but why didn’t she tell me? Doesn’t she realise? I’ve been sick with worry.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised for the absent Sally. ‘It was all such a rush. Bianca was dreadfully upset and Sally was trying to comfort her and, at the same time, change her ticket for a later train. We’re going to see the girl today – we promised Sally – and ask if there’s anything we can do. There’s just been too much going on, I’m afraid.’

‘Too much goin’ on!’ Alice gave an irritated huff. ‘Just wait till I see that young lady. Worryin’ me like that – not a wink of sleep last night! She’ll be gettin’ a piece of my mind, that’s for sure!’ For a moment, she fell silent and, when she spoke again, she sounded cautious.

‘Everythin’ is all right there?’

‘Everything,’ Flora lied. ‘But the Priory?’ Adeptly, she turned the conversation. ‘Sally mentioned you’ve had some trouble.’

‘More’n I can say, my love. It’s been a right picnic here and I can’t wait for Sal to get back and sort it out.’

Flora waited to hear more.

‘Two of the maids fightin’ over some man. I ask you!’ she said, disgustedly. ‘And now Charlie goin’ off the boil just as Hector’s gettin’ back on his feet.’

‘Going off the boil?’ That didn’t sound like Charlie. ‘How, exactly?’

‘Gettin’ careless is what I mean. Not listenin’ to instructions, gettin’ a bit cheeky, too. Sal won’t have it, I warned him. He’ll be out on his ear unless he pulls himself together.’

‘What’s going on, Alice? Charlie has always been a lively lad, but never rude.’

‘It’s Brighton,’ she said, as though that explained everything. ‘Now he’s got some money in his pocket – Sal gave him a rise when he started working under Hector – he’s off to Brighton every spare hour he has, and you know what that place is like! I met Mrs Teague t’other day at Houseman’s and she’s worried. Says her lad is spendin’ money right, left and centre, goin’ to them coffee bars, playin’ jukeboxes. No doubt mixin’ with all the wrong’uns. And he’s no dad, has he, to set him right. It’s all down to his poor mother.’

To Flora, it sounded a very mild rebellion, but Alice was plainly upset and every small problem had assumed large proportions. ‘He’ll get bored with going to Brighton,’ she said knowledgeably, though she had no real idea if Charlie would. Going to coffee bars and playing jukeboxes hadn’t featured heavily in her own young life. It had been drinks in the student bar and then a rapid transition into managing the bookshop and caring for a very sick aunt. ‘Try not to worry, Alice. Sally is sure to be with you today and you know what a capable girl she is. In no time she’ll have sorted out Charlie and the maids. And we’ll be back in Abbeymead ourselves very soon.’

She felt a touch on her shoulder. ‘Breakfast,’ Jack said quietly, having overheard much of the conversation.

‘I best go now,’ she said, ‘but Jack sends his love. Me, too. And we’ll be sure to see you the day after tomorrow.’

Replacing the receiver, she smiled. ‘A storm in a teacup, I’d say.’

‘So I gathered from what I heard, though Charlie might need a little advice.’

‘When we get back, he’s all yours. But at least that’s Alice soothed, for the time being. Now all we have to face is a day at the Lido.’

‘It could be worse,’ he said, sounding philosophical.