Venetian Vendetta: The Tremayne Mysteries Series

by Merryn Allingham

  She felt bullied, stripped of the shelter she had purchased at such high personal cost. Tears came into her eyes and she had to scold herself severely. She was used to following a lonely path, and it was foolish of her to think that marriage could transform her life so completely.

  For an hour or so she dozed, but always hovering on the brink of wakefulness. Beside her, Leo slept soundly, seemingly unaffected by their quarrel. But Nancy was still deeply upset, and after tossing and turning for minutes on end, abandoned the attempt to sleep and swung her legs to the floor, feeling with her feet for her slippers. Then slipped on her dressing gown and padded down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen.

  It was a chilly space at this time of night and the thought of a hot cup of tea was appealing. She had only just lit the gas ring and filled a small saucepan with water when she heard a noise from above. She stopped, holding the saucepan mid-air. Had Leo woken and found her gone? Would he come looking for her?

  But they were shoes she heard on the stairs, not the slap of bare feet, and it was Archie who ducked his head through the doorway and pulled up in surprise. For a second or two he looked directly at her. Nancy felt flustered and very conscious of how little she was wearing.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ he asked casually.

  She nodded, trying to appear unconcerned, and put the water to boil. ‘I’m making tea. Do you want a cup?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ Archie’s eyes rested on her for a moment before he walked quickly over to the long, wooden table, pulling a large envelope from his jacket pocket.

  She glanced at the packet he’d thrown down. ‘The ticket to Rome, I presume?’

  ‘Amongst others.’

  Nancy would have expected him to rejoice at her discomfort but he sounded awkward. She padded over to the refrigerator and peered inside. ‘Do you want milk with your tea? There’s not much left in the jug.’

  ‘Black is fine. I need something to sober me up. Too many beers.’

  She brought the tea over to the table and sat down, making sure she wrapped her dressing gown tightly around her.

  Archie took a sip from his cup, and when he spoke he sounded unusually tentative. ‘Why did the Rome thing turn into such a drama?’

  Nancy paused before she answered. She wasn’t entirely sure herself. ‘I didn’t mean it to. I had something I wanted to talk to Leo about—something important—and then he decided to go off to Rome at a moment’s notice without even telling me.’

  Archie made no response and for a while they sat drinking their tea without speaking. To Nancy’s surprise, she found herself gradually relax. The silence was companionable and Archie seemed different—she seemed different. It was as though they’d left behind the daytime people they usually were.

  ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ she said at last. ‘I hadn’t realised she was unwell.’

  ‘There’s no reason you would.’

  ‘I hope you have better news in the next post.’ She smiled at him, but his expression stayed serious.

  ‘I doubt I’ll hear anything before I get home. My brother isn’t the best letter writer in the world.’

  They relapsed into silence once more before Nancy suddenly asked, ‘Who were you drinking with tonight?’

  Archie’s mouth gave a small twist. ‘The usual suspects.’

  ‘Was Salvatore there?’

  ‘He was. And friendly. I didn’t floor him again if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘It wasn’t. But did he seem okay? Not nervous or worried?’

  ‘Why do you ask? What’s this about, Nancy?’

  She took a deep breath before launching into the story of the crate she had found, the odd appearance of Pietro, and how Salvatore had scared her. When she had finished, she looked across at him hoping for a reaction.

  But Archie remained unimpressed. ‘The Pietro thing is a red herring. The bloke’s job is to oversee shipping in and out of the port, so of course he was looking at Dino and the yacht. And the crate isn’t a big deal either. Dino could be using it to store paintings before he gets around to hanging them.’

  ‘Storing them on a yacht?’

  ‘He’s rich. He can do anything he likes.’

  ‘Your chip is showing, Archie.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ His voice had regained its old edge and for the moment the spell was broken.

  ‘I don’t think you like successful people.’

  ‘I’ve no problem with success when it’s honestly earned, but not when I see people climbing the ladder on the backs of others.’

  ‘Is that how you think of Leo?’

  As soon as she spoke, Nancy wished she could unsay the words; the upset with Leo was making her needlessly bitter.

  ‘Leo Tremayne is a good bloke,’ Archie said gruffly, ‘and I’m glad to work for him. He took me on when not many would. Rescued me from the ranks of the unemployed—or the uselessly employed.’

  Something in his voice made Nancy reach out to him and fleetingly lay her hand on his. It was warm beneath her touch. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I know Leo is thoroughly good-hearted and it’s hardly his fault he’s been granted a charmed life.’

  A golden life, and one that made it difficult for her husband to understand the narrow horizons against which others had to fight so hard. Unlike Archie and herself, Leo had never had to fight.

  ‘The boss has made the most of the cards he was dealt, don’t forget,’ Archie said. ‘Not everyone does. But Salvatore—you’re sure he was threatening?’

  ‘I know when I’m being threatened. And that crate—I reckon Dino must know something about those paintings.’

  ‘He will do if he bought them!’

  She shook her head. ‘That makes no sense. If he’d bought them, Dino wouldn’t store them in a crate at the bottom of his yacht. Think of the danger if the boat hit rough seas. He takes enormous care of his art collection, loves it with a passion. He was talking to Leo about the paintings he lost last spring and he said the burglary broke his heart. That’s what the trip to Rome is about—for Leo to identify one of the paintings that was stolen.’

  ‘What happened to the rest of the haul? The stuff that was stolen last spring?’

  ‘The paintings ended up in Albania, or so Dino thinks. He mentioned a smuggling ring for stolen artwork. They sell the paintings to shady dealers around Europe who then sell them on to innocent buyers.’

  Archie appeared to be thinking deeply. ‘So… Dino learns about this smuggling ring when his own pictures are stolen. His captain will know about it, too. What if Salvatore decides to go into business himself? Maybe the crate you saw is destined for Albania.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that Salvatore is a thief? Or in league with thieves? But surely he couldn’t use the boat to store stolen paintings without Dino knowing?’

  ‘Perhaps Dino does know. They could be in the scam together. Dino is the contact, the fence, and Salvatore sails the stolen goods off to Albania.’

  Nancy gave a small laugh. ‘It’s a great theory, but quite mad. Why on earth would Dino suddenly become a smuggler? Why become any kind of criminal when you’re as wealthy as he is? Unless…’ she broke off. A sudden thought had come to mind. ‘Unless he’s like Luca, and not as wealthy as everyone assumes… perhaps even in debt. Maybe having his pictures stolen tipped him over a financial edge—but gave him the idea.’

  She spoke with suppressed excitement, but in her heart Nancy knew they were building a case out of nothing. All she had seen was a crate with—possibly—a stack of paintings inside.

  ‘The crate could mean anything or nothing,’ she said gloomily.

  Archie put down his cup and stretched his arms above his head. ‘It’s a pretty stupid idea,’ he agreed. ‘Whatever Dino might get from fencing paintings, it would be a fraction of their true value. And the risk is enormous. If he needs money, why not set himself up as a legit dealer? He’d earn a lot more.’

  ‘He wouldn’t like it though, wou
ld he? He wouldn’t like to be seen to need money.’

  When Archie raised an eyebrow, she said, ‘You know Dino well enough. He would hate people to suspect his finances were shaky. Think how certain he is of his position, how at ease. And if he were ever suspected of money problems, his backers could withdraw their support. At the Cipriani he mentioned a consortium.’

  Archie tapped his spoon on the table while he thought about it. ‘The blokes he’s involved with will be as wealthy as he is, I guess. You don’t get that wealthy by being kind. And you’re right, if he were in trouble, he couldn’t let on or they’d pull their money out and that would finish him.’

  Nancy picked up the empty cups and took them to the sink to wash. ‘So maybe the possibility that someone is dealing in illegal goods isn’t so ridiculous after all,’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘It would be an extraordinary way for Dino to get money, but then the rich are extraordinary. And before you say anything, that’s not my chip showing. They definitely don’t play by the rules.’

  ‘And you do?’ Her smile took any sting from the words.

  ‘Most of the time. But whatever’s going on, you can’t do anything about it. And why would you want to?’

  ‘Marta,’ she said slowly, realising for the first time what had been at the back of her mind all along.

  ‘Not Marta Moretto again. What’s she to do with it?’

  ‘Selling stolen goods is a wild speculation, I know, but what if it were true and somehow Marta had found out?’

  Nancy felt her heart beat a little quicker. Was Dino involved in a crime far greater than theft? She tried to calm herself, slowly drying her hands and then walking over to Archie, where he hovered in the doorway.

  ‘Marta was the doyenne of Venice dealers and would have an ear to the ground for anything illegal going on in the art world here. What if she threatened to expose Dino? Wouldn’t that be a motive for murder? He would be ruined, his whole life destroyed. And he was at the theatre that night. I only have his word he left for home before the signora fell.’

  ‘I thought I was crazy suggesting Dino might be a fence, but you’ve just lost it completely. Go to bed, Nancy, and get some sleep. You look all-in.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nancy woke the next morning with a start. A shaft of sunlight had pierced the closed shutters and danced a path across the room to hit her squarely in the eyes. She scrabbled to the other side of the bed and realised she was alone. Grabbing her bedside clock, she brought the dial close to her eyes. Seven o’clock—she had not slept late as she feared.

  Last night, she thought… it seemed almost a dream. Had she really sat talking to Archie, dressed in little more than a nightgown? She smiled to herself as she thought back to their conversation. They had come up with some improbable ideas, but it hadn’t mattered. She had been desperate to tell someone of her suspicions, and it had felt good to talk. It should have been Leo, though, on the other side of the kitchen table.

  Her husband was waiting for her in the dining room and it was immediately clear the chilliness between them was to continue. After Leo’s curt good morning, silence descended. The two of them sat marooned at either end of the table—Archie had chosen to eat with Concetta.

  Nancy cast a surreptitious glance at the figure sitting stiff and unbending at the head of the table. Leo wore a newly ironed white shirt with dark suit and tie, perfect attire for a funeral. It made the coming day even more of a trial—she’d had immense problems herself in finding anything suitable in her meagre wardrobe. In the end, she had chosen a dark grey and very unflattering skirt, along with a jacket of indeterminate colour. The clothes matched her mood which, as she’d dressed, had become steadily more downbeat. Now, sitting here, she felt drained of all energy, the bright spirits of recent days vanished. Even her tan seemed to have faded.

  She took a brioche from the basket and pulled it into small pieces, but made no attempt to eat. Her appetite had fled along with her spirits and she was finding the continuing silence unnerving. From beneath lowered eyelashes, she studied her husband again, wondering how they could have descended into this miserable state so very quickly. As she did so, he looked up from his plate, and fixed her with his gaze. His soft brown eyes, usually so alert and lively, were filled with sadness and she suddenly felt incredibly guilty.

  She jumped up from her seat and walked around the table, reaching out for his hand and clasping it in hers. In response, he got to his feet and put his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him and kissing the top of her head. Neither spoke for a long while.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nancy,’ he said at length. ‘So very sorry. I didn’t mean you to feel ignored. The last thing I would do is disregard you, after all you’ve been through.’

  She felt tears rise to her eyes and hugged him tighter. It felt immensely good to be safe in his arms. ‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said. ‘For getting angry. It was a stupid argument over nothing.’

  ‘It was,’ he agreed, letting his grip slacken and smoothing her hair back from her face. ‘I’ve no appetite for going to Rome, and if I have to, I would love to take you with me. But that would be selfish. You’d have no company for most of the day and I doubt you’d find sightseeing much fun on your own. But I should have discussed it with you last night, on our way home. I’ve learnt my lesson—in future, we’ll make decisions together.’

  She gave his hand a last squeeze and went back to her seat, feeling able now to start on the brioche and coffee. She took a sip before she said, ‘If you’re still offering that spring trip to Rome, I’d like to go.’

  ‘I’ll make sure we visit for at least a week.’ He laid his napkin to one side. ‘But this business with Dino—I’m hoping I’ll manage Rome and back in a day. All I’m required to do is confirm the picture they’ve impounded is the one he bought a year or so ago.’

  The mention of Dino and his picture made Nancy uneasy, but she was reconciled with her husband and that was what was important. And she wasn’t sorry after all not to be going to Rome. Since her midnight conversation with Archie, she’d had a growing sense that her place right now was in Venice. It was instinct only, but instinct was most often right.

  Leo looked at his watch and pushed back his chair. ‘We should be leaving soon. The funeral is at eleven and there’s no motoscafo for us this morning. We’re travelling peasant class, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I love the vaporetti. They’re much more fun, particularly when the water is choppy and they’re ploughing through the lagoon. They’re such… such rollicking little ships.’

  ‘Rollicking and much less expensive! I’ll rally the troops. Concetta will want to fetch her hat and veil, the full mourning, and Archie… I haven’t seen him today, but I guess he’s around. I need him to get on with changing those appointments yet again.’

  Leo’s assistant was waiting for him in the lobby. Archie was at his most businesslike, wishing Nancy a brief good morning and betraying no hint of their night-time meeting. It took him a matter of minutes to go through Leo’s diary with him and decide how best to rearrange the various meetings he had in London.

  It took a good deal longer for Concetta to finish her kitchen chores, find her coat and handbag, and then be satisfied that her headgear was pinned firmly enough to weather a journey across the lagoon. Eventually, they emerged from the palazzo, the maid still fussing with her veil and Leo looking anxiously at his watch as they set out for the walk to San Zaccaria.

  It was a Monday morning, a normal working day, and they had supposed the water bus would keep to its regular timetable, but though one boat after another arrived at the vaporetto stop, none of them was a number four that would take them to the island of San Michele and the cemetery. Concetta began muttering to herself in thick dialect, clearly agitated they might be late for the service or even miss it entirely.

  When, for one moment, she stopped muttering and started forward, they took notice. Not a vaporetto, though, but a funeral cortèg
e, emerging from the Grand Canal and forging its way through the lagoon immediately past them. In the lead, a black-painted boat carrying a flower-laden wooden casket on its open deck, with a little flotilla of mourning gondolas following. The undertakers’ men stood alongside the coffin, while the mourners, Nancy presumed, had taken shelter in the curtained cabin. Who would be behind those curtains? If this were Marta’s cortège, Luca, for sure, together with his unpleasant wife. And the sister, no doubt. Angelica, of whom no one talked and no one had seen. But were there other relatives?

  The passing of the cortège seemed to heighten Concetta’s worries that she would be late, and once it had disappeared across the lagoon, she began to mutter even more frantically. Nancy’s nerves were so thoroughly on edge that by the time a number four finally hove into view, she felt she had been given a very special present.

  It was a bright morning but the wind was whipping across the open waters, ruffling its surface to an unusual degree. The vaporetto wallowed deeply, the helmsman in his little glass cabin intent on steering his course, while spray surged wildly around them. One stop followed another—Arsenale, Giardini, Sant’ Elena—and Concetta had begun to twist the handle of the large raffia bag she carried, her lips again on the move, this time soundlessly. Leo frowned but said nothing, and the vaporetto ploughed on.

  More delay faced them when they arrived at the San Michele landing stage. A huddle of small boats was rapidly becoming entangled as each craft backed and drifted in an attempt to moor. Nancy tried to make herself heard above the noise, bending low to speak to Concetta.

  ‘Can all these people be for Signora Moretto?’ She gestured to the confusion of mourners gathered on the landing stage.

  The maid shook her head.

  ‘Several funerals are often booked for around the same time.’ Leo had overheard her question. ‘The cemetery serves the whole of Venice—has done since Napoleon’s time. We may have to battle our way through.’

  He turned to help Concetta from the pitching vaporetto while Nancy made an undignified scramble onto dry land. A procession of mourners was making its stately progress through the cemetery and on towards the church, and the three of them followed, walking abreast along a wide path that flowed through large gardens studded with cypress trees.