‘Why ask me? I’m the peasant, remember.’
She found his churlishness irritating. But then he surprised her—when she looked across at him, he was grinning. ‘As it happens, I agree with you.’
‘So you do know what you’re looking at?’
‘I’ve been with Leo a long time. When you leave school at fourteen, you’ve a lot to catch up on, but you’re bound to learn something. Even me.’
‘So if it’s not a di Cosimo—’
Archie held a finger up in warning and she was immediately silent. They stood listening intently—a soft shuffling just outside the locked doors? Archie had snapped off the light as she stopped speaking, and now glided towards the window.
‘We need to be careful,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll go first and look around. I’ll give you the nod if the coast is clear.’
‘But how am I to reach the window from this side?’ she hissed, but he had already jumped and was swinging his body over the window sill. All she could do was wait for him to return.
For a few seconds she heard nothing. Then what she thought was a scuffling, followed by a definite thwack, then a splash. Then silence. Until in the distance she caught the sound of soft-soled footsteps running. She tried to remember what shoes Archie had been wearing and couldn’t. What if the footsteps weren’t his?
Galvanised, Nancy picked up the flashlight and stuffed it back into the large pocket of Archie’s jacket, then quickly donned the jacket herself. It drowned her slender figure, but to leave it here would incriminate Archie. She hoped it wouldn’t impede an escape that was already looking horribly difficult. There was nothing in the boathouse to help her up to that window. She would have to jump for the sill as Archie had done, but without his size and strength.
She backed herself against the opposite side of the building and made a run, desperately pedalling her feet up the wall and reaching with her arms for some kind of purchase, but it was useless and she fell back. It took three attempts before she managed to get her right hand on the sill and, frantic not to slide to the ground again, she forced her left arm upwards to make a grab at the window ledge. For a while she hung there, her arm muscles torn in two, or so it seemed, but then slowly began to pull herself up, at the same time using her feet to climb the wall.
As soon as she reached the sill, she flung her legs over, and dropped on to the top step of the ladder. Then down and around the side of the boathouse with such speed that she almost fell into the lagoon, lapping peacefully at the landing stage.
She stripped off the jacket, it was too heavy to wear for long, then fumbled in the pocket for the flashlight. Not caring now who saw it, she brandished its beam from side to side and out over the water. A head, a face—was that a face? Could it really be? My God, it was! She tried to hold the light steady but her hand was shaking. Then for an instant, the flash focussed on a single spot of water. It was Archie! Archie’s face! And there was something streaking his forehead.
As Nancy peered into the darkness, his body seemed to sway to the ebb and flow of the water, knocking gently against a mooring stake. She flashed the torch again. Yes, his shirt was caught against one of the wooden posts that dotted the lagoon; it appeared to be the only thing keeping him afloat. But surely he could swim? He had spent his entire childhood by the sea. So why wasn’t he swimming to land?
She ran forward to call to him and tripped over a piece of wood. Swinging the light downwards, she saw it was a bat of some kind, a wooden handle with a large square head—a rounders bat? Did Italians play rounders? It really didn’t matter. That was the noise she’d heard. The thwack of wood on an unprotected head, and Archie was out there in the lagoon, unconscious.
Nancy couldn’t swim. She could wade towards Archie, but how deep was the water at this point? Pretty deep if a boat was able to sail up to the boathouse doors. She ran on to the landing stage and a small mercy, a boat hook had been left lying to one side. She would have to use it, there was nothing else. Lean out and try to get the hook into Archie’s clothing. That way she could keep his face above water. She was terrified that at any moment, the movement of the tide would detach him from the wooden stake, the one thing that was keeping him safe.
The boat hook was a good six feet long and awkward to control. Abandoning the flashlight, Nancy scrambled down onto the decking and lay flat on her stomach, stretching her body to reach as far out as she could. Water might be wonderful when she was safe in a boat, she reflected, but hanging a few inches from its surface was truly terrifying for a woman who couldn’t swim.
The murk was still thick and she could barely see the floating body. It took a long agonising minute before she caught the hook in the collar of Archie’s shirt and with a superhuman effort pulled him upwards, just in time to stop him slipping beneath the surface of the lagoon. By now her own arms and chest were submerged in water and she was finding it painfully hard to keep the boat hook high enough. She needed to be standing, but if she were to try to get to her feet, she might dislodge the hook that was keeping Archie alive.
Wake up, she pleaded silently, fearing they would soon both drown if he stayed unconscious. She would never relinquish her hold—she couldn’t do that, it would be abandoning him—even though her strength was almost gone and the weight of the boat hook was dragging her closer and closer to the water. There was only one thing she could do. It was a last desperate effort and could go very wrong. But she must try; there was nothing else. Slowly, achingly, she began to pull the boathook in towards her, towing the dead weight of Archie inch by inch towards the landing stage.
It was a slow and arduous business with long pauses between each pull, and she was constantly fearful she would lose her hold on him. It seemed to take forever, but finally Archie was within reaching distance. Nancy leaned even further out, expecting to feel the cold slap of water closing over her at any moment, but in a swift grab she managed to hold on to a wodge of shirt. Abandoning the boat hook, she reached out with her other hand and grabbed a waterlogged sleeve. Cautiously, she moved her hands down the sleeve to the wrists beneath, trying desperately to keep his head above water. Wake up, wake up, she repeated to herself.
Aloud, she said, ‘Archie, please try to help. I’m not strong enough to pull you out.’
Whether it was her voice, or the warmth of her hands, or more prosaically the movement of his body through the water as it nudged up against the side of the ironwork, Archie opened one eye and then the other. After a dazed moment, he seemed to understand the danger he was in, and with one hand made a grab for the wooden jetty. She held fast to his other arm and somehow he managed to get a knee onto the landing stage, then the other knee, and coughing and spluttering, crawled out of the water. He fell on his back, arms and legs splayed, the red gash on his forehead livid.
He lay there for only a second. The next moment, he turned on his side and rid himself of the mass of water he’d swallowed. Nancy watched him anxiously, but when he laid back gasping, she fell back, too, and laid beside him. Every one of her limbs felt shredded and every breath had been punched from her body.
They lay in silence for long minutes. Then Archie said, ‘The bastard!’
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘That bastard, Salvatore.’ Archie jerked himself upright, water dribbling from his shirt. ‘I’m going to get him. Now.’
Nancy sat up, too, alarmed by the ferocity in his voice. ‘You can’t.’
‘What do you mean, I can’t? The man springs out at me from the dark, tries to knock me out and then when he fails, hits me with some weapon he’s hiding.’
‘It was that. Over there. Some kind of bat.’ Nancy waved a vague hand in the direction of the piece of wood she’d stumbled over earlier.
‘Whatever it was, I have a lump on my head the size of a fist. And not content with that, he proceeds to try and drown me.’
‘Salvatore pushed you into the lagoon?’ She couldn’t prevent disbelief colouring her voice. It was unimaginable that the man had deliberate
ly tried to kill Archie.
‘He didn’t need to push,’ her companion retorted, shaking his head like a dog who had just emerged from swimming, and sending droplets of water spraying wide. ‘His swipe with the bat sent me flying.’
‘So it was an accident?’
‘What do you mean, an accident?’ His question was angry. ‘It wasn’t an accident. Feel that.’ She imagined rather than saw him point to his head, but made no move to comply. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind—the man tried to kill me.’ Archie staggered to his feet. ‘I can’t waste more time. I’m on my way.’
‘But how do you know it was Salvatore? I can barely see my hand in front of me. You could be mistaken.’
‘I’ve fought him before, remember. It was him all right. And why all these excuses?’
‘I’m not making excuses. I’m simply trying to inject a little calm into the situation. I didn’t rescue you so that you could go bolting off and get into more trouble.’
‘Okay. And sorry—I didn’t thank you for that.’
‘Why would you?’ she said tartly. ‘It’s hardly your style.’
‘I’m not hanging around arguing the toss.’ Archie was back to his customary abrasiveness. ‘Are you coming or not? We need to get a move on. I suppose you don’t have the flashlight, do you?’
She scrambled to her feet and, bent double, felt along the landing stage for Archie’s jacket. It was there by the water’s edge, slightly damp but undamaged. Burrowing into its largest pocket, she drew out the torch and walked back to him.
‘Your flashlight, sir,’ she said, switching it on. ‘And your jacket, in case you’d forgotten it.’
‘I had. Thanks for that, too.’ His gratitude didn’t sound quite so grudging this time, and she decided to make peace.
‘Can we use the light now, do you think?’
‘There will still be guards patrolling the area, but I’m beyond caring. I need to catch up with Salvatore and that means moving as fast as this fog allows.’
Archie had already turned and was walking briskly away, lighting a narrow path in front of him. As usual, she had to run to catch up. ‘I thought you didn’t know where Salvatore lived,’ she said breathlessly.
‘I don’t but I’ll bet my boots he isn’t going home—at least not yet—which is why we need to be quick.’
‘Where then?’
‘To his employer, of course. To Dino. He’ll be anxious to report a break-in at the boathouse. Anxious to warn his paymaster that whatever game they’re playing has been rumbled.’
‘Not quite rumbled. All we discovered was a piece of canvas. And he won’t find Dino. He’s in Rome. Salvatore will hardly be travelling there this evening.’
‘What’s the betting that Dino is back in Venice right now? He hired a helicopter to get to Rome, didn’t he, so why not keep it on? That way he can get back pronto to see his girlfriend. And even if he has stayed in Rome, there’s still Luca. You say Salvatore is thick with him, so in the absence of Dino, that’s who the swine will go to.’
‘And you know where Luca lives?’
‘I don’t have to. He’ll be at the casinò. That’s where he and Dino spend every evening. Dino is a professional gambler as well as orchestrating all the other little ventures he has up his sleeve.’
‘You sound pretty sure of that.’ She was still finding it hard to keep up and her words came out jerkily.
He tapped the side of his nose with one finger. ‘You’d be surprised at how little notice people take of the menials who serve them. It’s amazing how much you can learn by simply standing around and listening.’
‘Anyway, you can’t go to the casinò like that. They’d never let you through the door.’
Archie looked down at his trousers shedding water and the shoes squelching beneath his feet and gave a harsh laugh. ‘Okay, a quick return to the palazzo to change, and then I’m off.’
‘Even if you’re right about the casinò, by the time we get there, Salvatore will have been and gone. The palazzo is a long walk from here.’
‘Except we aren’t walking, if we can possibly help it. We’ll go to the landing stage at San Basilio. There won’t be a vaporetto, but water taxis wait there. Even in this weather, there should be one or two for hire.’
‘I don’t have money with me.’
‘But I do.’ Archie patted his jacket. ‘You’re a clever girl—you saved my wallet!’
They were lucky when they arrived at San Basilio. A solitary water taxi was parked to one side, seemingly without much hope of a fare that evening. The fog was still thick and the streets still deserted. The boatman brightened considerably when he saw them approach and was eager to get them swiftly back to the palazzo, helped by the fact that tonight there was little water traffic even on the narrower canals. It seemed that most of Venice was sleeping, and ten minutes later they were scrambling out of the taxi and onto the palazzo landing stage.
Archie gave the boatman a handsome tip and asked him to wait. Then took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Nancy called up to him. ‘To the casinò.’
‘No,’ he shouted back.
‘Yes, I am. You owe me.’
She had to go with Archie. She had a vague idea that if she did, she might prevent him doing something stupid. The thought of Leo, and what he would say if his assistant were involved in a catastrophic brawl, was always in her mind. It would be her fault if it happened. She had persuaded Archie that something was amiss and he’d gone along with it.
Nancy was unsure he’d truly believed her, but even if he hadn’t, he had been willing to embark on this small adventure. She thought she understood why. He was a soldier doing a clerk’s job, a menial he’d called himself. An adventure, small or otherwise, offered a welcome break.
Until, that is, Salvatore had attacked him. Then things had changed. The man had hurt Archie badly and left him to drown. Even if she were generous and told herself that Salvatore couldn’t have realised Archie had lost consciousness, it was still a wicked thing to do, to leave a man you’d clubbed on the head to fend for himself. And as for Archie, the small adventure had become personal, a matter for revenge. Precisely what she feared.
‘I’m coming,’ she shouted again, following him quickly up the stairs.
‘Suit yourself. If it goes pear-shaped, it’s your problem.’
Upstairs, she tore off the wet cardigan and jumper and her soaking underwear—they smelt of lagoon—and in a few minutes had thrown on another set of clothes and snatched up the bottle of grappa Archie had left earlier.
Nancy met him on the wide landing, about to leap down the stairs. ‘Do you fancy some grappa? It’s good for shock, I believe.’ She waved the bottle at him.
‘So I’m told.’ He grinned. ‘But no. I need to be alert. I have a few shocks of my own to administer.’
It was bidding to be a very difficult evening, and she could have done with the grappa herself. Barely recovered from the terror of rescuing Archie, she was facing another severe trial.
Archie was half way down the stairs when he turned, his eyebrows raised. ‘Well?’
‘I’m coming’, she said, hastily discarding the bottle on a nearby table.
*
They were at the casinò in minutes, the boatman expertly guiding his craft from one small canal to another. The fog had lifted slightly, but still blanketed the ill-lit alleyways and dark corners on either side of them. The buildings they passed slipped in and out of sight, as though they themselves were moving, visible one moment and the next swallowed up by the dense haze that filled the narrow streets and lay over the dank waters.
Here and there a narrow boat had been moored for the night and to an apprehensive Nancy they seemed almost like coffins, patiently awaiting their occupants. Even the few people scurrying along the canal side were spirit-like, transformed into phantoms of shimmering grey.
When, finally, they emerged into the Grand Canal, she was relieved to see signs
of life at last. Lights from the old palaces that lined the great waterway were blazing bravely, relieving the monochrome of a fog-bound city and dappling the surface of the canal with small pools of illumination.
The casinò was located on the Grand Canal itself and housed in a former palace of solid white stone. It was an impressive building. Three tiers of delicately traced window arches towered over them as they pulled up at the red-canopied landing stage. Archie paid off the boatman. A considerable sum, Nancy guessed. He must want to settle the score with Salvatore very badly.
A man in a dark tailcoat and top hat was at the entrance and his white-gloved hand barred their way. ‘You are members?’ he asked.
It seemed for a moment he was about to refuse them entry and Nancy could understand why. They were no longer dripping water, but were hardly dressed in style.
‘No, but we are friends of Mr Di Maio,’ she was quick to say.
The man inclined his head in a dignified gesture and waved his hand towards the open doorway. ‘If Mr Di Maio is here, you will find him on the lower floor, signora.’
‘Thank you.’ She slipped past him, hoping he didn’t expect a tip.
‘It’s the gaming rooms that are on the lower floor,’ Archie told her.
She nodded and made for the thickly carpeted staircase, with Archie following close behind. ‘We’ll go for the roulette table,’ he said. ‘I reckon we’ll find Salvatore there, or at least Dino. I’ll make him tell me where to find the bloke.’
Nancy was certain Dino would still be in Rome and, if for any reason he were not, he was hardly going to oblige Archie, but she said nothing and took her time to look around the enormous room they’d entered. A thick pall of smoke hung in the air, so that for a moment she was unable to see clearly. But as the cloud shifted, she noticed the plush velvet sofas lining each side of the room: a luxurious retreat for punters taking a break from the play while observing their fellow gamblers.
Venetian Vendetta: The Tremayne Mysteries Series Page 17