Venetian Vendetta: The Tremayne Mysteries Series

by Merryn Allingham

  ‘No, and that’s the problem. You can’t find evidence for any of these little theories of yours. You were desperate to nail Di Maio for murder but you’ve failed, and instead of deciding to forget the whole damn business, you’re scooting off in another direction. Now it’s the nuns who’ll provide the answer.’

  ‘I just have this feeling.’ Nancy sounded more feeble than she wished.

  ‘Like the feeling you have that Marta Moretto was murdered when nobody else thinks so. Why don’t you stick to having rattled Dino’s cage and saved Renzo from a life of crime?’

  ‘Marta was murdered and as long as I’m in Venice, I can’t give up.’

  ‘Thank God there’s only a few hours left then. Tomorrow at nine o’clock we’re on the train, and I won’t be forced to cover for you any more.’

  ‘I don’t see you’ve had to cover for me today,’ she said indignantly. ‘We had to drive somewhere, so why not to the convent?’

  ‘Possibly because your husband is an intelligent man and might just smell a rat if he knew where we’re headed.’

  ‘I hope not.’ There was a small waver in her voice.

  ‘So do I. I’ve had enough of being a stooge. I’m Leo’s assistant not some partner in a crime-fighting duo.’

  Archie had been particularly cutting today and she was finding it hard. But it was his way, Nancy realised, of emphasising the boundary that should exist between them.

  ‘I’m very grateful for the help you’ve given me, Archie.’ She tried to sound placatory. ‘And once we’re back in London, I promise to keep out of your way. I just have this one question I need answering. Then I’ll be happy.’

  ‘I doubt it. Anyway, I could probably give you the answer right now.’

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’ She leaned forward until she was almost speaking into his ear.

  Archie stared straight ahead, his eyes never leaving the road. ‘You want to find out why Angelica left the convent. For some unknown reason, the place is going to tell you everything you want to know. So… what if Marta visited the convent before she died? The woman must have visited at some point, she left the nuns her entire estate.’

  ‘What if she did?’

  ‘If we assume your crazy theory is right and Dino was threatening Marta, the woman would have told her daughter what she suspected when she visited the convent, wouldn’t she? Told Angelica how frightened she was for her safety. Wouldn’t that be sufficient reason for the nun to hotfoot it back to the family home?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Nancy said unwillingly. ‘But even if Marta visited, would she have had the chance to talk to Angelica? Aren’t nuns supposed to be cloistered?’

  ‘Search me. But if she did get to speak to her daughter and tell her the trouble she was in, a woman who loved her mother would return home to protect her.’

  ‘She would have to love her deeply to give up such a strong vocation.’

  ‘Who’s to say she didn’t? And in any case, it could be a temporary situation. She might have got permission to go home, sort things out, and then return to the convent.’

  Annoyingly, Archie’s idea was persuasive, though she wouldn’t tell him so. He was overweening enough already. But he was right that if Angelica had known about Dino’s wickedness before her mother died, it would better explain her decision to leave the convent.

  ‘It would make sense, I suppose, of why Angelica so dislikes her brother.’ Nancy was thinking aloud. ‘If Luca stayed a close friend of the man she suspected of harming her mother, it couldn’t have done much for sibling relations.’

  ‘So Dino is your man. It’s what you wanted.’

  ‘What I wanted, what I still want, is the truth,’ she retorted.

  ‘You’re as near to it as you’re going to get. Shall I turn the car round?’

  ‘No!’

  Nancy still had to reach the convent. She couldn’t explain why, but she had a visceral sense that everything depended on this visit. And there was something wrong with Archie’s analysis. She sat and puzzled while he drove smoothly on.

  ‘If Angelica left the convent because she knew her mother was in danger…’ Nancy broke the silence. ‘If Dino is our villain… and Angelica knew… then she has been in danger for weeks. Yet she’s still alive. Her mother and brother are dead, but she’s alive. What do you make of that?’

  Archie made no answer, but turned the wheel abruptly to the left and slid the car between two narrow stone pillars. ‘This is it!’

  They were on a long, rutted track. Even in the splendid Alfa Romeo, they were jolted roughly from one side of the car to another, and the lane seemed to stretch for miles. The Madonna del Carmine, Nancy thought, could usefully spend some of the fortune it had inherited on a comfortable approach road.

  Just when she thought that every bone in her body must be fractured, they rounded another bend and there it was—a large, sprawling building in honey-coloured stone, with a square bell tower soaring high above the front entrance. Tier upon tier of grey shutters were closed against the morning sun, lending the convent a face stripped of all expression. A facade that gave nothing away.

  Archie brought the vehicle to a smooth halt outside the front entrance, making sure he manoeuvred into the solitary piece of shade. He climbed out of the car and began to walk round to her door, intending, she thought, to emphasise that he was here only as a hired chauffeur. But she pre-empted him, extricating herself from the car before he could reach her.

  She had barely swung her feet to the ground when she realised he’d turned away and was speaking to someone.

  ‘Enrico, you old dog. What are you doing here?’

  Nancy looked over the top of the car in time to see a priest, black-robed and buttoned to the neck, throwing his arms around Archie. His matching cummerbund was stretched so tightly across a considerable girth that it risked bursting apart.

  ‘What am I doing here, my friend?’ the man boomed. ‘I live here. Just over the way.’ She followed his pointing finger to a small cottage tucked into the lea of the main building. ‘But come, you must have a drink. And your lovely companion. It is too hot again, eh?’ He passed a crumpled handkerchief over his wet forehead.

  ‘But—’ Nancy began, willing to forgo the drink in her eagerness to seek out the Mother Superior and question her.

  ‘This is Mrs Tremayne.’ Archie introduced her grudgingly. ‘Enrico Conti.’ He jerked his head towards Nancy to indicate he’d done his social duty.

  ‘Ah, Professor Tremayne’s wife.’ The priest rolled towards her, smiling broadly. ‘A good man. I am delighted to meet you, Mrs Tremayne, and delighted to welcome you to my home. Come, please.’ Nancy had no option but to follow.

  It was a very small cottage, but its stone walls were nearly a metre thick and the air was wonderfully cool. In the tiny entrance hall they were met by a woman who looked old enough to be the priest’s mother. ‘Giovanna,’ he said to her, ‘these are my friends—from London? No?’

  ‘Venice,’ Archie put in briefly.

  Enrico spread his hands. ‘Wherever, my friend. Put the water to boil, Giovanna. They will take tea with us—tea is best in this heat, eh?’ He gave Archie a playful dig. ‘And at this time of the day, too. Maybe later we open the whisky.’

  When Giovanna had brought a tray loaded with cups, saucers and teapot and handed around the customary plate of small, hard biscuits, the housekeeper disappeared into the nether regions, though she could not have gone far, Nancy reckoned. The cottage was miniature in scale.

  Archie leant back in his wicker chair, cup in hand. ‘So what’s new with you, Enrico? Are the winnings still mounting?’

  ‘Not so much, I am afraid. These days I rarely get to Venice and here, you can see for yourself. We are rustics in a quiet countryside.’

  ‘A boring countryside?’

  ‘Tut, tut. The contemplative life is good for me. No excitement to disturb the heart.’ He saw Nancy looking puzzled and said, ‘Mrs Tremayne, your friend Archie is a demon poker pla
yer.’

  ‘Not such a demon that he can beat you,’ Archie said wryly.

  ‘You gamble?’ Nancy sounded more shocked than she’d wanted to, but the mention of poker playing and whisky was reshaping her image of the life she’d imagined for a Catholic priest.

  ‘A little flutter here and there. Nothing serious, dear lady. But does Salvatore still run those games?’ he asked Archie.

  ‘Salvatore has other fish to fry.’ His expression was solemn and the priest’s eyebrows rose. ‘In fact, he’s up to no good,’ Archie said baldly, but made no attempt to elaborate. Hoping to spare the priest bad news of a former friend, she imagined.

  Enrico replaced his cup on the tray with great care. For a large man, his movements were unusually delicate. ‘I am truly sorry to hear that.’

  ‘I guess it’s inevitable. Everyone is trying to make some kind of living and it’s not easy these days. There’s wealth in Venice if you know where to look—and rich pickings for the unscrupulous.’

  ‘Not only in Venice, I fear.’ The priest gave a long sigh and adjusted his cummerbund. ‘Even in this backwater we have our problems, though it’s difficult to believe. Burglary, theft—many from churches nearby.’

  ‘That’s bad,’ Archie said. ‘Are newcomers responsible or have the locals turned to stealing?’

  ‘That I don’t know, my friend. I like to think my parishioners are pearls beyond price, but …’ The priest shook his head sadly. ‘In one way, you can understand, though not forgive. As you say, the country is still in the doldrums. Yes, there is new industry in Milan, in Turin, but here in the countryside and in the poorer parts of town, people are struggling and often hungry, and it is easier then to forget the ten commandments. The shadow of the war stretches far, does it not?’

  There was a long silence, then Enrico appeared to recover his good humour and find his smile again. ‘Mrs Tremayne, forgive me. We must not talk of such bad things. May I pour you another cup?’

  ‘Not for me, thank you, but the tea was most refreshing.’

  ‘Refreshing enough to walk around our ancient convent?’

  ‘I hope so. I’ve heard how beautiful it is.’ She forgave herself the small lie.

  ‘The chapel is wonderful,’ Enrico said. ‘You must see the chapel certainly. Reverend Mother will be happy to welcome you, I know.’

  This was good news and Nancy was relieved. She knew nothing of the nuns of Madonna del Carmine and had feared theirs might be an enclosed order.

  ‘Father, will you introduce me to Reverend Mother?’

  ‘But naturally.’ He yanked up a chain and took a watch from his pocket. ‘Sext is just finishing and the nuns will not pray again until Nones at three this afternoon. We should find Reverend Mother in her office. Drink up, Archie, and we will go.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Father Conti led them across the courtyard past the Alfa Romeo, sitting serene in shadow, to the convent’s beautiful filigree iron door, and rang for admittance. As Nancy bent her head to peer through the ironwork, a single file of nuns came into view, walking in complete silence. She imagined they must have come from the chapel, from their midday prayers. As they drew opposite, one by one they scattered in different directions, still without exchanging a word. Except for a black wimple, their habits were entirely white, a short white cape over a white robe, seeming to be suited for nothing more vigorous than embroidery.

  Yet on their way across the courtyard Enrico had mentioned that between set times of prayer the nuns worked extremely hard. Nancy had seen for herself the fields on either side of the track, cultivated with every kind of produce. She wondered how Angelica had enjoyed this back-breaking work.

  An elderly nun answered the Father’s summons, a cluster of keys jangling from her belt. She beamed at them as she opened the door, saying how happy the convent was to welcome Father Conti’s friends. She would take them straightaway to the Reverend Mother, who had returned from the chapel and was now in her office.

  They followed her along a cloister of honey-coloured stone. A series of majestic arches, the beautiful symmetry of a sculpted white roof, the enclosed square of a garden filled with roses, had Nancy’s soul sing. Even in September flowers were blooming and their sweet perfume followed the little party along worn flagstones to a carved wooden door standing sentinel at one end of the cloister.

  Their guide gave a discreet knock and for a few minutes left them waiting outside while she consulted with Mother Superior. When she re-emerged, she was still smiling.

  ‘Reverend Mother will be happy to receive you,’ she said simply.

  ‘I’ll leave you in her capable hands then,’ Enrico boomed. He seemed altogether too loud and too large for the restrained beauty of this place, but Nancy gave him a warm handshake and thanked him for his hospitality.

  Reverend Mother rose from her desk as they walked through the door. She was an impressive figure, dressed entirely in black with only a white wimple to relieve the intensity, a mirror image of the nuns for whom she was responsible.

  She motioned them to sit. The chair Nancy sank into was unexpectedly comfortable. In truth, she was surprised at how agreeably Mother Superior lived, her office exuding a degree of wealth. The fluted legs of the desk spoke baroque—not cheap Nancy noted—and there were painted chests, also baroque style, against two of the walls. In the middle of the room, two easy chairs faced each other across a small hand-woven rug. Otherwise the boarded floor was bare but polished to a high gloss.

  ‘Thank you for visiting us, Mrs Tremayne, Mr Jago,’ the nun began. ‘We are always happy to welcome guests and honoured that you are interested in our convent. How much do you know about Madonna del Carmine?’

  ‘Very little,’ Nancy confessed.

  Reverend Mother fixed them with a keen glance. ‘The most important thing to understand is that the convent is a very old institution. It was established way back in the sixteenth century, though the building you see today is much altered. The original convent was designed to be a place of complete retreat. The nuns had little to do with the outside world. Their mission was to pray for it. Now we are a little different.’

  She gave a small smile that Nancy sensed was hard for her. ‘Nowadays we have fields to tend and produce to pick for market. Not only that, but livestock to care for, eggs to collect, honey to preserve. In effect, we are a small farm.’

  ‘It sounds idyllic.’ Nancy was uncomfortably aware of how vapid she sounded. But it was the first thing that had come to mind and, since Archie seemed determined not to speak, she felt pressured to contribute something to the conversation.

  ‘I am unable to take you into most of the convent,’ Reverend Mother went on. ‘I hope you will understand that it is our home. But if you will come with me, I will be happy to show you our guest rooms. We are very proud of them. You may even wish to return at a later date and take advantage of the tranquillity they offer.’

  She gestured for them to follow her out of the office and along a corridor that ran at right angles to the cloister. Nancy had no wish for a guided tour of the convent, but it seemed the only way she was likely to get her questions answered.

  ‘Do you have many people coming on retreat?’ she asked, matching the nun’s brisk pace.

  ‘Very many.’

  ‘And how long do they generally stay?’

  ‘It varies, Mrs Tremayne. For as long as they need—to find the spiritual peace that is otherwise missing from their lives.’

  Nancy glanced across at Archie, who had pulled down the sides of his mouth. She guessed that spiritual peace did not feature too largely in his life.

  There were a dozen guest rooms situated along a wide corridor with windows looking out on to the fields. Beyond that, Nancy thought, they had little to commend them. A stone-flagged floor and bare white walls, adorned with religious paintings too garish for her taste. And furniture restricted to a narrow single bed, a small wooden desk and hard chair, and a white hand basin that had been fitted into the f
ar corner of each room.

  ‘I believe Signora Moretto stayed with you,’ Nancy found the courage to say, as they were leaving the final room.

  Reverend Mother looked up sharply from locking the door behind her. ‘You knew Signora Moretto? Such a great sadness for us when we heard of her death. Yes, she enjoyed a few days with us. But how do you know her?’

  ‘Quite by chance. We got talking in a café one day. She was a lovely woman.’

  ‘She was,’ Reverend Mother said brusquely, her lips tightening.

  ‘Marta told me her daughter was a nun here.’ Nancy ploughed on, though she could see her host had no wish to talk of the Morettos. ‘She spoke of the convent so warmly, it made me want to come myself.’ It was a second lie, but in the circumstances Nancy excused herself. ‘She seemed inspired to know her daughter was a nun—seeing Angelica here must have been a joy.’

  ‘We do not encourage our nuns to have contact with their families. Marta Moretto visited for the same reason as many others—to find peace.’ And now there was no mistaking Reverend Mother’s annoyance.

  Nancy saw Archie lift a hand as if to prevent her saying more, but then he let it fall. It made no difference. She wasn’t going to stop now.

  ‘I understand, of course, that families rarely visit. But since Signora Moretto was such a good friend to the convent’—she would make no specific mention of the legacy, but let the nun read into her words what she chose—‘allowing her to meet her daughter would be, well, a generous gesture, I suppose.’

  ‘We do not imprison our nuns, Mrs Tremayne. And Sister Teresa,’ the Mother Superior emphasised the name, ‘would have been permitted to take a short walk with her mother when the signora visited.’ She stared hard into Nancy’s face. ‘But allow me to show you our magnificent chapel.’

  Nancy understood then that she would get no more. But Marta had visited and she had spoken to Angelica. It seemed very much that Archie’s conclusion was correct: that Marta had confided her troubles to her daughter and Angelica had left the convent to protect her mother. She saw a smirk touch the corners of his mouth, as they walked back along the corridor in search of the chapel. Archie was enjoying being right.