There was silence for a moment except for the sound of hammering at the door. Lewis’ shoulders dropped for a moment, and then he raised his head to look at me, and grinned. And then he launched himself at me.
I had the advantage in that I thought he might. I raised my knee to fend off his attack, but his forehead cracked into my jaw. Lights flared within my skull, yet I still remembered. Hold on. Just hold on, Nathan. I grabbed on to the floor of the gantry as, with a tearing metallic sound, the side nearest Lewis collapsed. We swung towards the floor, and banged into a supporting pillar, the impact of which was enough to dislodge him.
There wasn’t even time for him to scream. He fell silently on to a forest of broken glass. And then there was silence, about the space of thirty seconds, interspersed by the sounds of the police hammering outside. Then I was aware only of a creaking sound from above, a metallic pling as the last supporting bracket fell to earth, and I was aware – if only for a few seconds – of my own voice, screaming, and of a blinding flash of pain.
Chapter 41
‘So you’re telling me your cat saved your life, Nathan?’ Vanni smiled across at me as he scribbled away in a notebook.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I certainly wouldn’t tell him, just in case he understood. Might give him airs and graces. But I knew I had perhaps thirty seconds at most before I had to let Paul in through the door. I also knew Fitzgerald would have warned him to check I hadn’t tried writing a message on the back of the door or anything like that. So I just tipped a few kitty biscuits into his bowl.’
Vanni shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘He won’t eat the cheese-flavoured ones. And if they’re in his bowl he will just sit there and yowl and yowl and yowl until somebody comes along and takes them out. Federica, I knew would be along within about forty-five minutes. She arrives, I’m not there. She settles down to wait. She gives me a call, but I’m not answering. Then she notices that Gramsci is whinging. Now, you might be able to bear that for a couple of minutes. Maybe even five. But nobody could stand it for any longer. So she goes to his bowl, starts picking out the cheesy kitty biscuits. He starts crying for more food so she takes down the box, and there right at the top is a scrunched-up page from Il Gazzettino with a “Death at Giardini” headline. She worked the rest out.’
‘You trusted your life to your cat?’
‘No, I trusted it to Federica. Although it did rather depend on Gramsci’s fundamentally bad nature as well. Anyway, I couldn’t think of a better idea.’
‘You’re crazy, Nathan.’ I shrugged, and then winced as the pain in my shoulder shot through me. ‘How is it?’ he asked.
‘Hurts when I move it. But that’s to be expected. I was lucky. Bloody great glass spike went straight through, missed all the major arteries. Going to need some physio when the wound heals, but the doc says I should be okay. I’ll probably have some sort of manly scar, but I’m hoping Federica will like that.’
Vanni laughed. ‘When do you get out of here?’
‘Tomorrow morning with a bit of luck.’
‘Good. Good. Anything I can do in the meantime?’
‘There’s something I still don’t understand.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Pelosi’s insurance policy. How was that supposed to work?’
‘We spoke to a young Romanian guy at the Zichy. Pelosi gave him three packages. Told him that he was to send them off if ever he failed to telephone him at four pm. Paid him a hundred euros a day. So, there was no mail on Sunday. Considine’s arrived first on Monday. Your copy and Ms Pryce’s are probably waiting for you at home. Three people he trusted to do the most damage.’
‘But not the police?’
Vanni laughed. ‘My goodness me, no. He was a career criminal. Old habits die very hard.’
‘I thought he hated me.’
‘Quite possibly. He still trusted you, though.’
‘I’m flattered.’ I shifted painfully in my bed. ‘Is there any chance you could lend me a cigarette?’
‘In a hospital room? I’m afraid not. There are limits even to my powers.’
‘Are there? Oh dear.’
He took out a packet of MS, and slipped a couple into the pocket of my dressing gown. ‘At least open a window,’ he said.
I smiled. ‘Thanks, Vanni. Your powers are great indeed.’
‘No problems. Oh, and try and drop by the Questura as soon as you can. There are some forms that need signing. There’s a body – actually, make that two bodies – that need repatriating.’
The painkillers were making me drowsy, and I must have dozed off for a while. Then I became aware of someone else’s presence in the room. Someone holding my hand.
‘Fede?’ I said, sleepily, and opened my eyes. Then I smiled. ‘Gwenant!’
‘How are you, cariad ?’
‘Not too bad. The doctors tell me that one day I might be able to play the piano again.’
‘There’s an old joke coming up there, isn’t there?’ We smiled. ‘I just wanted to say thanks, Nathan. Thanks for what you’ve done for Paul. And for me.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand it, Gwen. I don’t understand you. What was all the big mystery, all the “you have to be the one that asks the difficult questions” business?’
‘Easy for you, my dear. Lewis knows me from way back. I couldn’t go around sleuthing. And besides, as I said, he played me and Paul off against each other. He knew how to scare us. He didn’t know how to scare you.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find he did. So what now, then?’
‘What now?’
I raised an eyebrow, but even that seemed painful. ‘What now? You and Paul?’
She laughed her tinkly little laugh. ‘Oh, well he’s going to need help getting back on his feet again. While they try and track down just how much of his money Lewis never got around to spending. I know a couple of decent agents, I’ll get him set up with one of them.’
‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it.’
‘Oh, cariad , I’m far too old for all that sort of nonsense now.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think you are. Cariad .’
She said nothing, but smiled and stroked my hair, her own face only a few inches from mine. Then she kissed my forehead, whispered ‘Thank you’ once more, and then Gwenant Pryce, lovely Welsh woman, was gone.
Chapter 42
‘You’re doing very well, cara !’
Federica stopped pitching the ball for Gramsci. ‘Don’t push it, tesoro .’
Dario grinned. I shrugged, and then winced with pain. ‘Look, I’d do it myself, you know. But the doctor says it could be another six weeks until my throwing arm is back to fighting strength. And if Gramsci’s not entertained in the meantime he could unleash a wave of destruction.’
‘So what about cooking?’
‘Oh, I’m a master at one-handed cooking. But tonight Federica’s in charge.’
‘Indeed I am.’ She moved behind me, put her arms around my neck and hugged me. Perhaps just a little too strongly, as it drew an ‘ouch’ out of me. ‘We have beer in the fridge, and Rosa Rossa on speed dial. That’s my equivalent of one-handed cooking.’
‘You’re a lucky man, Nathan.’
‘I know.’
Federica went back to the kitchen and returned with three bottles. ‘Beer to be going on with?’ We nodded. ‘So what happens now? To Considine, I mean.’
‘Hopefully, he’ll get some proper help now. There’s a lot of people there wishing him well, especially after what’s happened. I don’t know if he’ll ever get all his money back – it’s going to take a long time to untangle Fitzgerald’s affairs – but there’s a chance of a new start for him at least. And there’ll be Gwenant there as well.’
‘Do you think they might? Get back together that is.’
‘Oh, they’re both adamant that they won’t. But they better had. I’d feel cheated otherwise.’
‘And what about you?’ said Dario.
I sighed. ‘Busy few days coming up. Two bodies now to be released back to the UK, but Vanni thinks the authorities will be amenable. Then they can just wash their hands of it all. The Italians can deal with signor Nicolodi, or Pelosi, or whatever name he’d like to be buried under. And I’ll never have to be shouted at by Mr Blake-Hoyt’s brother again.’
‘And your job?’
‘Oh, that’s different. Various other people will want to shout at me for certain. The ambassador was on the phone earlier. Yes, I can have my unpaid, voluntary job back but I certainly mustn’t get involved in this sort of nonsense in the future. Not the sort of thing Her Majesty expects, apparently. Signor Scarpa and his three lovely boys might still like to have a word with me, but I get the impression he’s got a short attention span when it comes to this sort of thing. There are probably far more important people in the art world in need of bullying by him, and he’s a very busy man.’
Gramsci mewled again. Federica sighed, and reached for his ball. ‘You know, is there actually anything preventing you from throwing with your left arm?’
‘My technique’s rubbish. Trust me, he’d notice.’
‘Six weeks, the doctor said?’
‘Six weeks.’
‘Okay. I can manage that. But then I really am leaving you.’
‘You can’t do that. He’s got used to you now. He’d miss you.’
‘He’d miss me? What about you?’
‘Me? Oh yes. Me too. Well, I suppose so. Definitely a bit.’
She threw the ball for Gramsci and he swatted it with great force in my direction, bouncing it off my nose. The two of them looked at each other with satisfaction. ‘Okay, cat,’ said Federica, ‘maybe we can get used to each other.’
Dario smiled, and grabbed me around the shoulders. A little harder than I’d have liked. ‘Thanks, vecio .’
‘What for?’
‘You saved my life.’
‘Nah. You saved mine. Really.’ We all clinked bottles. ‘So Valentina and Emily are coming into town with you tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon, yep.’
‘Great. There’s an event at the Thai pavilion. I did some work for them. I can get you all tickets if you want to come along?’
He looked dubious. ‘I’m not sure it’s their sort of thing, vecio .’
I smiled. ‘Of course it is, Dario. After all, the best part of the Biennale is always the vernissage .’
Acknowledgements
The inspiration for this novel came in the summer of 2015, which I spent as part of a group performing a live reading of Marx’s Das Kapital in the central pavilion of the Venice Biennale. I would like to thank the artist Isaac Julien and the filmmaker Mark Nash for the opportunity, as well as my brilliant co-performers and friends Steven Varni, Francesco Bianchi, Jenni Lea-Jones, Jacopo Giacomoni and Ivan Matijasic.
With the exception of the non-existent Hotel Zichy all locations in this book are as described, although I have occasionally changed names. I have also taken some liberties with the location of Federica’s apartment and the San Silvestro vaporetto stop.
I would also like to thank my friend, and occasional cat-sitter, the artist Duncan Robertson, who makes wonderful art from wedding dresses and many other things; and Sergio Gallinaro for many happy hours spent discussing progressive rock music under the guise of English lessons.
Thank you to my wonderful agent John Beaton, Gregory Dowling for his support, my editor Colin Murray; Krystyna Green, Clive Hebard, Rebecca Sheppard, Jess Gulliver, Kate Hibbert and Andy Hine at Little, Brown; and, of course, my wife Caroline for her love, support and inexhaustible patience.
The Venetian Game
PHILIP GWYNNE JONES
From his office on the Street of the Assassins, Nathan Sutherland, English Honorary Consul to Venice, assists unfortunate tourists as best he can. It is a steady but unexciting life that dramatically changes when he is offered a large sum of money to look after a small package containing a prayer book illustrated by the Venetian master Giovanni Bellini.
Unknown to Nathan, from a palazzo on the Grand Canal, twin brothers Domenico and Arcangelo Moro have been playing out a complex game of art theft for twenty years. And now Nathan finds himself unwittingly drawn into their deadly business . . .
Vengeance in Venice Page 26