The Venetian Venture Page 14
Felix gave another shrug. ‘Not being a professional lifeguard I wouldn’t know – met his match I suppose. Short of breath, got cramp, water too wet or something …’
Cedric interrupted and proceeded to give a detailed résumé of his doubts.
At first Felix was unconvinced; it all sounded just a teeny bit speculative … But then of course Cedric was good at speculation, his forte one might say. There was that time, only a few months ago, when Cedric’s speculations had proved only too right and his instinct for danger fully justified. Goodness, hadn’t that had been a lucky stroke!
‘Well he’s not my type of course,’ he replied, ‘far too hearty; and does he have to wear that absurd cap all the time? Though I notice he did remove it before flinging himself in the canal. However, I suppose I can’t really hold—’
‘Hold your prejudices against him? My dear Felix, if every person you held a prejudice against were proved a murderer the scaffold-makers would be in clover!’ Cedric gave a series of thin chuckles and topped up their glasses. ‘But seriously dear friend, bias apart, do you think there could be something in it?’
Felix swirled his cocktail stick and mused. ‘On the whole,’ he said slowly, ‘from what you’ve been saying I should think there could be a fair amount in it. But,’ he added hastily, ‘there’s nothing we can do or indeed should. The last thing we want is to get ourselves embroiled in such matters. I haven’t recovered from that other business yet!’ He closed his eyes and shuddered in recollection. ‘We’re here on holiday – and after all I do have my Royal Appointment to think of: when you’ve got one of those warrants stuck over your door it doesn’t do to be linked with the indecorous, however remotely. Besides, there’s the dog’s welfare to consider.’
‘Oh absolutely,’ agreed Cedric. They studied Caruso comatose under his musical canopy, scuppered by the recent exertions and his guardian’s solicitude.
The dog’s welfare notwithstanding, the subject was inevitably resumed at supper.
‘Do you think Rosy has got similar thoughts?’ Felix asked.
‘I doubt it. Miss Gilchrist is not the suspicious type, and besides I imagine she is still agitating over the errant book – which actually may be just as well; she was pretty cut up about the young man and I don’t think all that police and press questioning helped. She looked distinctly woebegone. In fact at some point I suppose we ought to telephone and enquire how she is.’
Felix agreed; and then confessed that after Cedric’s conjectures he was actually rather more interested in how Bill Hewson was.
‘Probably lying doggo in his studio and planning his next move – a low-key departure from Venice I imagine … always assuming that there’s truth in my theory of course.’
‘Huh! Truth or not, he’s more likely playing the modest hero in Harry’s Bar and guzzling bellinis bought by the paparazzi. Shall we drop in later for a nightcap?’
Cedric laughed. ‘For one so fearful of getting involved you do seem to be showing an avid curiosity.’
‘It’s the quizzical mind,’ Felix asserted airily. ‘It goes with the flair for flowers and all things rare.’ He sleeked his spiky hair with a gesture that Ivor Novello might have envied. ‘And you are right, I do not want to get involved – but there’s no harm in a little spectating. Besides, if Hewson is going around drowning people it’s as well to be on the qui vive!’
Cedric looked at him sternly. ‘Do not anticipate the facts. My idea admittedly, but when all is said and done it is only a hunch as the Americans would say. Or, as I would prefer to say, a reasonable interpretation as viewed from the man on top of the Clapham omnibus – or in this case from the canal bank. There’s no tangible proof, all circumstantial; and as for motive, well that might be anyone’s guess!’
‘Yes but you have a gut feeling.’
Cedric took a sip of wine and considered. ‘On the whole I like to think that my feelings originate in my mind rather than my entrails.’
‘In that case,’ replied Felix briskly, ‘let’s get down pronto to the Calle Vallaresso and see what’s cooking; that’s bound to supply some mental stimulus.’
‘Well I’m not sure—’
‘Come on!’
In fact to Felix’s disappointment Harry’s Bar was virtually empty and with certainly no sign of the American. They should have come earlier. Therefore opting instead for the gaiety of an evening with Pucci & Paolo they were about to leave, when a voice hailed them from the corner behind the door.
‘Why it’s the Professor and Mr Smythe isn’t it!’ a grey-haired lady exclaimed. She beamed and beckoned. ‘Duffy will be back in a jiffy, she’s just gone to the loo. But where’s handsome Caruso? He’s such a good boy! Don’t you just love him?’
‘Not entirely,’ said Cedric taking the extended hand. ‘How nice to see you again, but actually we only just looked in on our way home; we’re not stay—’
‘Oh but you must stay! Come and sit down.’ She patted the place beside her and directed Felix to pull up a chair. ‘It’s Duffy’s turn and she won’t be long, so order anything you like.’ She gestured to the barman and despite the proffered choice cried, ‘Our guests will have brandies, Marco. Nice ones please!’
The brandies were duly brought, large and golden, and her twin returned from the loo. More handshakes and jolly greetings.
‘Well now, dear friends,’ began one, ‘what news on—’
‘—the Rialto?’ finished the other.
There was a brief pause as Felix and Cedric adjusted to the dual approach. ‘Er, well actually things have been a bit fraught,’ ventured Cedric. ‘You see just recently a rather awful thing happened – to that young Edward Jones we met here.’
‘Indeed it did. We’ve heard all about it from poor Guy this morning. He’s most upset, blames himself for not having stayed,’ the twin on the left said.
‘But we didn’t know you were involved,’ chimed the one on the right.
‘Oh we weren’t involved,’ said Felix quickly, ‘helpless bystanders merely.’
‘It was Bill Hewson who was the hero of the hour, a remarkable effort,’ Cedric added. ‘But alas he couldn’t quite pull it off.’
‘Yes such bad luck!’ they chanted in unison. And then Dilly (or Duffy) picked up Cedric’s cue: ‘You’d have thought Bill could have managed it if anyone. According to that friend of his who came to stay he did something terribly valiant in the war. A troop ship went down in the Atlantic with tremendous loss of life but Bill was responsible for rescuing at least three of the seamen: dived in and somehow towed them to the dinghies, and I gather conditions were frightful – icy water and monstrous waves. Still he was a lot younger in those days. Anno Domini – it catches up with us all in the end.’ She turned to Cedric: ‘Don’t you find?’ (Cedric didn’t find, or chose not to, and feeling slightly nettled said nothing.)
‘I say,’ giggled her sister, ‘talking of things naval do you remember that rather peculiar rear admiral who had the hots for you in ’forty-one? Or was it for me? One was never quite sure.’ She paused. ‘Actually I don’t think he was too clear either.’
‘You mean old Desmond? Oh yes, wasn’t he awful! But a U-Boat got him in the end. So sad …’
‘Dreadful days,’ interrupted Felix hastily. ‘But tell me, what about poor Edward Jones? You don’t think it could have been suicide do you?’
Pulled back abruptly to the present the ladies stared at Felix and then at each other. ‘Oh no,’ was the collective cry, ‘far too self-centred!’
‘True he may have been unhinged, it runs in the family,’ observed the greyer of the two; ‘but when it came to Number One and pursuit of lolly Edward was clarity itself. Survival of “me” was the name of the game with that young man. Even Lucia complained. Tried to touch her for his bar bill only the other day but she stood firm. He didn’t like it … I wonder how she is.’ The placid eyes showed only mild concern.
‘Doubtless surviving,’ replied her sister dryly.
‘Doubtless.’
‘Hmm. Yes you could say that. Not our sort really: what our parents would have called showy and snooty. Isn’t that so, Dilly?’
The other nodded vigorously. ‘Exactly dear. Snooty and showy! And of course although it is all very tragic and one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I have to say that Edward could be really very bold.’ She leant towards Cedric dropping her voice: ‘Do you know he was sacked from school for blackmailing his housemaster. Imagine! Some minor breach I gather, but Edward had the effrontery to demand money with menaces as the saying goes. There was an awful shindig though I don’t think he cared one jot. Bold as brass … Still, poor boy, he won’t be doing that any more.’
The pair gave a collective sigh and stared pensively at their wine. Cedric and Felix felt it was time to leave.
‘Rescued sailors from the storm-torn Atlantic and yet couldn’t fish out that youth from a sleepy canal in Venice,’ Felix exclaimed. ‘Sounds pretty rum to me!’
‘Yes, yes it does rather,’ Cedric agreed. ‘But as you rightly said it has nothing to do with us … Perhaps tomorrow after we have phoned Rosy Gilchrist a little potter on the Lido might be congenial: a tribute to Mann’s Aschenbach as it were.’
‘Hmm,’ said Felix doubtfully, ‘and he came to a sticky end too.’
‘Then we must avoid the deckchairs.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next day Felix had persuaded Cedric to accompany Caruso and himself to the flower market before embarking on their visit to the Lido. ‘We don’t need to get there before midday,’ he had said, ‘and the gardenias in the salon need refreshing. We can leave the dog at home when we go off but he really ought to be given a walk first.’ Cedric had agreed, and the three of them set out to garner the flowers and inspect the fish on the nearby stalls. Caruso wasn’t fond of fish (Felix had tried him) but for some reason seemed to like its smell. Thus he trundled along amiably, sniffing the air and grunting approval.
As they neared one of their favourite cafés Felix suggested they went in for an espresso. ‘Huh,’ Cedric said, ‘I doubt if you’ll stop at an espresso; bound to want one of those almond cream things you are always drooling over.’
‘I might,’ retorted his friend carelessly. ‘Got to line my stomach for lunch somehow, it doesn’t do to drink on empty. Besides the dog needs a rest, hasn’t found its second wind yet.’
He pulled the animal towards the café. And as he stood hovering on the pavement debating which would be better, an inside or outside table, a tall figure appeared in the doorway. It was Guy Hope-Landers.
He greeted them enthusiastically. ‘I say what a happy coincidence! I saw you from the window. Giving the hound its constitutional I see. Do come and join us.’ He laughed loudly and before they had a chance to say yea or nay had hustled them in through the open door.
Cedric was a trifle surprised at such early morning effusions and wondered who the other parts of the ‘us’ would be. He saw immediately. It was Lucia Borgino. She was sitting at a corner table swathed unrelievedly in black; skin luminously pale (thick eyeliner, no lipstick) and looking immensely stylish. She also looked immensely peeved to see the newcomers. Presumably her companion’s welcoming rush to the door had not been her idea.
Feeling rather uncomfortable Cedric and Felix took their seats at the table. Felix bent down to the floor and made great play of settling the dog and tying its lead to the leg of his chair – and then untying it and starting again. By absorbing himself in such essential manoeuvres he was able to leave the task of commiseration to Cedric.
The latter discharged his duty deftly and kindly but his words were clearly of scant interest to Lucia. ‘Most thoughtful,’ she murmured indifferently, and proceeded to give orders to the waitress about the level of froth on her cappuccino.
A pencil and folded copy of The Times lay in Hope-Landers’ place; and having completed his fumblings with the leash and chair leg Felix noticed this and was rather shocked. Was the man still filling in clues at this delicate time? No wonder the Borgino woman looked sour! But then he saw sticking out from under the newspaper a notebook. Its owner must have seen his glance, for picking it up he said, ‘It’s bad enough Lucia having to cope with the awfulness of the tragedy itself but there are so many functional matters to attend to as well. We’ve been trying to list some of the more pressing ones, or at least I have. Poor Lucia is still rather too numbed to concern herself with practicalities.’
‘He means shipping the corpse and paying the creditors,’ the numbed sister said with startling brutality. ‘All that boring business.’ She turned to the other: ‘I keep telling you, Guy, grandfather and his solicitors are dealing with the whole of that palaver. He likes doing it, increases his sense of power. And the executors have already fixed the funeral – a service at Paddington Crematorium I believe. Something quick and quiet. The last thing one wants is to hear some lugubrious priest prosing on endlessly … In fact the only thing that I have got to do is to decide on the flowers. Grandfather says that should be my responsibility though I really can’t see why.’ She looked at Felix. ‘You’re some sort of florist aren’t you? Manage a shop or something I gather. What do you suggest – or doesn’t your firm service the funeral trade?’
Hope-Landers’ face showed a look of mild dismay and Cedric froze. The dismissive tone had been gratuitously insolent and he knew Felix would be incensed. The Royal Appointment’s gilded lettering flashed before his eyes and he shot a covert glance at his friend trying to gauge his reaction and expecting to see the familiar flush of fury. He just hoped the retort would not be too violent.
Felix (who as predicted had succumbed to the almond gateau) laid down his fork and with face unflushed appeared to cogitate. And then he said: ‘I do indeed manage a shop, Mrs Borgia, and funerals are absolutely my forte. And as to your brother’s, I would strongly recommend pansies – pink pansies. In fact the pinker the better. Couldn’t be more fitting.’ And smiling primly he returned to the almond cream.
There was an explosive silence during which Cedric noted Hope-Landers’ mouth twitch gently, while Lucia gazed at Felix in unconcealed anger. But there was nothing she could say and he continued to sample his cake with dedicated relish.
‘I don’t think she likes you,’ said Cedric thoughtfully as they retraced their steps through the flower market.
‘She’s not meant to,’ replied Felix with satisfaction. ‘I can’t think why Guy Hope-Landers wastes his time with such an arrogant bitch.’
‘He’s useful to her as an escort and is too good-natured, or too lazy, to ditch her. Some men are like that: they let things ride – a tiresome state of affairs but less painful than the trauma of confrontation.’
‘So I suppose that’s why your marriage lasted for the five years it did. Too idle and good natured to get out of it?’
Cedric stopped abruptly. ‘My dear Felix,’ he protested, ‘surely you are not accusing me of being good-natured are you?’
‘You? Good lord no. Banish the thought!’
Bearing a large golden bream and bunches of gardenias the two men and their dog ambled back to the Palazzo Reiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It would be strange not to have her brother continuously loitering in the background, mused Lucia. It wasn’t that she had disliked him exactly; merely that he had been such a source of annoyance. A liability too: one was never quite sure what jam he was going to get into next or who he was going to offend. She thought grimly of the blackmailing episode at his school when he had put the frighteners on that ridiculous little housemaster. There had been an awful hullaballoo and he had been expelled. It wasn’t the expulsion as such that had mattered but its repercussions. It was when she had been invited to stay in a rather grand house in Wiltshire and had her eye on the hostess’s son. When the lady learnt of her brother’s expulsion and its cause the invitation had been hastily withdrawn. The memory still rankled.
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And then there had been the time when he had approached her then current beau for money: had brazenly tapped him on the shoulder when the two of them had been getting rather snug in the tool shed, and said: ‘My sister doesn’t come cheap you know. How about a few fivers?’ The swain had fled never to be seen again … Yes he really had been such a little beast!
The more Lucia dwelt on Edward’s failings and his talent to annoy the more incensed she became, and the more quickly any incipient pain over his loss evaporated. The whole thing was still very shocking of course but it was also strangely liberating. In fact without the nagging fear of Edward fouling things up she could now proceed unencumbered to pursue Guy and the title. Not that there was much money there of course; but play her cards right and her grandfather might help – although that was by no means certain. So tight-fisted!
She frowned and then gave a little smile. Actually there was always the possibility of finding that Horace book, the one that Edward had been engaged to get hold of. After all, as she had explained to him, she knew exactly where that Murano vase was – or where it certainly had been the last time she was at Bill’s studio. Secure that and she was half way to fortune. And the other half? Well Carlo might still have his uses. He had been rather cagey the last time she had enquired of the book, when Edward was pursuing it; in fact he had been tiresomely vague. She would have another go and pin him down; he was bound to know something. She could also try Lupino when he elected to open his shop again.
Of course it would be just her luck for that British Museum woman to have already found the thing and whisked it off to London; though presumably if that were the case those two friends of hers would surely have said something in the café the other day. She pictured the two men. She hadn’t liked them from the start, when Guy had first introduced them on the Accademia Bridge – not one tiny bit. And now she liked them even less, especially the flower seller: such a sardonic little face. And how appallingly rude he had been. Totally unwarranted! Why Guy felt he had to be so civil to them she had no idea. Things would certainly change once she had got him to propose and she had the title: he would be steered away from such obnoxious nonentities!