‘I’m curious about why he thinks it necessary to flatter her so,’ was the best answer Brunetti could provide.
The Contessa smiled and asked, ‘Is it being a policeman that makes you suspicious of human motives?’ She spoke naturally now that the conversation was more general and individual voices were covered by the others.
Before Brunetti could answer, Contessa Lando-Continui set down her spoon and, glancing at her friend at the other end of the table as if for permission, announced, ‘I think coffee will be served in the salone.’ Sandro Vittori-Ricciardi got immediately to his feet and moved around behind her chair to pull it back for her. The Contessa stood and nodded her thanks, allowed him to take her arm, and moved off towards the salone. She passed through the door that led from the dining room towards the front of the palazzo, the guests falling into a disorderly line behind her.
Palazzo Falier provided a view of what in Venice were considered not particularly distinguished palazzi on the other side of the Grand Canal. Some of the guests, unaware of their mediocrity, exclaimed at their beauty.
Brunetti took his mother-in-law’s arm as they walked to the other room, where they went to stand next to Paola. Brunetti saw the coffee, sitting on an inlaid onyx table. Sugar, he noted, but no milk, which might explain why only the Italians were drinking it.
Seeing that Vittori-Ricciardi was deep in conversation with the banker and his companion, Brunetti moved slowly over to one of the windows and stood just within hearing distance of them.
‘It’s another part of our heritage that’s being destroyed by time,’ the Venetian was saying.
‘If it’s such a small island, why’s it so important?’ the banker asked.
‘Because it’s one of the first places where people lived and built: the earliest ruins are from the seventh century. The church – the one with the mosaics – is older than most of the churches in Venice.’ From the energy with which Vittori-Ricciardi spoke, he could have been talking about events that had taken place last year, or last week.
‘And that’s what you’re asking us to restore?’ The banker sounded less than fully persuaded that this was a good idea.
‘To help restore; yes.’ The Venetian reached aside to set down his cup, turned back to the others and told them, ‘There’s a mosaic of the Last Judgement, and we’re afraid there’s water coming in somewhere behind it. We need to find the source of the water and stop it.’
‘What’s so special about it?’ the Englishman inquired.
The answer was a long time coming, and Brunetti read the pause as a sign of Vittori-Ricciardi’s exasperation with the question. No sign of that was audible, however, when he answered, ‘If we don’t intervene, it could be destroyed.’
‘You aren’t sure?’
Brunetti took a step away from them and set his cup and saucer down on a table, then turned back to the window to give his undivided attention to the study of the opposite fa?ades.
‘Yes, we’re sure. But to prove it, we need to get behind the mosaic, into the structure of the wall, and it takes a long time to get permission for something like that. It has to come from Rome,’ Brunetti heard Vittori-Ricciardi say. A note of pained resignation slipped into his voice. ‘We’ve been waiting five years for an answer from Rome.’
‘Why does it take so long?’ the banker asked, making Brunetti wonder if this were his first visit to Italy.
‘There’s a commission – the Belle Arti – that has to approve restorations. You need their permission before you can touch anything as precious as this.’ Vittori-Ricciardi’s explanation made it sound like a sane system, Brunetti had to admit.
‘You’re not going to damage it: they ought to know that,’ the banker insisted. His tone demonstrated that he was struggling to understand.
‘Their job is to keep unauthorized people from damaging art objects,’ Vittori-Ricciardi told him.
‘Or stealing them?’ the woman asked, leading Brunetti to suspect she had spent more time in Italy than her companion.
Brunetti glanced aside just in time to see the thin moustache turn up at both ends as Vittori-Ricciardi gave a stiff smile. ‘It’s rather hard to steal a mosaic.’
‘So when will we be able to take a look at it?’ This from the banker.
‘If you’ll tell me when you’re free, we could go out this week.’
‘When can work begin?’ the Englishman asked, ignoring the previous exchange. Brunetti was curious about the expression with which the law professor’s face would greet her partner’s question, but he kept his attention directed across the Canal, quite as if these other people were speaking a language he did not understand.