‘As soon as we have the permission. We’re hoping to have it in a few months,’ Vittori-Ricciardi answered. The Englishman, Brunetti reflected, would hear ‘few months’ and not ‘we’re hoping’ and have no idea how much closer to the truth the second was than the first.
A silence fell. Vittori-Ricciardi linked his arm with the other man’s, trying but, Brunetti thought, failing to make it seem a spontaneous gesture and succeeding only in startling the other man, who pulled his arm free. They disappeared, followed slowly by the woman, through a door that led to the salone that held the painted beams, one of the architectural details for which the palazzo was known.
Paola and her mother surprised him by appearing almost immediately through the same door, Paola bringing with her the promise of escape. As she came towards him, she extended her right hand in a gesture rich in supplication. ‘Get us out of here, please, Guido. Tell Demetriana you have to go and arrest someone.’
‘I live to serve,’ said a modest Brunetti, and led them into the other room to say their farewells to Contessa Lando-Continui, whom they found standing alone in the middle of her friend’s salone as comfortably as if it had been her own. There followed an exchange of kisses; Paola and her mother left the room, leaving Brunetti alone with Contessa Lando-Continui.
Before he could thank her for the invitation, she placed a hand on his arm. ‘Donatella’s spoken to you?’
‘Yes, she has.’
‘I’d like to talk to you as a policeman and as a member of her family,’ she said, speaking slowly, as if to convey some special message.
‘I’ll try to do my best,’ Brunetti said. He thought she’d ask him which was more important, but she merely added pressure to his arm and asked, ‘Can you come to see me tomorrow?’ A contessa did not take the vaporetto and then walk along to the Questura.
‘Tomorrow afternoon?’ he suggested.
‘I’ll be at home.’
‘About five?’
She nodded, shook his hand, and turned to the lord, who had come to take his leave.
A few minutes later, Brunetti and Paola were at the bottom of the bridge in front of the university. ‘It’s good to walk after a meal,’ Brunetti said, hoping to deflect any discussion of the evening. He said nothing about his last conversation. They paused briefly at the top of the bridge to see what the firemen were up to. Nothing.
Summer had given way to autumn a few days before, and the flocks of tourists had begun their autumn migration. There was no one in Campo San Polo; all the bars were already shuttered; even the pizzeria over at the far end was closed.
‘What did the banker have to say?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Quite a lot,’ Paola answered. ‘After a time, I stopped listening and tried to nod when I thought it was necessary.’
‘Did he notice?’
‘Oh, no,’ Paola said simply. ‘They never do.’
‘They?’
‘Men who know everything. There’s quite a few of them. All a woman who has to listen to them needs to do is look interested and nod now and again. I use the time trying to remember poetry.’
‘Am I one of them?’ Brunetti asked.
Paola studied his face. ‘You know me all these years and you can still ask that question?’ When Brunetti did not answer, she said, ‘No, you are not one of them. You know a lot, but you never act like you know everything.’
‘And if I did?’
‘Oh,’ she said and started walking again. ‘Divorce is so troublesome, I’d probably look interested and nod at you all the time.’
‘And try to remember poetry?’
‘Exactly.’
They reached the calle that led to their home. For some reason, he thought of how Venice had been when they were children, when few people locked their doors: certainly his family never had. But then, he realized, his family had never had anything worth stealing. In front of the door he took out his keys. But before he opened the door, he put an arm around Paola’s shoulders and bent to kiss the top of her head.
2
The next morning, when Brunetti and Vianello went down to the bar at Ponte dei Greci for a coffee, Brunetti found himself telling the Inspector about some of the people at the dinner, first among them Contessa Lando-Continui herself. Brunetti recounted her comments about the sad changes to the city and then told Vianello how she had been struck silent by the flattery of one of her guests.