‘It’s a pleasure,’ he answered automatically, then quickly added, perhaps still hearing the echo of the flattery he had listened to the previous evening, ‘I’d like to be of help, if I can.’
‘Donatella was very kind to let me invite my guests to her home: there are few other people in this city who would do that. She was even kinder to bring you and Paola.’ When Brunetti started to protest, she raised a hand to silence him. ‘We were both grateful that you came,’ she said in understanding of their reluctance. ‘I wanted my other guests, the non-Venetians, to get the chance to meet some of the people whose lives might be improved by their generosity.’
Before he could speak, she waved him to one of the two chairs that afforded a view out of the windows. When they were seated, he asked, ‘Improved how, Contessa?’
‘There will be other Venetian children and grandchildren for yours to go to school with, and perhaps the whole place won’t fall down so soon.’
‘That’s not an expression of optimism, if I might take the liberty of saying.’
There was a discreet knock at the door. When it opened, the same maid came into the room and asked, ‘Would your guest like tea, Contessa?’
The Contessa looked at Brunetti. ‘I’d prefer coffee.’
The maid nodded and disappeared.
‘There’s no liberty in your saying that, Commissario,’ she said, returning immediately to their conversation. ‘Mine is not an optimistic view. I think it’s the only view possible.’
‘And yet you go to the trouble of providing dinner for wealthy foreigners in hopes that they will contribute to your foundation?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Donatella told me you were direct,’ she said. ‘I like that. I don’t have time to waste.’
‘Was your time wasted last night?’ he asked, though it was none of his business.
‘No, not at all. The banker is eager to join and has offered to underwrite a restoration project.’
‘Of the mosaics?’ Brunetti asked.
Her mouth opened. ‘How did you learn about that?’ she asked.
‘Paying attention to what people say.’
‘Indeed,’ she whispered and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘After dinner, when you had coffee, you heard them talking, didn’t you?’
‘It would have been difficult not to, Contessa,’ Brunetti answered, reluctant to have this woman form the idea that he was a snoop.
She laughed out loud. ‘She also said you were not a fool.’
‘I can’t be if I want to survive in my own home.’
‘Paola?’
Brunetti nodded.
‘She was a very clever child,’ the Contessa said. ‘And she’s become a very clever woman.’
The maid entered, and they stopped talking. She set a loaded tray on a side table and placed a lower table between them, then set the tray on it and left. There was a single cup of coffee, a silver sugar bowl, a spoon, two short glasses of thick cut crystal, and a bottle of whisky whose label made Brunetti stare.
The Contessa leaned forward and pushed his cup, then the sugar bowl, close to Brunetti. Then she took the bottle, broke the paper tax stamp, and opened it. She poured about two centimetres into one of the glasses and silently tilted the bottle towards him.
Brunetti nodded, and she poured the same amount into the second glass.
Brunetti pushed the coffee to one side of the tray and picked up his glass. The liquid was too precious for him to say something as banal as ‘cin cin’, and so he said, ‘Alla Sua salute’, and held his glass up to her.
‘And to your health,’ she answered and took a sip.
Brunetti did the same and thought he’d sell up everything and move to Scotland. Paola could find a job teaching, and the children would find something to do with themselves. Beg, for example.
‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Contessa?’ he asked, leaning forward to place his glass on the tray.
‘You know about my granddaughter?’ she asked.
‘I know only that she was involved in an accident some years ago, but I heard that from someone in the Questura, not from anyone in my family.’ He decided to omit telling her that someone was continuing to look for more information.
She cradled her glass in both hands. ‘You don’t need to defend your family,’ she said, ‘but I’m glad you did.’ She took a small sip and added, ‘I’ve known Donatella for more than forty years, and I’ve trusted her for most of them.’
‘Only most?’ Brunetti asked.
‘I think it’s rash to give the gift of trust to people we don’t know well.’
Brunetti reached for his glass and held it up to the light, admiring the colour. ‘The policeman in me says you’re probably right, Contessa,’ he said and took a small sip. ‘This is glorious.’ He set the glass back on the table. ‘But I assume you are going to trust me. That is, if you want to talk to me.’
‘You drink it very sparingly,’ she said, putting her glass beside his to show how much larger her sips had been.