“He comes!” Laura cried. “Daniel! Look!”
The low blue form of the Sophia cut a steady, straight line through the canal traffic, the large bulk of Piero upright at the tiller in the rear. At the prow Xerxes stood smugly erect, nose in the air, mouth open, pink tongue lolling lazily to one side. Daniel was grateful to find himself gripped by a sudden fit of the giggles.
“What’s so funny?” Laura demanded.
“I was wondering what Amy will make of all this. It will be a little different from our trip with Massiter.”
“Amy must take us as she finds us.”
Daniel gave her a sharp look. “You’ll behave, won’t you? She’s our star violinist.”
She seemed taken aback. “I always behave!”
He did not reply. The Sophia was making a sharp cut into the jetty. Xerxes eyed the planking, chose his moment, then leapt with precise timing onto land and began to sniff at the picnic baskets.
“Rope!” Piero yelled. Laura caught the end before Daniel began to realise what was needed, tethered the boat, then helped Scacchi and Paul on board. Xerxes watched the humans clamber onto the Sophia with their customary lack of elegance, eyeing this escapade with disparaging canine bewilderment, then sprang in at the last moment. Within the space of five minutes, they were in place, with provisions, turned round in the canal, and setting back towards San Marco, where Amy would be picked up as previously arranged. They had assumed — automatically, it seemed — the same positions they had on that first trip from the airport: Paul and Scacchi together in the prow, Daniel next to Laura on the left-hand side of the boat. Xerxes seemed more interested in the food baskets than the tiller at this moment, but soon abandoned them to be petted by Paul.
They entered the long bend of the canal which the locals called simply the volta. The curious mansion Laura had pointed out emerged on the right.
“There’s your palace,” Daniel said, pointing.
“It’s not my palace,” she objected.
Scacchi overheard. “Explain, Laura. I didn’t know you were familiar with Ca’ Dario.”
“I’m not. Daniel makes up fairy stories.”
“But you told me—!”
“I said,” she interrupted, “that it was just the foolish fancy of a child.”
“Out with it!” Scacchi ordered. “Let’s probe your psyche, dear.”
She glared at Daniel, blaming him for this turn of conversation. “There’s precious little to tell. I was a child. It was the day of my confirmation. I was dressed in white and it was carnival, so everyone was in costume too. The vaporetto went past that place and I looked up, seeing in a second-floor window”—she pointed very deliberately—“that one, a face. Which frightened the stupid little girl I was then.”
“Ah,” Scacchi announced triumphantly. “A carnival figure? The plague doctor, no doubt. Don’t be ashamed, Laura. That long nose and those white cheeks scare us all. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“It wasn’t the plague doctor. Or any of the others. It was something else.” She fell silent.
“Well?” Scacchi probed.
“It was a man. With his hands and his face covered in blood. He was staring through the window, looking straight at our boat, seemingly straight at me, screaming. As if he had just witnessed the most terrible thing in the world.”
Scacchi raised an eyebrow. “Your confirmation dress wasn’t that bad, surely? I know the Venetian ladies like to adorn their little darlings, but…”
Laura reached into one of the hampers, withdrew a croissant, and launched it through the air. Before it could strike the intended target, Xerxes leapt skywards from Paul’s lap with infallible accuracy, caught it in his jaws, and began to devour the pastry greedily. The occupants of the moto topo Sophia were reduced to an immediate bout of laughter, ended only by Scacchi’s weak cry of “Spritz! For the love of God. Spritz!”
“No,” Laura replied curtly. “It’s too early. And you’ve been wicked.”
“As you see fit,” he murmured, and was content when she handed out glasses of mineral water with the admonishment “I don’t want Daniel’s friend to believe we’re a bunch of drunks.”
Daniel saw she wished to change the subject, but he wanted one last question answered. “So what do you think you saw, Laura?”
She thought about her reply. “Some carnival nonsense. Or perhaps it was some kind of hallucination. I was a child, Daniel, as I continue to remind you. My mother never saw anything, nor did anyone else on the boat. All they knew was that they suddenly had a screaming girl in their midst.”
“Of course.” He hesitated. She never spoke of her past. He knew nothing about her life outside Ca’ Scacchi at all, it occurred to him. “What did she do, your mother?”
The sharp green eyes flared. “Work.”
“And your father?”
“Drink. When he was still alive.”
The two men in the prow watched them, seeming uncomfortable, then fell into a low conversation of their own.
“I see,” Daniel said.
“Do you?”
“No. I…I’m sorry, Laura. I didn’t mean to pry. I just wondered who you are when you’re not looking after us.”
“I’m just a simple, boring servant, Daniel, who is both lucky and cursed by the fact that my masters appear to be my children too. My past is as dull as the water in this canal.”
“And your future?” He felt as if he were pressing her too much, but insisted in any case.
“The present is full of enough cares, don’t you think?”
He was about to answer when she pointed to the jetty. They were fast approaching San Marco, and the Sophia was headed directly for the landing stage where they had joined Massiter’s boat. Amy stood there, not yet seeing them. She wore, Daniel was dismayed to see, a cream silk dress and a floppy white hat to keep off the sun. She looked as if she were prepared to be a guest at a society wedding, not spend a few hours on the grubby planks of the Sophia, then disembark to deal with whatever bucolic pleasures Piero had arranged on Sant’ Erasmo.
“Oh, dear,” he sighed.
She slapped him hard on the knee. “And you ask if I’ll behave! You will be an English gentleman, my boy, or I’ll want to know why.”
“This wasn’t my idea,” he muttered, then stood up, broke into a broad smile, and greeted Amy from the low-slung Sophia as it hacked towards the jetty. Scacchi rose, too, and announced to everyone, including the tourists who lounged by the jetty, “It’s Amy Hartston, the famous American violinist. Behold! Applause!” And smacked his leathery hands together until a fair number of those in the vicinity joined in.
Amy’s tanned cheeks turned a darker shade. Daniel wished he could see her eyes. She wore large sunglasses of the Italian kind. They did not suit her. He held out his hand and let her step, very gingerly, into the boat, then take a seat opposite Laura, amid the introductions.
“Spritz!” Scacchi declared. “Spritz!”
Laura remained seated, wearing a wry grin, and lightly pushed Daniel in the chest as he lowered himself to join her. A single flash of her eyes gave him the message. He crossed the boat and sat next to Amy, who daintily arranged the silk hem of her dress around her legs, watched by the puzzled Xerxes. Drinks were duly served.