He stopped in front of the bar where he had passed the ransom over to the mysterious thief. It was now closed and shuttered. Venice went to bed early. Then, his mind still working, he walked the few paces over the bridge and let himself into Ca’ Scacchi. The loud, uncompromising sound of big-band jazz came from the front room on the first floor. He peeped cautiously around the half-open door, not wanting to be seen. Scacchi was seated on the sofa, looking exhausted, watching Paul dance, slowly and elegantly, with a phantom partner, making certain and accurate steps upon the carpet.
Slowly, feeling weary after the long day, he went upstairs. The music was so loud it drifted along the stairwell, filling the house, even on the third floor. He walked towards his bedroom. A noise behind made him turn. Laura stood there, looking bright and sober, back in her white uniform, back on duty.
“Daniel?” she asked, full of concern. “Why are you home so early?”
He paused on the landing, and for once, Laura seemed surprised by the set of his face. “Enough!” he declared. “I’m back, and that’s all there is to it.”
“I thought,” she said, not quite smiling, but not entirely neutral either, “that perhaps you and Amy… She is so very nice and pretty. And talented too.”
“I have never once, Laura, given you the slightest reason to believe that I wish anything between Amy and myself. Yet you insist…”
Her green eyes, all sudden innocence, laughed silently back at him.
“You seem upset,” she said. “Would you like something? A drink?”
“No! I’ve had quite enough to drink for one day. For an entire month, as it happens.”
“Tea, perhaps. The English like tea, Daniel.”
“I’m aware of that.” The idea of tea was irresistible. “Yes, please. Tea.”
“I have a little kitchen. We should not disturb the gentlemen below. As you may hear through the”—she broke off and brought her voice up several decibels to produce a deafening yell down the staircase—“floor, they appear to be having a party all to themselves!”
He followed her into a large, tidy apartment which had a faint smell of perfume. The walls were plain white; the furniture was modest. A small hob and a microwave sat at one end of the room, next to the sink. A neat, square table with four chairs filled the centre, with a sofa by the wall. An open door disclosed, in the dim light of a lamp, a double bed covered in a flower-patterned quilt. Scacchi’s music rose through the floor with an insistent thump.
“Earl Grey or Darjeeling?” she asked.
“Um. Earl Grey.” He sat on the low cream sofa and watched her busy herself at the hob.
“What is the Gritti Palace like?” she asked.
“Large. And grand.”
“Is that all there is to say about it? Amy has a suite, I gather. It must be wonderful.”
“It is… not to my taste.”
“Ah.” Laura went to the table, stirred the pot briskly, and came back to sit next to him, two mugs in her hand. Downstairs, the music grew in volume: a big-band stomp. They could hear Paul’s wry laughter. Daniel did not, for one moment, wish to think of what might be happening. There had been noises in the house before which suggested the two men, in spite of their condition, remained vigorous when the occasion arose.
“Do you like jazz?” she asked, clearly unwilling to address the subject of Amy any further.
“I can’t say I’ve listened to it very much.”
“Listened?” There was a glimpse of tanned skin behind the buttons of her white coat when she spoke. Daniel began to wonder if this was a mistake. “Jazz is for dancing, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come!”
She put down her mug and beckoned him to his feet.
“I can’t dance, Laura.”
“Excellent! I’ve found something I can teach my clever Englishman!”
“I cannot…”
She tugged him upright with both hands and dragged him to the centre of the room. Downstairs, as if on cue, the music changed to a sprightly tune. Laura held out her arms. He walked forward and found himself in her loose embrace.
“Move,” she commanded.
“How?”
Her hair was newly washed and fragrant. She gazed at him, full of life, demanding action.
“Like this.”
She took them in a gentle arc, leading. He tried to follow, tripped over her feet, and found himself starting to giggle. They came to a halt by the table. There was a look of amused consternation in her gaze.
“Daniel,” Laura noted gently, “I know that the English are not known for their sense of rhythm and grace. But you’re a famous composer in the making. You should at least try.”
“Oh, don’t,” he sighed miserably. She saw the sudden worried expression on his face.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made that joke.” They stood unmoving, each with a hand on the other’s shoulder, the second to the waist. Daniel had never been this close to her before. Laura’s face, half-crooked, staring up at him, was exquisite. There were delightful lines at the corner of her mouth when she smiled. The contrast between her and the girlish Amy could not have been greater.
“She plays those notes, Laura, and thinks they’re mine. It’s the music she wants, or the mind behind it. Not me.”
The sound ended downstairs, then was replaced by a slower song. They made small, random movements around the floor.
“I don’t believe that for one moment. Though you deserve as much. I warned you all about this deception and got bawled out by Scacchi for my pains.”
“He was thinking of you, Laura,” Daniel answered, treading carefully. “I believe you’re the dearest thing to him, dearer even than Paul.”
Her eyes darkened. “If that’s so, why has he kept secrets from me? No. I must not complain. Tomorrow, he says, we will speak frankly.”
“Good…” He decided to change the subject, boldly and abruptly. “How old are you? If I may ask.”
Her eyes sparked, out of surprise, not anger. “I’m not yet thirty, and shall remain so for many a year.”
“Oh.”
She waited, until it was plain that he would go no further. “Daniel. When a man asks that question of a woman, it’s customary he makes some comment in return, not stay as silent as the grave.”
“You don’t look a day over twenty-four.”
“Liar!”
“No. I mean it. Sometimes you don’t, anyway. At other times…”
“What? Forty? Fifty? The measure of your compliment is diminishing by the second!”
“I didn’t mean it to. I think, in all honesty, Laura, that you’re a chameleon. You take the shape that suits you, be it maid or cook, elder sister or…” He checked himself. “I would never put you at forty, not even when you’re determined to be your dowdiest. Thirty-five at the most.”
She held her delicate nose in the air, as if sniffing something bad. “I have never, Daniel Forster, danced before with a man who has called me dowdy. Least of all one who comes caked in lagoon mud with the stink of bisato crudo upon his breath.”
The urge to kiss her was growing wildly at the back of his imagination. Somewhere deep in his head, he could picture them already, as if he could separate his mind from his body and become a camera on the wall, next to the small picture of the Virgin and Child hung above the microwave. Downstairs, the music stopped. Daniel and Laura came to a halt, still clinging loosely to each other.