The Wrong Way to Catch a Rake, page 5
‘I am aware, however...’
‘Try it. It’s a bit hard about the edges, but very soft in the middle.’
It took her a moment to realise he meant his name and not a dish. Or himself. She couldn’t resist trying it out.
‘Dominic.’
It was quite strange, but she felt it. A rich creaminess in the middle, bracketed by a firm yet flaky crust. She tried it again. ‘Dominic... It feels like freshly baked bread.’
His eyes narrowed, his lips parting as if she was offering a piece of that imaginary loaf. He had a beautiful mouth; his lips were sharply drawn and she liked the little lines on either side. They told her a lot about him that she didn’t think he would want people to know. They revealed the difference between the smile he showed people and the real smile he couldn’t hide. And they told her when her arrows hit home.
She blinked and looked away. The wine was more powerful than she’d realised.
They sat for a moment in silence, then he pointed his fork at her plate.
‘Eat. There’s another treat after this.’
‘I don’t know if I can handle any more treats.’
‘It is a very light treat. And inkless.’ He motioned to Matteo, who had come to stand in the doorway, wiping his hands on his apron. At Dominic’s request he grinned and nodded, and when he returned he was carrying a tray with two glasses with spoons sticking out of them. The smell of lemons preceded him.
‘Ices?’ Phoebe asked in delight.
‘Limoncello,’ Matteo said, slowly, as if she was hard of hearing.
She raised the small spoon and tasted carefully, still unsure of all these new flavours. The ice shavings bit into her tongue and the tart lemon burst in her mouth and both sensations were immediately overcome by a great wave of warmth.
If the wine had been sunset, this was sunrise, and not the slow kind, but a great bursting of yellow light over the horizon, happy and hopeful.
She moaned as it melted down her throat, a confusing mix of fire and ice.
Dominic pressed a hand to his mouth as if to stifle a laugh, but she didn’t care if she was making a fool of herself. The wine or the food or the company or everything had stripped away her defences, leaving her...happy. The kind of happy that had come in rare but precious bursts during her hardest years.
It was a long-forgotten sensation, but so real and so true her heart literally ached with it. Her eyes burned and she closed them for a moment, gathering the feeling to her like a dream about to fade upon waking.
She was grateful he didn’t speak. She was far too close to saying something regrettable.
They finished their food and ices in silence and then Matteo and Giulia came out and Phoebe gushed her pleasure and was somehow pressed into giving her word to return on Thursday, when another treat would be prepared.
It must have been the effect of the lemon liqueur and the company and her own sad little heart, but if any of them had asked her to go for a swim in the canal right now she probably would have said yes.
She watched Dominic-Domenico say his goodbyes to the lovely proprietors. She wasn’t one to find a man attractive merely because he was handsome, even extraordinarily handsome as this man undoubtedly was, but there was something about him that went beyond his looks.
Perhaps it was how he’d managed to make her do things against her will again and again. No, she corrected, not against her will. Against her better judgement, perhaps, but absolutely and utterly aligned with her will.
Dangerous, that.
She pressed aside the fumes of wine and liqueur and squid ink and admitted to herself, slowly and very reluctantly, that this man was dangerous to her in a manner she had never previously encountered. She’d let him tag along without any real resistance and she’d said yes to visiting restaurants and eating oddly coloured food, and if he asked her for something else entirely... Well, she would say no, but she had to admit she would be very tempted to say yes to that as well.
But when he joined her outside all he did was hail a passing gondolier and they slipped back into the rhythm of the city and suddenly she was on the palazzo’s jetty, her parcel held to her chest, this strange man watching her from the gondola.
‘It seems I shall see you Thursday, then, if not before. Yes?’
She swallowed and nodded and then said, ‘You needn’t—’
‘Go on,’ he interrupted. ‘I want to see you safe inside before I leave. I dare say you’re not used to spirits before noon.’
‘It was already noon when we—’
‘Are you planning to argue with me about that as well?’
She shook her head and did as she was told, walking carefully along the uneven jetty, the sun warm on her head. When she turned at the door the gondola was already pulling away, Dominic’s profile a series of hard lines against the choppy water.
Chapter Six
‘Do you know, we have been in Venice over a fortnight and I am not yet bored?’
‘I am very pleased to hear that, Milly,’ Phoebe responded. ‘Though I presume it isn’t the beauty of St Mark’s Square that is holding you enthralled at the moment.’
‘I don’t know. His name might be Mark. Or rather Marco. Isn’t he divine?’
Phoebe inspected the young man leaning against the Loggetta del Sansovino below the Campanile tower.
‘He is handsome, but then Venice seems rather blessed with handsome young men. He is a trifle young even for you, Milly.’
‘Oh, pooh. Until I need a cane to walk, youth is a matter of the mind, Phoebe dear. Thus, for example, you are at least twice my age. At least.’
‘I definitely feel so some days.’
‘Then take a page from my book and let your hair down a little. You shall shrivel into a prune if you continue at this pace. There is nothing wrong with interspersing duty with the pleasures of life. Otherwise what thoughts will you have to sustain you through suffering?’
‘I have a good life, Milly. I enjoy what we do.’
‘Well, so do I. But I enjoy other things as well. One day I shall retire from being one of Oswald’s spies and I do not wish to regret not having tasted life. I don’t mean that you must pursue physical relations with men as I do, but I would like to see you...explore yourself a little. Not merely through books. What we do for Crown and Country does not preclude that, you know.’
Phoebe sighed. ‘I have not the faintest idea what you are speaking of, Milly. And right now we ought to be wholly concentrated on why we are here.’
‘You are perfectly capable of holding two thoughts in your mind at once. I’ve seen you keep ten balls up in the air and not drop one. We have been at this for many years now. Half your life.’
Phoebe smiled. ‘Not quite. We didn’t know what Uncle Jack was about when he first took us with him on his missions. We were too awestruck to be in Vienna or Hamburg or Rome to notice anything untoward. I’m always surprised Oswald allowed him to take us with him.’
‘You know Jack; he probably didn’t ask him. And we were useful. No one suspects a man trailing behind a surly girl and a pretty widow of being a spy.’
Phoebe laughed. ‘I was surly, wasn’t I?’
‘Well, you had every right to feel wary and unsettled after we escaped from God’s Flock. But Jack knew from the start how sharp you were. Remember how he used to test your memory? “What was on the east wall under the candle sconce in the ambassador’s drawing room, Phoebe?” “What colour were the curtains in the hotel we stayed in outside Salzburg last week?”’ Milly mimicked Jack’s deep voice and Phoebe’s heart squeezed sharply around the pain.
‘I miss him.’
‘So do I, Phoebe. Sometimes I think I want to stop this life, do something else, but every other option feels...flat.’
Phoebe nodded and they stood in silence for a moment until their attention was caught by a patrol of Austrian soldiers crossing the square, resplendent in blue jackets, the sun bright on their pale hair and gilded medals. They bowed gallantly and moved on, and Milly sighed.
‘How pleased I am we had to come to Venice. Such wealth and riches fill this city. Such...stallions.’
‘Those fellows were naught next to these beauties,’ Phoebe murmured, pausing below the four bronze horses mounted on the entrance to St Mark’s Basilica. ‘Did you know they stood here for six hundred years until Napoleon looted them and placed them on the Arc de Triomphe? And before that they stood for over a thousand years in the hippodrome in Constantinople before the Venetians looted them?’
‘What a great deal of looting men engage in. How did they make their way back here, then? More looting?’
‘You could say that. The Austrians demanded their return after Napoleon was beaten at Waterloo.’
‘I wonder who will loot them next. Someone will, you know.’
‘Probably.’
‘Men.’ Milly gave a gusty sigh.
‘Come. We are here to find a way to break into von Haas’s private offices at the Procuratie, not ogle the menfolk of Venice.’
‘I am perfectly capable of doing both. But I admit our prospects don’t look good. The entrances on the square are too exposed and well-guarded and the only entrance behind is through the bridge from the royal gardens, which are fenced and gated.’
‘But they will be empty at night, which the square most certainly won’t be. I shall have to find a way to explore them.’
Milly turned to her. ‘Didn’t Mrs Banister mention that von Haas fellow will be holding a ball? Perhaps we could request a tour of the Procuratie while we’re there.’
‘The ball will take place at von Haas’s palazzo along the western side of the piazza, not here. Have you received an invitation?’
‘Not yet,’ Milly replied without much concern, then smiled wickedly at Phoebe. ‘If you wish for an invitation, I suggest you be nicer to George Clapton. As the British Consul’s son, he is certain to be invited.’
‘I am nice to everyone.’
‘I said nicer. He’s ripe for the picking, you know. All that bravado covers very thin skin. And I’ve seen him watching you when you read.’
Phoebe shuddered. ‘Have you discovered when he shall return to the Consul’s house?’
‘Not for a while, I’m afraid. Apparently since he has moved into the Gioconda he and Sir Henry are on far better terms.’
‘Hmm. Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Even of George Clapton. Still, I wonder.’
‘You are always wondering. I recommend less wondering and more enjoying. Life is short and brutish.’
Phoebe sighed and turned away from the gate. Perhaps Milly was right. Those short hours at the Schiavantis’ trattoria, the delicious food... The company of a beautiful, amusing, sad man... Those short hours had expanded well beyond the minutes counted out by any mechanical clock. It had become a memory—vivid and full of life. When she closed her eyes she could recreate the sights and tastes and textures. She would likely carry that memory for a long, long time.
Or, according to Milly, it might carry her.
‘We had best turn back,’ Milly said, her tone unusually sombre. ‘It might be a long night, as I want to see how difficult this place is to approach in the small hours. It really is absurdly exposed.’
‘Yes. I don’t know whether it would be best to come through the northern alley or by gondola. Probably on foot. Too much traffic on the canal at all hours. Perhaps we should consider a plan other than breaking into the seat of Austrian power in Venice.’
Milly glared at the building. ‘We’ve managed worse. All we need is some more information. And an opening.’
Phoebe smiled at her aunt’s determination. ‘Then let us secure both.’
They made their way back to St Mark’s Square.
‘Oh, look. Do you think they mean to arrest your friend?’ Milly asked, and nudged Phoebe. In the middle of the square the four Austrian soldiers they had seen earlier stood in earnest conversation with Lord Wrexham. Amid the flaxen heads, his dark hair with its auburn lights looked even more devilish. Then the soldiers burst into laughter and one of them clapped Wrexham on the shoulder, and Milly gave a sigh of relief. ‘Not today at least.’
‘He would probably be safer in gaol than loose upon the town,’ Phoebe muttered.
‘Oh, I doubt he would stay inside long enough to make a difference. Some romantic or besotted soul would secure his release. Besides, we know that unless men like him wish to change, no outside force can set them down a safer path.’
As they watched, Wrexham slipped his silver flask and drank from it before offering it to the soldiers. There was more laughing and some discreet shrugging in the direction of the long building along the south side of the piazza where von Haas and his Austrian government held sway over the city.
The soldiers continued northwards and Wrexham remained where he was, but his gaze transferred to watch Milly and her, as if he’d known all along they were there. As he stood directly in their path to the Palazzo Gioconda they would have to greet him, and, though it hardly mattered, Phoebe felt an inner resistance, a sensation that usually beset her when something ahead was amiss. But Milly had already looped her arm through Phoebe’s and there was nothing for it but to proceed.
They had hardly gone three steps when another small group of men exited the imperial headquarters. Phoebe immediately recognised von Haas and wondered if he would acknowledge them. After her impassioned defence of his intelligence at the Gioconda only a couple days earlier it would be a tad embarrassing if Wrexham saw von Haas pass her by without even a nod. She could see the calculation enter Wrexham’s gaze, a faint, malicious smile as the Austrians approached. Phoebe steeled herself for embarrassment. Von Haas’s gaze slipped over them, moved on, and back. He stopped.
‘Lady Grafton, Miss Brimford.’
They stopped as well. Wholly disproportionate relief flowed through Phoebe and she smiled. ‘Good morning, Herr von Haas.’
‘What a pleasure to meet you again, Herr von Haas,’ Milly crooned and he nodded to her, but directed his rather stiff smile at Phoebe. ‘You are exploring, yes? Did you indeed visit San Trovaso as we discussed?’
‘I did and I am very grateful for your advice,’ Phoebe replied with unfeigned enthusiasm. ‘I don’t believe I would have found that wonderful Tintoretto tucked away in the chapel otherwise.’
He bowed and managed another smile, a little wider this time. ‘You have been visiting St Mark’s just now?’
‘No, we have just been to peek through the gate of the Giardini Reali. I was reading about Signor Santi’s fine work there and was curious.’
His smile faded. ‘The gardens are not open to the public.’
‘Oh, we know. It was pure curiosity. And seeing Acerboni’s gate was reward enough.’
Milly sighed. ‘My dear Phoebe, I am certain Herr von Haas is not as interested in gates as you are.’
‘But I am, Lady Grafton,’ von Haas interpolated with a short bow that was as stern as his words. ‘Boundaries are power. Fortifications, gates, laws. These comprise the skeleton and skin of any nation. They are a statement more than any of the medals those fellows wear.’ He jerked his chin in the direction of the soldiers who had exited the building with him and were now speaking with Lord Wrexham further along the square. There was almost disdain in von Haas’s voice, as if their medals were no more than child’s playthings, disconnected from the valour they implied. Perhaps they were. They did seem to be wearing a great many for men so young.
‘I never thought of it in those terms, Herr von Haas,’ Phoebe said diffidently. ‘But I quite see what you mean. Borders and their manifestations may define nations even more than they protect them. A gate is never merely a gate.’
His smile returned but was promptly tucked away as he answered her in all seriousness. ‘Precisely, Miss Brimford. Signor Acerboni is the finest ironsmith in Veneto. The gate, his gift to the empire, created directly after our defeat of Bonaparte, was not a trivial matter.’
‘Indeed not. I shall admire it with renewed interest next I see it. Thank you again for your insight on this wondrous city, Herr von Haas.’
‘It is my pleasure to discuss it, Miss Brimford. Lady Grafton.’ He bowed once more, and just as Phoebe expected him to continue on his way he turned back.
‘I might perhaps be able to arrange a visit. To the gardens. If it interests you.’
His clipped words might have sounded discouraging, but Phoebe held gently onto the rope.
‘It would interest me very much, Herr von Haas, but I am well aware that your duties here in Venice are many and heavy. I would not presume to add to them.’
‘I would not consider it a duty, Miss Brimford. Not in the least. Good day.’ With another curt bow he strode off.
Milly stood fanning herself gently, her gaze following the tall, well-built form.
‘My, my,’ she murmured. ‘I have underestimated the potent seductive powers of meekness when laced with politics and art. Clever little Phoebe.’
‘Hush,’ Phoebe said as they moved forward. The soldiers around Wrexham nodded, a couple of them eyeing Milly with the hungry eyes Phoebe had seen so often. Milly smiled and hummed, but did not stop, trailing promise behind her like scent. Wrexham detached himself from the group and, to Phoebe’s surprise, fell into step with them.
Milly smiled at him. ‘You seem friendly with half the Austrian garrison, Lord Wrexham.’
‘They are friendly with my poor purse. That short fellow with the cowlick won a hundred guineas from me last night.’
‘Oh, dear, I do hope your pockets are not completely to let.’
‘They are considering taking in tenants.’
‘I do not doubt the list of hopeful lodgers shall be prodigious and varied.’
Phoebe saw his smile and eyes turn predatory as they often did before he let loose one of his particularly poisonous arrows. She knew Milly could more than meet his thrusts, but she didn’t want the two of them at war.
