The Venetian Venture (18 page)

He walked over from the doorway and gave Hewson’s body a tentative prod with his foot.

‘Sorry about that Rosy,’ he said, ‘must have given you a shock. Are you all right?’

She nodded speechless as he took her arm and guided her to a chair. The next moment Felix appeared followed by Caruso. The dog looked disgruntled as well it might. He had been woken from his dreams and his bones in the downstairs lavatory. Felix too looked ruffled, his hair sticking up and his suit dishevelled. Rosy closed her eyes. ‘Why were you so long?’ she breathed.

‘Long? It’s amazing I’m here at all!’ he protested. ‘I have been trussed up like a chicken in Guy’s apartment in a most demeaning position. We’ve only just got out. It’s been most disturbing!’ His voice held a querulous note.

Rosy sighed wearily. ‘Yes, I’ve been fairly disturbed myself.’ She looked down at Hewson’s hulk and shuddered. ‘Can somebody cover him up please, it’s not very nice.’ She felt no sympathy, only disgust and residual fear.

Hope-Landers took the rug from the sofa and threw it over him. He looked at Felix. ‘Where did you say Cedric was?’

‘What? Oh with those twins; at their house I assume. They wanted to show him their father’s etchings or was it his golf clubs? Anyway something like that … I say, do you think we might have a drink. I feel I may pass out otherwise.’ He put a hand to his forehead.

Typical, Rosy thought crossly, he was only tied up whereas I came within an inch of being butchered! However, out loud she said, ‘But what about the body – oughtn’t we to do something about that, e.g. telephone the police?’

‘There is no telephone,’ Felix said, ‘it went off this afternoon.’

‘No phone, no hurry: Felix is right,’ agreed Hope-Landers, ‘we could all do with a brandy.’ He went to the cocktail cabinet and found a bottle. ‘Here drink this, Rosy, it’ll put colour in your cheeks.’

Her hand still shaking she took the glass and sipped gratefully. Dutch courage after the event. She glanced down at the shape under the floral rug and for a nightmarish moment wondered if she might see it move. She flinched and took another sip.

Her rescuer must have read her mind for he said, ‘Oh don’t worry, he is dead all right. I’m not a bad shot – top of the school cadet corps once upon a time.’

‘Ah the manifold uses of a good education,’ Felix quipped, yanking the dog away from the corpse.

‘Only for certain things. It doesn’t always get you what you want; in fact it’s often no bloody use at all.’ He sounded bitter, and Rosy was about to ask what it was he wanted but thought better of it. This was hardly the time for philosophical discussion.

Instead she said, ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am, you literally saved my life. He really was going to choke me to death!’ She gulped and leant back in the chair feeling rather weak. ‘But I am not clear – if you were both tied up how ever did you get here?’

‘It was Guy,’ Felix explained. ‘Despite Hewson’s boasting about his rotten knots they weren’t as good as he thought – the clumsiness of dotage I expect. Anyway Guy was able to pull free. And then, and then …’ (He broke off, starting to laugh.) ‘… you will never guess what we saw under the bed: Hewson’s gun. The cretin had forgotten to take it with him. Must have put it down when he was tying those brilliant reefs!’

Some cretin, Rosy thought bitterly, visualising the open blade. And then out loud she asked, ‘But hadn’t he locked you in?’

‘Oh we just shot the lock off,’ Felix said carelessly. He cleared his throat: ‘Well Guy did that actually.’

Rosy looked up at the latter. ‘You really have been amazing. I’ll never forget this.’ Something was digging into her hip, and reaching behind she pulled out the Bodger Horace. ‘Oh look,’ she exclaimed, ‘I had forgotten – the blessed book. Safe at last!’ And despite the grim presence of what once had been Hewson she suddenly felt so much better, strangely light-headed in fact.

‘Ah yes, the book,’ Hope-Landers murmured. He smiled and held out his hand. ‘I’ll take it if you don’t mind.’

‘What? Oh it’s quite all right there’s plenty of room in my handbag.’ She reached for her bag and started to slip the book into it.

He remained with his hand held out. ‘No, Rosy, I would like to have it please.’

She looked up at him nonplussed. ‘I am sorry I don’t understand. The book’s mine, it’s what I’ve been searching for; you know that.’ (Really, what on earth had got into the man?)

He smiled again but this time his face held no warmth. ‘It’s all a question of finders keepers,’ he said quietly. ‘It has been in my possession for some time and I don’t propose to yield it now.’

‘Look here,’ Felix protested, ‘you may have acquired it,
filched
it from Cousin Violet’s table, but the actual owner is Carlo. He was the one who originally found and bought it, not you. Now for Christ’s sake give it to Rosy; you must admit she deserves it!’

‘Actually,’ Hope-Landers replied, ‘I don’t think the concept of deserts enters into this. As I told you in the bedroom, it is something I rather need – to go with the vase over there.’ He nodded towards Hewson’s discarded holdall. ‘Just once in a blue moon things work to one’s advantage: a quirk of fate when one miraculously happens to be in the right place at the right time. I am in that position now and I can assure you that – if Rosy will excuse the term – I have no intention of having things cocked up.’

He spun round and stepped towards her. She shrank back in the chair. ‘Oh don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to attack you like that thug there, but you will give it to me all the same.’ His tall form loomed over her, and looking up she meekly handed him the book. There was no point in resisting; and after her ordeal with Hewson she was too tired anyway.

She glanced at Felix knowing there was nothing he would do. What could he? He was no pugilist; and in any case what could five foot six do against six foot three, especially when the latter had a gun? She saw the dismay
in his face – the sense of helplessness, and felt a prick of sympathy. She turned back to Hope-Landers. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked dully. ‘No point in trying to contact Berenstein to report your luck; as you said, the phone is out of order.’

‘
Telephone?
Good lord no. I’m going to Padua now, immediately – up the Brenta Canal in my boat; there is access from the lagoon and his mansion overlooks the water. It won’t take long and there’s plenty of petrol in the tank.’ He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘It’ll make him happy: Santa Claus bearing gifts at midnight!’

In a swift movement he had grabbed the bag containing the vase, stuffed the book into it and made for the door. He looked very white and Rosy was startled to see how haggard his face had become. Felix, in what was presumably a flash of derring-do, took a tentative step towards him and was brushed aside.

‘Out of the way,’ Hope-Landers snapped. ‘You may have noticed that this gun is loaded. I could blow off your kneecap or shoot the dog.’

‘Shoot the dog?’ cried Felix in fury – and retreated instantly.

Already he was out of the room and they could hear his feet clattering across the tiles and descending the stairs. They stared at each other in silence. And then Rosy leapt up and rushed to the banisters, and craning over watched as Guy Hope-Landers spiralled his long way down the echoing staircase. A wave of resignation swept over her and she suddenly felt terribly tired.
Carpe diem
Horace had urged: gather the day … Some bloody day, she thought; a corpse in the drawing room, herself nearly strangled and now a
man so obsessed that he was clearly losing his mind.

However, gloom was shattered by commotion; a commotion which assaulted her ears in a two-pronged attack. Behind her the air was rent by throaty roars as Caruso, hitherto quiet, embarked on excited comment. Below her was the sound of raised voices, protests, the slamming of a heavy door, more protests … She rather suspected that Hope-Landers’ flight had clashed with the inconvenient ingress of Cedric and company.

To the noise of Caruso’s bellows and Felix’s ineffectual threats, Rosy darted to the window and peered down at the canal side. The stars were bright and she could see the fugitive’s angular figure careering along the quayside towards the boat. He took a flying leap and frantically began to tug the engine’s starting handle. She could see him bent over with shoulders heaving … Then abruptly all movement ceased. The figure seemed to stand stock still, frozen in the moonlight … And then jerkily, bit by bit, like some clockwork doll winding down, Hope-Landers sunk to his knees and then disappeared altogether beneath the boat’s gunwale. ‘Oh my God,’ Rosy breathed.

By this time the returning party – Dilly and Duffy led by Cedric – had reached the landing in a state of panting indignation.

‘I simply can’t think why he was in such a hurry,’ croaked one of the twins, ‘and when I said “Hello Guy” he didn’t take a blind bit of notice. Seemed not to hear at all!’

‘Well at least he didn’t tread on your foot, dear,’ gasped the other. ‘I am really quite bruised!’ She turned to Cedric. ‘I hope that front door is all right. He slammed it so hard I thought one of the panels would fall out – that wonky one that Violet keeps meaning to have fixed.’

Cedric too was peeved. He had spent an amusing time being shown the twins’ family home – their father’s etchings, sporting trophies, dusty collections of glass and silver and all the accumulated treasure of a bygone age: vestiges of Edwardian Venice and English eccentricity. Thus on a whim he had invited them back to the palazzo for a cocktail nightcap. They had accepted eagerly, and as a ‘special treat’ for their visitor had said they would take him in the gondola. At first he had demurred, reluctant to be subjected to further samples of Luigi’s warblings. ‘Oh no,’ they had cried in unison, ‘we will punt you ourselves; we
can
you know!’

And so at first horrified and then strangely delighted he had lolled back among the gondola’s cushions as the two ladies took it in turns to glide their barque through the moonlit tributaries to the jetty of the Palazzo Reiss. There had been something pleasurably ghostly about the journey: the gentle swaying of the boat, the ethereal silence and the shadowy waters all lent a dreamlike unreality. It was something that Cedric would remember for a long while after …

But such unreality was as nothing compared to what lay in wait. The collision with Hope-Landers as he came rushing out of the entrance just as the three of them were going in was acutely embarrassing. The ladies had been rudely shoved aside, one of them had dropped her handbag and he himself was almost knocked to the ground. The door had been given an almighty slam and the gas lamp fell from its bracket. It had been an unceremonious greeting for his guests and Cedric was none too pleased … Far worse was to greet him upstairs.

Once the sisters had recovered their breath and availed themselves of the ‘facilities’ (punting stirs the bladder) Cedric’s intention was to usher them into the salon and ply them with the special concoction he knew they liked, ‘Venice on the Razzle’. However in this he was forestalled by Felix. ‘For God’s sake don’t take them in there,’ he hissed, ‘it’s not nice.’

‘What do you mean? Don’t say the dog has disgraced itself!’

‘No, no, the dog’s been as good as gold—’ He broke off to quell the booming creature. ‘You see it is … well it’s Hewson. He has had what you might call a turn.’

‘A turn? What sort of turn?’

‘
Not
a nice one.’

‘Do you mean he’s tight?’ Cedric muttered. ‘But what is he doing here anyway? I thought you were going to—’

Felix ran his fingers through his hair and said, ‘Well he’s not actually
here
any longer – I mean not in the technical sense.’

Cedric gazed at him startled. ‘Not here in the technical sense? What sort of sense then? I don’t understand – where is he?’

Felix cleared his throat. ‘Under the rug.’

Light dawned on Cedric. ‘
Ah
,’ he exclaimed in an anxious whisper, ‘you mean he has lost his wits: off his head under the rug – thinks he’s a bear or something. I am not entirely surprised. I always thought there was something a bit—’

‘
Dead
under the rug. Shot.’

There came the sound of a cistern being flushed and the two friends stared at each other in consternation.

‘Deflect them into the dining room,’ Cedric said through gritted teeth.

But it was too late. Relieved and spruced the siblings emerged from the cloakroom, clearly eager for their Venice on the Razzle. Circumventing the hovering Felix they stepped briskly into the salon, exclaimed appreciatively at its beautiful blooms and cast appraising eyes towards the cocktail cabinet.

They seemed not to have noticed the shrouded heap on the floor, being evidently too engrossed in the prospect of the cocktail and issuing Cedric with earnest instructions on how to mix it. Exact measurements were apparently crucial.

‘That’s it,’ directed one, ‘just a dab of lime and a mere third of gin and don’t overdo the bitters or it’ll taste putrid.’

‘But you can be more generous with the rum – though none of that Bacardi stuff of course. Only the dark will do,’ cried the other. They seated themselves on a sofa and prattled merrily about the rival claims of French and
Italian vermouth and the relative skills of their preferred bartenders. Listening to this, and despite the general ghastliness of things, Cedric was worried lest his own skills did not come up to scratch.

As they chatted Felix planted himself squarely in front of the rug-draped mound, feet apart and trying to stretch wider than his lean frame would allow. He wondered where Rosy had got to. Last seen she had been haring down the backstairs. Had she returned to her lodgings? It seemed unlikely. He recalled her squeaking something about Hope-Landers. Surely she wasn’t mad enough to be pursing him for that bloody book still. Really, as if either he or it mattered now!

At that moment, just as Cedric was presenting the twins with their drinks, there was a clattering of feet and Rosy appeared at the door dishevelled and breathless. ‘It’s Guy,’ she gasped, ‘he’s dead – in the boat. I tried to resuscitate him but it wouldn’t work. I tried for ages!’ She flopped down on the sofa next to Duffy or Dilly, grabbed the glass from the twin’s hand and downed it in two gulps. Her neighbour looked mildly affronted.

There was a silence. And then the other twin, the one still in charge of her glass, said quietly, ‘Oh dear, it must have been all that rushing about. He had a bad heart you know. It was very foolish of him to be in such a hurry. And I daresay he had forgotten to take his pills. How sad. I had always rather liked him.’ She examined her glass pensively, and then raising it announced: ‘To absent friends.’

There was an awkward silence; and then those fortunate enough to be holding a glass raised them solemnly and murmured assent. There was another pause, after which the one without said: ‘I so agree. He was delightful; and when
I have the means I shall toast him myself.’ She glanced at Rosy’s drained glass and then looked pointedly at Cedric who returned to the cabinet.

Sensing a certain
froideur
in her sibling’s demeanour, the other said tactfully, ‘I say, Dilly, do you think Violet has any of those wonderful Bath Olivers she used to keep? They are quite my favourite biscuit and impossible to find in Venice. Shall we go and raid her kitchen and see if we can find any?’ She looked at Felix. ‘You don’t mind do you, Felix?’

He nodded dumbly, grateful for the respite. The sisters rose and bustled off in the direction of the kitchen.

‘Quick,’ commanded Cedric, ‘shove Hewson behind the harpsichord. There’s no light in that corner, they won’t see a thing.’

Felix and Rosy dutifully stooped and began to lug the thing to where he directed. Rosy felt numb and exhausted – out of her mind actually after that thoughtless raid on the twin’s cocktail. God, had it been strong! She closed her eyes.
Dear lord, let me wake up soon!

The pair returned from their culinary searches evidently successful. They carried a plate draped in a napkin, but judging from the crumbs on their dresses and the sound of munching they had already tested the fare. Exchanging glances they passed the plate around to the other three and returned to the sofa.

Cedric proffered the freshly mixed drink to Dilly (or Duffy) and she gave him a benevolent beam. ‘Delicious,’ she pronounced, ‘not bad at all!’ She scanned the room frowning and looking puzzled. ‘But what have you done with it?’ she asked.

‘Done with what?’ Felix asked tensely.

She hesitated. ‘Well … with the body of course. Hewson’s. It was here a moment ago. I saw his shoe, one of those American loafers.’

There was a stunned silence while each considered their response. Rosy was the first to speak. ‘What sharp eyes,’ she said vaguely.

Cedric merely cleared his throat; while Felix yelped, ‘It was nothing to do with us – Hope-Landers, you know!’

‘Well I am sure it makes a very interesting story,’ said one of them, ‘you had better tell us.’

‘All ears!’ said the other and took a bite of her Bath Oliver.

When they had finished the sisters appeared to reflect. And then smoothing her dress, one said, ‘It seems to me that you have spent a very strainful evening.
Most
strainful … Wouldn’t you say so, Duffy?’

Duffy nodded vigorously. ‘What papa would have called a blinking bloomer!’ She turned to Cedric. ‘You were well out of it.’

‘I am not now,’ he replied tightly.

‘So,’ they both suddenly chimed, ‘
something
must be done!’ This was uttered with such brisk purpose that Caruso barked and wagged his tail. He looked enquiringly at the ladies.

‘I suppose we had better alert the medical authorities about Guy,’ Rosy said, ‘there must be a standard procedure for sudden heart attacks,’ adding bleakly, ‘and then – and then we shall have to report it all to the police …’ She groaned visualising the palaver and endless complications.

Cedric closed his eyes. ‘Tricky,’ he muttered. Like Rosy he felt horribly weakened by the prospect in store. Why on earth hadn’t they simply gone to Frinton!

‘Take heart,’ said one of the twins stoutly, ‘no point anticipating trouble. There are certain pre-emptive measures that can be taken.’ She nodded firmly.

‘Although actually,’ her sister murmured, ‘it is Felix who may have the hardest task.’

‘What!’ he cried. ‘
Me?
What on earth do you mean?’ He had the air of a petrified rabbit.

‘Because it is you who will have to explain to dear Violet when she returns what Bill Hewson is doing rolled up in her best rug stashed behind the harpsichord.’

‘But … but he won’t
be
there,’ Felix protested, bewildered. ‘He will have been moved somewhere else by that time – to a morgue, a cemetery or something!’ He looked askance.

‘I rather doubt it,’ she replied consulting her watch, ‘your cousin should be here any minute. A bit late really – she was due to arrive an hour ago. Carlo is supposed to be picking her up at the Santa Lucia railway terminus. The flight was delayed as usual I assume.’

Felix’s mouth dropped open and his horrified gaze moved slowly towards the shape wedged in its darkened alcove. He closed his mouth; and approaching the body tucked the protruding foot beneath the rug.