sheet, squinting in the bright light. Where had he come from? There was a noise in the workshop. A hasty scurrying, a door clicking shut, and then, silence.
‘Ah, I am looking for Signor Maleovelli,’ he said in Serenissian.
‘Well, you won’t find him here,’ said the man, never taking his eyes from Waterford’s face.
‘No. No. I can see that.’ Waterford began to collect himself. Who was this rather corpulent man staring at him as if he were one of those dirty feral cats that wandered the fondamenta? Did he know to whom he was speaking?
‘I am Lord Waterford – a friend of Signor Maleovelli. And who, may I ask, do I have the honour of addressing?’
‘You may ask.’
The man’s grey eyes continued their appraisal. Waterford felt beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. A rivulet coursed down his right temple.
‘If you won’t tell me who you are, perhaps you can tell me if that was Signorina Dorata I saw in there?’ He jerked his head over his shoulder.
The eyes boring into his narrowed. The hands stopped their action.
‘Beolin!’ called a familiar voice and, to Waterford’s relief, Giaconda Maleovelli appeared at the top of the stairs. The sunlight bounced off her hair and the jewels sewn into her gown. ‘How on Vista Mare did you end up there? Baroque, grazie mille for finding our unexpected guest. Attend to your duties, please. I will take him from here.’ She began to descend.
Baroque grunted and stepped aside so Lord Waterford could pass. Giaconda joined Waterford in the courtyard. He bowed his head and she offered her cheeks for him to kiss.
‘Oh, the Signor was not disturbing me.’ He turned round, but Baroque had disappeared. ‘I was merely asking him to clarify something for me.’
Giaconda took his arm and led him back into the coolness of the lower floors. ‘And what might that be, my lord?’ asked Giaconda pleasantly, dodging the men who raced past her with practised poise, heading for the stairs. ‘You became lost, did you?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Waterford. ‘I just thought I would take it upon myself to find you. I have been waiting some time.’
‘Oh, my lord, mi dispiace.’ Giaconda smiled. ‘I came as soon as my servant let me know you were there.’
‘I apologise if I have done the wrong thing, Signorina. I am still learning your customs.’
‘Of course you are,’ replied Giaconda over her shoulder in a tone that suggested they both knew he was lying.
Without another word, they reached the landing and Giaconda drew him into the portego. She gestured for him to take a seat. A servant detached himself from the wall and poured chilled vino into a glass. Waterford sipped it gratefully, a quick glance around the room telling him much had changed since his last visit.
‘So,’ he said, beaming at Giaconda, ‘can you answer something for me? Your man, Baroque, was it? Seemed very reluctant to help me.’ For a fraction of a second a look of irritation crossed Giaconda’s features. He knew she’d heard his question to Baroque. His heart quickened.
‘What was that?’ she asked.
‘Well, it may have been the heat playing tricks, but I was certain I saw Signorina Dorata in that dark room under the stairs. She was doing something with what I was sure were candles.’
Giaconda stared at him for a fraction too long before opening her fan and giving a long, trilling laugh.
‘Signorina Dorata? In our dirty old workshop?’ Her laugh ceased and she snapped her fan shut and rapped Lord Waterford on the wrist, the playful slap stinging and leaving a red welt. ‘It was the heat, my lord. I tell you, it was the heat.’ She offered him her profile, gazing out the window.
Lord Waterford regarded Giaconda with twinkling eyes. She was unsettled. Something was going on here. He knew the exquisite Signorina Dorata when he saw her, even without her usual golden surrounds.
‘I thought it might have been,’ he chuckled finally. ‘As you say, what would she be doing in there.’ He set down his glass and began to chatter about the weather. Slowly Giaconda relaxed, but the look she gave Signor Maleovelli when he joined them was heavy with meaning.
As the afternoon progressed and Waterford allowed the conversation to stay on safe routes, he knew he had to get to the bottom of this mystery.
ORGANISING HIS DESK, Waterford carefully extracted a piece of parchment from the pile he kept and trimmed the quill. Pulling the candles closer, he began to compose a letter to his