Death and Restoration Read Free Page B

become as blissful as it could possibly be when you were proposing to link your life’s fortunes to a woman who never knew when her job would allow her to come home.
    Not her fault; police work was like that, and she did her best. But it was galling, occasionally, to be so obviously pushed into second place by a purloined chalice, however much a marvel of sixteenth-century Tuscan workmanship it undoubtedly was. All very well, once in a while. But these things kept on vanishing. The thieves never rested. Did they not feel the need for a quiet evening with their feet up now and then like everyone else?
    This time, Flavia would be home; she had left a message to that effect not half an hour ago, and Argyll was looking forward to it; he had even done his duty and got all the shopping on the way home so they could have a properly civilized meal together. He was so much looking forward to it that he felt a little anticipatory skip as he turned into the vicolo di Cedro, and began the last stage of the journey home.
    And met Flavia coming down the street. She gave him a quick kiss, and looked apologetic.
    “You’re going back to the office, aren’t you?”’ he said accusingly. “I know that look.”
    “‘Fraid so. Just for a while. I won’t be long.”
    “Oh, Flavia. You promised …”
    “Don’t worry. I won’t be long.”
    “Yes, you will be.”
    “Jonathan. There’s nothing I can do. Something’s come up. It really won’t take a long time. There’s a little problem.”
    He scowled, his good mood evaporating.
    “I’ll go and do my marking, then.”
    “Good idea. And I’ll be back by the time you’re finished. Then we can have a quiet evening together.”
    Grumbling to himself about essays, Argyll mounted the stairs to the third floor, said good evening to the old signora on the first floor and nodded coolly but politely to Bruno, the young lad with a taste for filling the night air with very loud and extremely bad music on the second, before fumbling in his pocket for his keys. Odd, he thought. There was a very strong inverse relationship between the volume of music and its quality. He’d never noticed it when he was young.
    Two hours later, he’d finished his marking; Flavia had not yet returned. Three hours later, he’d eaten his dinner and she was still not there. Four hours later he went to bed.
    “When did this come in?”’ Flavia asked incredulously when she got back to the office and saw the slip of paper containing a brief summary of the anonymous phone call.
    The office trainee, a young, fresh-faced girl called Giulia who looked as though she should still be doing her homework before washing up for her mother, blushed with distress. It was hardly her fault; the call had come in, and there was no one to tell. She said as much.
    “About five. But you weren’t here, and I did go up to the General’s office.”
    “And what did he say?”’
    “Well, nothing,” she said reluctantly. “He was asleep.”
    “And you didn’t want to wake him because you’re new here and don’t know that it is quite acceptable to give him a prod. I know. Don’t get upset. It’s not your fault.”
    She sighed. Being just and fair is hard sometimes. It would have been much more satisfactory if she could have shouted at the girl.
    “OK. Let’s forget about that now. Did you take the call?”’
    The infant nodded, realizing that the worst was over. “It was very imprecise.”
    “No code-words? Not one of our regulars?”’
    “No. Just that there was going to be an important raid in the next few days. On this monastery, or whatever it is. San Giovanni.”
    “What do they have? Are they on our list? Have you checked the computer?”’
    She nodded again, grateful that she had done the basics. “They were burgled a couple of years ago, and were put on the register then.” She pulled out a piece of paper the computer had disgorged an hour ago.
    “In fact, they have very little. Quite a lot of gold and