The Venetian Venture Read Free

sudden deprivation or to get a girl into bed.
    Such a time was now. The girl issue was irrelevant; but he had lost heavily at Kempton, his tailor’s bill was pushing astronomical, and the last client he had tried to interest in a used Lagonda had reneged on the deal. (Amazing how shifty people could be!) Added to this, his quarterly rent for the miniscule flat in Pimlico – for which there were no obvious funds – was looming at unnerving speed. Things lookedbleak. Bleak but not desperate. Though fundamentally charmless Edward was also a genuine optimist and a firm believer in the principle that luck smiles on those who help themselves. And ever since the age of five Edward had been helping himself with dedicated care.
    Thus, draped on the bar stool and sipping his gin and tonic, he gave thought to the latest venture: a venture not enormously lucrative admittedly, but one which if successful would certainly give a nice little boost to the waning finances. Besides, if he played his cards right it might open up further areas of profitable interest …
    Bodger was the name, Sir Fenton Bodger. He had met him a few days earlier at a party given by his grandfather at Quaglino’s. They had exchanged cigarettes and small talk and Edward had mentioned having a sister living in Venice.
    ‘Ah Venice,’ Bodger had exclaimed, ‘haven’t been there since before the war but it’s my
almost
favourite city!’ Edward assumed he was expected to ask what the favourite was but really couldn’t be bothered. New York, Paris? Did it matter? The old cove would only prose on in clichés.
    There was a pause, and the man, evidently realising his cue had fallen flat, asked if he visited his sister often. Edward said that he did from time to time and that as it happened he was due to be with her that very week. (Yes Lucia had been quite generous about this trip, for once offering to pay his travel expenses – an offer that naturally he had graciously accepted.) They had continued chatting about Venice and Edward got the impression that the older man was rather taken by him. He wondered why. It wasn’t as if he had been making any special effort to be engaging. There had been no point. Apart from a stick and a lisp the chap had been unremarkable, merely one ofthose bland indeterminates that act as wallpaper in such gatherings. Was it perhaps his new silk tie (knotted à la Windsor), impeccable haircut and slick cufflinks? Such sartorial niceties so easily impressed! (Subsequently, after making discreet enquiries, Edward learnt that Sir Fenton was exceedingly rich – a fact that not only made him less indeterminate but automatically conferred immediate distinction.)
    After a few more words they had been joined by other guests and then separated into the surrounding throng. But just as Edward had been wondering if he could procure one last drink before leaving, there was a tap on his arm, and in slightly ingratiating tones the Bodger fellow said, ‘Young man I have a proposition. Your grandfather tells me you are very bright and with strong initiative – in fact from what he was saying I’m a little surprised you’re not part of the firm. Pictures not your thing perhaps?’
    Edward had smiled politely, omitting to explain that while he liked pictures well enough it was he who was not the thing with his grandfather. (The trial period spent in his relation’s art gallery had failed to win favour with the owner, the apprentice’s copybook having been not so much blotted as saturated. The fault, of course, had hardly been Edward’s: as invariably, it was the other bastards. However, that was some years ago and now a more cordial relationship prevailed – just.)
    ‘I’ll oblige if I can,’ he had lied. It was unlikely that the proposition would amount to much; something irksome and unproductive no doubt. Poodle-faking the daughter? God, the last time he had done that he had been the laughing stock of Chelsea – hadn’t even managed to