The Venetian Venture Read Free Page B

listening.’
    ‘Ah well,’ his companion sniffed, ‘doubtless my ear was more taken with his accent – or its variants.’
    ‘Doubtless.’
    They stumbled on damply, and rounding a corner wereconfronted by the source of the hammering: the broken jetty and three workmen in oilskins.
    ‘Hmm,’ Cedric observed, ‘anyone would think we were in Padstow. This is not Venice as I recall it.’
    ‘You mean soused in sunlight and its denizens clad in Garibaldi cummerbunds?’
    The professor said nothing; and putting down his case scrutinised a heavy oak door set into the wall a few yards from the water’s edge. He took out his glasses and peered at a brass plate displaying a short list of names: Bellini, Hope-Landers, Hoffman. ‘Who is Hope-Landers,’ he asked, ‘your cousin?’
    Felix shrugged. ‘No idea. Violet’s name is Hoffman.’
    ‘Then this is the place all right. But what about the other names? I thought she lived alone. Perhaps it’s a sort of boarding house …’
    ‘It is not a boarding house,’ said Felix tightly. ‘Now kindly move over.’ He nudged his friend aside and put a tentative finger on the top button. ‘Let us hope the concierge Signora Whatsername is awake.’
    ‘Probably deafened by all that hammering – or the creature.’
    ‘The creature?’
    ‘Can’t you hear it?’
    A deep throaty roar emanated from the interior and Felix groaned. ‘For a dog that’s called Caruso its voice is absurdly
basso profundo
.’
    ‘Hence basset,’ quipped Cedric, adding, ‘but of course essentially he is going to be your charge; that was the bargain. Perhaps you can practise arias together.’
    Felix scowled, and then hastily adjusted his features to an ingratiating smile as there came the sound of locks being drawn back.
    The door was flung open, and they were faced not by Signora Whatsername but by a tall man of about sixty in a well-cut suit and carpet slippers. He held a pencil and a copy of
The Times
folded to the crossword. They took him to be English.
    ‘Bit wet out there, isn’t it?’ he observed cheerfully. ‘I’m the lodger, Guy Hope-Landers, and unless you’ve come to read the meters I assume you are Vio’s cousins. Signora Bellini our concierge is off on hols so I’m on duty.’ He smiled extending a hand.
    ‘Actually,’ said Felix a trifle stiffly, ‘I am the cousin; this is Professor Dillworthy, an old friend.’
    ‘Sorry, my mistake. I knew Vio said there were two of you coming and I assumed you were both relatives. She talks so fast I don’t listen half the time but one generally gets the gist.’ He started to help them in with their luggage and then paused, and looking at Cedric, said, ‘You’re not one of the Seaford Dillworthys are you? I knew a couple of those once – my God what a crew, wild isn’t the word! Especially that Angela, she’d lead anyone a double dance. I wonder if—’
    ‘No,’ Cedric said firmly, ‘absolutely not. We are an entirely different branch – from Yorkshire you know.’ For a second he closed his eyes recalling the dreaded Angela and the fracas in the hayloft. He just hoped this wretched man wasn’t going to address the niceties of consanguinity let alone the contours of the Dillworthy nose, of which his own was a prime example.
    However, the wretched man seemed otherwise engaged, for having attended to their bags and closed the door, his attention reverted to the discarded
Times
and its crossword. ‘I say,’ he said, as they hovered awkwardly in the gloom, ‘Idon’t suppose you would hazard a guess at this would you? It’s the last one and it’s been plaguing me all afternoon. “Nine letters:
She sells these to pilgrims
.” Any suggestions?’ He tapped the page and looked hopefully at Felix who stared back blankly, unused to such threshold conundrums.
    ‘Seashells, I imagine,’ responded Cedric coolly, ‘though the pilgrim hint seems a little obvious for
The Times
. Perhaps they do a simplified version for the