The Waters of Eternal Youth Read Free Page A

subject and asked, ‘Are you curious because he works for her?’ She moved to one side the glass of grappa the waiter had left in front of her.
    â€˜I’m curious about why he thinks it necessary to flatter her so,’ was the best answer Brunetti could provide.
    The Contessa smiled and asked, ‘Is it being a policeman that makes you suspicious of human motives?’ She spoke naturally now that the conversation was more general and individual voices were covered by the others.
    Before Brunetti could answer, Contessa ­Lando-­Continui set down her spoon and, glancing at her friend at the other end of the table as if for permission, announced, ‘I think coffee will be served in the
salone
.’ Sandro ­Vittori-­Ricciardi got immediately to his feet and moved around behind her chair to pull it back for her. The Contessa stood and nodded her thanks, allowed him to take her arm, and moved off towards the
salone
. She passed through the door that led from the dining room towards the front of the
palazzo
, the guests falling into a disorderly line behind her.
    Palazzo Falier provided a view of what in Venice were considered not particularly distinguished
palazzi
on the other side of the Grand Canal. Some of the guests, unaware of their mediocrity, exclaimed at their beauty.
    Brunetti took his ­mother-­in-­law’s arm as they walked to the other room, where they went to stand next to Paola. Brunetti saw the coffee, sitting on an inlaid onyx table. Sugar, he noted, but no milk, which might explain why only the Italians were drinking it.
    Seeing that ­Vittori-­Ricciardi was deep in conversation with the banker and his companion, Brunetti moved slowly over to one of the windows and stood just within hearing distance of them.
    â€˜It’s another part of our heritage that’s being destroyed by time,’ the Venetian was saying.
    â€˜If it’s such a small island, why’s it so important?’ the banker asked.
    â€˜Because it’s one of the first places where people lived and built: the earliest ruins are from the seventh century. The church – the one with the mosaics – is older than most of the churches in Venice.’ From the energy with which ­Vittori-­Ricciardi spoke, he could have been talking about events that had taken place last year, or last week.
    â€˜And that’s what you’re asking us to restore?’ The banker sounded less than fully persuaded that this was a good idea.
    â€˜To help restore; yes.’ The Venetian reached aside to set down his cup, turned back to the others and told them, ‘There’s a mosaic of the Last Judgement, and we’re afraid there’s water coming in somewhere behind it. We need to find the source of the water and stop it.’
    â€˜What’s so special about it?’ the Englishman inquired.
    The answer was a long time coming, and Brunetti read the pause as a sign of ­Vittori-­Ricciardi’s exasperation with the question. No sign of that was audible, however, when he answered, ‘If we don’t intervene, it could be destroyed.’
    â€˜You aren’t sure?’
    Brunetti took a step away from them and set his cup and saucer down on a table, then turned back to the window to give his undivided attention to the study of the opposite façades.
    â€˜Yes, we’re sure. But to prove it, we need to get behind the mosaic, into the structure of the wall, and it takes a long time to get permission for something like that. It has to come from Rome,’ Brunetti heard ­Vittori-­Ricciardi say. A note of pained resignation slipped into his voice. ‘We’ve been waiting five years for an answer from Rome.’
    â€˜Why does it take so long?’ the banker asked, making Brunetti wonder if this were his first visit to Italy.
    â€˜There’s a commission – the Belle Arti – that has to approve