The Waters of Eternal Youth Read Free Page B

restorations. You need their permission before you can touch anything as precious as this.’ ­Vittori-­Ricciardi’s explanation made it sound like a sane system, Brunetti had to admit.
    â€˜You’re not going to damage it: they ought to know that,’ the banker insisted. His tone demonstrated that he was struggling to understand.
    â€˜Their job is to keep unauthorized people from dam­aging art objects,’ ­Vittori-­Ricciardi told him.
    â€˜Or stealing them?’ the woman asked, leading Brunetti to suspect she had spent more time in Italy than her companion.
    Brunetti glanced aside just in time to see the thin moustache turn up at both ends as ­Vittori-­Ricciardi gave a stiff smile. ‘It’s rather hard to steal a mosaic.’
    â€˜So when will we be able to take a look at it?’ This from the banker.
    â€˜If you’ll tell me when you’re free, we could go out this week.’
    â€˜When can work begin?’ the Englishman asked, ignoring the previous exchange. Brunetti was curious about the expression with which the law professor’s face would greet her partner’s question, but he kept his attention directed across the Canal, quite as if these other people were speaking a language he did not understand.
    â€˜As soon as we have the permission. We’re hoping to have it in a few months,’ ­Vittori-­Ricciardi answered. The Englishman, Brunetti reflected, would hear ‘few months’ and not ‘we’re hoping’ and have no idea how much closer to the truth the second was than the first.
    A silence fell. ­Vittori-­Ricciardi linked his arm with the other man’s, trying but, Brunetti thought, failing to make it seem a spontaneous gesture and succeeding only in ­startling the other man, who pulled his arm free. They disappeared, followed slowly by the woman, through a door that led to the
salone
that held the painted beams, one of the architectural details for which the
palazzo
was known.
    Paola and her mother surprised him by appearing almost immediately through the same door, Paola bringing with her the promise of escape. As she came towards him, she extended her right hand in a gesture rich in supplication. ‘Get us out of here, please, Guido. Tell Demetriana you have to go and arrest someone.’
    â€˜I live to serve,’ said a modest Brunetti, and led them into the other room to say their farewells to Contessa Lando-­Continui, whom they found standing alone in the middle of her friend’s
salone
as comfortably as if it had been her own. There followed an exchange of kisses; Paola and her mother left the room, leaving Brunetti alone with Contessa ­Lando-­Continui.
    Before he could thank her for the invitation, she placed a hand on his arm. ‘Donatella’s spoken to you?’
    â€˜Yes, she has.’
    â€˜I’d like to talk to you as a policeman and as a member of her family,’ she said, speaking slowly, as if to convey some special message.
    â€˜I’ll try to do my best,’ Brunetti said. He thought she’d ask him which was more important, but she merely added pressure to his arm and asked, ‘Can you come to see me tomorrow?’ A contessa did not take the vaporetto and then walk along to the Questura.
    â€˜Tomorrow afternoon?’ he suggested.
    â€˜I’ll be at home.’
    â€˜About five?’
    She nodded, shook his hand, and turned to the lord, who had come to take his leave.
    A few minutes later, Brunetti and Paola were at the bottom of the bridge in front of the university. ‘It’s good to walk after a meal,’ Brunetti said, hoping to deflect any discussion of the evening. He said nothing about his last conversation. They paused briefly at the top of the bridge to see what the firemen were up to. Nothing.
    Summer had given way to autumn a few days before, and the flocks of tourists had begun their autumn migration. There was