Murder in Venice by Maria Luisa Minarelli

Author:Maria Luisa Minarelli [Minarelli, Maria Luisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542094184
Published: 2019-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

On the return journey, the Burchiello was almost empty. There were just two merchants playing cards by candlelight in a corner. The weather was still fine, but an icy wind had got up, which found its way into the minute cracks in the cabin. Chiara preferred to wrap herself tightly in her fur coat and stand on the stern, breathing in the river air. Enveloped in her cloak, Marta remained seated beside Marco.

‘I love that girl as if she were my own daughter,’ said the elderly woman, breaking the silence in a meditative tone, as if talking to herself. ‘On his deathbed, her father asked me to take care of her. By then, I’d already brought her up and, believe me, Your Excellency, there’s no one else like her.’

Marco smiled at her sincerity. But there was a question that had been troubling him. ‘I agree that Chiara is an extraordinary woman. But, tell me, why has she never married?’

Marta sighed. ‘You’ve just seen how that poor Lucietta has been reduced to misery, Your Excellency, and yet you ask that question. My Chiara is twenty-five years old, she’s independent, educated and rich. She’s accustomed to dealing with international clients, she’s travelled, and as a workshop proprietor she’s a full member of the Weavers’ Guild; she manages her money as she thinks best, she designs the fabrics herself . . . in a nutshell, she’s a businesswoman. You know quite well, and probably better than me, that if she married, all this would end. Money, business decisions, guild relations, everything would be claimed by her husband. There’s never been any shortage of suitors . . . her colleagues, wealthy shopkeepers, even the owners of luxury shops, they are all queuing for her hand. But she doesn’t need a man.’ She chuckled. ‘There’s a particularly wealthy merchant, a widower who deals in silk, who’s so enamoured of Chiara that he sends her a bunch of flowers every two or three months, and inside there’s the most exquisite jewellery: a pearl necklace, bracelets, brooches, you name it.’

‘And what does Chiara do?’ asked Marco indignantly.

Marta held her cloak more tightly. ‘She sends everything back, of course. With a polite note, thanking him courteously. She doesn’t want to be indebted to anyone.’

Listening to Marta talking about Chiara’s suitors, Marco experienced an unexpected jolt of jealousy. ‘And has she ever been in love?’

‘Never!’ the housekeeper assured him. ‘These merchants are beneath her; they’re too preoccupied with their goods and their wealth.’ Marco suddenly thought of the lunch with Maddalena Santelli’s family and he couldn’t help but agree that Chiara would never be at home in that sort of company. But he wasn’t a merchant and he wasn’t seeking monetary gain. Like Chiara, he had higher ideals. He had never thought he could feel like this again. But did she feel the same way?

Chiara was thoughtful, too, when she came back into the cabin. In a low voice, she was saying, almost to herself, ‘Yet I’m sure I saw a woman’s body.

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