Quick on the Draw by Susan Moody

Author:Susan Moody [Susan Moody]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2018-02-27T16:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

Venice was very bad for my figure. Despite my worry about Sandro, I never seemed to stop eating. I’d worked in my hotel room for most of the morning, all the time expecting to hear from Cesare, but no call came. That was OK. It gave me a chance to outline a couple of articles for Nirvana, Darren Carver’s arty mag. Later, I pushed aside my work and walked through the streets to the pretty square, not far from my hotel, which Renzo had chosen as a rendezvous. And there he was. I could see him through the window, perusing a menu, still as ugly as sin.

He saw me. ‘Alessandra!’ He jumped up and came running out to me, a white napkin tucked into the neck of his shirt, then embraced me in a hug that would have made a bear humble. ‘Come. Come.’ He took my hand and walked me inside. ‘Sit. I have ordered food for you which will make you glad to be alive.’

That was only going to happen when Sandro was safely home. ‘Thank you,’ I said. Prettily, but not too prettily. We sat down. There were two glasses and a bottle on the table. And a plate of seafood pasta already in front of him. Renzo half-filled our glasses, tipped his towards me in a silent toast and then settled down to the serious business of eating the food which a string of waiters began bringing to the table.

‘And after we have eaten,’ he said, ‘we shall go for a gondola ride.’

Uh-oh. ‘Shall we?’

‘Sure. I shall call my private gondolier to come and he will take us on a magical mystery tour of Venice.’

‘Sounds great.’

The food was wonderful. And way more than I could eat. I wanted to ask for a doggie bag, but felt it would not be in keeping with the upmarket nature of the place. It was as we were drinking our coffees, along with a glass of semi-dry marsala for me and a mirto for Renzo, that he put his elbows on the table and inclined his barrel chest towards me. ‘So,’ he said. And paused significantly.

‘So?’ I countered. Was he going to ask me to become his mistress?

‘Last time we met, you spoke to me of some drawings,’ he said. ‘Special drawings. By Tiepolo, no less.’

‘What about them?’

‘I would so much love to have the opportunity to see them.’

If I told him that I didn’t have them, that they weren’t mine, would he lose interest in me, either as a person or as a woman? I didn’t want that to happen. Call me cold and calculating, but I sensed that he could be very useful to me in some form or another while I was here.

‘Ciao, Renzo,’ someone called. A woman. Passing our table. Another of those ultra-smart, tooth-achingly expensive women. He flashed her his terrific smile and jumped up to exchange kisses and hugs. Which gave me time to think. As he sat down again, I made up my mind.

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