The Venetian Game by Jones Philip Gwynne

Author:Jones, Philip Gwynne
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472123985
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2017-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Venice is a city of over one hundred churches. There had been even more, before Napoleon had his way. Many of them are crumbling, and many will never open their doors again. Even after five years, I still had difficulty in identifying them from a distance. I tended to remember them by colour or style of the campanile: big ones (San Marco), green ones (San Giorgio Maggiore), falling-over-a-bit-more-than-they-really-should ones (Santo Stefano, San Giorgio dei Greci). Madonna dell’Orto, with its eastern-style onion-domed bell tower, was one of the easier ones to spot.

Federica, in leather jacket and jeans, was there before me. ‘Right then, Mr Holmes. Where do we start?’

‘I wish I knew, dottoressa Watson.’

‘Oh. Do all our cases start like this?’

‘I’m afraid so. I met a journalist yesterday. A guy called Paolo Magri. Have you heard of him?’ She shook her head. ‘He did two things. He put the fear of God into me by telling me the terrible things Arcangelo Moro might want to do. And then he told me to come here. I think maybe it’s a test of some sort. To see if I’m being serious with him.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

She gave me a disappointed look. ‘Not much to go on is it? Well, let’s go inside. Have you been here before?’

‘Years ago. I don’t remember much.’

‘Then I’ll give you the guided tour.’

A couple of tourists were fumbling for change at the entrance, but we just flashed our residency cards at the man on the desk and he waved us through.

She stood close to me, the better to whisper. ‘This was initially dedicated to St Christopher, but that changed over eight hundred years ago. It was in a terrible state by the time the Austrians arrived, and they made a mess of trying to restore it. And then there was the great acqua alta of 1966. But today, it looks like this.’ She turned through a full circle, her arms spread to emphasise the beauty of our surroundings. ‘For me, this is one of the loveliest buildings in Venice.’

I had to agree. The ceiling was timbered and plain, but supported by striped marble columns. There were three chapels on each side. She led me along the right nave to show me a painting of a burly, bearded man carrying the Christ child upon his shoulder. ‘They didn’t completely forget about St Christopher. This is by Cima da Conegliano. Or at least it’s a copy of a work by him. But this one’ – she pointed to an altarpiece of someone who I took to be John the Baptist in the company of saints – ‘this one is the real thing. But the best thing in the church is down here. Come on.’

She took my arm, and led me down to the end of the nave, where a huge canvas hung over the door that led to a separate chapel. It showed a flight of steps leading up to a temple, where a high priest stood in expectation as a young girl made her way up towards him.

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