Midnight in Venice (16 page)

 

Olivia ran down the steps of the villa ahead of Pamela.

“Wait!” Pamela said, catching up with Olivia as she attempted to wrench open one of the car doors. It was locked, and now Orlando was rolling down his window and asking what was up.

“Take me back to Venice!” Olivia demanded as Pamela put a hand on her shoulder. Olivia shook it off. “Go away. I don't want to talk to you!”

“Look, I'm sorry,” Pamela said. “We're all in shock.”

“
You're
in shock? I just found out the man I'm in love with—” She broke off, realizing what she'd just said, but it was true. Nothing like a revelation like this to make you realize just how hard you've fallen. “That's right—I'm in love with him, and I've just found out his beloved wife has come back from the grave. What am I supposed to do? I should be happy for him, right? The thing he wanted most in life. The thing he's been waiting four years to hear. I'm supposed to feel happy for him. And I can't!”

“Look,” Pamela said firmly. “We don't know all the details—”

“It doesn't matter. Alessandro couldn't wait to get me out of there! And not only did I find out his wife's alive, he's in
your
arms!”

“Olivia, I've known Alessandro a long time—”

“Just leave me alone!” Olivia shouted, pounding on Orlando's window. “Open the door, and let me in. Get me away from here!”

The door locks snapped up, and Olivia climbed in behind Orlando and pulled on her seat belt. Pamela closed the door, and Orlando rolled down his window.

“Take her back to her apartment,” Pamela said. “And don't leave her alone, even for a second, or there'll be hell to pay.”

“Don't need to tell me, boss,” Orlando said, starting the car.

As he turned around in the drive, Olivia looked back at the house through a blur of tears. One of the drapes in the library was pulled back, but before she could see whose hand held it, it fell back into place over the window.

She knew the drapes would have closed with a silken whisper, but to her it was the slamming shut of a steel door.

 

When Olivia and Orlando reached Piazzale Roma, a Guardia di Finanza boat was waiting for them at the dock. A thickening fog hung over the Grand Canal. Other than a few bedraggled tourists standing at the vaporetto stops, there were very few people. Carnival was a washout.

At last they pulled into the Rio de San Vio and tied up in front of her building. Ignoring Orlando's offer of help, she stepped out of the boat and onto the
fondamenta
.

Once in her apartment, she waited in the hall while Orlando turned on the lights and checked all the rooms. When he declared it safe, she told him she was taking a shower and then was going to nap. “The guest room is all yours. Help yourself to what's in the fridge, and watch TV if you like.”

“I'm fine. I have my Happy Spiders game.”

Any other time she would have told him it was her cousin who developed Happy Spiders, but, thinking that those Happy Spiders had a vindictive streak, she just closed the bathroom door behind her without a word.
Better to have loved and lost
, the saying went, but right now, she couldn't disagree more.

Stuffing the beautiful clothes Alessandro had given her into the laundry hamper, she wondered if she'd ever wear them again. The dresses he'd bought her in Paris she'd left behind, the one she'd worn to Le Train Bleu draped over the chair beside his bed.

She stepped into the shower, catching his scent on her skin. She closed her eyes and saw again the silk curtain falling over the library window, shutting her out.

Could he hear her yelling at Pamela? Had he heard her say she loved him and couldn't be happy for him? She wondered if he even cared. He had only one thing on his mind now—bringing his wife home.

Turning off the shower, she wrapped a towel around her wet hair and grabbed the bathrobe from the back of the door. She looked at the crest on the pocket. silvio milan. Maybe she should get dressed and go to work. She wasn't expected, of course. They thought she was under police protection while recovering from being chased by drug smugglers.

She clicked on her phone and checked the time. Just past noon.

Orlando didn't even look up from his Happy Spiders game when she opened the bathroom door. He might have been being discreet, but Olivia wondered if he even noticed her, a suspicion confirmed a few minutes later when she emerged from her room dressed in black pants and a sweater.

“Thought you were still in the bathroom,” Orlando said, barely glancing up.

“I hope no bad guys slipped past you while you were absorbed in your game,” she said somewhat sarcastically. “I'm going to work. I guess you have to come too.”

“Okay,” he said, reluctantly turning off his game.

Normally, she took the
traghetto
gondola that crossed the Grand Canal. It took a little longer than going by the Accademia Bridge, but she'd always found something magical in the brief ride across the canal. Today, with the fog, it would be even more so, but she was immune to magic right now, so she took the bridge. The view from the Accademia Bridge was not without its magic either, but she crossed over without so much as a pause.

Silvio was surprised to see her. “Is it safe?” he asked.

“That's why I have Orlando here,” she said.

“I'm so sorry,” Silvio said. “I had no idea about Dino. We were so worried when you disappeared.”

At that moment, the receptionist, Laura, arrived. Right behind her came Walter, one of the agents, and Bruno, the accountant. They looked as surprised as Silvio to see her there.

“I'm so glad you're safe!” Laura exclaimed. “None of us believed you had anything to do with it. But you scared us half to death. What if Dino found you before the cops?”

When Olivia didn't answer, Bruno piped in. “I always thought there was something about Dino. He has shifty eyes.”

“He does not,” Walter said disdainfully. “You only say that now because you know he's a criminal.”

Silvio's cell rang, and he looked at the display. “Please excuse me. I must take this,” he said, going into his office and closing the door behind him.

“Now
there's
a man who's been acting strangely,” Laura whispered conspiratorially. “He's constantly checking his phone. Do you think he's in on it with Dino? I've always wondered how he maintains his lavish lifestyle. I get how Marco does.
He
designed that Happy Spiders game.”

“So long as it keeps selling—” was as far as Bruno got before Orlando butted in.

“Who designed Happy Spiders?”

“Olivia's cousin Marco,” Walter said.

“Wow, really?” Orlando said, looking at her with new respect. “I love Happy Spiders!”

Olivia rolled her eyes.

Orlando didn't even notice. “Will you introduce me to him?

“He's in Iceland right now, but he'll be back soon.”

“Awesome.”

“I hope Silvio's not involved,” Walter said. “I'd hate to lose this job. I'd have to go back to working in one of the city museums. It's awful. Either you're falling asleep in the corner or you're yelling at the tourists for taking pictures of the art.”

Better than working for her sister's tax accountancy firm, Olivia thought, because that's where
she'd
be working as soon as she returned to Toronto. How could she stay in the same city as Alessandro? Imagine running into him and his wife! She could still work at Marco's art gallery, but she didn't think she'd have the heart for it. It had, after all, been the starting point of this whole disaster.

What was going to happen to his gallery anyway? Would Marco's investment be safe if Silvio was charged with drug trafficking? If nothing else, it would certainly be the end of the Silvio Milan brand. The sign wouldn't stay long on the Toronto office, let alone go up in
Reykjavik.

“No one's losing their jobs,” Bruno said. “It's a woman. Silvio's like a lovesick adolescent.”

“Really? Our playboy, Silvio, a lovesick adolescent?” Laura asked. “I find the international drug trafficker easier to believe. Any idea who it is?”

Bruno shook his head. “Married, I bet.”

Olivia could have told them Marco had the same theory and that she'd seen Silvio with a woman in a plague-doctor costume at Beatrix's party. But she stayed quiet—she was hardly in the mood for gossip.

Silvio emerged from his office then, and Laura looked guiltily at her computer screen while Bruno and Walter launched into a discussion of football.

“I'm going out,” Silvio said, pulling on his coat. He didn't look happy.

“Everything okay?” Laura asked cheerfully.

“We'll see,” was all he said, and a couple of minutes later they heard the door to the courtyard close with more force than was needed.

“It's a woman,” Walter said bluntly.

“You're probably right,” Laura said, gesturing toward her computer screen. “But whatever's going on with him can't beat this story. The papers are having a field day. Olivia, the cop who lost you at the airport was Alessandro Rossi, of the racing-car dynasty. He married Rocco Zucaro's sister a few years ago. She was kidnapped, and everyone thought she'd been killed except for him—”

“Stop, I know!” Olivia cried, earning puzzled glances from everyone but Orlando.

“Okay,” Laura said, pointing at the headline on her screen. “But did you know that Alessandro's wife is still alive?”

The Billionaire of Venice to Be Reunited at Last with His Wife
,
the headline screamed.

“Apparently she's been living in the United States all this time,” Laura added.

“Does she have amnesia or Stockholm syndrome?” Walter asked Orlando. “You'd think she would've contacted him. And why didn't her kidnappers ask for a ransom? I mean, the guy's a billionaire, and it sounds like he would've given his last penny to get her back.”

“Don't look at me,” Orlando said. “I'm just guarding Olivia here.”

“Good thing,” Laura said. “That woman whose body was found in the dumpster? The cops think she stumbled on the smuggling racket.” She shook her head. “I still can't believe about Dino . . .”

“I can,” Bruno said. “He has shifty eyes.”

“I'm going to get down to work,” Olivia said, wanting to scream.

Orlando followed her into the office and opened the shutters for her. “I take it they don't know about you and—”

“There's nothing to know,” she said, cutting him off.

“Sorry,” he said. “Hard not to notice when I was guarding the house.”

She sat down at her desk and realized she didn't
have
any work. She was supposed to be in New York right now, translating for Rocco. She turned on her computer. There were about twenty emails on this very topic, moving from panic to resignation that the show would be postponed. After all, there wasn't much they could do with Olivia out of the picture and Rocco's pieces for the show still in the hands of the police.

She was deleting the last email when who should show up at the door but Rocco himself.

“I'm sorry about your show,” she said. “I was just reading all the emails.”

“Don't worry,” he said. “I was very concerned about you. I was afraid you might be . . . never mind. I'm glad you're safe, and there's a silver lining to this whole thing. You've heard my sister is alive?”

“Yes,” Olivia said, her eyes fixed on her computer screen.

“It's in the American papers too. My brother-in-law, Alessandro, must be beside himself. We all owe him an apology. We told him to give up hope, but he never did.”

“Have you heard from him?” she asked as casually as she could.

“No,” he said. “But I'm not surprised. I'm sure he's already on his way to the States. He was so in love with her. They were the happiest and most beautiful couple Venice has ever known. Like a fairy tale—”

“Yes, it is,” she said a little sarcastically, and she caught Orlando looking up from the text he was typing.

Rocco, however, didn't seem to notice. “I'm trying not to get carried away. I only hope he does find her. It'll be bad enough for me if this leads to nothing, but for Alessandro . . .” Rocco shook his head. “To lose her twice . . . It would be too much. He'd never get over it.”

“Excuse me, Rocco,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I'm going to get another coffee.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, following her out of the room.

Laura, Bruno, and Walter were still gathered around Laura's computer. “We were just checking out the other headlines,” she called to Olivia. “Look at this one.
Is This the Billionaire of Venice's Wife?
They took the picture from Google Street View. What do you think, Rocco? It does sort of look like Katarina. And she could've changed a lot. She might have amnesia. We looked it up on Wikipedia. It can be caused by a head injury or traumatic events.”

Rocco looked at the photo. “It could be. Hard to tell with the face blurred out like that. But the hair's the right color.”

“It looks like the photos of the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot,” Olivia said irritably. “It's so fuzzy it could be anyone.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Laura said, unfazed. “But you'll love this one,” she said, bringing up another screen with a picture of Alessandro and Katarina at their wedding, sharing a kiss.
The Billionaire of Venice Gets His Fairytale Ending.

Olivia went to the kitchen. She was still staring at the espresso machine when Orlando came in behind her. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

“No. Yes. I don't want to be anywhere right now. Is it too early for a drink?”

“Not in Italy. Look, this is the stuff tabloids thrive on. Amnesia, Stockholm syndrome . . . Chances are it's nothing, and Dino's sending them on a wild goose chase. Why, I don't know. Just to take the heat off himself, I suppose.”

“Yes, but you heard Rocco. If she isn't alive, Alessandro will never get over it. And he did warn me . . .” And she'd ignored him. “He said he'd call, and he hasn't. I think that says it all.”

Orlando didn't answer, but instead pushed a button on the espresso machine. “Milk?” he asked. “I worked in my father's bar when I was a kid. I can steam milk along with the best.”

“Okay,” she said, thinking Orlando was rather sweet. If she didn't think he was gay, she might even think he was sweet on her.

A moment later, Orlando handed her a frothy cappuccino into which he'd poured a generous slug of brandy. He followed her back out.

“Do you know if Silvio has anything for me to do?” Olivia asked Laura.

“Mind a bit of translating?”

“Perfect,” she said. Laura handed her a program, which she was pleased to see was quite long. It would keep her mind off Alessandro for a couple of hours.

Orlando's phone rang as he closed the office door behind them. He said little, and taking her brandy-spiked coffee, she went to the window, the dome of the Salute lost in the fog.

“Anything I should know?” she asked when Orlando put down his phone. Who was she kidding, thinking that translating would take her mind off things?

“My boss, Columbo. Renzo is taking the night shift. He'll be here at six.”

“It took that long for him to tell you that? Nothing about Alessandro?”

He shook his head just as her own phone pinged, alerting her to an incoming text.
Please be Alessandro.

Olivia looked down at the display. It was Marco.

I read the news about the Billionaire of Venice and his wife. I'm sorry. That's a real bummer for you.

Bummer. That was the understatement of the year.