in liceo ,’ Brunetti said; no more than that.
‘A state school?’ Flavia asked Paola without thinking.
‘Of course,’ Paola said, as if there were no other sort of school to which children would be sent. ‘It’s the nearest school to both our homes.’
The Contessa interrupted them. ‘I wanted Paola to learn Veneziano from other children, not only from the staff here. It’s her language, after all. ‘
‘Do you speak it, Signora?’ Flavia asked, stopping short of using the title and moving away from her surprise that aristocrats would go to state schools.
‘No. I think it’s pretentious to try to speak it if you’re not Venetian,’ the Contessa said. ‘But Paola’s home is here, and I wanted her to grow up speaking it.’
Paola sat back in the sofa and rolled her eyes, as if she had been hearing this all her life.
Brunetti watched as Flavia’s eyes went back and forth between the two other women while she searched for something to say. ‘I could have a word with Freddy,’ he interposed. Freddy was as much his friend as Paola’s, after all, perhaps even more so. There were times when Brunetti thought this was because they had met when they were boys, not children, and had been good friends while they ceased being boys and began to be men.
‘Flowers in the theatre are one thing; getting into a private home to leave them is something else entirely,’ he added.
He watched her consider what he’d said. Brunetti wasn’t sure about the legal distinction between the two, nor that it was a crime to enter a building where you did not live and into which you had not been invited. Surely, tourists did it every day: how many times had he been told by friends about finding strangers in their courtyard or on their staircase? And what sort of crime was it to leave flowers in front of a person’s door?
‘It might be a good idea, my dear,’ the Conte said to Flavia. ‘I think Guido should talk to him, if only to show him that someone is taking this seriously.’
‘But are you?’ Flavia turned to Brunetti to ask.
Brunetti uncrossed his legs and took time to think, then said, ‘I don’t see anything that would persuade a magistrate that it’s worth pursuing. There’s no criminal act and no evidence of threat.’
The Conte spoke, sounding protective and indignant. ‘Does that mean something else has to happen before you’ll act?’
‘ Papà ,’ Paola broke in, sounding exasperated. ‘That sounds so melodramatic: “something has to happen”. All that’s happened is that Flavia’s been given flowers and a note. Nothing’s even been said to her.’
‘It’s bizarre behaviour,’ the Conte replied sharply. ‘A normal person would simply sign a card and send it along. Or have a florist deliver them to the house in the usual way. There’s no reason for the secrecy. It’s not right.’ He turned to Flavia and said, ‘In my opinion, you have every reason to be concerned: you don’t know whom you’re dealing with, and you don’t know what they’ll do next.’
‘You don’t have to make it sound so threatening,’ Paola said to her father. And, to Flavia, ‘I don’t agree with my father at all. Whoever’s doing this just wants to be able to tell his friends how strong his passion for music is. It’s all about boasting and proving how much better his taste is, how very strong his aesthetic responses.’ She said it as though she thought it ridiculous.
The Conte reached for the grappa the maid had brought and poured some into two glasses. He handed one to Brunetti and took a sip from his own. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll find out.’
‘What does that mean, dear?’ his wife asked.
‘This isn’t over.’ In one sip he finished the grappa, and then set down the empty glass.
8
Emerging from the palazzo a half-hour later, Paola suggested to Brunetti that they take the Accademia Bridge and walk home on the other side of the canal for a change. Both of them knew this would add fifteen
‘A state school?’ Flavia asked Paola without thinking.
‘Of course,’ Paola said, as if there were no other sort of school to which children would be sent. ‘It’s the nearest school to both our homes.’
The Contessa interrupted them. ‘I wanted Paola to learn Veneziano from other children, not only from the staff here. It’s her language, after all. ‘
‘Do you speak it, Signora?’ Flavia asked, stopping short of using the title and moving away from her surprise that aristocrats would go to state schools.
‘No. I think it’s pretentious to try to speak it if you’re not Venetian,’ the Contessa said. ‘But Paola’s home is here, and I wanted her to grow up speaking it.’
Paola sat back in the sofa and rolled her eyes, as if she had been hearing this all her life.
Brunetti watched as Flavia’s eyes went back and forth between the two other women while she searched for something to say. ‘I could have a word with Freddy,’ he interposed. Freddy was as much his friend as Paola’s, after all, perhaps even more so. There were times when Brunetti thought this was because they had met when they were boys, not children, and had been good friends while they ceased being boys and began to be men.
‘Flowers in the theatre are one thing; getting into a private home to leave them is something else entirely,’ he added.
He watched her consider what he’d said. Brunetti wasn’t sure about the legal distinction between the two, nor that it was a crime to enter a building where you did not live and into which you had not been invited. Surely, tourists did it every day: how many times had he been told by friends about finding strangers in their courtyard or on their staircase? And what sort of crime was it to leave flowers in front of a person’s door?
‘It might be a good idea, my dear,’ the Conte said to Flavia. ‘I think Guido should talk to him, if only to show him that someone is taking this seriously.’
‘But are you?’ Flavia turned to Brunetti to ask.
Brunetti uncrossed his legs and took time to think, then said, ‘I don’t see anything that would persuade a magistrate that it’s worth pursuing. There’s no criminal act and no evidence of threat.’
The Conte spoke, sounding protective and indignant. ‘Does that mean something else has to happen before you’ll act?’
‘ Papà ,’ Paola broke in, sounding exasperated. ‘That sounds so melodramatic: “something has to happen”. All that’s happened is that Flavia’s been given flowers and a note. Nothing’s even been said to her.’
‘It’s bizarre behaviour,’ the Conte replied sharply. ‘A normal person would simply sign a card and send it along. Or have a florist deliver them to the house in the usual way. There’s no reason for the secrecy. It’s not right.’ He turned to Flavia and said, ‘In my opinion, you have every reason to be concerned: you don’t know whom you’re dealing with, and you don’t know what they’ll do next.’
‘You don’t have to make it sound so threatening,’ Paola said to her father. And, to Flavia, ‘I don’t agree with my father at all. Whoever’s doing this just wants to be able to tell his friends how strong his passion for music is. It’s all about boasting and proving how much better his taste is, how very strong his aesthetic responses.’ She said it as though she thought it ridiculous.
The Conte reached for the grappa the maid had brought and poured some into two glasses. He handed one to Brunetti and took a sip from his own. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll find out.’
‘What does that mean, dear?’ his wife asked.
‘This isn’t over.’ In one sip he finished the grappa, and then set down the empty glass.
8
Emerging from the palazzo a half-hour later, Paola suggested to Brunetti that they take the Accademia Bridge and walk home on the other side of the canal for a change. Both of them knew this would add fifteen
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