Read Online The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries by Maxim Jakubowski - Free Book Online

wishes ringing in his ears. Zuichini’s small, plague-mask head
merely nodded farewell; he’d uttered no more than two dozen words in the space of half an hour. Joly blinked, unaccustomed to wine that hit so hard; but the pleasure was worth the pain.
    When he met up with Lucia, she made a fuss about the dinner. It was in her nature to complain; she regarded it as a duty not to agree to anything he suggested without making him struggle.
    “With two old men? Why would we wish to do this? After tomorrow we will be apart, perhaps for ever. Are you tired with me already?”
    Exaggeration was her stock-in-trade, but he supposed she was right and that they would not see each other again after he left the city. The plan was for him to travel to Rome and for her to join
him there in a fortnight’s time when she’d received her month’s pay from the restaurant. He’d arranged it like that so there was an opportunity for their relationship to die
a natural death. He hated break-up scenes. It would be so easy for them not to get together again in the Eternal City. If he wanted to return to Venice, he would rather do so free from
encumbrances; there were plenty more fish in the sea. As for their argument, in truth she found the prospect of a slap-up meal at a rich man’s expense as appealing as he did and after twenty
minutes she stopped grumbling and started to deliberate about what she might wear.
    They went back to her place and made love and by the time she’d dressed up for the evening, he could tell she was relishing the prospect of meeting someone new. Even if the men were old,
she would love parading before them; admiration turned her on more than anything exotic he tried with her in bed. At first he’d found her delightful, he’d even managed to persuade
himself that she might have hidden depths. But in truth Lucia was as shallow as the meanest canal in the city.
    Against his expectations, the dinner was a success, early awkwardness and stilted conversation soon smoothed by a rich, full-blooded and frighteningly expensive red wine. Sanborn, in a fresh
white suit, did most of the talking. Zuichini remained content to let his patron speak for him, occupying himself with a lascivious scrutiny of the ample stretches of flesh displayed by
Lucia’s little black dress. Her ankle tattoo, a small blue heart, had caught the American’s eye.
    “In honour of young Joly?” he asked, with an ostentatious twinkle.
    Lucia tossed her head. “I had it done in Sicily, the day of my sixteenth birthday. The first time I fell in love.”
    “It is as elegant and charming as the lady whom it adorns.” Sanborn had a habit of giving a little bow whenever he paid a compliment. “Take a look, Zuichini, do you not
agree?”
    The wizened man leaned over to study the tattoo. His beak twitched in approval; the gleam in his dark eyes was positively sly. Even Lucia blushed under his scrutiny.
    Sanborn said smoothly, “I have long admired the tattooist’s art and your heart is a fine example.”
    Lucia smiled prettily. “Thank you, Mr Sanborn.”
    “Darius, please. I like to think we are friends.”
    “Darius, of course.”
    She basked in the glow of his genial scrutiny. Joly broke off a piece of bread and chewed hard. He was revising his opinion about their host’s sexual orientation. Perhaps the old goat
fancied trying his luck once Joly had left town. Fair enough, he was welcome to her.
    “Do you know, Zuichini, I rather think that young Lucia’s heart is as elegant as Sophia’s dove. What do you say?”
    The bookbinder paused in the act of picking something from his teeth and treated Lucia to a satyr’s grin. “Uh-huh, I guess.”
    He didn’t speak much English and his accent was a weird pastiche American. Perhaps he’d picked it up from watching old movies. His idea of a matinee idol was probably Peter Lorre.
Why did Sanborn spend so much time with him, if they were not lovers, past or present? Joly asked if Sophia