Stone's Fall

'He needs to be sedated,' he said. 'And he needs to sleep. Then we can see what is to be done with him. I assume no one wishes to involve the authorities?'

There was a chorus agreeing that this would be a bad idea. Marangoni looked almost satisfied, as though his predictions about Cort had come spectacularly true. But at least he knew what to do, could propose some course of action. He was, suddenly, a commanding presence and I realised for the first time why he was in a position of authority. He was good at it.

He gave his orders. Cort would be taken to his hospital for the night; Drennan would accompany him there, to make sure there were no further problems. In the morning he would begin a proper examination.

'And Mrs Cort? Someone must escort her home.'

'Of course you must not! You must stay with us, my dear Mrs Cort,' Longman said kindly.

'Or here. I have more room,' the Marchesa interrupted, seemingly a little annoyed at Longman's offer.

Louise nodded. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'You are all very kind . . .'

Everybody was attempting to comfort her. Only Marangoni said nothing, but watched her carefully; I could see his eyes flickering to me as well. That annoyed me. Even at a moment like that, all he could do was diagnose, watch and interpret.

'And your son?' he said eventually.

Louise looked at him, and hesitated for a moment. 'He is at home with the nurse. No harm will come to him,' she said.

And so it was arranged; Longman offered to come back if any further assistance was needed and took his leave. I also made my excuses and retired to my rooms.

An hour later Louise came to me. I was waiting for her. By the time she slipped away at dawn I had told her I would never leave her, that I wanted her for ever. That I loved her, would protect her.

CHAPTER 11

I met Signor Ambrosian on his return; the meeting was arranged swiftly, and I waited on him at his bank close to the Piazza San Marco. Not at all like the palaces of London, where Rothschilds and Barings hold court to Europe and the world. The Banco di Santo Spirito (quite a charming name, I thought, implying that all this usury was to serve God the better rather than to enrich a few families) could not be compared to one of the great houses of London. Nonetheless, it showed ambition in the way it had cleaned out a Renaissance palace, and refitted it in the dark wood and heavy veined marble that was the necessary indicator of solidity in every serious financial centre.

Ambrosian matched his building. Venetians, of all Italians, are the most difficult to read; they do not show their emotions easily. Life is a serious business for them and many have a natural melancholy which makes social intercourse quite difficult. Ambrosian was very reserved; perfectly polite, but with no openness or welcome about him. He was a handsome man, immaculately dressed with a shock of silver grey hair which was matched by a grey necktie and (a foreign touch) large pearl cufflinks, and a vase of silvery flowers on his desk. He was a fine fellow, a shrewd businessman, more than ready to exploit the gullibility of others, as was only proper for a man in his position. I hoped very much that he would be quite merciless in his dealings with me. A great deal depended on it.

I expressed my pleasure in meeting him, and explained my current circumstances. 'I have identified several possibilities for investment in Venice, and wish to consult you as to their practicality,' I said, once the preliminaries were disposed of. These were the usual sort of thing, questions and answers so that he could determine whether I was someone to take seriously. The name of Joseph Cardano served me well here. He was known amongst financiers throughout much of Europe, even if only by name or reputation. But not outside that circle. The fact that I realised mentioning his name meant something was enough to make Ambrosian accept I was a man of purpose. He slowly became more attentive, more careful in his speech. He was too vain to think he was talking to an equal, but intelligent enough to realise that some consideration was required. That, at present, was exactly as I desired. His triumph at exploiting me would be all the greater, and thus less easy to resist.

For the next hour we discussed the possibility of building a grand hotel in Venice; I laid out my ideas, he explained all the difficulties. Of finding the right land, of getting the workforce, the managers, of raising the necessary capital at the appropriate price for such a venture – who, after all, wanted to come to Venice?

To each problem I proposed an answer. Build on the Lido, not in the centre of Venice. Bring in all the architects, engineers and surveyors from France and England, if necessary. Make use of my skills – I exaggerated a little here – and Cardano's contacts to form a company that could raise the money in London. I had thought it all through; my answers were considered and thorough.

'And why do you need me, then?' he asked with a smile.