Great. That meant into town. Again. Well, she’d see if she could fit a trip to Giaccomo’s into her rounds. They said trade was tight in Venice lately, because of the political situation, and you could see signs of it. But not right now. She felt she was being run off her feet, or more like rowed off her shoulders. “Consider it done, Paulo.”
He patted her shoulder. “We trust you, Garavelli.”
Yeah. They trusted her. The boatyard work was reliable, but for real money she still relied on Giaccomo. And the trouble with the squeeze on trade on the Po, the Vinland trade, and Genoa trying to muscle Venice . . . everyone was poorer and everything was more expensive. Which didn’t worry those who had a lot coming in.
The trouble was—since she’d been living with Caesare, she’d gotten used to those little luxuries, like sleeping warm and dry. But they seemed so short of money, especially with Marco not putting in anymore. Caesare seemed really tight.
She was in a brown study about it as she sculled along to Giaccomo’s. It took her a good moment to realize the “Psst!” from the gondola resting against the poles was addressed at her. It was Kat. She looked drawn and miserable.
“Been lookin’ for you for days,” said Maria.
“I went to the mainland,” Kat replied dully. “We still own a small farm there. It’s mortgaged to the hilt, so we can’t sell it. And then Giuseppe didn’t give me your note until Madelena decided it might stop me . . .”
“Crying into your breakfast,” finished Maria. Kat didn’t look like she’d eaten or slept much in the last ten days.
Kat nodded.
Maria snorted. “She must have been pretty desperate.”
Kat shrugged. “She always told me men were like that. I didn’t believe her.”
There was a time for sympathy. There was also a time for no mercy. This, decided Maria, was the latter. “Like what?”
“False!” spat Kat. “Cheating, lying, and false. Making up to . . . becoming engaged to someone when they say they’re not even involved with anyone. Not even seeing anyone.”
Maria shook her head. “I don’t know what maggot you’ve got in your head. The only other woman young Marco has ‘seen’ in the last three months is me. Unless you are talking about women he passed in the street! And he hasn’t ‘made up’ to me. That’s for damned sure.”
“So how come he suddenly married Angelina Dorma?” demanded Kat savagely. “Just suddenly, huh?”
Maria shrugged. “Because she’s more than three months pregnant.”
Kat stood there gawping like a carp, abruptly out of water. Eventually she managed a small “oh.”
“Yes. ‘Oh.’ Marco is so ‘good’ it almost shines out of him. He’s done this because he felt it was the right thing to do. I wanted you to help me to talk him out of it. That’s why I tried so hard to get hold of you. He doesn’t love her, and never did. He had a ‘she’s a gorgeous Case Vecchie girl’ crush on her. She didn’t even know he was Case Vecchie. She’s a tramp. But . . . well, it’s too late now.”
“Are you sure . . . about it all . . . about the baby?”
Maria nodded. “He’s a terrible liar. He might lie to save someone else pain, but not himself. And he told me straight out. I’m sorry, Kat.”
Now it was time for comforting. Maria hitched the gondola, and climbed over and held Kat for some time. The chiming of bells suddenly started Maria back into a realization of her duties.
“Hell. I’ve got to move. I’m supposed to have that picture back there for them as soon as possible! Look, you must go and see Benito. Talk to him. Confirm what I said. You can find him outside Ventuccio’s just after lunch. I’ve got to go.”
* * *
Lunchtime for runners saw Benito draped in his usual spot over the lower railing of the Ventuccio stairs, absorbing lunch and sunlight at the same time. He was blind and deaf to the traffic into Ventuccio behind him, intent as he was on his study of the canal below, until an elegantly-booted foot nudged his leg.