important. Offices can be opened if the price is high enough. Give me some telegraph forms and wake up one of your bellboys. We’ve all got work to do.”
The clerk probably wasn’t used to such a tone of command coming from a woman, but if he had any misgivings, the look in her eyes—and the money—must have caused him to set them aside. He swallowed hard, bobbed his head up and down, and said, “Sì, signorina.”
* * *
Louis woke up to a whirlwind of activity the next morning. Denny was packing, had in fact finished with some of the bags already.
“What’s going on here?”
“We’re leaving,” she told him. “I’ve had more than enough of Venice.”
He stared at her. “Just like that?”
“Yes,” Denny said as she fastened the clasp on a bag. “Just like that.” She gestured toward several bags resting on a table in the sitting room. “I packed some of your things, but you can finish up. We’re catching a train to Naples, and from there there’s a boat going to England.”
“I know that,” Louis said in exasperation, “but why now?”
She looked at him and said, “It’s time.”
Louis cocked his head to the side, squinted at her, and said, “This is about Giovanni, isn’t it? The two of you have had some sort of falling-out!”
“Can’t I just want to go back home?” she asked. She couldn’t quite keep the note of misery out of her voice.
Louis heard that and went to her, still in his dressing gown, and took her in his arms, patting her lightly on the back. “Of course you can,” he told her. “To tell you the truth, I’ve seen plenty of Venice myself. I don’t care if we never come back here.”
“Neither do I,” Denny said, her voice tightly controlled now. “You’d better hurry.”
“Won’t there at least be time for breakfast?”
“On the train.”
* * *
The bags had been loaded on a small boat, and a gondola was waiting at the landing in front of the hotel to take them to the train station. Denny stood there, waiting, dressed in a blue traveling outfit with a matching hat on her blond curls. Louis was next to her in a brown tweed suit and brown felt hat.
“I thought you were in a huge hurry,” he said.
“We are,” she said, “but we need to wait just a minute longer.”
She caught sight of Giovanni then, hurrying along the street, hatless, his hair slightly askew as if he had just raked his fingers through it when the insistent knock on his apartment door pulled him out of bed with the Englishwoman Vanessa. His clothes were a little disheveled, too. But when he spotted Denny and Louis, he bounded down the steps to the landing and pasted the usual big smile on his face.
“Cara mia,” he said, “what is so important that you must see me so early in the morning?”
“I wanted to catch you before you went to the bank,” Denny said, “so you won’t waste your time.”
Giovanni managed to keep smiling but frowned in confusion at the same time. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought everything was arranged—”
“It was,” Denny said, “but I’ve unarranged it.”
He shook his head. “What?”
“You can go to the bank if you want, but there won’t be any money waiting there for you. I sent more wires last night canceling everything.”
Now he looked shocked, angry, and a little scared. “Cancel . . . Why in the world would you do that?”
She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling him that she had eavesdropped on him and his mistress, although more than likely he would figure that out if he stopped and thought about it. Instead she said coldly, “I have my reasons.”
“But you cannot do this!” he burst out. “I need that money. Tomasi is expecting—”
“I don’t care,” Denny said. “You’ll have to handle that problem yourself, some other way. But it won’t be with my family’s money.” She paused. “Maybe you can talk to your grandfather’s emissary again.”
His eyes widened. She had said too much, she realized. She turned away quickly, motioned Louis toward the gondola.
“Let’s go.”
“Wait!” Giovanni grabbed her arm. “Cara mia, please! Whatever you think, you are wrong, mistaken—”
“What I think is that you’d better get your hand off me, mister,” Denny ground out.
With only inches separating their faces, Giovanni looked into her eyes for a couple of seconds and then released her arm. He stepped back, his face stricken.
“You do not know what you’re doing to me,” he said.
“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Denny said, “and I still don’t care.”
With that, she held out a gloved hand to Louis, who took it and helped her into the waiting gondola. He stepped in after her and they both sat down on the padded seat. Louis nodded to the gondolier, who pushed the boat away from the landing and poled it farther out into the canal.
Giovanni Malatesta stood there on the landing, staring after them.
Quietly, Louis said, “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t haul out that hogleg of yours and shoot the varmint, as folks in Colorado would say.”
“How did you know I was considering it?” Denny asked without looking over at her brother.
“Because I felt like doing the same thing,” Louis replied. “If I’d had a gun, I just might have.”
For the first time in awhile, Denny smiled. It wasn’t much of one, but it was still a smile.
“I seriously doubt you would have done that.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Louis said. “And just for the record, I have no doubt at all you would have, if he hadn’t let go of you when he did.”
“Well,” Denny said, “you’re right about that.”
CHAPTER 11
The Sugarloaf, 1902
Denny never told Louis all the details of what had happened, and he didn’t press her for them. She knew how smart he was, so she didn’t speculate on how much he might have figured out. She wanted to put the whole thing behind her, to never think about Count Giovanni Malatesta or that trip to Venice again, and for the most part she had succeeded.
But deep down, she knew the experience had hardened her, made her less
