‘So, what is his name? You never got the chance to tell me.’
‘Who?’ Francesco asked, snagging a caramelised length of burgundy radicchio on his fork.
‘Your new “pothos”.’ She smiled. ‘The guy from last night.’
Francesco’s fork froze mid-air. ‘Last night? No onespecial.’
‘Dai! We tell each other everything. Who is he?’
‘Ho detto, nessuno. Leave it alone, Lucia.’
Assessing him over the top of her glass, Lucia exhaled. ‘Va bene.’
Suddenly, Foscari seemed agitated. He scurried from his food bowl in the kitchen to join Lucia, his ears twitching in time with his tail, before making his way up his grammar-guide staircase to the window seat facing thecalle. He rapped on the glass with a paw, causing both Lucia and Francesco to turn to him.
‘Cosa c’è, amore?’ Lucia asked.
Foscari yapped, standing on his hind legs now with both paws on the pane.
Lucia felt her skin prickle. ‘Dio . . .’
Together, the pair joined Foscari by the window.
There, across Calle del Leone, was La Commedia, as it always had been. But now, one of the top-floor windows was clearly illuminated from within.
Lucia tugged on Francesco’s arm. ‘You do see that, don’t you? Or am I ready to be committed?’
Nodding slowly, he said, ‘I see it, alright.’
‘I don’t want to go back out there.’
‘No, no. Don’t,’ Francesco agreed.
‘On Monday morning I’ll visit thecomuneand file a report of suspicious behaviour. I don’t want to give that place another thought until then.’
‘Bravissima!’ He offered a round of applause. ‘Butwhowill run your class while you’re taking on middle-level Venetian bureaucracy?’
‘I’ll ask Stefano to start my lesson for me once he’s finished level-testing the new students.’
The corner of Francesco’s mouth lifted. ‘Stefano, we’re lucky to have him.’
‘We certainly are. And you, too,’ Lucia cooed, collecting Foscari in her arms. ‘Bravo, Piccolo. Let’s go eat,eh?’ She pulled the curtains closed, shutting out all thoughts about La Commedia for the rest of the weekend, choosing to focus solely on the safeguarding of her school.
cinque
Lucia wondered how much longer she could be addressed by the termsignorina. If she were to stay single forever – or, as the headlines had called her,Venice’s most eligible bachelorette– at what point wouldsignorinameet its linguistic expiration date? She figured that the man at thecomuneoffice that Monday could sense she was single and thought to convey her the courtesy. His courtesy, however, ended there.
‘Trevisan, Lucia,’ she informed him.
His long, beak-like nose had a distinct bend in the middle. Lucia noticed it as he dropped his head to scribble her name on a notepad. He seemed to pause for a moment, as if the name and those vibrant green eyes stirred something in his memory, but eventually, he met her gaze. ‘Signorina Trevisan, and your complaint would be?’
She smiled tightly. ‘Aconcern. Not a complaint.’
He raised his eyebrows and gave an indignant Italian nod of the head to no one in particular. ‘Yourconcern, then?’
‘The empty property across from mine on Calle del Leone has been occupied the last few days, and strange things are taking place inside the building.’
His pen poised, he asked, ‘What strange things?’
