Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [98]
But now, she heard him in silence and then said, ‘He will have news of Nicholas, and wants to see how we receive it. Shall I see him alone, or will you come and support my performance?’ Her eyes were sea-blue, and smiling.
Gregorio said, ‘It may be bad news.’
And Gelis looked at him and said, ‘But we have already had all the bad news, have we not?’
HOWEVER SPLENDID HIS DRESS, or skilled his barber, or devoted his masseur, a man who has spent nearly three years in the Levant will bear the mark of it for many weeks after, never mind one single day. Caterino Zeno, springing to his feet as his quarry entered the room, had the weatherbeaten skin and nervous energy of a traveller who, even yet, has not shaken off the need to be wary; but his eyes, scanning Gregorio and his fair companion, were bright. It was Caterino Zeno’s cleverness, his curiosity and some would say his cheerful heartlessness that made him such an excellent ambassador for his city.
He thought again, kissing her hand, what a lovely woman Gelis van Borselen was, and that she would not long remain single, even in this uxorious household under the good Gregorio of Asti and his suspicious regard. Her marriage with de Fleury had failed, one supposed, because of the undoubted misconduct on either side. It occurred to Zeno, sitting, to wonder whether she suspected that de Fleury had been the lover of his own exquisite wife Violante. He himself was reasonably sure, but had not pushed Violante into admitting it. She had given him his legitimate heir, his handsome young Pietro, and he had his own compensations — a pretty daughter, for example, born in Georgia three years ago. Violante had said nothing of that, any more than he did of Nerio. They lived in a civilised world.
Now, he gave himself the pleasure of delaying his news, asking first after the lady’s child, and Gregorio’s family, and the fortunes of the Bank, now it had divided under its managers. Responding freely to questions, he described with attractive modesty his years in Persia at the warlike Court of the Turcoman prince, and the successes he had achieved in the name of the Lion of St Mark, for this dear Republic, so generous to all those who helped her. And finally, he related how he had returned —with such travail! through such danger! — by way of the Kingdom of Poland. His news from Poland, indeed, was the occasion for his trespassing thus on their hospitality. But someone had to be told. A double tragedy. And who would have guessed?
Surprisingly, it was the lawyer, Gregorio, who paled. The girl — the woman, she was in her late twenties — had weighed him up sooner, and, dropping her eyes to her lap, had shown no immediate sign of alarm. Only at the end, looking up, she spoke before her companion could do so.
‘Some deal has failed to go through? Any other tragedy, I feel, would have been reported to us by now.’ The man Gregorio had glanced at her.
Zeno said, ‘I fear you are wrong, and I am the harbinger. The lord of Cortachy will hardly have made his way back to Flanders as yet, whereas my report will be released by the Senate tomorrow. I wished to warn you beforehand. I do so with the greatest reluctance.’
He treated the woman to a sensitive pause and saw that he had made an impression at last. None the less she did not exclaim, but merely spoke in a taut, level voice. ‘Are you saying that Anselm Adorne has changed his mind about going to Tabriz?’
‘Changed his mind? No. His mission has failed,’ Zeno said. ‘The King found himself unable to receive him, and your own Duke wrote to