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There was the kind of pause that often followed Tilde’s interventions. Then Gregorio said, ‘All the founding members of the Bank possess shares. Those of Nicholas would go to his heirs. The names of these are his own concern, surely. And as it happens, he’s quite well protected. I think you might even count on his survival.’

It was unlike Gregorio to be caustic with Tilde, but Julius couldn’t blame him. The brat had come here, for sure, chiefly to witness the denunciation and downfall of Nicholas. But there was more to it than that. If Nicholas died without contriving to marry again, Tilde and her sister might have a very good claim to inherit.

Nicholas arrived half an hour later, bringing with him the heat of the May afternoon and, Julius supposed, an excellent briefing from Loppe, who had excused himself earlier. The doors opened. Tilde half rose and sat down. Julius got up and walked forward and found a reminiscent smile sliding on to his face. He said, ‘You bastard, you look just the same.’

‘How disappointing of me,’ Nicholas said. ‘Thriving on money, I suppose. How are you? And Tilde? You’ve caught me, I’m afraid, in a crisis. Would tomorrow be better? Or do you really want to come with me to Murano?’ Julius stopped smiling.

Quite apart from that discouraging greeting, Nicholas did not, in fact, look quite the same. The stupendous brocade must have impressed the shipyard, if not the Palace. His hair had been brushed straight and compelled to stay that way under an expensive hat of fine straw. Below it, his face had the stretched look that comes after long travelling and dubious food. Julius, recently consulting his mirror, had noticed that he looked almost the same way himself.

It accounted also, Julius hoped, for the present attitude of high-handed detachment: not something Nicholas had ever been guilty of in the past. Half the time, in the old days, he appeared to be sitting inside your mind. Today, he showed no desire to come closer than spitting distance, even when he turned his attention to Tilde. His gaze, mild enough, reached her face by way of the stuff of her gown and her pendant. And Tilde, sustaining the survey, tilted her head and returned him a smile that made Julius wince.

Nicholas gave no sign at all that he noticed it. He said, ‘It sets you off, as is perfectly fitting. I don’t want to quarrel. We shan’t do you any harm with our branch. I have nothing to do with dyes now.’

‘I know. You lost the royal dyeworks in Cyprus, didn’t you?’ Tilde remarked. ‘To the Vatachino. Julius says the Vatachino are going to be the big new power in trade.’ If you looked closely, you could see she was breathless.

‘Everyone in business has a frightening story about the Vatachino,’ Julius said quickly. ‘They’ve got a foothold in Bruges, and they’re into every damned thing.’

‘Especially dyes. Perhaps you ought to be watching them instead of me,’ Nicholas observed, still very mildly.

‘Julius isn’t refining sugar like you are,’ Tilde said. ‘Julius thinks we should stick to our business. The Vatachino must have cost you quite a bit, this last year or two.’

‘It’s kind of you to be worried,’ said Nicholas. ‘But I have tried to hold my own. Would you forgive me? I must get out of this rig before going.’

Julius always appreciated it when Nicholas made a mistake. He said, ‘Yes, we heard how you were holding your own. You tricked the Vatachino into insuring our old friend the Doria before the old man sailed it out of Cyprus with Crackbene. I hope to God you’re not going to Portugal after it? Or maybe you don’t need to. Did the grasping devils pay up?’

‘They paid up,’ said Nicholas. ‘Margot, will Tilde need some sort of head covering? It’s not a long way, but we’ve a barge to tow with us. Suppose we leave as soon as we can?’

‘… Because you know who is waiting in Portugal,’ Julius continued, cheerfully unrelenting. ‘The old man sent letters about you. The widow’s there, and her son. The girl’s family are going,