Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [270]
Both dimples appeared. ‘Don’t despair,’ said Nicholas, smiling.
On the way to their boat, Violante detained him. Perhaps she knew Margot was near; perhaps she didn’t. ‘Deprivation suits you,’ she said. ‘But where is the sweet young ox that once I favoured? I hear you live the life of a monk. I hear you do not even console the motherly Margot.’
‘Have I made a mistake?’ Nicholas said. ‘I didn’t know that consolation was what I was supposed to be dispensing. I must have let you down badly.’
She was beautiful, and clever, and no more visibly engaged than he was. ‘You and Zacco,’ she said. ‘I am told he remembers you still. He has put aside your Primaflora long ago. You must not let this new marriage affect you. It is good for Venice.’
There was a note of something that might have been wistfulness in her voice. Nicholas said, ‘Poor Zacco. Doesn’t he deserve something a little closer to his own tastes? I thought your husband, by the way, looked rather poorly. Do take care of him.’
Violante of Naxos flicked him on the cheek and, laughing, walked to the edge of the wharf.
‘Bitch,’ said Margot.
‘I thought you were there,’ Nicholas said. ‘Do you want me to console you?’
‘Not if you want to stay here,’ Margot said. ‘What do you think all that will mean?’
‘At a guess? The Venetian families get the royal sugar franchise. Cyprus becomes a Venetian fortress, with Zacco its puppet. Cairo loses its tribute, and is therefore keener to trade with people like me. And John le Grant is out of a job. He might do rather well in Alexandria. Shall I suggest it to Julius?’
‘You’re the head of the Bank,’ Margot said.
‘No. They are. Gregorio and Julius. I,’ Nicholas said, ‘am the evil genius who whispers from time to time in their ears, but prefers to be absent.’
But he hadn’t been absent.
Then February came, and one morning, at dawn, a messenger at the door of the Ca’ Niccolò. At first the porter refused to let him in, but when the man presented a paper, the porter opened the door. Margot, in her bedgown, said, ‘What?’
‘For my lord Niccolò,’ said the porter. ‘This man has been paid to bring such a message whenever it comes, and to deliver it personally.’
‘Come with me,’ Margot said.
Afterwards, she thought that Nicholas had heard the disturbance; or perhaps he had been sleeping lightly. At any rate, she had hardly knocked before the door opened. Nicholas looked from her to the man, who held out the packet he carried.
‘Wait,’ said Nicholas. ‘Margot, will you excuse me?’
There was a lamp already lit by his desk. He took the packet over, and lifted scissors and snipped all the threads. The seal had told her nothing, except that it was made from poor wax. Then Nicholas turned and came back.
He really observed her then, she thought, for the first time, and caught her by the wrist, saying, ‘It’s all right.’ Then he turned to the messenger. ‘This is what I was expecting. You received your wage?’
‘Every week, my lord,’ said the man.
‘Good. Then our arrangement has come to an end. But you have been watchful. I appreciate it. Let me close the transaction with this.’
She couldn’t see how many gold coins there were in his palm, but she heard the man’s gasp. He coloured, and tried to kiss the hand that had given them to him. Then he backed off and ran.
‘Well?’ said Nicholas to Margot, standing still in the doorway. ‘What news was it, do you think?’
Something told her. Something identified the reason for all the weeks of waiting, the curious withdrawal, the reluctance to move. She said, ‘I think it is good news of the one person you have been waiting to hear from. I think it is to say that Loppe – that Umar is safely home.’
He kissed her then; a kiss of pure affection and relief and a number of other emotions she could not then name. He said, ‘I don’t need consolation any more, and if you do, it’s going to take