Weighed in the balance - Anne Perry [59]
“But you said he wouldn’t do that.”
“No, he wouldn’t, not even to save his country.” Florent’s voice was flat, as if he were trying to be objective, but there was condemnation in it, and looking at him, Monk saw anger in his face.
“That would be a very romantic thing to do,” he pointed out. “Both personally and politically.”
“And also very lonely,” Florent added. “And Friedrich was never one to bear loneliness.”
Monk thought about that for several minutes, hearing the hum of laughter and conversation behind them as a group of people came out of the theater and hailed a gondola, and the splash of water as its wake slurped over the steps.
“What are Zorah’s feelings?” Monk asked when they had moved away. “For independence or unification? Could this charge she has made be political?”
Florent considered before he replied, and then his voice was thoughtful.
“How? What could it serve now? Unless you think she is trying to suggest someone else is behind Gisela. I can’t see that as likely. She never kept any affiliations to anyone at home.”
“I meant if Zorah knew Friedrich was murdered, not necessarily by Gisela at all, but felt accusing her would be the best way of bringing the whole issue out into the open,” Monk explained.
Florent stared at him. “That is possible,” he said very slowly, as if still mulling it over in his mind. “That hadn’t occurred to me, but Zorah would do something like that—especially if she thought it was Klaus.”
“Would Klaus kill Friedrich?”
“Oh, certainly, if he thought it was the only way to prevent him from going home and leading a resistance which could inevitably result in a war of independence which we would lose, sooner or later.”
“So Klaus is for Waldo?”
“Klaus is for himself,” Florent said with a smile. “He has very considerable properties on the borders which would be among the first to be sacked if we were invaded.”
Monk said nothing. The dark waters of the canal lapped at the marble behind him, and from inside came the sound of laughter.
The autumn days continued warm and mellow. Monk pursued Evelyn because he enjoyed it. Her company was delightful, making every event exciting. And he was flattered because she obviously found him interesting, different from the men she was used to. She asked him probing questions about himself, about London and the darker side of it he knew so well. He told her enough to tantalize her, not enough to bore. Poverty would have repelled her. He mentioned it once and saw the withdrawal in her eyes. The subject required an answering compassion, even a sense of guilt, and she did not wish either of those emotions to cloud her pleasure.
Also, since she was Klaus’s wife, he was able to ask just as many questions of her. In the pursuit of truth he needed to know as much as possible about Klaus and his alliances with either Waldo or any other German power.
He saw her at dinners, theaters and a magnificent ball thrown by one of the expatriate Spanish aristocrats. He danced till he was dizzy and slept until noon the following day.
He drifted in the lazy afternoon along quiet backwaters, hearing little but the lapping of the tide against the walls, lying on his back and seeing the skyline slip past, exquisite towers and facades, lace carved in stone against the blue air, holding Evelyn in his arms.
He saw the Doge’s palace, and the Bridge of Sighs, leading to the dungeons from which few returned. He thought of going back to the winter in London, to his own small rooms. They were quite agreeable by most standards, warm and clean and comfortably furnished. His landlady was a good cook and seemed to like him well enough, even if she was not at all certain if she approved of his occupation. But it was hardly Venice. And inquiring into the tragedies of people’s lives which led to crime was a very different