The Venice conspiracy

CHAPTER 34

Present Day Luna Hotel Baglioni, Venice When Tom gets back to Tina's room his mind is awhirl with Valentina's grief.

Tina can tell he's distracted. Since he came in he's hardly said a word. It's certainly not the mood she was hoping for, the mood he needs to be in for the chat she's been planning. 'Ground Control to Major Tom, are you still in my orbit?'

He looks up from the chair he's slumped in. 'Sorry, I'm mulling over bits of this case.' He wonders why he didn't mention Valentina.

Tina goes over to him and puts her arms around his neck. 'Use my laptop. Google whatever it is and get it out of your system. I'm going to shower before dinner.'

'Good idea. Thanks. Do I need a password or anything?'

'Nope.' She smiles and points to the desk as she heads to the bathroom. 'It's all fired up. Just pour me a glass of wine for when I get out, okay?'

'Sure. White?'

'Please. There's some Sauvignon Blanc in the minibar. Spoil me with some ice as well.'

'Will do.'

Tom goes to the computer first. His theological studies give him a head start on the Etruscan research. He already knows the importance attached to the liver in their culture, and the fact that they were an incredibly organised and advanced society. From around 900 BC they were governed by predestination – a belief that every aspect of their fate was in the hands of a collection of deities. Their fortunes depended on remaining in favour with the gods, heeding omens and offering sacrifices to appease angry deities or win favour. To this end they relied heavily on the guidance of a seer or augur, known as a netsvis or, in the later Roman culture, a haruspex. Both the Romans and the Catholic Church eventually adopted elements of Etruscan ritual and garb; the crooked staff of modern-day bishops was derived from the lituus, a ceremonial stick employed by the netsvis.

As Tina sings in the shower, he digs deep into the ancient art of liver-divining. An academic treatise describes how the organ was divided into many zones, each representing a particular deity and the position it held in the sky. For example, if the section of the liver associated with Tinia, Etruscan god of thunder and weather, was torn or damaged in some way, the netsvis might interpret this as an omen that a raging storm would devastate crops and wreck fishing boats.

'I'm out of the shower!' shouts Tina. 'You want to help dry me?'

Tom doesn't hear her. He's engrossed in a photograph of the Piacenza Liver, a priceless, life-size, bronze model of a sheep's liver made some three centuries before the birth of Christ. Discovered in Gossolengo near Piacenza way back in the late nineteenth century, it is believed to have been a teaching aid for augurs. Peering at the markings, Tom wonders what messages the seers of old might have deciphered as a result of their studies.

Tina appears next to him. 'Okay, no help getting dry, I can put up with that. But no wine?'

'Sorry.' Tom jumps up from the desk. 'I just got carried away.' He scurries to the fridge and pours two glasses of white.

'You find what you want?'

'Kind of.' He looks at her – really looks – for the first time since he came in.

She's dressed in a soft white robe with a towel around her wet hair. When she notices the way he's studying her she smiles. 'What? I look scary without make-up and blow-dried hair?'

'Far from it. You look even more beautiful.' He steps closer to her. Kisses her lightly. Feels excited by the touch of her wet hair, her freshness and the softness of her mouth.

He puts his arms around her waist and starts to untie the robe's belt.

She pulls away and puts her drink on the dressing table. 'Come sit on the bed with me a minute. I've got something I want to say to you.'

'Oh. This doesn't sound good.'

Tina takes his hand as they sit. 'I've got to leave, Tom.'

He looks at her like he doesn't understand.

'Another job's come up and I have to leave here pretty quick. Very quick, in fact.'

He frowns at her. 'What job?'

She looks away from him, tries to hide her awkwardness. 'I'm sorry, I can't really say. It's – well, it's an exclusive – and the magazine has this confidentiality policy. I hope you understand.'

'No, not really. Don't we have something that goes a bit beyond a magazine article? Or am I really just naive?'

'You're not naive.' She looks more cross than sympathetic. 'Tom, it's business. Business is business. If you were still a priest, you wouldn't tell me what someone had said in the confessional, now, would you?'

'Don't be ridiculous. I can't believe you said that. If I was still a priest we wouldn't have been having sex, would we?'

Now it's her turn to be annoyed. 'Oh, like Catholic priests never have sex?' She unconsciously tightens her robe. 'I'm a professional and I stick to my principles. I guess you can respect that, can't you?'

Tom hopes his anger and disappointment don't show. 'Okay. Let's stop arguing. I'm sorry. When do you have to go?'

Her face stays hard. 'Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.'