The Venice conspiracy

CAPITOLO XLVII
1778

Canal Grande, Venezia Masked revellers dance and flirt afloat a wave of music from a full orchestra in the elegant ballroom of the newest palazzo on the Canal Grande. The lavishly furnished home is one of many owned by businessman Giovanni Mannino. Gio is from Murano and is the latest in a long line of glass-makers. His ancestors were forced out to the island when authorities banished his trade from Venice for fear that the furnaces would blow up the city. Now he is one of the nouveau riche, buoyed by bank loans and foreign orders for everything from glass beads to chandeliers. As Gio's wife Giada so regularly says, they have so much money they won't be able to spend it even if they live for a thousand years. But Gio is trying. Trying very hard.

Tanina has borrowed not only Lydia's mask but also a shimmering gold dress and high gold heels that make her look a little more like a courtesan than she's comfortable with. Still, it is exciting to be here. A welcome distraction from her melancholy stewing over Ermanno and his dreadful behaviour.

A small man holding a Casanova mask sidles over to her. He tilts it to one side and reveals a handsome and youthful face with rich brown eyes. 'May I have the honour of this dance, and of knowing the name of the beauty I share it with?'

'And your name, sir? From what I know of Casanova, he is twice your age, twice your height and still abroad – so you are certainly not he.'

'I am Claudio Bonetti and you are correct, I am no Casanova. Though I believe the smallpox-riddled old rogue has returned to Venice after almost eighteen years abroad, so you had better check carefully that the mask is not the real thing.' She taps it and he drops the papier-mache creation to chest height. 'The mask is borrowed from a friend of mine. The only spare he had. It was something of a last-minute impulse of his to come here.'

'Mine is borrowed too. Also from an impulsive friend.' She dips her own mask and rewards him with a smile. 'I am Tanina Cingoli and I would be delighted to dance with you.' Claudio takes her hand.

Across the ballroom Lydia also finds male companionship. Her new trapunto uomo, the string of pearls that Efran sold her and a long cream silk dress with a bustle bigger than a small child have caught the eye of many men, including one who is well known to her. 'Lydia, you look enchanting. Bewitching! I am not sure which part of me is most excited to see you here – my heart or my manhood. '

Lydia laughs. 'Be in no doubt – it is your randy old cock. You do not have a heart.'

He laughs raucously. 'You are cruel! You wound me with your decadent tongue.'

'Then come closer so I can lick you better, like the tongue of a lioness heals the wounds of her pack leader.'

The man gazes across the dancers to find the whereabouts of his ever-vigilant and rightfully untrusting wife. 'Let me dance once with you-know-who, then I am yours.'

Her hand brushes against his thigh. 'Good. Because I have something for you. Something more incredible than anything you have ever dreamed of.'

'I am sure.'

She stretches up and leans close to kiss his ear. 'Not sex. This is something you have yearned even more for. Something you wanted so much you might even give your life – or take a life – for it.'

She has him hooked.

He glances across the room again. His wife has her back to him. 'Tempt me no more. Let's find a chamber on the upper floor.'