Free 1954 - Mission to Venice by James Hadley Chase

quite brazen and admit I was hoping you would offer,” she said and laughed. “The last time I ventured alone in a gondola, the wretched man ran after me all the way to the hotel, insisting I hadn’t paid him enough.”
    “It’s a favourite dodge of theirs. You have to know how to handle them. Come with me. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
    She moved with him towards the gondola station. She had the easy, graceful carriage of a mannequin, and Don noticed how a group of young American tourists stared at her and then
    at him.
    One of the gondoliers came forward, bowing.
    “Il Campo dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo,” Don said to him as he helped Maria into the gondola.
    He sat beside her and stretched out his long legs. At the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He should be trying to find Tregarth, but the temptation to share the company of this enchantress was too much for him. He tried to console his conscience by telling himself he had nothing to work on until Giuseppe reported to him and he was entitled to an hour or so to himself.
    “Where’s your brother this morning?” he asked. “Why isn’t he looking after you or has he found someone else’s sister to look after?”
    “He is working this morning. You see, I am on holiday, but he is here on business.”
    “Are you staying long? “ Don asked.
    “Perhaps a week. It depends on Carl. You are very fortunate, Mr. Micklem, to be your own master.”
    “Don, perhaps, would be less formal,” Don said. “Could we make it Don?”
    She looked at him from under her long eyelashes.
    “If it would please you.”
    “It would. To return to your remark. I guess I am lucky,” Don said. “Your brother said your name was Maria: it is a lovely name. What about you? Have you been lucky, Maria?”
    She lifted her elegant shoulders.
    “Not always. I am more lucky than some, less lucky than others. My father had a very bad time during the war. He was in a concentration camp. Carl and I were refugees. When the war was over, my father rebuilt his business. Then perhaps you could say I became lucky. I was able to have many things I couldn’t have when I was a child. It would have been better, I think, if I could have had those things when I was a child. I missed them so much then, whereas now, I don’t think I would have missed them.”
    “Your father is still alive?”
    “Oh yes, but he sends Carl to buy glass. He is more interested in the financial side of the business.”
    “Glass? Is that Carl’s job?”
    Don’s mind alerted.
    She looked at him, smiling.
    “You sound surprised. The Natzka glass factory is well-known.”
    A cold, feathery feeling crawled up Don’s spine.
    “I must confess my ignorance. Your brother then is here to buy Venetian glass?”
    “Yes. We have thirty shops in Hungary. We sell a lot of Venetian glass.”
    “Do you sell English glass too?”
    “Yes, a lot of it, and even a little American glass as well,” she said, smiling.
    Don tried to sound casual, but he found himself strangely tense with excitement.
    “Who do you deal with in England?” he asked.
    “With John Tregarth of Hampden,” she said without hesitation. “And in America with the Van Ryder factory. You see, I know quite a lot about the business although Carl tries to make out I don’t take any interest in it.”
    At this moment the gondola swung to the quay and the gondolier sprang from the gondola and held it steady.
    “Well, here we are,” Don said, glad of the respite so he could consider what his next move should be. He helped Maria to alight. “Wait for us,” he said to the gondolier and, together, they walked across the campo and stood under the statue of Colleoni.
    Don had taken many of his friends to see the statue and he knew its history well. He told Maria who Colleoni was, and how Verrocchio, the master of Leonardo da Vinci, had designed the statue which was considered to be the finest equestrian statue in the world.
    “There’s only