Iain Pears - Stone's Fall

Everybody was attempting to comfort her. Only Marangoni said nothing, but watched her carefully; I could see his eyes flickering to me as well. That annoyed me. Even at a moment like that, all he could do was diagnose, watch and interpret.

'And your son?' he said eventually.

Louise looked at him, and hesitated for a moment. 'He is at home with the nurse. No harm will come to him,' she said.

And so it was arranged; Longman offered to come back if any further assistance was needed and took his leave. I also made my excuses and retired to my rooms.

An hour later Louise came to me. I was waiting for her. By the time she slipped away at dawn I had told her I would never leave her, that I wanted her for ever. That I loved her, would protect her.

I met Signor Ambrosian on his return; the meeting was arranged swiftly, and I waited on him at his bank close to the Piazza San Marco. Not at all like the palaces of London, where Rothschilds and Barings hold court to Europe and the world. The Banco di Santo Spirito (quite a charming name, I thought, implying that all this usury was to serve God the better rather than to enrich a few families) could not be compared to one of the great houses of London. Nonetheless, it showed ambition in the way it had cleaned out a Renaissance palace, and refitted it in the dark wood and heavy veined marble that was the necessary indicator of solidity in every serious financial centre.

Ambrosian matched his building. Venetians, of all Italians, are the most difficult to read; they do not show their emotions easily. Life is a serious business for them and many have a natural melancholy which makes social intercourse quite difficult. Ambrosian was very reserved; perfectly polite, but with no openness or welcome about him. He was a handsome man, immaculately dressed with a shock of silver grey hair which was matched by a grey necktie and (a foreign touch) large pearl cufflinks, and a vase of silvery flowers on his desk. He was a fine fellow, a shrewd businessman, more than ready to exploit the gullibility of others, as was only proper for a man in his position. I hoped very much that he would be quite merciless in his dealings with me. A great deal depended on it.

I expressed my pleasure in meeting him, and explained my current circumstances. 'I have identified several possibilities for investment in Venice, and wish to consult you as to their practicality,' I said, once the preliminaries were disposed of. These were the usual sort of thing, questions and answers so that he could determine whether I was someone to take seriously. The name of Joseph Cardano served me well here. He was known amongst financiers throughout much of Europe, even if only by name or reputation. But not outside that circle. The fact that I realised mentioning his name meant something was enough to make Ambrosian accept I was a man of purpose. He slowly became more attentive, more careful in his speech. He was too vain to think he was talking to an equal, but intelligent enough to realise that some consideration was required. That, at present, was exactly as I desired. His triumph at exploiting me would be all the greater, and thus less easy to resist.

For the next hour we discussed the possibility of building a grand hotel in Venice; I laid out my ideas, he explained all the difficulties. Of finding the right land, of getting the workforce, the managers, of raising the necessary capital at the appropriate price for such a venture – who, after all, wanted to come to Venice?

To each problem I proposed an answer. Build on the Lido, not in the centre of Venice. Bring in all the architects, engineers and surveyors from France and England, if necessary. Make use of my skills – I exaggerated a little here – and Cardano's contacts to form a company that could raise the money in London. I had thought it all through; my answers were considered and thorough.

'And why do you need me, then?' he asked with a smile.

'Because it couldn't be done without you,' I said, entirely truthfully. 'The money must flow into Venice, and payments must be made here. It would need established banking facilities. I have been here long enough to suspect that dealing with the authorities is a quagmire. Suitable land cannot be found without local knowledge and influence, and I have discovered that you are the most highly-regarded man of finance in the region.'

He acknowledged my discernment. He was genuinely interested; interested enough to start questioning what, precisely, there was of profit in this project for him. That, I pointed out, rather depended on how much money his bank was prepared to put in. This was going to be expensive and the profits would be several years down the road.

'Ah, you English,' he said. 'You do like to think on a grand scale, do you not? Now we Venetians would naturally think of several dozen small establishments, each one to be erected when the previous one was paid off. It is an interesting idea. Even more interesting is why you don't worry that I might go ahead without you. You need me, but do I need you?'

'Build something on this scale, without being able to raise capital in London? Find the skilled workforce scattered across Europe? Persuade companies like Cook's to run excursions to Venice and stay in your hotel?'

'True enough. If you can do all of these things. I have learned that the English promise more than they deliver, sometimes.'

'For example?'

'We have lent a substantial amount of money to an Englishman,' he said. 'Who, like you, promised wonderful things. But so far has delivered none of them.'

'I have met Mr Macintyre,' I said, 'if that is who you refer to.'

'He is a scoundrel and a rogue.'

'Really? I find him to be very straightforward.'

'Far from it. We learned – this was only after he took our money – that the only reason he is in Venice is because he would be thrown into gaol should he ever have the temerity to return to England.'

'You astound me.' And that was a genuine statement; I found it momentarily difficult to believe we could be talking about the same person. I would have wagered a very considerable amount of money that Macintyre was entirely honest.

'It seems that he embezzled a very substantial sum from his employers, and absconded with it. It is only the fact that he owes us money which stops us from sending him packing.'

'Are you sure of this?'

'Quite sure. Naturally, once we learned of it, we declined to advance him any more and I now have grave doubts whether we will ever see our money returned. So you see, a proposal from an unknown Englishman . . .'

'I quite understand. Naturally, any collaboration between us would require total trust, but I am confident I would be able to satisfy your concerns with no difficulty. And, as it is a matter of patriotic pride, I will willingly offer to provide assistance over the matter of Mr Macintyre. How much does he owe you?'

'I believe about five hundred pounds sterling.'

Interesting, I thought to myself. I knew quite well he had put in considerably less than that. This was very hopeful.

'Very imaginative, I must say,' I continued. 'Few people would have been prepared to take such a risk.'

He waved a hand. 'If his machine works, then it has obvious possibilities. If it doesn't, of course, then that is different. And the constant delays and excuses make me concerned. Consequently . . .'

'. . . another proposal from another Englishman does not fill your heart with gladness.'

He smiled.

'In that case,' I continued, 'I will make a down payment to acquire your trust. Let me buy Mr Macintyre's debt from you. Pay it off on his behalf. Should we come to a later agreement on this project for a hotel we will be able, I am sure, to adjust the matter then. I cannot have you thinking that all the English are scoundrels. Even if some undoubtedly are. If you wish, I will reach an agreement now.'