The Waters of Eternal Youth Read Online Free PDF

distance, he saw the wall of a tall
palazzo,
its brick surface glowing in the richness of the setting sun. Instantaneous computation, the same skill with which pigeons are said to be graced, let Brunetti calculate that the windows looked over the courtyard of the Fondaco del Megio. He walked to one of them to make sure and noticed that the trees had started to toss away their leaves. Putting his face as close to the glass as possible, he looked to the left, to what he remembered was an enclosed sports field.
    Behind him, a woman’s voice said, ‘Commissario?’
    He turned quickly and saw Contessa ­Lando-­Continui in the doorway. She was less imposing than she had been the previous evening, today deprived of the evidence of centur­ies of good taste that had stood guard around her in the borrowed room. He looked again: he saw a small old woman in a sober blue dress.
    â€˜Good afternoon, Contessa,’ he said. Then, pointing out of the window, ‘I think I used to play soccer in that park down there.’ She looked at the window but made no move to approach. ‘A long time ago,’ he added with a smile. He walked towards her, and she offered him her hand. Though his easily enveloped hers, her grip was firm.
    In a face less tense, her expression would have been friendly and welcoming: what Brunetti saw was a pro forma smile. ‘Thank you for coming to see me,’ she said.
    â€˜It’s a pleasure,’ he answered automatically, then quickly added, perhaps still hearing the echo of the flattery he had listened to the previous evening, ‘I’d like to be of help, if I can.’
    â€˜Donatella was very kind to let me invite my guests to her home: there are few other people in this city who would do that. She was even kinder to bring you and Paola.’ When Brunetti started to protest, she raised a hand to silence him. ‘We were both grateful that you came,’ she said in understanding of their reluctance. ‘I wanted my other guests, the ­non-­Venetians, to get the chance to meet some of the people whose lives might be improved by their generosity.’
    Before he could speak, she waved him to one of the two chairs that afforded a view out of the windows. When they were seated, he asked, ‘Improved how, Contessa?’
    â€˜There will be other Venetian children and grandchildren for yours to go to school with, and perhaps the whole place won’t fall down so soon.’
    â€˜That’s not an expression of optimism, if I might take the liberty of saying.’
    There was a discreet knock at the door. When it opened, the same maid came into the room and asked, ‘Would your guest like tea, Contessa?’
    The Contessa looked at Brunetti. ‘I’d prefer coffee.’
    The maid nodded and disappeared.
    â€˜There’s no liberty in your saying that, Commissario,’ she said, returning immediately to their conversation. ‘Mine is not an optimistic view. I think it’s the only view possible.’
    â€˜And yet you go to the trouble of providing dinner for wealthy foreigners in hopes that they will contribute to your foundation?’ Brunetti asked.
    â€˜Donatella told me you were direct,’ she said. ‘I like that. I don’t have time to waste.’
    â€˜Was your time wasted last night?’ he asked, though it was none of his business.
    â€˜No, not at all. The banker is eager to join and has offered to underwrite a restoration project.’
    â€˜Of the mosaics?’ Brunetti asked.
    Her mouth opened. ‘How did you learn about that?’ she asked.
    â€˜Paying attention to what people say.’
    â€˜Indeed,’ she whispered and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘After dinner, when you had coffee, you heard them talking, didn’t you?’
    â€˜It would have been difficult not to, Contessa,’ Brunetti answered, reluctant to have this woman form the idea that he was a snoop.
    She