Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(78)

He pocketed his phone and went back to the room, an embarrassed smile on his face. Cool, calm, business as usual. He went over to his host, shaking his head in rueful resignation. Donato was an old friend, likely to believe whatever he said. ‘Sorry, Donato. Work. They need me at an interview in Mestre,’ he said easily, trying to achieve a tone of mild irritation mixed with resignation at the call of duty.

Paola, attuned to the sound of perfidy in his voice, put her napkin next to her plate and got to her feet. She walked around the table, saying goodnight to the other guests and kissing Donato and his wife on both cheeks before taking Brunetti’s arm, saying, ‘I’ll go along with you at least to the vaporetto stop.’ Her smile was quite as manufactured as his excuse, but it worked just as successfully on the people at the table.

When they were outside, Brunetti nodded to the vaporetto stop to the left. ‘I’m being picked up there.’

‘To go and arrest these people?’ she asked.

‘I hope.’

She shivered. The night had grown cold. ‘You’re wearing the wrong jacket,’ she said and then laughed at the sound of it. ‘I mean, it’s too light, if you’re going to be out on the water.’ Over her coat she wore a dark green cashmere scarf, thick and long. She unwrapped it from her neck and wrapped it around his.

Brunetti reached up, intending to remove it and return it to her, but when it touched him with the lingering warmth of her body and the scent of her flesh, he pulled it tighter, tossing one end over his shoulder with quite a dashing gesture.

‘Thanks,’ he said, unable to think of any other way to express his emotion.

She took his hand. ‘I’ll wait with you until they come.’

There was the merest sliver of moon, but they both studied it as they walked to the embarcadero, hand in hand, like new lovers. Soon, from their right, came the sound of a motor. Quickly enough, a boat slid up to within a few centimetres of the dock. Brunetti kissed Paola goodbye and stepped on board. Three uniformed men moved around the deck; another stood at the wheel. As they pulled away, he picked up the end of the scarf that dangled in front of him and waved it at her. She raised an arm but did not wave. They watched one another until the boat turned towards the other side of the canal, and she was blocked from view.

Brunetti was just beginning to sense how cold the evening had become when Alaimo stepped up from the cabin and handed him a hooded camouflage jacket, which Brunetti was relieved to put on. He re-wrapped the scarf outside the jacket, its ends hanging in front of him.

The motor roared, destroying all possibility of conversation. Brunetti could not disguise his shock at the noise, which did violence to the night.

Alaimo leaned towards him and cupped both hands around Brunetti’s ears. ‘It has electric, too.’

Still stunned by the ongoing noise, Brunetti failed to understand the full meaning, although he heard each word.

The boat moved past San Giorgio, the sound of its engine bouncing back from the solidity of the basilica. One of the sailors went down into the cabin, leaving the others to the deck and the noise.

Brunetti tried to speak but failed even to hear himself. The pale light of the control panel allowed him to see the other men on deck, but the sound seemed to compromise his vision.

Alaimo placed his hand on the pilot’s shoulder and leaned forward to say something to him. No sooner had he removed his hand than the boat slowed, greatly reducing the level of noise.

‘Thanks for this,’ Brunetti said, patting at the arm of Alaimo’s jacket. It had rained during the day, and the humidity still clung to the air and to the night.

Alaimo nodded. ‘The sea’s always a few degrees colder, so it’ll be worse once we get into the open water.’ He looked to the left: they were just passing I Giardini. ‘I thought I told you we might have to go out any time.’

‘You did, but we were at dinner at a friend’s place, and I forgot and just wore the jacket.’

Alaimo shrugged. ‘Things always happen when they shouldn’t, I suppose.’

Brunetti nodded, then asked, ‘What did you say about electric?’

Alaimo smiled and said, ‘The motors can be switched to electric.’

‘It’s much better now,’ Brunetti told him. Indeed, the sound had diminished to a low throbbing growl, sounding far more powerful than the motor of any boat this size he’d ever been on.

‘That’s still the normal motor,’ Alaimo explained. ‘It can be switched to battery power.’

‘And then what happens?’

‘Then it’s absolutely silent. You don’t hear a thing. If it drove up beside you, you wouldn’t hear it.’

‘Is that possible?’ Brunetti asked.

‘It is for cars, isn’t it?’ Alaimo asked. Then he smiled and said, ‘This system’s sort of a prototype: it’s bigger than what most boats use.’

‘How does it work?’ Brunetti asked, really curious.

‘Down there,’ Alaimo said, pointing to where the sailors had disappeared, ‘and up in front, there are batteries.’

Brunetti looked to either side of the pilot and saw teak panels that looked like they could be slid open. He didn’t know how to phrase his question, whether to ask about the number of the batteries or their size or their power, didn’t know how that power was measured. He settled on asking, ‘How fast can it go?’