The Waters of Eternal Youth by Donna Leon Page A

one of his ­contacts, purchased with a false
carta d’identità
and thus untraceable. Brunetti left it in the drawer, sure that no one would bother to steal it.
    He used it only when he wanted no trace of a call to lead back to him.
    The Contessa had given him her number, told him to call if he had to, and had also told him she would do anything she could to help him. She answered the phone with a simple ‘
Sì
’, no doubt because she did not recognize the number.
    â€˜It’s me, Contessa. You said I could contact you.’
    â€˜Ah,’ she whispered.
    â€˜Would you be willing to invite two people to dinner and, if necessary, ask the wife to be on the board of Salva Serenissima?’
    â€˜If you asked me to, I would,’ she answered immediately.
    â€˜Thank you,’ he said and hung up.
    He glanced across the desk at Signorina Elettra and, in keeping with her outfit, held his fingers up in a triumphant ‘V’.
    Twenty minutes later, Brunetti was sitting in front of his superior’s desk, doing his best to look awkward, almost embarrassed, no doubt the result of his having been chosen, a mere mortal, to help arrange a conjunction of the stars.
    â€˜No, ­Vice-­Questore, I have to admit I didn’t bring it up. It was the Contessa who did.’ He carefully avoided meeting Patta’s glance and kept his eyes on the top of the desk. ‘As I told you, we were there for dinner a few nights ago, and she was talking about her foundation, Salva Serenissima, and said that there was an opening for a board member, but she wanted to appoint a woman – definitely a woman – and one who would have objectivity in relation to the other members. She said she was tired of social climbers and wanted a serious person who was deeply committed to the best interests of the city.’
    Brunetti looked up and into Patta’s eyes. ‘It was then that Paola thought to mention your wife.’
    Patta had leaned ever more forward with each sentence and had insisted that Brunetti tell him again exactly what had happened, almost as if he wanted to be sure to give an accurate account of it, should it happen that he repeated it to some other person. ‘Go on,’ he said in a pleasant voice. ‘Please.’
    â€˜Of course, Dottore. As I said, Paola has heard so many good things about your wife that she suggested the Contessa might want to speak to her about the possibility of her joining the board.’
    â€˜Did the Contessa ask your opinion?’ Patta said, trying to sound affable but managing only to sound menacing.
    â€˜She did. And I said I thought Paola was right.’
    â€˜Good,’ Patta affirmed in a more pleasant voice. ‘And so?’
    â€˜I took the liberty of giving her your phone number, sir. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t have your wife’s to give her.’
    â€˜And?’ Patta asked.
    â€˜She said she’d call you this week and see if . . .’ he was about to say, ‘if your wife would be willing to speak to her’, but he realized in time that this was too obsequious, even for Patta, and so, instead, said, ‘your wife might be interested in a position such as this.’ Brunetti recrossed his legs, and awaited his superior’s words.
    â€˜I’ll discuss it with her this evening,’ Patta said, doing his best to sound nonchalant, as if this were the sort of offer he and his wife had to deal with every day. Then, ‘Can you tell me a bit more about the ­Lando-­Continui family?’
    â€˜It’s one of the oldest families in the city,’ Brunetti lied. ‘And the Contessa’s foundation is renowned.’ He’d let Patta think about that. ‘The
palazzo
is impressive.’ His ­father-­in-­law had said it was ­second-­rate, but that was surely not an opinion Brunetti was meant to publicize.
    â€˜There is one thing,