Through a Glass Darkly by Donna Leon Page A

with Gianluca Fasano.’
    An involuntary ‘ah’ escaped Brunetti and then he said, ‘Not only President of the Glassmakers of Murano, but, as I’ve heard a few times and as even Navarro seems to know, a man who might be very interested in becoming our next mayor.’
    â€˜Right on both counts,’ Vianello said, raising his glass in Brunetti’s direction but not taking a sip. ‘
Complimenti
.’ He kept his eyes on Brunetti’s face, but occasionally shifted his head to one side and cast his attention towards the two men standing at the bar. If the men looked in their direction, Brunetti realized, they would see two men at a table, one with his back to them. The only time De Cal had seen Vianello, he had been in uniform: without it, he could be anyone. Vianello nodded in the direction of the two men and said, ‘Be interesting to know what they’re saying, wouldn’t it?’
    â€˜De Cal’s a glassmaker, and Fasano’s their leader,’ Brunetti said. ‘I don’t see much of a mystery there.’
    â€˜There are more than a hundred
fornaci
,’ Vianello said. ‘De Cal’s is one of the smallest.’
    â€˜He’s got a
fornace
to sell,’ Brunetti argued.
    â€˜He’s got a daughter to inherit,’ Vianello countered. The Inspector reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out five Euros. ‘At least we can tip,’ he said, putting the bill on the table.
    â€˜Probably give the waiter in a place like this aseizure,’ Brunetti said. He saw Vianello shift in his chair and asked, ‘Are they still there?’
    â€˜De Cal’s paying.’ After a minute, Vianello got quickly to his feet, saying, ‘I want to see where they go.’
    Brunetti doubted that De Cal, who had been beside himself with anger the one time they met, would remember him, but he stayed at the table and let Vianello go outside by himself.
    After a few minutes, Vianello came back; Brunetti got to his feet and went over to join him at the door. ‘Well?’ he asked.
    â€˜They walked down to the water and turned left, down to a dirt path and turned left again. Then they went back to some buildings on the other side of an empty field.’
    â€˜Do you have your
telefonino
?’ Brunetti asked.
    Vianello took his phone from the pocket of his jacket and held it up.
    â€˜Why don’t you call that classmate of yours who told you the love story about Assunta and ask him where De Cal’s factory is?’
    Vianello flipped the phone open, found the number and called. Brunetti heard him ask the question, then explain that they were at Nanni’s. He watched as Vianello nodded his way through his friend’s explanation, thanked him and hung up. ‘That’s where De Cal’s place is: down at the end of that path, the buildings on the right. Just beside Fasano’s.’
    â€˜You think that’s important?’ Brunetti asked.
    Vianello shrugged. ‘I don’t know, not really.I’m interested because of what I’ve read in the papers – that Fasano’s suddenly discovered ecology, or suddenly discovered his commitment to it.’
    Brunetti had a vague memory of having read something along these lines, some months ago, and of having had a similarly cynical response, but he simply asked, ‘That’s the way it happens to most people, though, isn’t it?’ Brunetti left it to Vianello to realize, or not, that it was precisely what had happened to him.
    â€˜Yes,’ Vianello admitted, though reluctantly. ‘Maybe it’s because of his interest in politics. Once someone says they’re thinking about public office, I start to get suspicious of anything they do or say.’
    Though he had taken a few steps, Brunetti was not yet this far along the road to total cynicism, and so he said, ‘It’s other people who are saying it about him, if I remember