On the other side of the Rialto, they both turned to the left, then right into the underpass that ran alongside Ruga degli Orefici. Halfway along, a bar was just opening and by silent consent they turned into it. An immense pile of fresh brioches lay on the counter, still enveloped in the white paper of the pasticceria. Brunetti ordered two espressos but ignored the pastries. Paola didn’t even notice them.

When the barman set the coffee in front of them, Brunetti spooned sugar into both cups and slid Paola’s along the bar to her. The barman moved off towards the end of the counter and began to place the brioches, one by one, into a glass display case.

‘Well?’ Brunetti asked.

Paola sipped at the coffee, added another half spoonful of sugar and said, ‘I told you I was going to do it.’

‘It didn’t sound like that.’

‘Then what did it sound like?’

‘It sounded like you were saying that everyone should do it.’

‘Everyone should do it,’ Paola said, but her voice held none of the rage that had filled it the first time she had uttered those words.

‘I didn’t think you meant this.’ Brunetti gestured with a hand that encompassed, not the bar, but all that had happened before they reached it.

Paola put her cup down into the saucer and looked at him directly for the first time. ‘Guido, can we talk?’

His impulse was to say that this was exactly what they were doing, but he knew her well enough to understand what she meant, so he nodded instead.

‘I told you, three nights ago, what they were doing.’ Before he could interrupt, she went on, ‘And you told me there was nothing at all illegal about it, that it was their right as travel agents.’

Brunetti nodded and when the barman approached he signalled with a wave of his hand for more coffee. After the man had moved back towards the machine, Paola continued, ‘But it’s wrong.