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splayed.
    She cleared her throat wondering vaguely what ‘good dog’ was in Italian. ‘
Buono cane
,’ she enunciated carefully, moving to circumvent it. Evidently it did not care for that, for it also moved and continued to impede her path. The expression (impassive) remained the same, as did the resolutely spread paws.
    ‘Oh come on,’ she protested in English, ‘do get out of the way!’
    ‘It won’t,’ a voice said from behind her, ‘whatever language you use.’
    She spun round and was confronted by Felix Smythe, holding a dangling lead and wearing the harassed look of one in pursuit of a dog.
    ‘Good Lord, Felix,’ she exclaimed, ‘what on earth are you doing here?’
    ‘I could ask the same, Miss Gilchrist,’ Felix replied, ‘but as a general answer to your own enquiry I am here on holiday; more precisely I am trying to secure this hound. Would you be so kind as to hold its collar while I clip on the lead?’ This was less of a question than a directive, and Rosy did as she was bid while Felix bent to fumble with the creature’s neck. As he did so he received an absent-minded lick on the cheek. Felix recoiled. ‘Can’t think why it does that,’ he complained.
    ‘Obvious. He must like you,’ said Rosy. ‘Some dogs have peculiar preferences. I remember we once had a Labrador who—’
    Felix gave a dismissive sniff. ‘Fascinating I’m sure, but one doesn’t come to Venice to hear of the idiosyncrasies of your erstwhile pets Miss Gilchrist. Now, what exactly are
you
doing here? Don’t tell me the BM has dispensed with your services, I was given to understand you were its essential lynchpin, a veritable clerical
sine qua non
!’ He gave a sly titter.
    ‘Not by me, you weren’t,’ retorted Rosy, stung by his sarcasm. She shouldn’t have made the quip about canine tastes. Really, Felix Smythe could be so hoity-toity! She flashed him a dazzling smile and said sweetly, ‘Actually I am no more a clerk there than you are Eliza Doolittle. But tell me, how’s trade since the great accolade? I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you.’
    That did it as she knew it would. To have a ‘By Royal Appointment’ warrant displayed above the threshold of Smythe’s Bountiful Blooms had been one of Felix’s dearest wishes and a source of endless hope and speculation. Its eventual award, just at the close of the grisly murder case they had all been involved in, could not have been better timed. Temporarily away from London, Rosy had been unable to congratulate him in person. But now was her chance and she made full use of it. ‘You must be thrilled,’ she exclaimed.
    Felix’s taut features relaxed, and leaning a nonchalant elbow on the stone parapet he proceeded to give an animated account of his triumph. ‘Yes,’ he said modestly, ‘it was most gracious of Her Majesty to remember me, most gracious. But then I’ve always thought that the dear Queen Mother and I have a special bond where flowers are concerned: she is
very
discerning you know.’
    He continued to enthuse for a while, and then promptedby a yawn from the dog stopped in mid-sentence, and said, ‘But
what
did you say you were doing in Venice?’
    Rosy started to explain and had just finished the bit about Bodger’s mediocre translation but distinguished commentary when the air was rent with an excruciating melange of leonine rumbles and peahen screeches. A small poodle and its large owner had mounted the steps, and the basset hound had clearly taken exception to both. The ensuing altercation, both human and canine, was raucous and embarrassing. However, peace and honour eventually restored the interlopers went on their way, the poodle casting scandalised glances over its shoulder.
    Felix mopped his brow and glared at his charge. ‘Bloody dogs,’ he observed, ‘the sooner I get back for a siesta the better! Tell you what, Miss Gilchrist, Cedric and I will meet you at Florian’s tomorrow evening at nine o’clock, they do the most