The Venice Sketchbook(19)

“She clearly loved it,” Caroline said. “Did she go often?”

“She never went back after the war,” Granny said. “I think she’d seen enough of Europe by then. She was trapped there, you know.”

“Trapped?”

“Yes. She got some kind of bursary to study in Europe in 1939. A stupid time to go, really, if you think about it. But it was a chance she couldn’t turn down, I suppose. And then war broke out, and she couldn’t get home. She managed to make her way to Switzerland and sat out the conflict. I believe she worked with refugee children.”

“Oh, I see.” Caroline frowned. “It’s strange that she didn’t go back to teaching when she came home. She obviously liked working with children.”

“I don’t know,” Granny said. “I expect she saw some sad things during the war. I know she stayed on for a while after the German surrender, working with her refugees. She came back to England just before I did.”

“How did I never know any of this?” Caroline asked.

“You never asked. The young are not interested in the lives of the old. And I expect some memories were painful for both your great-aunt and me. I know she had to work with some concentration camp survivors. That would have been very unsettling for anyone.”

Caroline closed the second of the sketchbooks. “What I don’t understand is that you say she has left me everything in her will. So why single out this particular box? Why was it important to her?”

“I have no idea.” Granny shook her head. “She never mentioned anything except that she wanted you to have the box.”

“Sketchbooks and old keys. It makes no sense. Are the keys a symbol of something? Does she want me to go back to studying art?”

“She would have mentioned that, surely,” Granny said. “She was a very forthright woman, wasn’t she? She would have told you in no uncertain terms if she felt that’s what you should be doing.”

Caroline nodded, smiling. “She wanted me to find something. Was it this box? But she told me to go. I thought she meant to leave her, but she was still gripping my hand, and then I think she said ‘Venice.’”

“How strange.” They were both staring at the box, then looked up at the same time, and their eyes met. Granny hesitated before she said, “I can only think . . .”

“What?”

“It sounds so ridiculous, but I’m wondering if she wanted you to go to Venice.”

Caroline stared at her grandmother’s serene face. “Did she ever say anything about it? Give a reason?”

Granny shrugged. “Perhaps she thought it would do you good to get away from your worries about your marriage and Teddy.”

“But why Venice in particular? Why not just go abroad, travel?”

“I don’t know, my dear. All I know is that she had a bee in her bonnet about the box. She wanted me to promise you would get it.”

“So why not write me a note and say that she wanted me to go to Venice because she had loved it there? Or she wanted her ashes scattered there?”

Granny shook her head. “I can’t tell you what she wanted.”

“I went to Venice once,” Caroline commented. “On my honeymoon. It was July and full of tourists and hot and smelly. Josh hated it. We only stayed a day and then left for Croatia.”

“But you didn’t hate it?” Granny asked.

“No. Actually, I wanted to see more.” Caroline tipped the three keys into her hand. “And these—what are they supposed to mean? Keys to Venice? Anyway, I can’t go off to the Continent. I’ve a job and a son. And you.”

“I seem to remember you telling me that you hadn’t taken any vacation days this year.”

“No.” Caroline considered this. “Because Teddy wasn’t here in the summer. I didn’t want to go away without him.”

“Well then.” Granny smiled.

“Well what?”

“You have the time to travel. You’ve been told that Teddy shouldn’t get on a plane for a while. And I suspect many people are still fearful of travelling after what happened, so the hotels should have good prices. Why don’t you fulfil Aunt Lettie’s last wish and go and enjoy a few days in Venice?”

Caroline looked out of the window. Rain was now peppering the glass. “It hardly seems the time of year to enjoy Venice. Doesn’t it flood in winter?”

“It’s not winter yet. It’s autumn—season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. You’ll probably find the Mediterranean is still warm and sunny.” She reached out and covered Caroline’s hand with her own. “And you could do with a break. You have been looking so tense and strained ever since Josh went away and this whole sorry business started.”

“Wouldn’t you look tense if your husband walked out and was trying to take your son?” Caroline said, instantly regretting her outburst.

“Of course I would. But the point is that you can’t do anything about it at this moment. You have to be patient and wait it out. So I say fulfil what we think is Aunt Lettie’s last wish. Take her box and go to Venice. Scatter her ashes in a place she clearly loved.”

“Would you like to come with me?” Caroline asked, reaching out her hand to her grandmother.