The Venice Sketchbook(39)

“Well, I don’t expect you’ll make as much mess and noise as most of the ones who show up on my doorstep,” she said. “You’d better come in. I am Signora Martinelli, and you are?”

“Signorina Browning,” I said.

“Not married? Never married?”

“No. Never married.”

She sniffed, and I couldn’t decide if being never married was a good thing or a bad one. She led me through from a square hallway to a living room. Whereas my recent experience had been of spartan surroundings, this room was the opposite: velvet drapes, swathes and swags, overstuffed chairs, knick-knacks on every shelf and table. It took me a moment to realize that the knick-knacks were all of a religious nature: statues of saints, crucifixes, a painting of Jesus with the little children, with a rosary draped over it. I noticed then that the one adornment on her person was a large silver cross.

“Sit down.” She pointed to one of the armchairs. It looked so soft and full of crocheted pillows that I wondered if I’d ever be able to get out again, but I sat, obediently. Almost immediately I let out a little gasp of alarm as something brushed against the back of my neck.

“Don’t mind him. That’s only Bruno,” she said as a large grey cat walked along the arm of the chair, rubbing against me. “He is just checking you over. If he takes to you, then I can decide that you are all right. He is a good judge of character.” She was still studying me. “You like cats?”

I wasn’t going to say that Aunt Hortensia had an absolutely vile cat that she had brought to live with my mother. It hid under chairs and pounced on to ankles as we went past and was making my mother’s dog miserable.

“I haven’t had much to do with them,” I said, erring on the side of tact. “My mother has a dog who is very sweet.”

“Well, he seems to like you. I’ll show you to your room.”

I struggled to get up again, and she led me down a dark hallway to a room at the end. It was also a little overdecorated but quite acceptable. A bed with a red velvet coverlet, a huge wardrobe and matching mahogany chest of drawers, and in the window a desk and chair. I went over to it, and my heart gave a little leap. I could actually see a sliver of the Grand Canal from here!

“Oh yes,” I said. “It will suit me very well.”

She nodded, then beckoned me to follow her. “The bathroom is across the hall.”

It contained an enormous claw-footed tub as well as a basin. The lavatory was next door.

“There will be only you and me,” she said, “but please do not fill the bath too full. And I should instruct you on the geyser.” She indicated a contraption over the bath. “The hot tap needs to be turned on very slowly at first until the flame has lit, and then you can turn it up. If you turn too fast, it explodes. Dangerous.”

It certainly did sound dangerous.

I looked around. “How is the flat heated?”

“There is a boiler. With coal. It heats the radiators.”

“How do you get coal up here?” I asked, blurting out the question before I realized it was probably not polite.

“We have a pulley,” she says. “Rubbish goes down on the pulley. Groceries and coal come up. It works very well.” And she actually smiled. “The boiler also heats the radiator in your room. It gets very cold here in winter. You are used to the cold in your country?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “It can get very cold in England. And wet, too.”

“Here also.” She led me back to the living room, where the cat had taken over the armchair. I stood.

“I provide breakfast and an evening meal,” she said. “At what hour do you require breakfast?”

“Whenever it is convenient,” I said. “My first class will be at nine o’clock.”

“I go to Mass at six every morning,” she said. “Do you wish to accompany me? To San Maurizio, not Santo Stefano. I do not like the priest there. Too liberal. He forgives sins too easily. Three Hail Marys—what kind of penance is that?”

I had no idea what kind of penance it was. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You are not Catholic?”

“No, I’m Church of England.”

“Dio mio,” she muttered. “Still, I suppose we all worship the same God, don’t we?”

I nodded. In truth, I had never had too much to do with God. I attended prayers every morning at school. I went to church with my mother most Sundays, but it all seemed like a sham, a show. I felt that God hadn’t actually done much for me. He had taken my father, taken my chance at a happy life.

“I must take you to Mass with me when we have a festival. Then you will see what you miss. The Festival of Redentore comes up at the end of this month. We cross the canal to the church of the Redentore, carrying candles. It is very beautiful.”

“I’d like to see it,” I said, and she gave an approving smile.

“So breakfast at eight, and the evening meal at eight also? Here we take our big meal in the middle of the day, so in the evening it is something simple like a soup or a salad. That is satisfactory for you?”

“Yes, perfectly satisfactory.”

She named the rent she was asking for, but my mental conversion of lire wasn’t yet good enough to know if it was reasonable or not. How many lire to the pound? About a hundred, correct? I thought it seemed quite reasonable, not having had to rent a room in my life before.