The Venice Sketchbook(74)

“Who would have thought it of him?” Imelda asked me when we were having coffee together. At least, she was having coffee. I had switched to herbal teas, as coffee no longer agreed with me. “I would have designated him as a playboy, wouldn’t you? Out for pleasure and what he could get?”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I said.

She looked at me critically. “Are you quite well?” she asked. “You don’t seem to be eating much these days.”

“Just some kind of stomach upset,” I said.

“You should see a doctor,” she said. “There are parasites in the water here, you know. You need to treat them as soon as possible so they don’t take hold.”

“No, really,” I began. “I don’t think . . .”

She was looking at me critically now. “I shouldn’t ask this,” she said, “but is it possible you are pregnant?”

I suppose my face must have flushed. Anyway, she understood. “You are? And what does the man say about this? The father?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“You must. He is equally responsible,” she said firmly. “Will he do the right thing and marry you?”

“He can’t. He’s already married.”

“Ah.” She looked at me so intently that I had to lower my gaze. Then she said, “Is it perhaps the son of the count who gave us a ride in his boat that day? I saw how he looked at you.” When I said nothing, she wagged a finger at me. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You are too observant,” I replied. “Please say nothing, Imelda. Nobody must know. I can’t even tell Leo. His family—they are really powerful. I’m afraid of what might happen to me.”

“If you really can’t tell him, then go home, while you can. You’ll be safe in England with your mother.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do that either. That’s just the problem. I can’t go home, Imelda. My mother is a pillar of her church. We live in a small village. Everyone would know. The shame would be awful. It might even kill my mother. Anyway, I couldn’t put her through that. I have decided to stay here until the baby is born and then give it up for adoption. Then I can go home as if nothing has happened, and nobody will ever know.”

“You’ll know.” She was still looking at me in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Is that what you want? To go home and forget? Forget you ever had a child? That you ever loved this man?”

“What choice do I have?” I heard the bleakness in my voice.

“Then maybe you should talk to him,” she said. “He is rich. A man of the world. He will surely know a doctor who can take care of this now, before it’s too late.”

I tried to digest what she meant by “take care of this.”

She saw my confused look. “You know. Terminate. Get rid of the baby while it is still the size of a pea. I know it’s against the law, but it’s not really a baby yet, just a collection of tissue, so I’m told. You have a little procedure, and you walk out free and happy again.”

I stared at her. For one awful moment, it seemed like a good idea. Go to a doctor. Have a little procedure and walk out free and happy again. But then I knew instantly that I couldn’t do it. Thou shalt not kill. A defenceless baby, who has done no wrong. Doesn’t he have the right to live? Maybe if I told Leo, he’d be able to find a happy home for the child, the way he did the kittens. As I considered this, it did seem like an acceptable solution. Now all I had to do was to summon the courage to tell him.



I walked past the Palazzo Rossi and stared up at that imposing front entrance. I certainly wouldn’t have the nerve to knock on that door and ask to speak to him. It would be a foolish thing to do. The only solution would be to write him a letter. I had just decided to do this when the front door opened and Bianca came out. Today she was wearing a white tennis dress, her black hair tied up in a white ribbon, and she carried a bag with a racket handle sticking out of it. Somebody inside the house must have said something to her, because she looked back and gave some sort of quip before she tossed her head, laughed and walked on. She had a satisfied little smile on her lips as she walked right past me as if I didn’t exist.

I went home and wrote the letter. I need to see you, I said. Can you meet me at noon at the accademia one day soon?

That seemed like a harmless place to bump into a friend without causing talk. Better than at my landlady’s house. Word that Leonardo Da Rossi visited an unmarried woman there would circulate quickly. Frankly, I was dreading the encounter. I tried the words I wanted to use in Italian and just couldn’t say them. I prayed that Leo would understand what “pregnant” was in English. Perhaps if we were speaking in a foreign tongue, we wouldn’t readily be overheard.

I dropped the letter into the yellow postbox and waited, feeling sick and jittery about what might happen when we met.

September 22

I didn’t have to wait long!

I came down the stairs at noon, and there he was, standing in the shade, just outside that impressive marble portico of the accademia building. He stepped into sunlight, giving me a delighted smile that absolutely melted my heart.

“You are still here!” he exclaimed. “I was afraid I would not see you again. I was so happy to get your note. I heard that the accademia was sending home the foreign students because of the war, and I was sure you had gone. Shall we find somewhere for lunch? What do you feel like eating?”