The Venice Sketchbook(78)

Leo paused. “Of course, it is not open today, but during the weekdays you can go in and ask for Signor Gilardi. He is the one who will take care of you. I have explained to him.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“It is the least I could do.”

Suddenly there was a loud banging behind us, and another group of children appeared in the alleyway. Leo laughed and retrieved coins from his pocket. They must have been generous coins, because the children went away singing loudly with smiles on their faces. But I stood still, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. At the banging noise, I had felt a twitch in my stomach. I had slipped my hand inside my coat and there it was again—a tiny tapping against my hand. My baby was alive, and I could feel its kick. This changed everything and made it real.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked.

“Nothing,” I replied, smiling. “I just felt the baby move for the first time.”

“Really? Let me.” He didn’t seem to care that we were on a street. He slipped his hand inside my coat, and I directed it to the right spot. The baby obliged by another fluttering movement. A look of delighted amazement came over Leo. “It’s real . . .” His eyes said everything.

November 12

Today I summoned all my courage and went to the contessa’s soirée to meet the famous artist Paul Klee. Imelda had said she wasn’t interested and didn’t like Paul Klee’s work. I think the truth was that she had met a handsome Italian student and seemed to be spending more time with him now that Gaston had gone home. But Henry, dear sweet Henry, had said he’d like to come. We had been spending more time together in the last weeks. I think he was also now beginning to experience homesickness and worry about the possible spectre of war overtaking us so far from home. It was a mental relief for me to have a conversation in English.

My first shock was that my long dress was now too tight for me. I would have to see if it could be altered. But I couldn’t go in a tea dress! Then I decided that I could hold the gap together with safety pins and make sure I wore my fringed shawl, suitably draped. I met Henry, and we rode to the Lido together in the vaporetto. I was praying that Leo’s father was not there and more especially that Leo would not come in the launch to pick him up. Both prayers were granted. Professor Corsetti and two other professors from the accademia were present, as was the British consul, Mr Sinclair, and the jolly priest, Father Trevisan. Vittorio was naturally there, hovering protectively near the contessa. Paul Klee spoke little Italian and seemed rather withdrawn, but the contessa, with her usual charm, managed to bring him out of his shell. His English was better, and I found myself speaking to him, along with Henry and the consul.

“You are fortunate here in Venice,” Paul Klee said. “Here Jews are not yet persecuted. I had to flee for my life from Germany, and now I must remain in Switzerland for my safety. In Germany, Jews are set upon every time we go out. They smash our windows. They shut our businesses. We cannot hold jobs or go to school, and now they come at night and take us away. The Contessa Fiorito is a wonderful woman, is she not? She has helped several of my friends escape.”

Franz had also come to the soirée. We didn’t see much of him these days, but I noticed he was listening intently to what was being said in English. Was he really, as Henry had suspected, a German spy? These days made everyone wary.

After Paul Klee’s speech, the consul drew me aside. “My dear, I think you should seriously consider going home while you can. We at the consulate have been notified that our days here are numbered and that we should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. As of now, Italy has not declared war on Britain, but they have a pact of friendship with Hitler. It may only be a matter of time.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I am considering it. At this moment, France still seems to be peaceful and trains are still running.”

“But that could change overnight. Hitler is definitely poised to conquer Europe. He’ll strike when the time is right, and when he strikes, he’ll move with lightning speed. So I urge you not to leave it too late.”

I thanked him again and was glad when Josef came up with a plate of canapé s. How many people had now urged me to go home? Everyone I met. And yet if Germany invaded Britain, wouldn’t I be better off here, especially here in Venice, a city nobody would dare to bomb? I survived the evening without a mishap, keeping my shawl firmly draped over the safety pins holding my dress together, and made it home safely on the vaporetto. Henry, ever the gentleman, saw me home.

“I’d invite you up for a hot drink, but my landlady has said no gentlemen callers,” I said. This made him laugh.

“I hardly think I qualify as a gentleman caller,” he said, “but I’m flattered that she might think I was a danger to your honour.”





CHAPTER 30


Juliet, Venice, November 21, 1939

There was a notice on the board at school announcing that classes would be optional today because it was the Festival of the Madonna Della Salute and we’d probably all want to go to Mass. From what I heard, most of my fellow students saw it as a day off, not a day of religion. My landlady, on the other hand, was in raptures about it.

“One of the most holy days of our year,” she said. “Will you be making the pilgrimage with me? I go to Mass this evening. It is beautiful when it is dark.”