The Venice Sketchbook(83)
I felt hopeful and energized as I went back to my afternoon classes.
Henry came to sit beside me. “I saw you with a man,” he said. “Just a friend?”
“Just a friend,” I replied. “Why, are you jealous?” I grinned, teasing him.
He flushed, and I realized that perhaps he was. That was something I hadn’t anticipated. He must be several years younger than me. And I hadn’t encouraged him in any way. But then saw that perhaps I had. I had sought out his company to go and eat, to spend time on free days, mainly because he was friendly and safe and I enjoyed speaking English with him.
Now I didn’t know what to say. “You should find yourself a nice Italian girl your own age,” I said.
“You make it sound as if you are a grandmother. There’s not that much difference between us. I’m twenty-four, and you are?”
“Thirty,” I said. “Practically middle-aged.”
“It doesn’t matter. I think you’re beautiful. And kind. I like that.”
Oh dear. How could I ever tell him the truth? He’d be devastated. It seemed that my whole life was a minefield of not wanting to let someone down.
December 13
Leo met me at lunchtime to tell me he had found the perfect flat for me.
“It is here, in Dorsoduro,” he said. “So you will not have to cross that infernal bridge in the wind and rain. And also it is far from places where my family go. And it’s very nice. You’ll like it.”
He led me away from the accademia to the other side of the island. As we walked, I was surprised to see straw placed outside some of the houses. Not much straw, sometimes on the doorstep and sometimes in baskets.
“Is the straw some kind of defence against the aqua alta?” I asked, making Leo laugh.
“It is for Santa Lucia’s donkey,” he said.
“What?” Why did everything that happened in this city surprise me?
“It is Santa Lucia’s Day. A big day for us, as her bones are contained in a church here. The little children believe she brings presents, so they leave out straw for her donkey. And we have a special pasta dish, made just for today.” He paused. “You see, we are very much into tradition here. We love our saints.”
“And you? Do you love your saints?”
“Of course,” he said. “Who else would talk to God on our behalf?”
I said nothing but realized that I would probably never understand the Venetians. A strong, cold wind greeted us as we came out to the waterfront called Zattere. How well I remembered when the bridge of boats had crossed to Giudecca. Now the wide promenade was almost deserted. We turned left and passed an impressive church.
“The Jesuits,” Leo said. “They do everything splendidly. No expense spared.” Finally we came close to the tip of the island, and Leo paused in front of a tall and quite imposing yellow building with blue shutters.
“Here?” I asked, looking at the three marble steps leading up to a front door with a lion’s head knocker on it. “Who lives here?”
“Nobody at the moment,” he said. “The building belongs to my family. The lower floors are offices but are little used at the moment as we have transferred most of our business to the shipping terminal. But come. Let me show you.”
He took out a large key and opened the front door. We stepped into the gloom of a foyer, the only light coming from a skylight several floors above, giving the feeling of being in an aquarium. A marble staircase curved upward. Leo led the way. The staircase up to the next landing was less impressive, being made of simple wood.
“I’m sorry about the stairs,” he said, “but you will have your privacy.”
We came to a halt on a dark landing, and Leo felt around for a light switch. When he turned it on, I saw several doors, but he opened one into what looked like a broom cupboard.
“You see?” he said, going into a small anteroom stacked with odds and ends, then opening the door at the rear. “The building was designed in the old days when there was smuggling and people needed to disappear occasionally. There are several of these secret apartments in the city. Most people will think it just leads to the roof, because that’s what it says on the door. Come.”
And he started up the fourth staircase, this one extremely narrow. We came out into a big room, and I gasped. Windows looked out to a magnificent view—across to Giudecca, the island of San Giorgio Maggiore and even around to the St Mark’s Basin.
“It’s good?” Leo asked, looking pleased at my expression.
“It’s magnificent.”
“See, there is a bathroom, and a little kitchen, and a bedroom at the back. I’m not sure about the bed. It may not have been used for a long time. I’ll have a new one delivered.” He opened another door, and there was a tiny bedroom, just big enough for the bed and a chest of drawers. “And any other furniture you might need,” he said, coming back into the main room. “I don’t know how warm the bedroom would be. There is a stove, but it will need coal.”
I noticed the furniture for the first time. A couple of brocade armchairs. A table and two chairs in ornately carved wood, and in the window a beautiful writing desk. I looked around. “How is it heated?”
“The stove in the corner,” he said, indicating the same sort of porcelain stove my landlady had. My first thought was of trying to haul coal up four flights.