The Venice Sketchbook(87)

He gave an embarrassed cough. “Caroline, don’t you think you are maybe going too far? Maybe you want this to be true? I know my grandmother. I remember her before she became this sad old woman. She was never warm, I agree. She never showed affection, but she was a person who liked to be adored. We had to gather around her at her birthday and give her lavish gifts. Completely self-centred, always. Can you imagine such a person welcoming another woman’s child? A woman who had betrayed her with her husband?”

“I agree. It is hard to understand. But they have ways of proving it these days with DNA. They can determine who you are related to. If we could get a sample from your grandmother and your father, then we’d know for sure.”

“And how would you do that without either of them finding out?” he asked. “Surely such a thing would take weeks, if not months. I don’t think there are many facilities that can do such tests.” He paused, looking at her. “Besides, I don’t know if I’d want to know the truth.”

They headed up the Grand Canal, then turned into a side canal, passing the Pensione Accademia where she had stayed. Coming towards them was a single gondola, with a pudgy, aged and miserable-looking gondolier at the oar, the collar of his black oilskin turned up against the rain.

Not how you’d expect gondoliers to look, Caroline thought. Then suddenly it hit her. She might have proof. She would show Luca. They came out to the other side of Dorsoduro, and he brought the launch to the dock nearest her building with some difficulty as waves still splashed over the waterfront. He tied up, then took Caroline’s hand to steady her as she stepped out. Just as she was stepping ashore, a wave gave the boat a big lurch and she half tumbled into Luca’s arms.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he said. His breath on her cheek was warm.

“Thank you.” She righted herself with an embarrassed grin. She fell into step beside him as they made for the big front door. “Luca, I think I can prove this to you. Or maybe not prove, but at least let you know I am on the right track.”

“How is that?”

“If you come up to the flat, I can show you.”

A flash of amusement crossed his face. She saw his eyes sparkle in the lamplight. “Isn’t this like you English say, ‘Come and see my etchings?’”

Caroline’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Certainly not. I only wanted . . .”

He put a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. I was just teasing. I’m sure your motives are the most pure. Although . . .” He left it at that and, keeping his hand on her arm, steered her to the front door.

At this time of night it was locked. Caroline fished in her handbag while the wind snatched at her coat and skirt. Finally she retrieved the key, handing it to Luca, who fitted it and then opened the door. They stepped into complete blackness.

“Merda!” he muttered, as he tripped over the threshold. “Where is the damned light? Don’t tell me they turn off the electricity.”

“It’s been on in my flat,” she said.

He fished around but couldn’t locate the switch. “Momento.” He reached into his pocket and flicked on a cigarette lighter. “I still don’t see it. We’d better go up. You go ahead.”

He held up the lighter as Caroline went up the stairs ahead of him. As she reached the first landing, she turned to look for the second staircase, let out a scream and stepped back, bumping into Luca and almost knocking them both down the stairs. A white figure hung in the doorway to her left.

She grabbed on to Luca. “That thing. A ghost! Over there.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, his arms coming around her. His own voice was shaky.

Luca held up the light, then laughed. “A painter left his white coat over a ladder.” Then without warning he let the lighter snap shut, wrapped her into his arms and kissed her. Caroline was so startled that she didn’t know how to respond, only aware of his mouth, cold lips, pressing ravenously against hers. And to her embarrassment she found herself responding to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said as they broke apart. “But when a strange woman throws herself into my arms for the second time in one night, it is a little hard to resist.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I did fling myself at you, didn’t I?” She laughed, uneasily. “Besides, I rather liked it.”

Luca had rekindled the lighter and found a switch on the wall. The landing was bathed in the harsh light of a bare light bulb, revealing the painter’s white coat draped harmlessly over the ladder. They went up the second flight and then through the storage space, where Caroline opened the door leading up to her flat. After what had just passed between them, she wasn’t quite sure how to handle Luca’s presence. This is crazy, she thought, but she had to show him. She had to verify for herself what instinct had told her.

She let them into the flat and then took off her mac. “Take off that wet overcoat,” she said. “Should I make us a hot drink? Why don’t you sit down and let me find the sketchbook I want to show you.” She realized she was talking rather fast. Nervous. Now that he was here, she was feeling awkward.

“What about a glass of wine first? All those stairs have made me thirsty,” he said. He was already walking through to her kitchen, where he found an open bottle and poured two glasses. “You need a refrigerator,” he said. “Although this is quite cold.”