The Venice Sketchbook(92)
So now it appeared that if I decided to come home, I wouldn’t have a place to stay, even if I wanted one.
Carnevale was going ahead in spite of the war. It seemed the whole city dressed up and celebrated in the days leading up to Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent started. There were masks for sale on every street corner, costumes in every shop. I didn’t plan to participate, but Henry persuaded me to buy a mask and a long cape and go out amongst the crowds. It was exciting and a little alarming to see the strange figures, some with beaks, some dressed as Pierrots and Columbines, but all anonymous beneath their masks.
I was exhausted when we finally came home. Henry escorted me up the stairs, and I made us both hot chocolate. He seemed uneasy.
“I don’t quite know how to say this,” he blurted out, “but my father has commanded me to come home. He is sure that full-scale war could break out at any moment. German U-boats are attacking ships in the Atlantic. So I have to go.”
“I’ll miss you,” I replied.
There was a long silence. He rose to his feet and came over to where I was sitting.
“Juliet, this may sound kooky, but I wondered if you’d like to marry me and come to America with me,” he said. His face had turned bright red, and he was sweating.
I think my mouth dropped open. This was so unexpected that I was lost for words.
“Henry, it’s really kind of you, but . . . ,” I stammered.
“Look,” he said, “I know about your baby. Imelda told me long ago. I was waiting for you to tell me yourself. I could give it a name, a home, a father. We’re quite well heeled, you know. The kid would grow up with a good life.”
I admit I was sorely tempted. He was a good man. Only he was so young. So naive and a little too solid.
“You are very sweet,” I said, “but you go home when your father commands. What would that father think if you showed up on his doorstep with a pregnant older woman in tow?” I went over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. “Henry, I can’t saddle you with me. You deserve your own good life.”
“Look, Juliet,” he said, “I think you’re a swell girl. I’d be happy to be saddled with you. I know I’m not the smartest of guys, and I may not be sparkling and witty company, but I’d be a devoted husband, I promise.”
“I’m sure you would, Henry, but the problem is I don’t love you. I like you a lot. I enjoy spending time with you, but I’m not going to spoil your life. I’ll miss you a lot. Who will I have coffee with and go to the festas with?”
“That man who shows up from time to time, I expect,” Henry said drily. “The good-looking guy in the expensive suit. I suspect he’s the baby’s father. Am I right?”
“Yes, you are,” I agreed. “And he can’t marry me.”
“But you want to stick around here to be near him, just in case?”
“No, not just in case. I know he can’t leave his wife. I’ve accepted that.”
He went to touch me, then obviously thought better of it. “Juliet, I worry about you stuck here on your own. I know there’s not much sign of war at this moment, but what if it comes? What if you’d like to get home but you can’t?”
I sighed. “I know, Henry. I worry about it, too. But I can’t go home until the baby is born, and then I’m just praying that I can get across France.”
“So come with me now. You know, if you find you don’t like me that much, you can always divorce me later. They do it all the time in the US.”
I took his hands and held them in mine. “You are possibly the sweetest person I have met in my whole life, and I appreciate you so much. The moment you’ve gone I’ll be kicking myself that I’ve been so stupid to let you go. But I just can’t do it to you.”
“Okay. If that’s what you really feel.” He sighed. “I’d better get going. I have a lot of packing to do. My father’s booked me on a ship sailing out of Genoa in three days.”
“Have a safe journey, Henry.” I stood up and kissed him on the cheek. His arms came around me, and he hugged me tightly. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Then he made for the door, and I heard his feet clomping down the stairs.
CHAPTER 36
Juliet, Venice, April 9, 1940
Time just seems to have passed in a blur. There has been little mention of war on the radio. Italy is still in Abyssinia and has now annexed Albania, but Hitler has not made any move towards Western Europe. On the home front I have made progress with my painting. It seems that my pregnancy has unleashed a wave of creativity, and I want to paint all the time. Even Professor Corsetti said nice things about a nude I did in the style of Salvador Dalí . Henry’s departure was followed by a spell of glorious spring weather. Flowers bloomed in window boxes and in the various gardens. The air smelled of perfume. People came out in light clothing and sat on walls enjoying the sunshine.
It seems strange to admit this, but most of the time I forgot about the baby. Apart from the increasing difficulty in negotiating the stairs, or being woken by a vigorous kick at night, it was as if it didn’t exist. Easter has come and gone. Leo has been away a lot, apparently inspecting boatyards in other places for his father-in-law. So my life has been lonely but not unpleasant. Francesca and I can now understand each other. I’m pleased to think that I can now speak rudimentary Venetian in addition to my now fluent Italian. I actually dream in the language.