Page 48 of A Chance in a Million
When they got to Venice after another long slow crawl in heavy traffic over the last few kilometres, it was a relief to get into the launch. It was very hot today – the temperature was already over thirty and it was barely mid-morning – and the slight breeze as they motored down the Grand Canal was most welcome. This time David just dropped her at the palazzo landing stage and carried on down the canal to his appointment with the specialist. Jane stood on the landing stage and watched him head around the bend of the canal, wondering what the specialist was going to say and just how serious the operation he would have to have might prove to be.
After he had disappeared from sight, she told herself worrying about it wouldn’t help so she unlocked the door, turned off the alarm and took a good look around, picking up the mail from the doormat and checking that all was well. After that, she hurried upstairs to her employer’s dress collection.
Following Veronica’s directions, she easily located the dress. Slipping it out of its protective covering she felt that same sense of awe she had felt when she had handled the Ingrid Bergman dress. This, too, was silk, and as she held it up against her body she saw what Veronica had meant by it maybe being a tight fit. Although she was all alone in the house it felt somehow improper to strip off here, but rather than waste time running upstairs to her apartment, she decided to change down here, not least as the room boasted no fewer than three full length mirrors. Although the dress was a bit fiddly to get into, she was very pleased to find that it did in fact fit, and she could even breathe. She checked herself out in the mirror and had to admit that Veronica had got it dead right once again. It could have been made for her and the colour was a perfect match for her eyes.
She felt sure it would look even better with heels, so she decided to head out to look for a new pair of shoes, with a bit of heel but not so high that they would cripple her if she wore them all day long. Very carefully, she removed the dress and hooked it into a special suit bag for carrying, vaguely wondering if she should look for a hat as well but dismissed the thought. She had never been very keen on hats and had no idea what sort of thing people were wearing these days and so decided to stick with her initial decision and go bare-headed.
Back outside again, she found the crowds as thick as ever, but the shop where she had bought her original shoes was only a couple of hundred yards away and she managed to get there without too much trouble. There was no point searching for shoes to match a dress she would never wear again, so she opted for a pair of stylish, nude pumps with just enough heel to look good but not enough to stop her walking normally – or as normally as possible. They weren’t cheap but she was spending so little of her generous pay at the moment that she was easily able to afford them. Armed with her purchases, she stopped off for a cold drink at her favourite cafe by the Rialto bridge and was cheered to receive a warm welcome from the owner who recognised and remembered her. This gave her a little glow of satisfaction and a feeling of homecoming. Yes, she really was settling into life in Italy.
At midday she was on the landing stage waiting for David and the moment she climbed into the launch, she queried how the appointment with the surgeon had gone. His answer was heartening.
‘He says he’s very happy with everything and the op’s going to be next week.’
Restraining the urge to ask him to explain exactly what this was going to involve, all she could do was wish him well.
He took her through a maze of narrow canals in order to show her a bit of ‘alternative Venice’ as they weaved their way through to the eastern side of the city. It was fascinating to run close alongside Renaissance buildings, past hidden squares almost devoid of people, and to squeeze underneath humpback bridges. Some were barely wider than the boat and once or twice she had serious doubts as to whether they would be able to fit, but they did. When they finally got out of the houses and into the open waters of the lagoon, they headed east, past the island of San Michele. High red brick walls punctuated by white arches surrounded the island, and dark green fingers of cypress trees rose up beyond the walls. Back in Venice behind them David pointed out the hospital where he would have his operation, right on the water’s edge. Over to the left of them was the airport where a regular procession of aircraft from all over the world were delivering yet more tourists to this unique city. Jane gazed at the views in fascination but couldn’t help returning her attention to her companion from time to time. It was nice being with him – more than nice.
It took almost half an hour to get to Burano, which was a considerably smaller island than Murano, and Jane was immediately fascinated by the brightly coloured houses lining the narrow canal that ran through the middle of it. There was every colour of the rainbow – and a few more – and the whole place had a far more relaxed feel to it than the claustrophobic streets and alleys of Venice. The restaurant was close to a wonderful old bell tower, not dissimilar to the bell tower in St Mark’s square, but with the difference that this one was leaning sideways at an alarming angle. David told her it had been like this for hundreds of years and everybody was hoping it would keep standing.
Trattoria Da Marcellowas down a narrow alley and from the outside it was unprepossessing, with peeling plaster on the walls and a gaudy fly curtain at the entrance. Inside however, the narrow hallway opened into a large dining area with arched doors at the far end leading onto a brick-paved courtyard garden dotted with lemon and orange trees in massive terracotta pots. David was welcomed as an old friend by Marcello – once the portly restaurateur had recognised him beneath his mass of hair – and received an affectionate hug. When David introduced Jane, she found herself on the receiving end of an appraising look and a broad smile from Marcello before he showed them to their seats and she couldn’t help wondering if David had brought other women here. Their table was over to one side of the courtyard, shaded from the sun by the surrounding high walls and the branches of a lone palm tree that rose up even higher than the houses.
After Marcello had left them, David looked across and she could see his eyes smiling. ‘I should have checked. You do like fish, don’t you?’
‘I love fish and any kind of seafood – big, small, hot, cold, prawns, lobster, crab, mussels – you name it, I love it all.’
‘Excellent. My father told me – and I’ve since confirmed it time and time again – that Marcello does the best seafood in Venice. Hopefully we’re in for a treat.’
‘Today’s already a treat. Being ferried around Venice by my own personal boatman is more than most people ever experience but, tell me something: Marcello didn’t recognise you at first. Does that mean you haven’t been here since you decided to go all bohemian?’
He nodded. ‘It must be four years now. I was still in the army when I last came here.’
She did her best to keep the conversation upbeat. ‘Well, if the food’s as good as you say, you must have incredible willpower to be able to stay away for so long.’
‘The fact of the matter is that I’ve hardly been out for ages.’
‘That would appear to be something you and your mum have in common.’ She paused for a few moments. ‘Mind you, I’m a fine one to talk…’
‘But you’re doing better now, aren’t you? And, with your help, Mum’s really perked up. Did you hear what she said about maybe coming here? That’s real progress.’
‘If this is your first time back here in four years, then the same applies to you.’
The bright blue eyes smiled again. ‘And for the same reason. It’s your influence. Since meeting you I feel so much more cheerful.’ She could see him grinning now. ‘It may not look like it to you but, trust me, I do.’
At that moment Marcello appeared with a carafe of water, two glasses of Prosecco and a saucer of plump mussels and shelled prawns surrounding a little pot of what looked like green wasabi sauce. ‘Now what can I get you to eat?’
He rattled off a list of fish – the names of most of which Jane didn’t recognise – and she was delighted to go with David’s suggestion that they opt for the mixed seafood antipasti, followed byfrittomisto. Marcello was keen to persuade them to have a risotto before the fried fish but Jane shook her head and told him she wouldn’t be able to do it justice. He went off to get them a bottle of good Valdobbiadene Prosecco and she settled back to enjoy the meal, the surroundings, and the company. And today David really was good company.
They talked about the army but they also talked about his books and hers, their respective families, their hobbies, interests, but not relationships. Neither of them spoke about their wounds and he made no mention of any women in his life. For her part, she made no reference to Mark or the handful of other men she had dated before Mark. Still, she found him remarkably easy to talk to and he was definitely more communicative than he had been so far. The meal flashed by and she barely registered the exceptional quality of the cuisine. Thefritto mistoin particular was excellent and in among the lightly fried fish, octopus and prawns, there were bright yellow courgette flowers and slices of green and red peppers which gave the whole dish a fascinating look and taste.
By the time they asked for coffee, she felt she knew him a whole lot better – although just why he had decided to bury himself in his research and look like a hippy still remained a mystery.
After a long, lazy lunch lasting almost two hours, they set off in the launch once more. On the way back across the lagoon, she asked if it might be possible to visit the island of San Michele and he said he was happy to oblige. He told her the island had been transformed into a huge cemetery a couple of hundred years earlier on the orders of Napoleon, with a number of famous people including Ezra Pound and Igor Stravinsky buried there. When they reached the landing stage, he dropped her off and said he would wait with the boat in case he got moved on. Evidently parking problems in Venice weren’t restricted to roads and cars. She told him she wouldn’t be long and walked in past the imposing white marble façade of the church of San Michele in Isola.
In sharp contrast to Venice itself, there was an air of peace and tranquillity on the cemetery island. She could hear little noise apart from a distant aircraft, a handful of squabbling seagulls and the crunch of her feet in the grit as she walked down the narrow alleys flanked by cypress trees, towards the red brick chapel in the centre. All around were graves ranging from simple crosses set in the ground to marble-clad tombs and elaborate private chapels belonging to old Venetian families. Most of the handful of people she saw were carrying bunches of flowers and there were flowers on many of the graves, with bees and small birds flitting among them.
Inevitably, as she wandered through the cemetery, her mind turned to Mark. He had been interested in history and she felt sure he would have loved this city and this little island. Somehow, although she was surrounded by the dead, this wasn’t a sad place, but rather a place of reminiscence and reflection. She sat down for a few minutes on a bench shaded from the full strength of the sun by a tall cypress tree and let her mind roam, doing her best to banish the bad and trying to remember the good times she and Mark had enjoyed together.
She was resting there, her head full of memories, when her eyes were caught by the sight of a little feather blown across the gravel by the breeze. It wheeled and turned, caught for a few moments on a fallen twig before moving on. Finally, as it reached the far side of the alley, a stronger gust lifted it skywards and she watched as it floated ever upwards until it disappeared into the burning sun.
