Frail Barrier (8 page)

Urbino knew that the best way to avoid any further personal questions was to assume the role of a cicerone.

For the next fifteen minutes, he provided a running commentary on the buildings, squares, and bridges they were passing. He informed them that the
altane
were not fire escapes, assured them that the big stone bridge was not the Bridge of Sighs but the Rialto Bridge, and explained that the canal that ran beside the Ca' Rezzonico was the one that Katharine Hepburn fell into in the movie
Summertime
. He told them about the upcoming regatta, commiserating with them that they would miss it.

They soon passed under the Accademia Bridge. Urbino provided some statistics about the wooden bridge, surprising even himself with the way the information about the city was flowing effortlessly. He then told them about the newest bridge being built over the Grand Canal by the Piazzale Roma, the first one in over a hundred years, one to be made out of Murano glass.

‘At least two years behind schedule. They put up an arch from each side of the Grand Canal, but they collapsed.'

The women gave murmurs of surprise and regret.

By this time Urbino was thoroughly enjoying his new role.

He was about to launch into a description of the Palazzo Guggenheim which they were approaching, complete with anecdotes about the flamboyant Peggy Guggenheim, when Laura, who had been pushing her camera button almost constantly, said, ‘How I wish I could do what that woman over there can do instead of just taking these pictures!'

She pointed toward the Campo San Vio that fronted the Grand Canal. It wasn't difficult for Urbino to determine whom Laura was talking about.

A tall, thin woman in a gondolier's hat stood in front of an easel. It was the red-haired woman he had seen twice on the day of the second big storm.

‘Keep on at it, girl!' Laura shouted.

She waved her arms wildly. She caught the attention of the woman, who waved back at her.

Urbino continued to impart odds and ends of information to the women, pacing himself so that he came to the end of his description of the plague and the Salute just as the vaporetto approached the Maria del Giglio landing. There were so many thank-yous and kisses and handshakes that he almost missed the stop.

Coming out on to the terrace of the Gritti Palace Hotel from the bar, where he had spent several minutes talking with an acquaintance, Urbino's eyes were initially dazzled by the sunshine glancing off the Grand Canal. As he searched for Nick Hollander among the other patrons under the blue-and-white-striped awning, his eye fell on two women. Perla Beato and Oriana Borelli were sitting at a table against the wooden railing above the hotel's private boat landing. With their blonde heads bent together, they seemed oblivious of not only Urbino but also the splendid scene beyond the terrace.

‘Isn't this a surprise,' Oriana said in a voice that had been made hoarse from cigarettes. She was an attractive woman who, rumor had it, had just celebrated – or rather concealed – her fiftieth birthday. ‘I didn't know the Gritti was one of your haunts. I keep learning more about you.'

‘I'm glad to know I'm not completely predictable.'

‘Nothing like that at all!' In a characteristic gesture she pushed her large-framed sunglasses up on her nose. ‘Wouldn't you say “ditto” to that, Perla?'

Perla had applied more make-up than usual today but not enough to conceal a slightly weary look and a purple bruise on her left cheek. ‘Ditto, Oriana. Dependable but not predictable,' she responded. ‘As good as his word, but not as … as …' She stared at Urbino with her brown eyes as if appealing to him to help her come up with the right expression. Oriana smiled, but then Perla finished: ‘But not as regular as clockwork! Yes, that's it!'

She glanced triumphantly at Oriana.

Whenever Perla and Oriana spoke English in each other's presence, their competitive spirit asserted itself, sometimes with amusing results.

‘Take a load off your feet, Urbino dear,' Oriana now said.

‘Yes, we'd love to shoot the breeze with you,' Perla put in.

‘It would tickle us pink,' Oriana said without missing a beat.

Urbino decided, for his own sake, to put an end to their idiomatic skirmish.

‘It would be lovely to join you but I have a rendezvous.'

He looked around the terrace and saw a tanned, bald man in his early thirties sitting alone at the end of the terrace by the screen of green plants. He seemed to be regarding Urbino with curiosity, although when he saw that Urbino was looking at him, he turned his gaze to the row of palaces on the opposite side of the Grand Canal. He met the description the contessa had given Urbino – or rather the description that her cousin Sebastian had passed on to her – at least in the sense that he was completely bald.

‘If it's with that stunning woman with the auburn hair drinking Dom Pérignon,' Oriana said, ‘I'm going to let the cat out of the bag and tell Barbara.'

‘You'll have to keep the feline in the sack,' Urbino said with a smile. ‘It's with that man by the railing.'

‘Him!' Oriana said. ‘We were wondering who he was waiting for. We assumed it was a woman.'

Oriana, although married, always had her eye out for available – and even unavailable – men. Urbino often wondered whether the competition between her and Perla extended beyond the linguistic into affairs of the heart.

‘You'll have to excuse me,' he said. ‘I shouldn't keep him waiting.'

‘What's his name?' Oriana asked.

‘Nick Hollander, and don't worry, you'll get your chance to meet him yourself. He's coming to Barbara's party.'

Urbino went over to the man

‘Excuse me,' he said tentatively. ‘I believe you're Nick Hollander.'

The man gave a slightly strained smile and stood up. He was dressed in a well-cut, stylish suit in a shade of pale yellow with subtle gray stripes. He wore no tie.

‘Please sit down, Mr. Macintyre,' he said after they had shaken hands.

‘Thank you. Call me Urbino.'

‘Nick, please.'

‘Let me give my condolences again.'

Urbino's seat provided a view of the Salute farther down the Grand Canal.

‘Thank you. Would you join me?' He indicated a bottle of Soave in a bucket of ice. It was half filled. ‘I had the waiter bring two glasses.'

Hollander poured him a glass.

‘To health,' Urbino said.

‘Yes.
Salute.'

Involuntarily both men looked across the water to the church of the same name, with its associations with the plague and death. A somber look fell over Hollander's weather-beaten face. There were dark smudges beneath his blue eyes. The two men took in the scene silently.

‘A lovely view, isn't it?' Hollander said after a few moments. ‘And I have a front room. I see all this when I get up.'

‘You're fortunate.'

‘Not as fortunate as you. I'm only staying in a palazzo. Sebastian tells me you live in one.'

Urbino gave an embarrassed laugh.

‘It might be called a palazzo but it's a very small building – though more than big enough for me,' he added quickly, in case it might sound as if he were complaining. ‘And it doesn't have a view that even begins to compare with this one. I inherited it about twenty-five years ago from my mother's side of the family. She was Italian. It was in terrible disrepair when I got it.'

Urbino provided more details about the Palazzo Uccello. When he had finished fifteen minutes later, with some intelligent interventions by Hollander, he didn't feel as if he had indulged himself. What he felt was that he had helped put his companion at ease. Hollander seemed more relaxed. They finished the Soave and ordered another.

‘It was unfortunate that Barbara and I never got to meet your stepfather.'

‘He was an interesting man, and a good one. You would have enjoyed knowing each other.'

‘Regrettable that our paths never crossed – except that one time, most indirectly, in the Piazza San Marco.'

‘My stepfather was on the shy side. And during the past several months he kept to his apartment much of the time, because of his illness.'

‘I understand. Where did he live?'

‘In one of the palaces over there.'

Hollander gestured across the Grand Canal toward the noble line of buildings to the right of the
traghetto
stop.

‘Which one?'

‘The one with the row of pointed windows.'

Hollander's reference to the Gothic windows identified the palazzo as one of the most elegant on the Grand Canal and one of the most storied.

‘He bought the apartment last year. He thought it would be his pied-à-terre for a lot longer than it was.'

Hollander forced some brightness into his face as he added, ‘So you aren't the only one with your own piece of Venice, though mine is more modest. But I doubt if I shall keep it. It has bad memories. Perhaps you can help me with an estate agent? The one that brought the apartment to my stepfather's attention retired a few months ago.'

‘I'd be glad to, but it might not be a good idea to do anything in haste.'

‘I understand what you mean. But I've thought enough about it.'

‘Were you staying with your stepfather?'

Hollander took a sip of his wine before answering.

‘Not this time. In the hotel, as I said. I stayed with him last November. He wanted his privacy this year. But I was right across the canal.'

‘Even if you weren't just across the canal from each other, you would have been close one way or another. Venice is such a small town.'

‘Too small for me, actually. I prefer London. I have a house in Chelsea, but I travel much of the time. My mother has a tour company. I'm the president.'

From here it was logical for the two new acquaintances to pass on to the topic of travel. They shared their impressions of various destinations and discussed travel literature, about which Hollander was knowledgeable. In the process they discovered that they were in agreement on almost every point except mass tourism. Hollander quite understandably defended it since, without it, Hollander Tours wouldn't exist.

‘But it's destroying so much,' Urbino insisted. ‘Look at these boats! Filled with tourists. I remember not too long ago when the city was almost quiet by six in the evening, even at this time of the year.'

‘Oh, for the days of the grand tour, trunks, and transatlantic voyages!'

‘Something like that. I know it's not very democratic.'

‘And you the American!'

The waiter poured the last of the Soave into their glasses. The two men fell into a comfortable silence. Each was lost in his thoughts as he contemplated the scene spread out before them.

‘It
is
a beautiful city,' Hollander emphasized, breaking the silence. ‘I'll certainly grant you that. I understand why my stepfather loved it. He said that he never wanted to leave, and I guess that in a sense he never did leave, did he? Oh, I see that your friends are about to go.'

Urbino turned around. The two women came over to their table. Urbino made the introductions.

‘We look forward to seeing you at Barbara's party,' Oriana said.

‘They are very attractive,' Hollander said after the two women had left. ‘And married, I see.'

‘Yes, married,' Urbino said without any further clarification.

Hollander consulted his wristwatch.

‘I'm on my way to the apartment. I need to check on a few items. Would you like to come with me? See it for yourself? You might be able to give me some idea of what I can expect from a sale.'

‘I'll leave that to the estate agent. But yes, I'd love to see it.'

The landing stage for the
traghetto
that would take Urbino and Hollander across the Grand Canal was next to the terrace of the Gritti Palace and only a few feet from a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who smiled benevolently down from her street shrine.

‘The poor man's gondola,' Hollander observed as he stepped into the boat from the small wooden landing stage.

The Santa Maria del Giglio
traghetto
was one of several placed along the Grand Canal at strategic points. Like the others it was a convenient ferry to the other side as well as an inexpensive, if all too short, gondola ride. Usually, it was Venetians who used them, not tourists.

‘I'll stand like the rest of you,' Hollander said when Urbino advised that he sit down.

There were three other passengers, a man in blue work clothes and two women with shopping bags that bore the names of fashionable shops in the San Marco district.

‘It can get a bit rocky with all this traffic,' Urbino warned.

But when the boat moved into the canal, was washed by the wake of a vaporetto, and then had to avoid a delivery boat, Hollander was steady on his feet, as steady as Urbino and the Venetians.

‘I'm accustomed to it,' Hollander said. He stared straight ahead at the buildings on the other bank. ‘I do a lot of boating. It's my passion. I was in the regatta at Capri last year. We didn't win but we did pretty well. My stepfather came. What about yourself? Are you into boating?'

‘Only as a spectator sport – or as a passenger. There are a lot of opportunities for that in Venice. And I have a gondola, but my gondolier does all the rowing,' Urbino added with a smile.

‘Your own gondola? I didn't think anyone had his own private one anymore. Sebastian didn't mention that.'

‘I'm not sure he knows. It was a recent gift from Barbara.' This was offered as a way of distancing himself from the extravagance and eccentricity as well as giving his good friend her proper due. ‘The gondola and some cruises on Barbara's yacht are the closest I've come to the sport. If it counts, I'm helping to sponsor one of the regatta races.'

‘Which one?'

‘The
gondolino
race. My gondolier and a friend of his are the rowers.'