Irresistible You (13 page)

She marched straight up and opened the door into Viviana’s, the little bell announcing her arrival.

‘Stefano!’ she shouted before the door had closed behind her.

‘Elena?’ he shouted back, his white eyebrows arrowing across his nose as he appeared from his secret workshop.

‘What kind of a shop is this?’ she demanded, looking around her and gesticulating at the masks.

‘What do you mean? Are you all right, Elena?’

‘No! I’m not all right! What kind of masks are you selling?’ She could feel her eyes popping out of her head at her question and her cheeks were blazing with fury. But, to her consternation, Stefano just nodded.

‘Ah,’ he said calmly, ‘so you’ve tried on the mask!’

‘Yes! I tried on this mask,’ she said, thrusting the carrier bag under his nose, ‘and it nearly killed me.’

He shook his head. ‘No, no,’ he said gently. ‘It wouldn’t have done that.’

Her eyes widened. ‘
No?
’

‘The masks are always what the customer has asked for.’

‘Are they?’ She stared around the shop at the myriad masks hanging on the scarlet walls and her eyes rested on a tubular-nosed one. ‘What about this one, then? What does this do?’ she asked, plucking it from its position and holding it up to her face.

‘You mustn’t try on what you don’t intend to own,’ Stefano said calmly.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not your mask - trust me.’

‘Trust you? I’m meant to
trust you?
Why should I do that? You gave me a mask that almost killed me!’

Stefano shook his head in a gentle manner as if she’d said something of mere irritation. Elena turned back to the masks on the wall.

‘What would happen if I tried this on?’ she said, taking another mask from the display. ‘What would this one do to me? Turn me into a frog? Send me back in time?’

His hand reached out to retrieve the mask from her and he placed it back on the wall with gentle ease.

‘It is not your mask,’ he said again. ‘You have yours - the one you requested.’

‘But it wasn’t the one I requested - it was the one
you
chose.’

Stefano frowned. ‘You do not trust me at all?’

She shook her head but his eyes held hers firmly and she felt herself swallowing hard and looking away. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last in a quiet voice.

‘Elena,’ he began, ‘I only give people the things that they have already decided they need.’

‘But this mask -’

‘Hush!’ he said with absolute calm.

‘But it’s -’ she stopped. His eyes seemed to silence her. ‘I don’t understand all this,’ she said. ‘It’s too much! I need to know what’s going on.’

‘Why?’

‘Because - ’ she stopped without being able to finish her sentence.

‘We do not always need to know the answers. Sometimes we must simply be.’

She bit her lip. ‘Why do you always talk in riddles?’

‘But I’m not.’

‘And how can you remain so calm? You
know
what this mask did to me, don’t you?’

He held his hands in the air and shook his head in a gentle manner which made her want to grab his shoulders and shake him. ‘It did what you bid it.’

Elena frowned. And then she remembered the wish she’d made as she’d picked it up off the dressing table. She’d wished to become invisible.

She stared at Stefano. ‘But these things can’t happen - not really! They’re impossible!’

A small smile spread across his face. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’

‘I don’t know what to believe anymore!’

He shrugged. ‘Some things can’t be explained. Some things are just -’ he paused, searching out the right word.

‘Magic?’

He nodded. ‘We all need a little magic in our lives, don’t we?’

Elena watched as he turned and walked across the shop to the bench on which several masks awaited their fate.

‘But the thing with magic,’ he began, not looking up from the work bench, ‘is that we must know when to use it. We must use it wisely. Don’t you agree?’ His eyes caught hers for the briefest of moments and she found herself nodding.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Magic can be fun but it can also do great harm if its power goes to your head. You know what I mean?’

She nodded, and wondered if he knew about her little incident with the lady and the shopping bag on the Fondamenta Nove.

‘You don’t need to rationalise magic but you do need to
ration
it,’ he said.

There
were a few moments’ silence. Elena waited for him to say something else. She wasn’t sure what more there was to say and if she could actually absorb any more of Stefano’s riddles.

‘What should I do now?’ she asked at last.

Stefano put down the mask he was working on and gave her his full attention again. ‘You have some decisions to make, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘Well, the mask will help you.’

Elena frowned. ‘But how will I know when to wear it?’

‘You’ll know when the time is right,’ he said lightly before picking up the unfinished mask from the bench and poring over it with great concentration.

It was clearly time for her to go. She turned around and walked towards the door, her mask swinging beside her in its carrier bag.

‘Just one more thing, Elena,’ he called after her.

‘Yes,’ she said, wondering which riddle he’d come out with next.

‘Have some fun!’ He smiled and gave a little chuckle. ‘Have some
fun!
’

There could be fewer sights in this world finer than Venice from a plane, Prof thought as they came down to land at Marco Polo airport. It was a real gem. No wonder it was known as the Pearl of the Adriatic, he smiled. And there was a pearl within the pearl too - Elena, his bride-to-be.

His wife!
The thought made his heart pump madly and, for a moment, he felt as if he was about to self-eject right out of the aeroplane with joy. He had to find her! The thought of his little Elena in the middle of Venice without him was too much. But what if he couldn’t find her?

As the wheels of the plane touched down, Prof tried to remain optimistic. He’d try not to give up hope even before he’d arrived. No, he thought, an hour later, as the Alilaguna made its stop for San
Marco, he would find Elena and sweep her off her feet. But, ever practical, and always thinking about his stomach, he would check-in to his hotel, freshen up, and find something to eat before he started out on his great romantic quest.

It would be hard to estimate the number of hotels there were in Venice but it wouldn’t be too difficult to guess which one Prof
chose for his visit: the Danieli. As he stepped into the lobby, he gazed in rapture at the columns and arches that greeted him with regal splendour. It, quite simply, took his breath away. And his room was a symphony of splendour too and, if he hadn’t been in such a hurry to have a drink and something to eat, he would have sat down and composed a couple of sonnets about it there and then.

Walking down the red-carpeted staircase, Prof
felt decidedly underdressed for such a place. His old suit just wasn’t up to these sorts of surroundings and he hoped he wouldn’t be thrown into the lagoon for lowering the tone of the hotel. Perhaps he’d buy himself a new outfit whilst he was there. What were the labels he’d heard his students talking about so often? Gucci? Prada? Dolce and Gabbana? They all might have been ice-cream parlours for all he knew. A Prada pistachio. A Dolce and Gabbana double chocolate. But he’d have to smarten up a bit if he was to step out with Elena. He’d have to do her beauty and style credit. As much as she swore she loved his tired old jackets, he felt sure she’d adore him even more in the latest fashions.

*

Reuben hadn’t dared to set up an easel in the lobby bar at the Danieli, but had found a quiet corner where he was getting on quite nicely with his sketchbook. People came and went - drinking, laughing, flirting and departing, without even noticing his busy pencil catching their secret moments. That was the way Reuben liked it. There was nothing worse than an inquisitive intruder who thought it their right to see a work in progress. Why did people think they could interrupt an artist just because they conducted their business in a public place? He didn’t but in to people’s conversations when they were on their mobile phones or look over the shoulders of people who chose to work on laptops, so why should artists be fair game for public scrutiny? Art was not a spectator sport.

*

It was about three in the afternoon when a man walked right in front of the person Reuben was sketching. Reuben was just about to swear very loudly at the man but managed to check himself just in time. Besides, he thought, the man was a work of art himself and worthy of a sketch or two. He looked so awkward and out of place in his tweed jacket and bow tie.

Reuben
span his pencil around and caught the man in a few light lines. He turned a page and watched as the man ordered a drink and sat down, craning his head back to take in the full splendour of the room. Reuben watched as his hand fiddled with his bow tie. He wore a gold signet ring on his little finger. He held his drink in his left hand and sipped it quickly as if he didn’t intend on staying long.

And then he looked up and saw Reuben. Reuben looked down hastily but his pencil kept moving. He had almost finished. He knew that everybody moved eventually. It was one of those inconsiderate things people did with no thought of the artist struggling to capture them but that was part of the joy as well - trying to capture that elusive moment forever.

Reuben’s pencil moved at lightning speed as he tried to finish the sketch whilst it was still fresh in his mind. He deliberately didn’t look up again for fear of causing further embarrassment, and he was just putting in the finishing touches when he became aware of a presence at his shoulder. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell this most recent interloper to bugger off when he heard the words, ‘It’s really rather good,’ and he was so taken by surprise that he put his pencil down and looked up.

‘Thank you,’ he said, staring up into the face of the man he’d been sketching. It was a kind, open face with bright, intelligent eyes winking from behind his round glasses. Reuben couldn’t help but give a smile.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been drawn before and, I must say, you’ve done rather a good job there,’ the man in the bow tie went on. ‘I mean, I really recognise myself!’ he said, a small laugh in his voice as if he were surprised by what he saw on the page. ‘It’s quite extraordinary!’

‘Thank you,’ Reuben said again, watching as the man sat down opposite him and removed his glasses.

‘I take it you’re professional?’

Reuben nodded. ‘It’s taken a while but I can just about live off it now.’

‘I should hope so too which such a talent,’ he said. ‘Sigmund,’ he added, proffering a hand. ‘Sigmund Mortimer.’

‘Reuben Lord,’ Reuben said, shaking it and nodding.

‘I guess this place throws up some interesting subjects?’ Sigmund said, looking around the room.

‘Well, I’ve only been here a day but it looks promising so far.’

Sigmund nodded. ‘It’s extraordinary. Really extraordinary,’ he enthused, craning his head back to take in the full splendour of the ceiling as he had when he’d first sat down.

‘So,’ Reuben began, deciding that it might actually be quite nice to have a bit of conversation, ‘what brings you to Venice?’

Sigmund smiled. ‘Romance,’ he said.

Reuben grinned.
‘Me too.’

The two men looked at each other as if sharing a wonderful secret and Reuben watched as Sigmund stretched his legs out and crossed one ankle over the other. He looked more comfortable now.

‘Venice and romance kind of go together, don’t they?’

Reuben
nodded, surprised to be having such a conversation with a stranger, but he welcomed the temporary distraction from his concerns about Elena. And his rapidly growing fascination with her sister.

‘I mean,’ Sigmund smiled, ‘everything is so beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place like it. Paris, Prague, Barcelona, Rome - they have nothing on this!’

Reuben watched him as he talked. He’d never seen anybody as enthusiastic or animated about the subject of architecture. It occurred to Reuben that it must be a part of his job. Maybe he was a travel writer or a historian.

‘I’m a lecturer,’ he said when Reuben asked him.
‘English Literature.’

Reuben picked up his pencil again as his new companion talked on. He wasn’t really listening as he drew but he wasn’t really concentrating on where his pencil was taking him either so, when he finally stopped, it came as a complete surprise to see what he’d drawn.

‘Shit!’ Reuben exclaimed.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sigmund asked, trying to get a look at Reuben’s sketch. ‘Not gone as you planned?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Can I have a look?’

Reuben shrugged and held the sketchbook out to Sigmund who took it and gave a long, low whistle.

‘She’s beautiful,’ he observed. ‘Is this your romantic interest?’

Reuben wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t have many friends and wasn’t used to talking about his personal life with anyone other than those who actually made up his personal life. But this fellow looked trustworthy enough. Reuben wasn’t sure if it was the tweed jacket, the round glasses or the bow tie. Maybe it was a combination of all three and the fact that he reminded Reuben of his old geography teacher. But he felt that he could talk to this man.

‘You could say that,’ he said at last.

‘She’s very beautiful,’ Sigmund said, handing the sketchbook back.

Reuben took it. ‘She is, isn’t she?’

And then he sighed because he’d gone and drawn yet another picture of Rosanna.