Lament for a Lost Lover (64 page)

Harriet accepted our wonderment with a kind of smug contentment. She was in excellent spirits and this was partly due to what she called “the plan,” which was so wild that she was sure no one but herself would have attempted to carry it out. But she was going to make it succeed.

Gregory, Harriet, Christabel and I were taken in a gondola to the palazzo; the rest of our group followed with our baggage.

Our gondolier had a smattering of English, which was quaint and musical to listen to, and he obviously wanted to use it on us. I noticed that his eyes were on Harriet with undisguised admiration, which did not displease her, though, heaven knew, she must have had a surfeit of it. He kept addressing himself to the bella signora, and as we shot under the bridges he declared himself very happy that we had come.

Venice was the most beautiful city in the world. “Look, bella signora … bella signorina … here the Rialto. Carpori soon. Very nice palazzo; La Contessa very nice lady. She use my gondola … sometime. Very kind.”

He was implying of course that he expected similar kindness from us and I was sure he would get it. Harriet always believed in being generous to those who served her.

“Carpori close to St. Mark’s. Leave to me. I show.”

The gondola came to rest and we alighted before the palazzo. In the sunlight it looked like a piece of confectionery. Everything seemed touched by that golden light and I felt as though I were stepping out of reality into an enchanted world.

The Conte, who with his wife, the Contessa, owned this beautiful palace must, I suspected, be a man of some wealth. At each end was tower with a row of arches in the centre opening onto a long veranda. The walls were covered in marble of delicate shades of pink. Behind the veranda was a large hall with exquisite murals and paintings on the ceilings. The floors were paved with marble in beautiful colours of blue and gold.

Christabel caught her breath in wonder and I understood her feelings. I had never imagined anything so lovely.

A beautiful staircase led to the next floor. Here window arches, extending from end to end, formed a continuous arcade.

As soon as we entered, the house servants came to greet us, headed by one whom I guessed to be the majordomo, a garrulous, important-looking man with black sparkling eyes and an ingratiating manner, who was Giuseppe. He clapped his hands and others ran to do his bidding while he fussed around us.

Rooms had been made ready for us. Mine contained a bed with silk hangings, which was very charming, and I was delighted to be able to step out onto the veranda and look out over the canal.

Harriet was soon with me, her eyes dancing with excitement. She had come to see how impressed I was with her cleverness in arranging such lodgings for us.

“But it is so luxurious!” I cried.

“What did you expect? Did you think I would bring you to a hovel?”

“You have some very good friends.”

“Ah, yes. I once did the Contessa a great service. She was a merry girl, but she has become fat—a fate which sometimes overtakes us and I must watch it does not catch up with me. She loved good food, my dear Contessa. She was Marie Gissard. French. She was in our company … not exactly beautiful … nor even pretty, but she had this …
je-ne-sais-quoi
about her. Do you know what I mean? Men liked Marie and Marie liked men. She liked them so well that they could not resist her. She had so many lovers, and she was like a butterfly, flitting hither and thither. But she became a wise butterfly when the Conte Carpori came along. Now he was serious. He wanted a wife and Marie was deeply involved with Andre … I forget his other name … and Andre was determined that Marie should be his. You understand? She might have lost her Conte. He was ready to kill anybody, including herself and himself. And Andre was out to make trouble. But I took over Andre at precisely the right moment. It is a simple story. Because of my prompt action Marie was left free to give up her life and settle down with the Conte. It worked well. She became the Contessa. She has two sons and she will never forget the good services of her dear friend, Harriet. So when I tell her that I need to get out of the country for a while, there is the palazzo at my disposal. ‘Stay there as long as you like,’ wrote Marie. They have palazzos all over Italy. The favourite one is in Florence, and there is another somewhere, to say nothing of several country estates. You see the extent of her gratitude to me for making it all possible. Marie was never one to forget her friends.”

“Oh, Harriet, you have had such an exciting life!”

“It may well be, dear child, that you will also have an exciting life. After all, you have not begun so dully, have you?”

I found myself laughing with her, and if it was slightly hysterically, it was better than crying. My emotions were so involved that I was not at all sure what I was feeling.

The first weeks in Venice passed like a dream. I think Christabel felt the same as I did. We had never seen anything like this city where one must travel everywhere by boat. We quickly formed the habit of getting in and out of the gondolas, as there were several of them belonging to the palazzo and two gondoliers to look after them and to be at our disposal to take us wherever we wanted to go.

There were times when I almost forgot the reason I was there, so overcome was I by the unique beauty of the place. What struck me most was the use that had been made of marble and porphyries which had rendered the city one of the most colourful in the world. I learned that these had been brought from various countries to adorn this city-green porphyry from Mount Taygetus, red and grey from Egypt, Oriental alabaster from Arabia, white marble from Greece and red from Verona. There was also blue marble, amber-coloured and a delightful variety with purple mottling.

How I revelled in this city during those few weeks. I would linger on the Rialto Bridge and gaze along the Grand Canal. I spent hours in and around St. Mark’s. I was enchanted by mosaics of colourful glass tesserae. I stood before the Doges’ Palace overawed by its magnificence; I gazed up at the saddest bridge in the world—called by the evocative name, the Bridge of Sighs, and thought of the prisoners who came from the Doges’ Palace and, crossing the bridge on their way to prison, took their last lingering look at the beautiful city.

There were many little shops which were like Aladdin’s cave to me. In them I found the most exquisite pieces of glass and enamel; there were rings and brooches made from precious stones and semiprecious stones and ribbons and silks of enchanting colours. There were beautiful tapestries and slippers intricately worked. I think both Christabel and I forgot our sorrows for short periods of time.

It was one gloriously sunny day when Marco, our gondolier, had taken us to St. Mark’s Square and Christabel and I were revelling in the shops there. I was buying some slippers and there were several of them laid out on the counter. I could not decide between those with lavender-coloured flowers worked on a background of black silk or a dark russet brown with deep blue flowers. I looked up suddenly and I saw a man at the window watching me. I felt an unmistakable apprehension. I was not sure why except that he was watching me so intently.

He was a little over medium height and exceptionally handsome. Elaborately dressed in what were called petticoat breeches adorned with rows of lace and blue ribbons, he was something of a dandy. His coat was so scanty in order, I was sure, to show off the magnificence of his white ruffled shirt and most elaborate cravat. The buttons glistened with jewels and his hat over his dark periwig was set off with a blue feather.

I flushed and looked down at the slippers. Rather hastily I selected the black and lavender. While the transaction was completed I was very much aware of the man watching me.

As we were about to leave the shop he came in. He stood aside for us to pass, bowing deeply.

I had to pass too close to him in the narrow space so I saw his face clearly. His eyes looked straight into mine and there was in them a suggestion of admiration which was too bold to be called complimentary. It even held a trace of insolence.

I was very glad to get into the street. I said to Christabel: “I should like to go back to the palazzo.”

“So soon?” she replied. “I thought you wanted to do some more shopping?”

“I feel a little tired. I would rather go straight home.”

We went to the gondola.

“Back to the palazzo?” asked our gondolier in surprise.

“Yes, please,” I answered.

As we moved along the canal, I saw the man who had come into the shop. He was standing still, watching us.

Perhaps I should have forgotten him within a few days, for there were a number of bold young men ready to ogle unattended females. My mother, of course, would not have allowed Christabel and me to go out alone, even though we were together. Venice was said to be a city of romance and adventure but I sometimes thought there was a sinister ambience about those little alleys and byways. Life could be violent even in the quiet villages of England. But here I had a feeling that disaster could spring out unexpectedly.

It was early evening just after dusk. I had rested in the afternoon. Harriet had insisted. She said I must remember what lay ahead of me. We did not want complications. It was necessary to the plot that everything run smoothly. I had succumbed to her persuasion, and I would lie in my bed reading or thinking of my child and wondering what the years ahead held in store for me.

I had risen and changed into a long loose gown which I had bought in the square the day before. It was part of Harriet’s scheme to introduce loose-fitting garments into our wardrobes, and to do so before they were necessary, she said.

I was brushing my hair, and with the brush in my hand, I had the impulse to step onto the veranda. Sunset was beautiful over Venice. I never failed to watch and delight in it. And as I stepped out, I saw him … the man who had been outside the shop. He was in a gondola which was not moving along the canal. It was motionless immediately below the palazzo, and he was looking up at the veranda.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. It was almost as though he had willed me to come out and see him.

He made no sign. Indeed I did not wait for him to do so. As soon as I realized who he was, I stepped back into my room.

My heart was beating absurdly fast. He knew where I was staying!

I went on brushing my hair. What was I afraid of? I was not sure.

But I certainly was afraid.

Harriet was excited. We had received an invitation to a masked ball at the Palazzo Faliero. The Duchessa herself had called on Harriet, and like everyone else had been enchanted by her. She and Gregory must attend the ball and bring with her the two girls whom she was chaperoning. Harriet had accepted on our behalf without consulting us.

“I have told the Duchessa of my interesting condition and it amused her very much,” Harriet told us. “She has recommended the best of midwives. One who brought her own offspring into the world. I shall investigate the woman thoroughly, for I have yet to work out the last act of your play, which will of course be the most hazardous. However, later for that.”

“Harriet,” I said, “sometimes I think it would have been better if we had gone to some quieter place. Wouldn’t it have been easier to have done it that way?”

“Nonsense,” she retorted. “The best way to keep a secret is to make no apparent effort to hide it. Had we gone to some remote place, we should have immediately become the focus of attention. And people in little quiet places have nothing or little with which to occupy themselves. Therefore they display a great interest in others around them. The simplest yokel becomes a shrewd detective. Here, my dear, everyone is concerned with his or her own affairs. The Duchessa is mildly amused by my pregnancy today. She will have forgotten it tomorrow because she will be thinking exclusively of her new lover. I have heard that there is a succession of them. You may trust me to do what is best.”

“I do. I should never have questioned it.”

She kissed me. “Now, my darling, what are we going to wear for the ball? I think it would be a good idea to introduce a new fashion. Loose Grecian robes. It may well be that the French are still wearing tight-peaked bodices and tiny waists. But we shall return to the Grecian styles which are so much more becoming and so all concealing. We shall choose our materials with the greatest care because in these styles material will be everything. I shall be in deep blue silk the colour of peacocks’ feathers. My eyes tie me rather to that colour. And you, my dear … for you I have thought of a delicate rose. There is Christabel, too. My dear, she lacks your charm. There is that burden of bitterness which she cannot throw off. It detracts from any attractiveness she might otherwise have. If she would only be less angry because she has missed something in life, she might begin to gain something. Never mind. Perhaps it will come. Green for her, I thought … green for envy.”

There was great excitement selecting our materials, and what exquisite colours we had to choose from. Elaborate black silk masks were made for us, and we were all growing very excited. I did once or twice see the man who had filled me with apprehension. He appeared again when we were shopping, but as he ignored us completely, I was able to dismiss him from my mind. There was, however, one other occasion when I saw him in his gondola looking up at the palazzo, but I soon forgot about him.

A few days before that fixed for the ball, we had a great surprise. Leigh came to Venice.

Christabel and I were not at the palazzo when he arrived. We were shopping and when we returned Harriet was waiting for us impatiently.

“Leigh is here,” she cried. “I sent him off to look for you. He has gone to the Rialto.”

“We were in St. Mark’s Square.”

“I know. That’s why I sent him to the Rialto. I wanted to see you first. This may be tricky. Leigh must not know why we are here.”

I saw the point, but it would be difficult not to tell Leigh. He and I had always been completely frank with each other.

“You will have to be careful, Priscilla. He won’t suspect anything though. It wouldn’t occur to him … provided none of us betrays anything.” She was looking steadily at Christabel. “I do not want anyone to know of this … except us and Gregory. The fewer who know the better. Leigh would be absolutely trustworthy but he is hotheaded and I know how upset he would be. He is devoted to you, Priscilla. Well, I just know in my bones that it must be kept from him. So … be careful.”