The Gilder (26 page)

As she made her way back down the great hall in search of Josh, she caught sight of a familiar silhouette. With her heart pounding, she circled around to get a better look. Yes, there was no mistaking the haughty stance of the contessa. Marina observed her from the shadow of a pillar and realized that the wretched woman must be well into her sixties, although she still had that sexy, predator air about her. Thin as a rail, she wore her hair, which was now more platinum than blond, in a French twist. As before, she was loaded with jewelry. Marina watched, fascinated. The last time she’d seen the contessa, she’d been brandishing a riding crop.

“What are you doing hiding over here?”

Marina jumped. “Josh, you startled me.”

“Are you all right, my dear? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. I just think the jet lag has caught up to me.”

“Have you eaten anything? The
crostini
are delicious.”

Marina shook her head. “I’m really not hungry. I think I need to go to bed and start fresh tomorrow.”

“I was hoping you’d join me for dinner. A few of us are going to Leonardo’s in a bit.”

Marina knew what that meant. They’d be sitting down at nine thirty or ten o’clock, and she’d be lucky to get to bed by midnight. “I’m sorry, I have to beg off, Josh. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. Can we have lunch after the morning session?”

Josh pursed his lips and thought for a minute. “I’m afraid I can’t manage lunch, but let’s meet for tea after your corridor tour.”

“My what?”

“The Vasari Corridor, the tour. It’s on your itinerary.”

Marina ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it off her forehead. “I’m sorry, Josh, I’ve just skimmed the itinerary. I ...”

He patted her shoulder. “I understand, not to worry. But you mustn’t miss a chance to tour the Vasari Corridor. It’s rarely open to the public, and then only by appointment. You know of it, I’m certain.”

Marina nodded. Thomas had told her about it. “Yes, of course.”

“We’ve arranged a tour exclusively for those presenting at the conference. A perk, if you will.”

They agreed to meet at Café Rivoire after the tour, then Marina kissed him on both cheeks and said good night.

Marina made herself stay up until ten o’clock in hopes of catching Zoe as soon as she got back from school.

Lydia picked up the phone on the second ring. “It’s a great connection. You sound like you’re calling from next door. But Zoe isn’t home yet. She has photography club until six.”

“Photography club?” This was news to Marina.

“She seemed really excited about it.”

“Like father, like daughter. I suppose that’s the point.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think she’ll talk to me? She’ll be home for dinner, right? I could set the alarm for one
A.M.
”

The line was quiet for a moment, and then Lydia said, “Why don’t you wait another day? I think she’s still pretty riled up. And you sound tired. You probably need a good night’s sleep.”

Marina sighed. “What’s she been saying?”

“It’s not what she’s saying. It’s just her attitude. I don’t think she’s ready to talk. But you need to do what’s right for you, Marina.” She paused. “So, tell me how you are. How is it being there? Have you seen Sarah yet?”

“It’s all so strange.” Marina lay back on the pillows and stretched her legs out. “It’s weird staying in a hotel. And it’s unsettling not being who I used to be, not having my old life. It’s like being in a time warp. I can’t seem to connect.”

“You’ve been gone a long time. You’re a different person now.”

“I am, and I’m not. I realized that today when I saw Sarah. We took a walk past where I used to work and ended up at my old apartment. It feels like the old part of me, the person I was sixteen years ago, is still
here
.”

“Maybe you left so abruptly you left a part of yourself there.”

“Well, it’s not a part I’m feeling very proud of right now.” Marina suddenly felt close to tears.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Marina. You were young, and your circumstance was dire. Now, maybe you can find a way to make it right. How was Sarah?”

“The same, different but the same. We spent the afternoon together. It felt like we’d never been apart.”

“How did you feel about her?”

Marina smiled into the phone. “You mean, did I fall madly in love with her?”

“Well ...”

“Lydia, you are such a lezzie. No, I didn’t fall in love with her, but I bet I could if I hung around long enough. She’s still beautiful, and kind, and generous, and ...”

Lydia laughed. “Okay, okay. Just checking.”

“Look, I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m not going to set the alarm, but if I wake up in the night, I might call, if it’s not too late over there. But I’ll definitely call tomorrow night. So see if you can prime Zoe for me, okay?”

CHAPTER 14

T
he next morning Marina woke to find that she had overslept and scarcely had enough time to shower, dress, and make it to the Palazzo Vecchio before the first presentation. She slipped into the back row just as the first speaker was introduced. Even with a screen full of colorful flow charts, the topic of budgeting for conservation was a dull one, important but dull, and it wasn’t long before she regretted skipping her morning coffee. She barely made it to the midmorning break without falling asleep and was the first one to reach the refreshments at the back of the hall, where a long table draped in white damask was laden with tumblers of bloodred orange juice, shots of dark espresso, and an array of glistening pastries. Two cups of coffee and a pastry later, Marina settled in for the next speaker and a much more promising topic: new developments in underpainting for both canvas and wood. Although it wasn’t her field of expertise, experience had taught her that when it came to conservation, there was always something to be learned from the other disciplines, and she often picked up ideas on tools or techniques she could apply to gilding.

During the next break between speakers, Marina stretched her legs by walking along the perimeter of the room and taking a closer look at the statuary. Each sculpture incorporated two naked men wrestling, limbs intertwined, muscles bulging. She looked at the placard on one of the pedestals that mentioned Hercules and the name of an artist she didn’t recognize. Clearly, Hercules was the one who seemed to have the upper hand in each configuration, save one, where his opponent had him by the balls—literally. She cocked her head to one side and contemplated the men, one upside down, locked in Hercules’ massive arms and about to be thrown headfirst to the ground, except that Hercules (who was standing upright) was in a bit of a fix. What can you do when someone has a viselike grip on your genitals? She couldn’t tell if these were just boyish antics—after all, the ancient Greeks were known for liking all manner of male sport—or if it was a fight to the death.

She sat back down for the final presentation on stone inlay, and wondered what the room looked like from the vantage point of the podium. Would the size of the room be intimidating? Would she be able to concentrate on her talk with naked men wrestling at her feet? The final hour flew by, and just as Marina was beginning to feel the gnawing of hunger, the speaker finished and they were released for lunch.

She found a café behind the Uffizi Gallery and, not wanting to sit another minute, stood at the bar to eat her prosciutto and arugula
panino,
washing it down with a glass of sparkling Pellegrino. She then left the burble of lunchtime conversations behind and headed toward the river embankment. Once there, Marina rested her elbows on the wall and looked out at the opposite bank, where the cluster of ocher buildings stood out in sharp relief against the blue sky. Twenty feet below her, a grassy embankment sloped down to the river, where a group of young men were preparing rowing sculls for launch. A stone ramp led from the dock, up the embankment, then disappeared below her. She leaned out as far as she could, craning her neck until she saw an opening below her, which, considering the number of boats being hauled in and out, must house an extensive storage area. Thomas had often said there were more surprises under the city than one might imagine. Thomas ... Since the day she arrived, whenever his ghost rode by on a moped or waved to her from a doorway, she’d turned her mind away and focused her thoughts on something else, something that didn’t have to do with him. But it wasn’t easy, woven as he was into the fabric of the city, of her history there, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, her life with Zoe. Closing her eyes, she turned her face to the sun and let him in.

Marina had not seen Thomas since the dinner with Sarah shortly after the bathtub shoot, and as the opening of his show approached, she steeled herself for another encounter. There was no way around it. Only hospitalization or death would excuse her attending. Her only hope was to make a quick appearance and pray that Thomas would be just as happy to keep his distance from her as she from him.

She dressed carefully in the same outfit she’d worn on Christmas, although the skirt was slightly snug in the waist and she had to let the belt out a notch. Turning sideways to the mirror, she tried to decide if her belly looked any fatter. She didn’t think so but pulled on a long cardigan just in case.

Sarah was at the front door of the gallery and gave Marina a hug when she saw her. “You look gorgeous, you’re glowing. This is your big night!” She waved her hand at the fateful bathtub image, now a full-sized poster set up on an easel by the door. “Everyone’s commenting on it.”

Marina shook her head as if to ward off any attention that might come her way. The smaller posters had been in shop windows around town, and she’d felt exposed all over again each time she saw one. She was relieved when two couples came in behind her and Sarah sent her off to have a drink and admire the exhibition. With her head down, she headed to the bar, where she gulped half a glass of wine before turning to look at the scene. It was much the same as the year before: the crowd, the smoke, the wine; only the photographs were different. At the back of the gallery, Thomas, surrounded by the usual entourage of admirers and hangers-on, stood with the contessa. The only nod he’d given to the fact that this was a special occasion was the crumpled corduroy blazer he’d added to his usual ensemble of open-collared shirt and jeans. It didn’t surprise Marina that Sarah wasn’t able to get Thomas into better clothes, but she wondered why the contessa didn’t exert her influence in this area. The contessa, on the other hand, looked as elegant as before, in a bloodred pantsuit perfectly fitted to her narrow frame, from the wide padded shoulders to the flared pant leg. The same cascade of blond hair fell down her back, this time held in place by a wide black headband.

All week, in anticipation of this night, Marina had fantasized about confronting Thomas, of shaming him in front of his fans, maybe even exposing his pornographic exploits with the contessa. But looking at him now, she knew he had no shame. It was right there in the arch of his brow, the set of his jaw, the purse of his lips, and she could just imagine the contessa’s throaty laugh dismissing her as easily as she might throw a cigarette butt from a car window. Marina’s stomach churned. She looked away and moved to a wall of photographs, which she stared at but didn’t see, the rise and fall of conversation and laughter at her back. What was she doing here? She blinked back tears and forced herself to look at the photographs. All of them involved images of stone, either people painted to look like stone or actual statuary from around the city. They were clever and beautiful, but nowhere near the caliber of the bathtub photograph. Before moving to the next wall of photographs, she again scanned the crowd. Sarah was still busy at the door, but when she looked to the rear of the room, Thomas was staring straight at her as if he’d been biding his time, waiting for her to look his way. His face didn’t register the slightest emotion—he neither smiled nor frowned, but raised his wineglass to her in a silent, expressionless toast. Marina turned away in a sudden panic and bumped smack into Marcello, whose red wine splashed across the front of her skirt.

He grabbed Marina’s shoulder to steady her. “Marina, I’m so sorry. Please excuse me.”

“No, no, it’s nothing. It was my fault.” Marina brushed the front of her skirt with her hand.

“Your beautiful skirt. Come with me.” He took her arm and guided her to the bar, where he asked for a wet cloth and proceeded to blot Marina’s skirt in spite of her protestations. Finally he stood up. “There, that’s much better.”

Marina smiled. “Thank you, Marcello. It’s fine. It was my fault.”

Marcello was not in drag this time, but with his porcelain skin, long eyelashes, and lustrous hair pulled back into a low ponytail, he could almost pass as a woman. He wore a fitted white shirt tucked into skintight, burgundy velvet jeans. He smiled back at her. “Thomas has made you famous. Everyone is talking about your photograph.”

Marina laughed nervously. “I hope people don’t know it’s me.”

“You should be proud.”

Proud was the last thing that Marina felt. She chatted with Marcello about some of the other photographs before she excused herself and made her way over to Sarah, who was just finishing a conversation with an elegant, older couple. She tapped Sarah on the shoulder.

Sarah’s face was flushed and the hair around her face stood out in damp ringlets. “Whew, who knew greeting people was such hard work. I must be out of practice. But I think I’m about done. Everyone’s here, more or less.” She glanced around the room. “I see the contessa still has Thomas in her clutches.”

Marina didn’t follow Sarah’s gaze. “Sarah, I don’t ...”

At the same time, Sarah asked, “Isn’t the show great?”

Marina nodded. “It looks like it’s a big hit.” She touched Sarah’s arm. “Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.”

“What? Why not? I was hoping you’d join us for dinner.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I called my mother this afternoon and I have to go.”

“Oh my God.” Sarah put her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to ask how your father was.”