The Last Gondola (44 page)

‘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.'

‘The
gondolino.'
Hollander nodded. ‘I met some men from the San Giorgio Yacht Club a few weeks ago at Harry's Bar. They were talking about the
gondolino
. They had a lot of interesting things to say about it.'

As their
traghetto
came to a brief halt to let a boat with an outboard motor pass, Hollander spoke about the racing craft with a great deal of accuracy.

‘I've been looking forward to the regatta,' he said when he finished. ‘It will be my first in Venice.'

‘It's unfortunate that the circumstances couldn't be better.'

Hollander might have given a sigh but Urbino couldn't be sure because of the sounds of the water and the boats. The two men remained silent as the boat approached the Dorsoduro landing where several people were waiting for the return trip.

‘But as I told you on the telephone,' Hollander said as he prepared to get out of the boat, ‘my stepfather loved life. He was keen on the regatta. He would have been able to see it right from his windows. Of course, I could do as well, but I'll enjoy it more at Barbara's with all of you – and without any sad associations.'

‘But I'm afraid you won't have as great a view of the water parade that opens the competition as you would from here. The parade doesn't go as far as Barbara's place. But the great compensation will be that you'll see the
gondolini
go past both before and after they reach the turning point.'

Urbino and Hollander went down the narrow
calle
to where it joined a wider one, busy with a stream of people. It was the route between the two popular sights of the Salute and the Guggenheim Museum. The men went only a short distance along the
calle
and stopped at a high, wrought-iron gate. Beyond it was a small mossy courtyard filled with plants and a small tree. The broad staircase across the courtyard had pots of bright flowers and a large Murano chandelier.

Hollander took out a key, and they passed through the courtyard and up the staircase to the second floor. Large wooden double doors opened on to the painting-hung foyer of Konrad Zoll's apartment – or rather Hollander's, as it now was.

‘This is it,' Hollander said as they went into the large, high-ceilinged
sala
. Beyond the balcony doors, which had delicate strips of wood embracing the glass, was the Grand Canal. The doors were closed but through them a bright, aqueous light washed the room.

For the next fifteen minutes Hollander showed Urbino around the apartment. In addition to the spacious
sala
, there were three bedrooms, a small study, and a kitchen and dining area. The apartment was appointed with Murano chandeliers, green marble, antique Venetian mirrors, decorative stucco walls and ceilings, silk wallpaper, Persian and Turkish carpets, tapestries, statuary, paintings and many fine pieces of gilded furniture that were either authentic or excellent imitations. Urbino expressed his admiration.

‘The apartment came with most of the furnishings. I'm glad about that. It makes it a little easier to dispose of them. I'll have a harder time with his house in Munich. It's stuffed with things he lived with for almost his whole life, things he loved. He was a collector. His father was a banker. He left him a fortune. My stepfather spent much of his money on beautiful things. Like this.'

Going over to a small table, he picked up a small, worn leather-bound book. He handed it to Urbino, who examined it. It was a breviary illustrated with Flemish miniatures that must have dated back to the eighteenth or even the seventeenth century.

‘Lovely,' Urbino said.

‘My stepfather wasn't religious. He appreciated the beauty of it. And he could see beauty in practical things, too, like this.'

He indicated an eighteenth-century carriage clock in a brass casing with a handle. It had a white enamel dial and black numerals.

‘Isn't that an Abraham-Louis Breguet?' Urbino asked.

‘I think that's the name. It has a leather traveling case in almost perfect condition. You and my stepfather would have got along well. Carriage clocks were one of the things he collected. I'll add it to the others in Munich. And I'll also take the Pietro Longhi on the wall by the door.'

They went over to examine it. It was a typical Longhi, depicting with great delicacy a seated Venetian lady in a
bauta
mask with a white cat at her feet and a cup of chocolate on a small marble-topped table.

‘Exquisite. Barbara loves Longhi. She has a collection of them. By the way, she asked me if you might be free to join her in Asolo for a few days. I'm leaving early this evening on the train. Her car will pick us up in Bassano del Grappa.'

‘She was kind enough to ring me and ask me herself. I have things that need doing here. Some other time perhaps.'

Urbino nodded in understanding.

‘In addition to the breviary, the clock, the Longhi, and a few other things, I'll be taking this back with me to London,' Hollander said in a lower voice.

Hollander carefully, almost reverently, picked up an urn about a foot high from the mantelpiece. It was rather plain in comparison to everything else in the apartment. Urbino understood what it was before Hollander explained.

‘My stepfather's ashes. He was cremated on the cemetery island. I'm not sure what I'll do with them. He left no instructions about whether they should be scattered, or where.'

He replaced the urn on the mantelpiece.

‘I'm sure you'll do the right thing,' Urbino said, ‘whatever it might be. Thank you for showing me around. It's a marvelous apartment. Your stepfather had excellent taste. I'll let you know about an estate agent next week. And here's my number and address.'

He handed Hollander a visiting card.

As Urbino was making his way back to the
traghetto
landing, he went over his impressions of Hollander. He found them to be positive. He had expected not to like him for the same reason that the contessa was predisposed to him – because he came with Sebastian's recommendation. But Urbino found the man easier to talk to than her cousin. He had a greater fund of sympathy and intelligence.