The Veils of Venice (12 page)

She entered the exhibition room and started to walk around. The first impression one had was of a sea of soft, gentle, but rich colors that shimmered with a vitality that Fortuny had transferred to the silk through his magical way of dyeing it. Glass cases, with white featureless mannequins, had been installed throughout the room. A small platform had been constructed at the far end, where a four-string quartet would perform during the exhibition.

Some of the gowns, jackets, tunics, and cloaks had already been mounted on the mannequins. Scarves, masks, purses, and pillows were displayed on rods and cubes. Tiered silk ceiling lamps, with tassels, glass beads, and Arabic decorative motifs, shed an opalescent light and contributed to the fairy-tale look of the exhibition. The catalogue would be selective, and only some of the items would be photographed and described.

Several of the items were the contessa's, and her favorite among these was one she now lingered in front of. It was a gown that had once belonged to Eleonora Duse, before the contessa's mother had been fortunate enough to acquire it through a relative of the great actress.

It was a finely pleated Delphos tea gown in mauve-colored silk velvet with lavender stencilling and bat-wing sleeves. Its Venetian glass beads were almost the exact color of the wood violets the contessa remembered from her youth in the English countryside. The colors blended and shimmered together in the morning light refracted from the Grand Canal.

The contessa, who found it difficult to admit to being superstitious, considered the dress talismanic. She wore it usually on only two occasions – when she was weary and when she was depressed. The gown seemed to have the power to lift her fatigue and disperse the clouds of her depression.

Now, feeling both a little weary and dispirited, just the sight of the dress made her feel better.

Another Delphos dress displayed near the talismanic one was also hers, but her mother had not passed it on to her. She had bought it at an auction in London fifteen years ago. It was black silk stenciled with tan Venetian glass beads. It carried good memories for her, the most recent of which was when she had worn it at the first performance at the newly restored La Fenice. In the same case as the Delphos dress was another of her prized items, a velvet short jacket, stenciled with designs based on Islamic tiles and seventeenth-century Venetian lace. It had been Urbino's birthday gift to her a few years ago.

She passed displays of velvet cloaks, Knossos scarves, and silk purses – one of the handbags, green silk velvet, was the one Olimpia had lent her – to stand in front of the gown Apollonia had contributed. The contessa had seen Apollonia wearing it on several occasions. She had looked absolutely stunning in it, but the last time she had worn it, as far as the contessa knew, had been more than twenty years ago.

The dress, one of Fortuny's loveliest creations, had belonged to Efigenia, Apollonia's aunt. It was garnet-colored silk with gold imprinting and had a silk gauze bodice in a gold-colored floral pattern.

When the contessa had taken it out of its tan cardboard box – its pleats, through the magic of Fortuny's technique that remained a mystery, as fresh and tight and crisp as the day the dress had been made – she had been strongly tempted to try it on. But superstition had deterred her. Apollonia had told her that no one would wear the dress until after she was dead. There was certainly no chance Apollonia herself would wear it again, given her soberness and preference for black. And when the contessa had collected the gown at the Palazzo Pindar, she remembered how coldly angry Apollonia had become when Eufrosina had asked her mother if she could try it on.

The contessa would not be surprised if Apollonia planned to sell the gown, along with the letters. The dress alone could bring in several thousand euros for her bank account.

Eufrosina might never get the opportunity to wear it, let alone own it. Its inaccessible beauty and comfort would tantalize her in its case as she photographed it for the catalogue.

Ah, Eufrosina and the photographs! Whatever had the contessa been thinking in giving her the commission? Family feeling and sympathy for Eufrosina had overridden her usual good sense in these matters. Based on the photographs that Eufrosina had shown the contessa and Urbino at Florian's, she doubted that her cousin was going to be able to do proper justice to the wondrous colors, textures, and shapes of the Fortuny items.

She should have listened to Urbino from the beginning when he had expressed his doubts about Eufrosina being up to the job. Now it was too late to rectify the situation without embarrassment for both her and Eufrosina and resentment on Eufrosina's part.

The thought cast a shadow on her circuit of the exhibition. She went upstairs to her morning room, where she sat down at the piano and started to play
The Well-Tempered Clavier
, hoping her mind would clear. After she had played half a dozen of Bach's preludes and fugues, she still had not been able to think of a gracious resolution to the problem.

The contessa's new career as an actress on the larger Pindar stage began later that morning when she visited Apollonia.

She should have rung to see if Apollonia would see her but she didn't want to alert her, nor did she want to be told that she couldn't come. She assumed that once she was there, in the Palazzo Pindar, Apollonia probably would not refuse to see her.

Pasquale took her in the boat across the Grand Canal to Santa Croce. Zouzou, who loved being on the water and, the contessa hoped, being in it as well when the good weather came, accompanied her. It was a gray day that suited the contessa's mood. A solid ceiling of clouds filtered the winter sun, pouring down a strange light that made the buildings and the waters of the Canal seem to glow from within.

When they reached the embankment alongside the Palazzo Pindar, the contessa left Zouzou with Pasquale. She went up to the building, so majestic but so much in need of repair, and rang the museum bell.

‘
Avanti
!' came Gaby's muffled cry from within.

The contessa turned the lion-headed doorknob and entered.

Gaby stood by the museum entrance. Disappointment dropped over her long face when she saw that it was the contessa and not a visitor to the museum. The disappointment was replaced by a look of uneasiness that flickered in her blue eyes. She was wearing Olimpia's ocelot coat. The contessa was momentarily struck by how much Gaby's resemblance to her sister was heightened just by wearing it, although the coat, which was in excellent condition and had a rich gleam, made the clothes beneath it look shabbier.

After they greeted each other, Gaby said, running her hands down the front of the coat, ‘It's
mine
now.' There was a defiant note in her voice. She stared at the contessa.

‘It becomes you.'

‘Thank you. How is Mina?'

The contessa hoped that her skills as an actress helped her to show less surprise than she felt at the sudden, unexpected question.

‘She's doing well enough under the circumstances, or so I hear.'

‘I feel sorry for her. She was carried away. Olimpia could make people angry, even without trying. It was one of the things she couldn't see, the way she upset people. I tried to tell her.' She thrust her hand into the pocket of the coat and pulled out a soiled handkerchief. She applied it to her nose. ‘Yes, I always told her that she should be more careful of how she treated people.'

The contessa wondered how much of this criticism of Olimpia was personal to Gaby. Probably much of it, since the two sisters, so different in temperament and other ways, had lived in the same house for so long together.

‘Olimpia never showed that side to me,' the contessa said, stretching the truth. The memory of Olimpia's behavior at the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini was still fresh in the contessa's mind.

‘People don't show everything to everybody.'

‘That's true. Do you know if Apollonia is in?'

‘She's at home. I will ask her if she is well enough to see you. She's still ill. If anyone comes to see the museum, just tell them to wait until I return.'

On this hopeful note, Gaby went up the staircase.

Left alone, the contessa peered around the dark, chilly vestibule. It was in a lamentable state. Her gaze became fixed on the two closed blue doors across from her.

Like most people, the contessa was fascinated with locked rooms. But her healthy curiosity was tinged with a fear. It was not only because she had read the fairy tales about the bad things visited upon those who dared to open locked rooms, but also because she had personal experience with the danger. For many decades one room of the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini had been kept locked after a family member had died in it under mysterious circumstances. The contessa had finally agreed to open the room and make it accessible during a house party – only to have its newest occupant murdered in it.

‘Apollonia will see you, Barbara.'

The contessa started. Gaby, her hands thrust into the pockets of the ocelot coat, stared at the contessa with the trace of what seemed to be a mocking smile on her lips.

Apollonia was reclining on the sofa in her cluttered
salotto
barely a foot away from an old space heater. A blanket was tucked around her. Her face beneath the black lace covering was gray, and her blue eyes were feverish. The contessa was alarmed. Apollonia looked frightfully ill. The contessa was not prepared for it even though Urbino had said that the woman had visibly declined since the funeral. Her blue eyes looked bruised with fever, and the flesh had sunk down upon her prominent cheekbones.

Alessandro was behind the sofa, standing straight and making the best of his shorter than average height. He was holding a book with worn brown leather covers. His good-looking face was fatigued, and his blond hair was in need of combing. He had recently shaved – small fresh cuts marred his cheeks – but he had left a wispy moustache on his upper lip.

‘Here's Barbara, Mamma,' he said in a low voice.

‘How are you, Apollonia dear? Excuse me for saying so, but you look very peaked. Have you seen the doctor recently?'

‘Santo's been here, yes, yes. I'm well enough.' Her voice was much weaker than the contessa had ever heard it. ‘Age gets us all in the end, Barbara. No doctor is going to help you.'

‘I – I am glad to hear that Santo is stopping by. He is an excellent doctor. He took wonderful care of my dear Alvise, may God rest his soul. Is Eufrosina here?'

‘She left a short while ago.' Alessandro offered. ‘Looked like she was going to take photographs. She had some of her equipment with her.' He placed the book on a small table behind him.

‘Hands, hands, only hands!' Apollonia cried out.

Alessandro gave a laugh. ‘Out, out damn spot! She should take photographs of Lady Macbeth.'

‘Hands, hands, hands,' his mother repeated. ‘Is it Eufrosina you're looking for? Sit down. There.' She indicated a wooden chair without any arms.

Alessandro helped the contessa out of her coat and draped it over the other armchair.

‘No,' the contessa said as she seated herself. ‘I came to see you.'

‘A visit of charity? Charity is a virtue, but it is a black vice if it makes you feel proud. Proud to be healthy, to be traipsing all around the city when you know I'm lying on my sofa.'

‘I knew you weren't feeling well. I thought there might be something I could do for you, something I could get for you.'

‘Alessandro takes care of whatever I need.' As if in illustration of this, he brought over a glass of water and held it in front of her while she took a few sips through a straw. When she had finished, she peered at the contessa sharply. Her eyes were bloodshot. Without any preliminary, she broke out with, ‘You must feel very upset with Mina Longo. She could have turned against you instead of Olimpia.'

Astonished, the contessa said coolly, ‘I doubt that.'

Apollonia nodded her head. ‘Say whatever you want to say, but she could have done. Sad for poor Olimpia, but fortunate for you. Alessandro dear, would you pour some tea for our cousin?'

Apollonia spat into a handkerchief that she pulled from her sleeve. She closed her eyes. Her chest rattled loudly.

As the contessa was taking her first sip of tea, Apollonia's eyes opened. ‘Don't worry. You will feel better when Mina is properly punished. We all will. And
she
will feel better, too. If, of course, her account with God is good.'

The only part of what Apollonia said that the contessa thought it appropriate to respond to was the last part. ‘That is something between her and God. We can't see into another person's soul – nor should we try to invade its privacy.'

‘Well said.' Apollonia smoothed the blanket against her sides.

The contessa searched her mind – or Urbino might call it her repertoire – for the right way to continue with the visit.

‘I'm concerned about the security of this building,' she began. ‘There's no camera and no buzzer system. The front door is unlocked.'

‘Not always,' Alessandro said.

‘Barbara is right,' Apollonia said. ‘It's a bad arrangement. You know we do not like it. You know we were talking about it recently.'

Alessandro looked puzzled, but said nothing in response.

‘Perhaps I can do something to help,' the contessa continued. ‘I'd like to offer to have a security system installed.'

‘After the horse gets out of the barn – or into it.' Apollonia gave a laugh that provoked an even deeper rattle. ‘You feel guilty. Because of Mina.'

‘I feel concerned, as I said.'

‘It's not your business, Barbara. But why mention it to me? Have you spoken with Gaby and Ercule? In my house by San Zanipolo, we always were careful about keeping the front door locked and bolting the windows. But this is
their
house.'

‘I haven't mentioned it to either of them yet. I thought that – that' – the contessa searched wildly for something plausible – ‘that you could help me convince them.'