‘Got it in one,’ Luca said.
‘Zorzo told Cecilia that the Pope had formed an alliance with the Emperor Maximilian.’ I remembered.
‘He wasn’t called the Holy Roman Emperor for nothing.’
‘I thought the Roman Empire was long gone by then?’
‘These emperors were German but liked to think they held supreme power inherited from the emperors of Rome.’
‘Why the “Holy”?’
‘Because from the tenth to the sixteenth centuries the Holy Roman Emperors were crowned by the Pope.’
‘I’m beginning to see a connection here.’
‘Yep,’ Luca said.
‘Although, of course, I won’t be able to warn Cecilia.’
‘One thing’s for sure. We can’t change the past,’ he said wryly.
‘Not like Back to the Future, then?’ I gave a nervous laugh.
‘Ha!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Time to get you home, I think.’ He jangled his car keys.
Disappointment flooded through me.
Don’t be such an idiot, Fern. You gave Luca the brush-off after you had sex with him. He has his pride. He won’t make a move on you again.
When he took my hand as he led me to where his car was parked in the basement of the building, heat spread up from my core. Luca was goddamn sexy, and I wanted him so badly. If he’d made that move, I would have fallen into his arms.
Sitting next to him in the Alfa while he drove me home, I thought about his reaction when I’d told him about losing my baby and my guilt. Maybe that’s what had put him off?
No. Couldn’t be. He’d said you were being too hard on yourself.
And I was; I knew I was. But I was unable to do anything about that. It was part of my personality. All my life I’d been told to lighten up…
‘Penny for them?’ Luca asked, as he brought the car to a halt outside Auntie’s house.
‘Sorry?’
‘Your thoughts. Penny for your thoughts. One of Mother’s favourite expressions. You’ve been so quiet.’
‘Are you sure you don’t hate me?’
He stared at me. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Maybe because I hate myself a lot of the time.’ There, I’d said it. Given voice to the darkness within.
He stroked my cheek and looked deep into my eyes. A sob rose up from my throat. He kissed my tears and enfolded me in his arms. ‘Darling Fern,’ he said between kisses. ‘I love you so much and I’d give anything for you to love me in return. But you can’t do that, can you?’
‘I wish I could. I really do…’
‘You need to love Fern first. Don’t you see that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Accept yourself for who you are. The good, the bad, and everything in between.’
I nuzzled against him. Why hadn’t my therapist picked up on this? Then I remembered that I hadn’t told my therapist about losing the baby.
‘One step at a time, Fern,’ Luca said. ‘You’ve taken that first step tonight, I think.’
‘I hope so.’ I kissed his cheek, catching the scent of his spicy aftershave. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’
‘There’s a rehearsal, don’t forget.’
‘Of course.’
Standing at the front door, I watched him drive off. Already, I felt bereft. How was I going to feel when I went back to London?
I went inside. The house was quiet; Auntie must have already gone to bed. I cleaned my teeth and put on my PJs. Then I slipped between the cool sheets, closed my eyes and waited for Cecilia to reveal herself.
I study my husband eating, his jaws chomping like a lizard’s while he chews his meat. ‘I received a letter from the Duke today,’ he says, taking a swig of wine. ‘He wishes me to purchase a painting by Zorzone.’
Hearing my true love’s name spoken by Lodovico cuts me to the core, and my hands tremble with the effort of not showing any reaction. Zorzo is a part of me I have learned to keep hidden from the world, however. I haven’t seen him these past five months, since he came upon me at the castle. Whenever I think about him, these days, I find it hard to reconcile myself with the carefree girl who threw herself at him without a thought for the consequences. I have grown up since and would not be so reckless now.
‘Oh.’ I keep my voice nonchalant. ‘How interesting. Which painting?’
‘There’s a rumour of an un-commissioned work in his studio. A lute-player serenading a woman as night falls.’
Fear grips me. If Lodovico should see the painting, he’ll recognise me. ‘Will you go to Venice, then?’
‘Momentarily.’
We finish our meal in silence, as usual. Conversation between us has always been sparse. Hard to believe we’ve been man and wife almost two years. Years filled with sorrow at being apart from Zorzo and, at the same time, the happiness of my Lorenza.
Lodovico gets to his feet. ‘I shall visit you tonight, Cecilia. Be ready for me!’
I drop into a curtsey to hide my consternation. What has brought this on? Perhaps he no longer has a woman in Ferrara? It has been months since he and I lay together. As if reading my thoughts, Lodovico says, ‘Time you gave me a son, wife.’
When he comes to my bed later, I lie still with my legs apart as he lowers himself on top of me. I turn my face away from his slobbering. He grabs my arms so hard I’m sure he leaves bruises.
He thrusts into me; I’m dry and it hurts. He finishes quickly and gets up from the bed. ‘It’s like fucking a wooden doll. Have you no passion, Cecilia?’
Not for you, husband. ‘It is not in my nature,’ I lie.
He leaves me, and I wash my nether parts in the bowl of water I keep by the bed. I must get rid of his seed. A child by him would be an abomination.
I go to check on Lorenza, who sleeps with her nursemaid in the room next to mine. She’s lying on her side, with her thumb in her mouth. I stroke her soft cheek, and whisper, ‘Heart of my heart. I’ll do anything for you, to keep you safe. Sleep well, bambina mia, and in the morning we’ll visit the Queen.’
Lorenza’s nursemaid lets out a snore while I tiptoe out of the room. My daughter is weaned now, and so lively Lodovico has insisted we take on a woman to look after her. Granted, I’m able to spend more time painting, yet I wish I could keep my child with me every hour of the day.
The next morning, I feel battered and sore. This is the last time I’ll put up with Lodovico’s brutish advances, I swear to myself. I have some dried valerian herbs in my medicine chest, given to me by Fiammetta. ‘I use them with Rambaldo,’ she said. ‘If I don’t feel in the mood for “you know what”, I stir them into his night-time wine, and he sleeps until midday.’ She’d handed them to me with a knowing look.
After breaking my fast, I take Lorenza to see Domina, who is visiting Asolo. We discover huge excitement in the Queen’s castle; the servants are scurrying around, packing coffers. Dorotea grabs my daughter from me and gives her a kiss. ‘We are to go to Venice. You and your husband too. The Queen insists.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s been a battle. Domina’s brother has defeated the Emperor Maximilian. And her brother, Giorgio Cornaro, has also taken Pordenone and Gorizia for the Republic. Hurry home and pack your travelling chests! We depart tomorrow.’
My heart sings at the thought of going to the city of my birth and where Zorzo lives; he’ll be part of the celebrations, I’m sure. Yet, also, my belly constricts with worry. If Lodovico finds the painting he seeks for the Duke of Ferrara, all will surely be lost. And how will I manage without Lorenza? The Queen doesn’t allow children to travel with the court to Venice. It will be impossible to take her with us. ‘Where is Queen Caterina?’ I ask, thinking I might request a special permission.
Dorotea hands my daughter back to me. ‘She is the Domina of Asolo, isn’t she? There’s famine in the countryside and she has imported grain from Cyprus. She always puts her people first and is distributing flour to them.’
‘There’s no one
as dutiful and kind as our queen,’ I say before taking my leave of Dorotea and hurrying home.
I find Lodovico pacing up and down the hallway. He scowls when he catches sight of me. ‘We are commanded to go to Venice.’
‘Does that not please you?’ I dip a curtsey.
‘Humph. The Emperor has been humiliated.’
‘A good thing, don’t you think?’ I hand Lorenza to her nursemaid and remember my suspicions about my husband. If Lodovico isn’t on the side of the Republic, what are his purposes at the Queen’s court?
I stare at him, but my vision blurs. Then, it is as if I’m gazing down on myself from a great height. A feeling of dread overcomes me and, Maria Santissima, I start to swoon. My legs buckle from beneath me and I crumple to the floor.
I opened my eyes. It was morning already. My mind felt fuzzy from an unremembered dream. What the hell had it been about? My mouth felt dry. Must get a glass of water. I swung my legs from the bed. What Cecilia called my “nether parts” were feeling really sore.
In the kitchen, Auntie glanced up from her manuscript, a red pen in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, Gucci Cat curled up on the rug by her feet. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Very deeply. I feel a bit woozy now, though.’ I grabbed a glass from the draining board and filled it from the tap.
‘Sit down, love. You look pale. Have you had another funny turn?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Although I did dream about something. Can’t remember what, to be honest.’
‘There’s a packet of brioches in the cupboard.’
‘Thanks.’ I poured myself a mug of tea, added milk then placed a brioche on a plate.
‘Any plans for today?’
My heart suddenly lurched and I put down my mug, the tea souring in my mouth. It was as if a video had started to play in my head. Poor Cecilia! I shifted in my seat to ease the discomfort between my legs. I could remember the feel of Lodovico’s weight on top of me, his slavering tongue, his vice-like grip.
A sudden thought occurred to me.
There’s somewhere I need to go.
‘I think I’ll visit Venice again. I’d like to stroll around on my own and do a few sketches,’ I said to my aunt.
‘Fine by me.’ She settled her glasses on her nose. ‘But I thought you had a rehearsal with Luca tonight? Will you be back in time?’
‘Oh no! I’d forgotten…’
‘Why don’t you give him a call? I’m sure he won’t mind if you cancel.’
I went to the phone and dialled Luca’s number. Before I had a chance to mention the rehearsal, he said, ‘I’m so worried about Chiara.’ His voice came out strained. ‘She’s taken a fall from her horse and has badly broken her leg. It’s being operated on now.’
My stomach clenched. ‘Oh my God!’
‘Mother’s with her and I’m about to go to the hospital. Can we meet up later?’
‘Of course. I was going to visit Venice…. I’ll put it on hold.’
‘Has Cecilia gone there?’
‘To celebrate the Venetian victory over Maximilian’s army.’
‘I think you should go,’ he said firmly. ‘Just be careful to find somewhere safe. Please come to my apartment as soon as you get back. I could do with your company tonight.’
‘I’ll be there.’ Nothing would keep me away. ‘So sorry this has happened.’
‘The doctors reckon she’ll be all right.’
‘Give your mother and sister a hug from me,’ I said before disconnecting.
‘What a shame,’ Auntie responded when I’d told her about Chiara. ‘But go to Venice, Fern. It might be your last chance before you return to London.’
I nodded. I couldn’t tell her how conflicted I felt about my developing feelings for Luca, my need to find out what had happened to Cecilia, and my dread of returning to my old life.
Chapter 21
I caught the vaporetto water bus to Rialto, then, holding the map I’d bought at the station, made my way to Campo San Polo. I’d read in the book I’d borrowed from Auntie that Giorgio Cornaro, the Queen’s brother, once had a palazzo here.
The square (more oblong than square in shape) was hot and dusty. Almost as large as Saint Mark’s, but not as touristy. I strolled toward a café on the right-hand side, keeping out of the way of a group of boys kicking a football. A man and a woman crossed in front of me, taking their small dogs for a walk. I found an empty table shaded by an umbrella and pulled out a chair.
The waiter arrived, and I ordered a cappuccino. Where was the Cornaro palazzo? I opened my guidebook and read that it had burnt down in 1535. Another fire. I shuddered. A new structure had been built in its place, the side entrance in the corner of the campo, its façade facing a small canal. I was in the right area.
Was I being reckless coming here and opening myself up to Cecilia? No, the blaze in which Cecilia had died was at the Barco; I was sure of it now. That piece of burnt wood had appeared in Venice, admittedly, and fires were commonplace in the sixteenth Century, but I hadn’t got to the end of Cecilia’s story yet.
The waiter brought my coffee. I stirred it, sipped, and then waited. Would this work? The last time I’d deliberately tried to contact Cecilia here my attempt had failed. I’d been in Murano, though, which had turned out to be the wrong place. Hopefully, this time I’d got it right.
I sat and waited and before too long, that familiar buzzing sensation came into my head.
So many guests have been invited; the celebration has spilled over into the campo. The Queen’s brother is giving a masquerade ball, not only to celebrate the victory, but also because it is the season of Carnevale. Iron braziers, their flames licking the wood, stand at regular intervals to warm us in the cold February night air. There are lanterns strung above us and groups of musicians wander in between us, serenading us with their lutes and viols. Domina’s dwarf, Zantos, runs between the different groups, animating their songs.
I’m wearing a silver Volto full-faced mask, decorated with a half-moon in the centre and stars sprinkled around the edges. Lodovico has become a peacock, and, Maria Santissima, he’s strutting around like that pompous bird in all his finery. We’re dressed in our best attire; my husband spares no expense in keeping up appearances.
A sleeveless shimmering blue satin gown, laced at the front, covers my mother-of-pearl sleeved kirtle. My hair has been plaited into a Coazzone, with topaz and diamonds tied into my braids. Anticipation blooms in my chest; I’m sure I’ll see Zorzo soon.
All around us circle the masked faces of the other guests. No one on this occasion wears the plain white Bauta. Instead, people have become cats, jesters, lions, tigers and columbines. ‘Dolcezza,’ a voice whispers in my ear.
I turn and glance from left to right.
Where is he?
Vanished.
I spin around.
He’s behind me, in a black doublet and wearing a gold Volto. ‘Are you well?’ He bows.
I nod, my mouth dry, and I drop into a curtsey. ‘How did you know me?’
‘Your beautiful tresses, even more lovely when they’re tied with jewels.’
I blush beneath my mask and try to think of a suitable response. My husband is approaching, however, so I say nothing.
Two rows of people gather on the other side of the campo, and Lodovico claims me for a dance. ‘La Moresca.’ He hands me a set of bells he’s picked up from a basket being handed around, and I tie them to my wrists.
I catch sight of Zorzo bowing to another woman, and jealousy rears up within me. The woman isn’t wearing a mask, which means she’s a courtesan. Courtesans are forbidden to wear masks. I’ve heard rumours of Zorzo consorting with them but have ignored the gossip until now.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my painter. Is he watching me?
Foolish, Cecilia. You can’t expect him to have kept his codpiece laced up all this time…
Lodovico and I join a chain of dancers, zigging and zagging, hands raised above our heads, as we sh
ake our bells. I’m facing Zorzo now and we link arms in the dance. ‘Will you come to me tomorrow, dolcezza?’
My heart beats faster. ‘When?’
‘In the early hours. Can you escape from your husband?’
‘I’ve brought valerian herbs. I’ll give them to him, and he’ll sleep late. Wait for me here at first light.’ We twirl away from each other and join the circle.
Supper is served on long tables down the side of the campo. There are sugar models of the cities of Gorizia and Pordenone. The emblem of the Cornaro family is depicted on myriad cakes. ‘The Republic is drunk with success,’ my husband says. ‘Don’t forget that pride comes before a fall.’
What is this dread that twists my belly? I think back to the feeling of foreboding I’d experienced after Lorenza’s baptism. I tell myself not to be silly. The Serenissima has endured for over seven hundred years; nothing will ever destroy it.
After eating, we watch a theatrical performance, Plato’s Menecmi. A stage has been erected on the far side of the square and has been covered in green velvet. There are over one hundred actors dressed in the classical style, wearing tunics of fine silk with threads of gold. I find it hard to concentrate on the performance; my thoughts are filled with anticipation of my visit to Zorzo.
When the time comes to retire, Lodovico and I go to the chamber allocated to us, a small room (much to my husband’s chagrin) at the back of the palazzo. ‘There are far more important guests than us,’ I remind him as I pour his bedtime wine. Surreptitiously, I slip ground valerian into the goblet, stir it, and hand it to him. ‘Your health, husband.’
He quaffs the drink in one gulp and starts to undress. ‘Come, wife!’
I slip into the bed next to him, dreading his touch. What will I do if the herbs don’t work? Lodovico places his hand on my breast and gives my nipple a rough squeeze. Then, praise the Holy Virgin, he’s suddenly snoring under the blankets. I dare not risk sleep, for I might not wake in time. So, I get out of bed, put my dress back on, and sit on the ledge by the window. Picking at the skin around my fingernails, I wait for dawn’s light.
LADY of VENICE Page 18