After about an hour, Lodovico clambers out of bed and lets out a grunt. My heart drops; I’ll never get away now. He goes to the chamber pot and pisses, letting out a fart at the same time, and the bitter stench of urine and bodily odours assails my nostrils. Then, after giving me a bleary glance and asking me why I’m fully dressed and sitting by the window, to which I reply that I’m feeling unwell, he’s snoring in bed again and I pray to all the saints that he’ll stay there.
Will the sky never lighten? I yawn and stretch. Perhaps I can sleep awhile? Shutting my eyes, I feel myself drifting off. No, Cecilia. Stay awake! I get up from my seat and pace the floor, my soft-soled shoes quiet on the stone flagging. Finally, weak sunlight filters through the panes and I grab my Bauta, cloak, and hood.
In the square, Zorzo is wearing a mask as well. ‘It’s only a short way,’ he says, taking my hand. Walking beside him, I’m aware of how tall and broad he is compared with me. I practically run to match his stride. He notices and apologises. ‘I don’t wish to waste a moment of our time together.’
I free myself of my disguise when we arrive at his studio, and I walk toward the canvas placed on an easel in the corner. I can see my likeness, suckling Lorenza in the middle of the most forbidding landscape. There’s another figure, a woman, who’s also naked, watching me. She looks just like me, but her eyes are green. Between us, in the centre of the painting, are two broken pillars. I know what they signify: death. A shiver passes through me.
The background shows a town, above which a storm is gathering. The use of the greens and blues in the brooding sky projects an ominous feeling. Lightning streaks the clouds and, even though shivers pass through my body, at the same time I’m filled with admiration at Zorzo’s skill.
There’s a small white bird on the roof of the building on the right-hand side. I peer at it: a heron, warning of fire. My skin shivers with fear, but I tell myself not to be fanciful, and admire instead the wondrously detailed landscape of trees, bushes, flowers and a stream. The palette of soft greens, subdued blues and silver emphasises the mood of the gathering tempest above the bridge and the tranquillity below it, where I’m suckling Lorenza watched by a woman with green eyes.
‘Who is she?’ I ask, pointing to the lady watching me, although I know that I have seen her before.
The woman is sad and fearful of the love of a good man who is besotted with her. She should give him a chance, or she will lose him.
‘The woman came to me in a dream,’ Zorzo says. ‘I saw her hover around you, dolcezza. But I shall have to paint her out. The man who commissioned the painting has requested a male figure, so I shall drop myself into the canvas instead.’
‘I do believe this is your masterpiece, amore mio. There’s a feeling of menace, though. What does it mean?’
‘Did you know that the Republic has resisted the demands of the Pope for the restitution of the Papal lands?’
‘N… n… no,’ I stutter.
‘Maximilian was rebuffed by the Council of Ten when he proposed an alliance against France.’ Zorzo goes to his sideboard and pours two goblets of wine. ‘That’s why he attacked the Republic. Now he’s been routed and forced to sign a truce.’
‘What will happen?’ I blurt out.
‘The Emperor will fall in with the Pope and the French king, I suspect. He’ll not take this humiliation from the Serenissima lying down.’
‘So, there will be more battles,’ I murmur, anxiety for my daughter’s wellbeing uppermost in my mind.
‘You will be safe enough in Asolo,’ Zorzo says as if reading my thoughts. He hands me a goblet. ‘The Emperor’s quarrel is with Venice not the Queen. In any case, Maximillian will need time to recoup his losses. There might not be further trouble for a while.’
‘I do hope you’re right.’ I take a sip and meet his gaze.
‘It seems you find yourself in my quarters at the time of breaking your fast, once more, dolcezza. However, I’ve asked you here to pose for me again.’
What did I expect? It always was his purpose. Everything else comes at that price, I realise, and I’m not unhappy with the prospect for I can turn it to my advantage. ‘Provided you will teach me too,’ I say. His love for me is physical, I know. Our time together has been too short for it to reach his soul.
‘I need you to be completely nude.’
‘Then I require the same of you. When I draw you.’
Zorzo’s eyes twinkle and he nods. ‘I shall build up the fire so you’re not cold,’ he says, and proceeds to do so while I undress.
He piles up cushions on his bed and tells me to stretch out with my right arm above my head, and my hand tucked behind it. ‘Place your left hand on your mons, dolcezza, for modesty. I want this work to be a hymn to the beauty of the female form, which you epitomise, not something that would entice men to leer.’
My maid plucked me of all my body hair just two days ago, something she does for me on a weekly basis, as is the custom. I bathed last night before the ball, and I thank the Holy Virgin that I still smell sweet as I stretch out on the bed. It’s warm in here and I feel comfortable. Before I know it, I’m asleep.
How long have I been dreaming? My dreams are of the strange woman. She’s dressed as a man and looks like me but has the freedom to wonder through the city in broad daylight without a mask. Why does the woman Zorzo painted watch Lorenza and me? I feel a shadowy connection to her, but, for the life of me, I cannot fathom why that should be…
‘Dolcezza, wake up, I’ve finished,’ I hear his voice. ‘The outline is done, and I can do the rest from memory.’
I open my eyes and stretch, feeling refreshed. ‘What hour is it?’ I ask, getting up and reaching for my clothes.
‘Still time for me to pose for you,’ he says, stripping off his doublet and hose. ‘No, don’t dress! Come to me first, dolcezza.’
And then we are kissing, and his hard body is against mine, and all thoughts of drawing him vanish from my head as his hand reaches down and caresses me between the thighs. Oh, dear Lord, how I’ve missed this.
A knock sounds at the door, and we stop kissing. Who can it be? Our eyes lock as we hold our breaths. Another knock. Then my husband’s voice echoes through the morning air. ‘Signor Zorzo? I’ve come to see you about a painting.’
And I fall into a faint.
My head had slumped onto a table. What was I doing back in the campo? There was a cup in front of me, full of a bitter-smelling frothy-brown liquid. I tasted it, and the coffee jolted me back to the twentieth century. Damn! What a time to leave Cecilia!
Hopefully, my nemesis had managed to hide from Lodovico and give some explanation later for her absence. I know Cecilia almost as well as I know myself. I expect she was up to the challenge. Poor girl, not getting her wicked way with Zorzo. Almost certainly, she’d engineered him stripping off for her with that in mind.
I smiled to myself, remembering making love with Luca. Luca! How I longed to see him. Had it been worth it coming all the way to Venice to learn that Cecilia was the muse for Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus? I’d deduced that myself from looking at the picture of the painting in my book on the artist. The work was no longer in Venice, I recalled, but I couldn’t remember exactly where. Germany? I shrugged.
How weird that both Zorzo and Cecilia had been aware of me. My one claim to fame: the mysterious woman whom he’d painted over in The Tempest. Not that I would ever tell anyone… except Luca, maybe.
There was a pay-phone on the other side of the square. I left some change on the table for my coffee and strode over to it. Then I dialled Auntie’s number.
‘How’s the sketching?’ she asked.
‘Terrible,’ I sighed. ‘I’m really not in the mood for it, so I’ll pack it in and catch an earlier train. I promised to go and see Luca. I’ll ring you from his flat.’
I can’t wait for him to hold me in his arms again.
A memory stirred of my time as Cecilia and the advice that I should give the man who was besotted w
ith me a chance. How weird that she should know about me and my situation. But, maybe not so weird, come to think of it; our minds became one when I was her.
Chapter 22
The train was crowded with university students who commuted to Ca’ Foscari from nearby towns and villages. I sat squashed next to a chubby woman, who was eating a salami panino. The greasy smell slid down my throat and made me feel sick. With a shudder, I took Auntie’s latest novel from my bag; I was almost at the end and had finished reading it by the time I arrived in Treviso. I fetched Auntie’s car from the parking lot, and, an hour later, I was ringing Luca’s doorbell.
‘Fern,’ he said, opening his arms.
I went straight into them, enjoying the feel of his rock-hard chest against my cheek as I breathed him in. ‘How’s Chiara?’ I asked, pulling back and meeting his gaze.
‘Still in hospital.’ He kissed me briefly on the lips. ‘Mother’s with her. The operation was a success, thank God. Her leg will be fine. They’re allowing her to come home tomorrow at lunchtime.’
‘What happened, exactly?’
‘Apparently, she broke up with Federico.’ He paused. ‘They used to meet up at an old farmhouse we own in the foothills of Monte Grappa.’
‘Yes, she told me about it. We were going to ride there and take a picnic.’
‘Well, she’d started to suspect Federico was seeing another girl, so she decided to play a trick on him.’
‘Oh?’
‘She said she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t meet him yesterday. Then she went to the farmhouse and found him there in flagrante.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘What a pig!’
‘Yep. This morning, she went for a mad gallop to get it out of her system. Pegasus spooked as a crow flew into his path and that’s when she took a tumble.’
My heart jumped. ‘I’ve just remembered something… something beyond amazing.’
‘What?’
‘The first time Cecilia took over my mind, she fell off her horse, Pegaso, which is Italian for Pegasus, isn’t it?’
‘It is. What a coincidence!’
‘More than a coincidence. It’s like an echo of the past.’ My hands were shaking. ‘And it’s scaring me.’
‘Would you like to stay here with me tonight?’ he asked. ‘As a friend, of course.’
I smiled, relieved I wouldn’t be on my own; I needed his soothing presence... I needed him. ‘That would be wonderful,’ I said. ‘I’ll phone my aunt.’
Luca made spaghetti alla carbonara and, after we’d eaten, he switched on the television. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to watch the news, then we can enjoy a video...’
The broadcast was taken up with the repercussions of the Tiananmen Square massacre in China. ‘So many dead,’ Luca said after translating for me. I nodded, and a feeling of deep sadness spread through me. Man’s inhumanity to man. I remembered the well-worn phrase, So much pain and suffering. When viewed collectively, the huge number of dead people in Beijing was hard to envisage. However, each person came from a family, and that family would be in mourning.
I thought about Harry. The terrible circumstances of his death and a life cut short in its prime. I would miss him for the rest of my own life, of course, and I knew I should accept what had happened, and also the fact that it hadn’t been my fault. No one could predict what was around the corner in life; it was best to take each day as it came and live it to the full.
Not easy, though.
Luca held up the video. ‘Guess what?’
I laughed. Back to the Future would make a welcome distraction.
We sat through the movie, holding hands and sipping Prosecco.
Afterwards Luca said, ‘It’s getting late. I’ll take the sofa and you can sleep in my bed.’
‘You don’t have to,’ I said, looking directly into his eyes. I blushed. ‘I’d like you to make love to me, Luca. That’s if you want to, of course…’
He enfolded me in his arms, and, when I lifted my mouth to his, he kissed me. It was like drinking sweet wine as I kissed him back, opening myself up to him, my tongue on his. When we stopped, it was a wrench and we immediately started kissing again.
He took me to his room. We faced each other, and I lifted my fingers to his face, tracing the outline of his features, holding his gaze. Then, slowly, he unbuttoned my blouse and slipped off my jeans, placing them on the chair by his bed. He pulled off his t-shirt and unzipped his own jeans, throwing them onto the same chair. With a groan, he cupped my face and kissed the tip of my nose, the corners of my mouth, the pulse at the base of my neck. It felt perfect, as if this was what was missing from my life.
I unclipped my bra and let it fall to the floor. With a sigh of longing, I wrapped my arms around his waist, then pressed myself against him and kissed his chest.
‘It’s all right,’ I said, thinking that, although this was our second time together, I should reassure him. ‘My doctor put me on the pill because I had irregular periods.’ I let out an embarrassed laugh. ‘Don’t worry. I haven’t been with anyone since Harry.’
‘I’m not worried and you can be sure I’m clean,’ he said, embracing me again before lifting me in his arms and taking me to his bed.
We made love slowly, savouring each moment, our kisses long and deep, our coupling unhurried. By unspoken agreement, it seemed, we drew out the solace of our lovemaking, to arrive at our climax together.
Luca fell asleep quickly, but I found it difficult to drop off. The night was warm, and a mosquito buzzed by my left ear. Better put on some repellent. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. There’s bound to be some here.
I stared at my reflection.
A sudden drop in temperature, and the mirror wavered before my eyes.
‘Lorenza…’
Cecilia was standing right behind me.
A sick feeling in my stomach, I watched as she lifted her hand and pointed at me.
Then the mirror wavered again, and my head spun.
I returned to Asolo six months ago, my heart torn between my daughter and my painter. I’m greedy for the feel of Zorzo’s lips on mine, yet Lorenza’s sticky kisses (after she’s eaten a zabaglione) are those I’m enjoying this morning. That time away from her, only five days, seemed like a year, and I counted the hours during the long, dusty journey from Venice to get back here. Lodovico has not let me out of his sight since my brief escape from him after the Cornaro celebration. I give an inward smile, remembering.
Zorzo shouted through the door that he was busy and told my husband to come back in an hour. I could hardly believe my own audacity as I pulled my painter toward me. We fell onto the bed; our lovemaking was quick yet satisfying. I reached my joy within moments and he did too. Zorzo did not withdraw from me, and I hope for another babe from him. A dark-eyed son would suit me perfectly. ‘Do not sell my husband that painting you did of us,’ I begged. ‘Or let him see the canvases with my likeness.’
‘Fear not, dolcezza,’ Zorzo said, putting on his hose and doublet. He went to The Tempest and wrapped it in white cloth. ‘This one is already accounted for, and the lute-player and his true love I shall not part with at any price. I’ll let Signor Lodovico into my quarters after you are gone, but I’ll tell him the Duke of Ferrara is out of luck.’
And so, he did. When Lodovico returned to the Cornaro palace, I was back in our room. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked, his voice sharp.
‘Out taking the morning air. I needed to clear my head.’
‘And did your maid go with you?’
‘Of course,’ I lied, thinking I had to remember to bribe her.
I’ve put up with Lodovico’s advances every night since our return to Asolo, lying back and thinking of Zorzo. What else can I do? I’m not with child yet, and, much as it is abhorrent to me, I need to let my husband rut into me, his fingers bruising my body. Tonight, we are to attend a banquet at the Barco for the Queen’s brother, who is visiting. There’s to be a joust before we dine, and then the usu
al dance. My breath catches with excitement; I know Zorzo will be there.
In the early afternoon, Lodovico and I set off for Altivole. Again, I’m to be away from my babe. Except, she’s no longer a babe but a little girl of two. And she’s learning to paint. Even at such a young age, she’s quite a prodigy and has an innate understanding of colours. I’ll persuade Lodovico to let me find a teacher for her when the time is right. It is my heartfelt wish that Lorenza will become the artist I can never be.
Cloud hangs low over Monte Grappa and mist hugs the valleys in between the Asolo hills and the Venetian plain. The Queen’s villa of delights is nearly completed now, and it is wondrous to behold. Frescoes adorn most of the outer walls, the gardens are fully stocked, the game park bursting with life, and the air perfumed with the scent of late-flowering roses.
Afternoon sunlight catches the tops of the cypress trees near the gates of the Barco as our carriage pulls up outside. Autumn has come early this year, the year of our Lord 1508, and the days are drawing in. We go to our quarters, servants bringing our chest of clothes. I leave my maid to unpack my gowns and set off with Lodovico to the jousting green.
The Queen has spared no expense for the tournament in honour of her brother. There’s cloth of gold everywhere, from the banners, to the curtains, to the tapestries draping her tent. Even the plates and goblets from which refreshments will be served are gold. ‘A great occasion to celebrate the Republic,’ she says.
Lodovico and I make our reverences. I drop into the deepest, most elegant curtsey, and my husband bows low. ‘We’re honoured to be your guests, Domina,’ he says.
‘Your brother is already here.’ She smiles. ‘Somewhere.’
‘I shall go and find him,’ Lodovico responds with another bow.
The Queen rises to her feet and claps her hands when a knight bearing her colours of silver and red gallops into the yard on a fine black destrier. The banners of the last crusader state of Cyprus, her late husband’s. Her champion’s opponent wears Giorgio Cornaro’s orange and blue. It is only a friendly joust, but I do not like to watch, for I abhor any form of violence. I decide to slip away and go for a walk in the orchard. Coming around the hedge, I hear voices. Lodovico’s and his brother’s. I have no wish to greet Giovanni yet, so I wait behind the hedge.
LADY of VENICE Page 19