‘No, I heard in the sitting room that he had to leave suddenly because his gondolier was very ill. Bastian is such a caring man. While we are here, we might as well enjoy ourselves. I’m going back in to pretend I am the runaway bride of a Russian Tsar.’
‘People will believe you?’ said Orelia.
‘Of course,’ said Angelique. ‘It’s splendid fun. You can pretend to be my half-sister who is searching for the father of her child, captured in these waters by pirates.’
‘Go ahead, you two,’ said Veronica. ‘I’ll just be a moment longer.’
‘Take as long as you wish,’ said Angelique. ‘I know how much you hate these things.’
Turning back to the fireworks, Veronica felt herself relax briefly before she was interrupted again.
‘Are you Veronica Contarini?’ said a voice.
Turning her head, Veronica saw a man walking towards her from the other end of the balcony. ‘That depends,’ said Veronica. ‘Who are you?’
The man stepped into the light spilling through the doorway. He was dressed as a Roman soldier in a loose white shirt, red tunic and armor. He lifted the helmet off his head, revealing short dark hair sticking up in all directions. A perfect scar cut across his left cheek. He lowered the helmet to his side. Somehow he lost his grip on it and fell to the ground. He bent down to pick it up, fumbled and dropped it again.
Veronica covered her smile with her fan. Even her sister wasn’t this clumsy.
‘Who needs a helmet anyway?’ he said kicking it aside with his foot. ‘I’m Luca Boccassio.’
Veronica knew who Luca was; everyone knew who Luca was. He was the son of a member of The Council of Ten. He had been educated at the university in Padua with distinction in all subjects. He was considered to be the shining example of a perfect Venetian young man. Yet, despite knowing all this, his name sounded familiar for another reason she could not recall.
‘I’ll let you in on a secret,’ said Luca, leaning in close to Veronica. ‘I’m not really a Roman solider.’
Veronica gasped. ‘I would never have guessed.’
‘That’s understandable. I have very steady hands,’ said Luca, glancing at his helmet on the ground at few feet away.
‘So much so that you should be a surgeon,’ said Veronica, nodding earnestly.
‘So what brings you out here, Miss Veronica?’ Luca asked, leaning over the balcony and staring up at the sky as she was.
‘Oh, I’m just looking for the sun,’ she answered, casually.
‘Look no further,’ he said, pointing at the moon.
Pausing for a second before catching on, Veronica pressed her hands to her cheeks as Angelique did when something amazed her and cried, ‘Ah, the sun in all its golden brilliance.’
Luca’s brow furrowed, making his deep brown eyes seem even darker. ‘The sun? Are you crazy? That is the moon in all its silvery splendor.’
Moving her hands to her hips, Veronica’s face returned to one of its more natural expressions: annoyance. ‘It is the sun, if I say it is.’
‘But was I not the first of us to say it is the sun? Therefore, it is what I say it is,’ said Luca, smiling from the corner of his mouth.
Veronica clenched her jaw. Who did he think he was? One thing was for certain, she was not going to let him get the better of her.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, amusement in his voice.
Veronica stopped in the doorway and spun around. ‘I think I’ve had enough of the sun for one night!’
Claudia peered over the edge of her fan of yellow brocade. She noted the position of her mother across the ballroom, standing between two men, their identity concealed behind long-beaked plague-doctor masks. Her mother’s head was thrown back in laughter. Claudia smiled. Good. The men had followed her instructions to flatter. She had paid them handsomely, but even the silver she had parted with did not guarantee her mother’s sustained interest in them, especially when there were nobles to impress and competition to alienate.
For a moment, Claudia’s thoughts turned to her father who was ill in bed on the floor below. She wondered if he could hear the noise of the band and guests coming and going, and if it was disturbing him. It didn’t seem fair that he should be confined to his bed while just upstairs her mother threw what she hoped would be the most talked about ball of the season. Then again, it wasn’t that much different to last year, really.
Putting aside thoughts of the things she could not change, Claudia focused on her own situation. She edged along the wall, not taking her eyes off her mother until her hand found the door handle. She turned the handle and felt the door open behind her. With a glance at her mother who was still enjoying the flattery of the two men, Claudia slipped through the opening into the adjoining sitting room.
She flew across the empty room like a bird that had been let out of its cage. It was a sentiment reflected in her costume, a yellow brocade robe à la Françoise and a columbina mask adorned with yellow feathers. It was a subtle statement – the only kind of statement Claudia dared to make – which her mother had not picked up on. Instead, she had complimented her daughter on picking a color that made every eye in the room draw to her, like the sun. Of course, this was followed by a reprimand for not wearing the Hera costume her mother had specifically selected for her.
Claudia came to a door that opened onto the entrance hall, which was occupied by latecomers who went from ball to ball, or by guests who wanted a moment away from the ballroom.
Pulling the corners of her mask down to just below her cheekbones, Claudia stepped out into the long rectangular room. She walked over to the staircase, resisting the urge to run. She often watched cats stalk birds on the street from her bedroom window and had learnt that if you wanted to get by unnoticed, you had to move slowly and deliberately.
When she reached the top of the staircase, she checked behind herself to ensure she wasn’t being watched or followed. Claudia smiled. No one seemed interested in who she was or where she was going. That might have been different had she worn the sweeping one-shouldered white Hera costume, which was precisely the reason she had not worn it.
She reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the wide passageway, brightly lit by hanging lanterns. She waited for a couple who had just arrived at the water entrance to pass before she headed in the direction of the far storeroom. Until the 15th century, the previous owners of the building had all been merchants and these rooms had been used for storing goods. Now they were mostly unused and rarely visited which was perfect for Claudia’s purpose.
The small heels of her satin slippers clicked upon the floor as she approached a doorway, each step bringing her closer. Her stomach started to flutter, as it always did. She held her breath as she looked inside the room. Her eyes searched the darkness until they found what she was looking for. She released her breath and smiled. ‘Filippo’ she said warmly, taking off her mask.
The young man Claudia cared the most about in the world looked up brightly. Since his services had not been required that evening, he had changed out of his red and black livery and was wearing a loose white shirt. A black columbina mask rested on his forehead, even though he could not join the guests upstairs. He put down the knife and the piece of wood he was carving, and quickly stood. ‘You came,’ he said, collecting Claudia in his arms and twirling her around.
Claudia rested her head on his chest and inhaled his salty smell. ‘Of course, I came. It took longer than I expected to get away from my mother. Can you forgive me?’
‘Always,’ he said, stroking her hair.
Claudia sighed and looked up at him. ‘I can’t stay long. My mother will soon realize I’m gone.’
Filippo tilted his head towards her. Claudia waited for his lips to reach hers but just before that long awaited touch, the sound of laughter erupted in the passageway.
‘Let’s go somewhere mo
re private,’ said Claudia.
Filippo smiled mischievously, pulling down his mask and gently replacing Claudia’s feathered creation to conceal her face. She followed him to the water steps where a fleet of gondolas belonging to various guests were tied to the red and black mooring poles.
Filippo jumped from gondola to gondola until he reached her family’s craft. He took hold of the long oar and steered the gondola up to the water steps. When he held out a strong hand to help Claudia aboard, she recalled how she had fallen in love with him a year ago. She had known the very first time he had held her hand when helping her into the gondola. She had learnt more about his touch ever since then. Much more.
Claudia settled herself onto the seat and looked out across the Grand Canal. It was busier with traffic now than it was during the day. ‘I don’t think we’re going to find somewhere private tonight,’ she said.
Standing at the back of the gondola with an oar in hand, Filippo winked at her. ‘You don’t know the canals like I do.’
And he was right. Once they turned off the Grand Canal, passed under a few bridges and wove through the narrowing canals, they came to a quiet dead end.
‘Which neighborhood are we in?’ asked Claudia, looking up at the walls of the buildings with exposed brick showing beneath crumbling plaster.
‘We are still in Cannaregio, on the very outskirts,’ said Filippo, making room for himself next to her by gathering the material of her gown and pushing it aside. ‘There would be a lot more room if you took the gown off.’
Claudia slapped him lightly. ‘It would take too long to get it off. You’ll just have to work around it.’
Filippo’s lips were upon hers in a second. Work around it, he did. The gondola rocked gently with their movements. Claudia’s fair fingers entwined with Filippo’s as a gasp escaped her mouth. Filippo laid back and Claudia rested her head on his chest. Their breathing slowed and fell into rhythm with each other.
Claudia stared up at the full moon. ‘Let’s leave Venice and be together without all this secrecy.’
Filippo laid a kiss on her forehead. ‘One day. I promise.’
Claudia lifted herself onto her elbows to look at him. ‘Let’s go now.’
‘You know I won’t do that to you. I cannot offer you the life you deserve.’
‘I don’t want a life filled with gowns and jewels!’ Claudia pulled at the diamond necklace around her neck, unsuccessfully trying to break it.
Filippo put his dark hand over hers, stopping her. ‘You say that now,’ he said, ‘but you don’t know what it’s like to be poor.’
‘I do know. My father gambled away our entire fortune a few years ago!’ Claudia immediately felt ashamed for shouting. She looked away. It was the mention of her father that made Claudia realize that Filippo was right, in some sense. As much as she longed to, she couldn’t leave Venice while her father remained sick and bedridden with a mysterious illness. She had to make sure he was cared for. She had to see him recover, if that was even possible.
‘I love you,’ said Filippo, gently taking her hands in his. ‘I will find a way for us to leave Venice and give you the life you deserve. Be patient.’
‘I love you too,’ she whispered. She believed him. She would be patient. Her father would recover.
She felt her body softening again, but just before she gave in to the glorious feeling, her eyes went wide and she sat upright. ‘I have to get back.’
Claudia ran up the stairs to the main floor. She didn’t bother slipping through the sitting room to avoid entering the ballroom through the main doors. She ran straight across the central hall and into the ballroom.
As she collapsed against the inside wall, her eyes closed as she tried to regain her composure. All of a sudden, a cold hand gripped her forearm. Claudia’s eyes sprang open and she saw the last person she wanted to see.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ snapped her mother. ‘You look . . . flustered.’ Her kohl darkened eyes narrowed suspiciously.
‘I’ve been looking for Bastian,’ said Claudia, failing to maintain a light measured voice. ‘I thought that’s what you wanted.’
‘Did you find him?’
Claudia lowered her eyes. ‘No.’
‘Fortunately, I did,’ said her mother. ‘And I have persuaded Bastian to save a dance for you. But trying to pin you both down is like trying to view the sun and moon together. Stay here and don’t move.’
Claudia nodded, but when her mother was out of earshot, she whispered, ‘One day.’
It was an indisputable fact that Bastian Donato spent one half of his life chasing women and the other half of his life fleeing from the same women.
The woman he was fleeing from on this particular night was Regina Gamba. She was a very tall girl and it was lucky that she had not been born one hundred years earlier when sixteen-inch heeled shoes were the height of fashion in Venice. Fortunately for Regina, sensible slippers were the fashion of the day, which was unfortunate for Bastian, as it made her much harder to escape from. It had taken him almost a whole hour of pretending to search through the large palace with Regina on his heels before he had managed to distract her for a moment and escape.
As Bastian used his weight to close the library door, he began to realize that it might not have been such a good idea to loose Regina’s key, especially when it had taken him weeks to convince her to give him a piece of dough with the impression of the key in it so he could have one cut for himself.
‘Hiding again from another one of your mistakes, are you?’
Bastian looked up and saw he was not alone. Marco D’Este, clad in a gold-spangled navy blue dress-coat adorned with badges typical of a Spanish general, sat on the edge of a desk on the other side of the room. The plain white bauta mask was resting next to him. He had a tall glass of dark liquid in his hand and a smug smile on his face.
‘Actually, I’m looking for a key,’ said Bastian.
‘A key to what?’ asked Marco, swirling the contents of his glass. His dark, almost black, eyes shone with curiosity.
‘It can be any key, really. She won’t know the difference, or at least not until morning.’
‘You’re not making any sense, Bastian.’
Bastian slumped into an armchair near a large bookshelf. ‘I had a key cut for Regina Gamba’s house and now she wants it back.’
March shrugged. ‘So give it back.’
‘I’ve lost it.
Marco laughed so hard he almost spilt his drink. When he was done, he walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. He rummaged around and then pulled out a key. ‘Here,’ he said, tossing it to Bastian. ‘It’s a key to one of the unused storerooms downstairs. I don’t need it back. Most of the locks don’t work anymore.’
Bastian kissed the key. ‘Thank you.’
‘You owe me.’
‘That reminds me. You won the bet.’
When Marco raised his eyes, there was a glint in them brought on either by too much alcohol, or the mention of gambling. He and Marco had been making bets with each other since they had learnt to count money, even though their bets rarely involved money.
‘Which bet?’ asked Marco. It wasn’t that he had forgotten, rather that they had so many bets going at once it was difficult to keep track.
‘The bet that no one would understand my costume.’ As Bastian spoke, he slid a ruby ring off his finger and held it out to Marco.
‘It’s hardly a bet worth winning,’ said Marco. But he slid the ring onto his finger with a satisfaction that suggested every bet, no matter how small, was worth winning. The ring was how they kept track of who had won the last bet. The ring had once belonged to a cardinal from Rome. Bastian and Marco were fifteen when the cardinal had visited the Doge’s Palace,
where Bastian lived with his father, the Doge. Marco had bet that Bast
ian couldn’t steal the ring. It was the very first bet they had made and the very first bet Bastian had won.
‘Someone even asked if I was a faun. Do I look half goat, half human?’
Marco chuckled ‘In a way, you do.’.
‘But where is your mask? The one Signor Zafoni sent you as a gift.’
‘It didn’t go with my headdress. I thought together it was a bit excessive,’ said Bastian, his voice falling flat.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Marco, pouring Bastian a glass of wine.
‘I had better go find Regina and give her this key. Love makes women such jealous creatures.’
Marco laughed. ‘They do not love you. It is obsession, competition, infatuation, but not love. In fact, I don’t think you could ever get a woman to fall in love with you.’
‘I certainly could.’ Bastian looked at his reflection in his glass of ruby red liquid. What was there not to love? Every woman in Venice would die to be his lover. This was proven last season when a rumor circulated that he had married a fisherman’s daughter in secret. One of the daughters of a nobleman had thrown herself from her third-storey balcony upon hearing the rumor. She had survived the fall with a few broken bones, and a broken heart. If that wasn’t love, what was?
‘Care to bet on that?’ said Marco.
Bastian folded his arms across his bare chest flecked with gold. ‘Always.’
‘I bet that you can’t get a woman to fall in love with you by the end of Carnival.’
‘Any woman?’
A smile began to form at the corner of Marco’s mouth. ‘Not just any woman. The woman you danced with. I’ve never seen her before. She looked like she had some sense to her, since she didn’t instantly swoon over you. The looks she was giving you could have frozen the Grand Canal.’
Bastian didn’t know what to think of Orelia. She seemed to embody so many contradictions. She seemed foreign and Venetian, awkward and graceful, meek and fiery. There was something about her green eyes and flame red hair . . . Bet or no bet, he had to have her.
Masquerade Page 6