When the door came into sight, Bastian heard Orelia cry out. He turned around to see that she had fallen over. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, dropping to his knees beside her.
Orelia smiled at him mischievously, then jumped up and ran for the door. He couldn’t believe that she had tricked him. ‘That’s not fair!’ he cried, racing after her.
They reached the door at the same time and fell against the wood, out of breath.
Bastian turned to face Orelia and found that she was staring at him. He reached out and touched the side of her face with his fingertips. Orelia closed her eyes with a soft moan and Bastian gently leaned forward to kiss her.
Her eyes fluttered open and she pulled away. ‘Please, take me home now’ she said.
Bastian watched on like a fool as Orelia disappeared through the gap in the door. Without her, the garden seemed less enchanting.
The trip back was silent and awkward. When they reached the palace, Bastian helped Orelia out of the gondola. They stood facing each other on the water steps. For the first time, Bastian didn’t know what to say to a woman. So instead of speaking, he stared into Orelia’s emerald eyes, hoping to find some answers there. ‘Thank you,’ said Orelia, looking to the ground, ‘for showing me the garden. I will never forget tonight . . . or you.’ There was something final about her words, but Bastian refused to acknowledge it. ‘When can I see you again?’ he asked.
‘You can’t.’
‘Give me one reason why,’ he said, reaching for her hand.
She let him take it for a moment and then pulled it away.
‘I can’t, I’m sorry.’
Bastian’s chest heaved in and out. He felt as if someone had
punched him in the stomach. He spun around and jumped into the gondola, snatching up the oar and thrusting it into the water.
‘Wait!’ called Orelia.
Bastian turned his head.
‘Your key,’ she said, reaching into her pocket to pull it out.
‘It’s a gift.’
In all of Veronica’s wildest imaginings, she had never come close to guessing Luca’s shocking secret. But there was one thing she had guessed, and that was that his notebook, nay journal, contained it. No wonder he had been so concerned about losing it.
Although Signor Paolo had poorer penmanship than Veronica remembered and had only managed to copy a single page of Luca’s journal, that one page was all she had needed. In fact, the last line of the page was all she had really needed. ‘The day I helped my friend escape from the Leads altered the course of my life forever.’
For days, Veronica had wondered about her amazing discovery. How had Luca been able to help his friend escape from the rooftop prison across the canal from Doge’s Palace? Who was this friend? What was his crime? Did Luca help him escape alone or did he have help? Now a criminal himself, why was he still in Venice?
There were so many questions. Veronica had searched for answers in the notebook, but of course she only had one page. The rest of what Signor Paolo had copied had gone on about earlier years at the university at Padua, nothing else useful to her cause.
After deliberating over Luca’s secret for almost a week, Veronica decided that she was over-thinking it. She reassured herself that she had what she needed. It was time to return to Alessandro’s apartment.
During breakfast, she arranged with Aunt Portia for the two of them to spend the morning at Caffé Florian. Veronica knew that Aunt Portia’s friends met at Florian’s every Wednesday morning. Once they started drinking coffee and gossiping, they could be there for hours. Veronica doubted they would even notice if the bell tower fell down in front of them. Many times, she had snuck off to the apartment on the excuse of stretching her legs without her absence being noticed at all.
As Veronica readied herself, putting on a cloak and veil, she was filled with the anticipation of painting once again. ‘I’m ready,’ she said, standing in the doorway of Aunt Portia’s bedroom.
‘I’ll meet you in the courtyard in a minute,’ said her aunt, riffling through her jewelry box.
When Veronica stepped outside there was a slight chill in the air that made her thankful for the cloak’s fur lining. She happened upon her father on the staircase.
‘Are you off somewhere?’ he asked.
‘I’m going to Florian’s with Aunt Portia,’ answered Veronica. ‘If she ever decides which necklace to wear.’
Her father laughed. ‘What do you think about Orelia? She’s not causing trouble is she?’ he asked.
‘Orelia? Trouble? She’s no more trouble than morning dew.’
‘You really do have an interesting way of putting things.’
Veronica smiled at the compliment. ‘Who is she really? Is she your illegitimate daughter?’ Veronica had often been accused of showing little decorum, but she liked to think of her approach as direct. ‘She has your ears.’
Her father laughed nervously. ‘You have such an imagination,’ he said. ‘She is my goddaughter, nothing more. We don’t know much about her and I want to make sure she is upholding this family’s good reputation.’
Standing on the staircase in the cool morning air, Veronica knew her father was lying. She opened her mouth to question him further, but stopped. What right did she have to accuse her father of keeping secrets when she was just as guilty?
‘Believe me. If anyone was going to compromise this family’s reputation, it would be me.’
Her father laughed again but this time it was a relieved laugh. ‘Good. But make sure you too stay out of trouble.’
By the time Veronica reached the courtyard, Aunt Portia was not far behind her. They took a gondola to St Mark’s Square and walked the short distance to Caffé Florian. As Veronica had predicted, her aunt’s friends were already seated in one of the small ornate rooms inside the caffé.
Veronica waited until her Aunt Portia’s coffee had arrived and the topic of conversation had turned to the distasteful renovations of the Moncenigo residence. ‘I’m going for a quick stroll around the square,’ Veronica told Aunt Portia, who nodded her response without turning away from the conversation.
The walk to the apartment was not quite long enough for Veronica to collect her thoughts, so she took her time setting up her equipment, savoring the smell of the paints and the touch of her brushes. Veronica was glad that Alessandro was not there. She could not afford the distraction.
Staring at the clean, crisp canvas Veronica realized that she’d spent so long thinking about the secret itself and not nearly enough time thinking about how she would transfer this secret onto her canvas. Her painting had to do so many things at once: convince, frighten and threaten. With her other suitors, the painting had formed in her mind the moment she had discovered their secret. But that was not the case with Luca. Whenever she tried to picture the painting in her mind, all she saw was a blank canvas. Admittedly, the subject was more difficult than the previous subjects she had dealt with, but there was something more to it as well, something she couldn’t put her finger on.
When the secret wasn’t enough, she had to bring other things she knew about the person to the painting. What did she know about Luca? He was the son of a member of the Council of Ten. He was university educated. And he was the only person who had beaten her in chess.
Veronica remembered one more thing: on the night of her father’s banquet, Luca had attempted to pilot a gondola himself, unsuccessfully. Before Veronica realized what she was doing, she had mixed a blue so dark it was almost black. She applied the paint to the lower half of the canvas in rough strokes. She finished the water with reflections of the fireworks forming satiny ribbons on the surface. Next, she painted the crescent shape of the gondola in the canal between the walls of the Doge’s Palace and the Leads. In the background, high above the canal connecting the two buildings, she painted the silhouette of the famous enclosed bridge
that afforded prisoners their last view of Venice before their imprisonment.
Fervently she painted, unaware of the time passing. It was mid-afternoon by the time she laid down her paintbrush. Veronica stood up and stepped back to inspect her work.
She had painted Luca standing at the stern of the gondola holding an oar. Veronica had remembered his face well; the slightly crooked nose, the chocolate brown hair, the full lips. But as expertly as she had painted Luca, the viewer’s eye was drawn elsewhere. First to the silvery rope hanging down the side of the Leads right to the water of the canal and then to the shadowed figure at the bottom of the rope climbing into the gondola.
The painting was perfect, if she did admit so herself. It was exactly the sort of painting that told a story, but most of all it would tell Luca that she knew his secret. Veronica only wished she could deliver it right at that moment, but the paint had to dry and then a few final touch-ups would be needed, including the all-important addition of her initials at the bottom. And besides she must get back to Aunt Portia at Florian’s. She’d find a way to return tomorrow.
She covered the painting with a white cloth and hurriedly washed her brushes. When she was finally ready to leave, the door opened and Alessandro swept in. ‘I saw the window open as I went past and I knew I could not continue on until I saw you.’
Veronica smiled warmly. ‘I would love to stay but my aunt is expecting me. I have already been gone too long.’
‘Perhaps I can convince you otherwise.’ Alessandro removed his cloak and dress-coat, and started on the button of his breeches, knowing that she liked to see all of him. Veronica glanced at the door and then back at Alessandro. Why did he have to be so handsome?
He stepped up to her and placed a delicate hand on her breast. ‘Stay. Just for a while,’ he said, kissing her neck tenderly. A shiver ran through her body and as she let out a moan, it became suddenly much harder to say no. But if Aunt Portia noticed how long she’d been gone and decided to tell Veronica’s father, she might not get a chance to go back there for days or weeks to finish Luca’s painting. She couldn’t risk that, as tempting as Alessandro’s offer was. She had delayed things long enough already.
Veronica removed Alessandro’s hand and gave him a quick, guilty kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry, I really need to be going.’ Grabbing her veil and cloak, she hurried to the door. ‘I’ll try to come back tomorrow morning.’
Alessandro ran a hand through his long hair. ‘Sorry my dove, but I already have arrangements for the morning. I’m meeting Luca Boccassio for coffee.’
Veronica froze halfway out the door. She turned around. ‘You’re having coffee with Luca Boccassio? I didn’t know you were friends.’
Alessandro had started to sort his brushes but paused to look up. ‘We weren’t until the banquet at your house. After we returned to the party and you went off to find your sister, I went to the sitting room to play cards where Luca and I started talking. Actually, we talked about you.’
Veronica pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, someone said a comment about the book on the table being terrible taste in literature and Luca said don’t let Miss Veronica hear you say that.’
‘The nerve of him,’ said Veronica, the words flying out of her.
‘I think he meant it as a compliment, my dear. Then I said perhaps you should hear; you are particularly beautiful when you are angry.’ Alessandro gave her a knowing look.
Veronica exhaled to compose herself. ‘And what did Luca say?’
‘He agreed and after that we talked about all manner of things.’
‘I don’t know how you can bare to hold a conversation with him for longer than a minute. Don’t you find him... aggravating?’
‘Not at all,’ said Alessandro, turning his attention back to the brushes. ‘He’s very interesting. Did you know he has played cards with the Pope?’
Veronica had to stop herself rolling her eyes. ‘Fascinating. Was there anything else he told you? Some dark secret? Maybe about a friend he helped with something?’
‘No, nothing of the sort,’ said Alessandro, his bright eyes narrowing suspiciously. ‘Why do you ask? You seem awfully interested in him.’
Veronica forced a laugh. ‘No reason. I’m certainly not interested in the man. I can’t stand him. It was you who brought him up.’
Alessandro smiled, appearing convinced. ‘Is your aunt not waiting?’
‘Yes. I must go.’ Veronica hurried back into the room and gave Alessandro a final kiss on the cheek. ‘Enjoy your coffee with Luca.’
‘If anyone asks where I am . . .’
‘I’ll say you are sick in bed and do not want to be disturbed,’ Orelia finished.
With a satisfied nod, Angelique watched Orelia cross the room and stand by the window, gazing through the sparkling glass that Angelique insisted Anna clean daily. There was nothing that made Angelique feel brighter than looking down upon the world through impossibly clear glass.
Orelia turned away from the window and walked over to the fireplace.
‘Sit down,’ said Angelique, pulling a white silk hood over her head to hide any trace of her blonde hair. ‘You’re making me nervous with your pacing. Everything will be fine.’
Orelia flopped onto the chaise lounge.
On top of the hood, Angelique placed a white tricorne hat with a plume of feathers. Then she picked up a gold columbina mask that had a ruffle of gold lace affixed to the bottom to hide her nose and mouth. ‘You can’t see any of my best features with all this on,’ she said, stamping her feet. ‘How is Bastian supposed to fall in love with me while I look like this?’
‘Isn’t that what the love potion is for?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Angelique, turning her head to the side. ‘At least, I’m well disguised. He will not have the faintest idea that I’m not you.’
‘Still, I think you should change the color of your gown. Blue brings out the color of your eyes.’
‘You don’t know a lot about men, do you? He won’t be looking at my eyes,’ said Angelique, pushing her chest out in a comical manner, making Orelia laugh.
‘Are you sure he’ll come? He may not be as interested in seeing me as you think. And we only sent him the note this morning. I don’t want you to be waiting for nothing.’
They had sent Orelia’s note to Bastian after breakfast. The messenger had not returned with a confirmation, but this did not worry Angelique. If she were a man, she would not reply either. Love was as much a game as chess.
Orelia had been reluctant to write the note in her own hand. In fact, it had taken Angelique many days to get Orelia to agree to it. Angelique could not see what the problem was. In a city of masks, deception was the way of things. But she supposed that Orelia had not been here long enough to know that.
‘He’ll come,’ said Angelique. ‘Now, wish me luck.’
‘You’re leaving already? It’s only eleven o’clock.’
‘I want to make sure I arrive before Bastian. That way, I can buy him a coffee and slip the love potion into it before he even arrives.’
‘What if he prefers hot chocolate or it goes cold before he arrives and he will not drink it?’
‘I didn’t think about that. What a tragedy that would be,’ said Angelique with a pout. ‘How do you suggest I get him to drink the potion?’
Orelia shrugged and looked away. ‘Maybe you could create a distraction and slip it into his drink then?’
‘That’s a perfect idea. You’re much better at this than I thought,’ said Angelique with a smile hidden by her mask.
Angelique navigated her way down the airy arcade of the Marciana Library to avoid walking across the square. The recent rise of water that regularly flooded the square and left most of the paving stones covered in a sheet of mud. The last thing she wanted was mud on the bottom of her gown.
She looked back at where Angelo had promised to wait with the gondola. He had also promised not to tell her father about her unchaperoned trip to the coffee shop, an offence that could get him fired. Angelique knew she didn’t deserve his kindness and made a mental note to reward him later.
When Angelique turned the corner, Caffé Florian came into view, and as she approached she spotted Bastian seated at a table in the shadow of the bell tower, just as Orelia’s note had requested. He was so handsome, Angelique thought she would swoon right there among the perfume sellers and water criers.
By the time she reached his table, her heart was racing, even though she had not walked very far at all. Bastian already had a cup of hot chocolate sitting in front of him. Lucky Angelique hadn’t arrived earlier and ordered him coffee with a dash of love potion as she had originally planned. A wisp of steam curled over the top of Bastian’s cup, which he was studying intently.
‘I didn’t know if you’d come,’ she said to alert him to her presence.
Bastian looked up at her and smiled.
‘Orelia?’
Angelique nodded and sat down.
‘I was surprised to receive your invitation; I thought you never wanted to see me again.’
‘Oh . . . I had a change of heart,’ she said, looking around for a waiter.
‘I think I’ll order a hot chocolate. I can never drink enough of it.’
‘Please don’t mistake me, I am happy with your change of heart, but I am confused. You had made your feelings very clear on Sunday night. What has changed?’
Angelique raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. Sunday night? On Sunday night, the family had shared a quiet dinner with an architect and his wife, and then spent the rest of the evening playing cards before retiring. Angelique noticed Bastian looking at her, waiting for a response.
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