Her father nodded.
As calmly as she could manage, she walked towards the sitting room doors but instead of exiting the room, she turned and walked over to Alessandro. She stood as close to him as she dared without attracting too much attention. ‘Interesting painting,’ she whispered, hoping he would be able to hear.
He glanced sideways at her, his face spreading into a smile. ‘It is,’ he whispered back. ‘I don’t think it’s your best, though. The brushwork looks a bit rushed from here.’
Veronica closed her eyes momentarily. There was no point in denying it was her work. He was smarter than that; she was smarter than that. ‘It’s a terrible mix-up,’ she said, staring at her painting there on the wall. ‘The painting was not intended for Luca. The servant I employed must have delivered it to the wrong address.’ She continued to whisper even though no one was quite close enough to overhear them with the pockets of chatter going on.
‘Who was the painting meant to be for?’ asked Alessandro, pushing a loose curl from his wig away from his face.
‘An English tourist who was staying with Luca’s neighbor. I only realized the error just now upon seeing the painting here.’
‘It’s an interesting subject they asked you to paint. Normally, tourists ask for the Grand Canal or the Rialto Bridge.’
‘It was a challenge conceived one night at a dinner party after too many drinks.’ The lies were coming out of Veronica quicker than she could process them herself.
‘How fortunate for Luca, then. I am very eager to read his book.’
‘As am I,’ said Veronica, flatly.
Alessandro finished the contents of his glass. ‘Shall we meet up later? I can conceive a challenge of my own for you.’
‘I will accept your challenge,’ said Veronica with a smirk. She even risked a wink in Alessandro’s direction, so overwhelmingly thankful that she had averted a major disaster. Alessandro believed her painting had nothing to do with Luca, or he didn’t care if it did. And more importantly, Luca didn’t know the painting had anything to do with Veronica.
She looked back to Luca and rest of the gathering. Her ears tuned into the conversation that had moved on without her. ‘The details of the painting are remarkable,’ Luca was saying. ‘The only inaccuracy I can see is that the height of the Bridge of Sighs has been exaggerated.’
‘It has not,’ cried Veronica abruptly, stepping forward. ‘The bridge connects the Doge’s Palace and the prison at that exact height, ask any architect.’
‘I’m sorry,’ interrupted her father loudly, rising to his feet and coming to her side. ‘My daughter must have a fever. I will take her home at once.’
Veronica let her arms drop to her sides. Why fight to stay when she was only likely to incriminate herself? The further away she was from her painting, the better. That included Luca and Alessandro.
‘It’s fine,’ said Luca, moving towards them. ‘Stay please, I insist.’
‘Thank you but no, we should be going,’ said her father.
‘Then allow me to walk you both outside,’ said Luca.
Her father put a hand on Luca’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for showing such kindness to my daughter, you are a fine young man. You two go ahead. I will meet you at the water entrance once I find my walking stick. I also must check that Aunt Portia will stay with Angelique and Orelia.’
Luca offered Veronica his arm and he led her out of the sitting room. The moment they entered the central hall, Luca pulled his wig off and set it down on a table. ‘Sorry miss, I hope you’re not offended. I couldn’t keep that thing on any longer. My head is so itchy. I hate wigs.’ Luca’s short dark hair stuck up in all directions.
‘Not at all... Your book sounds very interesting,’ said Veronica, trying to keep her voice light. ‘I can’t wait to read it.’
Luca turned his face to look at her as they descended the staircase. The scar on his cheek shone in the semi-darkness. Veronica was tempted to ask how he got it. Maybe that’s what she should’ve focused her attention on all this time. Not many young men walked around with such a defined scar on their face. It was too late now. She couldn’t send him another painting. She had failed and now he would most likely ask for her hand in marriage. Her father clearly adored Luca. He would not allow her to turn the proposal down. She felt the weight of a thousand suns on her shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ said Luca, interrupting her thoughts. ‘It’s still all a bit unbelievable and to think it wouldn’t have happened if I had not received that mysterious painting.’
Veronica shook her head, disbelievingly.
When they reached the water entrance, the crisp night air filled Veronica’s lungs and began to clear her head enough to remind her to let go of Luca’s arm. There was something so solid about him that confused and comforted Veronica. ‘Tell me, in your book does your protagonist discover who is sending the paintings?’
Luca just smiled, that unreadable smile, and gently took her hand, pressing a kiss upon it. ‘What do you think happens?’
‘Would you like me to tell you a story?’ asked Anna, lighting a stumpy candle in an attempt to bring light and an illusion of warmth to her cold, dark room. Emilia did not answer or lift her head from the pillow. She stared straight ahead as if Anna were not there at all. Moving aside the plate of uneaten food that she had smuggled upstairs for Emilia, Anna sat down on the edge of the bed and continued as if Emilia had answered. ‘Let me think . . .’
Although Anna could not read, she had collected stories in the way a fisherman’s net catches fish. The stories came from her life – songs she had memorized, snatches of puppet plays on the street, pieces of gossip heard around the wellhead in the nearby square.
Gazing out the small window that framed a starry night sky, Anna sifted through her mind for something from which a story could grow. Her thoughts kept returning to one thing, one troubling incident, and from there she began her tale.
‘In a kingdom far, far away, there was once a girl called Belle who served a kind and gracious princess. Belle dreamt of dancing in the king’s court, but she kept her talent hidden, knowing that no one would allow a plain servant to dance for the king. Belle’s older sister also worked in the castle until one day she fell out of favor with the king and was banished to the dark forest.
‘Each day, Belle pleaded with the king to allow her sister to return, but he ignored the servant girl. Then one night, Belle decided to leave the castle and go in search of her sister. The dark forest was a big, fearsome place, and the chances of finding her sister were slim.
‘Before long she was too hungry to go on. She had no money for food or goods of any worth to trade, so she stopped in the village, laid down her cloak and began to dance.
‘Villagers stopped to watch her, mesmerized by her dancing, but not one laid down a single coin for they were poor and had no money to spare. Finally, too tired to dance any more, Belle picked up her cloak and began shuffling away when a voice stopped her.
‘ “I’ve seen you before,” said a woman with the unmistakable appearance of a witch. “You work for the princess at the castle. Why are you dancing on the street?”
‘Belle wanted to run away, but something stopped her. “The king has banished my sister to the dark forest. I need to earn some money for my journey to find her.”
‘The witch’s lips curled into a smile. “I can help you if you want. I have not money but magic. I can use my magic to help you make yourself heard by the king.”
‘ “How can you do that?” asked Belle.
‘ “I can make you into a dancer.”
‘ “But I can already dance.”
‘ “Indeed, but I can make you into the best dancer in all the land. The king won’t be able to look away from you and he would offer you anything to dance for him, including the return of your sister.”
‘Belle looked down and saw her b
rown dress slowly transform into red silk. She had never seen anything more beautiful.
‘ “That is just the beginning. I will give you a musician and instruments, fine clothes and jewels, all the things you would need.”
‘Belle looked up warily. “Why are you doing this?”
‘ “All I want from you is the key to the princess’s room.”
‘When Belle asked why, the witch replied, “Let’s just say, she has something I want.”
‘Belle shook her head sadly. “I cannot betray the princess.”
‘ “What about your sister? And what about your own dream of dancing at the court?” ’
Anna stared out the window and was silent for some time, her mind replaying her own recent meeting with an uncertain destiny.
‘Then what happened?’ said Emilia, speaking for the first time in days.
Anna blinked her eyes several times. ‘I don’t know yet. That’s enough for tonight. I’ll finish the story another time.’
She stayed beside Emilia for a few more minutes, heavy with the realization that she would have to decide how the story ended. Maybe the price would not be as high as she thought? Perhaps it was true that Orelia would not get hurt? But even if she did decide to help Signora D’Este, how would she find out Orelia’s secret, if she even had one? She was so guarded, as if she came to Venice already wearing a mask.
The only time Anna felt she had glimpsed behind it was when she had told Orelia about the glass flower. But what could a glass ornament tell Anna about this girl? Not that she still had it anyway. But she still had the letters, the ones she had found in the niche along with the flower. If the two glass flowers really were connected, then the letters might mean something to Orelia, something that might reveal her secret. Anna looked to the chest beneath the window where the letters lay hidden. The odds of her plan working were not in her favor, but when were they ever?
Bastian stormed down from arcade on the second floor that provided a view of the Canale Grand. He’d been awakened at some ungodly hour by a servant with the order that his father wished to see him. Having only crawled into bed a few hours before after a profitable night at the Casino Venier, Bastian felt it was his right to stay in bed all morning. He had rolled over and pulled the coverlet over his face, but the insistent voice of the servant did not allow him to go back to sleep. This was so typical of his father, the mighty Doge.
As Bastian made his way to the private library where his father was waiting, strangely all he could think of was how he had managed to get Orelia to kiss him a few nights ago at the Gambling house. He would have liked more than just a kiss, but he did not want to make the mistake of moving too fast. Orelia was starting to fall in love with him; he could feel it in the way she had responded to his kiss. He was more certain than ever he was going to win his bet with Marco and collect the 50,000 ducats. Then he would be free to leave Venice and begin a new life.
‘You look like you’ve been dredged out of a canal,’ said his father, as the servant opened the door to the library.
Bastian turned and looked at himself in one of the gilded mirrors. His blond hair was standing up in all directions and he was still wearing last night’s clothes, but he didn’t look that bad. He chose not to respond to his father’s comment and instead looked around for any sort of liquid to relieve his dry mouth. He found a jug of iced water on the sideboard. The cold water cleared Bastian’s mind enough for him to ask, ‘Why did you want to see me?’
His father put aside the documents he was reading and motioned for Bastian to sit down. ‘I wanted to inform you that you are leaving for Padua right after Christmas. Councillor Scini has volunteered to help you settle in to an apartment before university begins.’
Bastian clenched his teeth together and tried to restrain his anger. ‘What is the point? While you are the ruling Doge, no member of your family can hold office in the government.’
His father sighed. ‘You don’t need to educate me on the law. The fact is, I know I can’t be Doge for much longer with my health declining as it is and before you can hold office, you need to go to university.’
‘Allow me one more year and then I’ll go without argument or complaint.’
‘No, Bastian. You’ll go after Christmas. I need you out of the public eye. I can’t keep hiding your mistakes. Salvador Oro has lodged an accusation to The Lion’s Mouth against you and Marco. It’s time you grow into a man and stop acting like a boy.’ His father brought a heavy fist down on the arm of the chair. ‘I’m not asking; I’m ordering!’
Bastian glared at the life-size portrait of his father above the fireplace. It wasn’t the idea of university so much as the idea of Padua that he despised. Padua was a dull old town that would slowly and painfully turn him into his father. Since there were no universities in Venice, he could not ask for a compromise. And since there was no use in saying he did not want to go to Padua, he had to find a reason why he could not go. ‘I can’t leave Venice right now because I’m
in love and want to be married before I go away to university.’ The words surprised Bastian himself, but it did not compare to his father’s surprise.
‘You willingly want to marry?’ said his father. ‘I thought I would not live to see the day. Who is this woman you wish to wed?’
Bastian opened his mouth to say Orelia’s name when he realized that not only was she not of noble birth, but she wasn’t even Venetian. The law would never allow such a match, even with some of the exceptions that had been granted in the past years. Bastian said the only other name that occurred to him at that moment. ‘Angelique Contarini.’
‘The senator’s daughter?’
Bastian nodded. The muscles in his neck felt like lead.
‘Why have I not heard you talk about her?’
‘It’s . . . recent.’
The old man nodded thoughtfully. ‘It is a good match, despite the scandal the senator’s sister caused in 1732.’
Bastian raised an eyebrow. It was not the first time he had been confused by the old man’s mutterings.
‘The Contarinis are one of Venice’s oldest noble families and have since proved their loyalty repeatedly,’ his father continued. ‘I would have to speak to her father and negotiate a suitable dowry. The only problem is that Signor Contarini disapproves of you. First, you must change that. It is unconventional but you must go to him yourself and tell him of your intention to marry his daughter.’
‘That is very wise, father, but Signor Contarini is a busy man with important government duties. I would not want to bother him at this busy time of year, so I think it would be best to speak to him after Christmas. My burning love for Angelique can wait.’
His father raised his eyebrows suspiciously. Perhaps Bastian should’ve presented a lock of Angelique’s hair – or a lock of any blonde hair, really – to convince his father.
‘Speak to him before Christmas,’ said his father. ‘Otherwise you leave for Padua after the Epiphany.’
Bastian stood up and walked out of the room not at all with the gait of a man who had just declared his love for a woman. When he emerged onto the arcade, he leaned over the balustrade, pushing his upper body as far out as it could go. He looked down at the drop below. To fall did not seem like such a terrible thing.
He watched a seagull soar past, so free, so unburdened. Christmas was just over two weeks away. To satisfy his father, he had to go ahead with this charade of wanting to marry Angelique. To win the bet, he had to lay with Orelia. How could he do both?
Bastian flicked a dried leaf off the top of the balustrade. Watching its graceful descent, he remembered the love potion Angelique had used on him. He laughed, not believing his luck. Orelia would believe that his engagement to Angelique was due to the love potion. Instead of hating him for choosing Angelique, Orelia would long for him. Perhaps she would become jealous and realize that she loved him. Then wh
en the moment was right, he would awaken from the love potion’s spell and Orelia would fall into his arms. It was the perfect plan. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
Bastian strode down the arcade with the walk of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.
The wall space smelt like dust and cobwebs. It had been many years since Angelique had been in the secret passage that ran behind the library. As a child she had often escaped her tutors by slipping into the cupboard and disappearing through the secret door behind. She had spent many afternoons looking and listening through peep holes more for the thrill than for what she might discover.
Now at almost seventeen, she filled the narrow space, and her main purpose was to see what she might discover – as thrilling as it still was in this secret space.
For days she had thought of little else other than Bastian Donato, so when at noon that day Maria had announced that the very man who occupied her thoughts was at the door, wishing to see her father, her mind had been sent into a frenzy.
Despite her father’s unreserved disdain for Bastian, he had agreed to see him and asked Maria to escort the young man to the library. Meetings in the library were always private.
At that moment, Angelique had an important decision to make. She could stay where she was in the sitting room and wait to find out the meaning of it, if indeed her father was willing to tell. Or she could spy on them.
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