Dreaming of Venice

by Dreaming of Venice (retail) (epub)

  This time, Jimmy sounded much more sincere. ‘I promise. Poor kid, I lost my dad when I was just a little nipper and I still remember getting the news. I cried for weeks, it was just so awful. Anyway, Penny, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, I won’t tell a soul.’

  Relieved, Penny chatted to him for a while longer. In the end, as she knew she would all along, she came round to telling him about her new sighting of her pirate man. Jimmy was fascinated.

  ‘That’s amazing, Penny. How awfully romantic. So, do you think he’s following you around? That would just be the most romantic thing anybody could do.’

  ‘No I don’t and I’m not sure I see it as particularly romantic if it really turns out that’s what he’s doing. It’s more like creepy. That’s stalking, you know.’ She paused for reflection for a moment. ‘But he can’t be tailing me. He just can’t. There’s no way he could have known where I was going.’ She was about to tell him that she had flown across to Venice in a private plane so that would have prevented her mystery man from knowing her destination, but then decided against mentioning it as being too overwhelmingly flashy. ‘And this evening, I was hopelessly lost. There’s no way he could have followed me and, even if he had done, how come he popped up in front of me and on the other side of the canal?’

  ‘But at least you now know he’s real. He’s not just a figment of your imagination like you were thinking before.’

  Penny hesitated. Was he real? Did she believe he was real? She had followed him for some time tonight, but she hadn’t ever had any form of physical contact. In fact, there had been no eye contact on any of the three occasions she had seen him. What did that mean? Was he just like one of her dreams?

  ‘You still there, sweetheart?’ Jimmy sounded worried.

  ‘Yes, sorry, Jimmy. Look, I don’t know what to think anymore. With all this Olivia business, I’m not even quite sure who I am half the time. Maybe I do keep making him up. I mean, how on earth could he just materialise here like that?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s possible, but it’s one hell of a coincidence. That’s three times now, isn’t it?’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’s almost as if it’s meant to be. Anyway, sweetheart, I’ve got to go. Somebody’s knocking on the door. Their need’s probably greater than mine. See you.’

  ‘Bye, Jimmy, and remember, mum’s the word.’

  ‘All right, mum.’

  Chapter 18

  Next morning at breakfast, Caroline had a broad smile on her face. Penny was already there, tucking into a plate of the best fruit salad she had ever eaten and she looked up with a grin as Caroline came in. ‘All go to plan last night?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Caroline gave a contented sigh and took a seat opposite Penny, both of them by the window where they were able to look out over the empty terrace and onwards across the lagoon. The wind appeared to have dropped, although it still looked bitterly cold out there. Four or five brazen seagulls huddled together on one of the windowsills, eyeing the breakfast plates on the other side of the glass covetously, presumably enjoying whatever warmth radiated outwards to them. It was another fine day, and early morning sunshine was reflecting on the cupola of the basilica on the island directly opposite where they were sitting, turning it to burnished gold. Penny put her spoon down and looked back at Caroline.

  ‘You’ll have to give me all the gory details, but first, let me tell you what happened to me last night.’ She went on to recount the events of the evening, including her phone call to Olivia. Caroline was goggle-eyed at Penny’s story about seeing the pirate again, but her expression turned to concern when Penny told her about her conversations with Jimmy.

  ‘Do you think he’ll keep his word? I imagine he realises this story could make him quite a bit of money if he sold it to the tabloids.’

  ‘He won’t talk. I know him. He’s a little monkey when he wants to be and he likes nothing more than a bit of salacious gossip, but I also know he’s a really good friend. He told me his lips are sealed and I trust him.’ She caught Caroline’s eye. ‘Besides, I didn’t tell him who Olivia is.’

  Caroline nodded. ‘That’s good. And you think Olivia might really come over to Venice to see Jonathan?’

  Now it was Penny’s turn to nod. ‘I’m not sure, but I think she might. She certainly sounded very interested when I told her I’d met him and that I, or rather, she, was invited out for dinner tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did come over.’

  Caroline ordered a cappuccino from the waiter and waited until he had left before continuing. ‘But what happens then? You’re already here. She can hardly pitch up and share your room with you. Besides, let’s face it, with two identical girls wandering round, people are going to notice.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. It’s not a problem. If she does come over, I’ll just disappear. There are hundreds of hotels in Venice and it’s the low season for another few days. We’re only staying until Saturday, aren’t we? I shouldn’t have any trouble finding myself a room and I’ve got all that money she gave me. I’ll just check into another hotel, somewhere in the side streets or even at Mestre or somewhere else on the mainland, and keep a low profile. Let’s face it, with this cold weather, I can easily disguise myself with a hat and a scarf and nobody’ll be any the wiser.’

  Caroline still looked concerned. ‘Are you sure? Venice isn’t really that big and, remember, there must be a couple of hundred people from the conference who would recognise your face by now.’

  ‘Yes, but as long as Olivia and I aren’t out and about together, there should be no problem. Besides, Olivia said I really have to visit the far flung islands, so that would get me even further out of the way. No, if she decides to come over, we’ll make it work.’

  ‘So what about you and your pirate man? What on earth’s going on there? The last time you talked about him, you were beginning to wonder whether you’d imagined the whole thing.’

  ‘I still am, Caroline. I really don’t know what to think.’

  The waiter arrived with Caroline’s coffee. Noticing that Penny had finished her fruit salad he removed the plate and glided away. Caroline glanced round at the nearby tables, but most of the other guests that morning appeared to be a group of Chinese tourists and nobody was close enough to overhear anyway. ‘But, assuming he’s a real person, do you think he might be stalking you?’ Caroline sounded concerned.

  ‘That’s what Jimmy said, or at least he wondered if the pirate was following me on purpose because he was in love with me.’

  ‘He’s a real romantic, isn’t he, your Jimmy? But, seriously, Olivia’s a very wealthy girl. If you have the slightest concern that he might be up to no good, we should go to the police.’

  Penny shook her head. ‘No, there’s no need for that, not least as it would be terribly complicated. First, he hasn’t done anything at all yet. And second, we would have to explain that I’m not really who I’m supposed to be. I flew over on my own passport, but you booked me in here at the hotel using Olivia’s passport, didn’t you?’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘Her driving licence, actually. We thought it best to leave Olivia her passport in case she needed to go somewhere. By the sound of it, if she’s considering coming over, that was probably just as well. But, yes, I take your point. Theoretically she wasn’t recorded coming into the country, but she has popped up here in your shoes, so I suppose we could get into trouble for breaking Italian immigration laws.’ She caught Penny’s eye. ‘But you’re sure he’s not a threat?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s nothing sinister. Besides, there’s no way he could have known I was here.’ She gave Caroline a smile. ‘The main thing at the moment is for me just to convince myself that he’s real. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going potty.’

  * * *

  The conference was particularly interesting that Tuesday as a number of scientists were presenting hitherto unpublished data about the shrinking polar ice cap and rising water levels in the Indian Ocean. By the end of the day, a
ny doubts Penny might have had about global warming had been swept away. As she travelled back from the island, she found herself looking at the water level alongside the quays with real concern. There was probably less than half a metre between the surface of the lagoon and the pavement in some places. Indeed, all along the waterfront between the hotel and St Mark’s Square, trestles were stacked up, ready to be put down as walkways the next time the phenomenon known as the acqua alta took place and all that area flooded. Yes, she thought to herself, Venice, in common with so many low-lying parts of the world, was living on borrowed time.

  Back at the hotel she dumped her briefcase and headed straight out to visit the Galleria dell’Accademia, just a little bit further up the Grand Canal. A few stripy-shirted gondoliers looked up hopefully as she emerged, but the waves splashing against the hulls of the sleek black gondolas, coupled with the near freezing conditions, firmly decided her against that as an idea. Gondolas and gondoliers were all very well in her dreams, but the reality was not quite so appealing, at least not in winter. Instead, she jumped onto a vaporetto and let the boat take her up to the gallery, even though it probably wouldn’t have been a long walk. The Accademia was only a few stops along the canal and the vaporetto was just like a regular bus, but the views it afforded were better than any bus she had ever taken. It was about half past four when she got there and she knew she had almost three hours before the place would close. As an artist, what she really loved was to study not only the subject, but the way the painting had been created, feeling a sense of connection, a shared heritage, with artists who had been working here in Venice five hundred years earlier.

  The Accademia itself was a magnificent cream-coloured stone building, situated on a little square, right on the side of the Grand Canal, with stunning views out across the water. But Penny hadn’t come for the views today. She had come for the paintings. She went up the three steps and into the reception area to buy her ticket. There was nobody queuing and she hoped that would mean there wouldn’t be too many other visitors to disturb her as she worked her way through the rooms. She took her time, moving slowly and methodically, admiring and studying the most magnificent collection of paintings from the Middle Ages to the late Renaissance. She saw works by such giants as Bellini, Mantegna, Tintoretto and Titian and she lost all sense of time. Outside, night fell, but she hardly noticed.

  Finally, she stopped in front of one of her all time favourites, seeing it now for the very first time in the flesh. It was Giorgione’s Tempest, a simple-looking landscape with a woman holding a baby on the right, a man standing on the left, a storm brewing in the background. It had been painted right at the beginning of the sixteenth century, over five hundred years ago, and it was exquisite. Clearly, it was also massively valuable as it was securely housed behind a glass screen. She stood in awe in front of it, doing her best to follow the brush strokes of the master with her eyes.

  She had been there for a considerable time when she became vaguely aware of footsteps behind her and then heard a voice at her shoulder. It was a man’s voice and he was speaking Italian.

  ‘The most wonderful painting in the world.’

  Penny smiled. Without turning her head, she allowed herself a comment in Italian. ‘Try telling that to Botticelli.’

  ‘Giorgione eats Botticelli for breakfast. Look at this, the mastery of the artist, the enigma of the subject, the expressions on the faces, the raw sexuality of both the man and the woman. Quite stunning.’

  Penny liked the man’s confidence. It was a masterful painting, but there were too many other contenders in the world for the most wonderful appellation. She turned towards him, ready to tell him that she would place it in her top ten, but couldn’t afford it the ultimate accolade.

  She didn’t even manage to get a single word out. She found herself confronted by a tall man with a mop of dark hair and a piratical beard. She stopped dead in amazement, the old familiar feeling in her knees causing her to reach out and grab a pillar for support. It was him, and he was real.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’ His hand caught her forearm and he steadied her. ‘Here, come and sit down.’ He led her two or three paces to an upholstered bench. She sat down gratefully and he sat down beside her. ‘You looked as if you just saw a ghost.’

  Penny shook her head, more to try to shake some sense into her brain that had suddenly gone numb, than to deny seeing a ghost. Here he was, her mystery man, alive and in the flesh. And he was Italian. She blinked a few times, took a couple of deep breaths and did her best to regain some sort of composure. She cleared her throat, speaking to him in Italian. ‘Thank you, I’m fine. I think I must just have been standing in front of the Tempest for too long. My legs must have gone to sleep.’ In fact there was absolutely no doubt in her mind as to what had happened. It had been him, his appearance, that had made her knees turn to jelly. So did this mean it had really happened at long last? Was this the bolt of lightning? Was this the famous love at first sight that only happened to other people?

  ‘I’m not surprised. I saw you standing there a quarter of an hour ago when I came in, and you were still in the same position when I came past again now.’ He held out his hand. ‘My name’s Federico. My friends call me Rico.’

  Penny had a momentary panic as her befuddled brain refused to decide who she was. In the end, to be on the safe side, she opted for being Olivia, even though she was speaking Italian. ‘Olivia. I’m pleased to meet you. Thanks for your help.’ She shook his hand, but that did nothing to calm her whirling mind. She felt his touch all the way up her arm and across her body. She released him and turned away, taking a few more surreptitious breaths.

  ‘Are you on holiday?’

  She turned back towards him to answer. ‘Um, yes, sort of. And you?’

  ‘No, I live here.’

  ‘What a lovely place to live.’ Well, she thought to herself, that explained why she had seen him here, but it didn’t explain why he had been in London. She decided to do a bit of digging. ‘I live in London. Do you know London?’

  He nodded, his eyes still trained on the Giorgione on the wall in front of them. ‘I pop over every couple of months, when there’s an exhibition I specially want to see.’

  This sounded interesting. ‘Did you go to the Botticelli exhibition at the National Gallery by any chance?’

  ‘You like Botticelli, don’t you?’ He turned towards her and for the first time she noticed his eyes. They were emerald green and they appeared to sparkle as he spoke. ‘And yes, I did. It was amazing to see so many of his works together, side by side. I love comparing different paintings, seeing how his style changed over the years. Do you paint?’

  Penny now was seriously regretting having chosen to be Olivia. If she had just told him her real name, she would be able to tell him the truth about her work and her upcoming exhibition. He was still wearing the same fairly battered looking leather jacket and he probably didn’t have the money for a haircut, so she knew it wasn’t as if he would be able to buy any of her work, but he was obviously very knowledgeable, or at least opinionated, about art and it would have been nice to talk to him about it as equals. As she was in the Olivia role all she could do was to play it down.

  ‘I do a bit. But I know what I like and I really, really love the Tempest, whether it really is the greatest painting ever painted or not.’ She caught his eye and smiled. ‘What about you?’ He smiled back.

  ‘I do a lot more than a bit of painting. I’m afraid I’m a junkie. I spend more time painting than I do sleeping.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ This really was infuriating. She loved talking to fellow artists about their work and now she was only able to talk as an interested outsider, rather than a hands-on, oil-paint-under-the-fingernails, artist. ‘Abstract, photographic, or what?’

  He snorted, presumably at the idea of art that tried to represent scenes with the accuracy of a photograph. ‘Difficult to describe. I suppose I’m going through a fairly abstract period at the momen
t, but there’s no getting away from the inspiration. I’m a Venetian and my paintings are always inspired by this place, one way or another.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, if you’ve finished your study of the painting, maybe I could buy you a drink?’ Then, before she could answer, he made an alternative suggestion. ‘Or, if you haven’t already got plans for this evening, how would you like to join me and some friends for a few drinks and something to eat a bit later on?’ He hastened to explain. ‘It’s a bunch of local artists and we meet up once a month or so in a restaurant not that far from here. You’d be very welcome to join us.’ He smiled. ‘We don’t bite.’

  Penny didn’t hesitate. She owed it to herself to find out more about this man and she knew that she craved his company. There was no doubt about it, what she had seen of him and learnt about him so far was fascinating. She decided to say yes. ‘That sounds really good, thanks. Where and when?’

  ‘How well do you know Venice?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not very well, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Where are you staying? I could call by and pick you up.’

  Penny took another look at him and decided she couldn’t confess to staying at what was just about the best hotel in Venice, if not the whole of Italy. Almost certainly, as an impoverished artist, he wouldn’t have approved. Once again she found herself forced into a little white lie. ‘A little place just near St Mark’s Square. But I can meet you anywhere.’

  He hesitated. ‘Well, how about here? Let’s say we’ll meet in the middle of the bridge just outside here, the Ponte dell’Accademia, at half past eight. All right with you?’

  * * *

  Penny took the water-bus back to the hotel. Although there was space to sit down inside, she stayed out in the cold, quite literally hopping from one leg to the other with excitement. She only stopped when it occurred to her that people might think she was desperate for a pee. Her mind was racing, her heart pounding. He was real. He existed, and she had met him. He had touched her, so there was no way he could be imaginary or some sort of ghost. In fact, if she concentrated hard, she could still feel his touch on her arm from when he had helped her to a seat and then his hand in hers. The succession of magnificent buildings slipped past on either side of the Grand Canal, but she barely noticed them. The only image in her head was Rico and his amazing green eyes.