Rachel Lindsay - Moonlight and Magic

by Rachel Lindsay

  'So it was. Anyway, I'm going to cable Frank to drop the whole thing. It's too embarrassing to have it go on.' He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun, signifying that the conversation was at an end.

  The night before they were due to arrive at Venice Dinky announced that they would not have any special excursions ashore, since he was certain that everyone would rather make their own plans.

  At seven-thirty the next morning Jane was up and dressed, standing on deck as they glided slowly towards the Grand Canal. Ahead lay Venice, one of the most remarkable dues in the world. But not all the articles she had read about it or the descriptions she had heard in any way prepared her for the heart-stirring beauty of age-old buildings rising from olive-green waters. The ship ploughed past innumerable little islands, so small that they appeared to be mere outcrops of rocks on which stood an isolated house or a grove of trees. But gradually the city itself unfolded before her, and Gothic and Renaissance palaces and churches stood outlined against the sky. She was able to catch a glimpse of the church of St. Mark and the Doge's Palace, the latter bordering the Canal itself and appearing so beautiful in the shimmering light that she could hardly believe it was real.

  Promptly at nine-thirty Jane descended the gangplank to the docks and, quickly cleared by the Customs officers, set out on her explorations. Her first necessity was a guide book, and she procured one at the railway station, a huge marble structure resembling a palace. With the book in her hand she made her plan for the day: museums and art galleries in the morning, lunch at one of the small restaurants she had heard so much about and then the Doge's Palace and the Basilica of St. Mark, followed by a walk through the shopping centre. How often she had laughed at the American tourists she had seen plodding through London, guide books in their hands. Now she was doing the same thing, though her desire to explore was heightened by her determination not even to admit to herself that she was upset not to be with Stephen.

  As the hours passed, the streets became more crowded and the Grand Canal as busy a thoroughfare as Regent Street. Hundreds of gondolas glided up and down its length, and the air was broken by the hooters of the water buses as they ploughed their way around the city. Her guide book told her there were one hundred and seventy canals spanned by more than four hundred bridges, and by lunch-time Jane felt as though she had walked over most of them. Footsore, she plodded down one more narrow cobbled street, breathing a sigh of relief as ahead of her she saw a small restaurant from which came the appetizing smell of fish. In the window stood plates heaped with succulent-looking lobsters, golden potato crisps and crunchy, freshly friend scampi that made her mouth water. The little restaurant - in fact, cafe was more appropriate a word - was crammed with people, most of them eating beside a narrow counter that lined the far wall. Hesitantly she entered, wondering whether her smattering of Italian would be enough. But she need not have worried, for the woman behind the counter guessed she was a foreigner and spoke to her immediately in English. Within a moment Jane was led out to the back of the restaurant where half a dozen tables were set against a grey stone wall, shaded from the sun by a gnarled tree. A young boy played a guitar in one corner and sang incomprehensible songs in a plaintive voice, unconcerned that the chattering, hungry people around him did not hear a word.

  Jane eased off her shoes beneath the table and wriggled her toes with relief, enjoying the luxury of simple food beautifully cooked. Only now did she realize how tired she was of the elaborate menus served on board the Cambrian.

  Lunch over, she wandered towards the Piazza San Marco and approaching it from the direction of the Opera House, was given a wonderful view of the church. Had this church been set against the dreariest background it would still have seemed a thing of beauty, but set as it was against a clear blue sky and at the end of one of the most magnificent squares in the world, it was a sight to cause even the most blase travellers to pause in appreciation.

  Jane spent a long time in the church itself, admiring the mosaics on the walls and the interior arches which were covered with rare marbles. The High Altar, with its handworked gold and silver, was one of the chief glories, and she stood for a long while in front of it. Difficult to believe that human hands could have made it, so intricate was its design, so exact its composition.

  When she came out into the bright sunlight, she stood for a moment blinking until her eyes had become accustomed to the glare, and as she paused felt a flutter of wings against her hair. The pigeons of the Piazza San Marco, like the pigeons of Trafalgar Square, gave life and noise to their surroundings, and the constant flutter of wings was like the rustle of leaves, becoming so loud at times it was as though they were moved by a galel Never had she seen so many pigeons - in their thousands, indeed in their hundreds of thousands they swooped and swerved, fluttered and flew around her, coming to rest at her feet where they pecked the ground for a moment before returning to the high arches they had made their home.

  There were so many tourists in the Piazza, mostly American, that it was difficult to spot an Italian, but these could usually be discerned by the nonchalant way they walked past the magnificent shops and never once glanced at the church or the tall, brick-built bell-tower that stood in front of it.

  From the top of this tower one would be able to get an extensive view of the city, and as soon as she had finished her coffee she walked across to it paid her money and was wafted in a lift to the very top.

  For a long time she stood looking down at the houses and palaces, so intent on the panorama that she was unaware of the hands of the clock creeping round to four. There was a faint whirring in the air and then a roar so loud that it vibrated in her eardrums, throbbing and beating and seeming to shatter her very soul. With a gasp of pain she covered her ears, her body reeling as the huge bells above her head clanged back and forth.

  Suddenly firm hands caught her round the waist, steadying her, and she remained leaning in their circle until the last vibration faded away. Only then did she turn and look into Stephen's dark, well-beloved face.

  'Did no one warn you about the bells?' he asked calmly.

  She shook her head, unable to speak, and putting his hand beneath her elbow he guided her to the lift and pressed the button.

  'It's a pretty shattering experience to hear them at such close quarters,' he said. 'And of course if it happens without any warning…'

  'I thought I was going to faint,' she admitted. 'It was silly of me, I know, but—'

  'Some people are more allergic to noise than others. Personally, noise doesn't worry me, though I can't stand a knife grinding on a plate!'

  The lift doors opened and they stepped in.

  'You're the last person I expected to see here,' she murmured. 'I'd have thought you'd have seen the Campanile before.'

  'I have. Many times. But whenever I come to Venice I always like to look at the city again.'

  'It's beautiful, isn't it?'

  'Yes. I prefer it to Rome.'

  The lift doors opened and they walked down the steps and into the Piazza. Stephen hesitated, and Jane knew she should take the initiative and leave, but she could not move, could not bear to go away from him.

  'I'm surprised Colin didn't go up the tower with you,' he said.

  'Why should he?'

  'I wouldn't have let you go alone.'

  'But I am alone. Colin isn't with me - he's at the Lido.'

  She turned and walked swiftly across the Square, head high, eyes blinking rapidly to prevent the falling of the tears that blurred her vision.

  'Jane, wait!'

  Afraid she had imagined her name called, she continued to walk, only stopping as Stephen spoke directly behind her.

  'Let me buy you a coffee,' he said. 'I'm sure you can do with it.'

  He escorted her to a table and a waiter came up to them at once. Stephen gave their order and then leaned back in his chair and looked at her. Happiness rose within her, died away and then rose once more. She and Stephen were together again. Why
question it? Why not accept the pleasure for what it was worth…? But what was it worth? To have him be nice to her for a few moments and then walk away was more than she could bear. At the risk of another rebuff, she must try and talk to him intimately.

  'You've a habit of pairing me off with other men, haven't you?' She marvelled that her voice could sound so calm. 'First it was Rupert and now it's Colin.'

  'You can't blame me. You're a high-spirited girl and I don't suppose you realize how things can be misinterpreted.'

  'I don't see how anyone could misinterpret my having a drink with Rupert,' she said flatly.

  'And what about Colin? How is one supposed to regard a secret engagement?'

  'A secret engagement? I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'I'm sorry if I'm not supposed to know,' he said stiffly, 'but you shouldn't confide in Rupert.'

  'Oh, lord!' Jane said. 'You don't mean you believed what he told you? I made it up! I couldn't bear having him under my feet for the rest of the cruise, so I implied that Colin and I were in love. I'd have used you instead of Colin if you hadn't made it so obvious you couldn't stand the sight of me.'

  He made no comment, and she busied herself with the coffee pot, stirring her cup long after the sugar had dissolved. Behind them a small orchestra played romantic Stauss waltzes and above them pigeons wheeled, dark feathery shapes in the bright sky.

  A couple more fluttered at their feet; a male hopped around a female, puffing out his chest and waving his wings to attract her attention. His efforts came to naught, for she pecked at him and flew away and, after pausing for a few seconds, he strutted over to another female and began to repeat the dance.

  'They never take no for an answer,' Stephen said dryly. 'I guess they haven't any pride.'

  'A good thing too. Pride and jealousy cause far too much unhappiness.'

  'I gather from that,' he said dryly, 'that you think I should emulate the pigeons! Well, maybe you're right I realize I've been behaving stupidly the last few days.'

  She longed to deny what he had said, but the words would not come, for she was so happy to know he wanted to be friends again that she was too moved to speak. Her silence served her in good stead, for he leaned forward and caught her hand.

  'I'm sorry for behaving the way I did, Jane. I've no excuse to make except that I'm not a pigeon!'

  She burst out laughing. 'I never thought you were. A hawk or an eagle, perhaps, but never a pigeon!'

  It was his turn to laugh- "You're such fun to be with. Your father must miss you when you're away.'

  'He does. He's not had an easy life since my mother died and I like to be with him as much as I can.'

  "You're fond of him, aren't you?'

  'Yes.' She did not continue, for she saw a brooding look on his face, a look she had seen many times before.

  'I never had any feelings for my father,' he said unexpectedly. 'He never loved my mother, and I hated him for it!'

  There was so much Jane wanted to say that she did not know how to begin and, afraid lest she say the wrong thing, she chose her words with care.

  'You can't hate a person because they don't love someone, even if that someone was your mother.'

  'I know that now, but when you're a youngster you don't see things in the same way. I didn't understand how anyone could live with my mother and not love her. I didn't understand why my father preferred all those - all those other women. Yet she went on loving him - my mother, I mean - and even now she won't hear a word against him.'

  'How does she excuse him?' Jane asked.

  'She doesn't. You see, she never blamed my father because he didn't love her. From that you'll gather that my mother's a very humble woman - not a bit like me!' He took a cigarette from his case and lit it. 'I could never bear to be in the position she was. From the time I was old enough to understand I vowed I wouldn't allow myself to be hurt, wouldn't allow another person to make my life a torment.'

  'What about your fiancee?'

  'My one mistake. After it was over I vowed I'd never fall in love again.'

  'I don't think you've been in love at all,' she said bluntly. 'And I think that's one of the reasons your engagement ended. I don't know Georgina, so I'm not trying to excuse her, but believe me, if a woman thinks she loves a man more than he loves her, she'll do everything in her power to make him prove her wrong.'

  'By trying to take over his business? Georgina would only have been happy if she could have controlled everything I did.'

  'Maybe she thought it was the only way she could be a part of your life.'

  He was so long answering that she did not think he was going to do so. But eventually he spoke, his voice so low that she had the impression he was speaking more to himself.

  'I wonder if you're right. If you are, it would explain a lot of things… Still, it's over now. What I felt for her is dead.'

  'One day there'll be someone else,' she whispered. 'That's the time you must remember that if you want to be loved you mustn't be afraid of loving.'

  'I'm not afraid.'

  'Of course you are. You've already admitted it. You're afraid of being like your mother!'

  He sighed. 'If two people love one another there should be sufficient understanding to—'

  'Understanding's got nothing to do with love! You can fall in love with someone at first sight, but that doesn't mean you understand them. That takes time, sometimes years. Honestly, Stephen, for a man of thirty-five you talk like a baby.'

  He moved irritably. 'You're only a baby yourself.'

  'It's silly of you to keep bringing up my age,' she retorted. 'It's probably another one of your defence mechanisms. If you say I'm a child often enough you might begin to believe it!'

  'How do you know I don't?'

  "You didn't kiss me as if I were a child.' The words were out before she could stop them and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. As he saw it, his good humour returned.

  You didn't respond like a child either, if I may say so. In fact, very much to the contrary.'

  He crossed his legs and looked intently at his shoe, as though what he was going to say was written on it.

  'When I first met you I thought of you as a child. An amusing one but a child nonetheless. I also thought that your presence would prevent me from having to ward off the attentions of other charming but certainly less childish women.'

  The angry retort that hovered on her lips was never uttered, for he held up his hand.

  'No, Jane, let me finish. After we spent that day in Cannes I revised my opinions. You're years younger than I am, but… there's something about you… You're so wise. So oddly wise.' He looked up, his face disclosing an emotion he had only once before displayed to her. 'We seem to choose our times badly. I wish to hell we were alone!'

  He dropped some coins on the table and stood up. 'I must talk to you tonight After dinner we'll go off by ourselves. Is that all right with you?'

  'Yes,' she said, and gave him her hand. 'Oh, Stephen, yes.'

  For the next few hours Stephen showed Jane the parts of Venice she had not known existed. Tiny museums which, though they did not house the magnificent paintings and relics of the larger ones, nonetheless gave her a more intimate picture of the past. As she stared at frayed, brocade- covered furniture in dusty salons where once young women and men had danced to the flute and the harp, she was able to see a clearer picture of the Venice of the past than she had done when walking through the glittering and well-preserved palazzos. But no matter where they went there was always the dark green water around them, the swish of the paddle and the mournful cry of the gondolier as he swung his boat around the winding canals.

  In the main thoroughfares the chatter of people and the sound of laughter was a constant background, yet in the inner regions of the city there was a magic quiet. It vested the most ordinary things with unexpected beauty, enabling one to slip easily back into the past and to savour it as though it were the present. But even tranquillity had to come to a
n end, and the stars were twinkling in the sky as they glided in a gondola down the Grand Canal back to the bustle and lights of the Danielli Hotel.

  'Will you want to go back to the boat to change?' Stephen asked her.

  'I don't think so. I promised to have a drink with Colin first.'

  'What a pity. I'll be glad to get you back to London, Jane. It's hard getting to know someone in a strange country. You get dazzled by false rumour.'

  'There's nothing very glamorous about me at the moment,' she laughed. 'I haven't had a wash all day and I feel dirty and shiny.'

  'You look lovely,' he said, and leaning forward, kissed her nose.

  'Oh, Stephen, it's so funny, your doing that. I never thought the owner of the Morning Star would—' She stopped, confused, but he only laughed.

  'I never thought I'd be kissing Belton's Bakeries, either!'

  Their gondola swung round to the side entrance of the Danielli and a porter helped her out and up the steps into the lobby. Facing her was a magnificent flowering tree, its cyclamen-coloured blossoms soaring high into the air. Together she and Stephen walked across the marble floor to the bar, and they were at the door when they were hailed by a grey-haired woman in fluttery blue silk.

  'Why, Stephen, what a surprise to see you here! Your mother said you were due in Venice, but she wasn't sure when!'

  'Mrs. Martin! How good to see you.'

  Stephen kissed her on the cheek and as he drew back the woman looked in Jane's direction.

  'I'd like you to meet Janey Belton,' he said smoothly, 'one of my fellow passengers.'

  Jane held out her hand, and Mrs. Martin took it, holding it a fraction longer than necessary.

  'Janey Belton?' She stressed the name. 'Are you related to Cedric Belton?'

  'He's my - my father.'

  'Your father!' Mrs. Martin peered into her bag and fumbled for a handkerchief. At that moment Claire and Colin came in through the main door of the hotel and, seeing them at the other end of the lobby, waved a greeting.

  'I didn't know Claire was on the boat too,' Mrs. Martin said, and greeted the girl with great warmth. It was a warmth fully returned, and Jane could not help waspishly assuming that Mrs. Martin must be rich and well-connected. Claire would not bother with a woman otherwise.