Overture in Venice

by Hester Rowan

  But this did nothing to lessen his fascination, either for me or for Caterina. To her evident pleasure and my private chagrin – though I applauded his good manners – he concentrated his attention on his hostess.

  We went in to dinner. Candlelight was reflected in the polished surface of the table, white flowers and silver foliage gleamed against the dark wood, cutlery and glasses sparkled. Plates of melon and Parma ham were already set at each place and Caterina was free to converse without distraction with Dr Lang, who sat between us. On the opposite side of the table, Guy was busily exercising on Isabel more charm than I’d realized he possessed. And on my left, despite all my efforts to change the subject to Venice, or gardening, or even Italy’s chances in the World Cup, Vincente insisted on telling me a great deal more than I wished to know about the latest economic crisis.

  Chapter Ten

  My facial muscles had begun to ache with the effort of trying to look intelligently interested when Maria caused a diversion by wheeling in a trolley of covered dishes. The poor girl was red with anxiety and effort, and obviously unwilling to advance very far into the room.

  With a glance, our hostess summoned her extended family: she cleared the first course, Vincente carved spring chicken at a side table, I passed plates, Guy poured wine, we all helped ourselves to baby carrots and infant peas. When we settled again, and Vincente was temporarily silenced by a mouthful of chicken, I seized the opportunity to speak to my other neighbour.

  ‘I believe you’re a geologist, Dr Lang?’

  He turned immediately to give me a dazzling, wrinkle-eyed, sea-blue smile. ‘Why, yes indeed, Miss Lambert – Clare, if you’ll give me the privilege? We’re really here on holiday – my daughter insisted that it was time we saw Venice – but I hope to do a little geological work as well.’

  Isabel looked up with a smile. ‘You wouldn’t believe the hassle there was at every single airport we passed through on account of Daddy’s geological hammer. They were sure he must be a hi-jacker!’

  ‘Did you really need to bring your own hammer with you?’ asked Caterina. ‘Could you not have rented one, like a car?’

  Lang smiled at her benevolently. ‘Essential personal equipment for any geologist, Signora.’ He looked over my head at Vincente. ‘Geology’s not one of your interests, I think you said when we spoke on the telephone, Signor Lombardi?’

  Vincente shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, I am in business.’ For a wan moment I thought that he was about to start his favourite topic of conversation, but then he added unexpectedly: ‘But in free moments, I like to sing.’

  ‘How splendid,’ said Isabel with velvet sincerity. ‘Would you let us listen to you while we’re here?’

  Vincente beamed, inflating his chest. ‘With pleasure, Miss Lang. I will sing for you after dinner.’

  ‘We’d appreciate it,’ her father agreed. ‘But to return, if I may, to the subject of geology. I think that you told us when we met that you aren’t a geologist either, Guido? I mean, I’d like to get it straight. If you’re not, I don’t want to bore you with my enthusiasm – on the other hand if you are, I’d hate to try to tell you what you know already.’

  ‘Oh, I know nothing beyond the basic facts that any architect has to learn,’ said Guy cheerfully. ‘As for the structure of the rocks round here, you told me more about them when I met you in Venice than I’d previously learned in a lifetime.’

  ‘The rocks are especially interesting in Trevalle, I think you said?’ asked Vincente.

  Henry Lang nodded, his face serious. ‘I’ll tell you, Signor, it’s a great tragedy that those valleys are going to be drowned. Geologically speaking it’s – it’s a crime.’

  ‘And humanly speaking too, for the people who live there,’ I intervened, looking hard at Guy. Lang turned to me thoughtfully, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

  ‘Well now, it’s very interesting that you should say that, Clare. You see, it’s because of some of those people that I have the good fortune to be here visiting with you. Frankly I had no idea of the existence of this particular stratum of rock until I was told of it a few months ago by an old friend who’s a distinguished geologist at Munich University – Dr Werner Muller. You may have heard of him?’

  We all looked blank but shook our heads regretfully, trying to indicate that we were aware that by not knowing him we had in some way missed out. Henry Lang drained his glass of wine, Guy poured refills, Caterina tried to persuade at least one of her guests to offer a home to the last of the orphaned carrots and peas.

  ‘You were saying about Trevalle?’ Vincente prompted.

  ‘Ah yes. Dr Muller has been working in the Dolomites for many years and he found these particular rocks only last fall, just before the weather broke. He wrote to me in great excitement. He told me about his find – I won’t bore you with the details, but I can tell you that the structure of some of the rocks in the upper valley is unique – but he wouldn’t tell me the exact location. Naturally enough, he wanted to investigate them himself. He went there again this spring, knowing that the valley was going to be flooded and that this would be his last opportunity. And can you imagine what happened? He couldn’t get anywhere near! Some crazy old man with a rifle started taking pot-shots at him!’

  Guy and I exchanged looks. ‘We can imagine it only too well, can’t we, Clare? We went there today and Giorgio let fly at us too.’

  ‘He shot at you, Guido?’ asked Caterina in amazement. ‘But he was always fond of you – that was why we all hoped that you would be able to reason with him.’

  ‘It was a warning shot, before he recognized me. I’m afraid he’s determined to keep everyone at bay.’

  Vincente gave a gusty sigh. ‘Poor Giorgio. But he will have to go, of course … did you explain to him, Guido?’

  Henry Lang was staring at Guy in consternation. ‘You mean the old man’s still there? I deliberately left my visit as late as possible, to be sure that he’d gone. What do I do now?’

  ‘Daddy,’ Isabel prompted quietly, ‘you haven’t even begun to explain why Dr Muller let you in on his secret.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear. The fact is, of course, that Dr Muller is a scholar and he’d never let a discovery like that be lost for ever just because he couldn’t investigate it himself. He left Europe last month to take up an Associate Professorship at the Geological Institute in Sâo Paulo – and knowing that I was coming to Italy, he generously told me exactly where the valley was. And it was then that I remembered, Signor, that your late father had lived here, and I decided to take the liberty of introducing myself to you. Not that I knew your father at all well, you understand, but I respected him greatly. A brave man.’

  I would have been interested to hear more about Guy’s and Vincente’s father, but as Vincente had explained to me it was a subject that they thought it more tactful not to pursue. The reticence was clearly mutual, because Henry Lang plunged on with hardly a pause.

  ‘Well now. You understand my position, Signor. I want to have the opportunity to investigate those rocks and I shall be forever in your debt – and so will geologists all over the world – if you can explain to the old man what’s at stake and persuade him not to hinder me. Dr Muller says that the rock face that is of particular interest is on the east side of the upper valley – close to the old man’s farm, unfortunately.’

  ‘Oh, but that’s where Pietro’s grave is!’ I exclaimed.

  Henry Lang looked at me with polite puzzlement, and Guy nodded in confirmation. ‘Clare’s right. Giorgio’s son was killed last year by a fall of rock in a cave. The body’s still there.’

  ‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ agreed Lang sympathetically. ‘But I wouldn’t necessarily want to go near that particular point, I’d gladly work further along the rock face. Look, I’d talk the old man round myself, if only I could speak your language. As it is, I’ll need to rely on your help, Guido.’

  Vincente looked doubtfully at Guy, who shook his head. ‘Im sorry, but there’d be no poi
nt. I’ve already tried to use what influence I have with Giorgio to persuade him to move, but he’s adamant. And while he’s there, there isn’t a chance that he’d let you approach that particular rock face. They’ve made it into a shrine.’

  ‘But I really don’t want to interfere with their shrine,’ Dr Lang protested. ‘Look, this is a matter of scholarship. That’s of more importance than a grave that he’s got to abandon anyway –’

  ‘Not of more importance to Giorgio,’ said Caterina quietly.

  Isabel looked almost more distressed than her father. ‘But if only you knew how much store Daddy has set on investigating these rocks – surely there’s something you can do to help, Guido? Please!’

  Guy sounded regretful, but firm. ‘Not at Giorgio’s expense, I’m afraid.’

  ‘If it’s a matter of expense –’ Dr Lang offered eagerly, but subsided in embarrassment when his daughter gave him a reproving shake of her head. Vincente looked shocked.

  ‘Is a matter of pride,’ he said. ‘We are sorry not to be able to help you, but Giorgio has lived in the valley all his life, and his family for years before him. Is hard for him to leave. We do not wish to distress him further.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Guy added with quick tact, ‘there’s really no need for you to despair, Dr Lang. As you said, Giorgio has to leave whether he wants to or not. I’m going down to Trevalle tomorrow to make enquiries in the town – there must be plans for moving him out. I know that time’s getting short, but there’s bound to be some period between his going and the official closing of the valley the day after tomorrow. You’ll be able to do some work then.’

  Henry Lang swallowed his disappointment and made a handsome apology.

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you. You must all forgive my impatience, please. It’s just that I’d like as much time there as possible, naturally. There’s so much to do – rock samples to take, photographs, sketches … well, you’ll keep me in touch with what’s decided, Guido?’

  ‘Of course. Here, Caterina, let me do that.’

  Guy collected the empty plates, stacked them on the trolley and wheeled it out of the room. Presently Maria appeared, and with an encouraging nod from Caterina began to serve us with dishes of a deliciously light creamy confection that would obviously do us no good at all in the nicest possible way. It was the first time that Maria had ventured to serve, and she did it with downcast eyes and a heartrending earnestness. As she put my dish in front of me, I looked up at her and smiled.

  ‘Thank you very much, Maria.’

  Perhaps it was a mistake to disturb her concentration. She gave a shy, surprised answering smile, became flustered, hurried to serve Dr Lang. As she bent forward between his chair and mine he – perhaps taking his cue from me – also looked up at her.

  ‘Thank you very much, my dear,’ he said.

  Maria started, the glass dish on its serving plate began to slide; Maria gasped, the dish caught the edge of the table; Maria dropped it and Henry Lang and I were liberally spattered with the deliciously light creamy concoction that was obviously going to do us no good at all.

  Acquaintance with the Lombardi family was proving extraordinarily hard on my clothes, I reflected wryly as I made a hurried change. The dinner party had perforce broken up. Henry Lang had also retreated to his room, Caterina had soothingly led the tearful Maria back to the kitchen and, I hoped, the Italian equivalent of a nice cup of tea. At my last glimpse, Guy had been picking pieces of glass off the dining room floor; I had assumed that Vincente would have taken Isabel to the salotto, and I was surprised when I heard a tap on my door and her voice asking if she might come in.

  ‘Our hostess says to tell you that coffee will be ready in ten minutes,’ Isabel said. ‘She’s fixing it while Guido takes Maria home.’

  ‘Much the best thing for the poor girl,’ I agreed. ‘While you’re here, Isabel, would you be a dear and zip me up the back? Thanks.’

  ‘Such a shame about your dress. Is it badly stained?’

  ‘Oh it’ll clean,’ I said, with more confidence than I felt. ‘What about your father’s suit?’

  She shrugged. ‘That’ll clean too. I guess he must have jogged the girl’s arm or something, so it was his own fault. I’m only sorry that you caught it as well.’

  ‘Oh, it was quite as much my fault, I’m afraid. Maria isn’t used to serving and I knew she was terribly nervous. I must have put her off by speaking to her.’ I surveyed my spoiled dress. ‘I think I’d better get this surplus cream off right away, before it soaks in.’

  ‘Here, let me help. Mmm, Daddy’ll hate having to miss this course. He has a very sweet tooth.’

  Having – with his complete approval – addressed my own father as Jim ever since I turned twenty, I find something unnecessarily ingenuous about grown women who refer to their fathers as Daddy. Isabel Lang managed it, however, with a natural grace that didn’t jar.

  ‘Your father’s had a thoroughly unsuccessful evening, hasn’t he?’ I said as we carefully scraped up the cream. ‘What with this, and his disappointment over getting access to the valley. But honestly, Isabel, if you’d seen how upset the old man was, and how peaceful the valley is, I’m sure you’d understand how reluctant he is to leave it.’

  She nodded. ‘I think I can understand – I’m disappointed for Daddy, that’s all. It would mean so much to him to get a good look at those rocks. Do you know that they form a unique stratum of dolomitized crinoidal limestone?’

  She said it with awe and I tried to look suitably impressed. ‘Do they really?’ I said.

  And then the phoneyness of my response echoed in my own ears; the words she used might as well have been gobbledy-gook for all they meant to me, and it was absurd for me to try to sound as though I understood them.

  I gave her an unaffected grin. ‘Is that good?’ I asked.

  Isabel responded with a warm, surprised chortle. ‘Don’t ask me, honey! It’s what Daddy said about them, but as far as I’m concerned they’re all just dirty old rocks … I didn’t know, though, whether you were interested in geology yourself. Daddy’s hopelessly old-fashioned, you see – he behaves as though he’s never heard that women have been liberated. He asks all the men if they’re geologists, but it didn’t even occur to him to ask you. For all he knows, you might have a Master’s degree!’

  ‘Oh, I’d have spoken out if I had. Actually I work in a library – I’m a specialist in the children’s section. I could tell you a lot about dinosaurs, they’re all the rage at the moment among the ten-year-olds, and even a bit about fossils. But serious geology, no.’

  ‘Good. I’d hate to think that he’d offended you in any way.’

  ‘Not a bit. I think he’s charming.’

  ‘He is, isn’t he? And so is Guido Lombardi. You call him Guy, I notice – I guess he must be partly English.’

  ‘Yes. And it was through an English friend that I met him.’

  Isabel hesitated, on the verge of saying something that she found embarrassing. Her soft brown eyes looked at me with earnest appeal.

  ‘Clare – I hate to ask you right out like this, but well, there’s no one I despise more than a girl who walks right into a situation between a man and another girl and tries to put in a takeover bid. Are you and Guido – I mean Guy –?’

  I rescued her with a laugh. ‘Good heavens, no! We have a mutual friend, that’s all, and I’m waiting here for him to join us.’

  Her eyes brightened with relief. ‘That’s great! I’m so relieved. Frankly, I’d intended to stay in Venice while Daddy looked at his rocks, but when this perfectly charming Italian met us and said that he’d be staying here too, I decided that Venice would keep for a while. And then, when I got here and saw you … well, I’m certainly glad to hear that I don’t have to try to compete any more! But as long as you’re waiting for someone else …?’

  It was kind of her to ask. If I’d even been a little in love with Guy, Isabel’s arrival and his interest in her would have left me desolate.
As it was, I could afford to be generous.

  One doesn’t have to fall for flattery to enjoy it. ‘Feel free,’ I said graciously.

  Chapter Eleven

  After we had drunk our coffee, Vincente announced his intention of singing for us.

  ‘My husband would have wished to be an opera singer,’ Caterina murmured to me as she came to the grand piano near where I sat and began to sort through the music. ‘He tries so hard to be perfect, and I do my best to be patient. He has few victims.’

  Guy overheard and smiled at her affectionately. ‘Victims – or do you mean vices?’ he asked.

  ‘That too,’ replied his sister-in-law with dignity. ‘Now you may take Clare to sit down over by the window so that she does not have to make pretence. When you have offered our guests more wine, that is.’

  I moved to the other end of the long room where light from the open windows spilled on to the flagstones of the terrace and the scent of the roses drifted in to mingle with beeswax, coffee and Henry Lang’s cigar smoke. Guy joined me, bringing the rest of the bottle of wine.

  ‘Two victims is quite enough,’ he said, nodding to where the Langs had established themselves in, as it were, the front row of the stalls. Caterina sat at the piano waiting patiently, her hands poised, while her husband announced a Mozart aria and took a singer’s pose, one small foot advanced, hands clasped delicately in front of him.

  Vincente cleared his throat and filled his lungs. His wife gave him a note, he sang it and coughed again. For a suffocating moment I thought that it was going to be difficult not to laugh; and then Vincente confounded me.

  His voice was beautiful: a light tenor that, to my untrained ear, sounded professional enough for public performance. The pudgy, tedious businessman was transformed, and I watched and listened with unfeigned admiration. I couldn’t understand why his wife and his brother were so unappreciative of his talent until, after the first few lines of the aria, he suddenly stopped dead.