by Hazel Gaynor
When Madeleine had improved enough for me to leave her on her own, I’d come closer to knowing how I wanted my life, my journey, to continue when I returned home, yet I still hesitated as I prepared to leave the hotel the following morning.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” I asked, fussing with Madeleine’s pillows before I pulled on a pair of cotton gloves. “I don’t have to see Edward today. I’m perfectly happy to stay here.”
“Yes, you do have to see Edward today. I insist. Go, please. I feel much better. It’s bad enough that one of us is cooped up here, there’s no point in both of us missing out. Besides, I know how much you want to see him.”
It was true. I did.
I’d finally told her everything: my reservations about Charles, my confusion over my feelings for Edward, the tangle of emotions I could barely make sense of. She hadn’t teased or mocked or made me feel uncomfortable. She’d listened and offered advice where she could.
“I’ll be back to check on you later,” I said. “Don’t do anything silly.”
Once again, as I waited beside the Rialto Bridge, I found myself drawn to the water, comforted by the gentle motion of the little waves that licked the edge of the wooden struts beneath the bridge. As I watched the world slip by, a conversation I’d had with Violet the previous summer came to mind. We were painting a still life of peonies together, side by side on our lawn chairs, our faces shaded by floppy straw hats.
“You should see Venice one day,” she’d said, out of the blue. “It’s such a wonderful place to fall in love.”
I’d laughed and told her I planned to fall in love with a handsome American, not an Italian. “Tell me about Venice. Is it as beautiful as they say?” I’d asked.
Violet often talked about the past while she painted. The process seemed to unlock some deeply private part of her as her brushstrokes painted her memories onto the canvas in shades of plum and cobalt.
“It’s as if the city carries a sort of magic in the water,” she’d continued. “The reflections make two of everything, so that I always felt it was reminding me we’re not meant to be alone. It’s hard to explain until you’ve experienced it for yourself—and I hope you will, one day.”
Her tears had caught me by surprise.
“Oh, Violet. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She’d brushed the tears from her cheeks and waved my sympathy away. “You didn’t upset me, dear girl. I’m being silly. Time spent lamenting what wasn’t, and was never meant to be, is time wasted. Trust me. I’m an old woman. I know about such things.”
With each day more that I spent in Venice, I was beginning to understand what Violet had meant. Venice was the perfect place to fall in love. It was also a city that was easy to fall in love with. I felt different here, lighter. I felt more sure of myself.
“I hope you’re not planning on taking a swim, too?”
I smiled as Edward’s face joined mine in the rippled reflections.
“Not today,” I replied. “I’ll leave the impromptu swimming in the canals to Madeleine.”
“How is she?”
“Better. Complaining about missing out on all the sightseeing!”
His shoulder brushed against mine as we peered down into the water at our reflections.
“So, your last few days here. It’s a shame your visit was so brief.”
“Yes. It has all gone far too quickly, and so much has happened. I found a grandfather, for a start!” We both laughed at the remark. “You’re lucky to have another few weeks here,” I added.
“What if you could stay?” he asked suddenly. “What if you didn’t have to leave?”
His question caught me by surprise. “There is no ‘what if.’ I can’t stay. We have the final letter to deliver to Violet’s sister in Vienna, and then . . . Well. Then I need to go home.”
Edward turned away from the water and leaned back against the bridge, his face tipped toward the sun. “But if you could live anywhere in the world, make a choice without consequences, wouldn’t Venice be a marvelous place to call home?”
He was beginning to speak in riddles.
“I suppose it would, yes.” A sense of unease crept over me. “You’re not planning to move here are you?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“What does Annabel say?”
He pushed his hands into his pockets. “Annabel doesn’t know. I didn’t know until a few days ago. Besides, she’ll never leave America. She would hate it here, so far away from her family. And she doesn’t like ice cream. Or coffee. And frankly, she’s not much for art, either.”
He offered a tired smile. The strains of his marriage were clear to see in the gray hairs at his temples.
“I can’t imagine ever moving away from New York for good, as lovely as Venice is.” I fussed with my gloves and adjusted my hat. “Do you miss her?” I asked. “Annabel?”
“I miss the old Annabel. I miss the girl I married. The girl I loved, and who I thought loved me back.” He turned to look at me. “You know, she told me recently she’d always had reservations, that she wasn’t sure she should have married me in the first place but was too afraid to do anything about it at the time.”
“Do you wish she had?” I asked. “Done something about it? Called it off?”
“I wish she’d been honest with herself, yes. ’Til death us do part is a very long time, Clara. Too long to be with the wrong person.”
His words struck me so hard, I felt myself sway a little beneath their power. For a moment, we both fell silent.
“Well, this has all turned a bit serious,” he said, offering a smile. “Come on. Let’s forget about all that. How about we paint together in the Piazza San Marco?”
The setting in the Piazza San Marco was perfect, but I struggled to concentrate. My color choices were poor, and my shading was all wrong. Although I loved spending time with Edward, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was betraying Charles, or that Edward was betraying Annabel. We weren’t at liberty to do as we pleased. There were others involved, whether we liked it or not. After a couple of hours, I grew frustrated with my art and anxious to return to Madeleine.
“I should go,” I said, picking up my things, half afraid of what might happen if I stayed any longer and half afraid of preventing it.
“Until tomorrow,” Edward said as we parted, both of us hesitating, unsure of how to say goodbye. “If you have time, that is? I know you plan to meet your grandfather again.”
I nodded. “Tomorrow.”
And suddenly it struck me that perhaps tomorrow was where Edward and I were always meant to meet. A day that would never come around, that was never quite within my grasp.
* * *
AFTER CHECKING ON Madeleine, who was happily playing chess with Daniel and seemed almost disappointed to see me back so soon, I headed out again. I hoped to catch Matthias for an afternoon aperitif.
I was in luck, and found him pottering around the gallery. He was very pleased to see me again. We were instantly comfortable in each other’s company, picking up where we’d left off during our first meeting. The conversation flowed easily, both of us exchanging memories and stories with a sense of urgency, and delighted to discover our shared taste in art. His eyes danced as he spoke, and my heart felt full, even as I considered the dilemma and decisions I faced in the coming days.
I was a little shy asking if he would sit for a portrait, but he was more than happy to oblige.
“It’s for her, isn’t it?” he said as my fingers moved deftly across the page. “For Violet.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “How did you know?”
“Because you’re very like her. And that’s exactly what she would have done.”
“Would you change anything?” I asked as my hand stilled. “If you could go back in time, have another chance?”
He smiled ruefully. “A month with the most lovely creature I’ve ever met? Wouldn’t change a second of it, although I am sorry that it c
aused her family so much pain in the end. And I’m sorry that I haven’t known my daughter or my granddaughters—until now! But Violet met a good man, and I met a wonderful woman, and here we are, back where it all started. Life goes on, my dear girl. We can only ever do what feels right in the moment. There is little to be gained by regret.”
When the portrait was finished, he disappeared into the back room. I listened to him rummaging around as I packed away my pastels, until he eventually emerged with several sheets of paper in his hands.
“For you,” he said, spreading the pages out on the table in front of me. “I will keep one or two. To remember her. But I would like you to have them now.”
The images were all of Violet, and they were so beautiful. Violet caught in a ray of light beside a window. Violet leaning against a striped gondola post. Violet laughing and reclining among tousled bedsheets.
“You drew these?” I asked. “They’re stunning.”
“She made it easy. Violet made everything feel right. That’s how it should be with someone you love, isn’t it?”
His words gave me pause. “Yes. I suppose it is.”
“She had such taste and class, even then, when she was so young,” he said, his eyes fixed on the sketch of Violet laughing.
“She still has taste and class,” I said, with a smile. “You had so much talent,” I added as I admired his techniques.
“Yes, I showed great promise. I often wonder what I might have done with all that talent if I’d stuck with it.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“The war, dear girl. I was dispatched as an official artist to the Front. When I came back . . . well, when you’ve seen the things I saw and put it all on canvas, all the joy had gone from it. I haven’t picked up a paintbrush since.”
“I’m so sorry,” I offered, yet my sympathy didn’t seem nearly enough.
“That’s why I love this little shop and gallery so much. I can still admire the work of others, even if I can’t find any joy in it myself.”
“I would like to have learned from you,” I added.
“And it is never too late to start! Come, let me show you.”
Happy hours passed as Matthias showed me his techniques for capturing light and shading to add depth and immediacy to a piece. He was a patient teacher and I was an eager student. When he grew tired, I took my cue to leave.
“Perhaps you and Madeleine would join me for lunch on Sunday, before you leave?” he said. “We have a big family meal every Sunday afternoon at my son’s home. It’s not far from the city. In Mirano, in the country. We stay until the food and wine runs out, and there is always plenty of both!”
“We would love to join you,” I said, hoping Madeleine would be fully recovered. Madeleine being Madeleine, she would insist on going anyway. “If you’re sure we won’t be intruding?”
He waved his hand. “My daughter-in-law would feed the whole village if we let her! Besides, after all these years I’ve finally met two beautiful granddaughters I didn’t know I had. This will make everything complete. My American and Italian families together! And please, bring along your gentlemen friends: Daniel and, Edward, is it?”
I blushed at the mention of Edward’s name. “Yes. My art tutor. He’s visiting for an exhibition. It’s really quite a coincidence that we’re here at the same time.”
Matthias studied me a moment, then nodded. “Venice is a strange city, Clara. It makes lovers of friends. Like the fogs and the acqua alta, we cannot fight it. Nature, and fate, will find a way.”
As I returned to the hotel, I felt the bittersweet sting of being given this wonderful opportunity to meet the grandfather I didn’t know I had and the knowledge that we would have to leave him, and Venice, far too soon.
Maddie
After over a week stuck indoors, I finally felt well enough to get out of bed and get dressed. I spent my last few days in Venice fitting in as much as I could to make up for lost time. I met Matthias for coffee each morning, both of us relishing the opportunity to pick over the morning’s news together and discuss the issues raised. I visited the museums Clara had already seen, and enjoyed walking with Daniel, who taught me a lot about Venetian architecture and the history of the city. He truly had a passion for his profession, and I found his interest contagious.
When Sunday arrived—our final day in Italy—I hummed happily as I got ready for the Morelli family luncheon in the country. It had been a wonderful trip, outside of the canal incident, and I could see by Clara’s glow she was happy, too. I wondered if she was still unsure of what to do about Charles, and couldn’t help but worry about her. She was far more fragile than I was, more easily hurt. I didn’t know if she had the courage to call things off with Charles, if that was what she decided to do. In the end, I wasn’t sure Edward was the right choice for her, either, and yet, what did I know? I was hardly experienced in the matter of relationships.
Rather than reach for my favorite slacks, I decided on a green shirtwaist dress. It wasn’t overly feminine in silk or a floral print, but it was pretty and had a scalloped collar and ivory buttons, and it brought out the color of my eyes. After so many days of looking a mess while sick, I felt inspired to put on something special to meet our Italian family.
“The dress suits you,” Clara said, and added slyly, “I’m sure Daniel will agree.”
I turned quickly from the mirror. “I don’t care what Daniel thinks. Anyway, I’m sure he won’t notice.”
But to my irritation, I did care what Daniel thought. And I hoped he would notice.
Clara at least had the tact not to tease me as she stood beside me at the mirror and fussed with her hair. She’d decided not to pin it so tightly for a change and to let her chestnut locks fall in waves around her face instead, like a Hollywood movie star. She looked like a drop of sunshine in a yellow silk dress that floated around her legs. Rather than the envy I used to feel when I compared my wild hair and freckles to her elegant beauty, I felt a warm wave of affection.
“You look gorgeous,” I said. “Happy.”
She smiled at the unexpected compliment. “I am happy.”
She’d seemed more self-assured the last couple of days, calmer and more centered. I’d also noticed she’d been painting every day. Her technique seemed to have improved after her impromptu lesson with Matthias and the time she’d spent with Edward.
“Are you ready?” I asked. “Daniel will be here with the car any minute. He’s borrowed a car for the day from a colleague just outside the city.”
I picked up the bouquet of mixed flowers we’d bought as a gift for Matthias’s daughter-in-law, Clara grabbed the small portrait of us both she’d painted for Matthias, and we headed to the lobby.
“Scusi, signorina?” the concierge called from the desk when he saw me. “Miss Madeleine Sommers, there is a telegram for you.”
“For me?” I cast a puzzled glance at Clara and walked to the desk, desperately hoping it wasn’t bad news about Violet.
The telegram was from Jenny, my roommate back home. I’d asked her to open my mail while I was away and to contact me if there was anything important. She knew exactly what that meant: anything from editors or publications to which I’d been submitting. I’d sent a telegram from each hotel to let her know our location, and yet I hadn’t quite believed she would ever need to get in touch.
I read the message quickly.
Maddie,
Gerald McDougal from the New York Herald Tribune sent you a note. The article you sent him is going to be published! Will save several copies for you. Congratulations!
Be safe and see you soon.
Jenny
I shrieked, then quickly covered my mouth with my hand. I felt as if my heart would burst. At last, after one measly article placed over the years, and enough rejections to fill my entire apartment, I was going to be published by a distinguished newspaper.
“What is it?” Clara asked. “Is everything alright at home?”
“Everything’s fi
ne!” I said. “More than fine. I’m going to have an article published—in the New York Herald Tribune! Can you believe it?”
“Oh, Madeleine! That’s wonderful news! I’m so proud of you!” She wrapped me in a fierce embrace and then pulled back, her face shining with happiness for me. “What’s the article about?”
And then it hit me.
My article was about her fiancé’s desire to put profit before people, and the way his company took advantage of the less fortunate. My article was about to change my life for the better, and potentially make hers very difficult.
“What’s all the excitement about?” Daniel asked as he walked over to us.
“Madeleine’s going to have an article published,” Clara explained. “In a real newspaper.”
“I knew you would do it,” he said, his face a picture of genuine delight. “I didn’t have the slightest doubt.”
At that moment Edward arrived, saving me—for now—from the need to explain to Clara what the article was about.
“Thank you, Daniel,” I said sincerely. “For your encouragement.”
“I mean it, Maddie, you deserve this.” His tone was earnest and I felt a rush of pleasure at his faith in me.
Clara called over her shoulder. “We should get going.”
“After you, ladies,” Daniel said, stepping aside as he held the door open. “And you look like a handful of trouble in that dress, Maddie,” he whispered as I walked past.
“Haven’t you learned yet that trouble is what I’m all about, Mr. Miller?”
He laughed and followed me outside.
It was a stunning spring day in late April, warmer than usual, we were told. I could almost feel the hint of early summer in the air as we took our seats in the water taxi.