by Alex Brown
‘It’s over there.’ Ellis pointed, switching benches so he was sitting next to her now with his left arm casually slung along the panel behind her shoulders. ‘It looks like a celebration of some kind.’ Grace followed the direction of his pointed finger and saw a trio of men standing on a deck on the other side of the water, and then realised the boat was heading towards them.
‘Ah, it’s a birthday party. See there.’ She pointed at a big balloon tied to a metal handrail on a length of red ribbon. ‘How gorgeous, to have your birthday party somewhere as magical as this.’
‘I’m glad you think so. Happy birthday, Grace.’
She swivelled her head to face him.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, incredulous, before looking again at the musicians, and then upwards to where there was a sign on the brickwork above them. Mario’s Ristorante. Was this what she thought it was? A surprise birthday meal for her?
‘Come on, you’ll see.’ As they came to a halt, Ellis stood up; after heaving her suitcase from the boat, he offered her his hand and helped her over the side and onto the wooden deck at the entrance to the restaurant.
‘I thought you might be hungry after your journey, and this place serves the best pasta in the whole of Venice. Plus Aunty Betty will never forgive me if I don’t make sure you are fed and watered well. She was very insistent that I look after you properly … you know how she is,’ he shrugged and grinned.
‘Sono arrivati,’ one of the musicians yelled over his shoulder, cueing much frenetic arm-waving from an older, plump man with slicked-back thinning hair wearing a white shirt and black trousers who appeared as if from nowhere and came bustling towards them.
‘They’ve arrived,’ Ellis quickly translated in a hushed voice, leaning his head sideways into hers before taking the man’s outstretched hand. ‘Grace, this is Mario, he’s one of my clients.’
‘He means his favourite client!’ Mario boomed in a deep baritone voice with a strong Italian accent as he raised his free hand and slapped Ellis on the back, near winding him with sheer enthusiasm. ‘And his numero uno friend,’ he laughed. Turning to Grace, he said, ‘Benvenuta, signorina,’ and gently took her hand, planted a quick kiss on the back of it and then shrugged dramatically, as if he was in an opera playing Romeo, with his heart yearning for Juliet on that balcony before adding, ‘Bellissima. Come un bel fiore.’ And then in English, ‘Like a beautiful flower. My life was nothing until this moment,’ his Italian accent making the words sound truly romantic and meaningful. Grace stifled a giggle on seeing Ellis shake his head in mock despair for his friend. Mario then gestured generously with both arms open wide to come on into the restaurant before turning and leading the way for them to follow.
‘Sorry about the kiss and all the dramatics,’ Ellis whispered to her as they followed Mario along a dark corridor and through an archway that led into the restaurant. It was full of locals all laughing and talking, while children dashed around giggling and teasing each other … like a big family gathering. So warm and cosy and welcoming. Then, across a terracotta tiled floor, dotted with more people seated at wrought-iron tables covered with all kinds of delicious-looking foods – plump green olives, bruschetta, mozzarella mingled with beef tomatoes, giant pizzas, pasta, meatballs, and lit by candlelight that made the wine glasses twinkle to create a magical ambience. ‘Mario is old-school Italian and hasn’t caught up yet with the modern, politically correct way to greet a woman these days.’
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ Grace assured him, ‘like you said at the airport … when in Rome, and all that,’ she said, attempting a dodgy Italian accent as she shrugged dramatically in the same way Mario had, making them both laugh.
‘Come, only the best for my special guests.’ Mario stopped walking and clicked his fingers. Instantly, a waiter appeared and led them through a small arched doorway and into a private dining room. Grace gasped, for it was truly entrancing. A small enclave, as if chiselled right through the ancient Venetian architecture. The room was made of brick with a ceiling sloping on either side, so low and atmospheric that they both had to duck as they stepped in and walked towards the table set in the middle beside a metal railed opening that looked directly out onto the canal. Tealights flickered on the ground beneath each railing, radiating a rippling golden glow across the water. Grace glided towards the chair that the waiter had slid from underneath the table for her; he flicked open a starched white napkin across her knees as she sat down. Ellis sat down too and, after the waiter and Mario had left, he looked at Grace and said, ‘Welcome to Venice, and happy birthday, Grace,’ before lifting a bottle of prosecco from an ice bucket beside him and pouring a generous measure into a glass flute that he offered her. He then poured some prosecco for himself.
‘Thank you.’ Accepting the glass she took a sip and let the bubbles linger on her tongue before swallowing, thinking how wonderful this was and how kind and generous of Ellis to arrange such a treat for her. Grace felt so touched by his gesture that her eyes smarted momentarily with emotion, for it suddenly hit her that life really could be so sweet … if she could let it be. But she had been so detached since the split from Matthew, with caring for Cora and turning her back on her dancing career, that she really had lost her way and denied herself the sweetness in life. The emotion she felt right now was sorrow for the part of her that had been sad for far too long. She felt sorry for that woman inside her. Pitied her even. It was a cliché, she knew, but life really was too short for regrets as big as the ones Grace already had. Jamie was right, the old Grace needed to come back, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, and as she swallowed another mouthful of prosecco and glanced out across the beautiful Venetian view, she made a mental note to find out about dance classes as soon as she got home. And Grace vowed to find a carer to sit with Cora while she honed her dance skills once more.
She knew that she’d never return to the West End, not at her age when there were younger, more nimble dancers desperate to realise that dream. But feeling energised and alive here in Venice was making her see that it could be possible to inject some fun and passion back into her life once more. Rejuvenation or self-care, they called it. Grace had read about it in a magazine during one of her late-night duty stints, about the importance of taking time out to do the things that made you feel happy and good about yourself. A long hot bubble bath with a good book (chance would be a fine thing). Grace remembered the last time she had tried and Cora had bellowed the very second Grace’s big toe had touched the velvety, warm water. But she could book in for that long overdue haircut and try out the salted caramel smoothie. Maybe some clothes shopping, too. A trip to the cinema. A walk in the park. She used to love sitting in the sunshine in the long grass and just thinking; watching the world go by as she tracked the clouds drifting across a turquoise sky.
‘And here’s to Connie and finding out her truth,’ Ellis added, smiling and tilting his head to one side.
‘Yes, to Connie,’ Grace said, carefully chinking the side of his glass. ‘And to us finding a living relative.’
*
Later, having enjoyed a delicious meal of the finest ravioli stuffed with lobster in a luscious limoncello sauce, followed by the tastiest tiramisu that Grace had ever had the pleasure of eating, they thanked Mario for his hospitality and stepped onto the gondola that he had arranged to take them on to the townhouse.
The Venetian night sky was bright with stars, the breeze warm and the moon was bathing the canal in a silvery beam as Grace sat down on the padded seat next to Ellis in the middle of the magnificent gondola, her suitcase safely stowed at their feet. Looped around her index finger was the ribbon tied to the balloon that was wafting above their heads in the breeze. Ornate lampposts, each with three bell-shaped lights encased in pink glass, gave the view a halcyon feel, making Grace wonder if Connie had also ever been here on a night like tonight. Perhaps Giovanni had brought her to Mario’s Ristorante for pasta and prosecco to celebrate her birthday too. Ellis had explained that Mario’
s father had first opened the restaurant in 1910, so it was entirely possible. And thrilling for Grace to imagine herself walking – or should that be floating – in Connie’s shoes all these decades later. Music drifted in the air, lovers strolled arm in arm along the sides of the canal, laughing and teasing. And it was so calm and peaceful and so very different to London, Grace thought. The gondolier, dressed in traditional dark jeans, striped top and a straw boater, handed them a blanket to slip over their knees and then pushed his oar into the water to steer them majestically on their way.
Soon they were in the Grand Canal and Grace gasped on seeing the famous Rialto Bridge floodlit in twinkly gold lights, people standing on the intricately carved stonework, waving to them as their gondola passed underneath. On they drifted, taking in the atmosphere, the lights, the noises; the sheer ambience was mesmerising, not to mention Ellis’s solid thigh, which was pressed against Grace’s leg underneath the blanket, making her wonder if she should shift along a bit. But there wasn’t really anywhere to go on the narrow gondola and, besides, it felt rather nice. Grace hoped Ellis’s girlfriend wouldn’t mind her taking just one teeny-tiny moment to imagine being here with a boyfriend of her own. Not Phil. Not Matthew. But someone like Ellis. Charming and kind. And who made her feel like the only woman in the world.
And then she saw it.
Grace stopped daydreaming and gasped as the famous Salute came into view. The two marble domes with delicately intricate detailing was there right in front of her, and from the exact same angle as the first painting she had picked up in Connie’s storage unit. And it was breathtaking. And if Ellis’s theory was correct and Connie’s husband, who they now knew to be Giovanni di Donato, was the artist, then he had most definitely been here. And what if Connie had been sitting beside him as he painted? Whispering words of encouragement, with a flask of hot coffee on standby to sustain the talented artist at work. It thrilled Grace to think so as they drifted on past in silence, soaking up the atmosphere and sheer reverence of the place and all its possibilities …
VE Day and the oddest thing happened as I joined the conga in the middle of Trafalgar Square with Bunty and Joyce from the factory. It was such a marvellous feeling to dance and celebrate now that Hitler has surrendered and the war is over. A few minutes earlier, and Giovanni had whooped and lifted me high in the air, swinging me round and round before bringing me back down to earth with a long, lingering kiss, full on the lips in the middle of the street, and I’ve never blushed so much in my entire life. But I really had no need to as Bunty and Joyce were each kissing men in uniform too, and they hadn’t even met them until today.
As everyone in the conga laughed and snaked through the crowds, I kicked my legs out side to side, gripping Joyce’s waist in front of me, and as I looked out into the throng of people all around me, that’s when it happened. I saw my darling Jimmy! Pale and ethereal almost, and with a vacancy in his eyes that I had never seen before. He was standing there and staring directly at me as if he and I were the only people in the world. It was the strangest feeling as my ears blocked out the noise of the crowd and I felt a floating sensation, all dreamy and slow as Jimmy lifted a hand, hesitated, and then turned and walked away. I watched as he faded, just like a ghost drifting back towards heaven.
The sun was dazzling, of course, making my vision filmy, and the streets were so crammed with everyone singing and cheering and waving flags, so I know I was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be Jimmy, as I know that he’s gone, but I definitely saw a chap who looked just like him. Black curls the colour of treacle and green eyes, just like our darling Lara. So much so that it near took the wind right out of me and I stopped up short suddenly, almost making the conga line topple over on top of me. Bunty took the brunt of it, with being behind me, and wasn’t at all pleased on smudging her newly applied red lipstick on the back of my tea dress, and catching her hair on a button, making her victory roll tumble free all over her face in a terrible mess. She looked such a fright that she then had to hastily redo it all in the Lyons Corner House on the Strand, where Joyce’s cousin, Edie, works as a Nippy, and so was able to quickly chivvy her through to the staff room. By the time I had checked on poor Bunty and let Giovanni know where we were headed to, Jimmy’s ghost was nowhere to be seen and I missed my chance to go closer to him. I would have done anything to be near him one more time. I couldn’t sleep last night for dreaming about Jimmy. We were back on the carousel at the fair on Blackheath, only this time our sweet baby Lara was in Jimmy’s arms and his face was a picture as he gazed down at her adoringly. It was around then that I woke up and felt tears on my pillow.
Oh poor Jimmy. I’m so sorry you had to go, my darling, and I know that seeing you was a vision, a mirage of wishful thinking, the celebratory champagne I’d had at the Rainbow Corner club earlier playing games with my head, no doubt. But you gave your life to this dastardly war so it’s only fitting that you should be there on the day we celebrated Hitler’s demise, if only in my imagination and dreams. You will always be my first love, my darling sweetheart, even though Giovanni is my truelove now. Meeting him has made the dark cloud lift and the light in my life come back on, and I know that he will adore Lara as soon as Mother agrees to let me bring her back to London, and it will be safe for her now so there really is no reason for Mother to object.
I will pretend she is my young sister, if that is what it takes to have her close to me without the taint of illegitimacy. I know that Mother has grown very fond of her, and Lara, likewise. I see the bond between them every time I visit the village of Tindledale, and it breaks my heart to know that Lara views me as a doting sister rather than her proper mother. But in time that will change and Giovanni and I will become a family with Lara at the heart of it, with us, here in London, for Giovanni wishes to love Lara as his own and has no desire to return to America and to his disapproving parents. We have that in common, you see, except his downfall – as far as his family is concerned – is his love for art and not for the law; his lawyer father owns a firm in Manhattan in New York, and always envisaged Giovanni would follow in his footsteps. But Giovanni has no desire to practise law and he really is a very talented artist, for I have seen some of his pencil drawings and they are terrific.
‘Bingo!’ Grace clapped her hands together and then swivelled the screen of her laptop around so that Ellis, who was sitting opposite her, could take a look at the page of Connie’s diary entry dated 1945. ‘See this paragraph right here …’ She tapped the screen after jumping up and dashing round to stand next to him.
They had just got back to the townhouse and were sitting around a red metal table on the small balcony off the sitting room, admiring the view, boats and gondolas drifting along the canal, an elderly Venetian woman pegging her washing out on a little line looped between two flower boxes beneath her windows, a baker further along offloading trays of bread and scrumptious-looking cakes from a boat and into the back of a café. Grace was mesmerised by the ordinary, day-to-day life of the people who lived here, and was grateful that they weren’t staying in one of the touristy areas where she might have missed it all. They had also enjoyed lunch in a traditional Venetian cicchetti bar, serving wine known as ombra with small tapas-style plates of meatballs, fried squid, boiled eggs and sardines, with herby tomato stacked bruschetta and slices of bread with baccalà, a creamy cod topping that had tasted delicious. Sitting on high stools at the bar alongside native Italians all chatting enthusiastically and using their hands to articulate, Grace had loved the buzzy, frenetic yet friendly atmosphere. It made her feel alive and like she was properly a part of life once more.
She had also been stunned when she’d first seen inside the Airbnb the previous night. It was actually a Venetian loft, with original wooden beams in the ceilings and Caravaggio-style murals on the walls of every room, and furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in a high-end, five-star hotel. It really was spectacular, and she had sent Betty and Larry a text message to say thank you for choosing such
a sumptuous place for them to stay. Betty had replied saying that Ellis had chosen it having stayed there before, and so of course Grace had then gone off to bed wondering if his girlfriend had been with him on that occasion. She had found out that her name was Jennifer and she had sounded very sophisticated and efficient when she had called Ellis’s mobile when he was in the bathroom last night.
Grace hadn’t been sure if she should take the call when the phone had rung, and had still been deliberating when Ellis had yelled for her to get it, if she wouldn’t mind. And so the woman on the other end of the line had started the conversation with a very breathy, ‘Darling, I’m looking at venues for our engagement party and would love your input …’ at which point Ellis had appeared and taken over the call.
Grace had heard him say, ‘Hi babe,’ as he padded off to the privacy of his bedroom and then, ‘Just work. I’m helping her out for my aunt and uncle.’ And then, ‘Sure, Jennifer, I can’t wait either,’ before promising to check his emails for details of the venues that she was going to email links to, and that he’d take a look and let her know his favourite one. So not only did Ellis have a girlfriend, but she was soon to be his fiancée, and so any flirty fantasy notions Grace might have inside her head must be banished immediately.
She had taken a deep breath and exhaled, as if to eradicate all but totally professional, work-related, searching-for-a-living-relative-for-Connie-type thoughts from her head, then and forever more. And there would be no more silly pondering on how soon-to-be-engaged Ellis’s thigh felt against hers. As Grace Quinn was most definitely not like that. No, she wasn’t a Perky Yoga One. And then, as if the universe had been colluding to reinforce this thought, Grace’s mobile had rung just as she was about to fall asleep and it had been Phil. And he had been absolutely fuming. Grace had never heard so much emotion from Phil, but then he never had been one for saying how he really felt, until last night …
