“Why don’t we have any smells from the kitchen to cheer us up?” she asked.
“Because the wind is from the wrong direction,” I answered.
She picked up the menu and spoke behind it. “Can we go dancing afterwards?”
“Dancing on a Sunday night?”
“Sure, why not?” she replied.
“Not sure anything will be open.”
“Let me ask the waiter.” He came over and they began to talk in Italian, and he seemed happy to help. After they stopped talking the waiter gave me a long hard stare and walked away.
“What did he say?”
“He recommended a place close by; he’s not sure it’s open though, but says it worth a try.”
“Very well.”
We ordered a liter of white wine, which came in a ceramic jug. As the dinner progressed I could feel Viola was becoming quite drunk. I ordered a liter of water to take away the effects of the wine. The conversation at dinner was excruciating, despite my best efforts. All I could think of now was getting to the dance club, where the music would abandon the need for talk.
I could feel the wine and as we went outside I figured that kissing her again might break the dullness of the evening, although I wasn’t very motivated. But when I moved close, she turned away and moved her face away to the side.
“Please don’t, Harry,” she said. “Please don’t kiss me.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “It just doesn’t feel right.”
“But you wanted me to kiss you some hours ago.”
“I know. Forgive me. Perhaps I just feel lightheaded.”
“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” I asked.
“No, let’s just walk for a while and get some water.”
We walked slowly while taking deep breaths of the cold air. I could see she was now very cold so I put my arm around her, and I could feel that she was shaky.
We went inside and I went over to the bar. It was really very hot and the accordion music was pleasant. Someone was playing the banjo.
The music was loud and it was warm. The room was small but long, with an intimate dance floor in the center and candles on the tables. There were perhaps six people in total, all Italian, all young, and all men. We sat down.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Much better, thank you. I think it was the stuffiness of the restaurant but the walk seemed to help.”
“Happy to hear that.”
We were drinking white wine, and Viola sat far from me and I felt a little uncomfortable. I looked around the room. At the next table was the group of Italians. I reached for the wine bottle, but she took it first and she laughed.
We sat in silence and finished the wine. Viola asked if I would like a cocktail and then walked over to the bar. One of the Italians and followed her, then seemed to introduce himself. They started talking. I was expecting Viola to give a glance over once or twice but nothing came. When she eventually came back over she brought with her the young man who was dark and tall and handsome.
“Harry, I want you to meet my new friend,” she said, sounding like a teenager.
I stood up to shake his hand and he introduced himself as Tomasso from Milan. The music was suddenly turned up by the bar man.
“Signore, would you mind if the lady and I have a dance?” Tomasso asked.
“Oh, Tomasso,” Viola jumped in and touched his arm. “You don’t have to ask Harry, we are not together. We are just friends.”
Needed or not, I gave my blessing and followed up with the fact that I would go outside to smoke.
I went to the sidewalk and down the cobbled steps until I hit the main road, where I lit a cigarette and blew it out into the cold night air. I really didn’t want to stay at the club any longer, I thought. Viola was being too strange and I didn’t feel like sitting on my own while I watched her with some younger guy. This was not what I had planned when I decided to come here.
I was suddenly very angry. Somehow they always made me angry. I know they are supposed to be amusing, and you should be tolerant, but I wanted to swing at someone, anyone, anything.
Instead, I walked along the street and had a beer at the café next to the ferry terminal. The beer was not good and I had a worse brandy to take the taste out of my mouth. When I came back there was a crowd on the floor and Viola was with the tall youth, who was dancing with his arms up and, carrying his head on one side, his eyes lifted as he danced. As soon as the music stopped another one of them asked her to dance. She had been taken by them. I knew then that they would all dance with her. They are like that the Italians. I stood by the bar and waited for her to come over.
Viola stopped dancing and went over to where Tomasso was stood. I sighed and then went over to the end of the bar to join them. I said my goodbyes and felt little protest from either.
“Will you take a glass before you leave?” Tomasso asked kindly.
“No thanks, I must go now if I’m going to make the next ferry,” I said, before turning to Viola. “I’ll see you back at the hotel. Will you be okay getting back?”
“Don’t worry Harry, I’m a big girl.”
“Yes, don’t worry, signore, I’ll make sure she is fine,” said Tomasso.
“Very well then. Have a nice evening.”
I took my coat off a hanger on the wall by the door and put it on and walked out and down and onto the main street, past the two main cafés that were still open with tables running out onto the walkway. To hell with her, I thought.
On the dock, the air felt colder than before. There was a strong wind and as I rushed onto the ferry, I ran up the stairs, inside the door and straight toward the electric heater.
When the ferry docked in Menaggio, I walked back through the village and could feel its silence. I could see a stormy night coming over the lake, the darkness had turned gray from the moonlight, and the waves were working hard against the shoreline.
One of the cafés on the square, had closed up and a girl was stacking up the outside tables, and locking them down with cables. I walked quickly along the walkway toward the hotel fighting the cold.
As I got to the room I turned on the light and it felt warm inside. I saw all of Viola’s clothes spread across the bed. To hell with her, I thought again, shoving everything onto a side chair. I lay down on the bed and thought about the night, then looked up at the play of light on the ceiling. It was reflected, in part from the lake. It made strange and steady movements, changing, yet remaining.
When I could find no rest I got up and opened the window. I pulled a chair close and sat down next to the heater under the window, which kept my legs warm as the cold air from the lake rushed my face. I sat for a while like this with a whiskey, watching the moonlight hit the roughness of the lake.
After a while I turned out the gas lamp and undressed by the bed. It felt like so much had happened these last days and there had not been a lot of time to really digest it. I lay awake thinking, my mind jumping around. I couldn’t keep away from it. I thought about Cleo and the murder. Then I tried to just focus and think only about Cleo, which helped, and my mind stopped jumping around. It started to move in smooth waves of warmth, and then, all of a sudden, I cried.
The sound of stones hitting the window startled me awake. I listened and thought I recognized a voice. Half asleep I had been sure it was Cleo. I looked out and saw it was Viola. It was four in the morning. I dressed quickly and went downstairs, to the back of the hotel where she stood at the door, I opened and she bounced in.
“Harry!” she shouted, “Harry, how are you?”
She was swaying around and finally leaning on the wall to steady herself.
“Harry, are you mad that I didn’t come back with you?”
I would have told her to keep her voice down but I knew we were the only guests in the hotel that night.
“Oh, Harry, look at your face, you poor thing.”
“Are you coming
in?” I asked.
“No, Tomasso is waiting around the corner. He wants me to go back to his hotel, but I came to tell you that I’m going back to his hotel and that I’m okay and that I’m with Tomasso. Oh my English.”
“Are you sure? You seem like you should really just go to bed.”
“It’s fine, Harry. I’m a big girl.”
“Okay, where’s he staying?” I asked, and upon hearing myself, realized I sounded more like a concerned father.
“At the Hotel du Lac. You remember the place, Harry, we walked past it.”
“Yes, I know it.”
“Please don’t think bad of me or make me feel drunker than I am,” she said, looking at me and taking my hand. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have kissed today.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Please don’t look at me like that, Harry. Can we meet for breakfast in the morning at nine o’clock, no wait, ten?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s make it ten-thirty,” she said, correcting herself.
“Good night, Viola,” I said with disappointment and watched as she walked out the door. I shivered from the cold air.
I went back upstairs and from the open window watched Viola walk to meet Tomasso under the arc of the light in front of the hotel. I turned around and poured another whiskey, flicking off the light but continuing to sit by the window. I felt like hell. How is it that things are much easier to deal with in the light of day, but at night it’s when things really set in.
CHAPTER X
THE TERRACE OF THE HOTEL DU LAC was on the main square of the town and the sun was hitting it perfectly. I felt warm and happy to be enjoying this moment on my own. I read the international papers and smoked a cigarette.
“Good morning, Harry,” he said, speaking my name in a heavily Italian accent.
“Tomasso, how are you?” I said in a mundane and uninterested manor.
“Fine. It’s a beautiful day no?” he said.
“Will Viola be joining us?”
“Oh yes, she will be down shortly. She’s just putting her face on. Can you say that in English?” he asked.
“Not really, but I get what you mean,” he sat back and rubbed his eyes and tried to signal the waiter.
“Viola tells me you’re a writer,” he said. “How is the writing going?”
“It’s not going for the moment,” I replied.
“Oh, that happens to everyone.”
“What do you know of it?” I asked, stiffening at his opinion.
“I studied literature at the University of Milan,” he said, feeling my coldness.
We sat in silence and he ordered a croissant and an espresso.
I suppose he was nice to look at. I could see why Viola was attracted to him. He seemed to have a good body, and he kept it in shape. He had a funny sort of undergraduate quality about him along with a boyish cheerfulness.
When it came he shoved the croissant down without even taking a breath and spoke with his mouth full.
“Viola is a lovely girl. Don’t you think so Harry?”
“She is,” I said. Lovely, though, was not a word I would use to describe Viola, but perhaps she was different in her native language than in English. Maybe that was our problem.
“There’s a certain quality about her,” he said. “I’m sad I must leave today.”
It was at this point that Viola came out. She was looking well and fresh.
“Buongiorno, chaps,” she said brightly.
“Good morning, Viola,” I replied.
She sat down next to Tomasso and rested her hand on his leg.
“Sorry for waking you last night, Harry, I feel awful about it.”
“Not to worry, I was happy to know you got back safe. Did you have a nice evening?”
“We did, although I have a terrible headache this morning. Too much drink.” She pinched Tomasso’s arm. She looked up, very bright-eyed, trying to talk inconsequentially.
“Tomasso is leaving today,” I announced.
“Soon actually, my friend should be here with the car any minute, and I need to get my bag and check out.”
“Are you sure you can’t spend another night?” Viola asked. “We could all have dinner together.”
“I would like that too but I really have to get back,” I said, but not really explaining why.
“Maybe I’ll come back with you?” Viola said. I watched his face cringe and could almost see the working of his mind as he tried to find a valid excuse.
“I really have an early start in the morning and I must prepare. Work stuff. You understand.”
“You should go with him, Viola. Don’t stay on my account. I’m sure Tomasso can get up early and prepare, no?”
“Not possible, Harry,” he said quite sternly. “Sorry, Viola.”
“Well it doesn’t matter, I promised I would spend some time with Harry anyway. Well, now that matter is settled, what’s for breakfast?”
Tomasso stood up and gulped down his espresso. “It was nice to meet you, Harry. All the best with the writing and hope the face heals up.”
I smiled and shook his hand without saying a word. Viola stood up and gave him a hug and kiss. They exchanged contact details and a brief promise to meet again and then he was gone. I searched Viola’s face for signs of sadness but she was shy with her emotions.
We finished our coffees and walked through the center of Menaggio and up past the shops. I could feel that Viola wanted to bring up last night again but I held her off. The wind was at our backs and it blew Violas hair forward. The wind parted her hair in the back and blew it forward over her face. We looked in the shop windows and she stopped in front of a jewelry shop. There were many good pieced of old jewelry in the shop window and she stood and looked at them and pointed out the best ones.
I went to off to buy the evening papers and sat for a little while in the hotel bar.
I drank a glass of wine slowly, and looked through each of the papers for the last-minute articles that were sometimes put into Italian papers just before they came out. I found nothing more on the murder of Massimo. But then in a small article on the last page of the last newspaper it read:
DEAD BODY IN VENICE. POLICE INITIATE MANHUNT.
I read it rapidly. My Italian was terrible. My name wasn’t mentioned and no new information that I didn’t already know appeared. I let out a sigh and put the papers down and walked slowly up the stairs and back to the room. I lay down on the bed. Volia came in shortly after.
“I’ve been looking for you,” her voice came in with the door.
“Shall we go downstairs and have a drink?” she asked.
“Can we just relax here for a while?” I replied.
“Sure.”
I pulled the chair to the window and looked out onto the dark water. It occurred to me that it was exactly the kind of thing the Italian newspapers loved to write up in their melodramatic journalese. Maybe I should write the inspector and say I had to leave urgently for business reasons. I still had his card. Surly, they would have mentioned that they were searching for an Inglese. But there was no mention. I worried now for my own safety, and physically I felt sick.
She lay down on the bed and I lit a cigarette. She saw me watching and, after a moment, she raised herself up onto her knees then came over and took my cigarette, inhaled deeply and then collapsed back down.
We sat for a moment, then I broke the silence.
“I figured we could go to an Italian restaurant tonight that I read about in one of the hotel guidebooks,” I said. “It’s close by.”
“When we are in Italy, Harry, we just call them restaurants,” she said smiling. “And anyway, I’m too tired to go anywhere on a boat. I could do with an early night to be honest.”
“Me too,” I admitted.
We sat there in silence, waiting for time to pass. I watched the big sky from the window and waited for it to turn from light to dark. In the back of my mind I figured it had been four days since the murder.
<
br /> “What’s the matter?” she asked, noticing a change on my face.
“I was just thinking about a murder that happened some days ago in Venice.” I tried to keep my voice light. “Did you read about it?”
“A friend of mine mentioned it. What do you know of it?” she asked.
“Just what was said in the papers. It sounded pretty gruesome.”
“How so?” she asked.
“The guy was stabbed at first and then had his head crushed on the stone floor. I was up by Campo San Lio at the time.”
“Is that where the murder happened?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anything?”
“Just the police.”
She paused and seemed to reflect and then came over and sat down on the window frame.
“Wouldn’t this be just the perfect setting for a murder,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“This hotel. It’s so old and feels like it could be the setting for a murder,” she said in an ominous tone. “Could be the setting for your next book.”
I looked around at the dark room. “Yeah, I suppose the hotel is a little creepy and I think we are the only guests. It’s definitely old.”
The hotel did have a certain Victorian character and style to it. It was elegant and grand and had a huge ornate staircase decorated with chandeliers. The furniture was shoddy and in need of replacement, but it was comfortable and cheap and most of the rooms had lake views.
“Let’s get ready and head to the restaurant,” I said. “I’m famished.” She looked up at me with very bright eyes and tried to say something, but I said nothing.
By ten-thirty, we were the only people left in the restaurant. The two waiters were standing over against the door. They wanted to go home. The night had been a disaster. We had a lousy dinner and argued throughout over something of no importance. After dinner she mentioned that she wanted to be alone for a while and go for a walk. So I left her outside the restaurant and headed back to the hotel.
I started up the grand stairs as the concierge saw me arrive from his office. He caught my eye and when I stopped he came out. I had seen him before and I was pretty sure he was the proprietor. He had a large stomach and gray mustache. He wore a white shirt that was tucked tightly into his bulging stomach and a waistcoat with a gold watch chain hanging down.
In Another Country, and Besides Page 7
