She had almost reached the impressive Gothic arch spanning the street and opening on to the Ponte del Paradiso when her attention was drawn by a brilliantly lit shop window; so bright that it acted as a floodlight on the pavement and its surroundings. On impulse Venetia went in, without even looking at the display in the vitrina.
There was an odd contrast between the dazzling glow of the shop window and the dark room she had just entered, which was laden with the heavy aroma and smoke of incense. This was not the sort of place Venetia was accustomed to visiting and she was about to step out as quickly as she had stepped in when a sing-song voice called out to her in English: ‘You have come to right place, young lady.’
Still on the threshold, Venetia turned round abruptly and in the light thrown into the shop by the vitrina, she saw a sleek black head, a keen, clear ivory-tinted face, two elongated black eyes, and the frail, tremulous figure of a Chineseman.
He wore the dress of his country: a long silk, green gown with a string of large jade beads ending in a twisted yellow tassel, and a small skull-cap covering his head.
‘How did you know I speak English?’ Venetia asked, a little wary.
The narrow eyes were filled with a dreamy sort of kindness. Innumerable deep wrinkles formed in his sallow cheeks, and his face brightened up with a slow smile. The Chineseman bowed with enormous dignity, his hands in his wide sleeves. ‘I have been waiting for you. Don’t be afraid, come and sit down here,’ he said cordially, leading the way into the room.
Although the place was dimly lit by a tiny lamp enshrined in an old stone lantern that stood in a far corner, the light was cunningly contrived and the room glowed softly. There reigned a sense of quiet peace and reverence. On the walls, Venetia could make out embroidered silken panels, woodcuts, and scrolls of fine workmanship done on Chinese parchment. She looked up and saw that the ceiling was entirely painted: on one side, the moon, the sun, and the stars depicting heaven; and on the other, beasts, trees, the sea and strange creatures, which she assumed represented Earth. On a wooden stand near the stone lantern were long, thin red and yellow joss sticks burning incense in a large bronze tray filled with sand; and next to it were two low seats made out of big embroidered cushions, facing each other and divided by a red lacquered squat table. The air was heavy; the woody and spicy fragrance of incense fumes mingling with the acrid scent of opium.
As her eyes got used to the semi-darkness she saw a huge cushion, leaning high against a golden panel, on top of which lay the most enormous coiled-up snake. The creature struck a surreal note in the peaceful room, and Venetia gasped, her hand flying to her throat in fear. She took two steps back.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ said the man softly, with a benign smile. ‘This is Nüwa, the goddess who separated the Heaven from the Earth, creating the Divine Land of China. She is the original ancestor of the Chinese people. She does not harm. On the contrary, she creates and she mends.’
Venetia gave a nervous little laugh. ‘I’m not very fond of snakes!’ That’s the understatement of the year, she thought. She wanted to flee the place, and everything in her rational mind told her that she was foolish even being here; but she had a strange feeling, as if an invisible, singular power were drawing her more and more into the shop, and something deeper than curiosity compelling her to stay.
‘I am Qiqiang Ping Lü, but they call me Ping Lü. Come, sit down. I have been waiting for you.’
‘Waiting for me?’
‘This rain today, it is a good omen. The heavens will speak, and there is so much that is troubling you. Isn’t that so?’
Venetia stared back at the fortune teller, slightly bemused at the truth in his words, but didn’t answer him. Even though it did occur to her that they were part of a clichéd opening phrase that all fortune tellers used, she had never had her fortune told, and had secretly wondered what it would be like. Why not take advantage of the opportunity? She had nothing to lose.
Ping Lü seated himself on one of the great cushions and signalled for Venetia to do the same. On the other side of him, she noticed a large bowl full of natural objects: shells, stones, crystals, and even small cactus plants. Along the top of the wall behind him was a beautiful scroll coloured in gold, black and brown, depicting a serpent with two human heads.
‘This is an old scroll dating back to the Han Dynasty, illustrating Nüwa and Fuxi, her husband, who was the first ruler of the world,’ the old man told her, seeing the interest in her face.
‘It’s beautiful.’
Venetia sat down opposite her host, her eyes straying, despite herself, towards the unpleasant reptile. As the man produced a crystal ball, her attention switched automatically to the glass globe, fascinated. It felt as if the magical sphere reached out to her and caught her up, pulling her into its core. Ping Lü sat very still, eyes shut, apparently in profound meditation.
After a while, that seemed ages to Venetia, he opened his eyes. Reaching out, he took the young woman’s hands and placed them underneath his own over the globe. Venetia felt a kind of warm current pass through her.
‘Concentrate on what you want to know, keep your mind focused on your questions. The more powerful your concentration, the clearer the message will be.’
Venetia tried to obey, but there were so many thoughts fighting for supremacy in her mind, so much hurt that seemed to be suddenly bubbling to the surface, as though all the pain she had suffered these past years had come to a boil.
‘You are not calm. Your heart and your brain are in turmoil. It is hard to hear the whispers of the inner soul in the midst of such turbulence.’
‘I know,’ she whispered as, to her surprise, tears started to roll uncontrollably down her cheeks.
‘Thomas Moore, a poet from your country, said: “The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touched by the thorns.” And we have a similar Chinese proverb: “The rose has thorns only for those who would gather it.” My child, you found love at an early age. You had youth, beauty and love; you were on top of the world, knee-deep in roses… then… the thorns got you, didn’t they? And scratched you badly. But though you may not think it now, they didn’t do you any lasting damage; the wounds are healing now, and you can still appreciate the flowers, yes?’
Venetia took a deep breath. ‘I thought that I was healing, but…’ She shrugged, a look of hopelessness clouding her eyes.
Ping Lü blinked slowly and looked at her, his gaze fixed and pensive. ‘I know, my child. I can see haze, mist and fog surrounding this man your heart has recognised, this renewed passion, the echo of an old love. I can see youth, and courage, even bravado… a dominating personality, but always honest. Misfortune besieged him: betrayal, lies and prejudice assaulted him of old, and now there is nothing left but loneliness and despair surrounding him among the wreckage.’
‘What are his feelings towards me? Will anything come of these few brief moments that we’ve had together?’
‘My dear child, only you can feel such an intimate thing.’
‘How will I know?’
‘If he is the one for you, if your souls have recognised and chosen each other, then there is no limit to the works of Fate to bring you together.’
‘Is there anybody else in his life?’
‘The flesh is weak, my child, and the fog around him is a thick, dark and mystifying curtain.’
Venetia was struggling to understand what she was hearing. ‘What can I do? Is there any hope for us at all?’
‘As long as there is life, there is hope, my child. You must listen to your heart, only to your heart. The stem is long and full of thorns, and there is no shortcut to get to the beautiful flower. Evil forces are at work. I can see jealousy and malice, conflict and chaos. Power abused, and pain, so much pain… But I can also see the stars at the far end of Heaven. After the clouds have passed, they will shine strong and bright in your night
, leading the way. The stars represent hope, perception and revelation. Yes, there is hope for a fresh start…’
The Chineseman lifted his eyebrows and looked properly at Venetia this time. ‘But you must not doubt, and you must not be obstinate if you want peace and harmony to be realised.’
Her heart beating slightly faster, Venetia listened, fascinated, to Ping Lü’s impersonal, sing-song voice that lent an exotic flavour to his words. She felt slightly exulted, knowing suddenly in her heart that all was not lost, that tomorrow may not be as bleak as yesterday, and that she could dream, and her dreams might actually come true.
‘I don’t know why, and it’s absurd because I’ve only met the man a few times… but I seem to have a deep feeling that Paolo and I are made for each other. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it but I’m sure that this feeling is reciprocated. Am I wrong? Have years of celibacy clouded my judgement to the extent that the first real yearning I have felt for a man has made me misinterpret it for love?’
Suddenly Venetia was talking, after years of repressing her thoughts and her feelings, years of holding back words that needed to be said. She was pouring her heart out to this stranger, this placid old man from China, a place she had never been to and knew hardly anything about. All the misery and loss she had been through were being laid out on the table in front of her; and Ping Lü listened quietly, an impassive look on his ivory features, his piercing eyes never leaving her face.
‘The time for grieving has passed for you, my child. Your wounds have almost healed. Your heart is awakening from a fallow period. I can see a change in the direction of your fate. Every situation, however disturbing in its suggestion, has a reverse facet to it. The future may hold promise unimagined today. It is for you to search for that now.’
‘What do I do now? He’s gone, and I haven’t dared look for him.’
‘Believe in Fate. We say in China that what is destined to be yours will always return to you, and when Fate throws a dagger at you, there are only two ways to catch it: by the blade or by the handle.’
‘I don’t understand. What does it mean?’
‘The grief a person goes through causes a change in his perception of himself or his lifestyle, and some sort of adjustment is required to avoid being haunted by the pain. You must choose what to remember from the past, cherish the joys of the present, and prepare for a future – you must look forward, my child. That is the only way.’
Again, Venetia found his placid, dispassionate voice, and his black eyes filled with the unworldly kindliness that had so struck her at first, brought her a sense of calm reassurance. ‘I see, I understand. Thank you. Thank you so much.’ As if by magic her weariness had left her; her heart brimmed with a new anticipation, half scared, half exultant.
Ping Lü rose and crossed to a small cabinet in the far corner of the room. He opened a drawer and came back with a small red silk bag, which he gave to her. ‘This is for you. Open it.’
Venetia pulled apart the two delicate strings ending in tassels and took out a pendant. It was an intricately carved green and white talisman of the part-human, part-serpent goddess, Nüwa.
‘The stone is Jade. In China, we call it Ming Jadeite. There is an ancient Chinese proverb that says, “gold is estimable, but jade is priceless,” and that is because we believe that this stone protects the wearer, and is a status symbol indicating the dignity, grace and morality of the owner.’
‘I will never take it off,’ Venetia promised, clasping the jewel about her neck.
As Ping Lü walked her to the door, Venetia turned to him. ‘At the risk of being indiscreet, may I ask you a question?’
The gentle, scholarly old man smiled. ‘Of course you can.’
‘How come you speak such perfect English?’
‘I left China as a young man. I was lucky enough to win a scholarship to Oxford. I lived for many years in your beautiful country.’ His black, enigmatic eyes dwelled on Venetia’s face and he smiled again. ‘And to answer the second question which you did not dare formulate, I came to Italy after marrying my lovely Venetian wife. We have been blessed with forty years of happiness.’
‘I’m not surprised – there is something very…’ she paused, searching for the word, ‘restful… yes, there is something very restful and serene about you. I can see that, unlike the rest of us, you’re at peace with the world.’
‘My bible is Confucius’s Analects, a series of books put together by his followers which contain his sayings and teachings. He was a great philosopher.’
‘It has been an honour meeting you. You have done me the world of good. Thank you.’ Venetia gave a half smile. ‘I admit, I was almost in despair.’
‘Confucius says: “By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection which is the noblest; second, by imitation, which is the easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.”’
At the door, Venetia thanked Ping Lü again and shook hands with him. As she stepped out into the night she turned and waved.
‘Remember, my dear child, to follow your heart in all things.’
Venetia smiled at him and nodded. The wind had died down, the mist had dispersed and the night was clear and calm. She glanced at her watch; it was already nine o’clock. She hurried towards the vaporetto station, her heart full of dreams and the most wildly impossible schemes. Ping Lü had given her hope; nothing seemed impossible any more. Sober common sense and consideration had just ceased to count, when suddenly it seemed as though mountains could be removed and stars snatched from the sky.
You’re building magic castles in the air, a little voice at the back of her mind whispered, and there are mortgages on castles in the air. You’ve already been bruised by life, the voice continued to nag, do you really want to go there again?
She must not listen to her fears. Fate would see fit to arrange it otherwise – that ‘long arm of Fate’ of which Paolo had spoken when they had met so unexpectedly in Torcello. Ping Lü also talked about Fate. Yes, Fate would arrange everything in the end; her heart told her so. She had converted to its power; the only thing she needed to do now was to believe in her lucky star.
Chapter 4
Fate did not wait long. It happened two days later, on one of those strange ethereal afternoons which sometimes arrive at the end of winter, sunny and windless with a breath of spring in the air, to be grasped and cherished because tomorrow will bring back the bitter winds and cutting sleet. Venetia was sitting in her studio at Bianchi e Lombardi, struggling with a particularly intricate piece of mosaic. Her mind was still cogitating on Ping Lü’s words, as she tried to conjure up some indirect way of finding out Paolo’s whereabouts, when Francesca breezed into the room.
The redhead seemed excited, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘You won’t believe who’s in the building!’
‘Who?’ Venetia asked, without looking up.
‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
Venetia stifled a sigh of irritation. ‘Spare me the suspense, Francesca. I’ve got enough of it in my life at the moment without you adding to it.’ She was battling with a set of tweezers, trying to take out a minute piece of corroded mother-of-pearl, deeply embedded in the tessera that had been brought in that morning.
‘That piece you’ve been fiddling with for hours belongs to il tuo dagli occhi blue, your blue-eyed one. It seems we have a new client.’
Venetia frowned and lifted her face. He was here? For some reason she didn’t want to process what her friend was saying. ‘Who do you mean?’
Francesca waved her hand in exasperation. ‘I can’t believe it’s been out of sight, out of mind. You haven’t mentioned his name since our talk, but I’m sure you’ve been thinking about him.’
Venetia paled, her nerves jangling. ‘Do you mean Paolo?’ she said, putting down her work.
‘In the flesh, my dear, and looking as dashing as eve
r.’ One hand on her hip, Francesca arched an eyebrow, adding: ‘I have to admit, he’s even more striking-looking in daylight than he is under sultry nightclub lighting. He’s with Giovanna and they’re waiting for you in meeting room number five.’
Venetia’s hands flew to her hair ‘Oh dear, how do I look?’
‘You look your usual beautiful self, cara. A little pale perhaps – but we could put that down to the filthy weather we’ve been having the last few days.’ Francesca paused and then flicked up her hand with a defeated gesture, smiling wryly at her friend. ‘Anyhow, I’d better leave you. Giovanna’s ordered coffee, so I think he means business – very welcome at the moment, I must say, as we’re looking for this year’s next big project.’ And with that, Francesca hurried out of the room with a backward wave.
Venetia had been listening to her friend with half an ear, having taken her make-up case from her bag and busily applied some gloss to her lips, before tidying her hair into a ponytail. After Francesca had left the room, she took off the jumpsuit she wore whenever she was doing restoration work and was putting it away when she was aware of a shadow darkening the open doorway. Lifting her head, she drew in a sharp breath.
‘Have you missed me?’ Paolo enquired in his deep, faintly musical voice, a slight smile hovering on his lips. Propping his shoulder against the door jamb, his eyes skimmed Venetia’s exposed slender neck, before moving up to her diamond-shaped face and then down again to her mouth, his black lashes half shading their sparkling depths. He seemed perfectly at ease, as if it was totally acceptable to reappear in her life after weeks of silence, providing no explanation.
Venetia’s heart raced. She was torn between a desire to hit him or throw herself into his arms. Warmth stole into her skin and she realised that she was blushing.
‘Buonasera, Signor Barone.’ Her greeting was a little stiff.
The Echoes of Love Page 10
