Dreaming of Venice

by Dreaming of Venice (retail) (epub)

  ‘Hi, Penny, how did the interview go?’

  ‘Hi, Caroline, that’s what I’m calling about. They’ve offered me the job and they want me to start in early January. Are you sure that’s okay with you?’

  ‘Of course it is! Oh, Penny, I’m so pleased for you.’

  ‘It’s really a perfect job for me and it’s in such an amazing place. I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘What’s on the programme for the rest of the day? Drink yourself insensible on prosecco, maybe?’

  ‘No, I’m staying sober today. I’m off to the islands and I want to appreciate them and remember them. The prosecco can wait. And please, can you tell Olivia the good news and say that I’ll give her a call this evening?’

  ‘Of course. By the way, you’d do well to phone her before eight because she’s out with Jonathan once more. It sounds as if those two are really hitting it off.’

  Even through her happiness at having got the job, Penny felt a little wave of remorse that everybody around her seemed to be finding love while all she had done so far was to fall in love and then immediately trample all over it. She did her best to rise above such sentiments. ‘I’m really happy for her, and for you, Caroline.’

  Caroline knew her well by now. ‘You’ll find him, Penny. I know you will. But, for now, just celebrate the job. As for your man, things will work out, you’ll see.’

  * * *

  Penny’s head was still filled with conflicting emotions, part joy, part sorrow, when she got on the water-bus bound for Murano. The sky had cleared a bit, but tiny little flakes of freezing snow landed on her cheeks as she stood in the open central section of the boat, determined not to miss anything as they headed out past the isle of the dead. The wind had died down completely and the water had a smooth, almost oily texture as the ferry sliced through it. The lagoon was a grey green colour, quite unlike anything she had seen anywhere else. She took a number of photos, leaning precariously over the side so as to catch the bow-wave, and vowed to incorporate this into a painting some time soon.

  The ferry deposited her on the island of Murano and she went for a longer walk round, to see what it looked like in daylight. It was lunchtime by now and the touts were already at the doors of the restaurants, doing their best to inveigle tourists into their establishments, but Penny already knew where she wanted to go. She made her way back to the same little restaurant where she and Caroline had eaten on the first night and ordered a plate of rabbit stew with polenta. Presumably the rabbits weren’t from the island, as everywhere she looked appeared to be built up and industrialised, but they tasted wonderful.

  After another excellent meal, she visited the amazing Byzantine-style basilica, quite plain on the outside, but wonderfully ornate inside, with a mosaic floor that recalled the floor in her future place of work. From there she went to the other main church, San Pietro Martire, to admire the paintings by such legendary names as Veronese, Bellini and Tintoretto. A friendly local told her that most of the other churches and historic buildings had been destroyed, first by the French, and then the Austrians, who had occupied much of this part of Italy in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The glass business here had totally taken over the island and although she knew that there were some amazing artists working inside the factories, the overall appearance of the island, while still attractive, was more industrial than cultural. She left the island on the ferry to her next port of call, Burano, feeling a little let down with the views, although the rabbit stew had been memorable.

  Burano, on the other hand, was spectacularly different. Where Murano had been industrial, Burano was an artist’s paradise. The houses vied with each other to be the most colourful on the island and the interplay of powerful reds, greens, yellows and blues was stunning. She took numerous photos, knowing that she would come back here again and again during her time in Venice just for the sheer pleasure of walking around this little gem of a place.

  It was while she was taking a photograph of the perilously leaning bell tower that she had an attack of déjà vu. Just before the bell tower was a lace shop and, as she was lining up her shot, a tall man emerged from the shop and set off away from her, down towards the end of the road and the lagoon. He had a wild mass of dark hair and a black leather jacket. It could have been a sequence from one of her dreams. As he glanced to one side, she spotted the beard. She almost squealed with excitement, crammed her phone back in her pocket and set out after him at a run. Had the universe really given her another chance? This time there was no canal between them and she caught up with him well before he reached the gardens at the waterside.

  She ran up behind him and called out breathlessly to him in Italian. ‘Rico? Is it you?’

  The tall figure turned back towards her in surprise and held up his hands, his pale blue eyes looking at her quizzically. ‘Wie bitte? Is there a problem?’

  Penny stopped dead, her face aflame with embarrassment. All she could do was to shake her head and apologise to the German man for troubling him. As he walked off again, she went across to a bench and sat down, giving her racing heart time to recover, while trying her best not to snort with frustration and annoyance at herself.

  While she was sitting there, she got a phone call from her parents in Devon. She had phoned and left a message on their answer phone that morning, after the interview, and now she hastened to give them the good news. Her mother, predictably, was concerned that her little girl was going off to live abroad, while her father, equally predictably, sounded delighted that she had finally got a job that would give her enough money to live on. She confirmed that she would be flying back to London in two days’ time and then she would travel down to spend Christmas with them on Tuesday. Her mother asked about the weather in Venice and then went on to tell Penny that this December had been the wettest in Devon for half a century. Penny looked round at the winter sunlight that was now beginning to break through the clouds and knew that she was going to enjoy herself here and, surely, sooner or later, she would be bound to meet Rico again. The thought cheered her immensely.

  * * *

  Early that evening, Penny phoned Olivia and gave her a rundown of her day, thanking her profusely for putting her onto the gallery job. Olivia sounded delighted for her.

  ‘That’s wonderful and it gives me a perfect excuse to come over to Venice again this winter to see you.’

  ‘I’m really looking forward to it. In fact, I’m going to start looking for accommodation tomorrow. I expect I’ll end up living on the mainland like most people.’

  ‘Well, it’s only a few minutes in on the train and then it can only be a fifteen minute walk down to the gallery. Speaking of which, I imagine you’re planning on going to the inauguration of Jon’s exhibition tomorrow night?’

  ‘Yes, but so are you, aren’t you? We can’t really turn up together, though, can we? To be honest, Olivia, under normal circumstances I’d just stay out of it and let you go, but if I can’t get hold of Rico through the restaurant, that’s going to be my last hope of seeing him again.’

  ‘Of course, you must. But I don’t see why we can’t both go. Jon said it starts at six and he’s going to be tied up with speeches and things for the first hour or so. Why don’t you go along at the start and then drift off an hour later, hopefully arm in arm with your pirate man? Send me a text when you’ve left and I’ll turn up in your place and voila! Nobody will be any the wiser except you, me and Jon.’ She giggled. ‘I’ll warn him that it’ll be you for the first hour. I wouldn’t want him to sweep you into his arms and start kissing you.’

  ‘So it’s reached the sweeping up and snogging stage, has it?’

  ‘Very definitely. A good bit more than snogging, to tell the truth.’

  ‘Well, good for you, girl. And, yes that’s a great solution for tomorrow night if you’re happy with it. I’ll be there from six to seven and I’ll text you as I slink out of the door.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Hang on though, should we maybe wear the same outfits? Peop
le might find it a bit weird if you do a quick change act midway through the event.’

  ‘Of course, you’re right. And, much as I’d rather he did, I’d better tell Jon not to act too affectionate towards either of us, so the curator and any other staff who know you won’t start thinking you’re having an affair with the owner.’

  ‘So, what outfit? A dress presumably, and fairly smart.’ She had been wondering what to wear, caught between trying to stay as casual as Rico always was and, at the same time, wanting to show her new employers that she knew how to dress up smartly for a champagne reception. Now the decision was being made for her and she was secretly rather pleased.

  ‘Well, how about the cream Chanel dress? Did you bring it with you to Venice?’

  Penny smiled. This was the cocktail dress that had so inflamed the desires of Rafe Kingsholme. ‘Yes, it’s in a suitcase in Caroline’s room.’

  ‘I’ll ask her to drop it round to you tomorrow morning. And you’ll need the same shoes as me, too.’ Penny could hear the excitement in her voice. ‘What fun. I always did love dressing up.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, thanks. I’ll look forward to seeing Caroline in the morning. Enjoy yourself with Jonathan tonight.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure I will.’ Olivia’s voice became a bit more serious. ‘And, Penny, I do hope you find your man.’

  So did Penny.

  * * *

  At seven thirty Penny left her hotel, in search of the restaurant where she and Rico had spent that lovely evening. This time she managed to navigate her way there without getting lost and she was delighted to find it open. She went in and took a good look round, but didn’t immediately recognise anybody. A waitress she hadn’t seen before showed her to a table in one corner, from which she could survey the whole scene. A group of men came in and sat at the next table and she felt their eyes on her, but they didn’t interest her. Her luck began to change as an elderly waiter appeared with a menu for her. She immediately recognised him as one of the waiters who had served the group table the other night. She ordered a small carafe of prosecco and waited for him to return to take her order. When he did so, she leant forward and lowered her voice.

  ‘I was here on Tuesday night with a group of friends, artists. We sat at that table over there.’ She saw him nod. ‘I’m trying to get hold of one of the men, his name’s Federico… Rico. Do you know the man I mean, tall, dark hair and a beard?’ Just for an instant she saw what might have been a shifty look on the waiter’s face, but just as quickly it passed and the man shook his head.

  ‘Alas, signorina, I don’t know the man you mean. We often get artists in here. I think I remember the group you were with, but I’m afraid I can’t help you. Now, what can I get you to eat?’

  Having had a hefty lunch, Penny just ordered some of the wonderful San Daniele ham and a salad. The waiter nodded, reached down and poured some of her wine into her glass and then left. Penny watched him go, turning over in her head whether he maybe knew more than he was telling. But, she asked herself, if that was the case, then why was he doing it? Was it just natural Venetian solidarity in the face of yet another tourist? More worryingly, did Rico make a habit of bringing random girls to this place? Was the waiter under instructions not to divulge his identity in case of recriminations? She couldn’t help thinking that it really was a bit strange that Rico hadn’t told her anything at all about himself. Had she just been destined to be another notch on his bedpost and then discarded? It was a distasteful thought.

  Irritably, she tore open a packet of bread sticks and nibbled one for something to do, fighting with her sense of frustration and annoyance. Unless she spotted another familiar face here in the restaurant to ask, she now knew that her only realistic chance of catching up with Rico again would be tomorrow night, if he came to the inauguration of the exhibition for which he had given her the leaflet. If she didn’t see him there, then that would be that. She would be returning to London the following morning.

  Her meal was delicious, although the disappointment of not finding out about Rico and now her other doubts as to his true intentions rather spoiled the overall effect. She didn’t stay long. After finishing her salad, she asked for the bill and left. It was barely nine o'clock, so she went for a walk before returning to her hotel. She managed to get herself to the Rialto Bridge, crossed it and headed round to the west of the Grand Canal, an area that was totally new to her. It was even colder tonight than previous nights and in spite of her woolly gloves, even with her hands tucked in her pockets, her fingers were still frozen. She stopped in a café near the surprisingly large open space of Campo San Polo and ordered a hot chocolate. It wasn’t as good as the one she had had with Jonathan, before her true identity had been revealed to him, but it certainly cost far less. She stood at the counter in the long, narrow bar, listening to a group of Canadian tourists discussing their plans for the next day and gave serious consideration as to what she, herself, was going to do.

  Tomorrow would be Friday, and effectively her last full day in Venice. Most importantly, she needed to find somewhere to live from January. She could always stay in a cheapish pensione at first if necessary, but the sooner she found somewhere the better. She resolved to call in at the gallery the next morning and ask Carla if she knew which agency, website, or local newspaper to consult. Apart from this, she needed to do some shopping for Christmas presents for her family back home in Devon and then she still had a load of galleries to visit. At least, she thought to herself, seeing as she would be back here to start work in less than three weeks, she could always catch up on the ones she missed in January. She made a list in her head of all the places she wanted to go and realised that it was going to be a very full day. And then, of course, in the evening, there would be the opening of the Carstairs Gallery and maybe, just maybe, the chance to see Rico again.

  And if she did see him, she wondered, staring down at the chocolate in her cup as she warmed her hands around it, what would happen? The thing was that there was no guarantee everything would work out fine, even if she did see him again. If he turned out to be a gold-digger, the discovery that she wasn’t after all a millionairess would no doubt hammer the final nail into that particular coffin. If she had just been intended as a casual pick-up and a one-night stand, she knew she no longer wanted just that, even though the idea had had considerable appeal two nights ago. The fact that she couldn’t shake him from her head told her that this was something very different, something unique in her life so far. Grudgingly, she had to admit to herself that it was looking very much like a serious attack of love, at least as far as she was concerned. As for the way he saw it, well, that was the big unknown. There was also the fact that she had lied to him about her identity. Even if his feelings towards her were more than just materialistic or carnal, he might with some justification feel miffed that she hadn’t been straight with him from the outset.

  She signalled to the barman that she would like to pay. As she went back out into the cold, she shivered, but it wasn’t just because of the sub-zero temperature.

  Chapter 21

  There was a knock on Penny’s door next morning. It was Caroline, carrying a bag.

  ‘Here, you have to make sure you’re looking your best for when you see your mystery man tonight.’ She handed it over to Penny, who took it gratefully.

  ‘It’s not when, but if I see my mystery man. Anyway, thanks, Caroline, and do thank Olivia. That’s really nice of you. Come in and tell me how it’s all going with Nick.’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘I can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve just realised it’s Christmas next week and I haven’t done any shopping. I’m hoping to find some shops open now before I head over to the conference. Anyway, things with Nick couldn’t be better. And I summoned up the courage to tell Olivia about me and him yesterday and she sounded very pleased for us.’

  ‘That’s great. And I’m like you about the Christmas shopping business. I’d completely forgotten until yesterday. I’ll maybe see
you in the shops.’

  Penny went straight to the gallery that morning and had a long chat to Carla. She came away with a list of places she could contact about accommodation, fortunately, a number of them online, so she could continue the hunt from the UK over Christmas. She bought a couple of papers and called into three agencies. The upshot of her investigations was that, as expected, the only flat she could hope to rent here in Venice with the funds at her disposal would be minute, without any hope of space to paint. In consequence, she knew she would have to look for somewhere on the mainland. She walked up to the station and took a train to Mestre, a journey of only a matter of minutes, and was relieved to find a number of agencies, all of whom claimed to have accommodation available. Needless to say, as Christmas was only a few days away, their advice was to wait until she came back in January, take temporary accommodation for the first few days, and then look around. Penny accepted their advice.

  She returned to Venice after lunch and managed to buy Christmas presents and see a couple of the exhibitions on her list. It was a very busy day and she hadn't had time for lunch so, as she made her hesitant way through the paved streets in her high heels just before six that evening, en route to the Carstairs Gallery, she stopped for a quick coffee and a croissant in a little bar. The look she got from the barman when she undid her coat was reassuringly admiring, if a little lecherous, and she felt pretty confident that she wasn’t going to look out of place among the great and good of Venetian society who had doubtless been invited to the opening night.

  When she got to the gallery, shortly after six, the event was already in full swing. She was waved in by a smiling Carla who had pinned her hair up and was looking very elegant in a little black dress and heels. Penny was reassured that her decision to dress smartly was the right one. At the top of the stairs, she found Professor Innocenti in a dinner jacket, a carnation in his button hole, welcoming guests to the exhibition. When he spotted Penny he made his way across to greet her. He took both of her hands in his and gave her an admiring look. ‘Good evening, Penny, you look enchanting.’