‘We all have our bereavements,’ the contessa said, ‘but we go on in the midst of them. And they can last a long time.’
She glanced at her bracelet. The sharp-eyed Croy noticed.
‘I was talking with one of your guests,’ Croy said. ‘The woman sitting on the sofa with the young lady. Her name is Giulietta. She said that she had recently lost her sister. And the young woman with her mentioned that she herself had lost a brother. You’re right, Barbara. So many of us have our bereavements.’
‘And you yourself, Maisie?’
‘I’ve had my share,’ the watercolorist said quietly. ‘I think your bracelet is a memento of your husband, Barbara. Am I right?’
‘He gave it to me on our last anniversary. How did you know?’
‘I heard someone talking about the Conte Alvise. “A” for Alvise.’
The contessa nodded.
Urbino stopped a passing waiter. Soon the five of them were enjoying more champagne.
‘Barbara has Giulietta’s dead sister to thank for still having her bracelet,’ Oriana said.
‘What do you mean?’ Croy asked.
‘Her sister found it at Florian’s where she worked. She gave it to a waiter. Claudio Balbi. He returned it to Barbara. He’s in the gondolini race.’
‘Yes, I just heard about him. Lucky for you, Barbara!’ Croy exclaimed. ‘And what an honest woman she was.’
Half an hour later Urbino was part of a small group being lectured to by Rocco Beato’s friend, the man in the goatee. Emilio Ruzzini was an engineer for the city. He was an enthusiast for the controversial movable dikes at the three openings in the Lagoon where the Adriatic entered Venice. They were many years from completion.
Ruzzini, who had large, expressive eyes, sat on a long green leather sofa by the windows to the loggia. Seated beside him were Ausonio and two middle-aged Neapolitan women, relatives of the Conte Alvise. Urbino and Rocco stood a few feet away. They were familiar with what Ruzzini was saying, but they listened politely.
‘The project is called MOSE,’ Ruzzini said. ‘Do you understand? Moses. It stands for Modulo Sperimentale Elettomeccanico. Because of Moses and the flood. Whenever the tide level rises beyond a hundred and ten centimeters, the seventy-eight mobile dikes will be filled with air. They float to the surface.’ He made a rising motion with a hand. ‘The openings are closed. Ecco: No more will Venezia be under water.’
‘Is it necessary to go to such an extreme?’ Ausonio asked.
‘It should have been done decades ago!’ Ruzzini said with exasperation. ‘The government supports it. Every acqua alta destroys the city little by little. We’ve had fifty major floods in the last ten years and we sank more than twenty centimeters in the twentieth century. Twenty centimeters. So much! Even a great building like this one is in danger.’ He looked around the large festive room. ‘The city has no defenses against the sea. It never had.’
‘Emilio likes nothing better than to talk about MOSE,’ Rocco said quietly to Urbino. He was tall and thin with straight brown hair that he wore long. In his loose brown suit and black shirt without a tie he looked very much the professor. ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve had to listen to this. Sometimes I punish him by giving him a lecture on Giotto.’
But he looked at his friend affectionately.
‘Would he be upset if I brought up the cost and the probable ecological damage?’ Urbino asked.
‘Don’t you dare! I’ll suffer for it all the way back to Padua. Why don’t I take you away from temptation? Let’s go over there.’ He indicated the wall opposite them, above which hung the coat of arms of the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini family. ‘And on the way, let’s get one of these.’ He took a glass of champagne from one of the waiters.
‘I’ve had enough for a while, thank you.’
Urbino and Rocco went beneath the coat of arms with its blue and scarlet shield, three doves, and two lions of St. Mark. Not far away Clementina and Giulietta were still sitting on the sofa. They seemed out of place. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea for him to suggest to the contessa that she invite them, and especially so late. But he could keep them under observation and this was a great advantage.
When Giulietta saw Urbino, she waved and gave a bright smile. Clementina was staring in the direction of Maisie Croy, who was examining one of the Da Capo-Zendrini family portraits with two sisters from the Convent of Santa Crispina.
‘I haven’t had champagne this good since my father sold one of his buildings,’ Rocco said. ‘Perla threw a big party.’
‘I hope your father straightened out his problem with the tenant in Padua when he came to see you.’
They both looked over at Romolo and Perla who were alone beside the entrance. Perla kept throwing glances at Oriana and Hollander, who were standing out on the loggia with the contessa, looking over the balustrade at the Grand Canal.
‘Came to see me?’ Rocco said. He looked genuinely surprised. ‘When?’
‘A few weeks ago.’
‘You must be mistaken. I don’t get to see my father as often as I like. You would think we lived in different countries. I haven’t seen him since the beginning of the summer. I was the one who took care of that tenant.’
‘I must have misunderstood.’ Urbino paused. ‘By the way, did you ever meet a young Italian man in Padua? Luca Benigni. He was a student of art history at Ca’ Foscari. He worked on a project on Giotto.’
‘Luca Benigni? No, the name’s not familiar to me. But I come in contact with so many students. I might have met him and not remember. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, I hear he did an excellent project on the Scrovegni Chapel, and I thought your paths might have crossed because of your own work on Giotto.’
‘Well, I am at the Scrovegni Chapel a lot, but I don’t recall any Luca Benigni, either there or at my own university.’
Distant music sounded from the Grand Canal. The contessa came into the salone da hallo.
‘The water parade is arriving at Ca’ Foscari!’ she called out.
Most of the guests went up to the contessa’s large altana. Those who were unwilling or unable to make the climb retired to a small room overlooking the garden where the contessa had installed a large-screen television for the direct transmission of the water cortège and the subsequent races.
The altana had a blue-and-white striped canopy today as a protection against the sun. On top of the canopy a crimson pennant with the golden lion of San Marco waved in the breeze. Banks of deep purple petunias and ivy adorned the wooden structure. From this perch above the Grand Canal, the contessa and her guests took in the spectacle of the water cortège in the distance.
But one of the best views of the parade on this afternoon was not from the contessa’s gaily decorated altana. It was from the second-floor balcony of the Grand Canal palazzo apartment behind whose windows Konrad Zoll had died a month before. All the balconies of the other palaces were crowded, as was the terrace of the Gritti Palace. Boats, filled with onlookers and merchants selling slices of melon, were clustered five and six deep along the banks of the Canalazzo.
But Zoll’s balcony was deserted, the shutters closed.
The lively, colorful procession along the Grand Canal wasn’t for Zoll’s eyes or those of his equally dead companion Luca Benigni.
Accompanied by music, in which drums and trumpets predominated, the procession drifted past the empty balcony.
First came the massive, opulent Bucintoro, the Serenissima, with its gleam of gold, velvet, silk, and jewels – or rather good approximations of them, at least from a distance. Liveried rowers were stationed along the richly decorated, carved bows. Scarlet-clad trumpeters raised their instruments to the walls of the palaces. Uniformed and helmeted guardsmen held lances.
Behind the Bucintoro came the black sandoli of the vigili urbani and a swarm of gondolas rowed by costumed gondoliers. Most of the gondolas carried officials of the Venice municipality, but some of them – and these the ones that received the
most attention – floated men and women in sixteenth-century brocade who enacted the roles of the doge, the dogaressa, Caterina Cornaro, ambassadors, and ministers. With the dignity of the historical personages, they waved and smiled to the people. As the doge passed, many of the Venetian spectators bowed in a traditional gesture of respect for the Venetian Republic that once had been.
Eight-oared bissone – with plumes, allegorical carvings, and gilded chairs – and six-oared balotine, adorned with the omnipresent Lion of San Marco, had their part in the scene. A colorful piece of cloth trailed from the stern of each bissona, symbolizing the connection between Venice and the element that defined the fragile city and – as Ruzzini had said – could end up destroying it.
The most recognizable Venetian boat of all, the gondola, was prominent on the watery boulevard throughout the procession, from start to finish. But these were not black and funereal as they were on normal days, but brightly decorated in the colors and banners of the city’s rowing associations. Brawny, striped-shirted oarsmen moved them down the green waters and called out to the spectators.
The entire cortège was a vision of gilded poops, statue-adorned sterns, flapping doges’ banners and standards, ceremonial umbrellas, bright canopies, brocaded garments, and colored cockades and feathers.
It all formed a picturesque, floating tableau vivant beneath the Tiepolo sky. Thousands of eyes appreciated it, but none from Zoll’s balcony.
For some of the spectators gathered on the contessa’s altana, there was melancholy mixed with their enjoyment, for they observed all this pomp from a distance and heard not the full-bodied notes of the music but something fainter, dying on the air.
From time to time Urbino, standing in a corner of the altana beside the contessa, looked around at the other guests, and on some occasions even studied them more than he did the distant procession. One could understand a lot about a person by observing them when they themselves were preoccupied by observing someone or something else.
Of all those he could see on the crowded altana from where he was standing, Croy seemed the most enthralled, Nick Hollander the most abstracted, and Romolo the angriest. Romolo glared down at the water parade when he wasn’t glowering at Hollander a few feet away next to Oriana.
Perla, who was wedged a little uncomfortably between Romolo and Ausonio, was going through all the motions of enjoying the spectacle. But it was evident to Urbino that she wasn’t at ease.
Ruzzini had managed to gather around him a small group of guests again. They were giving him whatever attention they could spare from the procession. But this time Rocco Beato’s friend wasn’t holding forth about floods and Moses, but about the parade itself. From time to time some of his descriptions and explanations reached Urbino above the music, the cheers, and the conversation of the other guests.
Urbino soon realized that he was being observed himself. But it was by no less a benevolent person than the contessa. She caught his eye, and touched his hand.
She leaned closer and whispered, ‘Those who look on see more of the game than gamesters see.’
After the water parade, most of the guests returned to the salone da ballo for more food and refreshments. Although the first of the races, that of the young people’s pupparini, would be starting shortly, it would turn at the Ca’ Farsetti by the Rialto Bridge and not pass by the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini as the others would.
Although all four races began at the Castello public gardens, where a rope, the spagheto, was stretched across the starting line, and proceeded across the Bacino of St. Mark and into the mouth of the Grand Canal where they moved up the waterway, they took different routes.
All races, however, had their finishing line at the same place. This was the spot Urbino had pointed out to Hollander during their gondola ride. It was between the Ca’ Foscari and the Ca’ Balbi at the volta or great curve of the Grand Canal. There the machina, an elaborately carved and brightly gilded platform with a canopied stage, represented the finishing line. The floating platform, which held dignitaries and VIPs, had four flags attached to it which the first four teams had to grab for their victory. Ceremonies for the winners were held on it.
Terisio and Altieri soon were offering more arias and duets from Caterina Cornaro. Guests were in an even more convivial mood than earlier, having imbibed large quantities of champagne and been stirred by the historical cortège. Some wandered to the room with the television set to see the pupparini race. But the contessa intended to shut the television and close the room during the gondolini competition so that she and her guests wouldn’t know of the placement of the competitors until they reached the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini.
Urbino spent part of the time trying to sort out a disagreement between Vitale, the major-domo, and Pasquale, the contessa’s boatman and chauffeur, that had developed when two guests had decided to leave before the races. This had taken Urbino down to Pasquale’s post on the ground floor.
As he was returning to the salone da ballo, he passed the contessa’s morning room, one of her favorite spots in the house. It was a cozy room that contained some of her most treasured things. The door was partly open. Muffled footsteps sounded within.
‘Barbara?’
He pushed the door open all the way and stepped in.
Maisie Croy was the only occupant. She looked disconcerted.
‘I was looking for the toilet. And then I saw these. I couldn’t resist.’
She indicated a group of watercolors on the wall beside her. They were English landscapes, impressionistic renditions of the Venetian lagoon and the Dolomites, and two small paintings of the Ca’ da Capo-Zendrini and the Palazzo Uccello. They had been done by some of the contessa’s friends who, like Croy, sought out the city as a subject for their skills.
‘Yes, they’re lovely. Let me show you where the toilet is.’
He closed the door to the morning room behind them. After pointing out the correct door to Croy, he returned to the salone da ballo. Terisio and Altieri had finished their concert, and once again, some of the guests were dancing, less gracefully than they had earlier.
He went over to Giulietta, who had returned to the sofa that she had favored most of the afternoon. Clementina was still with her.
‘Signor Urbino,’ Giulietta said, getting up. It was almost as if she wanted to get away from Clementina. ‘Let’s dance again. Please.’
‘Perhaps you would like to dance afterward?’ Urbino said to Clementina.
‘No, thank you. I prefer to watch,’ she responded in a low voice.
Her eyes looked watery with tears.
After a few minutes of dancing, Urbino brought Giulietta back to the sofa. Her face had suddenly become flushed and then gone pale, and he had felt her becoming slightly limp in his arms. He looked around for Clementina, but didn’t see her anywhere. He called over Perla, who was walking toward the loggia with Hollander.
‘I can take care of her, if you want,’ Perla said. ‘But the woman talking to Rocco is a doctor. Nick, would you go get her?’
Supporting Giulietta between them, Urbino and the doctor – a middle-aged English woman who only reluctantly relinquished her champagne glass – brought her to a small chamber near the ballroom. They made her comfortable on the sofa and drew the drapes, but they left the windows open so that a slight current of air could come into the room.
‘She’ll be fine,’ the doctor said. ‘She became overheated. And the champagne didn’t help. I’ll stay with her for a while. But perhaps someone can relieve me when the women’s race begins. I don’t want to miss it.’
When Urbino informed the contessa about what had happened, she went to check on Giulietta. She returned and said that she was sleeping.
‘I feel a little guilty,’ Urbino said. ‘We were dancing a little too fast perhaps.’
‘She’s in good hands.’
Despite the contessa’s reassurances, Urbino remained concerned, and he checked on Giulietta ten minutes later. He found not only that she was sound
ly sleeping as the contessa had said, but also that the doctor, in a dereliction of her duties and in confirmation of the flowing fountains of champagne, had dropped off to sleep in one of the armchairs.
When he returned to the salone da ballo, he stood watching the scene. Many of the guests were drifting out to the loggia again. After a few minutes of observation, he made a brief tour of the room and the loggia, exchanging quick greetings and smiles. He didn’t stop for any conversation. When he failed to see Clementina Foppa, he asked the contessa if she might have left.
‘I don’t think so. I’m sure she would have said goodbye if she had.’
Soon the mascarete race would pass the house before turning at the buoy at San Stae. Before relieving the doctor, Urbino went down the corridor and looked into some of the rooms, including the morning room. He didn’t find Clementina – or anyone else – in any of them. He then went down the broad staircase to the garden.
He walked through a courtyard of Venetian brick and past statues of chained Turks in Istrian stone. A few steps brought him up to a pebbled path lined with clipped boxwood, laurel hedges, and stone mythological figures. It led toward a pergola with a Roman bath. The pergola, covered in Virginia creeper and English ivy, was the contessa’s and Urbino’s favorite spot in the garden.
The heavy scent of cigarette smoke struck his nostrils. Urbino continued to the pergola. Foppa was in the process of grinding a cigarette beneath her shoe. She started.
‘Oh, I didn’t hear anyone coming.’ She looked down at the crushed cigarette.
‘I didn’t know what to do with it. There’s nowhere to throw it. How is Giulietta?’
‘Sleeping. She should be fine. By the way, I met one of your brother’s professors the other day. She had good things to say about him. She’d like you to give the Department of Art History another copy of his death notice. She’ll post it at the beginning of the new academic year.’
Clementina thanked him with a faint smile.
‘I’ll see that she gets one. I should get back upstairs for the race. Are you coming?’
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