'I'm due for a day off,' she told the head waiter, 'and I'd like to take it now. I'm sorry about the short notice-'
'It's OK, we're not too busy,' he said kindly.
She stormed out into the street and began to run in the direction of the Grand Canal. It was an unfamiliar route, but by now she was becoming a Venetian, and managed not to get lost more than once. When she reached the water she boarded a
By studying a map she managed to identify the address Vincenzo had given her in the Fondamenta Soranzo. As she reached the shore she was already working out the rest of the way: down this calle, across that little bridge.
Suppose they weren't there? Suppose his disappearance meant that he'd taken her away? Wherever they had gone, she would find them.
There was the doorway, opposite her on the other side of a small canal. In another moment-
You're a good mother. That's what's holding you back. Not me.
The words seemed to leap out at her from the clear air. Only last night she'd said she would not 'bulldoze' her way in. And now she was doing it.
She watched the house for any sign of movement. Slowly, she began to retreat into the shadows until she turned the corner. Then she ran back the way she'd come and almost jumped into the returning traghetto.
On the other side she jumped out again and headed straight for the nearest art shop. There she spent money in a fury, buying colours, pencils, brushes and pigments. She finished off with a large, canvas artist's bag, stuffed everything into it, and headed for the Palazzo di Montese.
As she came near she crossed her fingers, hoping that she could still get in. There was the little back door. She put her shoulder to it, giving it a push and a shake. It opened.
'Trust you to know how to do it,' she whispered to the unseen friend she still remembered.
Once inside she carefully closed the door and hurried on upstairs. In the upper corridor she stopped and looked up at the ceiling, where there were some frescoes that had taken her attention before. Now that the light was good she could see how really fine they were; also that they needed her attention.
'I should have done this before,' she muttered.
Unlike most of the ceilings in the palazzo, this one wasn't too high, and now she knew where to find a step- ladder. She put it in place and shinned up, but was still not close enough.
A tall, empty bookshelf stood nearby. From the top of the stepladder she managed to scramble onto it. Lying on her back, she had just the view she wanted. The old, familiar excitement began to grow in her as she saw what time had done to the fresco, and knew what she could do to make it right.
So absorbed was she that she failed to hear the faint sounds coming from below. It was Vincenzo's voice that alerted her.
'Careful where you step. Take my hand.'
And then a child's voice, 'It's awfully big, Uncle Vincenzo. Did you and Mamma really used to live here?'
'We did once, when we were children. Did she ever tell you about it?'
'She did sometimes. She promised to bring me here, but Papa heard her and got angry. Why was that?'
'I don't know, cara. He had his own way of seeing things. Perhaps we shouldn't have come.'
'Oh, but you promised. I've been looking forward to it.'
'But it's a gloomy place, for you.'
'It wasn't always gloomy, though, was it?'
'No, my darling. Once it was full of lights and laughter. But that was a long time ago.'
Julia lay on top of the bookcase, unable not to eavesdrop, her heart beating fast at the sound of her daughter's voice. But Vincenzo's voice also caught her attention. There was no harshness in it now. It was gentle and tender as he spoke to the child.
They must just be on the stairs below, and she could hear him very clearly, talking about the old days in this place. Sometimes the little girl laughed, and then he laughed with her. They were delightful together. Julia lay there, high up, listening, torn between sadness and aching delight.
But she couldn't stay here, waiting to be discovered. Slowly she began to inch to the edge of the bookcase, from where she could get to the stepladder.
Nearly there-nearly there-one hand on the ladder- a few more inches-
But the ladder moved as she touched it. Grasping frantically, she somehow lurched back against the bookcase, and the next moment the whole lot came crashing down to the floor, with her underneath.
For a moment she lay still, trapped beneath everything, more winded than hurt.
She heard Vincenzo call, 'Rosa, come back here-' and the next moment the child came flying around the corner.
'Uncle Vincenzo, come quickly.'
He appeared a moment later, frowning at the sight, then exclaiming violently as he recognised her.
'It's the lady from yesterday,' Rosa cried.
'Julia, what the devil? Julia!'
'I'm all right,' she gasped. 'If you could just get this stuff off me-'
Instantly the child reached out tiny hands to the bookcase.
'Get back,' Vincenzo told her sharply. 'You'll hurt yourself.'
When he was sure she was clear he removed the step-ladder, then lifted the bookcase and swung it right away.
'Don't try to get up,' he ordered Julia as she began to move.
'I'm all right,' she said decidedly. 'No bones broken.'
'Your forehead's bleeding,' Rosa said.
She touched it and found the trickle of blood. Then Vincenzo's arms went about her and he was helping her to her feet.
'Can you walk?'
'Yes, of course I-hey.'
He'd lifted her and was carrying her to the room that had been the count's bedroom. Rosa ran ahead and opened the door so that he could go through and lay her on the great bed. He pulled off his jacket and put it under her head as a pillow. Then he sat beside her, glaring.
'If you aren't the most-what the devil were you doing?'
'Looking at your frescoes.'
'Why?'
'It's about time somebody did. It's my job.'
'You have to do it here and now?' he demanded, astounded and exasperated in equal measure. 'No- wait-that can come later. You need a doctor.'
'I just had a little fall and a few bruises. But I could do with something to drink.'
'I'll get you some water from the pump. Rosa, stay with her. Don't let her get up.'
He left the room, and at once the child came to the bed, as though standing guard.
'It's all right,' Julia said. 'I'm not going to run away.'
'Good, because Uncle Vincenzo says you mustn't.'
'Do people always do what Uncle Vincenzo says?'
Rosa considered this seriously. 'Sometimes.'
'Do you?'
She shook her head solemnly. Julia wondered if she was imagining a gleam of mischief in the childish eyes. She would have liked to believe it was there.
'You're the lady I met yesterday, aren't you?'
Julia nodded.
'Why are you here?'
'I'm an art restorer.'
'Is that the same as an artist?'
