The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

Through squares, along calles so narrow that she could touch both sides at once, and over tiny bridges, they finally reached the huge piazza. At one end was the glorious cathedral. On the other three sides were elegant arches, behind which were commercial establishments. One of these was Pietro’s headquarters, a place where trips and hotels could be booked and various necessities hired.

‘I’ll introduce you to Mario,’ Pietro said. ‘He’s a brilliant manager, although a little too meek for this violent city.’

‘Violent?’ Ruth queried. ‘But surely it’s a gentle, peaceful place. That’s why they call it La Serenissima?’

‘La Serenissima is only serene on the surface. Underneath it’s another story, sometimes a cruel one.’

She had a partial demonstration as soon as they entered, and she saw Mario, a young man with a plump, amiable face and an air of innocence. He was trying to cope with a middle-aged woman who was talking loudly and furiously.

‘It’s no excuse to say that they’re booked up-’

‘But, signora,’ Mario pleaded, ‘if that trip has no spaces left for that date, what can I do? Perhaps the next day-’

‘I want that day!’ she snapped.

Mario looked frazzled.

‘Excuse me,’ Pietro murmured.

In seconds he had the matter under control, convincing the lady politely but firmly that tantrums would get her nowhere. He even managed to persuade her to book for the following day. Mario watched, almost with tears in his eyes.

When the woman had gone, Pietro introduced the two of them.

‘Padrone, I’m so sorry,’ Mario started to say.

‘Forget it,’ Pietro said kindly. ‘Nature just didn’t design you to be a forceful man.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Mario said, crestfallen.

‘But in every other way you’re an excellent manager, so let this matter go. How’s business apart from ill- tempered ladies?’

‘Doing well,’ Mario hastened to tell him. ‘There’s hardly a hotel room left.’

‘I thought everything was empty in January,’ Ruth said.

‘It’s empty now, but in four weeks we start Carnival,’ Pietro told her. ‘And nobody wants to miss that. For eleven days the city will be packed. Everyone will eat too much, drink too much, and enjoy themselves in any way they please-also too much. But that’s all right, they wear masks, so they get away with it.’

The rear of the shop was taken up with the hire department. There were printed catalogues, and large screens on which costumes could be projected.

But the real thing was also there, masks and outrageous costumes, all glowing with life and colour; brilliant reds and blues, vibrant greens and yellows, glittering with sequins and tinsel.

Mario, who had followed her while Pietro glanced through the books, began to show them off.

‘These will be hired for the street parties,’ he explained. ‘For the big indoor occasions everyone will be much grander.’

He held one of the masks before his face. It was fierce and sexy in a slightly satanic way, and it transformed him into a man many women would find intriguing. Then he removed it and became gentle, sweet-natured Mario again.

‘Ah, well,’ he sighed. ‘I can dream, can’t I? That’s what Carnival is for.’

‘Perhaps your dream will come true,’ she said, liking him.

‘No, signorina. I dream of the lady who won’t be disappointed when she sees the real me. If only I could keep this mask on for ever.’

‘You might not like that as much as you think,’ she mused. ‘In the long run it’s best to be yourself-whoever that is.’

‘But to be a stranger, even to yourself, can be such a pleasure, especially when you can choose which stranger to be.’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ she murmured, looking through some of the female masks. ‘Being able to choose would make all the difference.’

She began to try them on, starting with one that was made like a cat, and that covered her face completely.

‘This might be a good one to hide behind,’ she mused.

‘But a mask isn’t always to hide behind,’ Pietro said, coming to join them. ‘Sometimes it can reveal what you never knew before about yourself.’

‘That would be the time to beware,’ Ruth said. ‘You wouldn’t know what you were also revealing to other people. They might see you in a way you never dreamed of, and then where would you be?’

‘Among friends,’ Pietro told her softly. ‘And it might be their insight that sets you free.’

Poor Mario looked blankly from one to the other, until rescue came in the form of a customer. Mario hastened to his assistance, but found himself in trouble again. The newcomer was German, speaking no Italian and very little English. Soon there was chaos. Pietro groaned.

‘Don’t worry,’ Ruth told him. ‘This is your lucky day.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you have me,’ she said, and walked away before he could reply.

It took her only a few minutes to sort things out, translating the visitor’s enquiry, then Mario’s response, to the desperate relief of both.

When the satisfied customer had departed, her two companions were loud in their praise.

‘My lucky day indeed!’ Pietro said. ‘Now I remember you said you were a language teacher. And you sold him our most expensive package.’

‘Mario did that. I was just the conduit.’

‘Thank heavens for conduits,’ Mario said fervently, and they all laughed.

‘We do have an assistant who speaks German,’ Mario added, ‘but she’s only part-time, and not here yet.’

‘I think that’s worth a coffee and cream cake,’ Pietro said. ‘Come on.’

They went along the covered passage to the Cafe Florian, its elegant interior still reflecting the style of the eighteenth century, when it had first opened.

‘Did Gino ever bring you here?’ Pietro asked.

‘Oh, yes, he told me about Casanova coming here.’

Pietro suppressed the wry comment that this was just what he would have expected. Casanova, the infamous eighteenth-century lover of a thousand women, a man who’d flirted with the church as a career but also flirted with witchcraft. Imprisoned for debt and devil worship, he’d escaped and travelled Europe, pursued by scandal, finally ending his days as a respectable librarian in an obscure castle in Bohemia.

Like many other young men Gino had passed over the respectable part, and used the rest to his advantage.

‘He said Casanova came to Florian’s because it was the only cafe in Venice that allowed women inside,’ Ruth remembered now.

‘Did he say anything else?’

She nodded. ‘Lots of things. Some of them were just to make me laugh. Some of them-’ She shrugged, with a little sad smile. Then she tensed suddenly. ‘No! No!’

‘What is it?’ he asked urgently.

She was pressing her hands to her forehead, whispering desperately, ‘No!’ while Pietro watched her in concern.

Suddenly she gave an exasperated sigh, and dropped her hands.

‘It’s no good. It’s gone. That happens all the time.’

‘But it doesn’t mean anything. Nobody remembers every detail.’

‘I know. I try to tell myself that everyone goes blank sometimes, even normal people.’

‘Ruth, you’re perfectly normal.’

‘No, I’m not. Normal people don’t go do-lally in the middle of a conversation.’

‘I forbid you to talk like that,’ he said in a tight voice.