and purposeful, the way she had at Bertie’s party, and in some wonderful way I saw there were two of them now- the public, tailored Claudia at the window and the one only I knew, who’d stepped out of the dummy to crawl into the warmth beside me.
CHAPTER THREE
The library ceiling was as beautiful as Gianni had promised.
“Early sixteenth century,” he said, not a boast, just placing it. “The carving is the best in Venice, I think. Of course today it’s difficult to see.”
The morning had been dismal, and even the long side windows were not much help-the library seemed barely lit. But the ceiling turned the patchy light to its advantage, forcing you to look at it carefully, follow its intricate lines into shadow. Only Venice could have a hospital like this, a converted scuola grande whose facade was crowded with trompe l’oeil and marble panels. The entrance hall was a soaring space with pillars, as damp and gloomy as an old church, filled with the ghosts of shivering consumptives, but beyond it the working hospital was bright and up-to- date with wards and nurses’ stations and X-ray rooms, what you’d see anywhere. And now the old medical library, which Gianni had saved for last, a special finale.
“Not as grand as the Sansovino staircase,” he was saying, “but I think more beautiful. The proportions.”
“It’s wonderful. Is it still used?”
“In theory. In practice, no. Now it’s-a treasure.”
“Locked away,” I said as he closed the door and we started down the stairs.
“Yes. Otherwise-” His voice drifted off in the drafty hall, where families had begun to arrive for visiting hours.
“I feel privileged.”
Gianni accepted this with a nod, then smiled. “Good. And now, are you hungry?”
“I don’t want to take you away from your work.”
“No, no, it’s all arranged. A restaurant very near. We can talk.”
About what, I wondered, but Gianni was all smiles and affability, clearly wanting to please.
“Quite a hospital,” I said, looking at the facade again as we came out.
“Well, the scuola was suppressed-I can’t remember why-and so there was a big public building to use. Not so practical, maybe, for modern times, but in Venice nothing is practical, so you adapt. The facilities are good. And of course it’s pleasant, every day to see it.” He pointed to one of the reliefs. “Saint Mark helping Antinus.”
“Who?”
“A beggar in Alexandria. The series is Saint Mark’s life. But I always think if you didn’t know, it could be a doctor helping the sick. Appropriate, yes? Who knows? Maybe Lombardo had a presentiment that it would be a hospital.” He smiled. “Anyway, it’s an idea.”
“What happened during the war? I mean, was it a military hospital?”
“No. It was never a war zone here. You know, behind the lines it’s a kind of peace. Things keep going. The hospital too. There was always food. In the south, with the fighting, it was different. Terrible shortages. Here at least no one starved, we could manage.” We were crossing a bridge out of the campo, and he indicated the houses on the other side of the canal with their running sores of fallen plaster. “But no paint, no wood, nothing like that. See there? No repairs, not for years. The city is falling apart. Of course the visitors, for them it’s always falling apart, they love the decay. Your mother thinks that. Don’t fix it, it’s all part of the charm. Well, maybe it’s lucky for me she thinks that way. At my age, I’m falling apart too.”
I laughed, the expected response.
“You know we have become good friends,” he said.
I kept walking, not sure how I was meant to answer.
“She has a gift for that, I think. A rare quality. To make people happy. Here we are.”
He turned toward a door. No getting out of it now. But what excuse could I have found?
The restaurant was in the little campo that faced Santa Maria dei Miracoli. In summer there would be tables outside, people writing postcards and looking up at the marble walls. Now it was a poky room with a bar in front and just enough space in back to be intimate without being noisy. Gianni was evidently a regular, known to the waiter.
“You like granchi?” Gianni said to me. “He says it’s the special today.”
“Yes, fine,” I said, toying with my fork, already uncomfortable.
“Wine? I can’t, but if you like-”
“No, water’s fine.”
For a minute or so we watched the waiter pour the mineral water.
“I’m glad we have the chance,” Gianni said, “to meet like this.” Leaning forward, opening.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, steering away. “For the ceiling especially. I never would have seen it otherwise. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask-who are the Montanaris?”
His forehead wrinkled for a second, then cleared. “Ah, in the box. Who are they? They made an impression on you?”
“The other way around. I don’t think they approved. They left early.”
Gianni laughed again. “They always leave early. They come for the interval, to see her friends. The music?” He brushed away the idea with his hand. “Ah, the crabs,” he said, leaning back for the waiter.
“I just wondered who-” I began, but he’d moved on from the Montanaris, speaking before I could finish.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said and then stopped. He sipped some water, hesitant, as if he were putting the words together in his head. “You know I admire your mother very much.”
I waited.
“Very much,” he said again. “We have a love for each other. This seems strange to you, maybe. At your age, I remember, it is impossible to think this happens after-what? Thirty? Forty? To have these feelings. But we do. Sometimes even more so. We can’t be so careless anymore, we know how valuable, to find someone. You’re embarrassed, that I’m talking this way to you?”
“It’s not that.”
“Yes, embarrassed, I think. It’s my English. What I want to say-”
“Look, the point is, you don’t have to say anything. If you and my mother-it’s none of my business.”
“But now, yes. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It is your business now. We want to marry.”
“What?” Blurting it out, as if I hadn’t heard properly.
“Yes, to marry. You’re surprised?”
“But why?” I said, another involuntary response, not even thinking.
“Why? Because we have a love for each other.”
“Yes, but-I mean, why not just go on as you are?” While it lasts.
“You don’t understand my feelings for her. Do you think I have no respect for her position?” Affronted, as if I’d stepped over some cultural divide.
“It hasn’t bothered you up to now.”
He raised his eyebrows, then softened. “That’s what you think-I take advantage. You know, we are not children. Maybe it was-a convenience for both. Now it’s something else.”
“When was all this decided?”
He shrugged. “Some days ago now. You don’t decide all at once.”
“And she didn’t tell me?”
“Don’t be angry with her. I wanted to tell you. She was a little nervous, how to say it. And you know, it’s traditional,” he said, smiling, “for the man to approach the family.”
“You’re asking for my blessing?”
“I’m asking you to be happy for us. It’s important to Grace for you to be happy. It’s important to me too.”
This last was a question. He was looking at me, waiting for me to nod, give some assent.
“When is all this supposed to happen?”
