Frail Barrier (23 page)

‘I doubt if we're going to hear anything until September.'

‘There's something else I'd like you to do involving Hollander, if you don't mind.'

‘What?' the contessa asked, after hesitating a few moments.

‘I know there isn't much time between now and the regatta, and how busy you are with the preparations,' he began. ‘And you have to entertain Ausonio …'

‘You're building up to something that I don't think I'm going to like.'

‘I'd like you to arrange an outing to Torcello with Hollander. The three of us. In your motorboat. For Tuesday morning, if possible.' Tuesday was the day after tomorrow. ‘And be sure that you include Ausonio. Hollander was in the Capri Regatta last year. They can talk about Capri. Do your absolute best to persuade him. Will you do that?'

The contessa didn't respond right away. When she did, her tone was coolly disapproving.

‘You are trying to get me to be deceptive in some way. No, don't tell me how. But I can sense it.' She paused. ‘If I say I'll do it, it's only because I know it must be important. Yes, I'll ring him. We'll have an outing. I'll even pack a picnic lunch. How's that for cooperation?'

There are few things more enjoyable than a gondola ride on a mild summer evening, especially when it's your own private one and you don't have to worry about the cost of a fifty-minute glide. Although Urbino might have preferred different company, he couldn't have found anyone more appreciative than Nick Hollander was proving to be.

‘It's not the same city seeing it from a gondola,' Hollander said as Gildo's warning
‘Hoi!'
echoed from the buildings around them and the boat turned into the Canalazzo.

Hollander was dressed in a beige linen suit and a white shirt that showed off his tan. He didn't look as fresh and rested as he had looked at the restaurant and the Palazzo Uccello. He was a little haggard, and the lines seemed more prominent on his weather-beaten face. ‘The view from the water is always a different view, but Venice is a special case. The first time I saw it was from the water. I took a boat from Piraeus. Enchanting.'

It was a little past nine o'clock. The cloudless sky above them was a deep, dark purple and sprinkled with stars.

Urbino had said he would bring the gondola to the Gritti Palace, but Hollander had insisted on coming to the Palazzo Uccello on foot.

‘It will make up for the idleness,' he had said. He had brought a chilled bottle of champagne in an ice-filled carrying case and two champagne glasses as well as a chilled bottle of mineral water for Gildo.

At Urbino's request, Gildo had removed the
felze
. To be enclosed together in the small cabin would have been more intimate than Urbino – and Hollander, perhaps – would have liked. It would also have put an unnecessary barrier between themselves and the scene they were enjoying now.

For the first part of their slow advance through the waters of the Grand Canal, there were no serenading flotillas of gondolas anywhere in sight, but only lone ones like their own, and even these had only two occupants taking advantage of the romantic hour. The boats zigzagging the Canalazzo from one stop to another only added to the charm of the scene, their wakes giving Gildo little trouble in his maneuvering and providing his passengers with only a slightly more exaggerated version of that rocking motion that is one of the delights of riding in a gondola.

An occasional motorboat might make the maneuvering a little more difficult and the rocking more energetic, as was happening now as they passed beneath the façade of the contessa's palazzo, but still the champagne in their glasses was in no danger of spilling out.

Urbino pointed out the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini to Hollander.

‘It's even grander than it looks in the photos Sebastian showed me,' Hollander said. ‘Such marvelous detail. Look at that frieze of lions.'

‘All of these palaces were designed to be seen from the water. They show their best side to the Grand Canal. The land entrances are rather uninspired. You might have noticed the same thing with my building.'

‘By the way, why is your place called a palazzo, but Barbara's isn't? Many big buildings in Venice are called “Ca,” I've noticed.'

‘It's an abbreviation for “casa,” house. A Venetian usage.'

‘I never thought the Venetians would indulge in understatement,' Hollander said, ‘but it's appropriate for Barbara's palazzo, being British as she is. She's looking after a fellow Brit quite well. The outing to Torcello on Tuesday is a great idea. And it'll be nice to meet her nephew.'

‘So you'll be going with us?'

‘Yes. I'd go even if I had already seen Torcello.'

‘You'll love it. “The Mother of Venice.” I'll enjoy showing you the mosaics in the basilica. And if we're lucky we might be able to go to the top of the campanile. There's a great view of the lagoon.'

Urbino was about to say more but he held himself back. He didn't want to risk making Hollander suspicious once the outing materialized.

The gondola slid through the dark waters toward the Rialto Bridge, Gildo's oar making a gentle, soothing plash on those occasions when the sounds around it didn't overwhelm and absorb it. Soon after they drifted past the Ca' da Capo-Zendrini, Urbino was tempted to draw attention to the ornate Ca' d' Oro, with the marble tracery of its façade emphasized tonight by the illumination within the deep recesses of its loggia, but he kept his silence. He didn't intrude on Hollander's thoughts as his companion looked out at the scene.

Hollander occasionally asked him a question about one of the buildings, canals, or bridges. What soon developed was a pleasant rhythm of long periods of silent observation and much shorter ones of explanation of the passing scene. And in this manner they reached the Rialto Bridge, draped in red banners and lined with tourists.

By this time the water had become thick with gondolas. Seven passed them in a row.

‘Ciao, Venezia! Ciao Venezia! Ciao! Ciao! Ciao!'
The tourists clapped and chanted the refrain along with the singer, a stout man in his fifties, and to the accompaniment of an accordionist.

People waved to Urbino and Hollander from the parapet of the bridge. They entered beneath the high structure where the sound of the gondola's passage was softly echoed against the stone. When they emerged, they took in the scene of the animated diners in the arbor restaurants and the people strolling along the quays and crowding the vaporetto stops. Up above the crowded pavements, the painted shutters of the wide windows had been thrown open, and gave them glimpses of high ceilings, ornate Murano chandeliers, and rich interiors in which occasional figures and moving shadows could be seen.

Hollander had a rare and admirable quality, at least from Urbino's point of view. He could remain silent and still, and not make the other person feel uncomfortable, and he seemed in no way uncomfortable himself. After leaving the Rialto behind, there was a long interval of silence that corresponded to the stretch from the white marbled Palazzo Grimani on one bank to the Palazzo Balbi, with its two obelisks, on the other.

‘This is where the finishing line of the regatta will be,' Urbino pointed out. ‘Between the Palazzo Balbi and the Ca' Foscari. A floating stand for the judges is set up. It's called the
machina
. This is where Napoleon watched a regatta. He stood on the balcony of the Palazzo Balbi.'

‘So we'll be following an imperial tradition on Sunday.'

Urbino smiled.

‘And it's interesting also that Balbi is the last name of Gildo's rowing partner – Claudio Balbi,' Urbino said. ‘He's a waiter at Florian's. Barbara and I think that he resembles your stepfather's friend Luca Benigni. You might have been struck by the resemblance if you've ever seen him at Florian's.'

‘They say that each of us has a double. No, I don't believe I've even noticed him. If I had, maybe I wouldn't have seen the same resemblance. Here, have some more.'

Hollander poured champagne into Urbino's glass.

‘Thank you,' Urbino said. ‘It's very good. My stomach has been bothering me,' he added, putting another element in place for their trip to Torcello. ‘The champagne has settled it a little.'

‘That's good. This Balbi, the waiter, is he related to the Balbis of the Palazzo Balbi?'

‘I doubt it – or if he is, it's very distant.'

When they went past the Ca' Foscari, Urbino drew attention to its Venetian Gothic façade.

‘It's the seat of the university,' he said. ‘Benigni's sister told me that he was a student here.'

‘Interesting,' Hollander said as he looked at the building. But since he said nothing more, it was unclear whether he was referring to Urbino's comment or the frieze of
putti
with the Foscari coat of arms.

After a few minutes Urbino broke the silence.

‘I expect Gildo and Claudio to make a good showing in the race. They're both fine rowers.'

Hollander shifted his attention to the poop, where Gildo seemed to be moving them without difficulty down the waterway.

‘He's certainly doing this in fine form,' Hollander observed. ‘So what changed your mind about giving him a rest?'

‘He
changed my mind, in a fashion. He said it would be better for him to spend some time rowing the gondola before the regatta.'

‘And who were you to argue? Who are
we
to argue, I should say. This is really splendid. I enjoy taking everything in like this. It's so peaceful. It encourages meditation.'

Urbino interpreted Hollander's comment as a polite suggestion that they have less conversation. Urbino had more than made up for his own earlier quietness by saying a lot, perhaps even too much. For the rest of their ride down the Grand Canal, he only spoke when Hollander asked him a question. These questions were few, and always about the scene before them. The silence between them seemed particularly pointed as they passed beneath the dark Gothic windows of Zoll's apartment. Across the water, the terrace of the Gritti Palace, filled with patrons, was brightly lit.

When they were going past the Salute, Urbino suggested that they have a nightcap at Harry's Bar. Hollander agreed, somewhat reluctantly, it seemed.

But the place was crowded on this summer night, with four tables occupied with noisy groups from the film festival.

Their time together at Harry's was an anticlimax to their gondola ride down the Grand Canal. Hollander did most of the talking, and told Urbino about two prospective buyers for Zoll's apartment, one an American couple, the other a Milanese businessman.

The men parted in the
calle
outside Harry's, with the expectation of seeing each other on the morning of their outing to Torcello.

Ten

At ten the next morning Urbino decided to drop by and see Romolo Beato at his studio. It was only a few steps from the Zattere near the Church of the Gesuati. In front of the entrance to his building a black-clothed figure had prostrated itself on the pavement, a large, black kerchief concealing the face, a dirty hand extended upward for a coin. It was difficult to determine whether it was a man or a woman. They were appearing with more and more frequency throughout the city. Urbino dropped some coins in the hand before ascending the staircase. He received no acknowledgement. Many people found the figures frightening because of their anonymity and the way they remained in a suppliant position for hours in the same place, never, it seemed, raising their head. But Urbino was certain that they somehow observed everything that was going on around them.

Romolo's studio, which was on the third floor, was simple, clean, and uncluttered, as befitted the man himself – or at least the man beneath all the changes Perla had made in his lifestyle and attire during their five years of marriage.

When Beato had graduated from the Conservatory, he had enjoyed modest success in Naples and Rome as a tenor soloist. He had also performed in Barcelona and Düsseldorf in touring ensembles. But for the past twenty years, except for occasional local performances, most of them nonprofessional, he had devoted himself to vocal teaching and coaching, and he was one of the best.

Romolo had just finished with a student and had ten minutes before his next one.

‘Urbino, how nice! Have you come to improve your tenor?'

The portly Romolo was dressed in a flattering peach-colored shirt and gray trousers. His thick white hair had been recently cut.

‘Maybe someday. There are so many things I'd like to improve and develop, or learn for the first time. Botany, Chinese, carpentry – I've got a long list.'

‘So little time, yes, but don't become discouraged. You're still young. Sit down.'

They seated themselves on a small sofa that provided a view through its tall windows of the line of buildings and churches on the Giudecca.

‘Would you like some water?'

He indicated a pitcher and glasses on a table by one of the windows.

‘No, thank you.'

‘Are you sure? Perla adds a herb or tincture or something to it that's supposed to make it more soothing to the throat. Let's say that it doesn't do any damage. Not that I know of, anyway.'

Romolo was looking at him with a slightly puzzled expression on his round, open face, evidently curious about the reason for this unexpected visit.

‘I've come about Claudio.'

Romolo visibly flushed and glanced away from Urbino momentarily toward the window.

‘Claudio? Is something the matter?'

‘That's what I thought you might help me with. I saw him yesterday. He wasn't looking well. He's brooding about Albina. I'd feel remiss if I didn't ask you if you had noticed anything during his lessons. The voice reveals a lot.'

‘Even more than you think.'

‘When I saw you before you went to Padua, you said he was progressing well. That was the night Albina died.'