Venetian Stories by Jane Turner Rylands

Author:Jane Turner Rylands [Rylands, Jane Turner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-42990-2
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2011-12-20T16:00:00+00:00

Charles was himself again; he was looking forward to the Gotham party; he’d had his new suit pressed by the Gritti and he knew he looked swell. In his head the voice sang, Heaven, I’m in heaven, And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. It sang with a swing that made him step out like Fred Astaire. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, When we’re—The words were becoming irrelevant, Charles demurred. Cheek to cheek, the voice carried on. Oh no you don’t, thought Charles as he crossed a bridge, how about Drifting with the current down a moonlit stream, While above the heavens in their glory gleam.… He approached the gate of Palazzo Gotham, savoring the privilege of ringing the discreet private doorbell of Miss Ermintrude Gotham as opposed to the one on the large brass plaque of the library. While he waited for someone to answer, he cobbled together a joke for Pat: Knock, knock. Who’s there? Ermintrude. “Chi é?” said the porter through the intercom. “Charles Smithers,” he answered. Ermintrude who? The gate opened. Ermintruding? drawled Charles in his Lord Snooty manner, as he stepped into the garden.

The butler met him at the elevator and showed him the seating plan. There was a Contessa, a Baronessa, a Count, and that Reverend Sir Bart Barton, Bart. and his wife. Bart, bart, bart, thought Charles, still annoyed with him: woof, woof, woof. Charles was seated between Lady Barton and Contessa Bonlin. The butler showed him into the salone. Patrick met him at the door.

“Good for you, Charles; perfect timing. I’ll introduce you around, but first, come meet Trudi.” She was across the room talking to the butler. Charles recognized her willowy figure and gray bobbed hair from her photographs.

Trudi Gotham dropped her conversation and turned to Charles the instant Patrick brought him up to her, giving him a broad but shy smile that swept away any doubts he might have had about liking her. “Thank you for the flowers,” she said, indicating a large bouquet of flamingos. “They’re my favorites; all the florists know, but I don’t usually get such a generous bunch. Aren’t they beautiful? And they last. I hope you’ll be able to enjoy them more than once while you’re here.”

Charles smiled and nodded and murmured banalities as he shook her hand. He was always tongue-tied when he was falling in love. But he trusted that a woman as wonderful as she would understand.

“I’ll introduce him around,” said Patrick. “Well,” he said sotto voce as they moved away, “that’s Momma. What do you think?”

Charles put his hand on his heart and rolled his eyes. Patrick took him around the room introducing him to each of the guests. At the end, Charles found himself planted once again in front of il Reverendo, who reached out to shake his hand.

“I’m so sorry that I interrupted your visit this afternoon. I didn’t mean to, but Laetitia is completely frivolous. We love her, but she hasn’t a practical bone in her body.

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