The Venetian Masquerade (Venice) by Philip Gwynne Jones

Author:Philip Gwynne Jones [Jones, Philip Gwynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472129727
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2019-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Maitland had no plans for the evening. I should, I suppose, have invited him round for dinner, or at least suggested we go out to eat together, but I wasn’t in the mood for company and invented an excuse about an urgent translation that needed to be done. I had a porchetta and radicchio sandwich, conceded that it might genuinely be the best in Venice, and made my way home. I just wanted to be in front of the television with a glass of wine and an old movie playing. More than anything I wanted Federica home, safe and sound.

I texted her to say I’d meet her off the train the next day. She said there was no need, but I told her I felt like making a big romantic gesture and was going to do it anyway and, if she was very lucky, there might even be flowers involved.

I wasn’t in a horror mood, so I put an old Marx Brothers movie on. Duck Soup. I lay on the sofa and chuckled away, all the while wishing I’d bought another sandwich. Gramsci grumped around, occasionally miaowing for attention or doing his best to position himself directly in my line of sight. Despite his name, he’d never been much of a Marxist.

The great thing about old films – apart from the fact that the world always looked better in black and white – is that they have a sensible running time. Duck Soup clocks in at little more than an hour. I checked the time, and the level of wine left in the bottle. Nearly ten o’clock, and a couple of glasses. I could watch Monkey Business as well and still be in bed at a sensible hour. Inevitably, the phone chose that moment in which to ring.

‘Pronto?’

‘Nathan, caro mio.’

‘Isotta?’

‘Of course. How are you, Nathan?’

‘I’m not sure. Federica’s away. It all feels a bit strange.’

‘Of course.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I thought it would be nice if we could take a coffee together.’

‘Thank you. I’d be delighted. Tomorrow morning is going to be rather busy but perhaps—’

She cut me off. ‘I thought perhaps now. Tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ I sat bolt upright on the sofa.

‘Tonight. I know it’s late but I’ve been rehearsing with Thomas. And I do need to speak with you. Please, Nathan . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

‘Okay. Of course. Where should we meet? If you’re at La Fenice, there’s a place I know in Campo Santo Stefano.’

‘No. Piazza San Marco. At Florian’s.’

‘My goodness.’

‘You know it, of course?’

‘Well, yes.’ Naturally, I had never, ever taken a coffee there. ‘What time?’

‘Eleven-thirty.’

‘They’ll still be open?’

‘It’s Carnival. And they’ll stay open for me. A dopo, Nathan.’

‘A dopo.’ I hung up.

Gramsci and I stared silently at each other across the sofa.

‘Don’t look at me like that, all right?’

Gramsci, of course, said nothing.

‘It’s a coffee, that’s all.’

He continued to stare at me.

‘Yes, of course I’m going to tell Federica.’

He hopped off the sofa, and slunk away. I stretched out again, and closed my eyes.

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