All the Stars in Her Hand

Chapter Nine

Italy was only a postcard to me until I arrived at the airport in Rome, to fetch a cab to the train station. To Venice, city of gondolas and canals, and window boxes high above the water. It was the tourist picture coming to life, although the air was not perfumed as it was in my imagination, which was exempted from realities like stagnant water levels and public sanitation.

The address on Sidney”s card was on the outskirts of the green canal and the Old World bridges under which the boats passed, in a newer — or what passes for newer — block of flats. The house was tall, white, with shutters and a balcony at the topmost floor, where a red ivy was preparing to go dormant for the winter. I checked to be sure before I rang the bell, then knocked, then tried some very bad Italian phrases from my phone to ask for Sidney Daniels.

A moment later, he came to the door. The faintly-perplexed look he was wearing for an unexpected visitor dissolved when he saw me there with my suitcase. I smiled at him, pretending my heart was not going crazy within my chest.

”Hello,” I said.

”Hi.” He stared. His gaze softened. In his eyes, the green melted to gold, flooding them with warmth.

”Aren”t you going to ask me in?” I asked. ”Show me your new home?”

We didn”t say anything else for a second. His smile formed, made of the same warmth as he reached out his hand.

”Come inside.” He took mine in his, and led me in, closing the door behind me.

His room overlooked a crowded street where kids played football, and someone”s scrappy dog came to the window across, watching the world outside. It reminded me of Kip in shades of fawn and white.

The twin bed was on the parallel wall, with a nightstand next to it, a crucifix hanging on the wall above. He”d turned the little table and chair area into a desk for work, pushed close to the window, with the typewriter case open.

The environment was stark and white, with plain furnishings, except for a little bouquet of herbs and autumn sprigs in a chipped ceramic pitcher, which seemed vivid with color in this tiny space. The washroom was down the hall — I had glimpsed it, the heavy iron tub with scratchy enamel paint, the quaint sink with a speckled mirror above.

I sat down on the bed, with its knit coverlet pulled up to the pillow. ”This is your version of the Italian escape, is it?” I tried to sound playful.

”What do you think?” He sat down on the chair.

”It”s practical ... quiet ... except for the kids.” I glanced towards the open window, with a smile. ”Definitely cozy.”

He laughed. ”It”s inexpensive, which is its best quality,” he said. ”Plus, I like the noise.” He glanced towards the window also. ”A place that feels alive has inspirational powers. You know what I mean.”

”Does it?” I smiled. ”Have inspirational powers, I mean.”

He leaned his head back. ”I think I”ll leave that to your imagination,” he said, being coy about it.

Hands tucked in his pockets, he gazed around him. ”I know it”s plain and far from the city”s attractions, but it was the best spot to put down temporary roots. The woman who rents the rooms is kind, and doesn”t ask too many questions about how her guests spend their time. Plus, her cake is delicious.”

”Please tell me that you don”t live off cake,” I teased. I smoothed the coverlet patch beneath my hand. ”You sleep regularly, and have fresh air besides the open window and everything. I”m sorry, but I have to ask these questions.”

”You do? Why?” he teased.

”It”s part of being the caring and considerate person in someone else”s life,” I answered.

”My hostess also makes a good dish of pasta for guests who stay in, and the street food in the next lane is cheap and a thousand times better than a frozen pizza,” he said. ”As for exercise, I”ll show you, if you want, because I”ll have to take you somewhere decent to stay and to eat, if you didn”t arrange that already.”

”Did you think I did?” I asked. ”Because I haven”t. I hopped on a plane, then on a train, so I could come see you. But I”ll figure the rest out, don”t worry. I don”t require that much care and maintenance.”

I rose and went back to the window, parting the lace curtains to look out at his view again. The kids were still kicking the ball into a mock goal made by the rubbish bins, a little girl sitting in the doorway alone, watching. I could see a bird”s nest tucked in a crevice beneath the roof tiles, a burst of sunlight highlighting the orange-red of the terracotta.

This had been what he gazed at for the past week, every day he sat at the typewriter. It was so far removed from the first view of his, so different, but that didn”t mean it had not inspired better work than at the cottage. The same sunlight falling on a new place, with the carefree voices of children in the background for company.

”Maybe not, but I can”t let you forage off the streets.”

”I can take care of myself,” I said, being the coy one now. ”I didn”t show up here to be a burden on you.”

”You”re not a burden.” His tone had softened now. ”At least let me show you around. And help you find a place to stay. There are no spare rooms in my digs or I would persuade you to give a pass to luxury and be with me here, even though you deserve a hotel with all the amenities. Fountains, fluffy towels, and so on.”

”Who needs those?” I answered. Pretending to be unimpressed. ”I work at a hotel filled with vanity soaps and luxury bathrobes, so the allure of them is gone for me.”

He took charge of my suitcase, and took my hand in his own. ”Come on,” he said.

We went down to the street door, then passed the children”s soccer game, walking in the direction I had come from after my hired ride. He pointed out bits of architecture and local color that he knew would catch my eye. A carved sandstone door frame in a wall, a door knocker cast with a metal face and humorous expression. A girl sitting on one of the balconies, legs outstretched, reading a book as intently as Francie Nolan on a Brooklyn fire escape.

He took me to a small hotel, a little bigger than a bed and breakfast — apensionefrom an E.M. Forster novel, albeit with a view not picturesque but practical, of a row of Vespas parked near a cafe. From the rack by the reception desk, he plucked one of those touristy walking maps of Venice, holding it up for me. I managed not to laugh, although I thought of Riley”s new brochure display at the Penmarrow.

Upstairs, I laid my suitcase on the little folding stand by the cupboard, as Sidney hung my shoulder bag on the decorative hook by the windows.

”Will it suit?” he asked.

”Of course it will,” I said. This room had artwork, framed canvases of flowers and terrace gardens, and a neatly-made bed with a rose-printed bedspread that reminded me a little of my old room at Sonia”s. ”I should have paid double for you to stay, so you could have a taste of luxury.”

”And live off your earnings?” he answered. He opened my window for me, to let in some fresh air, taking advantage of the late afternoon warmth before the evening cooled the atmosphere. ”I”m already a little sad that I couldn”t afford guest accommodations for you.”

”After our last holiday, I don”t think you should feel guilty that I booked my own bed and breakfast,” I said. ”Maybe it”s my turn to treat you.”

”With the great wealth of your literary success? You should spend it on something better,” he said, with a touch of scorn that faded quickly. ”I came here to hide and to write, not for a holiday. Indulging my senses in ordinary things is good enough for that.”

He sat down on the edge of the dressing table. ”You, on the other hand.” A brief grin came and went now, as I rolled my eyes. ”If there”s anything missing that you need, tell me. Maybe I can find it for you, even if I can”t afford this room for you presently.”

”It”s perfect as it is,” I said. ”Not as perfect as yours, but close.” He was the one hiding a smile now, I noticed. ”I can”t expect a homey, cottage-y environment is available to everyone. With a warm tomato tart baking in a stone oven and so on.”

This room smelled of air fresheners, not the aroma of baking bread coming from the kitchen of his house. It had made my stomach growl, because the one thing I hadn”t bothered with in my impulsive departure was food. The meal on the plane was an unappetizing tomato rice dish, and the snack pocket of my shoulder bag had been empty minus a wrapper for Jelly Babies and Lifesavers. I tossed the wrappers in the rubbish bin, which Sidney noticed me doing, and he shook his head.

”Processed sugar for breakfast.” He tsked. ”Now who needs looking after?”

”Jelly Babies are good for you. They have gelatin in them,” I defended. ”It builds strong cartilage.”

”At least I can afford to feed you a little better than that,” he said. ”Come on.” He held out his hand to me, waiting for me to gather up my jacket and scarf, and locking my room”s door behind us.

This time, he chose a street that flowed in the direction of the tourist crowd, the main attractions of the floating city. An atmosphere of antiquities and long-lost civilization all around us, some of which had been converted into designer fashion shops and busy cafes.

Here was one of the lanes that would be crowded by masked citizens and tourists next spring for Carnival, a scene of mystery and curiosity that I had always envied a little — fortuitously recalled by the presence of a hat shop with gold-beaked masks and lion-faced ones in its window, surrounded by chic hats with wide brims and little netted ones.

”You know, you”re only a short train ride from Verona,” said Sidney.

”Are we? My knowledge of Italian geography is really bad, so I would obviously fail one of those quiz shows,” I said, laughing. ”Verona, though.” I thought of balconies and love sonnets now.

”If you have time, you should see it. It”s a beautiful city, besides being another of Shakespeare”s literary haunts,” he said. He peered inside the window of a cafe — reading the menu prices, I suspected. I wondered how thin his funds were growing. Sidney had taken only as much cash as an ATM would give him before leaving London.

”Have you visited it lately?” I asked, smiling.

”No. I haven”t taken many train rides out of the city,” he said. ”I”ve stayed in one place since I rented the room. I thought I would rest before I wandered again. But wandering one city away wouldn”t be all that far.” His smile came back again as he looked at me, away from the glare of sunlight on the awning of a coffee stall, giving off a sweet aroma of Arabian coffee and hazelnuts.

”I could go post a letter at Juliet”s balcony,” I said, talking to myself, really.

”Isn”t that for broken love, though?” he asked.

”Not all the letters are sad ones. I could write one in thanks to her for being the cautionary tale for us all of the hazards true love can endure,” I replied. ”And the importance of not pretending you”ve been poisoned.”

”Those lines would be better than the love letter you”ve been carrying,” he said.

”Don”t be so mean if you”re going to tease me,” I said, in protest. ”That letter is just a different kind of beautiful.” I closed my eyes momentarily, when there was no chance of bumping into any shoppers or sightseers, savoring the heat of the sun on my face. A sudden cloud of perfume from a shop”s open door, carrying tinges of strangers and new places.

”I”m only being that way because I”m hungry,” he said, still teasing. ”So what can I buy you? Pizza? Pretzel? No candy floss at hand, I”m afraid. Cheese and salami instead?”

”So many choices,” I said, pretending to be impressed. ”I might compromise and choose gelato instead.”

Bright sun on the water, and on the sheen of a passing girl”s cone of vanilla gelato as we crossed the bridge. Mine was blended berries, Sidney”s was chocolate — he let me sample his, so I could decide if they went well together. I did not mind the smell of the water as much as I had at first, my senses growing accustomed to it already.

”Do you walk here often?” I asked. I could picture him going for long ones, on days when inspiration wasn”t coming through.

”Sometimes.” He wiped away a little chocolate from the corner of his mouth. ”I walk anywhere that has something interesting to see, especially to the bridges. But only if I”m bored, and if it”s not during peak hours for the tour groups. They tend to jostle you from one spot to the next before you have time to really linger. Not a fan of the meanderers in the crowd.”

”I guess it would be wrong of me to ask if there have been more boring times than productive ones?” I glanced at him, hoping that this wasn”t too much curiosity. ”That”s not why I”m here, before you think I”m checking up on you.”

”Like last time?” he said.

I pretended to let my jaw drop a little. ”Only once in my life was I guilty of sort-of stalking Alistair Davies — and not because of the fourth book,” I retorted. ”You know the real reasons.”

”I know you wouldn”t come all this way for the manuscript,” he said. He let me have another taste of his gelato to make up for the teasing. ”I have no doubts that you came to see me, and ask those questions about me looking after myself.” I could see the humor in his eyes when he glanced at me.

I licked melted gelato from my fingers, saying nothing. It had given me a chance to look into his eyes for another glimpse into the depth. I could still see tiredness, and some of the deep-set anxiety from when he had watched the stories unfold about his pretend self. It hadn”t all gone away as I had hoped whilst he was safe from prying scandal hounds.

In the middle of the bridge, we paused to watch the dying sunlight blaze the middle of the canal. The next boat broke through it, carrying a laughing group of partygoers. Wind riffled the ivy climbing the walls and window frames of a nearby house, creeping up from a terracotta pot in its doorway; putting me in mind of the arbor winding up the Penmarrow”s back garden.

”I wrote two chapters since I came away,” he said. ”Two only. Disappointing, I know, but it hasn”t been as easy to settle here and find my groove. A thousand challenges can change the voice, and that breaks its progress. I salvage what I can ... toss what I can”t ... and go on the next day.”

He tossed a bit of broken wafer from the stub of his gelato”s cone. ”I don”t like to admit that finding it is still eluding me, but it is.” He gazed into the sunset, resting his weight against the bridge”s ornate rail. ”I think you must be disappointed, as I am. But I think I can push myself harder with enough time and enough incentive. Seeing you might be enough.” He glanced at me.

”I inspire you?” I made this into a tease, but it wasn”t. ”I”m so flattered.”

”You should be,” he said. ”And as you, not as the most devoted of Alistair Davies” fans.” He studied his hands, which were locked together, one thumb rubbing the back of the other.

”So that”s two more closer to the finish,” I said. ”But you know, as a fan, I would read anything you chose to write, even if it was free verse sonnets about autumn in Italy. That would be my adoration for Port Hewer”s handyman speaking — she doesn”t expect a literary genius to live by his trade.”

I saw the crinkle of a smile around the corners of his eyes, and of his lips; it was a little bit of real humor, although not without the rueful element from before. The impending sunset made seeing him clearly a little more challenging; in the growing purple shadows from the building, the surrounding beauty was becoming serious in mood, not lighthearted in humor.

Finishing my gelato, I joined him in leaning against the rails, looking over the water as I pictured moonrise, parties on terraces, lovers in gondolas. Somewhere, below a balcony to the north, letters tucked in rocks begged for understanding from a fictitious heroine who made a colossal error in love, in the Mediterranean land of romance and passion. Being close to him reminded me of those elements of its reputation.

”How much longer can you stay?” I asked. I might as well know the truth now, rather than wait and find out in three days that he was leaving again.

”About a week, as of now,” he answered. ”That”s when I”ll run low on funds. I won”t be able to afford a train ticket out of pocket if I stay much beyond that, and I don”t want to risk a funds withdrawal that would trigger a notice of me being here. Obviously I can”t charge the tickets — bad enough to show my passport, not that anyone in the Home Office would probably blab about a random citizen”s location.”

”So where to?” I asked. ”Someplace cheap, I imagine?”

”Someplace I can go by train and stay without money, barring food,” he said. ”I have a couple of options where I can go, mostly through Dean”s efforts. An old friend from uni living in Morocco has a room, and feels a kind of debt of friendship. Of those possibilities, I know that isn”t the place Dean would have me choose, though.”

He let his smile go crooked. ”Solitude might be the only way. More quiet than the busy streets of an Italian city might help me pay more attention to the page and the vision in my head, not what I see with my eyes through the window when they drift that way.”

Would I be going with him? Surely he knew that was why I was here.

”So you”ll pick one of those options and go,” I said. ”Is that so bad? Better than phones ringing, I know. Solitude — that”s a matter of perspective or semantics, not necessarily a true physical reality.”

”True,” he said. ”I could keep you on pocket change if I can convince you to come and live off treacle and toast.” He gave me a smile, but it faded into seriousness quickly enough. ”Trouble is, I don”t know exactly where I”m going. I don”t know anything, except I have to try to finish, however long it takes. Time to keep my promises.” He drew in a deep breath.

”I would stay with you, if you like.” I felt my heart pound. ”At least at first, until you settled. I”ll help you any way I can.”

”Would you give up your life for me for weeks? Months? In some forlorn spot with nothing to do except watch me struggle along, I would imagine.” He turned away from the water, resting his back against the rail now. ”Is that what you want, Maisie?”

”I didn”t think it was a question of wanting,” I said. ”Otherwise, we”d be having a picnic on a hill overlooking Tintagel”s ruins.”

I smiled at him, trying to quash his doubts for the picture of long days spent keeping a low profile among strangers. How new could it be for me after wandering from one place to another? Or for Sidney, a wanderer in spirit who was forced to be one in body time after time?

”Wouldn”t we,” he said. He exhaled that deep breath in a sigh. ”To think I went back to the place I called home to end my wanderings for good, only to end up like this. I feel a bit unlucky at present, even if the odds look better from the outside.”

He gazed at the sky, clouded over with deep rose as the light dimmed with the fiery candle of the sun burning just above the waterline. ”It feels unfair. To you, especially. Your books, your life — they end up being hurt by mine.”

”You know I don”t care,” I said. ”I would wait for you, however long it took for you to come back. I”d go with you to the ends of the earth, to a place you can”t name or point to on a map at present. I”d do anything if it was for the best for us.”

”Those are extremely bold words,” he said. ”I”m very tempted to keep them.” His tone was solemn.

My phone jingled with a new text. ”You obviously get better reception here than me,” said Sidney, with a laugh now. I checked it out of habit before I caught myself.”Interview in two weeks, Maisie for casting decision — drop a hint about the next book, please! Text me ok to confirm.”

I tucked it back in my pocket. ”Just Arnold,” I said. ”He just wants me to sign off on something. It”s no big deal.”

”It isn”t?” Sidney didn”t sound as if he believed me.

”You know, P-R stuff,” I said. ”It can wait until I go back.”

”That long?” he said.

I shrugged. ”Arnold will understand. I”ll explain things to him and he”ll rearrange the schedule for awhile. Again, no big deal.” I pretended that Arnold would see it this way. Sidney would never know the difference unless I told him, so that was easy enough to deal with.

He hesitated, but only for a few seconds, then he spoke. ”You”re at the top of the game, Maisie. The best part of your dream.” His glance turned back to my face. ”You waited a lifetime to reach this day, and everything it represents. I can”t let you shut yourself away in the middle of it.”

”Who said you”re doing it?” I answered, stressing the second pronoun, pretending to be nonplussed by him. ”You”re not forcing me to offer it.”

”Because doing something for me that threatens your future is the same thing,” he said. ”This was your dream, and you waited all your life. I can”t let you do anything else, because I want you to succeed. You know that. I said before, I never want to be the obstacle.”

His words left me taken aback, but not powerless in thought, even if I didn”t have my answer ready. I felt the burn of tears in my eyes, blinking them back before I spoke.

”I want to come with you,” I answered, softly. ”I don”t care about P-R and book interviews or any of those details right now. Maybe it matters to my career someday, maybe it won”t. Success might not be something I can determine.”

I was throwing it all on destiny”s lap now, as if I had no part in my own literary success. If Arnold could hear me, he would either be shaking his head in disappointment or begging me desperately to un-say those words.

”Are you afraid of me not coming back?” Sidney met my gaze.

I fell quiet. ”No,” I answered, carefully. ”No, it isn”t that.”

”You”re not afraid that this would tear us apart, me finding a temporary haven that isn”t a place we share,” he said.

I shook my head. It was not convincing. Maybe that”s how it turned into a nod at the end. ”I”m only afraid of losing you a little,” I said. ”Not for any particular reason. Just because I know what time and distance do ... I know how breakable implied bonds sometimes are.”

”Feelings and words can break,” he said. ”But mine for you wouldn”t. Maybe it sounds trite to say, but there”s more to those invisible bonds than a phase of life. All this time, all we shared — it was never for nothing.”

”Even when it was broken it wasn”t, I know,” I said. ”I do battle with irrational worries against my better opinion, but it doesn”t change the truth.” My tone was that of frank confession, since we were being serious and honest in the moment. ”It”s natural to worry that if you go, you could disappear from my life forever, even though I know you wouldn”t.”

When he spoke again, his voice was still quiet. ”I know of one way you couldn”t lose me,” he said.

I felt my heart”s beat skip, leaving a moment of perfect stillness in my chest. I opened my lips, but they were soundless; my tongue wasn”t moving, as if it had become temporarily disconnected from my brain.

”I think you know already what I”m saying,” he continued, gently. ”You must have guessed, because I started to say it before, when I asked you to stay and share the cottage. Really, to share any space that I have.” His eyes focused on me intently, the expression in them serious, not even a trace of teasing.

Come live with me and be my love.I shut my eyes momentarily, the gentle roar of the water, the sound of pedestrian traffic, all becoming silent in my ears.

”What I”m asking is more than just rooms in a house and feelings,” he said. ”The bond doesn”t have to be implied. It wasn”t supposed to be, because I asked for something more, once.”

I was still unable to speak. My heart”s rhythm was accelerating, that light, quick beat coming so fast that it felt as if it had been set free, fluttering wildly in the cavity of heart and lungs. What he could see in my face probably told him everything I was thinking, because it couldn”t possibly be a mystery.

”I asked you again, when we were still in London, what you wanted from us. If you still felt the same as before.”

I could not forget it; no more than I could forget the first time he asked in that unofficial way in a Cornish field. Surely he didn”t think I had.

”So where would you plight your eternal troth, given the choice of anywhere in the world?”

”I told you that there was only one thing I really wanted,” I answered. ”The only thing that anybody really wants from love.”

”I suppose I would take Verona over the Polynesian Islands anyway, even if poor Romeo and Juliet were doomed. But I don”t have a place I”ve always pictured when it comes to love. For me, it”s not about the place so much as the feelings.”

”I know that much didn”t change,” he said. ”Even if the rest somehow did.”

”Sometimes I wish it didn”t have to be any of those elaborate things. That it could be just two people joining hands, a witness or two, and someone vested with the solemn power to hear their vows. The closest it can be to having two people before God and not another soul to intrude.”

”Do you still want it to be simple?” I asked. My voice had grown quiet.

”The only time you should be completely serious is for talking about anything so solemn and sacred as eternal love.”

”Do you still want it to be the one who”s asking?” he answered, but not in a joking way.

A sharp, brief intake of air in my lungs, which felt starved after the breathless second following the question.

”What would you say, Maisie?” he asked. Softly. Waiting for my reply to change us, to change this moment into something more significant than the first time he spoke of a permanent bond between us. I could feel his gaze, my heart unable to beat normally in this state of longing.

”So what do you say to my proposal, Maisie Clark?” he asked. ”Would you accept my plight of troth in the future, for better or for worse?”

He held out his hand. Mine reached out, laying itself in his open palm. My trust laid there, as if sealing that solemn pact we had made a lifetime ago.

”I will,” I answered.

It was the answer to the question he had asked long before in an open field with a ring made of a tiny little star flower on my finger, and not to the one he had just asked me, but I was beyond caring about an insignificant detail like that.