Chapter 20
20
Eraldo patted the top of an oak barrel. ‘We are lucky we got this before anyone else spotted it.’
Natalie shimmied up onto one of the wooden bar stools. There were just three outside tables squeezed into a corner by the entrance to Il Turacciolo; the rest of the patrons stood shoulder to shoulder on the strip of paving or crowded inside the tiny bacaro , pressed right up against the long, marble counter half-obscuring the glass-fronted displays of Venetian snacks.
Natalie peered around Eraldo’s shoulder. ‘I guess there’s just no room for more seating.’
‘We are used to doing it this way but I thought you would like to sit for a while after walking all over the city today. It must have been tiring.’ His dark-brown eyes met hers.
Natalie’s cheeks warmed; she wasn’t used to people looking out for her. ‘That’s kind,’ she mumbled.
‘Now, what to drink? It is traditional to pair the cicchetti with a tiny glass of wine we call an ombra ; it means “shadow”. I usually leave it up to the waiter to recommend the best cicchetti then let him pair it with a wine.’
‘Sure.’ Natalie hoped she sounded casual. She didn’t like the thought of anyone else choosing her food. She was sure she’d read somewhere that Venetians ate horsemeat and considered cartilage a tasty snack. But there was no time to backtrack. Eraldo was already chatting with the bearded waiter, who was running through the list of today’s cicchetti at a bewildering rate. A few more nods and hand gestures and the man vanished back into the throng crowding at the door.
‘ Allora , so tell me, Natalie, how long have you been in television? Floella tells me this is your first time in front of the camera for many years. You presented a television programme for children a long time ago, I believe.’
‘Oh, Panda’s Place ! That was rather embarrassing.’
‘No! That cannot be. But even if you think that, it is part of your journey, your story, that brought you here. So, tell me, how was the world of talking bears and musical slides?’
Natalie hesitated. Had Floella given Eraldo the low-down or had he been googling her? She cringed at the thought of the handsome Venetian finding pictures of those hideous dungarees, the haircut she’d copied from Rachel in Friends that didn’t suit her at all.
‘Perhaps you do not want to share these experiences?’ There was a note of disappointment in his voice.
‘Oh, no, it’s not that.’ She searched for an amusing anecdote. ‘Live television was quite an experience. The producer decided to use real animals on our Christmas nativity special instead of kids dressed up but they didn’t anticipate the donkey lifting its tail and adding an extra gift alongside the gold, frankincense and myrrh…’
Eraldo let out a laugh.
‘That’s not all. One of the little boys with a tea towel on his head was too shy to ask for the toilet so a moment later, a great puddle spread across the studio floor.’
Eraldo wiped a tear from his eye. ‘What a disaster! But funny also, sì ?’
‘The producer didn’t think so, not even after the audience rated it their favourite episode. We were pre-recorded after that. At the time, I felt humiliated, as if I was somehow responsible, but it was funny. I’d almost forgotten that.’
She’d been so focused on using Panda’s Place as a stepping stone to a prime-time adult show, she hadn’t appreciated how liberating it was to perform for an easily pleased audience who rolled about clutching their sides every time a man in a giant panda bear suit got stuck halfway down the musical slide. Which happened every week. She hadn’t had to worry about the cut of her dungarees or whether her hair was bouncy and her eyebrows shaped to perfection. The audience of Luxe Life Swap would be a lot harder to please. She could already envisage the disparaging comparisons between her Primark bargains and Cate’s designer threads. Not to mention her failure to live up to Mandy Miller’s virtuoso talents.
‘Are you okay, Natalie?’
She realised she was frowning. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Ah, good, that looks like our food arriving.’ Eraldo flashed a smile in the waiter’s direction. The man put down a plate of snacks: crispy rings of what she assumed was calamari and oval crostini smeared with black-olive tapenade.
Eraldo picked up a miniature triangular sandwich secured with a toothpick. It was made from the type of sliced white bread Natalie hadn’t seen since Mum made her packed lunches. But these tramezzini weren’t curling at the edges, and that filling definitely wasn’t Tesco’s own-brand sandwich spread.
‘Tuna?’ she guessed, biting into the soft, white bread. It was tuna, the flaky fish mixed with juicy, green olives and tart cornichons causing her to mmm with pleasure. ‘This is delicious.’
‘Just wait until you try the crostini and the calamari . ’
A tiny, golden crumb clung to Eraldo’s full top lip. His tongue ran across it; the golden speck disappeared. A strange liquid sensation filled the pit of her stomach. She bit into a ring of calamari, the crisp coating giving way to a melting taste of the sea. She’d always found calamari chewy in the past, and a bit greasy too, but not this time.
‘Even better than the tuna,’ she said.
Eraldo smiled. ‘Then you must have the last one.’
‘If you’re sure.’ She’d normally hold back but the nibbles had only succeeded in making her realise how hungry she was.
‘The kitchen here makes a fresh batch of cicchetti every hour but the calamari are always the first to go no matter how many they make. We were lucky to get any at all.’
‘As lucky as getting this table. It’s the perfect perch.’ She sipped her ombra of wine.
‘Do not get too comfortable; we will be leaving soon.’
His words took the magic of the evening with them; the warm, fuzzy feeling vanished like the last piece of squid. She gulped down a mouthful of wine. Someone elbowed her in the back; her glass knocked against her front teeth.
Eraldo didn’t seem at all bothered their evening was wrapping up so soon, signalling to the waiter and waving away her offer to pay. A quick bite, a tiny glass of wine and their night was over. And why would he choose to prolong it? She didn’t have Floella’s ebullient personality, Cate’s ethereal beauty or Mandy’s warmth. She slithered down from her stool.
‘This way, Natalie.’ He wove a path through the rest of the customers, steered her around a group of teenagers walking arm in arm. They turned the corner, emerging right by the opera house. Inside, Lucia and Cate, resplendent in one of her new gowns from Simona Rinaldi, would be listening to the soaring voices.
‘La Fenice! I had no idea we were so close.’
‘I took you to a bacaro nearby in case there was a problem with the film crew or something else needed your attention. But now the performance has started, I think it is safe for us to go somewhere else. If you would like to?’
‘That was so thoughtful of you. Yes, I’d love to carry on. Lucia can deal with anything. I’m off duty this evening.’ And now she was going to spend it with him. To think that a few moments ago, she’d believed he was trying to shake her off!
‘Good.’ He slipped his arm through hers as they continued to walk. A friendly gesture, no more, but her breath caught. ‘I am glad you are able to relax but in a job like yours, you are always – how do you say? – on call.’
‘Is that what Floella says?’
‘Not just Floella. Also my wife.’
A wife. Of course. There’d been no reason to believe he was single. Just the feel of his arm against hers, the warm scent of his amber cologne, the softness of his brown eyes – they’d all conspired to send her daft imagination running off. What a fool! But perhaps she shouldn’t be too hard on herself. It wasn’t every day she met a handsome, charming man in the most romantic city in the world.
‘My ex-wife nowadays,’ he added.
Natalie bit down on a smile. ‘Your ex was in television?’ She tried to sound casual.
‘Yes. A producer on International Food Challenge , one of Floella’s first shows. Flo introduced us; that is how we met.’
‘She was English?’
‘No, Italian, from Vicenza, an hour’s drive from here. It is ironic that it took a Londoner to bring us together.’
‘Fate.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ She could not read his tone.
‘But you’re no longer together.’
‘No,’ he said shortly. Why had she asked? Wasn’t ‘ex-wife’ enough for her?
They kept walking in silence, cutting through narrow streets and across small campi .
‘Stefania loved her job,’ he said at last. ‘I knew it was her passion but I did not realise what she would sacrifice to get on. That it was more important, bigger than anything else, bigger than us. I hoped we would stop renting and buy a place, have a family perhaps, but there was always one more project first. Every time, just one more. But reality shows were just a stepping stone to greater things. She is a film producer now; she lives in California.’
‘You didn’t want to go with her?’
‘I did not fit into her new world… so she said. But enough about that. It is all in the past. And now we find our next bacaro .’
‘If it’s half as good as the last place…’
‘Il Turacciolo has the best calamari but this little place behind the fish market has the best polpette – what you call meatballs. We will have to cross over the canal. This way…’
He weaved a practised path through the tourists massing on the Rialto Bridge, across the now deserted fish market, and steered her towards a green awning.
‘This looks a cute place.’
‘I hope you are ready for more wine, more cicchetti ?’
‘Yes, please.’ She slipped into a seat at the table Eraldo had found, content to let him take charge of the ordering once more. Two ombre of wine appeared, red this time.
‘After we stop here, we will go to another place just a few metres away and finally, we cannot finish the night without a visit to my favourite of all.’
‘I’m glad these glasses of wine are so tiny. I hadn’t realised we were having a sort of Venetian pub crawl.’
‘Ah, the great British pub crawl: you need a lot of stamina for that! I remember the first time I went with my new friends from Goldsmiths. I had never even had an English pint before, only the little bottles of beer we have in Italy. And each pub we went to, we had to drink another. Mamma mia , so much beer and nothing to eat but these strange little snacks, pork scratchings. I thought this beer, it must be not so strong but the next morning, well! I felt as though the night before, I must have been banging my head against a big wall. Some of my friends, the next day, it was like they had drunk nothing at all. Ah, it was fun… but you know, I prefer to go out to have some nice, small things to eat and a little wine like this. Cin cin !’ He clinked his glass against hers.
‘ Cin cin !’
Natalie bit into a crostino topped with something creamy and white – a taste strangely familiar. It was the baccalà mantecato Miss Morrison had made her try all those years ago. ‘Mmm… this is better than a cider and a packet of crisps any day.’
‘I am glad you approve.’
Natalie returned his smile. The evening was exceeding all her expectations. She could kid herself it was the tasty cicchetti that lit up her tastebuds like an explosion of tiny fireworks on her tongue or the colour and chatter of the diners but she knew it was Eraldo’s company that was making the evening so special. She found it hard not to smile each time his nose gave a little twitch of pleasure as he sampled another snack. And it wasn’t just his good looks that entranced her; it was the gratifying way he listened – truly listened – when she spoke and even seemed to find her feeble attempts at humour amusing, rewarding her with a smile that flashed even white teeth and lit up those dark, dark eyes.
It was so rare to find a man who found her assignments for Flo-Go Productions so enthralling but she soon switched the subject. She was far more interested in finding out more about the man sitting in front of her than discussing any new show Floella might have in the offing.
‘Do you remember the first watch you worked on?’ she asked.
‘My nonno ’s old watch; Papà had inherited it. The glass was cracked and the winder did not work. Papà took it to a local repairer who told him that for the money it would cost, it was not worth the trouble, so he put it in a drawer with his vests and underpants. I would take it out sometimes when he was not around and twist the winder, hoping somehow that it would spring to life. Of course, it never did.
‘Then, when I was ten, I won a prize at school. I cannot remember what for even though it was the only one I ever won.’ He paused to laugh and shake his head. ‘Mamma gave me some money to spend on whatever I liked; she was so proud. I secretly took that watch and returned to the repair shop so that I might give it to Papà for Christmas. It had become a sort of dream of mine that it would work again. The same man was working there. He had small, round glasses and very little hair. I reached up to the counter – I was still very short back then – and laid Nonno’s watch there and my small pile of coins. Of course, it was not nearly enough money, though to me, it seemed a fortune. When he told me so, I asked him to tell me how to fix it so that I could try to do it myself. He gave me such a strange look, for a moment, I thought he was angry and that he would throw me out of his shop…’
‘But why? Did he think you were being cheeky?’
Eraldo ran his hand through his hair. ‘Yes, I thought that for a moment but then I realised it was something else. That I had made him sad. Of course I did not know why; only later, I found out that I had made him think of the son he had lost, the son to whom he had hoped to pass on his craft. He agreed to start to mend the watch the next day if I came after school had finished and I sat with him and helped… I was too young to realise I could not possibly be any more than a hindrance. So, that was my first lesson and I was hooked. I went back there whenever I could. He always seemed pleased to see me and would let me sit there whilst he worked. He had a big, old cardboard box of broken spare parts he would let me rummage through and try to find bits and pieces that might go together; it was like a small puzzle for me.’
‘And what about your nonno ’s watch? Was your dad surprised? What did he say?’
‘I never forget his face as he opened my present. He was so delighted but a moment later, his face changed. He was angry. He could not see how I could afford to get it fixed. He thought I must have stolen the money. But Mamma calmed him down and when I told him, he hugged me and told me how sorry he was to think such a thing. I asked if he was cross that I visited the watchmaker instead of concentrating on my studies but he gave me his blessing. He must have known of course about the terrible illness that claimed the old man’s child. And he was pleased I was not hanging around after school on the streets causing all kinds of nonsense.’
Natalie smiled. It was easy to imagine Eraldo as a mischievous young lad with the sort of cheeky grin that could buy his way out of trouble.
He waved for the bill. This time, she didn’t feel slighted; she knew the evening was far from over and just minutes would pass before they’d reach the next venue on their bacaro tour.
‘I’ll get this one.’ She opened her purse.
‘No, no.’
‘Really, I insist.’ She put a note on the small, silver tray.
‘My mamma tells me, never argue with a woman.’ Eraldo grinned. ‘But the next stop, I pay.’
It was only a short stroll to the next bacaro , tucked up a narrow calle . This time, there were no tables to bag, just a huddle of locals clutching small beakers of wine and paper-napkin-wrapped snacks. Definitely not a place where an episode of Luxe Life Swap would ever be filmed.
‘This is, how you say, rough and ready,’ Eraldo said, squeezing into a gap in the throng. Natalie ended up wedged into a rather small space pressed up so close to Eraldo, she couldn’t help examining the fine lines around his eyes, the tiny scar on his cheek.
‘These arancini are the house speciality.’
His voice made her jump. What was the matter with her?
‘They look fantastic.’ And smelt even better. She bit into the crispy coating, the rice grains and cooked ham giving way to a melting middle of stringy mozzarella she had to wipe from her chin.
‘If I could eat only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be Marco’s arancini , but fortunately here in Venice, I do not have to make such a choice. My stomach is crying out for more of these but we have one more place on our cicchetti crawl.’ He laughed as he said the last words. This time, after they’d finished eating, she did not attempt to help pay the bill. She was glad to make a move, to put a little distance between them. Sitting or standing where she was no longer able to breathe in the warm scent of his cologne might help rein in the inappropriate emotions that kept surfacing. This evening wasn’t a date, she told herself, just a kind offer to spend the evening with a friend of a friend so she wouldn’t be alone in the city.
They set off to their next venue, strolling side by side through quiet streets and vast campi , the only sounds a television burbling from a half-open window, the tap of an old man’s cane. A Venice far from tour groups, logoed baseball caps and plastic replicas of St Mark’s Basilica.
On the far side of a small bridge, a light glowed in a low window, an armchair just visible, a woman reading a book. Natalie rested her hand on the balustrade to steady herself. She hadn’t envisaged walking quite so far when she’d chosen to sport her favourite heels.
A row of houses, most rooms in darkness, faced them, a dark sottopassaggio providing a route beneath.
‘Not far, just through here,’ he said.
‘Great.’ She faked a breezy tone. She tried to focus on the building at the other end of the passage as they walked along, a chink of light ahead. But the walls were closing in on her. The low roof of the passageway cast a dark shadow across Eraldo’s face. Almost as though he were wearing a mask.
‘Are you okay, Natalie?’ He stopped walking, put a hand on her arm.
Instinctively, she flinched.
A tiny frown flicked across his face. ‘Natalie?’
She took a breath big enough to make her shudder. ‘I’m fine. I’m just a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.’
‘I am sorry I took you this way, but it was quicker. I did not think.’
‘How could you know?’ She managed a small smile. ‘I’m okay now.’
‘Good. I am glad that you will not miss the last place on our small tour… or perhaps you would rather I take you to the vaporetto stop. It has been a long day for you, I understand.’
‘No, let’s carry on, I’m looking forward to it.’ She didn’t want the evening to end. But she couldn’t help feeling from the brief nod of his head that something between them had shifted.