Chapter Eight Venice Tuesday 9 January 2018
Chapter Eight
Venice
The four authors and the two publicists were walking to Harry’s Bar.
It was busy, for a winter’s day in Venice.
Clusters of wandering tourists with the straps of their backpacks stretched over thick coats took photos of the scenery and each other on their phones.
Gondoliers with roll-necks under monochrome-striped jumpers, and beanies stuffed beneath straw boaters, manoeuvred their vessels through the green-grey waters, their passengers huddled under blankets.
And lunch, it seemed, was cooking in every restaurant.
The smell of aromatic garlic and rosemary drifted through the streets and along the canals in a fug of expectation.
There had recently been an acqua alta – or high water – in the city, flooding it to several inches and briefly joining St Mark’s Square to the lagoon. If Olivia and the walkers cared to look closely, the margins of the alleyways still hosted shallow puddles.
‘Have you ever been in Venice during an acqua alta?’ Meryn asked her author. They walked with Tanya; Leo, Frances and Anthony were behind.
‘No,’ Olivia replied, ‘but I’ve read about it.
’ She had, in books and the occasional magazine article: tales of ubiquitous wellington boots, people wading calf-deep across St Mark’s Square and the dining rooms of hotels being temporarily moved to the first floor.
And she had occasionally wondered about her godmother, Gillian, in the high tides of the city, too.
Had Gillian stridden purposefully through the puddles on her way to the Guggenheim, in a cape and galoshes, her face set?
Did she witness children lifted high on shoulders, a teenager on a skateboard coursing through a flooded alleyway, like Olivia had once seen in a photograph?
She had no idea. Olivia had not seen her godmother for many years.
‘I’m glad we missed it. It would have played havoc with my new boots. When was the last time you were in Venice?’ Meryn asked Olivia.
‘About three years ago,’ Olivia replied. She was aware of Leo walking behind. She could hear him laughing.
‘To visit your godmother?’
‘I planned to. But it didn’t quite work out that time.’
‘And did you go to Harry’s Bar?’
‘No, I haven’t been. Oh, is this it?’
They had reached the double doors of the bar.
They were glass-paned oak, bearing the legendary name below two Victorian wall lamps, and set into a white building with grilled windows.
Inside were lemon walls, wood panelling, a white beamed ceiling, a bar to the left with a marble top, and a scattering of tables.
Their party was directed to one at the back of the bar by a waiter with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and thick-rimmed glasses.
Meryn, Tanya and Olivia sat facing the room; Anthony, Frances and Leo were the other side of the table.
‘You won’t regret coming,’ Leo said to Olivia, with a smile.
‘No.’ She returned one, but she did, already.
She wished she wasn’t in the corner. She wished Leo wasn’t sitting opposite her.
She glanced up at a painting on the wall to her left: a seated woman with a lute and a jaunty suitor standing over her.
Perhaps she could stare at that the whole time she was imprisoned here and avoid Leo’s eye.
They ordered Harry’s famous bellinis, which came in short tumblers, and perused the menus, Leo excitedly reading out every dish. Leo had always lived for food – breakfast, lunch, dinner, afternoon snacks, late-night suppers – she thought, with a residue of bittersweet affection.
‘We’ve also got a brunch tomorrow at Fellini’s, before the signing,’ said Tanya, after Leo had reeled off the last item on the menu and they’d ordered from the waiter. ‘If you want to come.’
‘Oh no, thank you,’ said Olivia, looking back from the fascinating lute in the painting. ‘I’m going to my godmother’s house tomorrow morning.’
She knew she was being reserved, a little brusque. She knew she couldn’t be expansive, or fun, or engaged here with Leo Greene. She knew it was for self-protection.
‘Do you need a hand?’ Meryn asked.
‘No, it’s just a few boxes to sort.’ And a bench, she remembered, to move into the garden, but she could manage that on her own. She could manage it all on her own.
‘You sure?’ Frances chipped in, hovering over her bellini. ‘We could all pitch up and get stuck in.’ Although Anthony looked horrified at the thought, his mouth a dismayed moue.
‘Of course, I’ll be fine. There’s really not much to do. Thanks for asking.’
‘Leo?’ prompted Tanya. ‘Fellini’s? You’re coming, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Leo had looked momentarily distracted.
Probably by a plate of grilled octopus sailing by to another table.
‘Yeah, probably. Thank you. I’ve heard great things about that place.
’ He smiled genially, then he turned to Olivia.
‘You ordered the risotto,’ he said to her. ‘Good choice. You like risotto.’
‘That’s why I ordered it.’
Her smile was terse. She could feel Meryn looking at her, probably wondering why she was being so aloof, and how Leo knew she liked risotto.
But she didn’t want Leo telling her what she had liked, what she had felt, what she had said.
Tossing out memories like scallops from pan to plate, shaking them over an open flame, flambéing them with a dash of brandy, while she preferred her memories on ice.
He seemed to be waiting for some kind of further response from her, but when she didn’t provide one, he turned away, and she returned to the painting.
She didn’t want to talk about food they had shared, or study the skin at his throat, which she had once smothered in kisses.
Or consider his bottom lip, which she had once tugged at gently with her teeth.
She didn’t want to be tempted by memory.
Their starters arrived: king crab, baby spinach salad and carpaccio.
They talked about Felicity and Valentina, about Palazzo Tesoro, the bussolai, the frescos.
They discussed the current top five books in the Sunday Times Bestseller List, where Leo was hovering at a close sixth and Olivia at number five.
‘Side by side, and both with the same scene in,’ quipped Anthony. ‘I’m surprised no one else has picked up on it.’
‘Maybe no one else will,’ mused Frances, spearing a last piece of mozzarella. ‘If the crime and the romance readers keep themselves to themselves.’
‘Let’s hope they do,’ said Olivia dryly, trying not to think about it already being on Instagram.
‘It’s such a lot of nonsense about nothing.
’ She dared a glance at Leo, who was now staring vaguely out of one of the intricately grilled windows.
She didn’t want to hear about that scene again, didn’t want to think about it.
She was two books on. A lifetime on. She didn’t need to live in the past. She had her world, and Leo had his.
She had never rightly been a part of his, and the one time she thought they could finally collide as equals, they had splintered away from each other like a satellite exploding.
‘Oh, God, someone’s just fallen over outside!’ Leo cried. Olivia leaned forward to look out of the window and spied a figure on the ground outside Harry’s, surrounded by shopping bags. ‘I think it’s Beth!’
Leo was up, and running to the door. Olivia watched through the window as he arrived at Beth’s side, helped her to her feet, and seconds later, there she was, coming into Harry’s Bar, Leo grappling with all her bags.
‘Are you alright?’ Anthony asked, making no move to get up.
‘I tripped over,’ Beth said, brushing down the front of her coat and straightening her glasses. ‘Uneven slab. But I think I’m OK. Dodgy hip,’ she grimaced. ‘The joys of middle age.’
Leo pulled out a stool for her at their end of the table, helped Beth out of her coat, placed her bags carefully in the corner.
‘Have a menu,’ he said, handing one to her. ‘Order what you like. Tanya’s picking up the tab.’
‘Am I?’ Tanya looked amused above her designer scarf.
‘Of course. Or Jones Hill can, all that money I’ve made for them this year.’
‘Oh, well, yes. Fair do’s,’ Tanya said with a little pout.
Leo called the waiter back over. Beth ordered a Cipriani risotto and a sparkling water.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Olivia asked her. She reached over and touched Beth’s wrist.
‘Yes, I’m fine, honestly.’ Beth smiled. ‘Thanks to Leo. My hero.’
She winked at him behind her owl glasses. Leo laughed.
‘How did you enjoy the panel this morning?’ he asked her. The others were embroiled in a conversation about an author who had replied to a negative book review on Goodreads, creating a trio of Beth, Leo and Olivia at this end of the table.
‘I loved it,’ she replied. ‘Although, I hope I didn’t embarrass you both. Making a scene about a scene.’
‘Of course not!’ Olivia jumped in far too quickly. ‘It was interesting, really.’ Leo looked at her; she looked away. ‘Very incisive. You’re a great member of the book community. What is it you do for a day job, though, Beth? I’m curious.’
‘I’m a swimming teacher,’ said Beth with a grin. ‘At Swim! Warrington.’
‘Oh, fantastic,’ Leo said. ‘That sounds great.’
Someone’s phone started ringing. They all watched as Leo plucked his up from the table and pushed back his chair. ‘Sorry!’ he said. ‘I forgot I was expecting a call. I’ll just take this outside.’
He left the bar. Frances raised her eyebrows and mouthed, ‘A woman,’ to Olivia from across the table.
‘So, yes,’ Beth continued, ‘my granddaughter’s just started having lessons so I’ve been teaching her, too.’
‘Your granddaughter? That’s sweet. How old is she?’ Olivia asked.
‘Fourteen months.’ Beth beamed. She extracted her own phone from her cross-body bag and showed them a photograph of a baby in a pink swimming costume, grinning with one top and one bottom tooth on proud display.
‘Gorgeous!’ declared Olivia. She absorbed her usual pang.