Chapter 4 #2
The lower deck was as higgledy-piggledy as the upper, with books crammed into every corner, stacked in piles, but there was also a small seating area at the opposite end, and a wood-burning fire halfway along the hull.
Its orangey light gave the whole place a cosy glow, as did the numerous table lamps scattered along the shelves.
As the warmth from the fire wrapped around her, she felt instantly at home.
A sense of peace washed over her, the same thing she felt in the galleria when she was working on an exhibition or researching something.
The same way she felt when she walked into those sacred spaces, and history and culture surrounded her.
Now she came to think of it, it was the same with all bookshops.
She’d always felt at home in them, protected from the world outside.
As though the worries of the world or her life couldn’t follow her.
She could continue to have this every day if she wanted to, and she did, she realised with a grin.
She really did want this. She grinned at Cesca and Marco.
He and Signor Balbo were chatting but when their eyes met and he smiled widely at her, something surged inside her just as it had the day before.
Why was he here? Had Cesca dragged him along?
After a moment, Signor Balbo broke away and turned to her.
‘What do you think?’ he asked tentatively, moving down to the armchairs at the end and lowering himself into one.
Before she could answer, Cesca and Marco stepped forward.
‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Cesca said, leaning into Beth and whispering, ‘But there is only surface-level work to do. Nothing major.’
‘This is a great spot,’ Marco added. ‘Very popular. Most people would love a barge on this canal.’
So that was why he was there. Cesca had asked him to come along to consult on the business side of things. ‘There’s definitely a lot going in its favour,’ Beth replied.
Cesca held her arm. ‘I’m biased because I want you to stay, but I think this is a good chance. And Marco thinks so too, don’t you?’
‘It is your choice what you do, but as a business proposition, it is a good one.’
‘Call us when you’re done,’ Cesca said.
With that, they left.
Signor Balbo signalled to the seat opposite him and Beth edged through the chaos.
A small cat wandered in through the doorway, leaping from the ledge to a stack of books and then walking along in that wonderfully elegant way cats did.
It hopped down, crossed the barge and then jumped up into Signor Balbo’s lap.
‘This is Polo, after Marco Polo because he likes to go off and explore but he always comes back.’
‘He’s lovely.’ She watched as the cat curled into a ball in Signor Balbo’s lap but pushed his head into the man’s hand to enjoy the scratching behind his ears. His fur was a beautiful dark grey and his whiskers a dark black.
‘And the bookshop?’ Signor Balbo asked.
‘It’s very cosy,’ she replied, revelling in the warmth from the fire.
She hadn’t realised how chilly she’d grown wandering around that morning, or how in need of another coffee she was.
She could have dozed off in the comfortable chair with the fire on and the sense of peace and calm floating around her.
‘Do you want to buy it?’
The direct question threw her, pulling her from the reverie she’d been enjoying, even though that was the only reason she was there. Panic and doubt gripped her and she found herself saying, ‘Well, I – I think I need to—’
‘My children don’t want it,’ he said sadly, speaking in Italian. Polo dipped his head and Signor Balbo’s old hands stroked the cat’s back instead. ‘They have careers in Padua.’
‘That’s a shame. I’m sorry.’ She didn’t know what else to say, but the man continued.
‘This was my life’s work.’ He looked around, taking in the book barge, the overcrowded shelves, scanning each title.
‘It was tidier when I could look after it properly, before my wife died and I got old.’ He gave a sad smile.
‘It didn’t always look like this. And now it needs to go to someone who will take better care of it. ’
‘Does this place have a name?’ she asked gently. She’d never seen one outside and had only ever known it as the floating bookshop as most of the ones in Venice were in brick-and-mortar stores.
‘La Libreria delle Parole.’
Immediately after he said it, her nerves began to tingle. ‘The Library of Words,’ she said in English. ‘Beautiful.’
‘Exactly,’ he replied, a small smile lighting his tired, pale grey eyes. Polo looked up when he stopped stroking, and he smiled down at the cat as he began again. A soft purring sound filled the barge.
Her heart seemed to warm in her chest at hearing the name, radiating out through her body.
She could imagine herself here, instead of the galleria office, in the warm glow, tidying books and rearranging displays.
In the summer, with the sun streaming in through the windows, queues of people would wait for her to serve them.
And when she thought of herself doing all those things, to her surprise, the worry and fear of an unplanned choice faded, and she pictured herself smiling and happy, contented.
Beth’s mind began to race. She’d stock the latest commercial fiction – stuff people on holiday wanted to buy, and maybe she’d keep some of the more beautiful older books for decoration.
There might even be some rare finds here, in amongst all this mess.
She’d have to sort through carefully rather than just chuck the old stuff out and start again.
And she could run events, sell beautiful, hand-picked pieces of art, maybe other bookish gifts too.
And if money got tight, she could freelance, giving tours of the museums. Signor Sanna wouldn’t mind that, and she knew every piece of art in that place, could recite the bios of every artist in there.
This could work, she thought excitedly. This could actually work.
The image of her with a queue of customers, everyone chatting happily over books, sat with her and a calmness settled inside.
As it was only January, she’d have plenty of time to get everything ready for the spring and the hordes of tourists who would hopefully visit the floating bookshop and buy something from her.
Was it finally time to take a chance instead of spending all her time thinking and planning?
Was this a sign from the universe that this year, she should do something different?
Live a little differently? She had to move forwards somehow and all she knew at that moment was that moving forwards did not mean returning to England, it meant forging on with her life here, and the book barge felt right.
It felt like home in the same way the galleria had.
The same way every museum she’d ever visited had.
Excitement won out, and doubt and fear faded.
Signor Balbo looked at her in expectant silence, hope clear in his eyes. ‘So … ?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to buy her?’
For the first time, Beth let the impulsive voice she’d always buried come to the fore, and it drowned out every other thought in her head. In a loud, confident voice she said, ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’