Chapter 7 #2
‘Right,’ Elsa said authoritatively. ‘We better let you get back to work. No slacking, even if you are your own boss now!’
Beth laughed. ‘I promise I won’t. I’m going to open as usual because it’s going to take time to sort everything out properly and I still might make some money but I want to be refurbished and have a new set-up by Easter, when the tourist season starts again.
I’m hoping with Carnevale in February I might shift a lot of this older stuff, with Venice being a bit busier. ’
‘That sounds like a great plan. You can do this, Bethy! We know you can!’
She hung up, buzzing from her friends’ reaction and their faith in her.
The feeling of being surrounded by books matched that of being surrounded by paintings and history.
But if she was going to hit her target, she really needed to get on.
Beginning again, the time passed quickly.
She was head down, sorting another pile of books when a crash jolted her head up and she screamed.
‘What the—’
She turned to see that Polo, Signor Balbo’s grey cat, had jumped in through an open window, onto a pile of books that had then toppled to the floor. Beth placed a hand to her racing heart.
‘What are you doing here? Signor Balbo should have taken you with him.’
‘There is no point in me doing that,’ an old voice said and Signor Balbo magically appeared at the open doorway. The heat had grown so strong as she started moving around that she’d opened the door, not wanting to put the fire out in case it grew colder again.
‘Signor Balbo! Come in, come in! Can I help you?’
After getting down the steps, he held out his arm and she helped him manoeuvre through the piles of books she was making to the armchair. He carefully lowered himself into it and Polo jumped straight onto his lap, curling into a ball.
‘This is his home. Here. He always comes back here.’
‘But I – I can’t look after a cat! I’ve never had one before.’ She tried to keep the panic from her voice. A cat had definitely not been part of the deal.
‘They are great pets. Independent, but there when you need them.’ Signor Balbo stroked behind Polo’s ears and the cat straightened his neck, pushing against his fingers.
‘Don’t you want to take him with you?’ she asked, hoping he would. ‘I can bring him back to you every time he comes here.’
Signor Balbo shook his head. ‘I will be travelling a lot. I plan to see my children more. My son has already invited me to stay. My daughter too. I am a very happy old man.’ He sat back, smiling at her, and seemed to have de-aged since the last time she saw him. ‘So he is yours now.’
‘Mine?’ The word came out as a high-pitched squeak, so high-pitched that Polo’s head jerked around, looking for whatever creature had made it. ‘Signor Balbo, I appreciate it but … isn’t there a cat sanctuary around here somewhere he could go? A kid who wants a pet that you know of?’
Signor Balbo looked horrified at the suggestion, as though he’d sold his beloved bookshop to the evilest person in history and Beth had to admit that a stab of shame hit her. She glanced at Polo. His bright eyes were watching her, and she was sure they were pleading.
Don’t be impetuous, she told herself. Not again. Once was enough. Once was more than enough for someone who never, ever did outlandish, spur-of-the-moment things.
‘This is his home,’ he said again, half to the cat and half to her.
She opened her mouth to protest again, and as the cat’s eyes met hers, Signor Balbo was also watching on with a sad, puppy dog expression, and when they both tilted their heads in that pleading way cats did, she found different words coming from her mouth. ‘All right then.’
What?! Where did that come from?
Beth rolled her eyes at herself as Signor Balbo turned to the cat and smiled. ‘Signora Torp will look after you now, Polo. Be a good boy.’
‘Does he sleep here?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘You’ll need to take him home with you.
He has a basket here.’ He went to a low cupboard behind the armchair she hadn’t had a chance to look in and pulled out a small carrier.
‘But I let him roam all through the day. He will come back at six o’clock for his dinner.
That’s when I grab him and put him in here. ’
So now she was the sole owner of a cat as well as a book barge. Stupidly, out of the two decisions, the cat was the one causing her the most worry at the moment.
‘Goodbye, my friend,’ Signor Balbo said, kissing the cat on the top of the head. His eyes were glassy, his voice shaking a little, and Beth bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying. It was such a sweet and moving scene.
‘Stop by anytime to visit him, won’t you?’ she said as he moved past her. He didn’t speak in response, but simply took hold of her hand in both of his and kissed it gently before shuffling out.
After he’d left, Beth turned back to the cat who was curled in the seat he’d vacated.
What was she going to do now? She’d have to take him to the holiday let with her; there was nothing else for it.
And she’d have to buy cat food, a litter tray, a water bowl, toys.
She really had to stop with the impetuous decisions.
Her eyes fell on the flowers Marco had given her.
She should put them in water. Had he just been passing?
The idea that he hadn’t sent a thrill down her spine.
She had a rowing club social coming up, and the little black dress she’d barely ever worn had been dry-cleaned and was already hanging on her wardrobe. It was about time she wore it.
With a grin she turned back to the shop, surveying every pile of books, the old-fashioned till and the odd knick-knacks Signor Balbo had left.
Polo’s soft purring filled the air and Beth smiled.
This was her domain. Her floating bookshop.
And her cat now, it seemed. A small chuckle escaped her mouth.
The first stage of building a life in Venice started now.
But no more rash decisions. Definitely none.