Chapter 10 #2
The day continued with a steady stream of customers Beth found incredibly pleasing.
There were a couple of busier moments when she couldn’t even see the table on the canal bank because so many people were crowded in front of it, but as the day drew to a close, seeing the number of books she’d sold filled her with joy.
She’d spoken in both Italian and English to customers and, as she’d suspected, people who loved books were just nice.
As the afternoon sun lit the pale grey sky, and the customers ebbed away, the other barges began to pack up.
‘You did well!’ Lolanda said, calling over from the coffee barge as Beth began to take books inside.
‘Yes, I’m very pleased! How did you do?’
‘Very good. People were thirsty today.’
Galvano added, ‘The cold makes them want to warm up. And Lolanda’s pastries are irresistible.’
‘I see.’ Beth put down the books she’d just gathered and wandered closer.
Galvano removed two pastries they hadn’t sold from the glass display case.
One was savoury with pesto and goat’s cheese – like a mini pizza – and the other was a sweet called sfogliatella, shaped like a lobster tail and so delicate it looked as though it would break as soon as it was touched. ‘Is this all that’s left?’
‘Sì.’
‘Can I take them, please? I’m starving.’ She hadn’t had anything since that coffee this morning and a slice of toast before she left her grotty holiday let.
‘Of course.’ Galvano put them in two separate bags.
‘I’ll just grab my wallet—’
‘No, no, no! Free. You have them for free.’
‘I can’t.’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Of course you can,’ Lolanda added. ‘We will only throw them away. Take them!’
‘Thank you. That’s really kind of you.’
‘We will see you next week!’
They waved and Beth took the bag, tucking into the savoury pastry as she cleared up.
The goat’s cheese and pesto were perfectly balanced, the pastry fluffy and chewable, and the sfogliatella was crumbly and sweet.
She was just putting down the trestle table she’d bought and trying to manoeuvre it through the barge doorway without falling down the steps when Marco appeared.
‘Oh! Hello. I hadn’t expected to see you today.’
In fact, she hadn’t known when she would see him again as they hadn’t made any plans.. Seeing him now, her ribs tightened around her heart, and she almost lost her balance on the steep stairs.
‘Do you need some help?’ Marco asked.
She thought about continuing on her own to show she didn’t need anyone’s assistance, but then, why struggle when a strapping, handsome Italian man was offering to help? ‘Can you take that end for me?’
He did as he was asked, and she safely got down the steps before taking the weight of it and moving it inside.
‘Thank you. What are you doing here?’
He looked as handsome as ever, a smattering of weekend stubble on his jaw. He was wearing dark denim jeans, almost as navy as his peacoat and black boots. A striped scarf added a splash of colour at the opening of his coat. Italian men really knew how to dress. He looked like a model.
‘I thought I’d come and see how your first day selling books has gone.’
‘Very well actually.’
She told him all about the day and about meeting Lolanda and Galvano next door. Through one of the windows she saw them beginning to move away, the boat steadily gliding through the water. She hoped she’d see them again the following weekend.
‘And what are you doing now?’
‘Bringing the rest of that inside.’ She pointed out of the window. ‘Then sinking into a hot bath and drinking a huge glass of wine.’
His gaze whipped to her as she mentioned the bath and it made her nerves tingle.
‘Why?’ she asked, ignoring the feeling.
‘Because I want to talk to you about some of my artists. I’ve already spoken to a few and they’re interested.’
‘Really? That’s brilliant!’
‘Shall we go for a drink? Do you think you can manage that before you sink into a bath?’
Her cheeks grew hot, a warm fuzziness filling her lungs, and she attempted to ignore the beautiful ice-blue eyes watching her.
‘Sure. Do you want to sit down while I finish off? Polo should be back soon too and I better leave him here while we go. I don’t think anywhere nice will let me bring a cat carrier inside. ’
‘Maybe not,’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘But I don’t mind helping. Then you’ll be done more quickly.’
A sizzling feeling began to spread through her limbs, and she put it down to her body finally warming up after being in the cold all day, though deep down she knew it wasn’t to do with that at all.
As six o’clock neared, Polo returned from his day’s expeditions, and she left him with some water inside the book barge while she headed out with Marco.
He took her to a canal-side bar a few streets away and the tinkling sounds of a piano were just noticeable under the chatter as Marco led them to a table.
The green marble that Venice was famous for covered the walls, the polished surface and pale, almost white veins in the stone reflecting the light.
Gilt-edged mirrors spread the soft orange glow of the numerous table lamps all around the room and the place screamed class as though it was coming through a loudspeaker.
Beth felt grubby and dull in her boring trousers and jumper, her hair tied in a plain ponytail and the dust from the book barge, that always seemed to be there, covering her skin. She brushed a hand down her trouser leg as she waited for Marco to return from the bar.
He handed her a glass of wine and placed one in front of himself as he slid into the chair opposite.
‘This place is beautiful,’ she said, wondering how he knew it and who he might have brought here. Elegant, gorgeous women with glossy hair and long legs, no doubt.
‘You’ve never been?’
‘No, I … I was so focused on my job I didn’t get out much.’
‘I know that feeling,’ he replied casting a gentle look at her.
The softness reminded her of the Marco she’d seen before at the gym, bringing her flowers, but then he swallowed and something shifted.
‘I sometimes bring clients here. This place—’ He signalled to the room.
‘It encompasses Venice and they like looking out over the lagoon. It always impresses them.’
She followed his gaze to the view out of a floor-to-ceiling window.
The Venetian Lagoon, the enclosed bay in which the city sat, was a wonder of the world.
The city itself was a UNESCO World Heritage site.
The waters were growing choppy as the wind picked up, but it was busy nonetheless, water taxis moving to and from the small islands and barges of goods being transported.
She drew her gaze back to Marco to catch him watching her.
‘Are these clients for your family business or your PR firm?’
A slight stoniness entered his expression but then was gone as quickly as it came. ‘Mostly for my business. My father, he doesn’t like me trying to “sell” what we do. He thinks it is … tacky, you English might say.’
That sounded a little short-sighted to her, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she said, ‘Every business needs publicity, even the most successful ones.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You said a few of your clients were interested in the book barge. Do I get to know who?’
‘You do.’ He sipped his wine, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. She drew her eyes down to the ruby liquid in her glass. ‘That’s why I wanted to meet. They want to meet you. I was hoping to set up some appointments. Is that okay?’
‘Yes, of course. Please do. I’ll be there whenever they can see me. Francesca said she can start work on the barge this week, so I’ll need to keep out of her way anyway.’
He smiled fondly at the mention of his sister. ‘She’s very excited. She loves projects where she can have some freedom.’
‘I’m happy to take her advice. I know she’s going to do a great job.’
‘She is very talented.’
‘It’s rather an unusual career for a woman, though, isn’t it? A carpenter. That may sound sexist, but – well, I think she should be very proud.’
‘Our family are all practical, hands-on people, but she has always hated the heat from the furnace. As do I,’ he added.
For a second he didn’t speak as his eyes glazed, and his gaze seemed to turn inwards.
He rubbed a small area of his wrist and Beth noticed some scarring there.
Had there been an accident? ‘She was terrified of the molten glass as a child. Instead she’d make things from wood and my father was happy to encourage her career. ’
But not yours, Beth thought, wondering why.
‘I’m very proud of her,’ Marco finished.
Again, a piece of her melted even though Marco was being nothing but professional. ‘So who are we going to see this week?’ she asked with assumed brightness.
‘A lacemaker who makes incredible pieces of art using traditional Venetian techniques, and a portrait artist. Don’t worry, he isn’t like the ones who con the tourists in St Mark’s Square. He is a very talented man and a friend. There may be more, but I’m waiting for some people to get back to me.’
‘That sounds amazing. I’m very, very grateful.’ She could just see the far corner of the book barge with items like this on the walls. Or maybe she could do takeover days where the whole barge was used by a single artist as working and exhibition space.
‘What?’ Marco asked. ‘Your face has—’ he ran his finger in a large circle around his own face ‘—contorted.’
Beth laughed through her embarrassment, wishing she hadn’t let her emotions show on her face. ‘I was just thinking of an idea, that’s all.’ She told him what had just occurred to her and he nodded.
‘I like that idea very much. I think my clients might too.’
‘We could do it once a month and even open into the evening with wine and nibbles.’
‘Nibbles?’ He was the one making a face now and Beth laughed again.
‘Gorgeous Venetian cicchetti.’
Cicchetti was the Venice equivalent of Spanish tapas.
Though you could get it almost anywhere now, it was traditionally sold in bars called bacari.
Again, she’d only been to a couple with her friends from the museum on staff nights out to celebrate the opening or closing of an exhibition and had always been home early. Academics liked an early night.
‘Ah, I see. Good. I was worried it would be sad English food that has no flavour and is made from bread or flour.’
‘You know, not all of our food is bad. And we only like stodgy food because it’s always so cold and rainy. If we had weather like you do here, we’d eat more salads and fresh fish. We only don’t because it’s always freezing, and no one wants to eat salad when it’s drizzling.’
‘Drizzling?’
‘Raining constantly but not heavily.’
He seemed surprised at her outburst and laughed. It was free and easy, a deep throaty noise that changed his face, the serious, businesslike layers dropping away. ‘I do understand; it isn’t your fault.’
She cocked her head, scowling at him in mock annoyance. ‘I’ll convince you one day, I’m sure.’
He laughed again, and as it died, something shifted and the softness of moments before was gone, concern now visible in the shallow lines around his eyes.
He took another sip of his wine, only a little remaining at the bottom of his glass.
Beth did the same, hoping that he might suggest they have another.
When he didn’t she was just about to ask him herself, but he abruptly stood.
‘Well, I will call you when I know more.’ He took his coat from the back of the chair and slipped it on.
‘Oh, right. Of course. I better go and get Polo anyway.’ Beth almost knocked her glass over as she quickly placed it back on the table, shocked at the sudden end to their discussion.
‘Have a nice evening, Beth. Do you need me to walk you home?’
He’d said it like it was a chore and not something he wanted to do at all, so she shook her head.
‘No, thank you. I don’t live far and like I said, I need to head back and collect Polo.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am.’
‘Okay. Then have a nice evening.’
With a brisk nod of his head, he was gone, weaving through the tables, leaving her watching after him and wondering what had happened to make him run away.
Had she done or said something? Had she offended him?
She flopped down, questioning what had brought about such a sudden change.
Their conversation had only just started.
When the barman caught her attention, he signalled to see if she’d like another and without hesitation she nodded.
As much as she wanted to fetch Polo and fall into her bath and bed, she wanted to figure out what had just happened.
With a new glass of wine, Beth pulled out her book, ready to read, but she couldn’t help replaying the conversation from start to finish.
No matter how many times she ran it through, nothing stood out and the only conclusion she could come to was that it had been a business meeting and nothing more and that Marco wasn’t interested in getting to know her in any other way.
She had to admit, given he was the only man she’d been remotely attracted to in the year she’d been here, the disappointment hit hard.
As she tried to fall into the pages of her latest crime novel, this one featuring a doctor in modern-day Venice, she sighed.
The hero in her hands had no hope of measuring up to the man who’d just left.