Chapter 11 #2
They decided to start where the armchairs were, where Beth intended to display different artists’ work.
She’d chosen a neutral colour for the walls, as Beth knew it often worked well in exhibitions, allowing the customer to focus on the art without interruption.
She’d also selected some bolder colours in royal blue and deep, Regency red for smaller alcoves in the boat to give the place some colour and keep the cosy feel.
They’d look so good around the fire, and she didn’t want it to feel sterile like a chain bookstore.
Together they cleared books and took furniture out onto the street, which Cesca then broke up, Cesca measuring the pieces and cutting them to size to make new, sleek shelves.
Polo stayed out of the way, deciding at one point to go on a little adventure, and he disappeared from sight down the side streets and alleyways away from the barge.
Beth still worried a little about him but was growing used to him returning when he felt like it, and always by six o’clock, ready for his dinner.
The morning went quickly, and both were surprised to see Marco arrive at lunchtime carrying bags of food and another tray of takeaway coffees.
After their strange meeting a couple of nights before, Beth wasn’t sure how to act around him and now, with Cesca’s secret on top, she felt even more uncomfortable. He smiled warmly at them both.
Cesca shot Beth a concerned glance, so she smiled back, reassuring her friend that, as she’d promised, she wouldn’t say anything.
‘How is it going?’ Marco asked, perching on the small brick wall that lined the other side of the canal path.
‘Good!’ Cesca replied, checking the length of a piece of wood. ‘We’re making excellent progress. I don’t think this will take more than a week. Well, to do the inside anyway.’
‘Really?’ Beth replied, jiggling in her excitement. ‘That means I can be open for Carnevale!’
‘The outside will need more work,’ Cesca said, leaving the wood and taking her coffee from Marco. ‘But we can tackle that after, if you like.’
‘Yes, that’d be great.’
‘Here,’ Marco said, handing Beth a coffee. ‘This is for you.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ She took a tentative sip, surprised that he’d remembered her order from before.
‘I risked being thrown out of Italy, ordering your latte.’
Beth laughed. ‘You’re very brave.’ He gave her a flirty smile in return.
What was with this guy? Sometimes he could be relaxed and charming, and at other times he reverted to such a stony, businesslike approach she felt spun around. The hit of strong coffee gave her the energy boost she needed, though she hadn’t realised it.
‘What’s in the bag?’ Cesca asked sneaking a look.
‘Get your nose out and I’ll show you,’ he teased. ‘I thought you might be hungry. Both of you.’
Marco glanced again at Beth, and the fizzing she’d experienced every time they met returned. This time though, she couldn’t help but wish Cesca had never unloaded her secret on her, even though she’d clearly needed to.
Marco pulled out three tuna and olive stuffed tramezzino: soft white bread sandwiches cut into triangles. They were a simple food, but always delicious because of the quality of the ingredients. Beth took hers greedily, her stomach rumbling.
Just as she was taking a bite, Marco said, ‘Are you free this afternoon, Beth? One of my artists would like to meet you.’
She hastily covered her mouth while she chewed, then wiped her lips with the napkin. Meeting a client with tuna breath? It wasn’t ideal. She’d have to grab some mints on the way. ‘Yes of course. Is that okay with you, Cesca?’
‘Of course!’ she replied brightly.
‘I can give you the spare key in case I’m not back by the time you want to finish. You did start stupidly early this morning.’
‘That would make life easier.’
‘Let me get it now before I forget.’
‘No!’ Cesca and Marco both cried in unison, their hands shooting out to stop her moving.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Eat first,’ Cesca said, pointing at her sandwich. ‘We Italians always prioritise our food.’
‘Always,’ Marco added with a glint in his eye that made Beth slightly hot even though she didn’t have her coat on.
They ate in comfortable silence, Marco and Cesca making odd snippets of conversation about their family business and the general excitement for Carnevale.
When he mentioned Emilio’s next race, Beth had to stop her eyes flying to Cesca, who was acting as if this news was the most uninteresting thing she’d ever heard.
‘You always talk about him,’ she said dismissively. ‘It’s boring.’
She seemed to realise she sounded like a teenager as she winced a little, though Marco didn’t see.
He laughed. ‘He’s my best friend, and I’m proud of what he’s achieved. You remember how he was at school. Always in trouble. Never doing the work. I’m glad he’s found something he wants to work hard at.’
‘Is he away often?’ Beth asked, trying to show as much interest as she normally would but not go overboard or act rudely uninterested. Again, an uncomfortable gnawing started in her tummy.
‘Quite a lot. He lives his life on the road, really. It’s not for me, but he seems to love it. He works hard and plays hard.’
‘No he doesn’t,’ Cesca replied without thinking and then turned back to the book barge, pulling out her tape and pretending to remeasure something. Beth could see the redness clawing up her neck and onto her cheeks.
‘He does,’ Marco replied. ‘Or at least he used to. He has grown up a lot lately; I will give him that. He takes his training a lot more seriously now he’s getting older and can’t rely on youth to get him through.’
Beth reminded herself that she and Marco were only business associates, and it wasn’t her place to tell him anything. Though she did wish Cesca would just be honest with her brother. She kept her mouth shut and finished her sandwich.
Cesca returned to work without another word, only wishing Marco goodbye. He didn’t seem to notice the change in his sister as he cheerfully said to Beth, ‘Shall we go? We’ll have time to walk to Signor Zambelli’s studio.’
‘Is he the portrait painter you mentioned or the lacemaker?’
‘The portrait painter.’
‘Fabulous. I’ll just get my coat.’
She gave Cesca the spare key and snapped a few pictures of the space to show him when they met. ‘If Polo comes back before you leave, just shut the windows and leave him in there. He has water.’
‘And if he’s not back?’
‘Just leave a window open, he’ll climb inside and be asleep by the time I return, knowing him.’
‘Seems like you’ve got used to him already,’ Marco said.
‘I have,’ she replied with a huge grin. She was beginning to love the silly creature and was glad going with the flow had brought him into her life.
The crisp wind she hadn’t noticed as she and Cesca had worked on the boat nipped at her face, and though the sun was shining a little more than it had on previous days, it didn’t quite kill the chill in the air.
They walked towards the sixth sestieri, the artists’ quarter, and after a short silence, Marco spoke first.
‘I should warn you about Signor Zambelli. He is … urgh … I think you say, eccentric.’
‘Eccentric how?’ Beth chuckled. She’d met more than her fair share of eccentrics.
Creatives and academics were known for being unconventional.
One particular male curator at the National Gallery in London had been known for always wearing odd socks and mismatched cufflinks.
He’d always claimed it was an accident, but she suspected he did it on purpose just to play the part.
He was one of the curators of the more boring areas.
‘You’ll see,’ Marco replied, grinning. ‘I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. But he is very nice and very talented. I think people will like his work and it could sell well on your boat.’
‘Great.’ She took a deep breath, enjoying the walk through the city.
They navigated the streets and Beth took a moment to appreciate the different names Venice had for them.
In the rest of Italy, streets were mostly called stradas but in Venice, because it had always been a floating city, accessed via waterways, there were different names like calle, which meant alleyway, or campiello, which meant a square.
They walked along a paved fondamenta – the pavement next to the canal, brushing shoulders as the road tightened.
Beth’s excitement over Cesca saying they might be able to open before Carnevale couldn’t be contained. ‘I can’t wait to open properly,’ she said, slightly embarrassed by her joy.
‘Carnevale is always here before you know it, and it’s a good time of year for artists. A real opportunity to showcase their work. Were you here for it last year?’
‘I was but I saw most of it from my office window.’
They were so close together on the fondamenta, her hand brushed his and his aftershave carried towards her. ‘You didn’t explore the city? Enjoy the parades?’
‘No. I should have. I should have come out and soaked up the atmosphere, but I was too busy working on some items in the gallery storerooms. I’m hoping they’ll put it on display one day.’
‘Your taste runs to the classic?’ he said, though it was more a statement than a question. ‘I remember from our conversation the other night.’
Beth’s nerves fizzed that he remembered, but then, his job was to tempt and schmooze, and part of that was making people feel seen.
‘I suppose I’ve always been drawn more to traditional art.
It’s why I love Venice. I don’t think anything can beat works by Titian or Canaletto.
But that’s not to say I don’t appreciate other art too. I’m very open-minded.’
‘Good, because some of my clients are not old-fashioned.’ He flashed a smile, his eyes glinting in the sunlight.
‘Does that include Signor Zambelli?’
‘No, he is just … odd. Nice, but odd.’