Part 10 (1/2)

Monk had a sharp vision of alienation, the same sense of being apart that he had experienced with such loneliness in the earliest months after his accident. He had known no one, not even himself. He had been a man who belonged nowhere, without purpose or ident.i.ty, a man divorced from his roots.

”Did Friedrich regret his choice?” he said suddenly.

Stephan's eyes narrowed a little. ”I don't think so. He didn't seem to miss Felzburg. Wherever Gisela was was home for him. She was everything he really needed or relied on.” A gust of wind blew across the pavement, something of salt and effluent.

”I am not sure how much he even really wished to be king,” Stephan went on. ”The glamour was wonderful, the adulation, and he could do all that very well. People loved him. But he didn't like the discipline.”

Monk was surprised. ”Discipline?” It was the last thing he had thought of.

Stephan sipped his wine again. Behind him, Monk saw two women walk by, their heads close together, talking in French and laughing, skirts billowing around them.

”You think kings do whatever they want?” Stephan said, shaking his head. ”Did you notice the Austrian soldiers in the piazza?”

”Of course.”

”Believe me, they are an undisciplined rabble compared with Queen Ulrike. I've seen her rise at half past six in the morning, order her household for the parties and the banquets of the day, write letters, receive visitors. Then she'll spend time with the King, encouraging him, advising him, persuading him. She'll spend all afternoon entertaining the ladies she wishes to influence. She'll dress magnificently for dinner and outs.h.i.+ne every other woman in the room, and be present at a banquet until midnight, never once allowing herself to appear tired or bored. And then do the same again the following day.”

He looked at Monk over the top of his gla.s.s, his eyes wry and amused. ”I have a cousin who is one of her ladies in waiting. She loves her and is terrified of her. She says there is nothing Ulrike could not and would not do if she believed it was for the crown.”

”It must have grieved her to the core when Friedrich abdicated,” Monk thought aloud. ”But it seems there is one thing she would not do, and that was allow Friedrich back if he insisted on bringing Gisela with him. She could not swallow her hatred enough for that, even if it meant losing the chance to fight for independence.”

Stephan stared into his wine. All around them the soft sun-light bathed the stones of the piazza in warmth. The light was different here, away from the s.h.i.+fting glitter of the water. The breeze died down again.

”That surprises me,” Stephan said at last. ”It seems out of the character I know of her. Ulrike doesn't forgive, but she would have swallowed gall if she knew it would serve the crown and the dynasty.” He laughed sharply. ”I've seen her do it!”

The party was splendid, a lavish, beautiful echo of high Renaissance glory. They arrived by sea along the Grand Ca.n.a.l just as dusk was falling. The barges and piers were all lit by torches, their flames reflecting in the water, fragmented into sparks of fire by the wakes of pa.s.sing boats. The night wind was soft on the face.

The western arc of heaven was still apricot and a tender, faint blue above. The carved and fretted facades of the palaces facing west were bathed in gold. In the shadows against the light through windows shone the flickering of thousands of candles in salons and ballrooms.

The gondolas floated up and down gently, their boatmen dark silhouettes swaying to keep their balance. They called out to each other, sometimes a greeting, more often a colorful insult. Monk did not know the language, but he caught the inflection.

They arrived at the water entrance and stepped out onto a landing blazing with torches, the smell of their smoke in the wind. Monk was reluctant to go inside; the Ca.n.a.l was so full of vibrant, wonderful life-unlike anything he had seen before. Even in this sad, foreign-occupied decadence, Venice was a city of unique glory, and history was steeped in its stones. It was one of the great crossroads of the world; the romance of it burned like fire in his brain. He imagined Helen of Troy might have had such a beauty in her old age. The blush and the firm flesh would be gone, but the bones were there, the eyes; the knowledge of who she had been would be there forever.

Stephan had to take him by the arm and almost lead him inside through the great arched doorway, up a flight of steps and onto the main floor, which was so large it stretched from one side of the building to the other. It was filled with people laughing and talking. It blazed with light; reflections glittered on crystal, gleaming tablecloths, white shoulders and a king's ransom in jewels. The clothes were gorgeous. Every woman in the room wore something which would have cost more than Monk earned in a decade. Silks were everywhere, as were velvets, laces, beading and embroidery.

He found himself smiling, wondering if perhaps he might even meet some of the great figures of legend who had come here, someone whose thoughts and pa.s.sions had inspired the world. Unconsciously, he straightened his shoulders. He cut a very good figure himself. Black became him. He was of a good height and had a curious lean grace which he knew men envied and women found more attractive than they entirely wished. He did not know how he might have used or abused that in the past, but tonight he felt only a kind of excitement.

Of course, he knew no one except Stephan-until he heard laughter to his right and, turning, saw the dainty, elfin-faced Evelyn. He felt a surge of pleasure, almost a physical warmth. He remembered the rose garden and the touch of her fingers on his arm. He must see her again and spend more time talking with her. It would be an opportunity to learn more of Gisela. He must make it so.

It took him nearly two hours of polite introductions, trivial conversation and the most exquisite wine and food before he contrived to be alone with Evelyn at the top of a flight of stairs that led towards a balcony overlooking the Ca.n.a.l. He had stood there with her for several minutes, watching the light on her face, the laughter in her eyes and the curve of her lips, before he remembered with an unpleasant jolt that he would not be there at all were Zorah Rostova not paying for it. Stephan, as her friend, believing her innocence of motive, had brought him there and introduced him for a purpose. He could never have come as himself, William Monk, a private investigator of other people's sins and troubles, born in a fis.h.i.+ng village in Northumberland, whose father worked on boats for his living, read no book but the Bible.

He dragged his mind away from Evelyn, the laughter and the music and the swirl of color.

”How terrible to lose all this suddenly, in a few hours,” he said, gazing over her head at the ballroom.

”Lose it all?” Her brows puckered in confusion. ”Venice may be crumbling, and there are Austrian soldiers on every corner-do you know, a friend of mine was strolling along the Lido and was actually driven away at gunpoint! Can you imagine that?” Her voice was sharp with indignation. ”But Venice can't sink under the waves in an hour, I promise you!” She giggled. ”Do you think we are another lost Atlantis? A Sodom and Gomorrah-about to be overwhelmed by the wrath of G.o.d?” She swiveled around, her skirts frothing against his legs, the lace catching on the cloth of his trousers. He could smell the perfume of her hair and feel the faint warmth of her, even a yard away as she was.

”I don't see the writing on the wall,” she said happily, staring across the sea of color. ”Don't you think it would be fair to give us some sort of a sign?”

”I was thinking of Princess Gisela.” With difficulty he forced his attention back to the past. The present was too urgent, too giddy to his senses. He was desperately aware of her. ”One moment she must have believed Friedrich was recovering,” he said quickly. ”You all did, didn't you?”

”Oh, yes!” She looked at him with wide brown eyes. ”He seemed to be doing so well.”

”You saw him?”

”No, I didn't. But Rolf did. He said he was a lot better. He couldn't move much, but he was sitting up and talking, and said he felt much better.”

”Well enough to think of returning home?”

”Oh!” She dragged out the syllable with understanding. ”You think Rolf was there to persuade him, and Gisela overheard it and thought Friedrich would go? I'm quite certain you are wrong.” She leaned back a little against the railing. It was a gently provocative pose showing the curves of her body. ”No one who knew them really thought he would go without her.” The laughter died and there was a faintly wistful look in her face. ”People who love like that cannot ever be parted. He wouldn't have survived without her, nor she without him.” She was half profile to Monk. He could see her delicate nose, a little turned up, and the shadow of her lashes on the smoothness of her cheek. She stared over the hubbub of noise from scores of people chattering, the music of violins and woodwind instruments.

”I remember when one of Giuseppe Verdi's new operas was performed at the Fenice here,” she said with a rueful smile. ”It was about politics in Genoa. The scenery was all rather like this. Lots of water. That was ten years ago.” She shrugged. ”Of course, the theater is closed now. I don't suppose you have noticed it yet, but there are no carnivals anymore, and Venetian aristocracy has all moved to the mainland. They don't attend the official parties the Austrian government gives. I don't know whether that's because they hate the Austrians so much or because they are afraid of nationalist reprisals if they do.”

”Nationalist reprisals?” he said curiously, still watching the light on her face. ”You mean there is a nationalist movement here so strong they would actually victimize people who openly accept the occupation?”

”Oh, yes!” She shook her head in a gesture of resignation. ”Of course, it doesn't matter to us, who are expatriates anyway, but to the Venetians it's terribly important. Marshal Radetzky, he's the governor, said that he would give b.a.l.l.s and masques and dinners, and if the ladies would not come, then his officers would waltz with each other.” She gave a rueful little laugh and glanced at him quickly, then away again. ”When the Austrian royal family came here, they went in procession down the Grand Ca.n.a.l, and no one even came to the windows or balconies to look! Can you imagine that?”

He tried, visualizing the sadness, the oppression and resentment, the dignified, rather pathetic figures of the royalty in exile keeping up their pretense of ceremony, and the real royalty, carrying all its power of empire, sailing down those glittering waters in silence as they were totally ignored. And all the while the real Venetians busy elsewhere, planning and fighting and dreaming. No wonder the city had an air of desolation unlike any other.

But he was here to learn about Friedrich and Gisela, and why Zorah had made her charge. He was standing very close to Evelyn. He could feel the warmth of her body. Her soft hair was faintly tickling his face, and the perfume of her seemed to be everywhere. The noise and the glitter swirled around him, but he was islanded alone with her in the shadows. It was hard to focus his attention back to the issue.

”You were going to tell me something about Friedrich,” he prompted her.

”Oh, yes!” she agreed, glancing at him for a moment. ”It was the opera. Gisela wanted to go. It was to be a special performance. All sorts of old Venetian n.o.bility were to be there. As it turned out, they were not. It wasn't really a success. Poor Verdi! Gisela was determined, and Friedrich refused. He felt he owed it to some Venetian prince or other not to go, because of the Austrian occupation. After all, Venice was his home after so many years here. A sort of loyalty, I suppose.”

”But Gisela didn't care?” he questioned.

”She wasn't very political...”

Or very loyal either, he thought, or grateful to a people who had made her welcome. It was suddenly an ugly tone in a picture up to then in totally romantic colors. But he did not interrupt.

From the ballroom the music floated up to them, and a woman's sudden laughter. He glimpsed Klaus in conversation with a white-bearded man in military uniform.

”She dressed in a new gown,” Evelyn went on. ”I remember because it was one of the best I had ever seen, even on her. It was the shade of crushed mulberries, with gold braid and beaded embroidery, and the skirt was absolutely enormous. She was always slender, and she walked with her head very high. She wore a gold ornament in her hair, and a necklace with amethysts and pearls.”

”And Friedrich didn't go? Who escorted her?” he asked, trying to picture it but seeing in his mind's eye only Evelyn.

”Yes, he did go,” she said quickly. ”That is, she went with Count Balda.s.sare, but they had barely sat down when Friedrich arrived. To anyone else it could have looked merely as if he was late. It was only by chance I knew the truth. I don't think Friedrich even knew what the opera was about. He couldn't have told you whether the soprano was dark or fair. He watched Gisela all night.”

”And she was pleased to have won?” He tried to understand whether it had been a battle of wills, a jealousy, or simply a domestic tiff. And why had Evelyn elected to tell him this?

”She didn't seem so. And yet I know perfectly well she had no interest in Count Balda.s.sare, nor he in her. He was merely being courteous.”

”He was one of the Venetian aristocracy who remained?” he a.s.sumed.

”No. Actually, he's gone too now.” She sounded curious and surprised. ”The fight for independence has cost a lot of people far more than I used to think. Count Balda.s.sare's son was killed by the Austrians. His wife has become an invalid. She lost a brother too, I think. He died in prison.” She looked rueful and puzzled. ”I'm not sure how much it is all worth. The Austrians aren't bad, you know. They are very efficient, and they are one of the few governments in Europe who are not corrupt. At least that is what Florent says, and he's half Venetian, so he wouldn't say it if it were not true. He loathes them.”

Monk did not reply. He was thinking of Gisela. She was an unclear picture in his mind. He had never seen her face. He had been told she was not beautiful, but his vision always saw her with wide eyes and a turbulent, pa.s.sionate kind of loveliness. Evelyn had marred it with the story of the opera. It was a very slight thing, only an ungraciousness in insisting on attending a function her husband had considered dishonor to their hosts, a form of ingrat.i.tude he had forbidden, and she had defied him for the pleasure of an evening's entertainment.

But in the end Friedrich had gone too, rather than endure her displeasure. Monk did not admire that either.