Lies and Weddings(126)
Rufus rose from his chair and paused before departing. “I’m going to a family lunch now to welcome Gopal Das’s parents to Venice. If you care to join us, we’re going to be at Osteria Enoteca Ai Artisti.”
Arabella remained at the table as Rufus stormed off. A water taxi pulled up at the dock, and she noticed a short queue of people waiting at the side of the terrace for their rides. The hotel attendant helped a middle-aged Asian couple board the boat, and it sped off while another family of Americans waited for the next one to arrive. Arabella’s mind suddenly wandered back decades to Hong Kong in the early seventies, to the taxi line outside of the old Mandarin Hotel on Chater Road…
It was pouring rain, and she was ten years old, shivering under an umbrella that was much too small with her mother and brother, waiting patiently in a long taxi line. Taxi after taxi came, and they inched along with the crowd until it was finally their turn. Just as their red taxicab pulled up to the sidewalk, a British woman darted out of the building with two children and cut in front of her mother, absentmindedly knocking her to the ground. Her mother, dressed in an elegant silk frock from Joyce, was soaked from head to toe in a puddle, but the British woman ignored her as she guided her own children into the waiting taxi. As her brother, Peter, rushed to help her mother, Arabella stood in rage, not believing her eyes. She glared at the messy blond children in their garish T-shirts staring at her from inside the taxi. She turned to all the other Hong Kongers standing in the line, incredulous that no one was sticking up for them. It was their turn for the taxi, but no one said anything. They all knew the unspoken rule of life in Her Majesty’s Crown Colony of Hong Kong. British first. At that moment, Arabella realized that she hated the locals standing in silence more than she hated that British woman, and she swore that one day she would make all of them bow down to her.
Emerging from the memory, Arabella wondered what that ten-year-old would make of herself now. She wondered whatever happened to that common British mother and her children in the taxi line. She had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. She had become the Countess of Greshamsbury. Look at her now, just look at her now. She sat alone on the terrace of the Gritti Palace on this glorious summer day, for the first time in a very long while sobbing real tears behind her chic red sunglasses.
Skip Notes
* Officially known as the Church of Santa Maria della Presentazione, but commonly known as Le Zitelle, the church was created to assist poor girls, those of marriageable age but too poor to have a dowry.
V
PAOLIN DAL 1760
CAMPO SANTO STEFANO, VENICE ? THE NEXT DAY
“Is it just me, or are all the dogs prettier in Venice?” Rufus remarked as he watched an elderly Italian man in a houndstooth jacket walking through the square with a pair of long-haired dachshunds.
“Everything’s prettier in Venice,” Eden said as they sat at Paolin, a café that had quickly become their morning haunt.
“Do you think you could ever live here?” Rufus asked as he took another sip of his superb cappuccino.[*1]
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“No worries, not important,” Rufus replied. He could tell how distracted Eden was. She had been a nervous wreck ever since her father had texted that he was on his way to Venice. Rufus reached out and squeezed her hand affectionately. “It’s going to be okay.”
Eden gazed at a smartly dressed little boy skipping over a puddle, saying nothing for a few moments. “I don’t know. My imagination’s running wild. Maybe my mother’s still alive? Maybe Dad committed some crime himself? I just don’t know what to think anymore!”
“So stop thinking. Be in the moment with me. Have you tried this delicious cornetto over here? It’s filled with the most decadent chocolate. It’s like an Italian pain au chocolat,” Rufus said, holding up a pastry and waving it in her face playfully. “Come on, submit to the chocolate…”
“All right.” Eden cracked a smile as she took a bite of the flaky cornetto.
Eden and Rufus returned from breakfast to find Thomas Tong lounging in the piano nobile[*2] of Martha’s sumptuous palazzo, enjoying a café latte and staring out the window at the postcard views over the rooftops of Venice.
“You’re early!” Eden exclaimed as she rushed to hug her father tentatively.
“My flight landed early, and your friend Martha so kindly sent her gorgeous motorboat to pick me up,” Thomas said.
“You should have texted us! I would have brought back some freshly baked cornettos.”
“It’s fine, I’m still full from breakfast on the plane. This is quite the place.”
“It’s from the sixteenth century. There’s even a Tiepolo on Martha’s bedroom ceiling!” Eden said excitedly.
“Is there really?” Thomas said distractedly as he glanced over at Rufus, who sensed immediately that the doctor was eager to speak privately with his daughter.
“I’m going to pop out for a bit,” Rufus announced.
“Where are you going?” Eden asked, suddenly nervous to be left alone with her father. She hadn’t steeled herself mentally yet for their big powwow.
“I thought I might catch that Raqib Shaw show that everyone’s raving about,” Rufus replied, giving her a kiss before he left the room.