Masquerade (28 page)

Angelique Contarini’s least favourite night of the year was the last night of Carnevale. It was like saying goodbye to a dear friend, knowing that you would not see them for six months, unless you counted the two weeks of Carnevale forty days after Easter for the Festa Della Sensa, which Angelique did not because it was too fleeting.

In another few months, her family would be heading to the mainland to spend the summer at their villa in Dolo, along the Brenta Canal. Sure, Villeggiatura was just as manic as Carnevale. Anything was possible and permitted. But Angelique missed Venice in those summers. There was nothing secretive or mysterious about the open land and fresh air of Dolo.

Tilting her chin up, Angelique looked at herself in the mirror. She affixed a black lace mask over her eyes. It was a more subtle statement than she would normally make, especially on the last night of Carnevale, but on this night she wanted to be easily recognisable. Anna had done another fabulous job with her hair, which after many afternoons spent on the altana had achieved golden glory.

‘I’m ready,’ called Angelique to Aunt Portia and her father who were waiting for her in the portego. Apparently, Orelia was feeling unwell and wanted to stay in. She’d been acting quite strange over the last few days, so it was probably best. As for Veronica, once she’d started painting again, she hadn’t stopped. The last time Angelique had checked on her, she had been absorbed in an unusual painting of a sitting room, nothing like the landscapes she used to paint. They had all decided that it was best to leave Veronica to her painting, especially since they did not think she would miss the Carnevale celebrations. So in the end it was just Angelique, Aunt Portia and her father heading out to the Piazza. Angelique knew it would not be difficult to lose her father and aunt in the crowds. There was only one person’s company she desired.

That morning she’d sent a note with a messenger to the studio where Dominico worked, requesting that he meet her that night on Riva degli Schiavoni, the long promenade that began outside the Palazzo Ducale and ran alongside the Canal Grande. Fearful that the note might fall into the wrong hands, she only signed ‘A’. She didn’t know if Dominico had received her note, but she was relying on it. She wanted to make the last night of Carnevale count.

When Angelique and Aunt Portia boarded the gondola awaiting them, she was full of optimism. But that changed when she saw that, naturally, every person in Venice had taken to the calli and campi. It struck her that it might not be quite so easy to find Dominico, especially when everyone was masked.

The situation was far worse at the Piazza. There was hardly room to move among the masked people all vying to see the fire jugglers, live animals, fortune-tellers, acrobats and every other amusement imaginable. A rope was still suspended from the top of the campanile down to a stage erected below, where earlier that day performers had descended the tightrope in various daring fashions. When Angelique was younger, watching this display had been her favourite part of Carnevale. This year she had missed it altogether.

Within minutes, Angelique had become separated from Aunt Portia and her father. She quickly headed for Riva degli Schiavoni and spent the good part of an hour walking up and down the busy promenade, searching for Dominico without any success. What if he had not received her message? Or what if he had decided not to meet her? As far as he knew, she was still engaged.

She was about to give up when she saw a figure ahead of her near the entrance to the Palazzo Ducale. She couldn’t see the man’s face but his height and curly dark hair were the perfect fit for Dominico. She made her way through the crowd. It didn’t take her long to catch up to the man. He was wearing a cloak so she couldn’t quite tell if he had the right build to be Dominico, but the hair! She was certain it was him. She reached out and put her hand his shoulder. The man that turned around wasn’t Dominico. In fact, from the front he looked as much like Dominico as a pearl looked like an egg.

‘Mi dispiace,’ said Angelique, quickly turning and walking in the other direction. She heard the man call out to her, encouraging her to come back, which only made her quicken her pace. Angelique sighed; this was turning out to be her least favourite night ever.

‘Angelique?’ said a voice.

She looked around. Dominico was walking towards her. He was wearing a loose white shirt and brown breeches.

‘I thought I saw you rush past,’ he said when he reached her. ‘I didn’t know if it was you.’

Angelique’s face spread into a smile. ‘Ciao,’ was all she managed to say.

‘I received your message. I’ve been looking for you.’

‘And I’ve been looking for you too.’ Angelique felt herself blushing and tried to think of something else to say. ‘Have you seen the conjurer?’

Dominic shook his head, causing a curl to fall across his forehead. Angelique had the urge to reach up and brush it aside. Instead, she grabbed his hand. ‘You have to see him.’

They joined a group of people gathered around a man dressed entirely in black at the base of the campanile. The conjurer had finished performing a trick making a walking stick disappear. When the applause died down, he bowed theatrically. ‘For my next act, I need a woman to volunteer her fan.’

A masked woman in an expensive dress eagerly passed her feathered fan to the conjurer. ‘What a beautiful fan,’ said the conjurer. He pretended to fan himself causing the audience to laugh. He closed the fan and threw it high into the air. It unfolded in its ascent and transformed into a white dove. The dove beat its wings and flew off.

There was an amazed silence before the audience erupted into applause, Angelique included. A moment later, Dominico joined in, but without any of the enthusiasm Angelique was displaying.

‘You seem distracted,’ she said.

‘Mi dispiace, I’ve just got things on my mind.’

‘Would you like to go somewhere less crowded?’

‘Is there such a place tonight?’ he said, as someone in the crowd bumped him roughly.

‘I think I might know somewhere.’ Angelique did not give Dominico a chance to protest; she grabbed his hand and led him across the Piazza. She stopped to buy them each a stick of caramelised figs. As they sucked on the golden sugar coating, they made their way, down calli, over ponti, and through sotoportegos. Candles in lamps lit parts of the way. In truth, Angelique did not know where she was going, which made it all the more fun.

They crossed a ponte that opened out onto a deserted campo.

‘We’re here,’ said Angelique, spreading her arms wide and twirling around.

Dominico looked around and nodded. ‘I didn’t think there was a quiet place in the city tonight, but you have proved me wrong.’

Angelique walked over to the wellhead in the middle of the campo and leaned up against it. ‘So, what is on your mind?’

‘It’s silly. I’d rather not say,’ answered Dominico.

Angelique widened her eyes imploringly. ‘You can tell me anything.’

‘My master wants me to paint a woman tomorrow.’

‘What’s the matter with that?’

Dominico gave her a serious look.

‘Oh,’ said Angelique.

‘How can I be expected to do my job with a naked woman lying in front of me?’

Angelique had no answer. How indeed!

For a while they stood in silence. Finally, Angelique asked, ‘Will you soon be heading to the mainland for Villeggiatura?’

‘No, I’m staying in Venice. Summer is a good time to paint landscapes with the smaller crowds and fewer people commissioning portraits.’

Angelique did not hide her disappointment.

‘Did your fiancé like the portrait?’

‘Actually, I never gave it to him. We are not engaged any more.’

‘That is his loss,’ whispered Dominico.

Angelique felt her heart leap. ‘I’d like to see more of your paintings,’ she said. ‘The ones of Santa Maria della Salute.’

‘Now?’

‘Why not? Is your casa far?’

Angelique followed Dominico up the narrow staircase to the piano nobile of his casa, nearby to the shipbuilding yard in a part of Venice unfamiliar to Angelique. The small room they entered at the top of the staircase was definitely the room of an artist. There were paintings stacked along the walls, equipment scattered around, and a divan for modelling. A fire was still burning in the fireplace, filling the room with a pleasant warmth that made it necessary for Angelique to remove her cloak.

‘This is the one I’m working on at the moment,’ said Dominico, walking over to the triangular wooden frame in the centre of the room.

Biting her lip, Angelique studied it. It was a nice painting. Dominico clearly had a lot of talent. She wanted to say something intelligent, something Veronica would say. ‘I like the colours of the sky,’ said Angelique, immediately feeling silly.

Dominico smiled. ‘I know which one you’ll like.’ He walked across the room to a stack of paintings leaning up against the wall and he began to look through them.

‘Paint me like Venus,’ whispered Angelique.

Dominico stumbled and knocked over the paintings. He turned to face Angelique. ‘Like Venus?’

Angelique nodded and glided over to him. She put her hands on his chest. ‘It will help prepare you for tomorrow. But first, I will need some help getting out of this,’ she said, indicating to her clothes.

‘Are you sure?’

Angelique untied her mask and nodded.

With shaking fingers, Dominico undressed her layer by layer, loosening the leather ties of her stays, removing the wooden frame of her pannier until all that was left was her thin white chemise. The layers of clothing pooled around her feet. She stepped away from them and stood in front of Dominico. Her heart beat so quickly she thought she was going to faint. All her confidence had dropped away with her clothing. She had never been seen naked by a man before.

It was clear from the way Dominico’s arms sat gentlemanly by his side that Angelique was going to have to remove the last bit of clothing.

Taking a deep breath, she reached down and grabbed the bottom of her chemise. She lifted it over her hips, her breasts and finally her head. She let it fall to the floor.

‘You have spoiled all other women for me,’ whispered Dominico, his eyes never leaving her body.

Letting out a soft laugh, Angelique felt herself relax. ‘Where should I . . .’

Dominico pointed to the divan. Angelique walked across the room on shaky legs. She was glad it was only a short walk.

There was a white sheet draped over the divan. It was smooth beneath Angelique’s skin. She wanted to roll her body against it. Instead, she rearranged the pillows and then propped her elbow up. ‘Is this right?’

Dominico was now half-hidden by the fresh sheet of canvas that he was setting up on the frame. ‘Move your hand . . . down a little.’

Angelique let her hand slowly travel down from the curve of her waist to the space where one thigh crossed over the other. She tilted her head slightly to the right and put on the smorfia, that not quite haughty, not quite come-hither smile.

‘Perfect,’ said Dominico, breathlessly.

The room was quiet as Dominico painted. It remained that way for several hours. The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of the paintbrush against the canvas or the rustling of sheet when Angelique moved her body to wake her numb limbs. She tried to move as little as possible, but she found it increasingly hard to sit still.

‘Is something wrong?’ asked Dominico, peering around the side of the canvas with a look of concern.

‘It’s nothing; I’m just a bit cold.’

Dominico stood up. ‘Mi dispiace, I didn’t notice the fire had died. You should put your clothes back on.’

‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ said Angelique, but Dominico was already walking over to the pile of her clothes. He picked them up and carried them to the divan like he was cradling a baby.

Angelique sat up and massaged her elbow. Dominico laid down the clothes and sat next to her. He took her arm in his hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed her elbow, his eyes locked on hers. Angelique shivered. He placed another kiss further up her arm and another on her shoulder. Angelique moaned when he placed a feathery kiss on her neck. Her skin burned like it was on fire. Dominico’s lips reached her chin. He pulled away slightly, so that their faces were only inches apart. Angelique reached her hands to the back of his neck, entwining her fingers in his curls. She pulled his head towards her until their lips met his. He kissed her back, his hands moving over her body, tracing her curves like a sculptor. Angelique pulled his shirt over his head and pressed her body against his, feeling the rapid beating of his heart. She found his lips with a new urgency. Arms wrapped around her, Dominico gently pushed her back onto the divan and slowly lowered himself on top of her. Even with his weight, Angelique felt as light as air. She tipped her head back, inviting his lips on her neck.