Perseverance Street (35 page)

‘Here, looking after Christopher,’ said Lily, who had grown to know and trust Mary.

It transpired that
Henry Smithson had now retired from the
Craven Herald
but he was prepared to take a gamble on what might well be a sensational exclusive. Out of his own pocket he’d funded them to the tune of £200 for the trip.

They each took only a rucksack containing whatever they thought might be necessary for a trip of unknown duration. The journey to Venice would take them approximately four days. The trip to Folkestone alone took seven hours including four train changes. Lily said she didn’t mind. Every hour was an hour nearer to her son. Dee had planned the route which included an overnight in Folkestone, one in Paris and maybe one in Milan if they couldn’t get a through train to Venice.

Lily didn’t speak a single word from Ostend to Paris. She was sitting opposite Charlie who watched her with some concern. She seemed to be sinking into a deep depression. Much rested on this journey. She was thinking about her previous disappointments and about how she’d cope if Michael wasn’t there at the end of it.

Charlie watched her intently. She had a handkerchief clasped in her hand with which she kept wiping away tears. He could almost read her thoughts. If she was like this now she’d be a wreck when they got to Venice. He reached across and took her hand.

‘Lily, you really need to be strong right now.’

‘I know. It’s just that?—’

‘You don’t have to explain. I know. When we get to Paris we’ll do something to take your mind off it for a couple of hours. Buck you up a bit. You need it.’

‘OK, thanks, Charlie.’

‘I think I’ve got the very thing,’ said Dee, sitting next to her.

Her very
thing was a visit to the Moulin Rouge where Edith Piaf was topping the bill with her latest lover, Yves Montand. It was the latter whom Dee wanted to see in the flesh, and Lily got the impression when he came on stage that, as far as Auntie Dee was concerned, the more flesh the better. The diminutive Piaf sang her latest recording, ‘La Vie en Rose,’ to raucous applause from the forty or so American servicemen in the audience, who went on to heckle Yves Montand to the point where he almost left the stage.

Dee got up from her chair and walked over to where the Americans were sitting. On the way she picked up a carafe of red wine from a passing waiter and tipped it over the head of the biggest and noisest American. He sprang to his feet with his fists at the ready, but not ready enough. Dee pushed him with all of her might, sending him back into his seat and then to the floor, to loud laughter from his comrades. Dee addressed them all.

‘The audience paid good money to listen to this man sing, not listen to you lot howl like a bunch of brainless baboons. Just shut up or clear off!’

The rest of the audience burst into spontaneous applause. Yves Montand blew her a kiss and gave her a gracious bow as she sat back down. Lily leaned over to Charlie and said, ‘And I thought you were good at the rough stuff.’

‘There’s always someone better,’ said Charlie, pleased that Lily seemed to have enjoyed Dee’s contribution to the entertainment.

Yves sang his latest
recording, ‘Battling Joe,’ without taking his eyes off Dee. Nor did she take her eyes off him. The Americans sat through the rest of the show in sullen silence. A bottle of champagne arrived at their table.

‘
Avec les compliments de Mademoiselle Piaf
,’ announced the waiter.

They all looked up and spotted Edith Piaf standing there in the wings in her black dress, smiling across at them as she waited to rejoin Yves on stage.

‘You’d think she’d be jealous,’ said Dee. ‘After all, her bloke’s just sung to me. She’s got to feel threatened, surely.’

Lily and Charlie
laughed. It was by far the best night Lily had had since Michael disappeared. She looked at her two friends and felt revitalised by their strength and their friendship. Tomorrow they were due to board a train that would take them straight through to Venice; straight to within walking distance of where her boy was.

The distance from Paris to Venice by train is 670 miles, which worked out at a fourteen-hour journey which began at six-thirty in the morning. It was dark when they arrived in Santa Lucia station after crossing from the Venice mainland via the two-miles-long Ponte delle Libertà bridge. They all alighted and looked around, disoriented.

‘Anybody got any ideas?’ said Charlie.

‘Follow the crowd,’ said Lily. ‘They’ll all be heading into town.’

They followed the
other departing passengers, many of whom wore army uniforms, British, American and New Zealand. Within two minutes they found themselves beside the Grand Canal. A few gondolas were about and the occasional water taxi. The water reflected the lights from the canal side buildings which were as beautiful as they were old. After another five minutes walk, which took them across two bridges, they came to the Hotel Calabria which looked a bit dishevelled and therefore cheap. They went inside and found an unmanned reception desk. Charlie rang a bell and a young man appeared, dressed more as a gondolier than a receptionist.

‘
Avete una stanza libera
?’ said Charlie.

‘How many rooms?’ said the young man in English.

‘Two – how did you know I was English?’ said Charlie. ‘Is my Italian that bad?’

‘Your Italian is perfect. I hear you talking before I came in.’

‘
Quanta si paga per notte
?’ asked Charlie, who felt a need to practise his Italian – or maybe he felt a need to impress Lily.

‘Three thousand lira for double room, two thousand for single,’ said the young man, who wanted to practise his English.

‘What?’ exclaimed Dee. ‘That’s extortionate!’

‘Do you take English money?’ said Charlie. ‘We haven’t had time to change to lira.’

‘Certainly. That will be one pound and ten shillings sterling each night for the double, one pound for single. This will include, of course, breakfast.’

‘Ah,’ said Dee.

‘For an extra five shillings per person I can give you two rooms overlooking Grand Canal.’

‘We’ll take those,’ said Charlie. ‘
Per favore, mi svegli domane alle sette e mezzo
.’

‘Seven thirty – just you, sir?’

‘Just me. I’ll wake the ladies.’

‘Ah, the ladies are to share the double room?’

‘Yes, they are.
Chiave per favore
.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ said
the young man taking two keys off hooks behind the desk. ‘Your rooms are 208 and 209, both on the first floor. You each have a balcony overlooking the canal.’

‘
Grazie
,’ said Charlie.

‘
Grazie
,’ said Lily and Dee simultaneously.

Charlie lay on his bed wondering what the hell he was doing here. He wasn’t even sure if Lily was interested in him. She definitely liked him well enough, but during the months he’d known her they’d never kissed or even whispered the odd sweet nothing to one another. It was, without question, up to her to make the first move. The last thing a recently widowed woman with a missing child needed was to be staving off the advances of an unwelcome admirer. He opened the full-length window and stepped out on to the narrow balcony where there was a single wooden chair in which he sat and looked out over the Grand Canal.

Directly
opposite was a beautiful building which he assumed would be a
palazzo
. Square in shape, baroque in style, it emerged from the water without a pavement in front of it, as did most of the canalside buildings. It was four storeys high with the top two storeys being the most important, judging from the height of the windows. They each had a set of five windows which had to be at least fifteen feet high, surmounted by what he would call Gothic arches, but no doubt the Venetian architect would have had an Italian name for them. From one of the windows was draped an Italian flag and Charlie guessed it had been there since April when the city was liberated by New Zealand forces. At water level was a portico with five arches, providing an unloading area for boats. In front of the portico was a line of vertical wooden poles, sticking out of the water, painted red and white like barber’s poles. These were moorings for the gondolas. The whole façade was illuminated by floodlights shooting upwards and giving the building an enchanting air, but no more enchanting then the rest of the buildings emerging from the Grand Canal.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

He turned his head and looked up at Lily who was out on the next door balcony, standing not four feet away from him. ‘It’s kind of indescribable,’ said Charlie, getting to his feet and leaning again the shared balcony rail.

They both look at the canal in silence. Then Lily said, ‘Charlie, have you ever lost a fight?’

‘What?’

‘Well, you seem kind of invincible.’

Charlie smiled. ‘In my life I’ve probably lost more than I’ve won.’

‘You could have fooled me.’

‘I went to a tough school and got bullied a lot, with me being skinny. I didn’t know how to fight until my dad heard about what was happening at school and came round to where I was living with Mum and set up a mini gym in a shed in the back garden. I had a punch bag, a speed ball, all sorts of weights, boxing gloves, practise gloves – and a sparring partner – my dad. He taught me how to box.’

‘Did the bullying stop then?’

‘Not immediately. It took
me a while to get the confidence to fight back. Then one day, it was a Monday – dinner-money day, this big kid called Buster Ackroyd told me to give him my dinner money. He pushed his face right into mine so I could feel the spit coming out of his mouth. I nutted him on his nose.’

‘Did you dad teach you that?’

‘No. It was more instinct than anything else. He was so close I just nutted him to get him away from me. His nose started bleeding and he yelled like a baby. Somebody shouted “fight” like they do in playgrounds and all the kids gathered round in a circle. He was a lot bigger than me but as soon as I squared up to him it was obvious he didn’t know much about boxing. That was the moment I got the confidence to fight back. I knew I could beat him. In fact, at that moment, I thought I could beat anyone in the school. I was a skinny twelve year old, he was a big fat thirteen year old and I beat him fair and square. That was the first and last playground fight I ever had.’

‘All the bullies left you alone?’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t leave them alone. I made a point of getting my dinner money back off every one of them who’d stolen it from me.’ He smiled. ‘It was an amazing feeling.’

‘Are you ever scared of anything?’

‘I spent four months undercover, terrified that the German SS would find me out. Yeah, I know all about being scared.’

Lily looked over the canal. A gondola glided by. It had a light on the back and two passengers on board being serenaded by the gondolier, no doubt hoping for a thousand-lira tip. Charlie looked down at the romantic scene below, then up at Lily.

‘Do you fancy a ride in a gondola?’ he said casually.

It could hardly be
classed as an advance – just a ride in a boat, with an Italian in a striped shirt
singing romantic songs to them
. Hmm, maybe it
was
an advance.
Don’t push it, Charlie
. She didn’t answer. It was as if she hadn’t heard him.

‘Charlie, I’m scared,’ she said eventually.

He understood. ‘Yeah, I imagine you are. You’re probably within a mile of Michael but you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.’

‘I don’t even know if he’ll remember much about me, if anything. It’s been over seven months and he’s still only four. I doubt if he’ll remember his dad at all. These people he’s with, they’re rich, aren’t they, which means they’re important. It means Michael’s been living in a Venetian palace for seven months and I’m going to bring him home to a back-to-back in Leeds. Surely we can’t just march in and snatch him from under their noses. For all we know they might have us all locked up.’

‘Lily, I think you’ve been letting your imagination run away with you. This is a civilised country now. Mussolini’s dead. The Germans have gone. It’s full of Allied soldiers. I’ve still got my old army accreditation with me – including my Military Medal. If Michael’s here, and I think he is, he’s not stopping here. You have my word on that.’

‘Thanks, Charlie.’

Charlie looked out at
the canal, hoping he hadn’t just made a promise he couldn’t keep, thereby destroying the faith she had in him. When he turned round she’d gone back inside. He sighed and sat down again, wondering what tomorrow might bring.

Breakfast consisted of freshly baked pastries, fresh fruit and coffee. Charlie was tucking into it when Lily and Dee came down.

‘Sleep OK?’ he asked.

‘Like a log,’ said Dee.

‘I got about two hours,’ said Lily.

‘Here, have some of this coffee, it’ll brighten you up.’

The young man who booked them in the previous night came to the table. He was wearing a black and white striped T-shirt.

‘This is Gianni,’ said Charlie. ‘He’s a general dogsbody when he’s not a gondolier.’

‘How wonderful,’ said Dee. ‘Maybe you can take us to where we need to go in your gondola.’

‘Maybe I can. Where is it you wish to be?’

Charlie took out the envelope he’d brought from Pinkney’s farm and read out the address.

Gianni hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘This is very fine
palazzo
. You know Signore Cominelli?’

‘Not personally, no. But we need to pay him a visit.’

‘You do? He’s very
important man. He once was the Mayor of Venezia, you know. They are very old family. Maybe one thousand years old. There have been Cominelli senators in Venice for hundreds of years – right back to time of Casanova and your Lord Byron and Canaletto and—’

‘Are they very rich?’ Dee interrupted.

‘Oh yes. Very rich people. The Cominelli family own many
palazzi
in Venezia and many businesses.’

‘So,’ said Charlie. You could take us to this address in your gondola?’