Sanborn made some remark and Lucia laughed long and loud, a noise that reminded Joly of a workman drilling in the road. She had a good head for drink, Joly knew that from experience, but even she was beginning to lose control. He remembered her describing her last night with the Mafia boss. She’d plucked up the courage to put a small knife in her bag. If he’d attacked her, she’d steeled herself to fight for her life. Joly did not doubt the strength of her survival instinct. If she thought herself threatened, she would lash out without a moment’s hesitation. What would happen if Zuichini made her afraid with the clumsiness of his overtures?
He yawned. His head was spinning and he couldn’t keep worrying about what might happen between consenting adults. Que sera, sera.
Next thing he knew, someone was tapping him on the arm. Through the fog of a hangover, he heard Sanborn’s gentle voice.
“Joly, my boy. Are you all right?”
Even the act of opening his eyes made him want to cry out, it hurt so much. Christ, how much had he drunk? He had no head for champagne, but he’d never felt this bad before. He blinked hard and tried to take in his surroundings. He was lying on a hard bed in a small, musty room. The sun was shining in through a small high window but he had no idea where he might be. Sanborn was standing beside the bed, arms folded, studying him. Suddenly, he felt afraid.
“Where am I?”
“Listen, my friend, you have nothing to fear. You just had rather too much to drink, that’s all.”
“The drinks were spiked.” Nothing else could explain how he had come to black out, this had never happened to him before.
“No, no, no.” Sanborn had a first class bedside manner, though Joly was sure he was lying. “You overdid it, simple as that. And you threw up all over Lucia, which frankly wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Lucia?” He gazed at the peeling wallpaper, the unfamiliar cupboard and door. “Where have you brought me?”
“Listen, it’s all right. Lucia was upset, that’s all. Zuichini took care of her, no need to worry. As she wouldn’t entertain you in her bed last night, I volunteered to bring you here. Now, you need to get up and dressed. I think you said you plan to take the one o’clock coach from Piazzale Roma?”
A wave of panic engulfed him. Effectively, he was the old man’s prisoner.
“You haven’t told me where you’ve brought me.”
“There’s no secret, Joly, keep your hair on, my dear fellow. This is an apartment I bought six months ago. Hardly the lap of luxury, but it’s only a stone’s throw from the restaurant. It seemed like the best solution, we could hardly leave you to your own devices, the state you were in, and Lucia was in no mood to take you back with her.”
Joly coughed. “Then — I’m free to go?”
Sanborn’s parchment features conveyed benign bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Why should you not be? I was only striving to do you a good turn.”
I’ve been a fool, Joly thought, this isn’t a man to fear. The question is — what happened between Lucia and Zuichini? Did he try it on, did she let him get away with it?
“Sorry, Darius. I’m not myself.”
“Not to worry, these things happen. There’s a bathroom next door. No gold taps, I’m afraid, but you’ll find the basic necessities. I’ll leave you to it, if I may. Your bag’s over by the door, incidentally. I went over to Lucia’s this morning to pick it up.”
“Thanks,” Joly whispered.
“Here’s the key to the front door. Would you be kind enough to lock up for me? I have a little business to attend to, but I’ll be there at the coach station to see you off, it’s the least I can do.”
Joly stared at the old man’s genial expression. Hoarsely, he said, “Thanks.”
“Think nothing of it. That’s what friends are for, don’t you agree?”
Two hours later, Joly arrived at the Piazzale Roma, bag in hand. Within moments he caught sight of Sanborn by an advertisement hoarding and the American lifted his stick in greeting before limping to greet him. He had a black velvet bag slung over his shoulder.
“You’re looking much better. Remarkable what wonders can be worked by a simple wash and brush up.”
“I’m very grateful to you,” Joly said humbly, handing over the key to the apartment.
“Think nothing of it.” Sanborn cleared his throat. “Actually, I talked to Lucia before I made my way over here. There isn’t an easy way to put this, Joly, but I don’t believe she intends to join you in Rome. I’m sorry.”
Joly took a breath. “Maybe things had run their course.”
Sanborn bowed his head. “That was rather the impression that I had gained. Well, I don’t care for prolonged farewells. I hope you will reflect on our conversation last night and that soon we shall see you again in La Serenissima.”
Forcing a smile, Joly said, “Who knows, I might take Zuichini up on his kind offer. There are worse ways of making a living than binding fine books, I guess.”
A light flared in Sanborn’s old eyes. Voice trembling, he said, “Joly, the moment I first saw you, I knew you were made of the right stuff. In fact, I’ll let you into a secret. I’d seen you a couple of times at the Campo Santi Apostoli before I made so bold as to introduce myself.”
“Is that so?” Joly didn’t know whether to be puzzled or flattered. “So did you see Lucia as well?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Such a pretty creature, with that gorgeous dark hair and honey skin. Oh well, there are many more lovely girls in Venice. Despite my age, I can guess how sad you must feel. I felt the same about my friend Sophia, after I’d talked to her for the last time. But she and I were not lovers, the physical loss makes it doubly hard for you.”
“These things happen.”
“Yes, life goes on. And you will never forget Lucia, of that I am sure. But your life will be so much richer if you take up Zuichini’s offer. Truly, his craftsmanship is unique. Think of it! You could follow in his footsteps. Make a name for yourself and earn a not inconsiderable fortune.”
“Is Zuichini rich?”
“My dear fellow, do not be deceived by appearances. If — no, when you return, you will have a chance to visit his splendid home near the Rialto. Even though he and I are close associates, he never fails to drive a hard bargain. But I, and others like me, are willing to pay for the best. For something unique.”
They shook hands and Sanborn pulled out of his shoulder bag a parcel wrapped in gift paper. He thrust it at Joly.
“I want you to have this. A token of our friendship. And a reminder of the esoteric pleasures that lie in store, should you accept Zuichini’s offer to help you learn his trade.”
“Thanks.” Joly’s cheeks were burning. He’d harboured so many false suspicions and now he couldn’t help feeling a mite embarrassed. “I’m not sure that bookbinding is...”
“Think about it. That’s all I ask.” Sanborn smiled. “I have seen enough of you in a short space of time to be confident that you would relish the chance to become a craftsman in your own right. As you told me, you have a taste for the unusual. And with your love of books...ah well, you must be going. Goodbye, my friend. Or as I should say, a rivederci.”
Joly found himself waving at the old man’s back as he limped away. At the notice board, just before he moved out of sight, Sanborn raised his stick in salute, but he did not turn his head. The bus was waiting and Joly found himself a seat by the window. As the driver got into gear, Joly tore the wrapping paper from his present. He stared at it for a long time.