It was not a date, of course. We were merely two travellers taking temporary comfort in each other’s company. But I realised, unwrapping a new shirt and combing my hair, that I had not eaten a meal with a woman other than my wife for perhaps twenty years. It was all very strange and I resolved to be extremely casual about the whole business, selecting in advance a small, unpretentious trattoria that I had noticed on my hike around the city; pleasant but functional and not too cluttered with red candles or gypsy violins.
Freja, on the other hand, seemed to have gone to some effort. She was waiting in the lobby, subtly but effectively made up and wearing a rather snug skirt and the kind of off-white satin shirt that one might really only term a ‘blouse’. She looked fresh, healthy and tasteful, and yet I found myself instinctively wanting to do up an extra button, and I wondered if I might be the only man in the world to have dressed a woman with his eyes.
‘Hi,’ I said, pronouncing it ‘haaaiii,’ giving that difficult word a little Scandinavian twist to be more easily understood.
‘Good evening, Douglas.’
‘You look nice,’ I said, silken-tongued.
‘Thank you. I really do like those shoes. They’re very striking and bright!’
‘“Box-fresh” is the correct term, I believe.’
‘Have you been playing basketball?’
‘Actually, they were meant for walking, but they’ve attached themselves to my feet like some awful alien parasite and now they’re the only thing I can wear.’
‘I like them,’ she said, placing her hand lightly on my forearm. ‘You look very fly.’
‘My skateboard is parked outside.’ I took her arm and hobbled towards the door and out into the kind of warm, hazy evening which is sometimes labelled ‘sultry’.
We headed east through the sestiere of Castello, the tip of the tail, walking the back streets and enjoying the feeling of belonging that the serious traveller enjoys when the day-trippers have returned to their coaches and cruise ships.
‘You don’t even need a map any more.’
‘No, I’m almost a local.’
We emerged at the immense gates of the Arsenale, the walls crenellated like a toy fort. I’d read about this in the guidebook. ‘The great innovation of the Venetians was to mass-produce ships in kit form, standardising all the parts. It was here that the shipbuilders of Venice amazed Henry IV of France by building an entire galleon—’
‘—in the time it took him to eat his supper, and thus was the modern production line born,’ said Freja. ‘Except I think it was Henry III of France. We have the same guidebook.’
‘God, what an old bore I am,’ I said.
‘Not at all, I’m the same. I think it’s good to have a desire to educate. Perhaps it comes of having children. My husband, ex-husband and I, we used to drive our daughters to distraction, taking them to ruins and cemeteries and dusty old galleries. “Here is Ibsen’s grave, here is the Sistine Chapel … Look! Look! Look!” when all they really wanted to do was go to the beach and flirt with boys. Now they’re older they appreciate it, but at the time …’
‘That’s how we were meant to spend this summer. My wife and I were meant to be taking my son around all the great galleries of Europe.’
‘And instead?’
‘My son left a note and ran off with an accordionist. My wife is in England, thinking about leaving me.’
Freja laughed. ‘I’m sorry, but that is a very bad holiday.’
‘It has been both fun and harrowing.’
‘What’s left to go wrong, I wonder?’
‘Are there sharks in this lagoon?’
‘I shouldn’t laugh. I’m sorry. No wonder you were so upset. I’ll try not to add to your woes tonight.’ Here she took my arm and at that precise moment, as if she had activated an alarm, my telephone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi there. Where are you?’
‘Oh, out walking, walking. As usual.’
‘No news, then.’
‘Not yet.’ To Freja I mouthed, Sorry, one minute, and indicated she should walk ahead. ‘But I’m closing in.’
‘What does that mean, closing in?’
‘It means I have a good lead. The net is tightening!’
‘You sound like a private detective.’
‘I’m wearing a mackintosh as we speak. I’m not.’
‘No. So — tell me, then.’
‘You’ll see.’
‘You’ve heard from him? You’ve spoken to him?’
‘You’ll find out.’
‘But why won’t you tell me?’
‘Trust me, I have material proof that he’s fit and well.’
‘Well, should I fly out to you?’
‘No! No, I’ve told you, I’ll bring him back.’
‘Because it’s been five days now, and I’d really like to know, Douglas.’
‘I’d prefer to tell you when it’s definite.’
There was a silence.
‘I think you should come home.’
‘I will when I’ve found him.’
‘Except you’re not really looking for him, are you?’
I felt an irrational moment of panic, absurdly turning my back on Freja, who was waiting patiently at the next bridge. ‘I am! I’m out looking now.’
‘That’s not what I mean. I mean you’re doing something else.’
Should we turn left or right? mimed Freja.
‘I’m about to get something to eat. Can I call you back?’ I said, and mouthed one minute.
‘Oh. Okay. I’d hoped we could talk, but if you’re too busy …’
‘I’m sitting at a table, the food’s about to arrive. Not the food, the menu — the menu’s about to arrive.’
‘You said you were walking.’
‘I was, and now I’m sitting at a table. I hate talking on phones in restaurants, it’s very rude. The waiter’s glaring at me.’ With this last detail I had overreached myself, because I could hear Connie frowning.
‘Where are you exactly?’
‘I’m in Castello, by the Arsenale. I’m sitting outside and the waiter’s standing over me. I can send you a photo if you like.’
There was a pause that seemed to last an age, a lowering of her voice. ‘I’m worried about you, Douglas. I think you might be—’
‘Got to go,’ I said and hung up. I’d never done this before, hung up on Connie. Then, to my amazement, I turned the phone off too, and limped quickly towards Freja.
‘I’m sorry about that. Connie, my wife.’
‘I thought, when the phone rang, you were going to leap into the canal.’
‘It startled me, that’s all. I need a drink. The restaurant’s just here.’ And we turned into a tiny campo. No carnival masks or postcards for sale here. Instead laundry hung between the buildings like celebratory bunting, televisions and radios played in first-floor rooms, and in the corner of the square was a small trattoria that, despite my best intentions, looked undeniably romantic.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think it looks perfect.’