Free The Last Gondola by Edward Sklepowich Page B

the Piazza San Marco or on the Riva degli Schiavoni to do quick portraits of tourists or what were actually something closer to caricatures.
    â€œThe Molière of painters,” Cipri said, referring not to himself but to Pietro Longhi. “That’s what my wife says he’s called.”
    â€œAnd you do him excellent justice. I’ll see that they’re sent off in the most secure way possible,” Urbino assured him. He placed the two paintings side by side against the back cushions of the sofa. He made some more enthusiastic comments, not wanting Cipri to feel that he was eager to have him leave.
    â€œI have the documents all ready,” Cipri said.
    He withdrew a large manila envelope from his case.
    â€œYou’ll find the commission order, an invoice, and a verification that the paintings are copies. Everything is all filled out and stamped and certified.”
    Urbino took the envelope.
    The two men stood looking at each other in an awkward silence.
    â€œAre you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee?” Urbino hoped that he sounded more hospitable than he felt. “Perhaps some breakfast?” his guilty conscience made him add. “I haven’t had mine yet, and Natalia could have it ready in just a few minutes. It would give you time to take a closer look at the Bronzino and to see if your first opinion holds up.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure it does! But thank you kindly. I must be on my way. As you Americans like to say, time is money, and I want to get to the Accademia to do some work for Signor Hennepin. If you’re ever on the Lido, please feel free to stop by for a visit. I’m almost always home in the afternoon. My wife will be pleased to meet you. She’s heard a lot about you.”
    He put on his coat and collected his kit and portfolio. Urbino accompanied him downstairs. Before he closed the front door, he watched the man until he vanished into the fog on the other side of the bridge. Gildo was no longer on the embankment.

18
    Urbino drank down the tiny cup of espresso that Natalia pressed on him as if it were medicine and took a few bites of Madeira cake. He promised her that he would have a proper breakfast shortly. He had to make a telephone call first.
    He dialed the Contessa’s number from the library as he looked from the window down at the empty, fog-wreathed quay. He usually didn’t call her before nine-thirty, but this was a special occasion.
    The Contessa picked up after only two rings.
    â€œWhatever’s the matter, caro?” She sounded worried.
    â€œAs if you don’t know, you wonder worker. If I hadn’t found out today—in fact, it was only a few minutes ago—I was going to break down and beg you to tell me what you’ve been up to. I can’t wait to give you a great big kiss and hug. It worked.”
    â€œWhat worked?”
    â€œWhatever it was you did, whatever strings you pulled, whatever promises you made, whatever spell you cast. I love you and I love your Madeira cake! I’m in. I’m in the Ca’ Pozza, or I will be at precisely four-thirty this afternoon!”
    There was silence at the other end of the line.
    â€œBut I didn’t do a thing, Urbino!” the Contessa cried out, after a few moments. “Not one single solitary thing. I had to leave for Bologna on Saturday evening right after I saw you. Poor Clementina is desperately ill.” Clementina was the Conte’s elderly cousin. “I was afraid I would have to postpone my first conversazione . I was at her house until last night. She’s out of danger now, thank God. I was going to call you later and apologize.” The Contessa drew in her breath, then added, “So you see, you’ve done it all on your own, you clever boy.”
    â€œBut how did I do that?”

PART TWO
    THE GONDOLA ROOM

19
    At a few minutes before four-thirty that afternoon Urbino approached the Ca’ Pozza on foot, as puzzled