Venice, At Last
It had been Jo’s dream to visit, and finally she was here . . .
THE evening had a surreal quality to it. It was warm enough for a summer dress, yet as the sun dipped, pink clouds hung above the Campanile di San Marco, contrasting with the baby-blue sky.
Jo’s dress clung in all the right places, as perfect as the day she had bought it all those years ago.
It had surprised her when she’d dug it out of the wardrobe and packed it.
Despite a sprinkling of guilt and nostalgia, tonight seemed like the right night to wear it. She had bought it to come here, after all.
Jo was aware of tourists and locals walking over the bridge, some stopping to admire the scene, some striding on, having seen it many times before.
A man stopped about five feet away, glancing at her before focusing on the river traffic beneath them.
Jo felt intruded upon and her breathing stayed shallow until he moved on.
At last her shoulders relaxed and she drew in a deep breath.
The Campanile di San Marco was magnificent and she let herself drift back to the evening when she had first heard all about it.
Alessio had waxed lyrical on the night he’d proposed, describing the places they’d visit on their honeymoon.
He’d talked about Venice in the way of someone in love, and Jo saw the passion he had for his country.
It was evident how he missed it, and she’d had no doubt it would be the place they’d celebrate together after the wedding.
Mrs Josephine De Luca. It had a definite ring.
“The beauty of the Campanile will pale beside yours,” he’d assured her, his fingertip resting on the diamond ring on her finger.
Jo hadn’t blushed, used to Alessio’s flowery language by then.
They’d been at university together, studying the History of Art.
“Even da Vinci couldn’t do you justice,” he’d said on their second date.
She had seen him around, but Alessio had graduated a year before her.
Secretly gutted, keeping her crush to herself, she’d imagined it was the last she would ever see of him.
The freedom of summer was tinged with misery, knowing that glimpses of Alessio in the corridors were a thing of the past.
The long, dark fringe and deep-tanned skin lived on in her memory, her endless yearning left unfulfilled.
Jo’s elation that October, coming across him on the lawns, was unmatched at that point in her life.
He had stayed at the University of London to continue with postgraduate studies and Jo had no qualms about her furtive digging to find out which master’s he was studying.
It turned out to be Contemporary Art and Art Theory of Asia and Africa.
Coincidentally, Jo’s dissertation was on Contemporary African Art, so she plucked up the courage to ask him for an interview to help with her research.
After the planned half hour had evolved into dinner, she knew for sure what her own chosen master’s would be.
Everything about Alessio blew her mind. She had no intention of changing universities the following year if she could stay close to this man.
She got her degree, too, and the next year they were inseparable.
“I can no longer study unless you’re beside me,” Alessio confessed in his delectable accent.
It was the night of his graduation that he got down on one knee.
“I cannot live without you, Josephine,” he’d declared.
The ring had slipped on her finger, sitting perfectly in the light of a full moon.
A long engagement suited them. Earn money first and save, then buy somewhere to live outside London.
They were together and nothing would part them.
How wrong they’d been.
****
The sun had dipped and Jo shivered, the evening breeze blowing her hair.
Tears blurred the buildings edging the canal.
“I was worried this trip would make you sad.”
An arm slipped around her waist and she leaned on Cal’s shoulder.
His voice was a balm to the pain of her past. “No, I’m glad we came.” “We don’t ’ave to go to the Campanile place. Perhaps we shouldn’t ’ave got a pad quite so close.”
Jo smiled at his Cockney drawl. It was a world away from Alessio’s poetic Italian, yet it had become just as delightful to her over the years.
She turned and kissed him, her lips lingering on his cheek: a kiss for someone who knew her better than she knew herself.
Cal knew nothing about art, yet they were suited.
They indulged each other’s passions with a generosity of spirit.
Jo was still spinning from white-water rafting on the Orange River a month ago.
“I’m sorry I can’t talk about everything the way Alessio would’ve been able to,” Cal began.
“No. I want to go. I want us to see it together.”
In that moment, she was certain. She squeezed his hand, thinking about the accident and how there had, after all, been something to part her and her fiancé.
They never made it to Venice. She moved from the flat and met Cal a year later.
“We’ll see it tomorrow,” she said. “Then we’ll visit the other places Alessio talked about: the Rialto Bridge, San Giorgio Maggiore, San Pantalon.”
“I don’t suppose they do bungee jumping off the Rialto Bridge?” Cal joked, ducking to avoid Jo’s response.
“This holiday is my turn.” She laughed, turning to walk over the bridge. “I’m very definitely keeping my feet on the ground in this floating metropolis.”
Cal laughed at the paradox and followed her.
“Well, hark at you, using oxymorons. Anyone would think you had a PHD, Doctor Josephine Clarke.”
“At least one of us has,” she teased, glancing at the band of gold, still glistening, on her finger.
Having been there a year, it was becoming more familiar.
She hadn’t wanted a ring for their engagement. They’d saved the money and booked the wedding for 10 months later. It had been a small affair, with family and a few friends.
“I’m starving!” Cal pulled her close and they headed to a nearby restaurant. “Pizza?”
Jo inhaled deeply. She could smell Cal’s aftershave mingling with the smells of the Italian cuisine.
“Absolutely,” she said, taking a seat at a table. This was perfection. She was in the place of her dreams, with the man who’d brought love and beauty back into her life. ■