Falling in Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

where the bedrooms were. Another limp grey day glowered back at her, and she suspected that, if she opened the windows, stepped out on to the terrace and stuck her hand out over the water, she would be able to grab a handful of moisture and bring it back inside with her.
    She stood at the window for a long time, watching the boats chug along in both directions. From where she stood, she could see the imbarcadero of Santa Maria del Giglio down to the right on the other side of the canal; she stayed there long enough to watch two boats dock. If only her mind had just two directions, she caught herself thinking, and went back into the bedroom to see what time it was.
    The clock next to her bed told her it was almost eleven; the phone next to the clock told her that Freddy had sent her three messages, the last one saying that, if he didn’t hear from her by noon, Silvana would come down and ring the doorbell, he being in his office and unable to do so.
    She tapped in an SMS, asking him to call off the dogs, then backed up and erased the message, replacing it with one saying that she had slept until just now and felt worlds better. Though a telefonino was hardly the proper medium, she thanked him for his help and patience the night before and told him he was a friend beyond price.
    Within moments, his reply appeared. ‘So are you, my dear.’ Nothing more, but it cheered her immeasurably. She dressed quickly, pulling on a brown dress that she had had for years and refused to part with and a pair of low brown shoes comfortable enough to wear for hours of standing through a practice session.
    She stopped at the bar on the left of the calle leading to the bridge and ordered a brioche and a coffee, no sooner ordering them than asking herself if she were mad, trying to sabotage the practice session by arriving there with a caffeine and sugar high. She called to the barman and changed her order to a tramezzino with prosciutto and mozzarella and a glass of orange juice. Someone had left a copy of Il Gazzettino on the counter, and she paged through it idly as she ate, enjoying neither the newspaper nor the sandwich but proud of herself for having resisted sugar and more coffee.
    When Flavia got to the theatre, she found the porter in his glassed-in cubicle and asked him to tell her more about the men who brought the flowers, but he could recall only that there were two of them. In response to her question, he said that, yes, they were Venetians, though he couldn’t remember either of them ever having delivered flowers to the theatre before.
    As Flavia turned away, the porter called after her and asked if what Marina had told him was true: she didn’t want the vases or the flowers. In that case, could he have some to take to his daughter, please? No, his wife had left him and gone to live with someone else, but his daughter – she was only fifteen – had insisted on staying with him – no, she didn’t want to live with her mother and the new man, and the judge had said she could stay with her father. She loved beautiful things, and he’d asked Marina if he could take her one of the vases and some flowers, and Marina had said only if the Signora said it was all right because she’d said they were for the dressers, but only two of them worked with the Signora, so perhaps she could keep them until the Signora told her she could give them to him.
    Again, Flavia wondered what quality people saw in her that made them want to talk, or was it merely that any sign of interest or curiosity brought forth this torrent of information, regardless of who the listener was?
    She smiled and looked at the clock above his desk and gave great evidence of surprise at seeing how late it was. ‘Tell Marina you spoke to me, and I said you can have whichever you like.’
    ‘Your pianist isn’t here yet, Signora,’ he said as a return courtesy. ‘He lives in Dolo, so he’s late a lot of the time.’
    ‘But Dolo’s just there,’ she said, making a