The Venetian Venture Read Online Free PDF Page A

her watch and saw it was a quarter to eight and hoped that her hostess would not be bothered by the early arrival; although, she reasoned, running a guest house the woman must be used to such disturbance. And in any case, from what little had been gleaned on the crackling telephone in London there had been no objection.
    But concern for her landlady’s convenience was quickly eclipsed by the sight of a bridge ahead – a bridge heavily ornate yet stonily solid and crowned with graceful arches. Surely it could only be the Rialto! Rosy experienced a surge of excitement as she surveyed the fabled edifice. So this was Shylock’s stamping ground, the spot where Antonio sought word of his foundering ships and Launcelot Gobbo capered; where deals were clinched, schemes hatched, lovers trysted and gossip flourished into alluring scandal. ‘What news on the Rialto?’… Like generations of visitors approaching the city by this route, Rosy recognised the bridge and with a start of pleasure knew she was nearing the heart of things.
     
    She had disembarked further down at the stop for the Accademia. And following Dr Stanley’s casual instructions had heaved her suitcase over a couple of small bridges andthrough a perplexing network of squares and alleyways, until rather to her own amazement she confronted a door set in a high wall and bearing the required inscription
Casa Witherington
. Underneath were four directives:
Suonate
;
Hier klingeln
;
Sonnez
; and
Kindly Ring the Bell
. Meekly Rosy did as she was bid and waited in some nervousness. Two minutes later, with a creak and a rattle, the door swung open; and a very small lady in a very large hat beamed a welcome.
    ‘Come in my dear, how clever of you to arrive exactly at half past eight! This is when we commence breakfast – a most soothing meal I always think. My regulars rarely appear and those who do rarely speak.
Such
a peaceful time. It quite sets me up for the rest of the day and prepares one for the garrulous supper. And since you have had to travel all the way from ghastly Victoria station I daresay you will be grateful for the quiet.’
    Rosy nodded and gave what she felt might be an appropriately silent smile, while inwardly wondering if her hostess always wore a hat at breakfast. (She did; and at most other times too.)
    Miss Witherington led her across a small courtyard into the house and up a steep flight of stairs, which, burdened with her suitcase, Rosy found rather more of a challenge than did the seemingly agile chatelaine.
    ‘I have given you the corner room, it’s quite large and well away from Mr Downing – poor man he does snore so! I always think it must be agony for the children, probably keeps them awake all night.’
    ‘What children?’ Rosy asked uneasily. She hadn’t bargained on being billeted with a crew of infants.
    ‘Oh Mr Downing is a resident master at a prep school inWorthing. He comes here in the holidays to recover.’
    She led the way into a semi-darkened room redolent of gardenias and Mansion Polish – the latter presumably specially imported from England. Opening the shutters Miss Witherington exclaimed, ‘Oh look the sun after all. I
knew
it would break through. I win my bet.’ She clapped her hands trilling gaily,
‘I’m in the money, come on my honey
…!’
    Rosy was startled, both by the song and its occasion. Was Miss Witherington a bookmaker on the side?
    Seeing her surprise the other explained, ‘You see I am awfully good on weather. You don’t live in Venice for thirty years without learning something about its climate’s whims and vagaries – or those of its residents for that matter.’ She gave a laugh and added, ‘And with such
meteorological expertise
it does seem a waste not to put it to some lucrative use. Wouldn’t you agree my dear?’
    Rosy said that she entirely agreed, while making a mental note not to be so rash as to bet on anything with Miss Witherington: quite possibly the lady harboured expertise