Veronica COURTESAN Read Online Free PDF Page A

passed since my debut. A year of lazy indulgence.
    At last, Paolo accepted that he could no longer control me. It was Jacomo who convinced him. When he heard my husband shouting the first time we lay together, he threw on his clothes and ran downstairs. A silk robe around me, I crept to the window and listened.
    The heavy wooden door creaked as Jacomo opened it. ‘Leave the signora alone!’
    ‘She’s my signora and I want her back.’
    ‘Veronica has chosen another path. She could get your marriage annulled, you know.’
    ‘Ha, she would have a hard time proving her purity.’
    ‘I’m prepared to bear witness to the fact that your wife was intact when I deflowered her this evening.’
    I heard Paolo’s muttering and his heavy footsteps as he skulked back down the alleyway. He hasn’t shown his face since, although he still keeps my dowry.
    These days, my every need is met and, after the initial novelty of Jacomo bedding me most nights, boredom has set in. I rise late in the mornings, breakfasting on pastries and fruit. Then I practise my lute and spinet, singing the songs I know. I would like to learn new ones, but Jacomo keeps me cloistered in this house. I’m not really a courtesan; I’m more like his mistress. This isn’t what I’d envisaged when Mamma taught me the tricks of the trade. She seems happy enough; she’s moved in with me and runs the household with shrewd efficiency, growing plump on roasted meats and rich sauces.
    Our casa is in the parish of Santa Maria Formosa. Besides Domisilla and Giulia, we have a cook, Anna, and Giulia’s nephew, Maurizio, is our boatman. He and Domisilla married last autumn, and they now have a beautiful baby girl.
    The house overlooks the Rio del Pestrin, the part where it widens into a proper canal, and the lease is in my name, Mamma insisted upon it. Jacomo hands her a monthly sum to administer according to our needs.
    She gives Papa money to leave us in peace. He’s stayed in Sant’Agnese and Mamma pays a woman to look after him, an ex-courtesan who’s fallen on hard times. Our portego is bathed by the afternoon sun, which makes it hot during summer evenings, yet warms us in the winter. ’Tis spring, now, and the temperature is perfect. This room is spacious and stylish, the walls covered with brand-new tapestries of flowers, forests and fields. At night I sleep in a built-in walnut bed encased in gold curtains, and my sheets are freshly laundered every day then sprayed with my personal fragrance. Such luxury!
    That this piece of furniture is the exclusive domain of Jacomo has started to vex me. When I read him my poetry, he tries to feign interest, except I can see in his eyes that he’s bored and his actions prove he’d rather fuck me than listen to me. I would love to run soirées for men of letters where everyone talks about literature and art. But how to meet them?
    ’Tis the Feast of the Ascension soon, when Venice celebrates her annual marriage to the sea. We call it the Sensa in our dialect and the Doge will throw a gold ring into the lagoon by the church of San Nicolò. This year, Jacomo has a place on the state barge, the Bucintoro, and he has promised to take me to the event. I hope to find myself in courtly company then…
    What to wear? We employ a dressmaker now, and no longer have to find second-hand clothes in the Ghetto. I have a wardrobe full of the latest fashions with only Jacomo to see them. Excitement wheels through me as I get to my feet and make my way to my chest. A knock at the door, and Jacomo comes in. ‘ Buonasera. ’
    ‘You’re early, caro .’
    He shuffles from one foot to the other.
    ‘I’m sorry, Veronica, but we won’t be able to go to the festival. I’ve just received word from my wife. She’s ill and needs me to pay her a visit in Ragusa.’
    The disappointment is like a punch in the gut.
     

     
    A week later I’m in St Mark’s Square, dressed in masculine attire, my face covered by a bauta mask. Mamma’s idea,