I got up, walked over to the windows, and looked out at the loggia where you sat on warm days to watch the boats. A city so beautiful even the Germans agreed not to fight in it. What she’d have every day.

“It might be all right, you know,” Bertie said. “It really might.”

I walked back to the couch. “Will you do something for me? Find out what money he has. You can ask around. You know everybody.”

“Not his banker, I don’t. And everything else is just gossip. Let’s hope for the best, why don’t we? Now smile. She’ll be watching your face, to see how you’re taking it.”

I made a face.

“Well, it’s a start.” He giggled to himself. “Mimi. Goodness, she’ll be cross. Now there’s a face I’d like to see.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then looked at me. “Adam, I’m right, you know.”

“So am I.”

“And if you are, what’s the good of it?”

I said nothing.

“None at all,” he said quietly. “Not for her.”

“Would you find out about the money anyway?”

“And if he’s poor as a church mouse?”

“Then we’ll know.”

“Yes, and you’d be right. And still wrong for her.” Bertie sighed. “What a scourge children are.” He stood up. “You’d better go. She’ll be waiting to hear how lunch went. Smiles all around, right? Happy Families. It’s done.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Things went wrong with the party from the start. There were no flowers to be found, not even the scraggly winter asters you usually saw in the Rialto market. The weather had cleared and then turned sharply cold, the wind rushing up the Giudecca channel and through the window cracks until even the space heaters felt cool to the touch. One of the power cuts that plagued Italy that season hit in the afternoon, plunging the kitchen into gloom just as Angelina, sneezing with her permanent cold, was trying to arrange the canapés. After I spent an hour rounding up candles, the lights, perversely, sputtered back on, but since there was no guarantee they’d stay on, I spent the whole evening glancing up nervously, Noah waiting for rain.

My mother noticed none of it. Her skin glowed pink, part bath steam, part happiness, while everyone around her turned slowly blue and rubbed their hands by the ineffectual heaters. She looked wonderful—a new dress with a sequined bolero jacket, hair up, every bit of her in place—and as I watched her move through the room, smiling, pecking cheeks, I thought for a minute that everything had to be all right. How could she be this happy otherwise? Gianni, next to her in a double-breasted gray suit, was smiling too, switching from English to Italian and back again, everybody’s friend.

There were Venetians tonight, not just Bertie’s set, and I had a glimpse of what my mother’s world would be like now—Mimi winking over her martini glass, but also the formally polite whitehaired woman holding out her hand for Gianni to kiss, proper as a doge. I wondered how long it could last, the romance of it, and then I looked at my mother’s face, beaming, and thought, why not forever? Wasn’t it what everyone wanted? The fairy tale with no glass slipper.

On her bedroom dressing table I had noticed there were now two pictures, me on one side, in front of a jeep in Germany, and Gianni on the other, bareheaded in the cold on the Zattere. One more than before, not competing, not replacing, just one more. Why not be grateful he’d come along to fill the extra space? Why shouldn’t we all be happy? Even the party, for all the cold and spotty electricity, was working now. Except that Claudia hadn’t arrived.

“No, don’t pick me up—I’ll come by myself. You’ll be busy,” she’d said, but where was she? “I don’t think we should walk in together.” Still reluctant. And now late.

I took another champagne from a passing tray.

“Who are you looking for?” Bertie said.

“Hello, Bertie. I thought you didn’t go out during Lent.”

“I’ll say my beads later. I couldn’t miss this. You should have heard Mimi. Hissing like a puff adder. Oh, these ladies.”

“So she knows?”

“Everybody knows. Grace never kept a secret in her life. But do admit, have you ever seen her looking so well? Not in years.”

“Happy as a bride,” I said, taking a sip of champagne.

He looked over his glasses at me. “And you, have you been smiling?”

“Nonstop,” I said, nodding. “Seen the ring?”

“You haven’t tried to bite it.”

I laughed. “No, it’s real. Family, apparently. His mother’s.”

“Very nice,” Bertie said, then sighed. “Oh dear. But she does look radiant, doesn’t she? So where’s the harm? Now what? Not speeches.”

There had been a tinkling against glass, the usual rippling ssh, people clustering. Gianni stood with my mother, waiting for quiet, then began speaking in Italian, presumably a welcoming toast, received with a few ahs and general approval. I just let it roll past me, that indistinct liquid sound of someone else’s language, and looked again around the room. Where was she? He paused—were we supposed to applaud?—and then started to repeat the speech in English: thanks to us for being there, the reason no surprise to anyone who’d seen them together, the wonderful, unexpected thing that had come into his life, their double good fortune, of which this speech was an example, in being able to express joy twice, in Italian and English, the honor she had bestowed on him, their hope that all of us would be as happy as they were. All said nicely, charmingly, every note on key. More ahs, raised glasses, a public kiss, and, finally, applause.

“Well, it’s done,” I said, raising my glass to Bertie. “Cheers.”

“God bless.” He took a drink.

“Now what?”

“Kiss the bride,” he said, pointing to the group forming around my mother.

“They’re not married yet.”

We were starting toward the other end of the room when Claudia came through the door. She looked slightly flushed, as if she’d run up the stairs, and the color made her pretty, more striking than her muted blue dress intended.

“Hello, there’s Claudia,” Bertie said, surprised. “With whom, I wonder.”

“Me, actually,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. He turned to me, eyes peering over his glasses, assessing.

“Really,” he said.

“We met at your party. You remember.”

“And now you’ve become friends.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “What a family. The guests aren’t safe with either of you. Next you’ll be running off with the help.”

I smiled. “Not yet. Excuse me,” I said, about to head for the door.

“Adam,” he said, stopping me, voice lower. “You’re not serious about this.”

“Bertie, some other time? She doesn’t know anyone in the room.”

“Well, no, she wouldn’t, would she?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, don’t snap. I just meant it might not be suitable, bringing her here. What will Grace think?”

“She’ll think we’re friends.”

Bertie sighed. “Never mind. It’s always talking to a post, isn’t it? Just have a care, that’s all. You don’t want things to get complicated. Rush into things.”

“Tell her,” I said, nodding toward my mother, still hugging people. Bertie followed my gaze.

“Well, Grace.” His face softened with fondness. “She’s not the type, is she, to look behind things? We’ll have to keep an eye out for her. She was always like that, you know. Always wanted watching. So one does, somehow.” He turned back to me. “But I can’t take on two.”

Claudia was still near the door, looking tentative. When I finally pushed my way through the crowd, she smiled, relieved, then retreated again when I kissed her.

“Not here,” she said.

“It’s all right, no one’s looking.”

“But in public.”

“Come meet my mother.”

She touched her hair. “Where is the ladies’ room?”

“You look fine.”

“No, not for that. For the toilet.”