Natalie gave a no-problem shrug. If she were Cate, she’d have been desperate to return to her mother’s house to make another attempt to see her but it was Cate’s decision; she had to respect that.
‘That’s all fine by me,’ Phil said, plonking himself down on the boat’s cushioned seating. ‘You girls have been before and I’m not desperate to see the museum. Lace making isn’t really my thing, not like that glass blowing. Thanks for arranging for those blue lions to be sent straight to the palazzo, Lucia. I think the boys will love them.’
Lucia consulted her ever-present folder. ‘Burano is so photogenic, we will definitely need some footage but you are right, Natalie, a quick stop is best. We have a strict time slot for filming at thecampanileon San Giorgio Maggiore; we cannot be late. But we still have time for coffee in Burano when we arrive.’ She looked at the director, who responded with a nod of his head.
Lucia turned to the driver of their water taxi. ‘Burano,per favore.’
He turned the steering wheel; the boat sped straight towards the island, bypassing the detour Natalie and Cate had made to Mazzorbo. They disembarked on Burano’s bustling waterfront. Lucia led the way, the director and camera crew following along, arguing good-naturedly – according to Lucia – about their chosen camera angles for the post-coffee filming and which row of the colourful houses would best demonstrate the beauty of the island.
The spot Lucia had chosen for their coffee wasn’t on the canal side where Natalie and Cate had lunched but on a widerfondamentawhere the houses were even more colourful: hyacinth blue, bright orange, canary yellow, a pink that would send Barbie into ecstasies.
Lucia ushered them towards some outside seating where she had arranged for a substantial area to be reserved for the crew and all their paraphernalia. ‘Coffee and abussolà, everyone?’
‘What are they?’ Cate asked, popping her handbag on a spare chair.
Lucia put on a mock-shocked expression. ‘What are they? They are the most famous biscuits in all of Venice. The original and best are from this island. All ingredients natural, nothing artificial. You must try one. And I recommend acaffè shakerato, espresso coffee shaken with ice cubes – perfect on a hot day like this.’
‘I’m not arguing with that!’ Phil smiled. He’d been looking more relaxed as the day went on but every now and then, Natalie noticed him gazing into space as though his mind was far away.
Lucia organised the drinks and biscuits. Natalie leant back in her chair. The day was going better than she dared hope. The glass blowing was going to make great television and the sun-saturated colours of Burano were a guaranteed crowd-pleaser. Beyond the edge of their shady umbrella, the sky was an unbroken, paintbox blue. Even the biscuits were as good as Lucia promised – crunchy with a hint of vanilla – though the ice-cold coffee was a little sweet for her taste.
She would have loved to stay put all day but the crew were already standing up, arguing over who would carry which bits of kit. She was glad she had nothing bulkier than a shoulder bag to lug around. The day was only going to get hotter.
Cate and Phil finished their drinks and, after a quick appraisal by the make-up girl, were soon gamely walking back and forth along thefondamenta.Cate’s bright smile never faltered but Natalie sensed her friend’s relief when Lucia called time and they all made their way back to the water taxi, leaving Burano and Cate’s estranged mother’s house far behind.
The waterfront at San Giorgio Maggiore was practically deserted. Phil gave his arm to Natalie to help her out of the water taxi.
‘Compared to the other islands, few people come here and even fewer film here,’ Lucia said. ‘But Floella and I wanted the viewers to see you exploring a part of the lagoon that’s outside the normal tourist bubble.’
‘Our viewers like to believe they are discerning people,’ Natalie added. ‘Luxe Life Swapprovides an upmarket type of armchair travel, not a tick list of the same old top ten must-see sights. Back in England, the count and his wife will visit London but we won’t just show the viewers red buses and Big Ben. The Venetians will walk up Parliament Hill for a view over the city, see the flamingos in St James’s Park, explore the backstreet boutiques of Mayfair, take in a private tour of the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace.’
‘I’ve never walked up Parliament Hill myself; perhaps the countess has never been up the tower here,’ Cate said.
‘Quite possibly,’ Lucia said. ‘But she will have missed out. The views from the top are sensational. Fortunately, there is a lift we can access from the back of the church.’
‘I was wondering how we’d get the crew up there.’ Natalie tilted her head back to take in the soaring bell tower.
The female camera operator said something in Italian and laughed.
‘She says if they had to climb up, we would have a mutiny!’ Lucia said.
‘I’m very glad we don’t have to.’ Natalie threw a glance at Cate’s spindly heels.
* * *
‘This is amazing!’ Cate flung out her arms.
‘It’s truly magical.’ From the top of the tower, Natalie had a perfect view across the water to the Doge’s Palace, the soaringcampanilein St Mark’s Square, the terracotta rooftops and church towers, the lagoon beyond. She could already envisage the viewers’ oohs and aahs.
Lucia organised more shots. Although to Natalie’s eyes, everything was going swimmingly, the young woman’s brow was creased.
‘Is everything okay, Lucia?’ Natalie asked.
‘Yes… but here, I cannot help feeling sad. This view reminds me of how vulnerable Venice – my city – is. All built on this lagoon. Layers of mud on sand, sand on clay, all held up by stakes of oak or pine. This bell tower where we stand was built in the nineteenth century, but the original was built more than five hundred years ago. I pray it will survive another five hundred years but some say Venice will not be here in a hundred.’ She pressed her lips together.
‘Why do you say that?’ Cate asked. ‘Is it climate change?’
‘In part, but it is human greed that is destroying the Venice I love. I know this show we are making will try to show the real Venice, the ancient buildings, the typical foods, the old crafts, but all this is under threat from fake experiences and cheap copies of everything. Our handmade masks, our food, even our coffee sold by people who do not care about anything but making money. They do not care about the ships pulling on the pilings on which this whole city is built or losing the people and places that make it special. And you are right about climate change. The rising water level, the high tide –acqua alta– that makes such amusing photographs for visitors posing in their tall, rubber boots destroys the very places they come to see.’
