Signora Gherardini coughed. She laid down her lace and reached for the glass of water. With a flash of her beady, dark eyes and a smile, she acknowledged her small audience as though she had only just noticed them standing there. She coughed again and with an apologetic gesture, began gathering up her things.
‘That was so absorbing. I’m so glad we didn’t miss watching her, even though we only got to see a few minutes,’ Natalie said. ‘It will make it much more interesting to look around now I’ve seen someone actually make the lace.’
‘Years and years of practice and still it takes months to make just a small tray cloth or some such item,’ Eraldo said.
‘Look at this, isn’t it beautiful.’ Natalie’s eye had already been caught by a mannequin modelling an antique bridal dress decorated with the most delicate, hand-stitched work. She wandered over to a wooden cabinet watched over by a young woman in her late twenties sporting a lace-trimmed blouse, a vibrant mango-coloured skirt and a name badge spelling outBelindain capital letters.
‘These pull out,’ Belinda said, fanning out the cabinet’s shallow, glass-topped drawers. ‘There are samples of lace in each drawer. This for example is a wonderful example of eighteenth-centuryPunto in aria di Burano. I leave you to look but ask me any questions that you like.’
Natalie gazed in wonder. ‘I cannot imagine how much work went into these. Such skill!’
Eraldo looked over her shoulder, his now familiar warm, amber scent distracting her momentarily from the exhibits. ‘Machines have done so much for humankind but handcrafted work like this can never be beaten. It is a tragedy that one day there may be no one alive who can create something like this – and they call this progress!’
‘My grandmother was a friend of Signora Gherardini,’ Belinda said, smiling at the memory. ‘She too attended the lacemaking school from an early age. Such tales she would tell me about it! Sadly, she is no longer alive. How I wish she had written down her memories or recorded them, but one doesn’t think…’
‘Did she teach you or your mother the craft?’ Eraldo asked.
‘She died when I was too small to pick up a needle and my mamma… well, Nonna wanted Mamma to follow in her footsteps and learn to make lace. But Mamma had a mind of her own: a rebel, I suppose. She thought lacemaking, sewing and homemaking were all ways of tying women down. She was determined to leave this small, backward island – that is how she saw it – and have adventures all over the world. I am not like her; I was born on Burano and I love it and these old crafts, though sadly I have no talent like this.’
‘But your mother came back to Burano, if you were born here,’ Eraldo pointed out.
‘Yes, after her adventures. Perhaps they were not as exciting as she hoped. She lived in England for a year or two; I guess that is where you are from?’ Natalie nodded. ‘She fell in love there with an English boy, Terry.’
Natalie’s breath caught. Was Cate’s dad called Terry? She couldn’t quite remember; it might have been Jerry. But this had to be more than a coincidence. She glanced at Eraldo.
‘Mamma and Terry’s relationship did not last. She went off travelling again for a while but after two years, she settled back here. Nonna had mellowed, she didn’t try to mould Mamma any more; she was just so glad she had come back home. Mamma told me she picked up a needle out of boredom one day and immediately, everything made sense; she loved sewing, the very thing she had tried to escape! She never had the skill to make lace for a living so she worked in a boutique out there on the piazza… Oh, excuse me a moment…’
Belinda turned to an older lady, answering her question in Italian. Natalie couldn’t understand what they were saying but she heard the name Lina loud and clear. That was Cate’s mother’s name; this time, she was sure. She clutched the edge of the display unit, her heart racing.
‘Sorry about that,’ Belinda continued. ‘The lady was asking when my mother, Lina, was coming in; Mamma volunteers here once a week.’
‘I…’ Natalie hesitated. Eraldo’s hand squeezed hers, whether in encouragement or warning, she wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t stay quiet. ‘Could I ask you a question? I will understand if you cannot answer.’
Belinda smiled. ‘Of course. I do not know the story of every piece of lace but I will try to answer you.’
‘It is not the lace…’ Natalie opened her bag. She took out the scrap of brown envelope, now more creased than ever. ‘Your mamma, Lina, she lives here on Burano? Is this her address?’
Belinda stared at her as though Natalie was the first human she’d ever encountered. She took the paper from Natalie’s hand. ‘It is Mamma’s writing, I am sure of that. And our address, although the number looks wrong… You would think this was a three and a one, not a five and a seven. But that is typical; even I cannot always read her handwriting. But where did you get this? Why do you have it? Have you come from England to look for Mamma?’
‘I… well…’ Natalie did not know how to answer her.
Belinda’s eyes filled with tears.
‘It is you, isn’t it? I would never have guessed… We look nothing alike. You are Catherine, aren’t you? The older sister I have never met.’ She grasped Natalie’s wrists. ‘Oh, Cathy! Cathy! My mamma’s little baby girl!’
37
A delivery barge piled high with crates of fruit was heading for a landing spot. The day was already warm,La Serenissimabasking under a blue sky. But Natalie suspected it was nerves rather than heat that were responsible for the dampness spreading under her arms, the trickle of sweat down her chest. She hurried along thefondamenta, dodging a dachshund on an extendable lead.
Her meeting place came into view. Cate, already perched on a white, metal chair, raised her hand. Natalie let out a breath; she slowed her pace a little.
‘Hi, Cate!’ She walked up to the table.
‘Hi, I got you a cappuccino and a pistachio croissant; it’s so early, I guessed you hadn’t had breakfast.’
‘Thanks, you’re right.’ Natalie sat down, her back to the canal. ‘Where’s Phil? What did you tell him?’
‘Not much. He’s quite happy for me to disappear for an hour. He’s discovered the palazzo’s home gym. He’s working on his quads and his abs or something – don’t ask me what!’ Cate laughed.
