Francesco raised an eyebrow slightly. ‘So . . .’
‘And so, he suggested we step outside to talk . . .’
‘To talk. Right.’ He rolled his eyes sarcastically.
Her raised hand silenced him. ‘And then before I knew it, he was leading me out and under the portico of Piazza San Marco. There were people around, but he seemed to want to avoid them.’
Francesco’s eyes narrowed. ‘You followed him? A stranger?’ She nodded. ‘This is huge, Lucia.’
‘He didn’t know who I was. I never introduced myself. I had my mask on.’
Francesco leaned in a little more, biting his cheek while he thought. ‘Still . . .’
‘He eventually stopped us at the edge of thefondamentaof the piazzetta. Looking across to Lido.’
‘The place where . . .?’
Lucia nodded solemnly. ‘There was no one there. Just some seagulls. The rain. Then he drew me in close. I wanted to comment on his mask, but he pressed a finger to my mouth. And then, he kissed me.’ She leaned back into the pillow, taking another large mouthful of coffee.
Francesco’s open mouth was so dramatic that Lucia could make out the coffee stains on his back teeth. ‘Youkissed someone? A stranger? You? Lucia Trevisan?’
‘Checco. No one has ever –ever– kissed me like that.’
‘And, what happenedafterthe kiss?’
‘The Campanile chimed midnight, as if on cue. And as the twelfth chime concluded theacqua altasiren started . . .’ Suddenly she trailed off and seemed to withdraw into herself. She took another sip of coffee and gave Foscari a long pat down his spine.
‘What happened?’ He placed a hand on the covers which rested over her legs.
‘He tensed and sort of tightened up. I could see his dark eyes under the mask. They kept looking at the sky. Then to the rising water. I heard someone cry out a warning behind me, so I turned. But when I looked back he was already running away.’
‘He ran away?’
‘Yes. He darted across to Piazza San Marco, and just disappeared down acalle.’
Francesco thought on this for a moment. ‘Did he introduce himself?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. And what did he look like?’
‘I have no idea. He never took the mask off. Neither of us did.’ She set her mug down on the bedside table.
‘And the kiss?’
Her eyes closed. ‘All-consuming. As if he were transmitting life and energy through our contact.’
Watching her curiously, Francesco said, ‘This is incredible. Look at you.’
‘I’ve come apart. The kiss destroyed me. It’s almost as if . . . well, as if that was meant to be my last ever kiss.’
‘An existential kiss?’
‘Yes. Calling into question every fibre of my being. What came before? What will come after? The immeasurable. The insurmountable.’
With a final gulp, Francesco swallowed the rest of his coffee and set the little espresso cup down beside Lucia’s mug. ‘The only question that remains is, what are you going to do about it?’
‘Do? There’s nothing to do. What could Ipossiblydo?’
