Dusk was falling as Cristine walked out of the hotel. The hall porter rushed to open the door for her, giving her that flattering smile which is always so oddly impersonal since it is bestowed on every female who passes, irrespective of age or appearance.
"You won't forget our dinner at eight, miss?" He spoke English with the American accents and was used to speaking it that he no longer even looked proud of his fluency.
"I won't" she agreed. She was quite hungry, in fact, having refused all the plastic airport food she had been offered all the way. She had not eaten since a light breakfast at London so many hours ago that she had lost count of time.
Her mind had been too busy with other thoughts. Someone once said that nothing so concentrates the mind as the prospect of being hanged in the morning, but pain can be equally absorbing. It leaves no room for anything else. The whole being becomes attentive to it, shutting out the rest of the world. Pulsing with that rhythm, Cristine had crossed Europe as if she were deaf, dumb, blind. Her invisible companion had never left her for a second, beating in her blood and making her nerves flicker with angry fire.
Her body's weariness had broken up that long vigil with pain now. She was aching from head to foot. Too much sitting around the airports and planes, too much noise and movement, made her long to walk fast and alone, as though that would shake off her mood.
The hotel was on one of the back canals of Venice and she walked out of it she found herself on the narrow riva which bordered the water, giving the footway for pedestrians. It was deserted. The back walls of the other buildings stared blankly at her across the oily dark water. A bridge arched at the far end of the riva, framing further blank walls in an echoing perspective which ended in one of the pale evening mists which creep in from the lagoon.
There was something eerie about it. Cristine stood listening to the silence and it settled on her spirits like the mist. Behind her the hotel was quite but well lit. The hall porter's face swam behind the glass door. He stared at her and she sensed he was about to come out to ask if she wanted directions. She walked away before he could.
Crossing the short bridge, she paused to look down into the canal. The water moved sluggishly and had a dank smell that reminded her of the Thames on winter evenings. Sometimes when they were going to see a play and had time to kill she and Harry had walked beside it, watching the round yellow globes of the Victorian lamps reflected on the water.
Laughing, she thought. Harry always made her laugh and she had no premonition then that he would one day hurt her more than she could bear. It was just as well that human beings had no visions of the future. Today is always safer than tomorrow. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, she told herself, turning away from the canal.
She could't even tell herself that he had made any secret of his nature. "Don't take me seriously." he would say from time to time, always laughing, and he had used the phrase so lightly that she had not even taken his warning seriously. She had gone on blithely falling in love, ignoring the danger signals. Harry was charming, he charmed without intention, the allure of his smile as meaningless as that flattering smile the hall porter had given her. He enjoyed her company and for three months they had been constant companions. Cristine had a lively mind herself, a strong sense of humor, a good deal of intelligence.
Her sense of humor deserted her when she discovered that Harry was seeing someone esle.
"I told you not to take me seriously." he said, faintly disappointed. "We're friends, aren't we?"
"Friends?" The word had taken her breath away.
Harry had flushed slightly. The tone of her voice had recall the memories that lay between them and which he could not deny, but he had said faintly, "Cris, I never promised you any commitment, you can't say I did. Don't try to build walls round me, I don't like it. I get oppressive when I feel people trying to claim exclusive rights."
She was grateful now that she had retained sufficient pride to hide the blow he had dealt her. At the time all she had thought about was getting away to ride the pain somehow where no one could watch. That was when she decided to take a holiday.
"At this time of year?" Joanna had asked, and there had been slight resentment in her voice.
Joanna loved her husband and her children, but she felt free to regard her sister's freedom from such ties with a disappointed eyes.
"You're always going abroad. You've just come back from Philippines. What do you need a holiday for?" Joanna had not waited to be told. She had launched into a catalogue of all the reasons why she needed a holiday a damned sight more than Cristine did, and once Joanna had begun one of her full lists of complaint there was no stopping her. Cristine had stopped listening after the first few seconds. There was no need to, anyway. Joanna's life was an open book to her, Joanna recited it freely every time they meet.
Joanna was two years older and that fact dominated their relationship. The habit of seniority never left her. She scolded, bullied, sat in exactly the way she had when they where young.
"You should get married" she ended up, breaking into Cristine's heart wrestling with pain and making her laugh in harsh.
"Thanks for the advice!"
Joanna had stared, half offended, half curious. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm tired, that's all." Cristine had no intention of telling Joanna about Harry. Joanna had met him a number of times and had been made half jealous, half satisfied, by her sister's choice. Harry was very presentable, far better looking than Mark, Joanna's husband, and Joanna had been torn between relief that it looked as if Cristine were going get married at last and a feeling that it wasn't fair that she should come up with someone as attractive as that.
"You're tired? Don't make me laugh!" Joanna was always tired, she had been informed. "You try getting up at six with the baby and then having to get breakfast for Mark and others, doing house work..." The list had begun again. Joanna's life was narrow and busy and entirely fascinating to her. She imagined it must fascinated Cristine, too.
Everything has to end some time, even pain, Cristine reminded herself, walking without thinking into the blind wall of mist which had fallen in the narrow alleys. The dead sound of her own steps was the only sound she could hear. She paused, shivering, suddenly cold. Where was she?
She had walked without noticing. She had better recall her way. Turning, she walked back, the click of her heels ringing back from the night, windowless walls on either side and sinking into the waters of the canal without a trace.
They came out of the mist, softly, moving on rubber heeled gym shoes. Cristine only had time to notice them before they were on either side of her, parting as if to let her through but their steps slowing. She glanced at them, feeling uneasy somehow. They were boys, thin and tall, in jeans and black sweaters, their long smooth faces not smiling yet the ghost of amusement about them which they were not sharing with her but with each other, a silent exchange of looks across her which disturbed her.
She immediately looked away and began to quicken her step. They moved simultaneously, sandwiching her between them. She heard silent laughter. They did not make a sound, yet their shoulders, touching hers, shock with it.
~To be continued..
