Blood and Gold - Anne Rice [141]
When I looked up from the note, I saw Amadeo watching me, probing me as it were with his silent eyes.
“Do you know her, Master?” he asked me soberly, surprising Riccardo, who said nothing.
“You know I do, Amadeo. She told you I had come to visit her. You saw my portraits on her walls.”
I sensed a sudden and violent jealousy in him. But nothing changed in his face. Don’t go to her. That’s what his soul said to me. And I knew he wished that Riccardo would leave now and we could have the shadowy bed, with its concealing velvet curtains, to ourselves.
There was something stubborn in him, something directed entirely towards our love. And how it tempted me, how it drew from me the most complete devotion.
“But I want you to remember,” I said to him suddenly in his Russian tongue.
It was a shock to him but he didn’t understand it.
“Amadeo,” I said in the Venetian dialect, “think back to the time before you came here. Think back, Amadeo. What was your world then?”
A flush came to his cheeks. He was miserable. It was as if I’d beaten him.
Riccardo reached out for him with a consoling hand. “Master,” he said, “it’s too hard for him.”
Amadeo seemed paralyzed. I rose from my chair at the desk and I put my arm around him where he sat and I kissed the top of his head.
“Come, forget everything. We’ll go to see Bianca. This is the time of night which she likes the best.”
Riccardo was amazed to be permitted out at this hour. As for Amadeo he was still dazed.
We found Bianca thickly surrounded by her chattering guests. There were Florentines among them, and Englishmen as I’d been told.
Bianca brightened as she saw me. She took me away from the others, towards her bedchamber where the elaborate swan bed was exquisitely adorned as if it were something on a stage.
“You’ve come at last,” she said. “I’m so glad to see you. You don’t know how I’ve missed you.” How warm were her words. “You are the only painter who exists in my world, Marius.” She wanted to kiss me but I couldn’t risk it. I bent to press my lips to her cheek quickly and then I held her back.
Ah, such radiant sweetness. Gazing into her oval eyes, I stepped into the paintings of Botticelli. I held in my hands, for reasons I could never know, the dark perfumed tresses of Zenobia, gathered up in memory from the floor of a house on the other side of the world.
“Bianca, my darling,” I said to her. “I’m ready to open my house if you will receive for me.” What a shock it was to hear these words come from my own lips. I had not known what I meant to say. Yet on I pressed with my dream. “I have neither wife nor daughter. Come, open my house to the world.”
The look of triumph in her face confirmed it. I would do it.
“I shall tell everyone,” she said immediately. “Yes, I’ll receive for you, I shall do it proudly, I shall do it gladly, but surely you’ll be there yourself.”
“May we open the doors in the evening?” I asked her. “It’s my custom to come in the evening. The light of candles suits me better than the light of day. You set the night for it, Bianca, and I shall have my servants make everything ready. The paintings are everywhere now. You do understand I offer nothing to anyone. I paint for my pleasure. And for my guests I’ll have food and drink as you say.”
How happy she looked. Off to one side I saw Amadeo gazing at her, loving her somewhat and loving the sight of us together though it gave him pain.
Riccardo was being drawn into conversation by men who were older than he and flattered him and loved his handsome face.
“Tell me what to lay out on my tables,” I said to Bianca. “Tell me what wines to serve. My servants shall be your servants. I shall do everything as you say.”
“It’s too lovely,” she answered. “All of Venice will be there, I promise you, you’ll discover the most wonderful company. People are so curious about you. Oh, how they whisper. You can’t imagine