The Glassblower of Murano - Marina Fiorato [39]
But surely Baccia had nothing to fear? He was a man of the State through and through. Corradino knew that the Council subsidized the rents of this plot, and that much of the Republic's business was conducted at the Do Mori under the mask of sociability. And yet Baccia did look - yes, definitely, he looked ill at ease. The proprietario made his way at last to Corradino and, at the greeting kisses, Corradino could feel the film of perspiration on Baccia's cheeks.
`Antonio?' said Corradino interrogatively as Baccia sat heavily on the brocade couch opposite. `What's the purpose of this meeting? Not more mirrors to tip your cafe into the realms of a brothel?'
Baccia looked positively ill as he leaned in to Corradino, his breath heavy and laced with wine. `Corradino. Listen well. Lean back in your seat for me.'
`What? ...' Corradino was perplexed, but at a fervent nod from his friend he did as he was bid. He pushed his shoulders back, further, further, until at last they met other shoulders - of the patron sitting back to back with him on the other side of the settle. At once Corradino made as if to address the man, to excuse himself, but a voice stopped him which was not Baccia's.
'No. Don't turn around. Eyes are upon us.!
The Italian was perfect, but had the Frankish accent that took Corradino back twenty years to his French tutor. His childhood flooded into his head like a blush as the blood thrummed in his ears.
'Monsieur Loisy?' It was all he could do not to turn and throw himself into the man's arms.
`No. My name is Duparcmieur. Gaston Duparcmieur. We have never met. But in time you shall know me better.' The voice had an authority, but was warmed with a touch of amusement.
Corradino felt irritated at his mistake - as if he had given himself away. He clothed his discomfort in anger but something, still, kept him from turning round. With his eyes on the discomfited Baccia he said sharply, `What's this about? I will not place myself in danger.'
He felt the shoulders shift, and again, the amusement and authority married in the voice of the Frenchman. `Corradino, you have always been in danger. Since the day that your uncle Ugolino betrayed you to The Ten and you and your family flew for your lives. Did you know too that it was your uncle who betrayed your family's whereabouts to the agents of the Republic? He sold the death of your mother for his own safety, but in this he was deceived - they took him too and left only you, my little glassblower.'
Corradino leapt from his seat, and was immediately encircled firmly in the bearlike arms of Baccia. The proprietario clasped him and kissed him again on both cheeks. Loudly he bellowed; `That's settled then. Two more mirrors for the salon. And they shall be works of art, just as you have made before: He drew Corradino close and Corradino felt warm breath on his ear as Baccia hissed; `Corradino, you must listen to this man, do not rise or turn, do not give in to your passions. This man can help you, but we are watched. Be still. Sit and talk to him, as if you talk to me.'
Corradino sat slowly and tried to collect himself. What did this mean? Could it be true of his uncle Ugolino, who had loved him so well? That he was a traitor? A thousand questions crowded his brain. The only one he could articulate was; `Who are you?'
`If you would know me, you may gaze into your own mirror. But be swift, and secret:
Corradino slid his eyes left and met those of the man who sat behind him. He was dressed in wine velvet, in the style of a doctor of Padua, and a long nosed, white, medico mask lay in his lap. But the pointed beard and curled moustaches were those of a French dandy. His eyes, as they steadily held Corradino's, were of the grey slate that he powdered and added to his marver for the semblance of pewter. The Frenchman looked young, not much beyond his middle years. Perhaps thirty like Corradino himself.
`You see, you and I are of an age,' said the Frenchman, as if reading thought. `But our differences are more marked. I love my country, as you have ceased to love yours. And