Light Through Glass

Zoe was entertaining a forlorn hope that the pigeons would not come near her table.

“Shoo!” she said, surreptitiously, flapping her cardigan at them. She liked birds, but she wanted to sip her cappuccino in peace and absorb the beauty of the Piazza San Marco without interruption, and the pigeons were becoming quite intrusive.

“Those birds get everywhere, don't they?” a deep, English voice enquired of her. Zoe turned to an adjoining table, where a man was sitting. She laughed self-consciously.

“I know. And I just wanted to sit and soak up the ambience - and the sunshine - without them landing on my table every two minutes! Still, I suppose they've more right to be here than me - they were here first!”

They both looked round at the ancient buildings, which enclosed the bustling square. The great Doge’s Palace and St Mark’s Basilica were wonderfully impressive and imposing; but Zoe loved the little Piazzetta where they were seated. It had everything, she felt, which was the essence of this corner of Italy. It was still encircled by the Gothic and Byzantine influences, which were so much in evidence in the main piazza, but this square was smaller, and friendlier somehow. And it was open to the wide, blue lagoon in one corner. Opposite, across the water of the Bacino di San Marco, was the island of San Giorgio Maggiore, where the sparkling white façade of Palladio's Church reflected the morning sunlight. Venice, in all its glory, was infinitely charming.

“Yes." Her neighbour gave a sigh of pure pleasure. "I never get tired of it. I’m Jason, by the way - Jason Bryant. Are you here for the Exhibition?”

Zoe smiled. He was so easy to talk to, this forty-something man with the blond, Daniel Craig type of craggy good looks.

“Yes, that's right. Mind you, I suppose all the world and his wife are here this week. This is the largest exhibition of Venetian glass there's been for years, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Are you a fan, or is it business?”

“Sorry?”

He indicated her laptop bag. “Well, I wondered if you were a reporter, come to cover the Exhibition. I know there are several in my hotel. In fact…”

The waiter materialised at his table. Jason looked up.

“Nothing else for me, just the bill, please. Il conto, per favore." He glanced at his watch. "Have to keep my eye on the time," he explained to Zoe.

“No, I'm not a reporter” continued Zoe, “I’m just an enthusiast. I love the delicacy of the glass, and the variety of beautiful ornaments they can make from it. The colours and shapes are amazing. What a miraculous invention it is.”

“I know, I’ve always promised myself I’d come and see this exhibition whenever I got the chance. How about the laptop though? Are you a writer?”

“Yes, I’m actually writing a novel at the moment, set in Venice. I love to use an exotic location as my setting, I think it makes the book much more interesting.”

“What genre are your stories? Romance, I suppose?” Jason had a twinkle in his eye.

Zoe laughed. She felt so easy and comfortable with this man.

“Well, you’re nearly there. They’re romantic mysteries, actually, with a bit of comedy thrown in.”

“Ah, something for everyone. Very wise!”

Zoe laughed again, and excusing herself, she rose to visit the toilet inside the café. Whilst there, she took her time combing her blonde, shoulder-length hair and reapply her make-up. Jason wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and while that didn’t mean anything these days, she felt sure he was single, like her. In fact, she was certain he would ask to accompany her to the Exhibition. And if he didn’t, she would ask him!

For a long time now, she had allowed life to pass her by. Her parents were 'happily retired' and were often away somewhere with their many friends, doing their own thing. And although they would always welcome her visits, Zoe knew she was now 'surplus to requirements' and wasn't needed. She couldn't blame Mum and Dad. After all, they had put her first all her life, and now it was their turn to have needs. They had to think of themselves for once. Yes, Zoe had understood. She herself didn't have a 'special someone' in her life at the moment. Her boyfriend, Daryl, had been with her for two years, till one day he told her it was all over. Just like that. So, all-in-all, everything had combined to shake her into making some life-changing decisions.

She was going to get out there, grab life with both hands and never let it go!

After a final glance in the mirror, Zoe walked back outside. The hot sun poured down, momentarily dazzling her. Then she stopped dead. The table next to hers was empty. Jason had gone.

Bewildered, she looked around. There were couples and families chatting, laughing, eating and drinking, but Jason wasn’t with any of them. He had, seemingly, vanished into thin air.

The pigeons suddenly flew up into her face, startling her. Drat those birds! She thought, her heart beating rapidly.

There was no reason why the man shouldn’t go, she supposed. After all, there was nothing to bind them. They had only just met. And didn't he say something about 'having to keep his eye on the time'? But still she couldn’t fight down a huge feeling of disappointment. He could, at least, have said goodbye. The empty table where he had been sitting offered nothing to prove he had ever existed. Perhaps she had imagined him? She shook her head to dispel a growing sense of unreality. It was just like one of her mystery stories. Then something white caught her eye. There was a sheet of paper underneath the table, covered in sketches. Wonderingly, she recognised herself, in profile. So, he had sketched her, while she had been sitting there, sipping her coffee. It was a good likeness. He must admire her! Then she spotted the heading on the sheet. Hotel L’Angelike. She smiled. Flinging her cardigan round her slim shoulders, she turned to go. She had seen that hotel before.

Quickly, Zoe called the waiter over and paid her bill. Trying not to hurry, she crossed the beautiful Bridge of Sighs, thinking, as she always did, of the poor convicts who had supposedly sighed at their last glimpse of Venice from here, before they were locked away in their cells. At the moment she felt like sighing herself! She entered the maze of narrow side streets, at last reaching the Hotel L’Angelike. Outside, she hesitated.

What on earth shall I say when I see him again? Well, I suppose I’ll just invite him to the Exhibition, as I’d intended, she thought to herself. She went inside.

The young man on reception regarded her with disdain as he delivered his bombshell.

“I am sorry, Mr Bryant is not here - but you can speak to Mrs Bryant.”

Zoe’s head was in a whirl. So, he’s married after all - and he was so nice! She knew she was being illogical but she didn't care.

Back at the little Hotel Gistor, Zoe stood aside to let a horde of paparazzi pass by. That was when she saw him, at reception. He grinned, and said,

“Hello! I’ve been waiting for you. When I came out of the toilet in the café you’d gone.”

Zoe felt her head spin. He must have gone in to the Gents whilst she was in the Ladies. She said,

“But…how did you know this was my hotel?”

“I followed you from here this morning. I’d been plucking up courage to speak to you. I wanted to ask you to the Exhibition.”

Zoe was suddenly furious.

“You’ve got a nerve! Your wife is waiting back at your hotel. You should take her instead!”

She glared at him and he looked embarrassed.

“You’ve got it all wrong," he said. "This is my hotel!”

“But…what about Mrs Bryant, at the L’Angelike?”

“That’s my mum. I booked for both of us here, at the Gistor, but due to the huge influx of journalists and tourists, there was only one room left. I managed to get Mum in at the L‘Angelike.”

Zoe stared in dismay as he sadly turned to leave.

“Wait!" Zoe ran after him, her cardigan flapping behind her. "Please let me make amends. I’d love both you and your Mum to come to the Exhibition, as my guests.”

She gazed at him hopefully with her bright brown eyes, her head on one side. After a minute he capitulated, laughingly.

“You remind me of one of the pigeons from the Piazzetta,” he said, jokingly.

“Well, I'm sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere. Is that a date then?”

Jason’s smile lit up his face, like light through glass.

"It's a date," he said.