Stone's Fall

My liaison demanded secrecy, and what better way of ensuring that than to act entirely normally? I might have wandered the streets, soaking up the atmosphere of the place which was already coiling itself around my being. Venice is the most dangerous place on earth, or was then, until the tourists came and swamped the air of threat, which existed in its very stones, with the futile frivolity of the sightseer, and converted the inhabitants into supplicants of the transient.

'Why so moody?' Such might have been the question had any acquaintance encountered me, and it was far too soon to run such risks. So I resolved to shut off that part of my thoughts and switch my attention to other things. There was a part of me – an ever-diminishing, weakening part, it is true – which fought against the seductions of the city, although only half-heartedly.

I walked to the offices of the Banca di Santo Spirito and left my card for Signor Ambrosian. I wished to meet a man who knew about the city – knew how it worked, that is, rather than knew about its buildings, which is always the easiest thing to discover, and who also knew about Macintyre. I have always found it strange that people are willing to travel to a place, and devote some considerable energy to doing so, yet leave with not the slightest knowledge or interest in the lives of the inhabitants.

An old friend of mine travelled through the Balkans a few years ago and spent months in those countries, yet came back knowledgeable only about landscapes and the architecture of Orthodox monasteries. How was capital accumulated? How were the cities run? Was the system of taxation efficient or no? What levels of literacy and discipline could you count on among the population? What, in other words, about the stuff of their lives? Not only did he have no knowledge of these things, he had no interest in them, seeming to think that monasteries merely pop out of the ground like mushrooms without any application of either money or labour, and that cities are simply wished into existence for no reason other than to delight the eye of the visitor.

The same applies to Venice, but on a grander scale. What were these people doing living in the middle of the sea like that? Why, in their days of greatness, did they not migrate to the land? How, now that those days of grandeur were past, did they intend to adapt themselves to a new world? Signor Ambrosian seemed the best fitted to answer such questions. No one else I had yet met was likely to do so.

I wrote a note on the back of my calling card, asking him to send a message to my accommodation, and then returned there for a rest before dinner. I was hungry; the day had been long, and the food not plentiful, and the excitement had worked up a fine appetite in me. I was looking forward to dinner and my own company, for I resolved that that evening I would eat alone. It was natural, even necessary, to place myself in the way of English society, but I was not, that evening, willing to converse with the likes of Longman in a fashion of easy conviviality – and I knew that such a manner was utterly vital if my deception was to be successful. Besides, I was not yet ready to meet Cort again.

For the next few days a certain watchful peace descended on me. All thoughts of leaving and moving on to new sights and places fell away so softly I did not even realise they had departed. I could not even keep myself fixed on reality through business, as I received a letter from Signor Ambrosian's secretary to say the banker was away for a few days, but that he would be happy to make my acquaintance on his return.

I was in love; for the first time in my life, so I thought. When I had taken her, I had abandoned all my caution and any doubts; she was irresistible, and I did not want to resist. Her vulnerability, which hid so well a terrible animality, fascinated me. I could see nothing but perfection. I wanted her more than anything else in my entire life. I was not a passionate man in my habits, not romantic in my behaviour: I imagine this is obvious already. I had disciplined myself carefully and thoroughly, but nature will out; Venice, and Louise Cort broke the dam, and a torrent of emotion burst through. The more I possessed her, the more I was prepared to lose myself in that glorious, unmatched feeling and prove it through recklessness.