‘Do you also write verses?’ Vivaldi interrupts her.
She looks up; clapping shut the book from which she has
been reading, her forefinger still between the pages, marking their
place. ‘How kind of you to ask,’ she murmurs. ‘I once resolved to
write one or two lines each day. But alas, little has come of it. I keep
a diary, but I usually lack the time to finish my entry with a poem.
Some of what I have done is all right. Perhaps, when I have more
leisure…’ her voice trails off.
‘I should like to hear some.’
‘Mmm. I don’t think they are good enough to recite.’
‘A long time ago I met a man who told me that there was a
poet in everyone, if only one gave voice to it,’ Antonio repeats
Andrea’s long-lost words.
Paolina gives a short laugh. ‘If only it was that easy! Then
the world would be stuffed full of poets and none would stand out
from the rest. No one would be able to tell himself apart or
appreciate another’s work. So perhaps it’s as well not everyone is
aware of the truth you have just kindly shared with me!’
Vivaldi shrugs. There’s something in what she says. Who
can produce music like he does, after all? Not a soul. ‘You may be
right,’ he concedes, ‘read on.’
She reopens the book and resumes reading the poem
where she left off.
Antonio would really like to turn over and doze again, but Paolina
has other plans. This morning she has laid out fresh clothes for
him and thrown open the shutters. The sun pours in like molten
gold and the day promises to be a glorious one. ‘Get up, lazy-
bones,’ she calls out cheerfully to him. ‘I’ll come and collect you in
half an hour.’
‘What for?’ he enquires, very slightly put out.
‘Surprise!’ She turns and winks as she leaves the room.
Antonio looks sullenly out of the window and allows into
his consciousness the chatter of birdsong. He shuts his eyes again
briefly, but decides nevertheless to make a huge effort and get out
241
197-248 Chapter 5.indd 241 22-11-2007 14:11:19