One Winter Weekend

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

W hen Sunday morning dawned cold and overcast, with a chance of snow, Scott knew at once that his chances of getting Rachel to take a scenic gondola ride were probably low.

After the crowds, the disastrous dinner, and now with the cold, it was obvious her excitement at visiting Venice was waning. She was already talking about what they might do the next weekend at home, discussing the possibility of a movie and drinks with friends, and his heart sank.

Was he never going to get a chance to propose here?

But when he asked if she was game for a gondola tour on the Grand Canal, to his surprise, she agreed. “It’ll be cold,” he added, almost as an afterthought, expecting her to change her mind. But she just shrugged and said that she would wear an extra layer of clothing.

They attended the late morning Mass at St. Mark’s Basilica, as he’d promised they would, and they were not disappointed. The sacred chorale was sung in Italian, and echoing off the gilded domes of the cathedral it sounded otherworldly.

Scott didn’t know much about Catholicism or how Mass progressed, but he was able to appreciate the obvious meaning behind the service. They emerged onto the steps of the Basilica to light snow, oversized fluffy flakes drifting down to the stones like tiny down feathers.

He was more than happy to spend a quiet afternoon at the hotel, and when they left for their evening gondola ride, he made sure Rachel had bundled up in extra thermals and a warm sweater. He didn’t want anything to ruin the night; this was his last big chance to propose before the weekend was over, and nothing would mess it up if he could help it.

But the line for gondola rides was long, and the gondoliers themselves seemed jaded and in a less-than-cheerful mood. Scott tried to put a positive face on things; Rachel remained silent. The minutes in the queue dragged by, and soon it became apparent that they were going nowhere fast if they intended to go in a gondola.

After nearly an hour, they finally secured a free gondola, and Scott sat down next to Rachel with relief. At last, they were underway!

Rachel tried chatting a bit with the gondolier, switching from English to Italian, but he seemed dismissive and uninterested in making tourist small talk. Finally, she gave up, sitting back and snuggling up against Scott to take in the sights.

The view of the Grand Canal was even more impressive from this vantage point, with views of the buildings and also the side canals and bridges that led off to smaller businesses and homes.

However, after just a few minutes floating along, their boat came to a halt. The large number of vessels out on the canal for the night had led to a water-locked traffic jam, and now boat traffic was nearly at a standstill as gondoliers and water taxi drivers shouted and argued with each other.

Beside him, Rachel was shivering. Scott hugged her a little tighter. This was a terrible idea, he realised, listening to their gondolier mutter to himself in his native language. English or Italian, the tone was the same with a complaint, and it was clear to Scott that the man was not having a good night.

The ride was supposed to last about forty minutes, though Scott knew he could pay for a longer period if he wanted.

However, by the time the forty minutes were up, it felt as though they’d been in the boat for hours. As soon as the gondolier pulled up at a dock, Rachel nearly bolted out of the boat, and Scott hastily paid the man and followed her.

From the set of her shoulders and the way she walked, Scott could tell his girlfriend was dejected. He could also tell she was freezing, and when she ducked into a small café and ordered hot chocolate he asked the waiter to make it two and followed her to a quiet corner table.

They sat in silence for a moment, warming their hands on the cups and sipping their drinks without speaking. Scott finally reached out to touch Rachel’s hand. “Babe, I’m so sorry for how this weekend’s been going. It seems to have just got worse and worse as it went on.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said gently, wrapping her hands more tightly around the cup to steal its warmth. “I guess I thought Venice would be so much more … magical I guess.”

“We’ve just had some bad luck, that’s all.” Timidly he asked, “Do you want to try and find something else to do for the evening…maybe sit by that cafe orchestra in Piazza San Marco?”

Rachel shook her head firmly and she looked sad. “No. The city was fun at first, but like I said I’m a little …disenchanted by now,” she admitted. “It’s cold, people are in a bad mood, and there are so many tourists. It just isn’t the romantic getaway I thought it would be.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m bummed too,” he admitted. For more reasons than one.

Rachel drained the last of her hot chocolate. “So while it’s been fun, I think I’m ready to go home.”

“Me too,” he agreed halfheartedly, even though he didn’t feel the same way. He quickly finished his hot chocolate and they returned to their hotel by the quickest route possible, avoiding the packed Grand Canal.