Chapter VII
THE bar was just across from the lobby of the Gritti, although lobby, the Colonel thought, was not the accurate term to describe that gracious entrance. Didn’t Giotto describe a circle, he thought? No, that was in math. What he remembered and loved best as an anecdote about that painter was: “It was easy,” said Giotto as he drew the perfect circle. Who the hell had said that and where?
“Good evening, Privy Counsellor,” he said to the barman, who was not a full paid-up member of the order but whom he did not wish to offend. “What can I do for you?”
“Drink, my Colonel.”
The Colonel looked out of the windows and the door of the bar onto the waters of the Grand Canal. He could see the big black hitching post for the gondolas and the late afternoon winter light on the wind-swept water. Across the Canal was the old Palace and a wood barge, black and broad, was coming up the Canal, her bluff bows
