A Venetian Affair

Catherine George

Susan Stephens

Lucy Gordon

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Venetian Passion

by

Catherine George

Catherine George was born in Wales, and early on developed a passion for reading which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the UK. and instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera and browse in antiques shops.

Chapter One

THE flight from Heathrow was punctual. For this at least he was thankful. His eyes smouldered. If any other man—or woman—had asked him to meet the plane in person he would have refused. With impatience he scanned the new arrivals streaming through the Marco Polo concourse. Many of them were young women with fair hair, but none seemed to be travelling alone. At last he saw a solitary female figure hurrying in his direction, dragging a small suitcase on wheels. His eyes narrowed. It could be. A white cotton sunhat was pulled low over a face hidden by enormous sunglasses, but she was young, small, and the rope of hair hanging down her back was most definitely blonde.

‘Miss Green?’ he said, moving to intercept her.

She turned warily. ‘Yes?’

‘Welcome to Venice.’ He bowed slightly. ‘I am Domenico Chiesa, from the Forli Group. Signor Lorenzo Forli, the Presidente, asked me to meet you.’

She smiled in surprise. ‘Really? How very kind of him.’

It is even kinder of me, he thought irritably. ‘Come. You need a ticket for the vaporetto.’ He hurried her to the office near the exit. ‘The No.1 Aligaluna waterbus leaves almost at once.’ He bought a ticket and handed it over with a diagram showing the route from the Piazza San Marco to her hotel. ‘This will help you find the Locanda Verona, Miss Green.’

She smiled politely as she accepted it. ‘Thank you. Goodbye.’

‘I regret—’ he began, but she was already hurrying away to the quayside. He stared after her, lips compressed. He had been about to say he was too busy to make the journey with her, but the lady, it seemed, had not expected—or desired—him to do that. His eyes darkened as he boarded a water taxi. He had been forced to leave a very difficult situation to come to Marco Polo, but he had dutifully guided the lady to the right vaporetto and given her directions to the hotel he had personally arranged for her. Yet her gratitude had been all for Lorenzo Forli, who had merely given orders from group headquarters in Florence. Here in Venice Miss Laura Green had virtually ignored the man who had taken time he could not spare to meet her.

Unaware that she’d given offence, Laura managed to find a space at the rail of the vaporetto to get the best view, deeply grateful to Lorenzo Forli for arranging her trip to Venice. She knew from the guidebook that this particular boat travelled down the Grand Canal slowly enough for passengers to gaze at the architecture, and she settled down to enjoy every second of the journey as each ancient, fragile building and palazzo succeeded another, some seeming almost to lean together for support. Amazing! It was her first visit to Venice, yet everything seemed so extraordinarily familiar, as though she’d been here before. The media was responsible for the déjà vu feeling, of course. Venice was the most filmed and photographed city on the planet.

Laura’s excitement mounted as she saw the famous bell tower soaring high above Piazza San Marco, and when the boat docked she was among the first of the stream of passengers to pass the lion of St Mark high on his pillar. As she reached the piazza she gazed in awe at the oriental extravagance of the Basilica as she threaded through the crowds clustered at its central entrance, and looked with longing down its great length. She couldn’t wait to explore this fabulous square, but right now the first priority was to find the Locanda Verona. Her Italian lessons at school had never actually been put into practice, so even if she managed to ask directions there would be no earthly chance of understanding a reply. Laura checked with the diagram, settled her canvas satchel across her chest, and trundled her suitcase through the tourists and pigeons to cross the vast, arcaded piazza. To her delight the pair of bronze Moors on the clock tower struck the hour as she neared the arch below them, and she stopped to watch before passing through on her way to the famous Mercerie, where she’d read that shops tempted visitors all the way to the Rialto. But not this visitor right now, she thought with regret. According to the brusque Mr Chiesa’s diagram her hotel was situated somewhere beyond in the network of narrow streets called calles, where the canals were spanned by the famous bridges of Venice. And eventually, after only a couple of wrong turnings, Laura found a bridge that led her right to the door of the hotel.

The Locanda Verona was a small guest house with ochre-coloured walls and typical Venetian windows, and, most important of all to Laura, surprisingly affordable charges for the San Marco area. The high-ceilinged reception hall was blessedly cool after the late afternoon heat and the smile of the handsome woman at the desk reassuringly friendly as she introduced herself in careful English as Maddalena Rossi, wife of the owner. Once the usual formalities were over she conducted Laura to a room on the top floor.

‘The room is small, but you have your own bathroom, Miss Green,’ Signora Rossi announced, unlocking the door. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here.’

‘I can’t fail to be!’ Laura gazed in delight at the vaulted, wood-beamed ceiling and the Botticelli print over the pristine white of the bed.

Signora Rossi moved past the bed to a pair of narrow, half-glazed doors and with a flourish opened them onto a small roof garden. ‘Here is your view.’

Laura took in a deep breath as she looked down on the picturesque buildings lining the canal below. ‘And what a wonderful view it is! Thank you very much indeed.’

Looking pleased, the signora reminded Laura that meals were not provided. ‘But there are many eating places close by. Information on these can be obtained at the reception desk.’

After a call home to her mother to report safe arrival, Laura unpacked, took a swift shower, then got to work with a hot brush until her hair was dry enough to coil up in a smooth twist. She made up her face with the speed of long practice, put on a plain black dress packed as a safe choice for eating out alone in Venice, and went downstairs to tell Signora Rossi where she was going as she left her key at the desk. At last, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, Laura went out into the warm evening and crossed the bridge over the canal to find her way back through the picturesque alleys to the Piazza San Marco. Her goal was the famous Café Florian, where she knew one could sit at a table and listen to the house orchestra, all for the price of coffee or wine. But for her first night only Laura meant to lash out on a snack of some kind as well, whatever it cost, to celebrate her arrival in Venice.

A waiter led her to a table in the open air at exactly the right distance from the orchestra in its bower of greenery, and in the careful, schoolgirl Italian she’d been practising all the way to the piazza Laura asked for mineral water and a cheese and ham sandwich. Maybe she’d go wild and have coffee later, but right now she was content just to sit here in the floodlit magnificence of the square and listen to the hum of multi-lingual conversation blending with the music. When the waiter brought her order she made her tramezzino last as long as possible while she watched the passing show of people enjoying a leisurely evening stroll through the great square. Some were couples, others entire groups who stopped to talk with friends, with much kissing of cheeks and children part of the scene. Laura gazed at it all with intense pleasure, so absorbed that at first the sound of her own name failed to register.

‘Miss Green?’ repeated a deep, husky voice. ‘Buona sera.’

Laura turned sharply to see Domenico Chiesa looking down at her, an arrested look on his face.

She smiled, surprised. ‘Good evening.’

He returned the smile with warmth and charm very different from the impatience that had radiated from him at the airport. ‘I called first at the Locanda Verona. Signora Rossi told me you would be here. I trust that everything is to your satisfaction at the hotel?’

Laura assured him that it was. And now she had attention to spare for Domenico Chiesa found he was worth looking at. Shoulders broad, hips slim, waving dark hair cut as perfectly as the superb suit he wore. And without the dark glasses his oval, heavy-lidded eyes were a striking aquamarine blue with a look in them that told her he was well aware of every last one of his physical assets.

‘I was so intent on the passing show in the piazza I didn’t see you arrive,’ she told him.

‘And I startled you. To make amends may I offer you wine, or coffee?’

Laura hesitated for a moment, then thought, Why not? ‘Thank you. I’d like a caffè macchiato, please.’

‘Your accent is most charming,’ he told her, and raised a slim hand. He gave the order to the waiter, then indicated the chair next to Laura’s and said, ‘Permesso?’

‘Of course.’ What else could she say? Besides, no woman in her right mind would turn down attractive male company in surroundings like these, with a moon overhead and music playing.

‘So, Miss Green,’ he said, after their coffee arrived, ‘what is your first impression of my city?’

Laura looked round her at the glittering, extravagantly beautiful Piazza San Marco. ‘I’ve seen it countless times in films and television programmes, but Venice for real is breathtaking.’

‘I am glad it pleases you.’

‘I would be very hard to please if it didn’t!’ She sipped her coffee with relish. ‘A friend told me to make Florian’s my first call, Signor Chiesa.’

‘A wise choice.’ He smiled at her. ‘But, please, my name is Domenico.’

‘As you know, I’m Laura,’ she said, returning the smile.

‘So, Laura, what are your plans for tomorrow?’

‘Just to wander round your amazing city.’ She put down her empty cup.

‘You wish for more coffee?’ he said at once.

She shook her head. ‘It was delicious, but no more, thank you.’

He smiled persuasively. ‘Join me in a glass of Prosecco instead.’

Once again there was no way to refuse. Besides, Laura reminded herself, he was probably just acting on instructions. Fen had said that Lorenzo would order some underling to make the holiday arrangements—though anyone less like an underling than Domenico Chiesa was hard to imagine.

‘Salute!’ he said, raising his glass to her once the Prosecco had arrived. ‘Do you know Signor Forli well?’

‘I’ve just met him at my friend’s house a couple of times. He’s married to her sister.’ She drank some of her wine. ‘Do you live here in Venice?’

He nodded. ‘All my life. Where is your home?’

‘My family’s home is in the country in Gloucestershire, but I work and live in London.’

‘And what do you do there, Laura?’ he asked, and listened with flattering attention as she gave a brief description of her work as researcher at a Docklands investment bank.

‘I am impressed,’ he told her, then with a sigh of regret finished his wine and rose to his feet. ‘Now I must return to my own duties. But first allow me to escort you back to the Locanda Verona.’

Laura shook her head, smiling. She’d said yes to him quite enough. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll stay on and listen to the orchestra a little longer. Thank you for the drinks, Signor—’

‘Domenico, per favore!’ He smiled down into her eyes. ‘Buona sera, Laura.’

‘Goodnight.’

Laura watched him walk away, amused by the touch—more than a touch—of arrogance in his bearing. She’d noticed it in all the native male population she’d seen so far, including the waiters. It was obviously a man thing, Venetian style. She watched him until he was out of sight, and after a while, no longer enjoying the evening quite so much now she was alone, looked round for her missing bill. She bent to look under the table, then signalled to a waiter.

‘Il conto, per favore?’

‘Scusa?’ he said, puzzled.

Oh, boy, thought Laura. ‘Do you speak English?’ she asked hopefully.

‘A little,’ he said with caution.

‘I’ve lost my bill, and I want to pay.’

‘Ah!’ His face cleared. ‘It is paid, signorina.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘All of it?’

‘Yes, signorina.’

Surprised, Laura gave him a tip, wished him goodnight and strolled slowly back to the Locanda Verona.

Laura woke early next morning, stared blankly for a moment at the wood-beamed ceiling, then grinned like the Cheshire cat. She was in Venice! She got out of bed and stood at the glass doors, stretching luxuriously as she gazed at the view. First on the agenda was breakfast. She hadn’t eaten much in the way of dinner last night. And what she had eaten Domenico had paid for, she thought guiltily. But whatever he did at his hotel he obviously earned a good salary by the way he dressed. Besides, she probably came under the heading of expenses claimed from Lorenzo Forli.

In jeans and white T-shirt, her hair in a loose braid down her back, Laura went downstairs to ask about the nearest source of breakfast. Armed with directions from Signora Rossi, she found the small bar recommended and ordered coffee and an almond croissant to enjoy while she consulted her guidebook. Some intensive window-shopping was first on the agenda before she actually bought any presents to take home. She finished her coffee, put on dark glasses and sunhat and went off to spend time gazing in jewellers’ windows in the arcades of the Piazza San Marco before salivating over the gorgeous clothes in the stylish shops just off it. Later, remembering to keep to the right among the crush of fellow tourists, she set out on an immensely enjoyable tour of the famous Mercerie, and did her best to look in every shop and boutique all the way to the Rialto. When she reached the famous bridge at last she wandered, fascinated, round the colourful food markets for a while before stopping at a small bar nearby. She ordered mineral water and a roll stuffed with roast ham, and ate standing up again, because her guidebook said it was cheaper than sitting at a table. But after lunch her feet began to complain, and Laura lost her zest for window-shopping. The walk to the Locanda Verona in the afternoon heat seemed so much longer on the way back that her first priority when she got to her room was a long, cool shower followed by a read on her bed, with her hair spread out on a towel over her shoulders to dry.

The read turned into a siesta and when Laura woke the afternoon was gone. She slid out of bed in a rush, annoyed at wasting so much time in it, and stooped to pick up an envelope that someone had pushed under her door while she was sleeping. Her eyebrows shot to her hair as she read the brief note inside. Domenico Chiesa requested the pleasure of her company at dinner that evening and would call for her at eight. And he was so sure she’d be delighted with the idea there was no address or contact number on the note for her reply. She whistled inelegantly. He’d changed his tune a bit since their first encounter! He’d hustled her off to the boat at the airport as though he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. Yet he’d turned up at Florian’s later, apparently just to make sure all was well with her—Lorenzo’s idea, probably. She shrugged. She was on such a tight budget that dinner with a handsome Venetian was an offer she’d be mad to refuse. But delightful though her small room might be she had no intention of staying put in it until he called for her.

Laura spent more time than usual on her face, then, mindful of Fen’s advice to dress to kill if she went somewhere special, put on the second of her three dresses, a silky sheath the colour of ripe raspberries. She piled her hair up in an artfully precarious knot that took ages to get right, clipped on gold filigree earrings and went downstairs to leave a message for Domenico Chiesa at the reception desk.

Laura strolled out into the warm evening with a smile on her face as she pictured the self-assured Domenico’s reaction when he found the bird had flown. Not that she was flying far—just to Florian’s again to watch the world go by until he came to find her. If he came at all. If his original attitude was anything to go by his male Venetian pride might well be offended because she hadn’t stayed put to wait for him. Though why he’d made the invitation in the first place was a mystery. Lorenzo’s instructions to look after her could hardly have gone that far.

Domenico Chiesa could have told her precisely why as he made for the Locanda Verona later. At the airport Miss Laura Green had been so eager to board the vaporetto she had paid no attention to him at all. Such treatment from a woman was new to him, and instead of amusing him, as it would have done any other time, her indifference had irritated him. But later that evening he’d had a drink with a friend in the San Marco area, and on impulse called at the Locanda Verona afterwards to check that all was well with the girl—and to make a better impression, he admitted, laughing at himself. But when he’d eventually found her it had taken much control to hide his surprise.

At Marco Polo her face had been hidden by the hat and glasses. But at Florian’s he’d discovered that her mouth curved delightfully as she smiled, and the dark amber shade of her eyes was unexpected below the shining coil of flaxen hair. Her face had too much character for mere beauty, possibly, but she possessed that indefinable something he found so desirable in a woman he had automatically set out to charm. Then she had given him the second surprise of the evening by refusing his escort to her hotel—another first in his experience. The cool Miss Laura Green was most definitely a challenge. Domenico’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. As first step in the warming-up process he would impress her by taking her to Harry’s Bar, the Mecca of all foreign visitors. Then later, when she was mellow with good food and wine, he would provide the finishing touch to the evening with a moonlit ride in a gondola.

Domenico strode into the modest little hotel like Caesar bent on conquering Gaul. Then stared in disbelief when he heard that the young lady had gone out.

‘Cosa?’

Signora Rossi smiled apologetically and handed him a note.

Domenico thanked her, read the brief missive, and after bidding the signora good evening strode outside again, eyes stormy, strongly tempted to leave Miss Laura Green sitting alone at Florian’s all evening. But his irritation vanished when he found her in the piazza. She sat, composed, watching the evening parade, the vibrant colour of her dress the perfect foil for her gleaming hair. Tonight she had knotted this up in a sexy, insecure arrangement that looked as though one touch of a lover’s hand would bring it tumbling down. Escaping tendrils lay on her neck in the exact place that invited the touch of a man’s lips, and to Domenico’s surprise he found he strongly objected to the admiring male glances she was attracting as she sipped from a long glass.

Unknown to him Laura had spotted Domenico the moment he appeared in the piazza. She’d monitored his progress from the corner of her eye, admiring the perfection of his pale linen suit and beautiful shoes. But she waited until he reached her table before looking up with a cool little smile to say hello.

‘Buona sera.’ He returned the smile reproachfully. ‘You did not wait for me.’

She shrugged in apology. ‘I left a message for you with Signora Rossi. My stay in Venice is too short to waste it in my room.’

‘Your room is not satisfactory?’ he demanded.

‘Quite the reverse; it’s charming. But when your note arrived I’d already spent the entire afternoon there. In bed.’ Laura smiled into the spectacular blue eyes. ‘After a morning of relentless window-shopping I slept far longer than I intended.’

He took the chair beside her. ‘You will drink Prosecco, yes?’

The man took a lot for granted! Laura eyed him in amusement as he gave the order. Domenico Chiesa was too sure of himself by half.

‘So, Laura,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘You looked in shop windows. Did you buy anything?’

‘Not today. My plan was to look first and buy later, but I saw so many things I lusted after I can’t remember where I saw what. If you see what I mean,’ she said, smiling.

‘You do not think my English sufficient to understand?’ he demanded.

‘I think your English is wonderful,’ she said hastily. ‘I just wish I could speak Italian a fraction as well.’

The blue eyes gleamed. ‘I could teach you.’

I bet you could, thought Laura, and not just syntax, either. She smiled regretfully. ‘I’m not staying long enough for that.’

The waiter arrived with the wine, and Domenico sat back in his chair, contemplating her over the rim of his glass in silence for a moment or two. ‘Tell me, Laura Green,’ he said at last, ‘is there someone in London waiting with impatience for your return?’

‘You mean a man?’

‘Naturalmente.’ He looked at her small, capable left hand. ‘I see no ring, but you must have a lover. How could you not?’ he added matter-of-factly.

She looked him in the eye. ‘Are you always this direct with someone you’ve just met?’

‘No,’ he said, and smiled disarmingly. ‘But you interest me, Laura. If you do not wish to answer, I understand,’ he added.

She hesitated, reluctant to discuss something so personal. But after skipping off earlier instead of waiting for Domenico it seemed best not to offend again. ‘There’s no one right now,’ she said at last. ‘There was someone until quite recently, a doctor in the training stage in a hospital, but not a lover the way you mean.’

‘Ah!’ He nodded, satisfied. ‘You did not love him with passion.’

The outrageously personal statement was so accurate Laura nodded wryly. ‘Romance just isn’t my thing. I’m the strictly practical type.’

‘You will meet someone one day who will change all that,’ he assured her, and got to his feet. ‘Come. It is time to eat.’

Laura felt a pang of remorse as he paid for the wine. ‘Domenico, I do apologise. I haven’t thanked you yet for paying my bill last night. You shouldn’t have done that, but it was very kind of you.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ he said casually, and glanced down at her feet. ‘You can walk in those delightful shoes?’

‘How far?’

‘Only to Harry’s Bar. It is quite near.’

‘No problem, then,’ she said, impressed. Her holiday budget wouldn’t stretch to meals in such exalted places.

Domenico Chiesa did not, it was obvious, suffer from the same problem. When he ushered Laura through a surprisingly unimpressive door and took her upstairs, the head waiter in Harry’s Bar greeted him by name. The dining room was plain by Venetian standards, with half-panelled walls and large black and white photographs of American landmarks, but it was full except for the table reserved for Signor Chiesa.

‘The restaurant is a little austere, and there is no terrace, but it never lacks for patrons,’ Domenico told her.

‘I can see that,’ said Laura, eyeing the crowded room. ‘I know that Hemingway and Churchill used to come here, but are there any celebrities around tonight?’

‘None that I know,’ he said dismissively.

Her eyes danced. ‘You mean that if Domenico Chiesa doesn’t know them they’re not celebrities?’

‘You are mocking me,’ he accused, laughing. ‘And now,’ he added as a waiter set glasses in front of them, ‘you must taste the cocktail first created here.’

‘A Bellini?’ said Laura, eyeing the drink with respect.

Domenico raised his glass. ‘Enjoy.’

Enjoy was the right word, she thought as she tasted the famous mix of fresh white peach juice and sparkling Prosecco. ‘Mmm, fabulous!’

‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Now, tell me what you like to eat.’

Choosing their meal was a serious business. When Laura firmly refused a first course Domenico described the main dishes in detail, teasing her because she wasn’t brave enough to try carpaccio, the raw, marinated beef of his own choice. Eventually, after much discussion, she settled for pasta baked with prosciutto, and enjoyed it enormously, but shook her head regretfully when Domenico suggested the house speciality of rich chocolate cake for dessert afterwards.

‘Thank you, but I couldn’t eat another thing.’

‘Then we shall drink coffee while you tell me your plans for tomorrow.’

‘I thought I’d go shopping for presents before I make a start on the local culture. I want something special for my mother, my sister, and my closest friend,’ she said, ticking off her fingers, ‘and inexpensive things—if there are such things in Venice—for friends at the bank.’ She smiled at him. ‘Any advice for the tourist would be welcome.’

Domenico gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled back. ‘I can do more than that. Tomorrow I shall show you the best places to find your souvenirs of Venezia.’

Laura looked at him in silence for so long he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

‘Domenico,’ she said at last, ‘why are you doing this?’

‘This?’ he repeated innocently.

She nodded. ‘I can’t believe that Lorenzo Forli asked you to go to such lengths to look after me!’

‘This is true,’ he admitted. ‘He asked me to arrange a hotel, meet you at the airport and escort you to the vaporetto, and afterwards check to see that you were happy with your hotel.’ The spectacular eyes locked with hers. ‘I did as he wanted. But now, Laura, I am doing what I want.’

She held the gaze steadily. ‘In that case I need to ask you the question you asked me.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Is there someone in your life?’

‘No.’ He shrugged an expressive shoulder. ‘There was. Now there is not.’

‘Snap,’ she said, sighing.

‘Snap? What is this?’

‘It means the same thing. I recently had someone in my life, too, but not any more.’

Domenico’s eyes softened. ‘This makes you sad, Laura?’

She shook her head. ‘Relieved, not sad. I’d known Edward for years, but not as well as I thought. I had no idea he was into embarrassing romantic gestures.’

There was a pause while coffee was served.

‘I am very curious,’ said Domenico, leaning nearer when they were alone. ‘What did this romantic man do?’

‘He took me out to dinner one night. But when the waiter took the lid off a serving dish there was a diamond ring sitting there instead of the salmon I’d asked for.’ Laura shuddered. ‘And right there in front of all the other diners Edward went down on one knee and asked me to marry him.’

‘Dio! What did you do?’

‘There was no way I could possibly humiliate him in public so I let him put the ring on my finger and kiss me, and everyone applauded.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘When I handed the ring back in the taxi afterwards Edward rejected my offer of friendship pretty violently. So we don’t see each other any more.’

‘This does not surprise me. When a man is in love it is not friendship he desires from his woman.’ Domenico got up suddenly. ‘Mi scusi, Laura, I must leave you for a moment.’

Laura watched him cross the room to speak to a waiter, who nodded quickly, pocketed the money he was given, and left the dining room. When Domenico rejoined her he pressed her to more coffee, but she shook her head.

‘Nothing else, thank you. It was such a wonderful meal. Thank you for bringing me here.’

‘Thank you for the pleasure of your company.’

Laura had expected to walk back to her hotel the way she came, via the floodlit Piazza San Marco, but Domenico took her back along silent, dimly lit alleys punctuated by bridges. He pointed out landmarks and gave her the names of the different calles as they strolled, and eventually, when they were on territory that was beginning to feel familiar, he paused on a bridge to point out the moon’s reflection in the water.

‘By day it is best not to linger on our bridges, but at night when it is quiet we may do so for a moment. In the past there were no railings,’ he informed her. ‘This meant taking much care at night.’

She gave a sudden chuckle, and he took her hand and looked down into her face.

‘What amuses you, Laura?’

‘I was just thinking that to a practical soul like me your city is too romantic for words, Domenico.’

‘Ah, but Venezia is not always kind to us as she is tonight,’ he assured her. ‘We have fog and rain and floods in winter.’

‘I can’t imagine it right now.’

‘Then you must come back again to Venice and see for yourself,’ he said, and drew her nearer.

‘I must get back to the hotel right now,’ she said hastily.

‘Let us say goodnight here first.’ He took her gently by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks, looked down into her eyes for a moment, then bent his head to capture her mouth in a kiss of unexpected tenderness.

‘I was told that I’d have no problem with the average Italian male,’ she said breathlessly when he raised his head. Not that there was anything average about Domenico Chiesa.

He smiled and took her hand to resume walking. ‘One kiss is a problem?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘It will be a problem for me if you now refuse my assistance with your shopping.’

‘I won’t.’ Laura grinned at him and he laughed, his hand tightening on hers. ‘Find me bargains and I forget the kiss.’

‘But I shall not,’ he said, with such a theatrical sigh she laughed at him.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘It is the truth,’ he assured her. ‘I shall lie awake all night thinking of the touch of your lips against mine.’

She chuckled. ‘And where will you spend this sleepless night? At the hotel you work in?’

He shook his head. ‘I have a small apartment right here in San Marco. Tonight I shall sleep—or not sleep—only a short distance away from you, Miss Laura Green.’ He smiled down at her and raised her hand to his lips. ‘I have enjoyed this evening very much. I shall call for you at nine tomorrow and we shall eat breakfast together. Sleep well.’

Chapter Two

LAURA found it hard to sleep at all for a while. The long afternoon nap was partly to blame, but Domenico’s kiss had rather more to do with it. She frowned in the darkness. If this was the effect Venice was having on her it was a good thing she wasn’t staying long.

After her restless night Laura woke late next morning and rushed through a shower, slapped on moisturiser and lipstick, wove her hair into a loose braid, pulled on a mint-green T-shirt and white cotton trousers and raced down to the reception hall to find Domenico, in jeans with a shirt that matched his eyes, talking to Signora Rossi.

‘Buon giorno, Laura,’ he said, smiling, and took away what breath she had left by kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a baby,’ she lied.

‘Then let us begin.’

During breakfast, which she enjoyed all the more for sitting down to eat it, Laura told Domenico what she had in mind.

‘I’ve been reading up about shopping in my guidebook, so I’ve made a list. First priority is a pair of the velvet slippers worn here for Carnival for my mother.’

‘And for your father?’

Her eyes fell. ‘My father’s dead.’

‘Mi dispiace!’ said Domenico swiftly, and laid his hand on hers.

‘You didn’t know. Now,’ she added briskly, ‘where do we start?’

Shopping with Domenico Chiesa was a very pleasant experience. He took Laura to places she would have had no hope of finding on her own, and seemed to enjoy it all as much as she did. He hunted down an authentic gold carnival mask, helped Laura choose pretty, inexpensive Venetian glass earrings and T-shirts in vivid colours printed with the Venezia logo, and at last took her to the stalls at the foot of the Ponte delle Guglie on Strada Nuova for crimson velvet slippers for her mother.

‘And now,’ said Domenico firmly, just when Laura felt ready to drop rather than shop any more, ‘we must eat.’

She gave him a pleading look. ‘Domenico, please let me pay for lunch.’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘It is already arranged. And you are tired so we shall go by water taxi.’

A journey in a sleek white motorboat was such a different experience from one by vaporetto the journey was over far too soon for Laura.

‘Thank you, that was fun,’ she said as Domenico helped her off the boat. ‘But I know it was also expensive so I hope we’re eating in a cheaper place than Harry’s Bar.’

‘I can assure you that we are. With your permission I shall give you lunch in my private retreat.’

Domenico’s retreat was an apartment in a converted palazzo, with a view of the Grand Canal and the Santa Maria della Salute church. When he ushered her into a compact sitting room with tall windows and apricot walls Laura felt a stab of envy as she took in the gleaming wood floors and white-covered sofas, the shelves with books and the mirrors everywhere.

‘This is just lovely.’

‘I am glad you like it.’ He laid her shopping bags on one of the sofas. ‘I thought you might prefer a quiet meal here in peace after your shopping.’

Domenico’s dining room was small, but opened onto a balcony with a view of the Grand Canal. He set a meal on the table with speed and efficiency, which impressed Laura as she sat down to Fontina cheese and San Daniele ham served with ripe red tomatoes and salad leaves.

‘This is perfect. Exactly what I need. Shopping is tiring, even here in Venice.’ She smiled at him gratefully as she buttered a roll. ‘I’m so grateful for your help, Domenico. You took me to places I wouldn’t have found on my own.’ And because of it she had spent far less money than expected.

‘I was happy to help,’ he assured her. ‘Would you like wine?’

‘Water, please. If I drink wine at this hour I’ll need another sleep, and it’s a sin to waste too much time in Venice in bed!’

‘Alone, certainly,’ he agreed, and laughed at her look. ‘Laura, per favore! Is that one small, sweet kiss to blame for such dark suspicion? I intend you no harm, I swear.’

‘Oh, I know that!’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘If you did the boss wouldn’t like it.’

He looked blank. ‘The boss?’

‘Lorenzo Forli!’

‘Ah, yes.’ He got up to take her plate. ‘Now, then, Miss Laura Green, I shall make coffee while you rest in the salotto.’

‘I could help wash the dishes,’ she offered, but he shook his head.

‘My machine will do that. I shall not be long.’

Laura was standing at one of the tall windows, looking down on the busy waterway, when Domenico came in with a tray. She turned to him with a smile. ‘What a priceless view!’

‘I am often told I would make much money if I rented my apartment to visitors.’

‘You don’t like the idea?’

He shook his head as he poured coffee. ‘I am constantly surrounded by people at the hotel, therefore I have much need of my private retreat when time allows. Which is not often enough, alas.’

Laura sat down and took the cup he offered her. ‘Domenico?’

‘Sì?’

‘Tell me to mind my own business, if you like, but I can’t help feeling curious. When we were discussing my love life—or lack of it—you kept pretty quiet about your own.’

‘Because it is embarrassing.’ He shrugged, and sat down beside her. ‘It is no secret. I was engaged to be married while still young, but my fidanzata changed her mind.’

‘How did you feel about that?’

‘Angry.’

Laura looked at him curiously. ‘Only angry?’

His face hardened. ‘A week before our wedding day Alessa ran away with my oldest friend.’

‘Oh, bad luck,’ she said with sympathy, and to her relief Domenico let out a crow of laughter.

‘That is so British!’ He shook his head. ‘My fidanzata deserts me for another man and all you can say is bad luck?’

‘What would you like me to say?’

‘You say, ‘‘Domenico, my heart bleeds for you’’,’ he said promptly. ‘Then you comfort me with many kisses.’

‘Oh, right—that’s going to happen!’

He smiled at her soulfully. ‘I wish so much that it would!’

‘When was this, by the way?’

‘Ten years ago.’

‘Then your heart can’t still be bleeding! Have you seen the lady since?’

‘Many times. Since her marriage Alessa has gained three children and several kilos in weight.’ Domenico gave her a wicked grin. ‘And I have received a little comfort from other ladies over the years to assuage my sorrow.’

‘I bet! Anyway, I thought you were angry, not sorrowful.’

He was suddenly serious. ‘Mario was my friend. He should have faced me with the truth instead of running away with Alessa like a criminal.’

‘Probably they both felt like criminals for hurting you.’

He shrugged. ‘Those hurt most were Alessa’s parents. They wanted the marriage very much.’

‘Because you were a good catch for their daughter?’

‘They know my family,’ he said simply, as though that explained it. ‘Alessa comes from a long line of aristocrats with very little money, and she has two younger sisters. As soon as Alessa left school she was pushed into marriage with someone suitable able to provide for her.’

‘Did you know she was being pushed?’

His mouth twisted. ‘Of course not. In my arrogance I believed she was madly in love with me. She was very sweet, very pretty. Not long after our first meeting we became engaged, and her parents arranged the wedding.’

‘Couldn’t they have gone through with it with a different bridegroom?’ asked Laura.

Domenico looked amused. ‘A practical idea, but not possible. Alessa and Mario were already married by the time they returned to Venice. Their first son was born seven months later,’ he added, shrugging.

‘Ah. But in that case surely you must have wondered if the child—’ She stopped dead. ‘Sorry! Forget I said that.’

His lashes came down like shutters. ‘The child could not have been mine. Alessa had insisted that we must be married before we made love.’

Laura’s eyes widened. ‘And you went along with that?’

He shrugged. ‘She was so young and shy and—I believed—inexperienced, that I respected her wish.’

‘Yet all the time she was sleeping with your best friend. No wonder you were angry.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘But this was a long time ago. And there must have been other women in your life since then.’

‘Of course. I am wary of marriage, not women.’ He waved a hand at the room. ‘I have this apartment, I enjoy my work, I travel, and in winter I indulge my passion for skiing. My life suits me very well.’

‘So does mine now,’ she told him. ‘Since the fiasco with Edward I’m keeping men out of my social life for a while. I get quite enough of them during the day. Part of my job involves collating reports to pass on to the likely lads on the trading floor at the bank, and to a man they believe they’re irresistible to women!’

Domenico smiled. ‘But not to you?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘You dislike them all?’

Laura shook her head. ‘Actually, I like some of them well enough. But if I said yes to so much as sharing a pizza with any one of them I’d be asking for trouble.’

He frowned. ‘You mean they would also expect to share your bed?’

‘From the way they talk, yes. So I say no. Behind my back,’ she added tartly, ‘they call me the Ice Maiden.’

Domenico nodded sagely. ‘And all of them burn to melt the ice!’

She gave a scornful sniff. ‘No chance of that.’

‘The proposal in the restaurant—this was recent?’

‘Very recent. I should have been on holiday in Tuscany with Edward this week, in a villa with some of his college friends and their partners. He sent my share of the cost back to me the day after the quarrel, so because I’d already arranged the time off my mother asked Fen to sort something out for me in Venice. If you work for the Forlis,’ she added, ‘maybe you know her. Lorenzo Forli is married to her sister Jess.’

‘I have met Fenella, yes,’ said Domenico. ‘What time shall we meet this evening, Laura?’

She looked at him steadily. ‘Are we doing something this evening?’

‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘I shall take you to a favourite restaurant of mine.’

Secretly delighted with the idea, Laura gave him a militant look. ‘I’d like that very much, but on one condition.’

‘That I do not kiss you,’ he said, resigned.

‘That I pay for the meal!’

Domenico held up his hands in laughing surrender, and gave her his phone number. ‘Now give me yours.’ And although Laura assured him she could find her way back alone, he insisted on walking back with her to the Locanda Verona. ‘Sleep for a while,’ he advised. ‘I shall call for you at seven-thirty.’ He speared her with a look of glittering blue command as he left her at the familiar bridge. ‘And this time I insist that you wait for me!’

Laura turned suddenly when she was halfway across. ‘Domenico! I forgot my shopping.’

He smiled indulgently. ‘Non importa. I shall bring it this evening. Ciao!’

Laura smiled her thanks and went into the hotel, her spirits high at the prospect of another evening with Domenico—her third in his company if she added the brief encounter at Florian’s. Her eyes narrowed as she went up to her room. Perhaps she was enjoying his company rather more than was sensible in the circumstances. Holiday romances rarely translated well into everyday life. Not that she could call this a romance, exactly, nor would this man ever be part of her life. Once she left Venice she would never see him again.

With this in mind Laura took longer to get ready than usual. While she was eyeing the limited choice in the wardrobe a flash of lightning preceded a clap of thunder, and she ran to close the open doors on the rain hammering down outside. Choice made, she thought irritably. It had to be the black dress again, but at least she could wear it with the white cotton trench coat packed for just this kind of emergency—very Audrey Hepburn, according to Fen.

Laura had been ready and waiting for several minutes before Domenico rang to say he was in the foyer. When she hurried down to meet him he gave her the now familiar double kiss of greeting and brandished a tall black umbrella.

‘You see, Laura? It is not always moonlight in Venice!’

‘And when it rains it certainly rains,’ she agreed.

In the doorway Domenico put up the umbrella, then with his usual ‘Permesso’ slid an arm round her waist. ‘If you wish to stay dry we must walk close together. Which makes me very happy,’ he added in her ear.

Laura chuckled, feeling quite happy about it herself. ‘Do we walk very far?’

‘No. The restaurant is so near I thought you would not mind a walk in the rain.’

Held close against Domenico, she didn’t mind at all. All too soon for Laura they entered an alley so narrow they had to keep very close together indeed before he ushered her into the large, luxurious interior of a restaurant divided into two parts, one very sleek and cosmopolitan, the other more rustic, with a stone fireplace and windows looking out onto a courtyard.

‘I thought you would prefer the room with the true Italian atmosphere,’ said Domenico as a waiter hurried to relieve him of Laura’s raincoat.

‘You were right, I do,’ she assured him, thanking her lucky stars as she took in her surroundings that she could rely on her credit card to pay the bill. Because whatever it cost she was going to pay for their meal.

‘It is not crowded yet as early as this,’ he told her, and looked at her in silence for a moment, something new in his eyes as they moved over her face.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘You glow tonight, Laura.’

‘You look pretty good yourself,’ she said, smiling.

‘Grazie!’ Domenico pushed the menus aside. ‘Allora, tonight the choice is simple if you like fish.’

‘I love it.’

‘Good. This restaurant is famous for its frittura mista dipesce, a platter of many varieties of fish,’ he added. ‘You will like it.’

He was right. But though the meal was delicious, and the surroundings elegant, Laura knew very well that most of her pleasure was down to the man who made it so flatteringly plain he delighted in her company.

‘It is hard to believe,’ he said, when they were drinking coffee, ‘that we have known each other so short a time. I wish that you could stay longer, Laura.’

‘So do I,’ she said regretfully, ‘but in three days I fly back to London, and so far I haven’t been inside the Basilica, visited the Guggenheim, taken a trip to Murano, or any of the things I was told were a must on holiday in Venice.’

‘We shall do that tomorrow.’

Laura’s eyes widened. ‘But what about your job?’

‘I have arranged a little holiday. Until your flight home my time is yours. But now,’ he added, a glint of steel in his eyes, ‘we come to the difficult moment. Laura, I am known here in Venice. I cannot allow a lady to pay for dinner. So I will settle the bill, per favore. If you must,’ he added as she opened her mouth to protest, ‘you can pay me in private later.’

‘Oh, very well,’ she said, resigned. ‘But just make sure you keep the bill for me.’

‘Of course I will,’ he said, looking injured. ‘Why do you not trust me, Laura?’

She smiled in sudden remorse. ‘I do trust you. I just can’t let you spend so much money on me.’

‘But it is customary for a man to do this when he asks a woman to dine with him. I cannot believe that this is different in London.’ Comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘But of course! I am a fool. You think I will expect—’

‘No! I most certainly do not,’ she retorted, colouring.

‘You say it is the problem with the men who work in your bank,’ he pointed out.

‘You’re different.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘In what way? I am a man.’

‘I know that,’ she said, exasperated. ‘But it never occurred to me that you’d want—expect—’

‘I do not expect to make love to you,’ Domenico said very quietly, leaning nearer. ‘But I would lie if I said I did not want to.’ He signalled to the waiter for the bill, paid it, received Laura’s raincoat and held it for her, then escorted her outside into the narrow alley.

Nothing was said other than a ‘Permesso’ from Domenico as he put his arm round her under the umbrella, but once they left the narrow alley he halted, looking down into her face as the rain teemed down around them.

‘We dined early tonight, Laura.’

She was well aware of that. Yet now there seemed no alternative to a return to the Locanda, where there was no bar, or visitors’ lounge. ‘I need to settle up for dinner,’ she reminded him with sudden inspiration.

‘That would be difficult here in such rain. And I still have your shopping,’ he reminded her. ‘I would ask you back to my apartment to collect it, but after our conversation in the restaurant you will suspect my motives, yes?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘No, I won’t, Domenico. I’d love to go back to your place.’

After the drenching rain of the not-quite-dark of the lagoon night Domenico’s salotto glowed with welcome from lamps that threw light on the high white cornices and sparked muted gleams from a collection of mirrors in different sizes, all of them old with carved, gilded frames, some of them in need of restoration.

‘I noticed yesterday that there were mirrors instead of pictures,’ said Laura as he took her raincoat.

‘I am not so very vain,’ he said, grinning. ‘The glass is original in my entire collection; which means it is almost too dim to give a reflection.’

‘They’re beautiful.’

He held out his hand. ‘Come. Sit down, Laura, and let me give you a drink.’

‘I don’t suppose you have any tea?’ she said without hope.

Domenico smiled in smug triumph. ‘I bought some today, but I do not drink tea, so it is best you make it yourself.’

‘Wonderful!’

In the small kitchen he handed her a packet of teabags labelled ‘English Breakfast’. ‘It is a little late for breakfast, but I thought you would like this.’

‘I’ll love it,’ she assured him as he filled the kettle. ‘Do you have any milk?’

‘Of course! I knew that tea would be no use to my charming English guest without it. But there is lemon, if you prefer,’ he added.

‘You’ve thought of everything. Thank you.’ She gave him a radiant smile.

‘Such a smile will gain you anything you wish,’ he told her, watching as she poured boiling water on the teabag.

‘At this moment all I want in life is a cup of tea,’ she said, and savaged the teabag with a spoon. ‘What are you having?’

‘A glass of wine. Perhaps you would like one later, also.’

Domenico took a tray into the salotto and set it down in front of her, watching indulgently as she sipped her tea with a sigh of bliss.

‘I’ve been suffering withdrawal symptoms.’ She laughed at his blank look and explained that three days without tea was a personal best for her.

‘But why did you not say?’ he demanded, sitting beside her. ‘We can provide you with tea in any café in Venice.’

‘I love the coffee here so much I never thought to ask for tea.’ She gave an admiring glance at the gros point embroidery on the cushions. ‘I envy you these, Domenico.’

He smiled, pleased. ‘They are my mother’s work.’

‘She’s very clever. I’m not at all talented when it comes to sewing.’

‘Can you cook?’

‘It all depends,’ she said guardedly.

He looked amused. ‘On what, exactly?’

‘Your idea of a good meal. Can you cook?’

‘Of course,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘I thought all Italian males were spoilt rotten by their mammas!’

‘Often this is true,’ he admitted. ‘But when I am here in the apartment I sometimes like to make a meal. It is a change for me.’

‘And in the hotel?’

‘I eat hotel meals,’ he said, shrugging.

She eyed him curiously. ‘What exactly do you do in this hotel of yours?’

‘I work very hard!’ He smiled. ‘Allora, would you like more tea, or shall I give you a glass of wine?’

Laura shook her head. ‘Nothing more, thanks. But if you’d be kind enough to hand over those bags I left behind I’d love to gloat over my purchases.’

Domenico deposited her shopping at her feet, smiling at her pleasure as she examined her trophies.

‘With your help I spent a lot less and bought far more than I expected,’ she told him with satisfaction. ‘But I also need a proper wedding present for Fen Dysart. I’d like to buy her some Venetian glass—something special.’

‘Then we shall go to Murano tomorrow. A reproduction of something old would be good, yes?’

‘Perfect.’ Laura hesitated. ‘As long as they accept credit cards.’

‘Of course. They will also ship anything you wish to England.’

‘That would be marvellous.’ She turned to look him in the eye. ‘Allora, as you Italians say, give me the bill for the meal, please.’

‘I hoped you had forgotten.’ Domenico sighed heavily. ‘I do not like this.’

‘Tough. I insist.’

‘You are a hard woman.’

‘You’d better believe it!’ She smiled at him to soften her words, and managed not to wince at the total when he produced the bill from his wallet.

‘But remember this, Laura,’ he said very deliberately. ‘You may pay this one time since it matters so much to you, but that is all. It is understood?’

She nodded meekly, and counted out a pile of euros, relieved to discover she had enough to cover it.

‘Do you feel better now?’ he demanded.

‘Much better,’ she assured him, and smiled. ‘I think I would like a glass of wine after all.’

‘Do you insist on paying when you dine with men in London?’ he asked, handing a glass to her.

‘That’s different,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve not only paid for meals, you’ve taken time off from your job to help me.’

‘Let us talk no more of money.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Instead, I will make a confession which will amuse you very much.’

‘Confession? That sounds serious.’

‘It is comical, not serious,’ he assured her. ‘I will start from the beginning. Last night I was not pleased to find you gone when I went to your hotel.’

‘I was afraid of that,’ she admitted. ‘But, Domenico, you didn’t put a phone number on your note, and I couldn’t sit for hours twiddling my thumbs in my room when Venice was out there, luring to me to come out and play, now could I?’

‘No, of course not.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘But when Signora Rossi gave me your message—’

‘You were pretty ticked off,’ she teased.

‘E vero, if that means annoyed,’ he agreed. ‘I had planned the evening so carefully, you understand, and it was not part of the plan to find you gone when I came for you. But when I saw you sitting there at Florian’s I was angry no longer. You looked so beautiful—and I was not the only man who thought so,’ he added darkly.

She brushed that aside. ‘So tell me about this plan.’

‘To explain I must go back to our first meeting, when you did not notice me at all!’

She shook her head. ‘I did, you know—mainly because you were in such a hurry to get rid of me. But also because you looked respectable and had been sent by Lorenzo Forli—’

‘Respectable? Dio!’ He shook his head in mock despair. ‘Women usually have more flattering things to say of me than that, Laura.’

‘I bet they do!’

‘I met a friend in the San Marco sestiere later that day,’ he went on, ‘and on impulse afterwards I decided to make sure all was well with you. Signora Rossi told me you had gone to Florian’s, but when I looked for you there I did not recognise you at first.’

‘I clean up well,’ she agreed, and Domenico gave a delighted laugh.

‘Very well indeed.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Until that moment my plan was merely to ask if the hotel was satisfactory—’

‘And bowl me over with your charm!’ she accused.

‘Esattamente.’ He nodded, unrepentant. ‘But after meeting with you it was I who was bowled over, Laura. I enjoyed our time together very much—until you refused my escort back to the hotel.’

‘That offended you?’

‘I was hurt!’ he said, hand on heart. ‘I wanted very much to see you again. But to avoid another rejection I sent a note.’

‘Very clever,’ said Laura, grinning.

‘I think so,’ he said smugly. ‘Allora, the next part of my plan was to impress you with dinner at Harry’s Bar.’

‘Excellent move.’

‘But during the meal I learned of your dislike of romantic gestures,’ he said with a heavy sigh, ‘so I abandoned my plan and gave money to one of the waiters to pay off the gondoliere. Instead of taking you on a moonlit gondola ride I walked with you back to your hotel.’

Laura stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh helplessly. ‘My story about the proposal lost me a trip in a gondola?’

Domenico nodded, grinning. ‘But if you wish for one some other time this can be arranged.’

‘No, thanks. Besides—’ She hesitated.

‘Besides?’ he prompted.

‘Our walk back by moonlight was more to my taste.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘You include the kiss?’

She nodded, smiling. ‘Short but sweet.’

‘I used much self-control,’ he said virtuously.

‘I was impressed. Your plan worked like a charm without the gondola, Domenico.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘Today there was no plan.’

‘And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.’

‘Even the walk in the rain?’

Laura smiled. ‘Especially that.’ She leaned nearer and held up her face. ‘It’s still raining out there so you’d better kiss me goodnight right here.’

To her astonishment Domenico jumped up, shaking his head. ‘No.’

Laura stared blankly. ‘No?’

‘I did not bring you here for that.’

‘For what?’ She jumped to her feet, eyes cold. ‘A kiss is the only thing on offer!’

‘I know this,’ he said roughly. ‘Come. I will take you back.’ He strode out of the room, leaving her to stow her shopping away in the bags, all her pleasure in the evening gone. Domenico returned, wearing a black leather jacket, and in silence she thrust her arms into the sleeves of the raincoat he held out.

‘It is too wet to take your presents tonight,’ he informed her. ‘I shall bring them in the morning when I come for you.’

‘Are you still going to do that?’ she demanded, tying her belt viciously tight.

He frowned. ‘Of course. Unless,’ he added with sudden hauteur, ‘you no longer want me to spend the day with you.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘You know very well that I do.’ He took her by the shoulders, the blue eyes darkening as they bored down into hers. ‘Try to understand. My instructions were to take care of you. So I am taking you back to your hotel.’

‘Message received, loud and clear.’ She marched out of the room and down the smooth, worn stone stairs, and at the entrance waited, face averted, while Domenico put up the umbrella. He stood looking down into her set face for a moment then slid his arm round her and held her very firmly.

‘It is necessary to share the umbrella,’ he informed her.

Still smarting from his rejection, Laura controlled a childish urge to shove him away but held herself poker-stiff, wishing she’d brought her own umbrella as they walked in silence Domenico was the first to break.

‘You are very angry with me?’ he demanded at last, his accent more noticeable than usual.

‘Hurt as well as angry,’ she informed him. ‘The one time I actually offer to kiss a man he turns me down.’

‘I wanted the kiss so much I dared not take it,’ he said tightly. ‘I am not made of stone, Laura.’ He halted in the deserted calle as they came in sight of the hotel, holding her closer in the shadows between the lights. ‘Here it is different,’ he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.

Laura breathed in the scent of leather and cologne and man as the rain teemed down around them, enclosing them in a private world under the umbrella. His arm tightened and she held up her face as he bent his head to kiss her. Their lips met in a gentle, exploratory caress, which quickly flared into something so different that in some corner of her brain Laura marvelled at Domenico’s skill at keeping the umbrella upright as he kissed her with a mounting passion she responded to helplessly, her hands tunnelling under his jacket to hold him closer. At last he gave a smothered groan and raised his head a fraction, his breath hot against her cheek as he held her hard against him.

‘Now you see?’ he said, in a voice husky with emotion.

‘Yes,’ she whispered shakily.

Outside the closed door of the hotel Domenico kissed her again, then released her with reluctance.

‘Buona notte, Laura. Until tomorrow.’

Chapter Three

LAURA woke with the memory of the kisses still warm on her lips. A tendency to gaze into space held her up so much as she got ready that Domenico had already arrived when she ran downstairs. He gave her his usual double kiss of greeting and exchanged a few words with Signora Rossi before sweeping Laura out into the steamy, sunlit warmth of the Venice morning.

‘How are you today, cara?’ he enquired as they went in search of breakfast. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘Did you?’

He shook his head, sighing. ‘I lay awake listening to the rain and thinking of our kisses.’

‘Snap!’

He laughed and took her hand. ‘I know this now. I am glad you felt the same.’

After a leisurely breakfast Laura insisted they caught a vaporetto instead of an expensive water taxi for the short journey to Murano and stood at the rail within Domenico’s sheltering arm watching the island come nearer, its outline softened and blurred by the saline lagoon climate.

As they drew up alongside he pointed out the island’s ancient canalside porticoes. ‘Some of these have survived from mediaeval times, when Murano was the principal glassmaking centre of Europe and its citizens were the only craftsmen in the world able to produce a mirror.’

‘A pretty vital invention from a woman’s point of view!’

He smiled and smoothed a lock of hair back from her forehead as they left the boat. ‘Allora, before making your choice do you wish to watch our celebrated glass-blowers at work?’

‘I certainly do,’ she assured him.

‘But afterwards, if you see something you like, leave all bargaining to me,’ he advised.

When they reached a door with a ‘fornace’ sign they went inside to watch a demonstration of the ancient craft that had made Murano famous. Laura watched, fascinated, as the glass blower took a blob of molten paste on the end of an iron rod, and with a skilled, dangerous-looking process of twisting, turning and blowing transformed it into a perfect wine goblet.

‘Amazing, Domenico,’ she said as they began a tour of the showroom afterwards. ‘It’s probably all in a day’s work to that man, and nothing new to you, but it looked like pure magic to me.’

‘With you at my side, Laura, everything in Venice is new to me also,’ he said, smiling down at her as she looked at the dazzling array of glass artefacts. ‘Have you something in mind for your friend’s bride gift? What type of house will she live in?’

‘Her fiancé originally bought a flat in a beautiful Georgian house in Pennington, but he now owns the entire property.’ She gestured at some extravagantly modern pieces. ‘Those are wonderful from a technical point of view, but I want something more traditional, to suit their house.’

Laura would have found it hard to resist the pressure from some of the sales staff on her own, but with Domenico on hand they were left in peace to browse.

‘Would she like these?’ he asked, pointing at a display of candlesticks and candelabra. ‘Millefiori is not everyone’s taste, but perhaps she would like the aventurine, which uses gold.’

Laura nodded enthusiastically. ‘Exactly Fen’s sort of thing.’

After lengthy deliberation on style and cost, she eventually chose a pair of tall candlesticks with hair-fine strands of gold twined through their serpentine, tactile curves. Domenico did some efficient haggling, which brought the price down considerably, but in the end Laura decided against having them shipped.

‘Just in case they don’t arrive in time for the wedding,’ she told him. ‘I must have my present ready for the big day. Thanks a lot for the expert bargaining.’

He smiled, and took charge of the gift as they went to catch the vaporetto back to San Marco. ‘So. I have my uses!’

‘Oh, very definitely,’ she assured him, ‘one of which is to tell me who is on the other pillar.’

‘Cosa?’ he said blankly.

‘At the entrance to San Marco. The lion of Venice is on one pillar, but who stands on the other one?’

‘Ah! That is San Teodoro,’ he said, enlightened. ‘Saint Theodore to you. And be warned: superstitious Venetians never walk between the pillars because in the past executions took place there. And now,’ he added, ‘I have a confession to make.’

‘Another one?’ she said, laughing.

‘I went early to the market this morning, and in my hurry afterwards I forgot your shopping again.’

‘Never mind, I can pick it up on my way back to the hotel.’

‘And we shall eat lunch at the apartment. Or we can go out, of course,’ he added quickly.

‘I prefer your apartment.’ She smiled at him as they left the boat. ‘I like it very much, Domenico.’

‘Do you like me very much, also?’ he asked, so utterly serious Laura gave him a startled look.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction, and took her hand. ‘Do not worry. I shall not drop the candeliere.’

Laura volunteered to make an omelette to accompany the bread and salad Domenico had bought fresh that morning, and after sizing up the cooker and the pan he gave her she uttered a silent prayer and got to work with butter, eggs and herbs. Domenico watched in approval as for the final touch she gave the pan a brisk shake, folded the omelette in half, and slid two crisp, soft-centred portions onto the plates he had ready.

‘Perfetto,’ he assured her as they began eating.

‘You’re being kind,’ she told him, delighted that her effort had turned out so well.

‘No, I am truthful.’ He smiled as he helped her to salad. ‘The frittata is delicious and so is the chef. This is a very special occasion for me. Except for my mother no woman has ever offered to make lunch for me here.’

Laura didn’t want to hear about other women in Domenico’s apartment. ‘You can make me some tea as my reward,’ she told him.

‘Of course,’ he said, and laid a peeled peach on her plate. ‘But afterwards you must do as we Venetians do and rest for a while before we go on with the day. So this afternoon is it to be the Guggenheim or the Basilica? I do not advise both.’

‘The Basilica. Let’s do ancient today and modern tomorrow—if you still have time to spare for tomorrow?’ she added, flushing.

‘My time is yours until you leave,’ he reminded her as he got up to make her tea. ‘Which is not long now. You must come back again soon, Laura.’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid. I won’t be able to afford another trip to Venice for quite a while,’ she said with regret.

He frowned as he put a teabag in a cup. ‘If cost is a problem I could—’

‘No, you couldn’t, Domenico,’ she said gently.

Instead of arguing, as she’d half expected, he made her tea, added milk, and gave her the cup. ‘First you drink this tea, then you rest in the salotto.’

‘I want to help clear up,’ she objected.

‘No, cara—you did the cooking,’ he said firmly. ‘Is the tea to your taste?’

It was too weak and milky by far, but Laura assured him it was delicious and drank every drop. Afterwards she spent a few minutes on repairs in the bathroom, then made for the window in the sitting room to look down at the water traffic on the sunlit water below, amused as she contrasted it with her daily commute in London.

‘You smile like the Mona Lisa,’ said Domenico behind her.

She turned to him. ‘I was looking at all these people travelling about on the water in the sunshine—a bit different from my daily trips on the Docklands Light Railway.’

‘This train is convenient for your apartment?’

She nodded. ‘I live in a part of London called Bow, so the DLR, as we locals call it, is almost door to door from my flat to the bank.’

He took her hand in his and drew her down to sit beside him. ‘Tell me about your flat, Laura.’

‘It’s very small, with only one bedroom, and very different from this. But on the plus side it’s in a building with a gym and a pool. I’ve been very grateful for both assets since the downward turn in my social life.’ She yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry. It must be the Venice air.’

‘Come, it is early yet. Put your head on that cushion and enjoy a short siesta. Then later we shall tour the Basilica.’

Laura found it all too easy to do as he said. She curled up in her corner of his sofa, so utterly at ease now in Domenico’s company that she was soon asleep.

He sat back, resisting the urge to stroke the gleaming braid trailing over Laura’s shoulder. He looked at her flushed, sleeping face, the desire he could not ignore mixed with a protective feeling new to him in his dealings with women. When Lorenzo Forli had requested—no, ordered him to take care of Fenella’s friend he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that she would appeal to him so strongly.

He sat very still as she stirred, but she merely turned her face deeper into the cushion, and he let out a deep breath and relaxed. In the years since Alessa’s desertion, which had cut deeper and hurt for much longer than he had allowed anyone to know, his dealings with women had been lighthearted, casual affairs conducted discreetly, with no involvement of the heart, and in some cases, he thought wryly, of the brain, either. But Laura was different. He desired her as a lover, as was only natural, but he also liked and respected her as a person. Unlike this idiot Edward of hers, he would not reject friendship if she offered it. But it took self-control he had not known he possessed to keep from touching her.

Laura woke slowly, and found a pair of intent blue eyes watching her. ‘Hello,’ she said sleepily. ‘Did I snore?’

Domenico shook his head, smiling. Ignoring an urge to devour her flushed face with kisses, he got up, holding out his hand. ‘Come, I shall take you back to the hotel.’

Laura would have preferred to stay right where she was for the foreseeable future, but with a sigh she took the hand and let him pull her to her feet. ‘I need a shower and a change of clothes.’

‘This is a good idea,’ he said with approval. ‘Then you will have no need to return to your hotel after the Basilica. We shall go to Florian’s instead, and while you drink tea there you shall tell me where you would like to dine this evening.’

‘Perfect.’ She hesitated. ‘But I’m going back to the hotel on my own, right now, Domenico. I’ll meet you in an hour outside the central doorway of the Basilica.’

He dropped her hand. ‘Very well, if that is what you wish.’

‘I just need to do a little shopping on my own—personal things,’ she explained, her colour rising.

‘Ah. I see. Of course.’ He opened the door for her and accompanied her down to the foyer, where he kissed her cheeks and tapped her watch. ‘One hour. I shall be waiting.’

Laura went straight to a shop she’d seen the day before. She picked out a silk tie with discreet aquamarine dots printed on a midnight-blue background, handed over her credit card and hurried with her gift-wrapped purchase through the now-familiar alleys to the Locanda Verona.

She rushed through a shower with her head wrapped in a towel, did her face, and took a look through her limited wardrobe for something suitable for both a visit to the Basilica and to a restaurant somewhere afterwards. The only dress still unworn was brand-new, a chain-store bargain bought for Tuscany, with drifts of tawny butterflies printed on double layers of cream chiffon. Definitely not for church, Laura decided with regret, and put on a fluted cream linen skirt and a thin, lace-edged black cardigan she was buttoning up to the low V-neck when her phone rang.

‘I am here, with your parcels at last,’ said Domenico. ‘Are you ready?’

Oh, yes, she was ready. ‘I’ll be right down.’

Laura ran down the stairs, smiling, her heart lifting at the sight of Domenico leaning against the reception desk in pale linen trousers and one of his blue shirts.

‘Here is your shopping, signorina,’ he said, and gave her the bags first and then the box containing the candlesticks. ‘Go up more slowly than you came down,’ he advised, ‘or you will endanger the candeliere.’

Laura meekly went back up the stairs at a slower rate, which was an effort when she wanted nothing more than to race up and down to get back to Domenico as fast as she could; a disturbing thought when all too soon she would be waving him a permanent goodbye.

‘I thought we were meeting outside the Basilica,’ she said, when she rejoined him.

‘I finally remembered your presents. Also,’ he added, giving her a head-to-toe survey, ‘I did not think it wise to leave you waiting in the piazza alone, and I was right. You look more beautiful each time I see you.’

Laura knew perfectly well she wasn’t beautiful, but had a feeling she might start believing it herself if she spent much more time in Domenico’s company. ‘You look rather nice, too,’ she said as they left the hotel.

‘I did my best just for you,’ he said suavely, and grinned at the look she gave him.

‘How do you manage to find shirts the exact shade of your eyes?’ she asked as they strolled along the calle.

‘There are many blue shirts sold in Venice, Laura. I was not aware of trying to match my eyes,’ he protested.

‘I don’t believe you! You know to a scintilla the effect your eyes have on a woman.’

‘Do they affect you?’ he demanded, stopping to look down at her.

‘Oh, yes—but I’m working on it,’ she said, laughing.

‘If it is any satisfaction to you, Laura, your eyes have a much greater effect on me. So does your mouth,’ he said conversationally as they resumed walking. ‘And your hair. Also I have great affection for your pretty ears and your—’

‘Stop it!’ she ordered sternly. ‘We’re visiting a place of worship, remember.’

‘And we must hurry.’ Domenico looked at his watch as they dived into the tide of tourists. ‘The Basilica will be fully lit only until four o’clock.’

Laura had read up a little about the Basilica beforehand, but when they passed through the carved central doorway to mount the steps into the cathedral itself she was unprepared for the sheer impact of gleaming golden mosaics on every inch of the huge interior: domes, walls and floor, from the vestibule right through the nave. The effect was so stunning that in some ways she was glad there were the usual crowds. They made progress slow, but lessened her feeling of personal insignificance in the overwhelming golden vastness.

‘I had no idea,’ she said to Domenico as she looked down at the floor mosaics, which undulated beneath her feet like an exotic Eastern carpet.

‘I had forgotten, too, it is years since I was here,’ he said quietly, holding her firmly by the hand as they moved on through the crowd. ‘Look up.’

Laura obeyed, gazing up into the gleaming Pentecost dome at the sight of the Apostles touched by tongues of flame. But under the enormous central dome of the Ascension she was rendered utterly silent by the glittering gold mosaic of Christ in Glory high above.

‘Come,’ said Domenico. ‘We must buy tickets to view the Pala d’Oro.’

By the time Laura had admired the tomb of St Mark and the Pala d’Oro, the bejewelled gold altarpiece behind the high altar, she had the beginnings of a headache. Domenico looked at her with concern when she took refuge behind her enormous sunglasses.

‘Come, tesoro. Enough for now, yes?’

Laura nodded silently as they made their way back through the crowds in the Basilica to emerge into the thronged, sunlit piazza. ‘It’s an amazing building, but a bit of it at a time is more than enough. It needs a few visits to take it all in.’

‘When you come back we shall see it again, but early in the morning, before the crowds arrive,’ he promised. ‘And there is the Doge’s Palace to see, also.’

At that moment the very thought of it made her tired. ‘Domenico, could we just have tea at your place instead of Florian’s?’ said Laura. ‘I have a bit of a headache. I don’t think I could face an orchestra right now.’

‘But of course.’ He looked down into her colourless face. ‘Shall we call at a farmacia for some medication?’

‘I’ve got some painkillers with me.’ She smiled at him gratefully. ‘I just need lots of water and lots of tea, and peaceful surroundings without tourists or a single gold mosaic.’

‘Then my apartment is the perfect place!’

Laura was in full agreement later as she sank into one of the sofas in the cool, high-ceilinged salotto to sip the tea Domenico had made stronger and darker than before.

‘I did not think you enjoyed my former effort,’ he said, sitting beside her. ‘But you were too polite to say so.’

‘This time it’s perfect,’ she assured him, and with a little grin, said ‘Permesso?’ and toed her sandals off so she could curl up in her corner of the sofa.

Domenico gave her a look that made her heart skip a beat. ‘For me, Laura, this is much, much better than Florian’s.’

‘For me, too,’ she said, taking refuge in her tea. ‘After the pills and all that mineral water you made me wash them down with, my headache is better already.’

‘That is because you are here with me,’ he said, with such smug certainty she laughed.

‘You’re outrageous.’

He looked wounded. ‘Not at all. I meant that here where it is quiet and cool and there are no tourists—and where you are served with such wonderful tea—you naturally feel better.’

Laura smiled warmly. ‘Of course I do. Thank you, Domenico.’

‘Prego. Now, let us decide where to dine tonight.’

‘We could go to your hotel,’ she said slyly.

‘No!’ he said, with such emphasis her eyebrows rose.

‘Why not?’

He threw out a hand. ‘This is a holiday for me, also, Laura, and I do not wish to dine in the place where I spend most of my working life. Also I would have to introduce you to many people and waste much time that could be spent alone with you. When you come back I shall take you there. But not this time.’

‘I can’t manage another trip to Venice for quite a while, you know,’ she said with a sigh.

He shot her a searching look. ‘I know cost has been mentioned before, but if it is a matter of money—’

‘Of course it is. I earn quite a good salary, but a lot of it goes on rent.’ She looked away. ‘I also help my mother out a bit—a very little bit—with my sister Abby’s college fund.’

‘Because you have no father?’ he said with sympathy, and put her cup on the table so he could hold her hand.

‘Right. My mother teaches in the local primary school, and Abby works in a café at weekends to add her bit to the fund, but I want her to have a reasonable nest egg in the bank by the time she goes to college. This holiday of mine was pure extravagance right now. I would never have made it here if you hadn’t found such a cheap place for me to stay.’ Laura turned to look at him. ‘It was you who arranged it?’

He nodded, and raised her hand to his lips. ‘And because his request led to our meeting, Laura, I shall be grateful to Signor Forli for the rest of my life.’

Chapter Four

‘THAT’S a very extravagant thing to say,’ said Laura, after a pause.

‘It is true. If it had not been for him I would have sent someone else to the airport to meet you.’ Domenico gave her a wry smile. ‘It is not usually my—my job to do such things.’

‘Is that why you were in such a strop at the airport?’

‘Strop?’

‘Temper.’

He shrugged. ‘I had problems at the hotel that day, and was forced to leave them unresolved to meet you at Marco Polo. I apologise for my bad manners.’

She grinned. ‘I took no notice.’

‘I know it. You were so entranced with Venice you took no notice of me at all,’ he said darkly, his hand tightening on hers. ‘My self-esteem suffered a crushing blow.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘You are glad?’

‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have come after me to make sure I did notice you,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘And we wouldn’t be here right now, enjoying each other’s company.’

He smiled. ‘E vero. For once in my life I rejoice that I was ignored by a woman!’

She looked at him searchingly. ‘Domenico, is your effect on women really so important to you?’

He shrugged, the smile suddenly bitter. ‘If I say yes will you understand?’

Laura noted the pulse throbbing at the corner of his mouth and chose her words with care. ‘It dates from the day Alessa left you for your friend?’

His eyes lit up. ‘You do understand!’

‘I know how the bottom can fall out of one’s world.’

‘Did some man do this to you, Laura?’ he demanded, frowning.

‘Not in the way you mean. The only man I’ve ever adored was my father. He died suddenly of a heart attack when I was ten.’

‘Poor little one! That must have been very hard for you.’

She nodded sadly. ‘But much harder for my mother. I realise now how wonderfully she coped with it all. She had to bury her own grief to comfort Abby and me, move us into a smaller house, and go back to work to support us.’

‘She must be a very special lady. Life changed very much for her, and for you,’ he said with sympathy.

Laura shrugged. ‘Children are adaptable. I was inconsolable at first, but in time I realised that as long as I had my mother and Abby I could cope, too. The other constant in my life was Fen, of course. I’ve always been treated like one of the family by the Dysarts.’ She smiled to lighten the atmosphere. ‘I’m chief bridesmaid at the wedding.’

‘Are there many such bridesmaids?’

‘Three besides me. Fen’s teenage nieces, you probably know one of them—Francesca Forli.’

‘I do, yes, but at this moment I am interested only in you,’ said Domenico firmly. ‘Tell me what you will wear, Laura, so I can picture you in my mind.’

‘Better still, I’ll send you a photograph—if you like.’

‘I would like that very much.’ He eyed her closely. ‘And now that you look better, Laura, let us talk of where you would like to dine tonight.’

She hesitated. ‘Domenico—could we possibly stay in and eat something here?’

‘You may do anything you wish,’ he assured her.

‘Do they do takeaways in Venice? If not, a sandwich will do.’

‘I can give you something better than a tramezzino!’

‘You’re going to cook?’

‘You cannot imagine such a thing?’ he teased, and brandished his mobile phone. ‘I shall persuade one of the chefs at the hotel to send us a cold meal of some kind.’

‘Wonderful!’

‘Can you eat shellfish?’

‘Any kind you like.’

‘Then I shall ring Sandro to see what he can do.’ Domenico looked down at her as he got up. ‘You feel better now, cara?’

‘Much better. But, Domenico, if you prefer to go out—’

‘I do not,’ he said with emphasis. ‘We shall sit on the little balcony outside the dining room while we wait for our dinner, and watch the boats on the Canalazzo.’

‘Canalazzo?’ Laura queried.

‘You foreigners call it the Grand Canal!’ he said, laughing.

The minute the door closed behind him Laura went to the window to gaze at the baroque splendour of the Salute church across the lagoon. She heaved a sigh. She had been here only a short time, yet she would miss Venice when she was back in London. She would miss Domenico a whole lot more—but she wasn’t going to think about that.

It was some time before he rejoined her. ‘You should be resting,’ he accused.

‘My headache has vanished completely,’ she assured him, and smiled. ‘You know I can’t resist this view.’

He smiled indulgently. ‘Then let us go outside to see more of it.’

Domenico’s balcony was narrow, with only room for a table and four chairs, but the view from it was spectacular. Laura leaned against the rail, watching the assorted water traffic, and wished she could paint as she watched a gondola trail a glittering wake on the water below.

‘The passengers are tourists, of course,’ said Domenico, leaning beside her. ‘The only time Venetians travel by gondola is on their wedding day.’

‘So you were going to make an exception for me the other night, then!’

He slanted a smile at her. ‘I was determined to impress you.’

‘You would have succeeded!’ She leaned farther to watch the gondola out of sight. ‘I’m disappointed, Domenico. I hoped he would serenade his passengers.’

He laughed. ‘This does not happen. The only melodies uttered by gondoliere are the warning calls heard on our canals for centuries.’

‘Another illusion shattered!’

‘Let me console you with wine.’

‘I’d better stick to water just yet, please.’

Left alone again, Laura gazed in concentration at the view from the balcony, so she would remember every detail of it when life resumed normal service back in London. She turned with a smile as Domenico came back with a loaded tray.

‘Allora, we have wine, San Pellegrino, fresh fruit juice and ice,’ he announced. ‘I thought you might like a taste of peach and orange in your mineral water, Laura.’

‘I would indeed,’ she agreed. ‘You’re very good to me, Domenico.’

He shot a narrowed, gleaming look at her. ‘When you smile at me like so it is not easy to be very good.’

‘Then I won’t.’

‘Which would be a pity.’

Their eyes held for a moment, then Domenico turned away to toss ice in a glass. He added a mixture of fruit juice and mineral water, topped it off with lemon slices and handed the drink to her with a bow. ‘Perhaps the signorina will give me her verdict.’

Laura eyed him in admiration. ‘You speak such wonderful English, Domenico.’

‘Grazie. I learned in school, of course, and then later I—I did a more intensive language course and became more fluent. It is necessary in my line of work.’ He gestured towards her glass. ‘Taste, cara.’

Laura took a sip and smiled at him. ‘Delicious.’

He poured a glass of wine and took the chair beside her. ‘Salute.’

She raised her glass to him. ‘To you, Domenico, for making my holiday so special.’

‘It is not so hard a thing to do,’ he assured her, and leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed.

Laura’s eyes were thoughtful as she studied the clear-cut profile etched against the fiery light.

‘That is a strange look, Laura,’ he said, intercepting it.

She shrugged, smiling. ‘It suddenly occurred to me that this time last week we didn’t know each other existed.’

‘It is hard to believe,’ he agreed soberly. ‘There is so much I wish to learn about you, cara. Tell me more about your family; describe them to me.’

‘My mother is small and fair like me, and very attractive—’

‘Also like you!’

‘Thank you, kind sir. Abby is tall, with dark hair like my father. She’s the brains of the family, but no slouch in the looks department, either. She’s off to Trinity, Cambridge, in the autumn.’

‘That is very impressive.’ Domenico shot a look at her. ‘It will also be expensive, which is why you help her and why you cannot return soon.’ He turned to her, his eyes brilliant with sudden inspiration. ‘But I have a solution for this.’

Laura eyed him warily. ‘What?’

‘You will refuse to let me pay your air fare, I know, but instead of a hotel you could stay here in my apartment as my guest. I will not impose my company on you. You are most welcome to stay here alone, or with your mother and sister, perhaps, any time you wish.’

She smiled at him, deeply touched. ‘Domenico, that’s such a lovely thought, but I couldn’t possibly take advantage of your kindness like that.’

The light vanished from his eyes. ‘Why not?’ he demanded with sudden hauteur. ‘Do not confuse me with these ragazzi at your bank. I would ask nothing in return.’

‘I know that. Don’t go all arrogant and Venetian on me!’ She heaved a sigh. ‘It’s a lovely idea, but just not possible for me right now.’

‘As you wish,’ he said coolly, and got up at the sound of the doorbell. ‘Our dinner.’

Laura bit her lip as she watched him go. She drained her glass and went into the dining room, and with a pang saw that Domenico had made the table festive with candles and crystal and a beautiful linen cloth and napkins. She waited until the outer door closed, then went into the hall to confront him.

‘Domenico, I didn’t mean to offend you. I would like nothing better than to take you up on your offer, but I just can’t make it back to Venice for a while. Please try to understand.’

‘Mi dispiace,’ he said with instant remorse. ‘Of course I understand. Let us talk no more of things which distress you, cara.’ He took Laura’s hand and led her back to the balcony to watch the sun sinking into the lagoon in a blaze of crimson fire.

‘It’s so lovely here.’ She sighed. ‘I shall think of this a lot when it’s raining back in London.’

‘It rains here too. This had great advantages for me last night,’ he reminded her, eyes gleaming.

‘For me, too,’ said Laura, seeing no point in beating about the bush.

‘But you were angry with me!’

‘Only because you didn’t want to kiss me.’

‘Laura,’ he said impatiently, ‘I wanted to kiss you far too much. You have forgotten what happened when I did?’

‘No.’ She took in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Va bene. Neither have I,’ he said with feeling. ‘So let us turn our attention to dinner.’

‘What are we having?’ she asked, wrenching her mind away from the interlude in the rain.

‘A special dinner for a special guest. I hope you will enjoy it.’

‘I’m sure I will. I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve eaten here, right down to the ham panino in a bar near the Rialto.’

‘I trust that you ate this standing up! Otherwise the cost is doubled.’

‘I knew that.’ She chuckled. ‘I can’t tell you what a relief it was to sit down when we had breakfast together.’

He laughed. ‘I enjoyed this also in your company. Normally I breakfast alone.’

‘In London I don’t have any at all.’

‘That is not good for one who works hard, cara,’ he said, frowning.

‘I know, but I get up early and just can’t face anything at that hour.’ She turned to smile up at him. ‘But I can face dinner tonight any time you like.’

‘Then we shall eat at once.’

Revelling in the domesticity in the situation, Laura followed behind with bread and salad while Domenico transferred an enormous platter of seafood from his refrigerator to the dining room table.

‘A smaller version is served as antipasti,’ he informed her, ‘but I thought you would like it as a main course.’

‘I certainly will!’ Laura watched in awe as he dressed the impressive array with olive oil and lemon juice. ‘Lobster, prawns, crab, mussels—but what are the other things, Domenico?’

‘Small squid, also various shellfish found only here in the lagoon.’ He held a chair for her. ‘Sit, signorina.’ He flicked out one of the linen napkins and laid it over her lap, then filled their wineglasses, and as the final touch lit the candles.

Laura smiled ruefully as he took the seat opposite. ‘I’m going to miss all this when I’m scrambling eggs back in London. Think of me now and then at dinner time, Domenico.’

‘I shall think of you a great deal more than that!’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I hope you also will think of me.’

She held his gaze steadily. ‘You can safely count on that.’

‘Bene.’ He smiled. ‘Now, let us think no more of meals apart and enjoy the one we are eating together.’

Laura enjoyed it all the more for eating it alone with him as they lingered over the meal. ‘This is so much better than a restaurant,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Give my compliments to your friend the chef.’

‘I will. Though it is not the food that makes the evening special for me, Laura.’ Domenico got to his feet, holding out his hand. ‘Come, let us sit in the salotto.’

‘First we clear away,’ she said sternly, ‘and this time I help.’

‘You know I have a machine to wash dishes,’ he protested.

‘All we need do is load it, then!’

‘Are you happy now?’ demanded Domenico, when they sat down together later.

She turned to him with a lazy smile. ‘Right now I’m very happy indeed.’

He gave a sigh of deep satisfaction. ‘I, also. This has been a very good day.’

‘Was it strange for you, Domenico? Doing so many tourist things?’

‘I enjoyed it very much. With you for company, Laura, how could I not?’

‘You say the nicest things!’

He was silent for a while, staring down at his handsome shoes, but at last he drew in a deep breath and turned to her. ‘I have something else to say, but perhaps you will not think it so nice.’

‘What is it?’ she said apprehensively.

His eyes darkened. ‘I am in love with you, Laura.’

She sat very still, her heart thumping so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear it.

‘Say something, tesoro,’ he said urgently.

‘We’ve only just met,’ she said at last.

‘This matters?’

‘You can’t say it was love at first sight!’

‘E vero! You were not impressed by me.’

‘I was, really,’ she confessed. ‘When a handsome Italian spoke to me at the airport I was quite excited for a moment—until I realised he was desperate to get rid of me.’

‘I came to seek you out afterwards,’ he reminded her.

‘Only to impress me with your charm and good looks!’

Domenico leaned nearer. ‘Did I succeed, carissima?’

Her eyes dropped. ‘It was good to have company on my first night in Venice.’

‘Yet you did not allow me to escort you back to the hotel.’

‘You were so sure I’d say yes, I just had to say no,’ she said frankly.

He laughed. ‘So. I admit I did not fall in love with you at first sight, but I can tell you the exact moment when I did.’

Laura leaned closer. ‘When you kissed me that first time?’

‘That is when it began, perhaps. But the moment of truth came next morning at the hotel.’ He traced a finger down her cheek. ‘You ran down the stairs to me, flushed and smiling and so desirable it was a very good thing Signora Rossi was behind her desk.’

She took in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘Then why turn me down when I offered to kiss you last night?’

Domenico’s fingers tightened on hers. ‘I think you know this very well.’

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. Then as though two giant hands had propelled them together they were in each other’s arms, his mouth on hers in a kiss she felt right down to her toes. At the touch of his tongue on hers she responded with such fire Domenico lifted her onto his lap, caressing the curve of her breasts through the thin black fabric, and Laura breathed in sharply, arching into the touch of his hands as his kiss grew fiercer. She shivered in delight when his fingers found bare skin and threw her head back in total abandon as his mouth moved down her throat. When his lips reached the warm hollow between her breasts Domenico was utterly still for a moment before his mouth returned to hers and crushed it with a kiss that made her head reel. Then he set her on her feet and strode to the window, his back turned.

‘I will not do this, Laura,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I want you. Dio, how I want you! But if I take you now you will believe I talked of my feelings only to seduce you.’

‘You mean you’re afraid Lorenzo Forli would sack you if he found out,’ she snapped, utterly mortified by another rejection. She caught her breath in dismay as Domenico turned on her, transformed in a heartbeat from lover into a cold, hostile stranger. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said penitently, backing away. ‘That didn’t come out the way I intended.’

His smile chilled her to the bone. ‘You made your meaning very clear. You are mistaken, however. I have no fear of losing my job. I simply believe it would be wrong to make love to a woman who is not only alone in Venice, but also placed in my care. You come from a different culture, so perhaps this is hard for you to understand. Come. I shall take you back.’

‘Domenico—’

He threw up a hand, silencing her very effectively, his eyes hard and cold, like ovals of translucent blue glass. After a tense moment Laura turned away to pick up her handbag and thrust a few straying fronds of hair into place as she fought hard to regain her composure.

When she had command of herself she turned back to him. ‘Thank you so much for dinner, and the help you’ve given me during my holiday,’ she said, frigidly polite. ‘But please don’t trouble yourself to walk back with me. I prefer to return alone.’

He brushed this aside with hauteur. ‘Non importa, I shall see you back to the hotel.’

The look in Domenico’s eyes was so implacable Laura turned away and made for the door he held open for her. They went downstairs and out into the calle in silence, which lasted, unbroken, all the way to the Locanda Verona.

Afraid her voice would never make it past the lump in her throat, Laura gave Domenico a silent, regal nod in response to his formal bow and walked without hurry across the bridge and through the open doorway of the hotel. She took her key from Signora Rossi, and with a mute smile of thanks escaped to the sanctuary of her room and closed the door behind her.

Chapter Five

THE night was endless. Hot and miserable, Laura tossed and turned for hours, embarrassed because her frustrated body refused to give her peace. If this was a side effect of falling in love she was glad she’d never done it before. It was all academic anyway. After throwing the insult at him she would never get the chance to tell Domenico how she felt. Not that it mattered. A relationship of any kind between them was impractical; geographically and every other way. Better to end it now, before any more damage was done.

She sighed in the darkness. Her relationships with men in the past had been light-hearted, uncommitted affairs, with no regrets and no harm done when they were over. Except for Edward. He’d astounded her with the scene at the Ritz because she’d known him since they were children. She regretted the loss of his friendship, but it didn’t keep her awake at night. While the thought of never seeing Domenico again was unbearable. Laura swallowed a dry, despairing sob, turned on the light and reached for her guidebook. The visit to the Guggenheim would obviously be made solo now, so she might as well give up trying to sleep and find out how to get there.

Mission accomplished, Laura picked up a paperback and tried her best to read for a while, but the story was so obviously heading for a much happier ending than her own she gave up and switched off the light, then groaned as she remembered the silk tie intended as a parting gift. She would have to find some way to get it to Domenico. Taking it to his apartment was out of the question. She would just have to deliver it to his hotel. Wherever that might be. Domenico had been surprisingly cagey on the subject.

Laura got up early next morning, feeling groggy from lack of sleep and the overdose of emotion. To put her brain in gear she stood in the shower for a while and took a long time over her hair afterwards. When it was brushed and pinned back in a severe twist without a tendril in sight she put on her last clean white T-shirt and pair of jeans, stuffed her guidebook and supply of postcards in her satchel and went downstairs. Once she had steeled herself to deliver the tie she would make for the Guggenheim and a dose of modern art.

Signora Rossi was at her desk, smiling. ‘Buon giorno, Miss Green.’

‘Good morning.’ Laura smiled awkwardly. ‘I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the name of the hotel where Signor Chiesa works. Would you happen to know it?’

‘But of course. It is the Forli Palace,’ said the woman, looking surprised.

‘Thank you. Is it far from here?’

Supplied with directions, Laura went out for coffee and drank it at a table for once. She looked through her postcards, singled out a view of Florian’s outdoor tables, and wrote a brief message on it to enclose with the tie.

To Domenico, with thanks for all your kindness, Laura.

She resealed the gift packaging, wrote his name on the label, finished her coffee and went off to search for the Forli Palace. Following the signora’s directions, she crossed the Ponte della Paglia, with its bird’s-eye view of the Bridge of Sighs, and joined the teeming crowds on the promenade on the busy Riva degli Schiavoni. People eddied around the busy stalls and hurried to and fro from the vaporetto stops, but Laura’s interest was centred on the volume of gondolas, tugs, water buses and taxis on the waters of the lagoon, with even a naval ship just visible in the distance. Eventually the crowds thinned out and Laura reached a row of palazzos long since converted into luxury hotels. Her heart sank when she found the Forli Palace, which was as unlike the Locanda Verona as a hotel could possibly be. The foyer was all pillars, mirrors and frescoes, with great urns of flowers, chandeliers of Venetian glass, and an expanse of marble floor to cross to reach a reception desk manned not by Domenico, to her huge relief, but by two young men who smiled courteously as she approached.

Laura said good morning very firmly in English and held out the package to one of them in response to an offer of help. ‘For Signor Domenico Chiesa,’ she said briefly.

‘Did you wish to see him, signorina?’

‘No! No, that won’t be necessary,’ she said hastily. ‘But would you make sure that he receives this fairly soon, please?’

‘Senza fallo! Without fail,’ he repeated. ‘I will personally make sure of this. But I require your name, please, signorina.’

‘Miss Laura Green,’ she said formally. ‘Grazie.’

Her duty done, Laura squared her shoulders and set off on the longish walk to Dorsoduro to explore the Guggenheim, the one-storey palazzo that from the picture in her guidebook looked out of place among the other buildings in Venice. With Domenico for company she would have travelled by water taxi, but for her remaining time in Venice her diminishing finances meant a walk everywhere. The morning was hot, and the combination of a sleepless night and the nervous strain of visiting the Forli Palace had depleted her energy level to the point that when she’d crossed the Accademia Bridge and found the museum her enthusiasm for modern art, or any other kind, was at low ebb. She brightened a little when she found that the young guide who offered help at the Guggenheim actually came from London, but because of this had to pretend interest she didn’t feel. After a detailed tour of works by familiar names like Picasso, Mondriaan and Ernst, others by artists Laura had never heard of, plus a whole room devoted to the works of Jackson Pollock, her guide took her round the statuary in the garden. But when they reached the canal entrance a sculpture of a horse bearing a man in a state of full arousal was a statue too many for Laura, and, face burning behind the dark glasses, she muttered her thanks and left in a hurry to go in search of caffeine.

She came to a halt at one of the cafés along the Zattere, where the views across the Giudecca Canal were delightful and the prices a lot cheaper than in San Marco. Lunch seemed like a good idea now she was here, in case she couldn’t face the prospect of a solitary dinner later. After a toasted sandwich and some orange juice, followed by an espresso to perk her up, Laura walked back to the hotel, so tired by the time she got there she collapsed on her bed, desperate for sleep. And stayed wide awake. Exasperated, she read for a while instead, but at last gave up, dressed again, and went out to look at some of the Renaissance art Venice was famous for.

During her window-shopping in the Mercerie Laura had noticed a side entrance between the shops to the San Salvatore church and made this her first stop. The beautiful Renaissance interior was impressive, but without Domenico for company Laura felt totally overwhelmed by it, and after only a cursory inspection of the two Titian paintings the guidebook mentioned she went back to the shops. She wandered past the tempting merchandise on display in the windows again for a while, but when she reached Campo Santo Stefano Laura dutifully went inside the church to admire the ship’s keel ceiling and marble pillars mentioned in the guidebook. Her duty done, she went back out into the big square and sat down in one of the open-air cafés to cool down with an ice cream. While she waited for it she watched children playing near the central statue and wondered what on earth to do for the rest of the day. But originally she had expected to be alone in Venice for her entire stay. So she would just have to resign herself to spending her last night here with a book in her hotel room or come back to this busy square to eat. It would be too painful to visit Florian’s again.

Laura sighed, took out the postcards she’d bought earlier, and began writing messages on them, ready to post on her way back. Halfway through the pile her phone rang, and she seized it, heart thumping, to say a cautious, hopeful hello.

‘Laura?’

Her heart leapt at the sound of the voice she’d never expected to hear again.

‘Yes?’

‘Domenico. I have just received your gift. Many, many thanks. I did not expect this.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you did. I bought it before we went to the Basilica yesterday.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘In the square where we found the gold mask.’

‘Ah. Campo Santo Stefano.’

‘So my guidebook says.’

‘Laura, ascolta—listen. I know you fly back tomorrow.’

‘I leave after breakfast.’

‘It is a very bad thing to part in such a way. I was angry last night—’

‘You had every right to be. I regretted the words the moment I said them. I apologise.’

‘I said certain words that I do not regret,’ he said, his voice a tone lower.

Not sure what answer he expected in answer to that, Laura played safe. ‘I’m very glad you rang.’

‘Bene. I am glad also. Laura, let us dine together one last time tonight, yes?’

Oh, yes, please! ‘Thank you,’ she said, deliberately polite to mask the joy bubbling up inside her. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘Then I will call for you at seven.’

Laura put the phone away and sat utterly still for a long time, savouring the blissful feeling of relief. Campo Santo Stefano was suddenly the most beautiful place on earth. She no longer felt tired, and tomorrow she would fly home in far happier frame of mind now the parting with Domenico seemed likely to be at least amicable. She rang her mother to confirm that she’d go straight to Stavely for the weekend for Fen’s hen party, and then strolled back to the hotel to get ready for the evening. She was in such tearing spirits during the process she was ready and waiting in the airy chiffon dress when the phone rang dead on the minute at seven o’clock.

‘I am here,’ said Domenico.

‘Give me a moment and I’ll be right down.’

Laura sprayed a cloud of perfume into the air, walked through it on her way to the door, and then made herself go downstairs at a sedate pace. Her heart missed a beat at the sight of Domenico in the reception hall, which was deserted for once. He wore a formal dark suit with a gleaming white shirt and the tie she’d bought, and it was all she could do not to run the rest of the way and throw herself into his arms.

‘Buona sera, Laura,’ he said, smiling as he came forward. ‘What an enchanting dress. You look more beautiful each time I see you.’

So do you, she thought fervently. ‘Thank you. I’ll just leave my key.’ She pressed the bell and gave the key to Signora Rossi, who wished them both a pleasant evening.

Outside in the sunset light Domenico eyed her intently as they crossed the familiar bridge. ‘What did you do today, Laura?’

‘After I delivered the package to your hotel I walked to the Guggenheim,’ she said in a tone that won her a wry look.

‘You did not care for this?’

‘It was interesting,’ she said neutrally.

‘Interesting,’ he repeated, smiling a little as they strolled along the familiar route to the Piazza San Marco.

Laura described her tour of modern art and the switch to Renaissance architecture in the afternoon, but as they turned into the piazza she paused to look him in the eye. ‘I didn’t enjoy any of it, Domenico. After our disagreement last night I was miserable all day. I did those things just to kill time, which is a totally barbarous thing to do in a place like Venice.’

He seized her hand. ‘I also was miserable—until this afternoon, when I received your gift.’

‘I left it at the hotel fairly early this morning,’ she informed him huskily.

‘I did not return there until just before I rang you.’ Domenico waved in acknowledgement to someone passing by, then began to walk faster. ‘Come. We shall take a water taxi from the Molo.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Before we dine I thought you might like a walk in the Giardini Pubblici. They are gardens in the quiet part of Castello.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Or are you worn out with so much walking today?’

‘Not in the least,’ she assured him, and returned the smile with such radiance his grasp on her hand tightened painfully.

The journey by water taxi was so brief Laura laughed at Domenico as he helped her out. ‘We should have walked.’

‘You must not return to your family exhausted, Laura!’

Far from tired, she felt like dancing along as she strolled with Domenico in tranquil, leafy gardens she had never expected to find in Venice.

‘The pavilions here exhibit contemporary art at the Biennale, but this happens only on odd-numbered years,’ he said, and grinned. ‘So you are spared more modern art this evening, Laura.’

‘Thank heavens for that. Though with you for company I would have enjoyed it—probably the Guggenheim and the churches as well,’ she said honestly. ‘But today nothing pleased me because I was alone and miserable.’

‘Ah, Laura!’ Domenico looked round swiftly, then bent to give her an urgent kiss. ‘Even if I embarrass you in public I need this.’

Her eyes sparkled. ‘Did I cause you any embarrassment by turning up at your hotel this morning?’

He shook his head, smiling. ‘It was a great surprise to find that a Miss Laura Green had left a package for me, but I was delighted, not embarrassed.’

She slanted a look at him. ‘I thought you might have been teased by the others on the staff, and brought me here by boat to avoid walking past the Forli Palace.’

He gave her a look of mock affront. ‘My concern was for you alone.’

She laughed at him, and he stroked a caressing finger down her cheek. But as they resumed their leisurely stroll Laura’s curiosity intensified as to what exactly Domenico did at his hotel. She longed to assure him that however menial his job she would still feel the same about him. But her relief at their reconciliation was so intense she kept quiet on the subject rather than risk spoiling their last evening together, and a few minutes later they were seated at a table on the canalside terrace of a restaurant renowned, Domenico told her, for its seafood.

‘I hope you are not tired of fish?’

‘Not in the least,’ Laura assured him. ‘Tell me what to choose.’

‘They do a very good spaghetti dish here—alla busana, with scampi, tomato and chilli.’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

Everything about the evening was so wonderful to Laura after the unhappiness of the day that the only shadow came when Domenico gave her a sombre look as they left.

‘I wish so much that you were not leaving tomorrow, Laura.’

‘So do I. But at least,’ she added, determinedly cheerful, ‘I shall have the memory of this evening to look back on when I’m slaving away in London.’

‘Our evening has not ended yet, cara.’

‘True. We have the walk back yet—’

‘We shall return by boat,’ he said promptly.

She shook her head. ‘It’s much too expensive to keep zipping about in water taxis.’ Then it occurred to her that maybe he really didn’t want to walk past his hotel.

‘Let’s go more slowly by vaporetto so I can take my last look at the lagoon by moonlight.’

It was a bittersweet experience to stand with Domenico at the rail for the last time. Laura gave a deep sigh when they left the boat. ‘This time tomorrow I’ll be home in Stavely.’

‘I know,’ he said sombrely, and took her hand. ‘Ring me the minute you arrive, per favore.’

She nodded silently.

He looked down at her in question. ‘It is much too early to take you to the hotel. Would you like some tea, Laura?’

Her heart leapt. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Will you come home with me to drink it?’

‘Yes, please.’

He laughed softly. ‘Such a polite English miss. Yet last night you stabbed me to the heart!’

‘Such a dramatic Venetian signore,’ she mocked.

‘It is the truth,’ he assured her. ‘I did not sleep last night.’

‘Because I was so horrible?’

‘Yes. But also because I desired you so much my frustrated body would not let me rest.’

Laura flushed hectically, glad of the dim lighting as they left the piazza. ‘I had something of the same trouble,’ she admitted gruffly.

He stopped dead. ‘Are you saying you longed for me as much as I longed for you?’ he demanded.

She nodded. ‘That’s never happened to me before.’

‘Then you have not felt passion for the men in your life,’ he said with satisfaction as they resumed walking.

‘There haven’t been that many,’ she protested.

‘Bene.’ When they reached his apartment he took her hand to walk upstairs then unlocked his door and ushered her inside. ‘But whatever their number in the past, Laura, it is now just one, yes?’

For answer she threw her arms round him as she’d wanted to the moment she’d seen him earlier, wanting but not quite daring to tell him that now he was the only man she wanted in her life. Ever.

Domenico’s arms closed round her in possession, his cheek on her hair as they held each other in silence. After a while he released her and took her into the kitchen. ‘You want tea,’ he said unevenly.

‘Actually, I don’t. I said I did because I hoped you’d bring me back here,’ she said candidly, and caught her breath at the brilliance of his smile.

‘So what would you like, carissima?’

‘I want to hold hands with you and just enjoy being together for the time we have left,’ she said simply.

‘Bene,’ he said, stroking a hand down her cheek. ‘Because that is almost exactly what I wish to do, also.’

‘Almost?’

He shrugged. ‘I cannot lie, Laura. I am a man, therefore I want more than just to hold hands.’

‘You’re honest!’ she said as they went into the salotto.

The translucent eyes shadowed slightly. ‘I try to be.’ He took off his jacket and drew her down beside him. ‘Laura, I would have rung you today, even without receiving your gift.’

‘Really?’

‘I could not have parted with you in such a way.’

‘It would have made my flight home pretty miserable,’ she admitted.

There was silence for a moment, then Domenico turned to her. ‘It is madness to think that mere money should keep us from seeing each other.’

‘It’s a big thing to me, Domenico.’ She leaned against his shoulder. ‘I didn’t have a holiday last year, so my mother gave me money for my birthday on condition I put it towards the villa-share I was offered in Tuscany. As I told you before, I earn a good salary, but I budget very carefully so I can save a bit for Abby and buy the reasonably smart clothes I need for my job. And I’d love to have my hair cut in one of those spiffy short styles, but keeping it long is cheaper so I don’t.’

‘Do not cut your beautiful hair, ever,’ he said vehemently. ‘Laura—’

‘No, hear me out. I’m trying to explain why, much as I long to come back to Venice, I can’t before next year at the very earliest, Domenico.’

He turned to stare at her in consternation. ‘Next year!’

She nodded ruefully. ‘But if you like travelling couldn’t you come to London instead? Or don’t you get enough time off from your job?’

‘If it is the only way to see you I shall make time,’ he assured her. ‘Is there room for me in your flat?’

‘Yes.’ Laura looked at him squarely. ‘But there’s only one bed.’

Domenico drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I have tried,’ he said roughly, ‘but I am only human, carissima.’ He lifted her onto his lap and kissed her with undisguised longing. ‘Amore,’ he whispered. ‘I want you so much. Do you want me?’

She touched a hand to his cheek. ‘Not just want. I couldn’t sleep last night, afraid I’d never have the chance to tell you I’m very much in love with you, too, Domenico.’

This confession was too much for him. He kissed her fiercely, then scooped her up to carry her to the bedroom, which up to now had been unknown territory. But, utterly bowled over by being carried off in Domenico’s arms, Laura had no eyes for décor as he laid her down on the bed. He stretched out beside her and held her close, his cheek against hers.

‘You are trembling,’ he whispered.

She nodded. ‘You are, too.’

He gave a husky, muffled laugh. ‘I know a cure for this.’

Laura wriggled closer. ‘Cure me, then.’

‘First,’ he whispered, ‘I must take down your hair.’

‘Will that stop the shaking?’

‘No, but it will give me very great pleasure!’ When her hair streamed down in a gleaming cascade Domenico drew in a deep, relishing breath and threaded his fingers through it as he kissed her. Laura returned his kisses for a long, breathless interval, then pushed him away and stood at the side of the bed, shaking her hair back from her flushed face.

‘I must go back to the hotel looking respectable, Domenico, so if only for practical reasons I’d better take my dress off.’ She kicked off her shoes, then sat on the bed with her back to him. ‘Would you undo my zip, please?’

‘I like these practical reasons!’ He sat up to plant kisses down her spine as he laid it bare, then stood up and drew her to her feet to smooth the dress from her shoulders. Laura stepped out of it and held it out to him, her colour high as his eyes moved over her with a possessive look as tactile as a caress. He laid the dress carefully over a chair, then snatched her up again and sat down with her on his lap to press kisses all over her face. When he raised his head she began to loosen his tie.

‘Your turn now,’ she said breathlessly.

‘Be careful, amore,’ he warned, in a tone that turned her to jelly, ‘this tie is very special to me.’

Laura slid to her feet and handed it to him. ‘You can put it away, then.’

Domenico took it to join her dress, and then in sudden impatience took his shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes and stripped down to silk boxers before picking her up again to lay her on the bed. He let himself down beside her and took her face in his hands. ‘We are still shaking,’ he pointed out.

Laura smiled into the luminous blue eyes. ‘So what do we do to stop it?’

‘First,’ he whispered, ‘I do this.’ He undid her bra and tossed it away. ‘Then I do this.’ He paid loving, incendiary attention to each breast, his hands stroking and his lips on each nipple in turn with a delicate graze of teeth that sent such streaks of fire darting down inside she gasped and thrust her hips against him. He breathed in sharply, and moved his mouth lower over her ribs and down the slight swell of her stomach as he removed the last small lacy obstacle to kiss the mound beneath it. She stiffened, and pushed at his shoulders, and at once he slid back up her body, his eyes questioning.

‘You do not like this?’

She shook her head, flushing. ‘It’s a mystery to me why a man should want to do that.’

Domenico laughed joyously. ‘Ah, Laura. Has no man ever explained the mystery to you?’

‘No. It’s not a subject I care to discuss.’

‘Discussion is a mistake. A practical demonstration is better—and you like things practical, yes?’

‘I thought you were going to cure this shaky feeling, but it’s even worse now,’ she accused, and with sudden impatience slid a hand over the black silk, grasping him through it in a caress that brought such a groan she released him in shock. ‘Oh, Domenico, did I hurt you? I’m sorry!’

He closed his eyes tightly as he fought for control. Laura gazed up into his face and put her arms round him, hugging him close as he rubbed his cheek blindly over her hair.

At last Domenico let out an unsteady breath. ‘This will be the first time we make love, also the last for much too long. I want it to be perfect for you, so do not touch me like that, carissima or this will not be possible. As I have told you before, I am not made of stone.’

It had felt frighteningly like it to Laura, a discovery that escalated the shaking problem still further as Domenico made love to her with skill and passion she responded to with ardour, which delighted him as he caressed her into a state of longing so intense that this time she yielded to the touch of his seeking lips and tongue in the place no man had ever kissed before. Shock waves of sensation surged through her entire body, rocketing her to climax as Domenico held her close, whispering ragged endearments in his own language.

When she was quiet in his arms, he smoothed her hair from her forehead and smiled down into her dazed eyes. ‘Now you know why a man wishes to kiss and caress you that way, yes?’

‘It was obvious what it did for me, but nothing happened for you, Domenico,’ she said, frowning.

He smiled indulgently. ‘It is a most wonderful thing for a man to know that he has given his woman such pleasure, tesoro! And when you are ready for me again I shall share the pleasure with you.’

His hands and lips and tongue caressed with such skill that soon Laura was on fire for him again and Domenico slid his hands into her hair, his eyes blazing in triumph as he moved between her thighs to enter her with slow, exquisite care, little by little, until at last she gave a ragged gasp of pleasure as he thrust deep inside her. She hugged him closer and he kissed her open mouth, murmuring in his own tongue as he began to move, gradually increasing the tempo as she moved with him until they reached a frenzied rhythm, which brought them to culmination so overwhelming they stayed joined, close in each other’s arms long after it was over.

When Domenico raised the head he’d buried in Laura’s hair his smile flipped her heart over. ‘We are not shaking,’ he observed huskily.

‘No,’ she agreed unevenly. ‘You cured it.’

‘We cured it together,’ he corrected. ‘Perfectly, beautifully together, carissima.’

She heaved a deep, unsteady sigh.

‘Why do you sigh, Laura?’ he asked, smoothing her hair from her forehead.

‘I was just wishing I could stay here like this and not move until tomorrow morning,’ she said frankly, and smiled sleepily as his arms tightened.

‘I also,’ he said, and kissed her gently. ‘But Signora Rossi will expect me to bring you back by midnight, Cenerentola. I will come back for you early in the morning, and we shall have one last breakfast together before I take you to the airport.’

‘But won’t you be needed at your hotel?’ she said anxiously.

‘Not until I have taken you to Marco Polo.’

‘You have a very accommodating job, Domenico!’

‘I will tell you all about it in the morning,’ he promised, and smiled down at her. ‘Tomorrow we talk; tonight is for love.’

It was well past midnight when they reached the Locanda Verona, but Signora Rossi merely smiled indulgently when Domenico apologised for keeping her guest out a little later on her last night in Venice. He wished the signora goodnight, then turned to Laura and raised her hand very formally to his lips.

‘Sleep well. I shall come for you in the morning.’

She gave him a demure smile and said, ‘Grazie, e stata una magnifica serata.’

The blue eyes narrowed wickedly. ‘It was a wonderful evening for me, also.’

‘Goodnight, Domenico.’

‘Goodnight, Laura.’

When the door closed behind him Laura felt suddenly so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She received her key, asked for her bill to be made ready for the morning, wished the signora goodnight, and drifted up to her room in a happy daze. She managed to set her alarm before she fell into bed, and then slept like the dead until she woke to the ring tone of her phone next morning.

‘Hello,’ she said groggily, then shot upright at the sound of Domenico’s voice.

‘Laura! Are you awake?’

‘I am now. Is something wrong?’

‘Unfortunately, yes, carissima. There is a problem at the hotel. I have been called in to help with it—’

‘And you can’t come with me to the airport. Don’t worry, Domenico. I’m sorry you can’t make it, but I’ll be fine.’

‘I am more than just sorry,’ he said urgently. ‘There is so much I wish to say to you. Please ring me tonight.’

‘I will,’ she promised, keeping her voice steady by sheer force of will. ‘Goodbye, Domenico.’

‘Arrivederci, tesoro. Take great care, yes?’

‘You too!’

Laura disconnected and dragged herself out of bed, so disappointed she wanted to howl. She’d so looked forward to travelling to Marco Polo with Domenico, greedy for every possible minute with him after the magic of their night. She sighed heavily, then pulled herself together and got on with her preparations for leaving. When she was showered, dressed, her suitcase packed and the room tidy, Laura went downstairs to pay the bill, which surprised her by being less than expected because, Signora Rossi explained, the room was on the attic floor, much smaller than the others and less popular due to the absence of an elevator, therefore there was a discount on the usual tariff. Laura thanked her warmly, received her passport, and after goodbyes set off for San Marco to catch the No. 1 Aligaluna boat to take the slow journey back along the Grand Canal to say her last, lingering goodbyes to Venice on her way to Marco Polo airport.

Chapter Six

THE weather worsened over France. The descent into Heathrow was bumpy, and a very queasy Laura caught the train to Reading to get the next Intercity train to South Wales. Before she boarded it she rang her mother, who promptly volunteered to drive across the Severn Bridge to meet her. The train was packed and Laura escaped from it thankfully at Bristol Parkway, smiling broadly as she pulled her suitcase along the platform through the rain towards a small, hurrying figure in a dripping cagoule.

‘Darling,’ said Isabel Green, hugging her. ‘Welcome home. How was Venice?’

‘Fabulous. And a lot warmer than this. What a horrible day!’ Laura kissed her mother warmly. ‘You’re a star for braving the bridge in this wind.’

‘I thought you’d be glad to knock a bit off the journey and get home.’

They hurried through the rain to the car park and once Laura had stowed her belongings safely she sat back in the passenger seat with a sigh of relief. ‘How’s Abby?’

Isabel gave her daughter a triumphant little smile as they left the station. ‘Working right now, but only to the end of the week, then she’s off to France with Rachel Kent and her family. And after that she’ll be able to play like all the other girls until she goes up to Cambridge.’

‘How come?’ Laura eyed her mother in astonishment. ‘Have you won the lottery or something?’

‘You’re not far off. My Premium Bonds turned up trumps at long last. I won fifty thousand pounds!’

‘Really? How absolutely wonderful!’

‘When I got the cheque Abby and I did a war dance round the room!’

‘I’m not surprised. Congratulations, you lucky old thing,’ said Laura, laughing.

‘Not so much of the old! What’s in the parcel?’

‘Candlesticks from Murano for Fen. I hope she likes them.’

‘You can find out tonight. She’ll be down later with your dress, and, I quote, demands to know every last thing you did in Venice.’

Laura flushed, glad her mother was concentrating too much on the road to notice. ‘Trust Fen! Though she’s entitled to a few details. Her brother-in-law sent someone to meet me from the airport. His name is Domenico and he took me out and about a bit while I was there.’

Isabel shot an amused glance at her daughter. ‘Holiday romance?’

‘He was just looking after me because Lorenzo Forli told him to.’

‘Then you certainly got value for money. Was the hotel all right?’

‘It was more boarding house than hotel, but spotlessly clean. My bedroom was tiny, but it had its own little bathroom and a fabulous view.’ Laura chuckled. ‘Now you’re a lady of means you should try it yourself.’

‘I may well do that some time.’

‘You should. I helped myself to a brochure from the Locanda Verona as I left. Take Abby with you and overdose on culture together before she flies the nest.’

There was no more conversation for a while as they crossed the Severn Bridge. The speed limit was down to the minimum in the strengthening wind, which meant dogged concentration for Isabel as gusts buffeted the small car. She smiled at Laura in relief as she turned off for Chepstow.

‘Thank heavens for that. Now, talk. Tell me more.’

Laura managed to keep Domenico out of it as much as possible as she gave her mother a swift account of her stay in Venice, and then changed the subject. ‘How are things coming along for the wedding of the year?’

Isabel smiled affectionately. ‘Fenny’s very calm about the whole thing. As long as she marries Joe Tregenna on the day she’s not worried about anything else. But from a personal point of view I hope the weather relents by then. The label on my hat says, ‘‘do not wear in rain’’!’

When they turned off the main road up into Springfield Lane there was a pause in the proceedings. A herd of cows crossed from one field to another on the Morgan farm before Isabel could drive on through the narrow lane to Briar Cottage, which stood by itself half a mile from its nearest neighbour. When Isabel had first moved her daughters into it twelve years before the splendid view over the river had been no compensation to Laura for small rooms and a garden overgrown with brambles. It had been a painful contrast to the big Edwardian rectory she’d lived in all her short life until then. But because Isabel had crammed as many of their possessions as possible into it the three of them had soon come to look on Briar Cottage as home, and now, even with the rain lashing down like winter instead of summer, the rosy tint of the bricks glowed in welcome as they dashed up the path to the front door.

‘Thank goodness,’ gasped Laura as she came to a halt in the kitchen with her suitcase. ‘I’ll take this into the scullery and unpack my stuff straight into the washing machine, if that’s OK. I need some of it to go back on Sunday night.’

‘I’ll make tea,’ said Isabel, divesting herself of her cagoule. ‘I bet you didn’t have a decent cup all the time you were in Venice.’

Wrong, thought Laura, smiling at the memory of English Breakfast. ‘After I’ve had a shower I’ll drive into town to fetch Abby when she finishes, if you like.’

‘No need. She’s going straight from work to Rachel Kent’s party tonight and she’s staying the night there afterwards. I said you wouldn’t mind if she didn’t dash home in between to see you.’

‘Of course not. She deserves some fun. Fen will be down later, anyway.’

During the evening the conversation centred on Isabel’s windfall and her plans for it, but when asked for more news of the holiday Laura changed the subject to the souvenirs she’d brought back. She wasn’t ready, yet, to tell her mother more about Domenico. She needed to hear his voice first.

Isabel was delighted with her gifts, and put the crimson slippers on right away. ‘They’re much too good to wear round the house, but I’m going to, just the same. Thank you, darling. Tomorrow we’ll find exactly the right place to hang this gorgeous mask. By the way,’ she added, ‘take Fenny up to your room when she comes. I shall be glued to my favourite murder serial.’

‘Can’t have you missing that,’ agreed Laura, smiling.

A familiar screeching of tyres outside later heralded the arrival of Fenella Dysart. She shot up the path into the house, laid a sleeping bag on the kitchen table and hugged them both.

‘Don’t worry, Mrs G, I haven’t come for a sleepover. The sleeping bag is keeping Laura’s dress dry. Do you mind if I drag her upstairs to try it on?’

Isabel smiled affectionately. ‘I was hoping you would, Fenny—my programme’s about to start.’

‘If it’s the murder serial, Mother’s glued to it as well!’

‘Come on, then, Fen,’ said Laura. ‘Do you want coffee or a drink first?’

‘Later, please. Let’s take your ravishing creation up to your room and pray I haven’t got any rain on it.’

Upstairs Laura hung the dress on her wardrobe door and eyed it closely. ‘Looks good to me.’

‘Get your kit off, then.’

Laura stripped off jeans and sweater, and held her arms up so Fen could lower the dress into place. Laura slid her feet into the satin shoes dyed to match and looked in the cheval mirror tucked into a corner. ‘Nice!’

‘Nice? It’s perfect—and about as near the colour of your eyes as mere fabric can possibly be. Am I a genius, or what?’

The amber crêpe sheath fitted closely down to the knees, where three finely pleated, satin-bound tiers hung to just above the ankles. ‘I had doubts,’ admitted Laura, ‘but it actually looks rather good. I could wear it with boots later on, maybe.’

‘It’s perfect,’ said Fen with satisfaction. ‘Let’s go down and show your mother, then come back up here so you can tell me what Laura did in Venice.’

Once the dress was safely hung away, they both curled up with mugs of coffee at either end of the bedroom window-seat, which had been a favourite perch for both of them from the first day Laura had moved to Briar Cottage. All the way home on the plane Laura had been dying to tell her friend about the man who’d met her at the airport, but the moment she mentioned him Fen held up a hand.

‘Didn’t Giando meet you off the plane, then?’ she said, frowning. ‘I suppose he pushed the job onto someone else! I know Lorenzo told him to meet you, because Jess reported back to me.’

‘A man called Domenico Chiesa came to meet me,’ said Laura slowly.

‘That’s the one. I forgot he goes by Domenico these days. He’s still Giando to the family, though.’

Laura eyed her with dawning suspicion. ‘Is this the Giando I think it is?’

‘You bet.’ Fen thrust her dark hair behind her ears. ‘He came to that language college in Cheltenham for a while when we were in school, but I don’t think you actually met him. Gian Domenico Chiesa is Lorenzo’s cousin. His mother’s a Forli. His father used to run the Venice hotels, but he’s retired now, so Giando—sorry, Domenico—is in charge. He’s a busy bloke these days, so I’m glad he kept his promise and went to meet you.’

‘He wasn’t very happy about it,’ said Laura, after a pause. ‘He hustled me off to the vaporetto so quickly I felt like an utter nuisance.’

‘Not his usual style,’ said Fen, surprised. ‘He’s normally a wow with the girls. Anyway, was the hotel all right? Apparently Lorenzo emphasised that you were on a tight budget, and very prickly on the subject of favours.’

Laura’s chin lifted. ‘I prefer to call it independent. Anyway, the hotel was lovely, and only a short stroll from the Piazza San Marco. No food, though. I had to eat out.’

‘So what did you do altogether?’

Once again Laura gave a list of restaurants and places visited as she took two parcels from the wardrobe. ‘Here you are. The small one’s a souvenir, so look at that first. The other one is your wedding present. I bought it in Murano. Not antique, but I hope you like it.’

Fen grinned as she took out a bright gold T-shirt with the Venezia logo. ‘Been there, bought the T-shirt, I see. Thanks, Laurie—great colour. Now, what have we here?’ Her eyes widened in delight as she took the candlesticks from their box. ‘Oh, my goodness. They’re absolutely beautiful!’ She sniffed hard and hugged Laura tightly. ‘Thanks a million. They’ll be perfect on our new dining table—well, old table, really. I can’t wait to show Joe.’

Laura smiled brightly. ‘And where is Mr Tregenna right now?’

‘In the bosom of his family in Cornwall this weekend.’ Fen heaved a sigh. ‘I’ve moved back home until the wedding, and it’s going to be a long, long week. I miss Joe already.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘I know Miss Ice Maiden doesn’t understand such things, but one day you’ll meet someone you can’t live without, too.’

With a sinking feeling that she’d done that already, Laura shrugged, smiling, and collected their coffee mugs. ‘Mother’s programme must be over now. She’s dying to see the candlesticks—or candeliere as they say in Venice.’

‘Show-off!’ Fen looked at her watch. ‘I’ll just pop in to see Mrs G, then I must fly. I’ll see you tomorrow night for the hen party—don’t be late. Seven sharp up at the house before we paint Pennington red!’

After Fen left Laura went out to the kitchen—officially to check on her laundry, but in reality to seethe in silence over Domenico’s silence about his relationship to the Forlis. Had Domenico been afraid she’d presume on it? No wonder he’d refused to take her to the Forli Palace to eat. The staff might have thought she was someone who mattered instead of just a holiday fling! Thank God she’d found out who he was before prattling on to Fen about shopping expeditions and candlelit dinners.

When Laura took two mugs of tea into the sitting room her mother looked up from the brochure of the Locanda Verona. ‘Nice little place,’ she commented.

‘Very affordable, too. I was given a discount because my room was small and I had to climb four flights of stairs to get to it.’

Isabel frowned. ‘It says here that there’s a supplement on single rooms, no mention of a discount.’

Laura looked at the price tariff long and hard, then sprang to her feet, snatched her phone from her bag and punched a couple of buttons. ‘Fenella Dysart, I want a word with you!’

‘You just had one, bridesmaid. What’s up?’

‘Did you do some number-crunching regarding my hotel in Venice, by any chance?’

‘I most certainly did not!’ said Fen indignantly. ‘Did they overcharge, or something?’

‘Or something,’ said Laura grimly. ‘It was under, not over. I was given a hefty discount on my room—in summer, in Venice. And in San Marco at that.’

‘Well, it’s nothing to do with me, honest. I just asked Lorenzo to organise a nice place you could afford. Do you want to ring him in Florence and give him hell?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then look on the discount as a windfall—’

‘Charity, you mean!’

‘No, I don’t, touchy! See you tomorrow.’

Isabel Green looked at her daughter’s set face with foreboding. ‘You think Lorenzo or maybe Jess paid the difference?’

‘I’ll ring Signora Rossi at the hotel before I make any wild accusations.’

‘Take it easy, darling. You were charged less, not more.’

Laura took her phone upstairs to her room and eventually got through to the Locando Verona.

After the pleasantries were over Laura came straight to the point. ‘Regarding my bill, Signora Rossi, I’ve just been looking at your hotel brochure, and there’s a supplement on single rooms, but no mention of a discount. I’m sure I owe you money.’

There was a pause followed by an audible sigh. ‘You owe me nothing, Miss Green. The difference in price has been paid.’

Laura stiffened. ‘In that case, Signora Rossi, it’s very important that you tell me who paid it, so I can thank them for such kindness. Was it Signor Lorenzo Forli, by any chance?’

‘No, Miss Green, it was Signor Chiesa,’ said the woman with reluctance.

‘Ah. I see. Thank you so much for telling me. Arrivederci.’

Laura ground her teeth as she disconnected. Other people booked their holidays over the Internet, or went to travel agents, but her hotel reservation had come via Fen’s brother-in-law, so it had never occurred to her to query it, even when she got a non-existent discount. But Domenico/Giando probably didn’t think of it as charity. Her eyes narrowed ominously. Maybe he considered it fair exchange for their session in bed.

Laura went downstairs to reassure her mother that she didn’t owe anything for her holiday after all. ‘Lorenzo told one of his minions to sort it. I’ll thank him at the wedding.’

Isabel smiled, relieved. ‘How kind of him. Now, go to bed, darling, you look tired.’

Laura went upstairs, but not to bed. Instead she curled up on the window-seat, watching the rain stream down the glass. When her phone rang a long time later, as she’d known it would some time, she pressed the button and said a toneless hello.

‘Laura, where have you been?’ demanded Domenico frantically. ‘You are safe? You did not ring—’

‘Good evening, Giando!’

‘Ah,’ he said with a sigh, ‘you have already spoken with Fenella.’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve spoken with Signora Rossi, too. I asked her to explain the discount on my bill, and she told me you paid the difference.’

‘So? I paid some of the charge. Is this so great a crime?’

‘No, it’s something I like far less—charity.’

‘Cosa?’

‘Carita,’ she snapped, then let silence fall for a moment. ‘Or maybe you just intended it as reimbursement.’

‘Dio, this is so difficult on the telephone,’ he said heatedly. ‘What do you mean by reimbursement?’

‘We made love, remember.’

‘You think I have forgotten—?’ He paused. ‘Are you saying,’ he demanded in sudden fury, ‘that I paid this money in return for that? Grazie!’

‘I’m the one who should be angry, Domenico. You were so forthcoming with your other confessions, why didn’t you just say who you were? Were you afraid I’d cash in on it if I knew you owned the hotel instead of just working there?’

‘I do work in it,’ he said harshly. ‘And my reason for secrecy is simple. I was acting on orders from Lorenzo. He said you would resent special treatment.’

‘A good thing he doesn’t know just how special your treatment was!’ she retorted.

There was silence for a moment. ‘It was special to me,’ said Domenico wearily. ‘The so-practical Miss Green will find this hard to understand. After I spent time with you that first evening I kept my identity from you because I am a romantic fool. I wanted to be liked for myself for once, not because I am cousin to Lorenzo and Roberto, or because I am in charge of the Venice hotels in the Forli Group. I would have told you everything over breakfast this morning, but a guest at the hotel needed urgent medical attention and I do not delegate such matters to others.’

‘I can understand that—’

‘Ottimo! Then understand this, too, Laura. I thought of a way to pay part of your hotel bill because I cared for you and wished to ease your financial situation.’ His voice hardened. ‘But if obligation to me is so intolerable the remedy is simple—send me the money. Arrivederci.’

‘Domenico—’ But he’d disconnected before she could say a word. She waited for a minute, then rang him back, but he’d switched his phone off. And, she realised miserably, he’d used the past tense about caring for her.

When she felt able to talk about it without crying her eyes out Laura went to her mother’s room to tell her the sad tale.

Isabel Green heard her out in silence. ‘Darling,’ she said gently at last, ‘you really must learn to accept some things in the spirit they are given.’

‘But not money, Mother!’

‘But if you didn’t know that Domenico paid it until now, it’s obvious he didn’t expect anything in return.’

‘I know.’

‘Then why all the drama?’

Laura raised wet eyes to her mother. ‘Because I’m in love with him, or at least with the man I thought he was.’

‘And what exactly did you think he was?’

‘Someone who merely worked in a hotel—not owned the damn thing! It was obvious he wasn’t short of money from his apartment and the way he dresses, but I assumed he had some management job, or whatever. If I’d known the truth I’d have kept my stupid mouth shut.’

‘About what?’

‘Domenico was so insistent that I go back to Venice soon, I had to explain why I couldn’t. I gave him chapter and verse about keeping to a tight budget.’

‘Did you include the bit about helping with Abby’s college fund?’

‘Oh, yes. The complete sob story.’ Laura’s mouth twisted in disgust. ‘When I found he’d paid some of my bill I felt as though I’d been hinting for a handout.’

‘Is he in love with you?’

‘He said he was. But I doubt that he is any more. He’s a typical Venetian male—proud as the devil, and takes offence easily.’

‘You two have a lot in common, then,’ said Isabel, lips twitching.

Laura stared at her mother, incensed, for a moment, but at last smiled reluctantly. ‘Am I so bad, then?’

‘Not bad—independent. You’ve had this bee in your bonnet about being the man of the house since you were ten years old.’ Isabel patted her hand. ‘Relax, darling. Things are different now. You don’t need to help with Abby any more. Apart from my windfall, I’m still only forty-seven, remember. I can carry on teaching for quite a while yet.’

‘I just wish you didn’t have to.’

‘But, darling, I love my job. What would I do with myself all day in this doll’s house if I didn’t work?’

Laura stared at her mother, taken aback. ‘I never thought of it like that. I assumed you went back to teaching because you had to.’

‘I did. But I’m fortunate, because it’s a vocation for me, not just a job. It helped me through that terrible time after your father died, and because I was lucky enough to get a place at the village school I was always there for you and Abby—with a little help in the babysitting department from Grandma.’

The mention of her much-mourned grandmother was the last straw. Laura laid her head down on the bed, sobbing her heart out, and Isabel stroked her hair in silence until the storm had run its course.

‘Sorry about that,’ Laura said hoarsely as she got up at last.

Isabel looked troubled. ‘If you really care for this man, can’t you mend things between you?’

‘I might have tried if he’d just been a hotel employee, but not now. Gian Domenico Chiesa is right out of my league. Don’t worry. I’ll just write off the experience as a holiday romance and forget about him.’

‘Can you do that?’ said her mother gently.

Laura shrugged. ‘I’ll have to. And in the meantime there’s Fen’s hen party to get through tomorrow night. That should chase the blues away!’

Abby backed into the room with a tray early next morning. ‘Room service! Hi, sis. Welcome home. Sorry to wake you up, but I just dashed home for a clean apron. I’m off to work again in an hour.’

Laura heaved herself up, smiling at her sibling as she received the tray. In spite of working the day before and partying well into the night Abby looked as fresh as a daisy. ‘Hello, love! Good party last night?’

‘Brilliant! Ma’s made your favourite scrambled eggs and soldiers, and orders you to eat it or else.’

‘You shouldn’t be waiting on me, Abby. You’ll get enough of that the rest of the day.’

Abby grinned as she fastened her gleaming dark hair back with an outsize barrette. ‘I gave in my notice yesterday. You heard about our amazing parent’s stroke of luck? It means I can use my café money to go to France with the Kents, and Ma can go off on that holiday to the Lakes she fancies. And you can spend your spare cash on orgies instead of on me.’

‘That’ll be the day. By the way, I brought you something. Over there on the dressing table.’

Abby gave a squeal of delight and jumped up in a flurry of long, denim-clad legs. ‘Was Venice as fabulous as it’s supposed to be?’ she demanded as she tore at wrappings.

‘Even more so.’

Abby crowed as she pulled on a bright vermilion T-shirt emblazoned with ‘Venezia’ across the chest. ‘I love it,’ she said, eyeing herself in the mirror. ‘Thanks a lot, Laurie. I’ll wear it tonight.’

‘Another party?’

‘No, a sort of date.’ Abby took out the coloured glass earrings and tried them on. ‘How do I look?’

‘Great. That colour’s good on you. Who’s the lucky man?’

‘Just Marcus.’

‘Rachel’s brother?’ Laura downed some of her tea to avoid mentioning that Marcus was a trainee barrister, and way out of her baby sister’s league. ‘Is he joining the family party in France?’

‘No. But tonight he’s got tickets for an open-air concert at Millwood House—picnic in the park, kind of thing. Mrs Kent’s too busy getting ready for the hols, and Rachel can’t stand classical music, so he asked me if I’d like to go along.’

‘Then take a groundsheet and wear wellies. It was very wet last night.’

Abby turned a searching look on her sister. ‘You look a bit peaky. Headache?’

‘A bit,’ admitted Laura, and grinned ruefully. ‘I need to get rid of it, fast. Hen-party tonight.’

Laura caught the train back to Paddington the following afternoon, changed to the underground for Bow, and trudged up the stairs to her first-floor flat in a building that had been a match factory in a previous life. Her phone had remained obdurately silent all the way. Not that she had really expected to hear from Domenico, but she’d hoped. She frowned, still undecided whether to send the money to him or not. She’d thought about it endlessly, not sure whether he would take this as further insult to his pride, or whether it was appeasing her own. But the man had said ‘send me the money’, so he could hardly complain if she did.

Laura rang her mother to report in, assured her she was fine and promised to make herself some supper. She had tried hard to enjoy the roast Sunday lunch Isabel had prepared, but it had been an uphill struggle, which had not gone unnoticed. She smiled bleakly. Breaking up with Domenico was likely to be very good for her figure. She made some coffee, but instead of eating she ironed a white shirt, ready for next day, and when her phone rang felt shattered because her caller was Fen, not Domenico.

‘Are you OK, Laura? You looked tired at the party last night.’

‘Jet lag.’

‘After a flight from Venice? Come off it. Anyway, in all the excitement I forgot to mention the wedding rehearsal. Can you make it back here for about six on Friday?’

‘I’ll take my stuff to work with me and leave early.’

‘Great. You were such a star, doing the chauffeuring through all that rain last night. Thanks again, Laurie.’

‘I take my role of chief bridesmaid very seriously!’

‘And very well you do it. I couldn’t make it on the big day without you.’

‘Of course you could. All you really need is Joe waiting at the altar.’

‘I know.’ Fen cleared her throat. ‘I’m so lucky. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but I love him so much it hurts.’

Laura wouldn’t have understood the hurt part before meeting Domenico, but she did now. ‘Maybe you should tell Joe, too.’

‘I have. I meant anyone other than you, Laura. Nothing horrible happened in Venice, did it?’ asked Fen abruptly. ‘You’ve been a bit fey since you got back.’

‘It was a wonderful holiday.’

‘Good. I was worried that Giando—sorry, Domenico—might have started you off on the wrong foot.’

‘Not at all.’ Laura paused, then shrugged and thought, Why not? ‘Actually he called to see me to make sure I liked the hotel; even took me out to dinner.’

‘Now you tell me?’ Fen exploded. ‘How did you get on together?’

‘Very well, though he didn’t mention at the time that he’s related to Lorenzo, and runs the Venice end of the operation.’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘He wanted to be liked for himself, and not for his money and family connections.’

‘With his looks? You’ve got to be kidding!’

‘I think it’s a hangover from the past—the lady who left him for his friend.’

‘But that’s years ago. And he must be over Alessa by now because Jess told me there’s a new lady in his life.’

Laura stood very still. ‘Really? Who is she?’

‘Jess didn’t have the details. But knowing Gian Domenico she’ll be a knockout in the looks department, and decked out down to her knickers in Versace. You can ask him about her yourself on Saturday. He’s coming to the wedding!’

Chapter Seven

JEALOUSY hit Laura like a tsunami. She spent the night cursing the day she’d met Domenico and bought the euros next morning. But just posting them wasn’t enough. She wanted the satisfaction of handing them over in person—whether he had the new lady in tow at the wedding or not.

Having made the decision, Laura gave the souvenir earrings to her colleagues, Claire and Ellie, made them envious with tales of her holiday, and did her best to put Venice—and Domenico—from her mind. She was successful during the day because her work at a Docklands investment bank demanded her full attention. The job combined her regularly updated secretarial skills with her love of research, and Laura enjoyed gathering information from the Internet and institutions like Reuters, and the subsequent collation of reports; even the sorties into the frenzy of the trading floor afterwards to deliver them.

Evenings were occupied with friends from the bank for a drink and a snack after work, or with a swim in her building’s pool and a workout in the gym. The infuriatingly restless nights were the worst problem. Laura ground her teeth as she tossed and turned into the small hours. If insomnia was a side effect of having a lover, she was glad she’d never had one before. Not that she’d ever had Domenico in the first place, of course. He probably used the same routine with every woman he sweet-talked into bed.

When Abby rang to say goodbye before she went off to France, Isabel took over the phone to announce that she’d booked a fortnight’s holiday in the Lake District with her colleague and friend, Janet Fenton.

‘Picturesque hotel, good food, and lots of walking to burn it off,’ said Isabel. ‘By the way, Fen tells me that your Domenico’s coming to the wedding.’

‘He’s not mine, Mother.’

‘He hasn’t rung, then?’

‘No. So you and Janet take care in the Lakes, Mother. Steer clear of holiday romances.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing!’

Sleep caught up with Laura when she least wanted it, and to her fury she slept late on the Thursday morning. She shot out of bed, threw on her clothes, and with no time for coffee raced to the station, trod on a loose paving stone and fell flat on her face with such a smack she saw stars when she finally managed to sit upright. Shaken and hideously embarrassed, she sat very still on the kerb for a moment, checking that her teeth were intact. When her head stopped spinning she staggered up to collect the scattered contents of her handbag and almost fell again as pain shot through her ankle. Breathing heavily, she put her weight on her good foot as she leaned against a lamp post to rummage for tissues to mop up the blood pouring down her face.

‘I say, are you all right?’ said a voice, and Laura looked round to see a young man in a City suit peering at her. ‘I saw you fall. Hellish tumble. Can I help?’

‘That’s very kind of you. If you can see my phone anywhere I’ll call a taxi and get myself to a hospital,’ said Laura shakily.

Her good Samaritan found the phone in the gutter and broke the bad news that it was broken. He used his own to ring for a taxi, then handed it over so Laura could contact her work, and afterwards, to her surprise, even insisted on waiting with her until it arrived. Laura thanked him warmly as he helped her into the cab, grateful for his help.

The A & E department was packed. Laura hobbled to Reception to check in, then took a seat to wait until she was assessed by a triage nurse who warned of a three-hour wait to see a doctor. By the time Laura was finally examined she had a pounding headache, her ankle was throbbing violently and she could barely see over the swelling below her left eye. But to her relief no fractures showed up on the X-rays the doctor ordered. Her skull and face were intact, her ankle was neither broken nor sprained, only badly wrenched, and when it was bound up she was given painkillers and pronounced free to go. Laura rang for a taxi from the public telephone and, desperate for fresh air, went outside, shoeless, to sink down on a bench to wait, then stiffened in dismay when she saw a familiar white-coated figure approaching, fair hair ruffled, boyish face frowning in concern.

‘Laura?’ said Dr Edward Lassiter. ‘Good God! What the hell happened to you? Were you mugged? Has someone seen you?’

‘Hello, Edward,’ she said coolly. ‘I had a fall on my way to work. I’ve just been X-rayed, but I didn’t break anything. I didn’t know you’d transferred.’ Or she would have gone to another hospital.

‘Started here last week.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’m on duty, otherwise I’d drive you home.’

‘No need. I’ve rung for a taxi. It should be here any minute.’

He took her hand. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call round to see you later—’

‘Thank you, but I won’t be there. I’m going home to Stavely.’ Laura detached her hand as a taxi drew up and with a feeling of escape let him help her into it, knowing from the look on his face that she’d offended Edward again, but feeling too ill to worry about it.

When she got in she took a long look in the bathroom mirror and faced facts. She was a total mess. An ugly scab bisected her eyebrow, one side of her swollen face was grazed from half-shut eye to sore chin, and due to the ankle and various other contact points on her body she ached all over. But none of it mattered. The major tragedy was not only missing her best friend’s wedding, but the chance of seeing Domenico again. Tears poured down her face at the thought, but they stung her grazed cheek so badly she mopped them up, took several deep breaths and left a message on her mother’s phone to ask for a lift from the station a day sooner than planned, and warned that her mobile was broken.

Laura packed her bag, made some tea, took some painkillers, and, after an interval with her foot up and a bag of frozen peas clamped to her face, put on dark glasses and a pair of elderly flat shoes, tied a scarf over her head to hide as much of her face as possible and went out to catch a train on the first leg of her journey home. And on the slow, painful way to the Bow Road station she steeled herself to ring Fen to report the fall.

In response to a frantic fusillade of questions Laura gave Fen the details, and eventually, after much argument, managed to convince her she would be one bridesmaid short. ‘I’m so sorry, Fen,’ she said miserably. ‘I could kick myself.’

‘For heaven’s sake, don’t! You’re in enough trouble without that, by the sound of it. I’ll pop down tonight to see you.’

Hours later Laura gave a sigh of relief when she saw her mother waiting for her on the platform at Bristol Parkway.

‘Thank goodness you got my message,’ she said gratefully, and took off the scarf and glasses. ‘I had a fall this morning. Don’t faint. It’s not as bad as it looks.’

After frantic questions, and Laura’s assurances that the requisite medical care had been taken, Isabel drove her daughter home. ‘Bed,’ she said firmly when they arrived. ‘I’ll bring your things in. Just get yourself upstairs and undress, darling.’

‘Thank you,’ said Laura gratefully. She crawled up the steep stairs and sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling too wretched to undress. ‘I feel a bit shaky,’ she admitted when her mother came in with her holdall.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Isabel as she piled pillows. ‘You should have let me drive to the flat to fetch you.’

‘I couldn’t subject you to a journey to London and back on top of your working day!’

‘I would have managed, and it would have been a lot better for you than hobbling around on the underground in that state. Why on earth didn’t you get a taxi to Paddington?’

‘Low on cash. Don’t scold!’

Isabel put an arm round her contritely. ‘Sorry, darling. Now, totter to the bathroom for a wash while I make some tea.’

In bed later, leaning back against cool pillows, her ankle propped up on another, Laura felt a little better by the time her mother arrived with a steaming beaker and a bag of ice.

‘Are you sure you’re not concussed?’ Isabel demanded.

‘Quite sure. They told me what to watch out for at the hospital.’ Laura smiled ruefully. ‘And to make my day I ran into Edward. He’s just transferred there.’

‘No! How did that go?’

‘He wanted to come round to the flat tonight to check on me. I said no and offended him again.’

‘Never mind Edward. Drink the tea, then lie back with that ice on your face.’

Fen came rushing up the stairs a few minutes later. She exclaimed in horror when she saw Laura’s face, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Just look at you!’ she said, appalled. ‘Are you sure you haven’t broken any bones?’

‘The X-rays said not.’

‘Thank heavens for that, at least.’ Fen let out an explosive sigh. ‘I was hoping that a few layers of slap would do the trick, Laurie.’

‘I wish! You know I’d give anything to be at your wedding, but I’ll just have to be there in spirit. The face would freak out the guests even without the limp.’ Laura tried hard for flippancy, but Fen wasn’t deceived.

‘You feel rotten, poor love, don’t you?’

‘I’ll live. Is everything going smoothly up at Friars Wood?’

‘Now the family’s started arriving it’s a madhouse up there! I’m thinking of camping out in the marquee.’ Fen leaned down and very carefully kissed Laura’s uninjured cheek. ‘I’ll ring in the morning, but I’ll go now before your mother comes to throw me out. Put the ice back on that eye and concentrate on getting better.’

Laura shrugged. ‘No choice—back to work on Monday.’

‘Stuff that!’ snorted Fen.

Isabel brought up a tray later, and settled on the window-seat to make sure Laura ate the poached egg she’d agreed to.

‘Term finishes at twelve tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’ll come home to see how you are, then go back to finish up with the rest of the staff.’

‘No need for that. I’ll be fine on my own. It’s my face that’s hurt—the rest is in reasonable working order.’

Isabel looked unconvinced. ‘You need rest, my girl. I don’t suppose you can read with that eye, and television’s out right now, but I’ve got a new audio book from the library. It’s a really gruesome thriller—you’ll like it.’

Next morning Laura sat up in bed gingerly, decided she felt halfway human again, and limped downstairs before her mother could toil upstairs with her breakfast.

‘What on earth are you doing up at this hour?’ demanded Isabel.

‘Making sure you don’t run about waiting on me before you take off to school.’ Laura pulled a face. ‘I had a look in the mirror. The bruises are right down my neck now.’

‘You took quite a crack on your chin, too,’ said her mother, getting up to examine it. ‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Bearable. A couple of painkillers and a few more cups of tea will help.’

Fen rang during the morning with anxious enquiries and messages of sympathy from every member of the Dysart family.

‘Thank them for me,’ said Laura, touched. ‘Now go! Get on with being a bride, Fenella Dysart. Tomorrow is your big day, so concentrate on it and be happy.’

‘I’ll see you when we come back from Italy—we’ll have a little party!’

Time hung so heavy Laura was very glad of company by the time her mother came home from school that afternoon. But it took effort to be cheerful during the evening, knowing that both of them should have been at the pre-wedding family dinner up at Friars Wood.

‘There’s no reason why you couldn’t have gone, Mother,’ said Laura, but Isabel shook her head firmly.

‘Not without you, darling.’

Laura groaned in frustration. ‘It’s not fair that you should have to miss the fun, too.’

The wedding day dawned hot and sunny, but after an early call to the bride to wish her joy the morning was hard for Laura. It hurt to know she should have been up at Friars Wood in the thick of the Dysarts, having her face and hair done and helping with the trio of teenage bridesmaids, but, most important of all, just being there for Fen on her big day.

When Isabel came downstairs after lunch, the perfect wedding guest in a slim fawn linen dress and dashing bronze hat, she struck an exaggerated pose.

‘How do I look?’

‘Absolutely gorgeous! Off you go, or you won’t find a place to park. Take lots of photographs, and give Fen a big kiss for me.’ Laura hurried her mother to the door before either of them could get emotional, waved her out of sight, then with a sigh limped back inside to get through the long afternoon as best she could.

To kill time she washed her hair for the first time since the accident, but with a hair-dryer ruled out styling had to be restricted to gentle towelling and a very careful brush through. Afterwards Laura smoothed moisturiser into her skin, pleased that repeated applications of ice had at least reduced the swelling on the eye surrounded with arresting shades of maroon and plum. Making a face at it, she took wings of hair back from her ears, secured them on the crown of her head with a giant clip and let the rest hang down the back of her pink vest top to dry in the sun.

The garden went back a long way behind the house. In the years since the move Isabel had gradually transformed the bramble-choked wilderness into a haven of green lawn surrounded by flowering shrubs, which softened the outlines of the high laurel boundary hedges. A shallow rockery planted with alpines separated the lawn from the small, paved area outside the sitting room window, and during the morning Isabel had unfolded two director’s chairs, and put up the parasol over the picnic table there for an early salad lunch.

All morning Laura had maintained such a determinedly cheerful mood it was a relief to relax now she was alone. She found an extension lead to attach to her tape-player, filled a jug with orange juice and ice cubes, collected a glass and went outside to sit under the parasol. She propped her feet up on a stool, and, eyes closed, listened to the church bells welcoming the guests arriving to see the youngest Dysart daughter married. Her mouth tightened as she wondered if one wedding guest in particular had arrived—and if he’d come with company. Laura thrust the thought away, and when the bells stopped sent a silent message of love to the bride, switched on the tape, and concentrated fiercely until the plot absorbed her again.

She leaned back, bare legs outstretched, removed the barrette and combed her fingers through her damp hair, and then sat utterly still other than to change the tape at intervals and refill her glass. She grew so drowsy in the afternoon warmth as the hours passed that when the current tape ended she couldn’t be bothered to put in a new one.

Laura woke with a start from a restless doze and shot upright with a gasp of fright, her heart thumping madly at the sight of Domenico gazing down at her. Shaken and breathless, she shook the hair back from her incredulous face to meet blue eyes blazing with such horror she shut her own in self-defence. When she opened them again his familiar smile was firmly in place. A white gardenia adorned the lapel of a suit with the superb fit of all Domenico’s clothes, and Laura was immediately, resentfully conscious of her battered face and untidy hair, her short denim skirt long past its shelf-life, and the crowning touch of scruffy old trainers loose enough for her swollen foot.

‘Come esta, Laura,’ Domenico said gently.

She pulled herself together, trying to breathe normally. ‘Not at my best, I’m afraid,’ she said unevenly, and thrust her hair behind her ears to display the full effect of her bruises. ‘This is a surprise.’

He drew the other chair close and with a familiar ‘Permesso?’ sat down. ‘Ah, Laura!’ His voice was husky with compassion as his eyes travelled over her face. ‘Your mother told me of your fall, but I did not imagine—’

‘That I looked so scary?’

‘That you had been hurt so very badly,’ he contradicted. ‘Are you in pain still?’

‘Not pain, exactly. My face is just sore and throbs a bit. So does my ankle.’ She smiled coldly. ‘If I’d expected to frighten anyone I would have worn a mask. I bought one in Venice, remember.’

‘I do remember. And you did not frighten me,’ he assured her. ‘I feel only sympathy for your injury.’

She found that hard to swallow. ‘The worst part was missing Fen’s wedding. How did it go?’

‘It was very beautiful. But to my great disappointment you were not in the bridal party.’

‘You can see why now.’ She smiled politely. ‘It’s very kind of you to take time to visit me, but shouldn’t you be up at Friars Wood with the other guests?’

He shook his head. ‘I have been there already. I congratulated the radiant bride and her proud husband, and introduced myself to your mother.’ Domenico smiled warmly. ‘She is so much like you. I recognised her immediately.’

‘She looks good, doesn’t she?’ said Laura, thawing slightly.

‘Molto elegante,’ he agreed, and eyed her warily. ‘Mrs Dysart consulted with your mother and made a suggestion.’

Laura raised her good eyebrow. ‘What is it?’

‘She gave me champagne so that you and I may toast the bride and groom together.’ He smiled. ‘The bride thought this was an excellent idea.’

‘Did you come to the wedding alone, then?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, surprised. ‘I have rung you twice since Thursday to say I was arriving today, but your number was unobtainable.’

‘I broke my phone when I fell.’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Domenico, are you here because you feel sorry for me?’

‘No.’ His chin lifted. ‘But if you do not want me here I will leave the champagne and go.’

She turned her face away, fighting sudden tears, but after a moment she was pulled to her feet and into Domenico’s arms with her good cheek pressed to his crisp shirtfront.

‘You took off your jacket,’ she muttered, breathing in the male scent that was so bone-meltingly familiar she almost forgot she was furious with him.

‘My suit is new,’ he explained. ‘The shirt will wash.’

‘And I thought I was the practical one!’ She tried a laugh, which sounded so much more like a sob his arms tightened.

‘Piangi!’ he commanded, but having been told to cry Laura lost all desire to, and pushed him away.

‘Sorry. My emotions are a bit near the surface since the fall.’

He winced, and touched a finger to her uninjured cheek. ‘You could have done yourself such serious injury, Laura.’ He paused. ‘So. Shall I stay?’

She lifted a shoulder. ‘If you like.’

‘Then I shall fetch the champagne from the car.’

‘I’ll get some glasses.’ Laura limped into the house, and for pride’s sake took time to tie her hair back before collecting a couple of champagne flutes.

‘I feel happier with my hair under control,’ she told Domenico as she rejoined him.

He smiled a little. ‘Bene. I like you to feel happy.’

She raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Really? You were pretty cutting on the phone!’

Heat flared in his eyes. ‘You hurt me so much, Laura.’

‘You or your pride?’ she said, unmoved.

He shrugged. ‘Both. To help you I paid a very little part of your hotel bill, and in return you accuse me of paying for your body. I believed we had made beautiful love together,’ he added angrily. ‘So, yes, my pride was hurt.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘So was mine, Domenico, when I found out you’d been having a little joke with me.’

‘I have given you my reasons for that,’ he reminded her, and without spilling a drop removed the cork from the champagne, filled two glasses and handed one of them to her. ‘Now we make the toast,’ he said.

‘To Fen and Joe,’ said Laura, raising her glass.

‘To the bride and groom,’ he agreed, and raised his own. ‘Also a toast to you, Laura, with the wish that your beautiful face will soon be whole again.’

‘I’ll drink to that!’ she said dryly. ‘Though even at its best my face is hardly beautiful.’

‘It is to me,’ he said softly.

But Laura couldn’t forget Domenico’s knee-jerk reaction at first sight of it, nor the lady back in Venice somewhere. ‘It was kind of you to come,’ she said politely. ‘I was feeling pretty blue earlier on.’

‘It is very sad that you could not be at your friend’s wedding,’ he agreed. ‘When I learned that you were hurt I wanted to come here at once to see you. But I had to wait while many photographs were taken, then drive to the Dysart home to congratulate the bride and groom, also to ask your mother her permission to visit you.’ Domenico smiled. ‘She is a charming lady.’

‘That she is,’ agreed Laura. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘At an inn called the Forrester’s Arms. You know it?’

‘Yes, it’s a nice country pub with good food, but a far cry from the Forli Palace.’

‘Non importa. A change is good, yes?’

‘It will certainly be that—’ She broke off as the phone rang, and excused herself to go inside to answer it. ‘Hi, Mother.’

‘Are you all right, darling?’ asked Isabel anxiously.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Is Domenico still with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long is he staying?’

‘I don’t know. Are you ready to come home, then?’

‘Actually, Frances wants me to stay on for a while, so if you’ve still got company maybe I will.’

‘Stay as long as you like. Have fun. I’ll see you later.’ Laura put the phone down and went back to Domenico. ‘That was my mother, asking how long you’re likely to stay.’ She smiled coolly. ‘But you can go now, if you like. I’ll be fine on my own until she comes home.’

His face darkened. ‘You wish me to go?’

‘Not quite yet. First there are one or two things I want to say. As you said, it’s difficult over the phone—’ She broke off as rain began to fall and reached for the tape-player. ‘Grab your jacket and leave the rest. We’d better go inside.’

In the small sitting room Laura switched on lamps, waved Domenico to a chair and sat down on the sofa with her feet up.

‘So tell me these one or two things,’ he commanded, tearing his eyes from the length of bare brown leg on display.

‘First,’ began Laura, ‘when we became lovers I didn’t know who, or what, you were.’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It was obvious from your apartment and your clothes that you earned good money, but I took it you were in some management job at the hotel. I had no idea that you owned it.’

‘I do not own it. The hotel belongs to the Forli Group, of which I am a part because I am family,’ he said, with the air of one explaining to a child. ‘I am in charge in Venice now because my father has retired.’ He threw out his expressive hands. ‘What difference does this make?’

‘Quite a lot to me. You live among the pillars and frescoes of the Palazzo Forli or in your smart San Marco apartment overlooking the Grand Canal.’ She waved a hand at the small, crowded room. ‘I live here, or in my tiny flat in London.’

‘So? I do not understand the problem.’

Her chin went up. ‘It’s not a problem any more. When we parted that last night I was moonstruck enough to think that a relationship of some kind was possible. But now I know the facts it’s out of the question. You lied to me, Domenico.’

He sighed impatiently. ‘I did not lie, exactly. It was so good to be with someone who seemed to like me for myself, I did not tell you—’

‘That’s not the lie I’m talking about. You said there was no woman in your life, yet according to Fen’s sister, Jess Forli, there is.’ Laura’s eyes stabbed his accusingly. ‘Admit it, Domenico, you said all that nonsense about falling in love just to get me into bed. And like a fool I fell for it.’

The translucent eyes narrowed to glittering shards of ice. ‘There is no other woman in my life. And I did not lie about my feelings for you.’ He got slowly to his feet and picked up his jacket, controlled fury in every move. ‘But if you can believe such things of me you are right, Laura. There is no possibility of a relationship between us.’

‘So why did you come here today?’

He smiled scornfully. ‘Do not imagine it was to discuss this boring subject of relationships. My visit is courtesy only, because you are injured.’

‘How very kind of you,’ she managed, when she could trust her voice.

He put on his jacket, suddenly a remote, elegant stranger. ‘Allora, I must go back to the Dysart home to wish the bride and groom well before they leave for their honeymoon.’

Laura led the way into the hall to open the front door. ‘Goodbye, then. Thank you for taking time to visit me.’

‘Prego,’ he said, shrugging.

‘Wait—I almost forgot. I have something for you.’ She went back into the sitting room to search in her handbag, then returned to him, holding out an envelope.

Domenico opened it, his face stony as he saw money. ‘Grazie,’ he said savagely, and thrust the envelope in his pocket. ‘Now you owe me nothing and you can be happy, yes? But tell me, Laura, if you had such harsh things to say, why did you not accuse me of these things at once and send me away?’

She smiled at him sweetly. ‘I was bored. Your company was better than none.’

His eyes glittered with outrage for an instant, then with a graceful, insolent bow he strode off through the rain to his hired car. An Italian model, Laura noted dully. Domenico liked to maintain his image at all times and in all places.

Chapter Eight

LAURA rescued the champagne flutes, washed them and put them away, emptied the leftover wine down the kitchen sink, took some rubber boots and an umbrella from the closet, then, knowing her mother wouldn’t be long, sat slumped at the table in a cagoule to wait. When she heard the car she limped down the path as fast as she could and managed to reach it just as Isabel switched off the ignition.

‘Mother, put these boots on and leave your shoes in the car with your hat,’ ordered Laura. ‘You take the umbrella; I’ve got my hood up.’

Isabel followed her into the kitchen soon afterwards and thrust the dripping umbrella into the sink. ‘Why did Domenico leave?’

‘To speed the bride and groom on their way.’

‘He could have stayed with you a lot longer. The happy couple are dancing the night away in the marquee with everyone else. Fenny won’t leave until the band does.’

‘Of course she won’t. They’re going back to Joe’s house tonight. The real travelling starts tomorrow.’ Laura smiled bleakly. ‘Domenico was just making an excuse to get away, Mother.’

‘From you?’

‘Right.’

‘You had a quarrel?’

‘Not exactly. I just cleared the air a bit.’

Isabel dispensed with the boots and sat down at the table, motioning Laura to do the same. ‘I like Domenico.’

‘He likes you, too.’

‘He was appalled when I told him what had happened to you.’

Laura glowered. ‘Even more so when he actually laid eyes on my face!’

‘Ah. I see,’ said Isabel, enlightened.

‘I was dozing in the garden, and he woke me up. But the Prince lost the plot. He stared at Sleeping Beauty in horror instead of kissing her awake.’ Laura shrugged. ‘Only for a split second, but long enough.’

Her mother sighed. ‘So you sent him packing?’

‘Not right away. He’d brought champagne to toast Fen and Joe, and I was tired of my own company by that time, so we sat in the garden until the rain started.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘I told him a relationship between us wasn’t possible due to the difference in our circumstances—’

‘What?’

Laura quailed at the look her mother gave her. ‘Well, it isn’t, is it?’ she said defensively. ‘You should see his apartment, not to mention the Forli Palace—’

‘Stop right there. I’ve never heard such rubbish!’ Isabel jumped up to fill the kettle. ‘It’s an insult to your father and me to say you’re not good enough for Domenico Chiesa—or any other man, for that matter.’

Laura stared at her mother in dismay. ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

‘Then how did you mean it? This is the twenty-first century, Laura Green—do you want some tea?’

‘No, thanks.’

Isabel sat down at the table again, a relentless look in her eye. ‘Once you hit your teens you got this bee in your bonnet about charity. But I had no idea you felt inferior to people who possessed more in life than we do. Was that your reaction when Frances Dysart gave you generous presents for your birthday, or included you in outings with Fenny?’

‘No!’ said Laura, horrified. ‘I don’t mean that at all. The Dysarts always seemed like family to me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My school uniform was the start of it.’

‘Ah!’ Isabel slumped slightly in her chair. ‘The second-hand clothes from the school shop. They were a godsend to my bank balance. You never said you resented them, Laura.’

‘Because I knew it was a struggle for you to send me to the same school as Fen. But I loathed having clothes that someone else had worn first.’

‘Abby didn’t feel like that,’ said Isabel dryly. ‘She loved wearing your cast-offs, until she grew too tall.’

‘Ah, but my baby sister was not only clever enough to get a scholarship which paid her fees, she’s also blessed with a better nature than me.’

‘Different, not better.’

Laura frowned. ‘If school fees were a problem, how did you manage to send me on school trips to France and so on?’

‘Grandma paid. And if she were still with us she’d give you short shrift if you accused her of charity.’

‘I wouldn’t dare! But I wish I had known. I could have shown her I was grateful.’

Isabel shook her head in despair. ‘She did it to give you pleasure, not to get gratitude.’

‘Sorry!’

Isabel eyed her quizzically. ‘So let me just get this straight. You fell in love with a man you thought had an ordinary job, even though he lives in an expensive apartment, wears wonderful clothes—if his suit today was anything to go by—and takes you out to pricey meals?’

‘I insisted on paying for one of them!’

‘Of course you did,’ said her mother, resigned. ‘Anyway, now that Domenico’s revealed in his true colours, i.e. not just good-looking and charming but seriously well off, you’re no longer in love with him. Am I right so far?’

‘You make me sound like a complete fool, Mother. Which I am, of course, because I’m still hopelessly in love with him,’ said Laura miserably.

‘But because he was horrified at the sight of your face you told him to get lost.’

‘I had to get in first, in case he meant to dump me. You must have noticed that Domenico’s pretty hot on appearances! But a relationship isn’t possible between us anyway, because he’d lied to me.’

‘About his identity?’

‘Worse than that. In Venice he told me there was no woman in his life, and that he was in love with me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have—have got so involved,’ said Laura, flushing.

‘And is there some woman in his life?’

‘He says not, but Jess told Fen there is. So someone’s wrong somewhere.’

‘You didn’t tell me about this.’

‘I wanted to talk to Domenico first.’

‘And he denied it. Then what?’

‘He was pretty angry by that stage—’

‘You surprise me,’ said Isabel dryly.

‘He did the arrogant Venetian thing, and looked down his nose as he informed me that he had not come for boring discussion of our relationship, but out of courtesy because of my fall.’

‘Ouch! So what did you say to that?’

‘Not a lot. I just gave him the money he’d paid Signora Rossi.’

Isabel groaned.

‘At which point he said grazie and left. So that’s that,’ said Laura, and jumped to her feet. ‘Maybe I will have some tea after all, while you tell me all about the wedding. I bet Fen looked amazing,’ she added wistfully.

‘She certainly did. Only someone with Fenny’s lack of hips could carry off such a narrow column of satin. The girls looked a picture, and Frances had the most ravishing hat—’

Laura listened with determined attention while her mother described the clothes at the wedding, but got up when Isabel began to yawn. ‘Bed,’ she said firmly. ‘You can tell me the rest tomorrow, before I go back to London.’

‘Tomorrow! Look, darling, I can easily postpone my holiday for a while—’

‘Absolutely not. You go off to the Lakes with Janet, and by the time I see you again I’ll look less like an extra from a horror film.’

Laura kept to her plan, but with a lot less enthusiasm for the idea than she’d let on to her mother. And during her call home to report in when she got to the flat she was given the finishing touch to her day.

‘Domenico called here after I drove back from the station,’ said Isabel. ‘He was not at all pleased to hear you’re going back to work tomorrow.’

‘It’s not up to him to be pleased or not! What did he want?’

‘To see you, I imagine. We chatted for a while, then he went off to a dinner Jess and Lorenzo were giving for the family at the Chesterton, and I got on with my packing.’

‘Are you all set for the morning?’

‘Yes. I’m picking Janet up at nine.’

‘Then have a good time, both of you.’ Laura stifled a yawn. ‘Sorry. I need an early night. I’ll give you my number as soon as I get a new phone. Until then ring me here at the flat. And drive carefully.’

‘I always do. Take care of yourself, darling. If it’s too much for you in work tomorrow, take more time off.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

Laura had been fully prepared for loud exclamations about her appearance next day, not least because she was wearing tennis shoes with her black suit. The surprise was a lack of energy that affected her concentration. And the glasses she wore for computer work hurt her bruised face so much that by the end of the afternoon she was heartily glad to go home. She checked her mailbox in the lobby as usual, and found a parcel signed for by the concierge. Surprised, she took the lift to the first floor and tore the wrappings from a box that contained a mobile phone and a note.

This is not charity, Laura. It is a practical gift to wish you a swift recovery. Domenico.

Laura took out the pretty little object, smiling when she saw it came complete with all the latest bells and whistles. The gift was so obviously an olive branch she would be a fool to refuse it.

She rang Domenico before she could change her mind. ‘This is Laura.’

‘Come esta? You have just returned from your bank?’

‘Yes.’

‘Should you be working again so soon?’

‘Probably not. It was a very tiring day.’ Laura braced herself. ‘But it was a very pleasant surprise to find your gift when I got home. Thank you very much.’

There was a lengthy pause. ‘You are going to accept it?’ he said at last.

‘Yes, Domenico, I am.’ She paused, then told him the truth. ‘I thought it might alienate you completely if I sent it back. And I’d like to think we could at least be friends.’

‘I would like that very much,’ he said promptly. ‘So. When I am in London you will dine with me?’

‘Yes. I’ll even let you pay for my dinner!’

‘Then we make progress.’ He paused. ‘How is your face, Laura?’

She took a look in the mirror over the sink unit. ‘It’s starting to heal. I should be back to normal soon.’

‘Bene. Are you very tired?’

‘Not really.’ Which was true now she was talking to Domenico again. ‘It was kind of you to send the phone.’

‘I expected it back by the next post.’

‘Postage to Venice is far too expensive!’

He laughed. ‘Always the practical one.’

‘That’s me. Thank you again. Goodbye, Domenico.’

‘Ciao, Laura.’

Feeling a whole lot better, Laura stood in the shower for a while, careful to keep her hair dry rather than risk going to bed with it wet. She massaged more analgesic cream into her ankle, pulled on jeans and T-shirt, released her hair from its pins and tied it back with a length of blue ribbon. The doorbell rang while she was seeking inspiration about supper, and with a sigh she shut the fridge and lifted the receiver, hoping it wasn’t Claire or Ellie, or anyone else intent on cheering her up.

‘Yes?’

‘Let me in, Laura, per favore.’

She stared at the receiver in shock. ‘You’re not in Venice?’ she said idiotically, and Domenico laughed.

‘No, Laura. I am right here, outside your building.’

She pressed the release button in a daze, and opened her door to watch him taking the stairs, two at a time. He was wearing his wonderful leather jacket with jeans that had probably come from the same source as his suits. His glossy dark hair was a little ruffled for once, but his chin was newly shaved and Laura could have eaten him on toast. He smiled at her, looking so outrageously pleased with himself she laughed up at him with equal pleasure.

‘You said you would dine with me when I am in London,’ he said, and kissed her uninjured cheek. ‘So. Here I am.’

She closed the door behind them, eyeing him quizzically. ‘You didn’t say tonight! I was hoping to look rather more human before we met again.’

He scowled. ‘Do you really believe such things matter to me? I could not leave for Venice knowing you still believe this lie about another woman in my life!’

Laura looked up into the jewel-bright blue eyes and saw truth in them, along with something else that made her heart beat faster. ‘If you say it’s a lie I believe you.’

He moved closer. ‘There is no one. E verita, Laura. I had so much looked forward to seeing you at the wedding, and felt great shock to find you missing. And when I did see you—’

‘You were revolted. I saw the look in your eyes.’

‘This is not true! I felt only anguish that you had suffered such pain. And this also,’ he added fiercely, ‘is not a lie.’

‘Then I apologise.’

‘Grazie.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But I was not truthful about the subject of our relationship.’

‘You said it was boring,’ she reminded him.

He threw out his hands. ‘This was retaliation. I came to you to arrange our lives to spend as much time together as possible, and you accuse me of having another woman!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said penitently.

‘Bene.’ His eyes narrowed to an unsettling gleam. ‘I insist that you make this up to me.’

She smiled demurely. ‘How can I do that?’

‘You are flirting with me, Laura,’ he said, delighted. ‘You know exactly how. If you have forgotten, I will take great pleasure in showing you. But not,’ he added with deep regret, ‘until next time we meet. Tonight I am afraid to hurt you if I even kiss you.’

‘I don’t think one kiss would hurt too much,’ she whispered, and Domenico took her in his arms and laid his lips on hers with gentleness that transformed into warmth as she responded with fervour fuelled by relief that he was here and she was in his arms where she belonged. When he released her mouth at last he drew her close, careful of her injured face.

‘Tell me you are sorry for being so cruel to me,’ he commanded unevenly.

‘You got off lightly. When Fen told me you had a woman in your life I was ready to kill you,’ she said fiercely, and Domenico gave a deep-throated growl of male satisfaction.

‘You were jealous!’ He kissed her nose. ‘I like this very much.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘It was a first for me, and I hated it.’

He took a look around the small room, and tossed his jacket on a chair. ‘Come. Let us sit down together and I shall tell you why your jealousy, much as it delights me, was unnecessary.’ He drew her down on the sofa, smiling as she apologised for its size. ‘I am glad of it because we must sit very close together.’

Laura was glad, too. It was bliss to sit with Domenico’s arm round her, breathing in the scent of him. The scent she would know in the dark. ‘So why did Jess Forli think there was someone in your life?’

‘She rang me to tell me where to stay for Fenella’s wedding.’ Domenico’s arm tightened. ‘And Jess asked me, as she always does, if I had someone special in my life yet. And this time I said yes, but would not give her a name.’ He turned her face up to his. ‘I thought it best to consult you first, tesoro.’

Laura stared at him. ‘You mean it was me?’

He kissed her parted mouth fleetingly. ‘Of course it was you!’

‘I was jealous of myself?’

‘Who else would it be? I am in love with you, Laura, only you. And because you wanted to kill me,’ he added with satisfaction, ‘you are in love with me, yes?’

‘Hopelessly!’

Domenico shook his head. ‘Our situation is not hopeless at all, innamorata.’

‘It was after you stormed out of my house the day of the wedding!’

His eyes kindled. ‘I came to comfort you, and you accused me of lies and threw money at me. What man would not be angry?’

‘Sorry, Domenico,’ she said, so meekly he laughed and tugged on her hair.

‘So meek and mild, but I know better.’ He raised her hand to his lips, then stood up and pulled her with him. ‘Now, tell me where we can dine. I am hungry.’

Laura shook her head firmly. ‘I’m not going out like this.’ She grinned. ‘I do a great omelette—remember?’

‘I will never forget. And I will enjoy another very much.’ He took her in his arms and rubbed his cheek against her hair. ‘I am hungry for so much more than food, Laura, but I am afraid to hurt you.’

She tipped her head back to look at him. ‘It didn’t hurt when you kissed me. And my ankle doesn’t hurt when I’m lying down.’

Domenico’s breathing quickened. ‘You mean this?’

‘With all my heart,’ she assured him breathlessly, and smiled into his blazing eyes as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

He undressed her as though he were unwrapping a priceless gift, and made love to her with exquisite gentleness that was just as rapturous in its own way as the heat and passion of the first time. And later, after sharing a vast omelette with her, Domenico made it clear to Laura that in future their lives must be arranged to allow as much time together as humanly possible.

‘If you love me, carissima,’ he said as he finally left her, ‘come to me in Venice very soon.’

‘I do, and I will,’ she promised, and stood on tiptoe for one last kiss.

The surprise visit from Domenico did more for Laura’s face and frame of mind than any medication. Within days her face was less painful, soon she was able to disguise her fading bruises with cosmetics, and there were no more problems with concentration during her working day. She received postcards from Abby in France, from her mother in the Lakes, and the newlyweds in Italy, but her regular phone calls from Domenico were the highlights of her days. She was so much happier with life it caused comment on the trading floor at the bank, with demands about who was the lucky guy.

‘I wondered why he wanted your London address,’ said her mother, when she heard the phone was a present from Domenico. ‘If you’ve kept it I take it things are more cordial between you now?’

‘Much more. He came to see me and explained a few things.’

‘Did he, indeed? I take it there is no lady in his life?’

‘Other than me, no. So I’m off to Venice again once I can get more time off. I shan’t need a hotel; I’ll stay with Domenico in his apartment.’

‘Well, well, things are more cordial.’

‘He rings me up a lot to make sure they stay that way. How’s Janet?’

‘She’s wearing me out. I haven’t done so much walking in years.’

Laura laughed. ‘You’ll be fit as a fiddle by the time you come home. And Abby’s obviously having a ball in France by her postcards. I’m glad. She deserves it.’

Domenico was unable to leave Venice again at the height of the tourist season, and Laura, wanting more than a snatched weekend break, had to wait until the middle of September before she could take more time off from the bank. In the meantime she’d been home to Stavely for a celebration dinner to mark the newlyweds’ return and admire the wedding presents, and Isabel and Abby had come to London for a day so that the three of them could hit the shops together to stock Abby up for college.

‘At last!’ exclaimed Domenico, when Laura told him her flight was booked. ‘I am tired of waiting. It is a very long time since we were together.’

Laura could have told him to the minute just how long. ‘Can you keep the entire week free?’

‘Every second of it, carissima. Is your face truly healed now?’

‘Like new,’ she assured him.

‘Ah, Laura, now that my time of waiting is nearly over I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again.’

‘Just two more weeks,’ she said huskily.

‘I will be waiting at Marco Polo.’

‘In a less impatient mood than last time, I hope!’

He laughed softly. ‘I shall be even more impatient to rush you to a boat again, but this time to a water taxi, for the fastest journey possible to my apartment.’

By which, thought Laura happily, Domenico meant to make love to her the moment they were through his door. With this in mind she went on a shopping expedition with money her mother had given her from her windfall, and spent a shamelessly large part of it on underwear.

Laura went down to Stavely regularly, but during one weekend she’d stayed in the flat the doorbell rang while she was enjoying the luxury of a late breakfast with the Sunday papers.

‘It’s me,’ said a hoarse little voice through the intercom. ‘Let me in, please.’

‘Abby?’ Laura pressed the release button and opened the door to see her sister creeping up the stairs in such obvious pain she flew down to help her. ‘What on earth’s the matter, love? Have you hurt yourself? Where’s Mother?’

When her only answer was a visceral groan, Laura put an arm round Abby’s waist and helped her up to the flat. ‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ she said urgently.

‘Bathroom,’ gasped Abby, and staggered through the door Laura opened for her.

When she heard anguished groans Laura disregarded her frantic pleas for privacy and went in after Abby, her practical side taking over when it dawned on her what was happening. She soaked a hand towel in cold water to bathe Abby’s sweating face, and unable to help in any other way, held her sister’s hand until the inexorable process was over. She turned on the shower and helped the shocked, sobbing girl out of her clothes, and when Abby was clean and dry wrapped her in a dressing gown and made her lie on the bed to recover.

Laura went to the kitchen to make tea, but Abby slid off the bed to follow her, looking at her with huge reddened eyes, her face ashen beneath its suntan.

‘I’m sorry about landing you with this,’ she said unsteadily.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Laura firmly. ‘The important thing right now is to get you to a hospital—’

‘No,’ wailed Abby, sounding more like eight than eighteen.

‘I’m afraid you must, love. Don’t worry, the hospital’s quite near. I’ll give you something to wear, then I’ll ring Mother and bring her up to speed.’

‘Don’t do that!’ said Abby frantically. ‘I don’t want her to know.’

‘Of course she must know,’ said Laura gently. ‘Where does she think you are now?’

‘Out for the day with Rachel.’

‘And where does Rachel think you are?’

‘Up here for the day with you.’

‘You were taking a chance!’

‘I was desperate,’ sobbed Abby.

Laura put a comforting arm round her. ‘Don’t cry. I know you feel rough, but get these clothes on, love. The taxi should be here any minute.’

With a feeling of déjà vu Laura reported at Reception in the A & E department, but Abby keeled over while they were taking her details, which meant that she was wheeled away immediately. While her sister was examined Laura rang her mother, who took the news on the chin and said she would start out at once for the flat, in case Abby was allowed out of hospital before she got there.

On her way back to her sister Laura’s heart sank when a familiar white-coated figure came striding towards her.

‘Laura! Is something wrong?’ demanded Edward Lassiter.

Not with me, she thought glumly. ‘I’m fine. I’m just here with someone.’

His hazel eyes studied her face closely. ‘Your face has healed well. It was a hell of a shock to see you covered in contusions.’

‘It was to me, too,’ she said dryly.

‘Could we meet for a drink some time?’ he asked in an undertone, but before Laura could answer his name was called urgently. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he promised as he hurried away.

When Laura got back to Abby it wrung her heart to see her lively, clever young sister lying like a marble effigy in the bed. ‘Hi,’ she said, more cheerfully than she felt. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Not so hot.’ Abby tried to smile. ‘But at least I don’t need a surgical procedure. They’re giving me some drug. I’ll be discharged this evening at the latest.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Have you rung Ma?’

‘Yes. She’s on her way.’

‘Oh, God!’ The amber eyes shut tight in anguish for a moment then opened to look straight into Laura’s. ‘I didn’t do anything to make this happen, but I wanted to. I came to ask you how to get a termination.’

Laura went cold. ‘Not something I’m clued up about, I’m afraid.’

Abby swallowed hard. ‘A good thing nature did it for me, then. I was up at the crack of dawn to walk to Chepstow to catch the London coach, but I was in the underground from Victoria when I started getting these awful cramps. I thought maybe the pregnancy test was wrong and it was just the usual thing. But on the way to the flat I realised it was more than that and I really panicked, thinking I’d never make it before…’ She dissolved into bitter, painful sobs, and Laura bent to kiss her as she mopped her up.

‘Don’t, love. You got to me in time, thank God.’

‘And you just took over without a fuss.’ Abby sniffed hard. ‘You were great, sis. Thank you.’

Laura braced herself. ‘Can I ask who’s responsible?’

‘I am.’ The drawn young face turned mulish. ‘I made a big mistake.’

‘It takes two, love.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Tears started again, and Laura patted her sister’s hand reassuringly.

‘I’ll go back to wait for Mother, and then we’ll both come to collect you later. Are you all right with that?’

Abby nodded miserably. ‘Sorry I made such a mess of things.’

‘Don’t think like that.’ Laura gave her sister a fierce look. ‘Now, listen to me, Abigail Green. You put this behind you, go off to Trinity next month, and just get on with your life.’

Domenico rang as Laura was letting herself into the flat. ‘How are you, tesoro?’

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, wishing she could let him into Abby’s sad little secret. ‘How are you?’

‘I am well, but you sound tired, amore.’

‘I’ve had things to do. Mother and Abby will be with me soon for a visit,’ said Laura, needing to tell him at least part of the truth.

‘You will enjoy that. Please give your mother my regards. Even on such brief acquaintance I find her most simpatica.’

‘You’ve hardly known me any longer.’

‘Long enough to know that you and I are meant for each other. Per sempre,’ he added, in a tone that buckled her knees.

‘Forever?’

‘Yes, Laura, forever. When you come to me I shall take great pleasure in convincing you of this!’

Later that night, after Abby had been settled in bed at the flat, Laura ordered her exhausted, wrung-out mother to sit still while she made supper. ‘Just sit there on the sofa and I’ll wait on you.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, darling, but I don’t feel very hungry.’

‘I know, but you must eat something,’ said Laura firmly. ‘Abby’s agreed to some soup, and I’ll whip up a couple of my special omelettes.’

Isabel straightened her shoulders. ‘You’re right. I’ll need all the energy I can get when I go home. Abby will heal quickly enough physically, but I’ll have to watch that she gets over it mentally, too.’

‘University will help with that.’

‘Practical Laura, as always! And thank God you are, darling. This can’t have been a pleasant experience for you.’

‘It was a lot worse for Abby.’ Laura shook her head in wonder. ‘She hiked to Chepstow to catch the London coach this morning.’

‘Over three miles in that condition! And I thought she was off to the Kents for a day out with Rachel.’ Isabel looked at Laura in despair. ‘Why didn’t she tell me what was wrong?’

‘Look at it from her point of view,’ said Laura gently. ‘Up to now Abby’s been the perfect daughter, never a moment’s trouble of any kind. Then this happened. She obviously felt she’d ruined your life as well as hers.’

‘I can see your point,’ sighed Isabel. ‘But what on earth made her trek all the way to London to see you?’

‘She wanted my support,’ said Laura, sparing her mother the real reason. She frowned. ‘I haven’t heard about any boyfriend. I asked who was responsible but she wouldn’t say. Any ideas?’

‘Not a clue.’ Isabel thrust an agitated hand through her hair. ‘She spends the night at the Kents’ house sometimes, and Rachel comes to us, and they both go to parties and out with friends. But Abby tends to frighten boys off because she’s so clever. I shouldn’t have let her work at the café,’ she added despairingly. ‘She must have met someone there.’

‘Perhaps she’ll tell you tomorrow.’

‘If she wouldn’t tell you, I doubt it.’ Isabel looked at her daughter with sudden compunction. ‘This was a lot for you to cope with on your own. I’m so sorry, darling.’

‘Don’t be.’ Laura smiled reassuringly. ‘You and Abby can stay here until she feels better. Then you just say you’ve both spent a few days in London with me, and no one need know a thing about it back in Stavely.’

‘Do you think I care a damn about that?’ said Isabel fiercely.

‘No. But Abby obviously does, quite desperately, so we’ll just have to respect that.’ Laura’s eyes glittered malevolently. ‘This morning, when it was all happening, I could have killed the man who put her through this, whoever he is.’

‘Laura, please ask her again. Abby will find it easier to tell you than me,’ said Isabel urgently. ‘All the way up in the car I kept thinking about rape. I need to know.’

Laura heated some soup and made fingers of toast, and took a tray into her bedroom, prepared to feed Abby if necessary. But, with the resilience of youth, particularly one who hadn’t eaten since the evening before, the invalid confessed to feeling hungry.

‘I must have a really shallow nature to want food after—after all that,’ she said as Laura stacked pillows behind her.

‘Sensible, not shallow. You need nourishment. And I open a pretty damn fine tin of soup, if I do say so myself.’

Having won a weak smile from the invalid, Laura went back to the kitchen to make the promised omelettes, pleased when her mother obediently ate hers.

During the meal Isabel suggested Laura shared her bed with Abby. ‘I’ll take the sofa. I’m hoping she might confide in you.’

‘Or she might get so upset neither of us will sleep a wink.’

‘I know. It’s a lot to ask of you, darling, but I can’t rest until I know what happened. I’ll take some tea to her in a minute.’

Isabel looked stricken when she returned.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Laura.

‘Abby was so openly relieved about the sleeping arrangements.’

It was late by the time both Laura’s house guests had been settled for the night, and she was tired when she slid carefully into bed beside her sister.

‘I’m told I don’t snore, so you should be able to sleep.’

Abby sighed. ‘I don’t expect to sleep much, Laurie—how do you know you don’t snore?’

‘Domenico told me.’

‘You’ve slept with him, then?’

‘Yes.’

Silence for a while.

‘Did you actually like it?’ blurted Abby. ‘The sex, I mean?’

Careful, thought Laura. ‘I’m very much in love with him. There were feelings and emotions involved. It wasn’t just sex.’

‘Well, if that’s all it takes to get pregnant I’m never going to have sex again, ever,’ said Abby bitterly.

‘It was just the once, then?’

‘Once was enough!’

‘Look, Abby, please tell me who it was. Mother’s desperately worried.’

‘I can’t!’

‘She thinks you were raped.’

Abby swallowed audibly. ‘It depends on what you mean by rape. I wasn’t attacked with a knife held to my throat, or anything. I thought he wanted a goodnight kiss or two, and I was up for that. Am I stupid, or what? A few French kisses, a lot of groping and bingo! He was in a real state afterwards, because it was my first time and he hurt me.’ She gave a sarcastic little laugh. ‘My virginity was such a surprise it knocked him for six. Anyway, he said I needn’t worry about catching anything, and made a joke about jail-bait—’ She stopped dead.

‘And he’d know all about that, of course, because he’s a lawyer!’ Laura’s hands clenched. ‘He also happens to be your best friend’s brother, and you’re very fond of Mrs Kent.’

‘You can see why I didn’t want anyone to know,’ said Abby despairingly. ‘Will you tell Ma it was Marcus?’

‘No, you will. She needs to know. But don’t worry. If you want it kept secret it will be. I suppose it happened the night he took you to the concert?’

‘Yes, but it rained so much we went back to his car before the end. I was wearing the T-shirt you gave me, with my new miniskirt, and I was flattered because he was so complimentary. On the way home he stopped the car in a lane and—’

‘I can fill in the rest. Bastard!’ said Laura fiercely.

‘No, he’s not. He’s actually very nice. But he’s so much older than me I just never dreamed he’d fancy me like that.’

Laura pictured her long-legged sister in the scarlet T-shirt and brief skirt and knew exactly why Marcus Kent had fancied her. ‘Mother will be relieved in one way, at least, and no one else will ever know. You can go off to college and forget it ever happened.’

Abby gave a cynical laugh. ‘At least Mother won’t have to worry about me in that way when I’m up at Trinity. I’ll never let a man near me again.’

Laura reached for her hand. ‘Accidents can still happen, Abby. Take a leaf out of my book and get sorted out with contraceptive pills a.s.a.p.’

Chapter Nine

WHEN Laura arrived home from work the following evening she found Abby and her mother packed and ready to leave.

‘So soon?’ she said, surprised.

‘Ma needs to get back to school,’ said Abby. ‘She refuses to let me sleep on the sofa, and I’m sure I’m keeping you awake, sis, so I’ve persuaded my chauffeur to drive me home.’

‘It’s best all round,’ said Isabel. ‘Abby will be happier in her own bed, with her own things around her.’

‘I can pretend everything’s back to normal,’ said Abby sardonically.

Laura looked her in the eye. ‘Everything, as you put it, could be a whole lot worse.’

Abby flushed. ‘I know. You’ve been a real star, Laura, and I am grateful, honestly. It’s just—’

‘I know. You’ve had a very sobering experience and you’re feeling low. Your hormones have taken a bashing, remember. And you look very peaky—all eyes. How do you feel? Really?’

‘A bit wishy-washy, but I’ll live.’

‘Abby’s worried about seeing Rachel and her family,’ explained Isabel. ‘But she must carry on as usual. The Kents were kind enough to take her to France with them, after all.’

‘Just make sure you’re otherwise engaged when Marcus is home,’ said Laura, eyes kindling.

‘Don’t worry, he won’t want a replay,’ said Abby. ‘It was a one-off, in every sense of the word. Just thinking about it gives me the shivers. But as long as no one knows about it I can cope. So don’t you dare tell Fenny.’

‘Not a word.’ Laura turned to her mother. ‘And how are you feeling?’

Isabel smiled ruefully. ‘A bit arthritic! That sofa of yours makes a very uncomfortable bed.’

‘You should have swapped with me,’ said Abby impatiently.

‘You’re a lot taller than I am. Right, then, sweetheart, the traffic should have calmed down a bit so let’s make a start. You can go straight to bed when we get home.’

Abby hugged Laura, suddenly tearful. ‘Come down again soon.’

‘I will. Now, eat properly, take it easy, and get yourself fit for next month.’ Laura turned to her mother. ‘And you take care of yourself, too. You’re the only mother we’ve got.’

‘Tough as old boots, me,’ said Isabel cheerfully. ‘I did some shopping this afternoon, to make sure you had a meal tonight, Laura. Goodbye, darling. I’ll ring as soon as we get home.’

Laura went down to the basement car park to see them off, then went back up to the flat, which felt very quiet and empty now she was alone. Her only consolation was the thought that in less than ten days she would be in Venice with Domenico.

Fate decreed otherwise. The following week an epidemic of summer flu hit the bank and Laura, one of the few not to succumb, was asked to postpone her holiday until staff shortages were less acute. Bitterly disappointed, she rang Domenico that evening and told him her trip was off for the time being.

‘Cosa?’ he said explosively. ‘Laura, how can you do this to me? I have been counting the days.’

‘So have I,’ she assured him huskily. ‘I’ll come as soon as I can, I promise. I’m disappointed, too. I’m so sorry, Domenico…’ She sniffed hard.

‘Ah, carissima, forgive me. I know it is not your fault. Do not cry. It gives me much pain when it is not possible to hold you in my arms and kiss away your tears…’ Domenico went on talking, his voice huskier and his accent pronounced as he told her a great many gratifying things that made her feel a lot better by the time they said goodnight.

Laura felt even better the following evening. She arrived at the flat late after an extra-hard day in work, feeling depressed because she should have been flying to Venice next day. While she was considering her options of a swim in the pool or a hot bath with a book as the evening’s entertainment Domenico rang, two hours earlier than usual.

‘Come esta, Laura?’

‘Tired. I’ve just come in. It was a long, long day. How are you?’

‘I am very pleased with myself.’

Laura chuckled. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘I cannot wait for more weeks before I see you. I am flying to Heathrow on Friday and I shall stay at my usual hotel. I have some business to attend to during the afternoon, but for the rest of the weekend I shall be free. I have booked a double room. Share it with me, tesoro. We shall have time together, but in London instead of Venice.’

Laura’s eyes widened in delight. ‘Domenico, what a wonderful idea! I’d love it. I live in London but I’ve never stayed in a hotel here.’

‘Then come to me straight from your bank on Friday.’

Laura paid off the taxi in the forecourt of the famous hotel, glowing with anticipation as she took out her phone. ‘I’m here,’ she said when Domenico answered.

‘Amore! At last. Hurry!’

He gave her his room number, and Laura crossed the palatial lobby to the lifts, her excitement mounting as she watched the floor numbers flash by. When the lift arrived at his floor Domenico was standing in the open doorway to his room, arms flung wide in welcome. Laura ran into them and they closed about her tightly for a moment before he turned her face up to his.

‘I look a bit better now,’ she said breathlessly.

Domenico put her bag on the floor and closed the door, his eyes moving over her face like a caress. ‘You are perfect.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘If you want perfect I’m the wrong woman.’

He shook his head. ‘You are the right woman—the only woman—for me, Laura.’

‘Then why aren’t you kissing me?’

He seized her in his arms, rubbing his cheek against her hair. ‘I am afraid to hurt you, tesoro.’

Laura reached up to lock her hands behind his neck. ‘The only way to hurt me is to refuse to kiss me!’

Their lips met with a relishing sigh of pleasure, but instead of devouring her as Laura had half expected Domenico pressed a series of gentle kisses over the healed part of her face before returning to her mouth. When her lips parted in eager response his tongue became urgent, and her heart began to pound as he held her close against his own heartbeat, which accelerated as their kisses grew wilder and breathing grew laboured, until suddenly Domenico let her go, breathing raggedly.

‘I waited here instead of coming down to meet you, so that I would not shock other guests by making love to you in the foyer,’ he said unevenly. ‘Scusa, tesoro, I have not even said words of welcome.’

‘You made me feel very welcome without them,’ she assured him breathlessly, and smiled. ‘But also very warm.’

‘Then I will take this off.’ He undid the buttons on her black jacket and slid it from her shoulders. ‘You are very elegant, Laura.’

She smiled demurely. ‘I thought the occasion—and this hotel—demanded it, so I changed into a dress at work before I left. Is it suitable to go down to dinner?’

‘It is delightful,’ he said, surveying the clinging caramel jersey. ‘But we are not going down to dinner. We shall make use of Room Service if this is agreeable to you,’ he added, his eyes glinting.

She smiled radiantly. ‘Very agreeable!’

Domenico laid her jacket on the bed and took her hand to lead her to a large chair near the window. He sat down and drew her onto his lap, cradling her against his shoulder. ‘So tell me about your family. Are they well?’

Yes, thank God, thought Laura. ‘Mother’s back in school and Abby’s getting ready for Cambridge.’

‘She will enjoy the student life, you think? It must be hard for your mother to part with her.’

‘She’ll find the house very quiet for a while, but I go down there at weekends whenever I can.’

‘Does your mother know you are here with me this weekend?’

‘Of course.’ Laura smiled up at him. ‘My feelings for you are no secret.’

‘I am very happy to hear this.’ He turned her face up to his to kiss her. ‘We must have no more secrets between us, yes?’

‘You were the one with the secret, not me!’

‘You will never let me forget this,’ he said, resigned, and stroked a finger down her cheek. ‘Is there some way I can make it up to you?’

‘I’ll try to think of one.’

‘I could do this,’ he said, and kissed her fingers one by one. ‘Or this.’ He trailed his mouth down her cheek and throat, causing shivers down her spine. ‘You are cold?’

‘No, I’m hot,’ she said breathlessly. ‘What else can you do?’

Domenico set her on her feet and stood up. ‘I can give you two choices. I ring for dinner now, or I take you to bed and we eat later.’

Laura gave him a smile that made him blink. ‘That’s no choice. I vote for bed.’

He crushed her to him. ‘Ti amo, Laura.’

She gazed up at him, remembering Fen’s confidences. ‘I love you too, so much it hurts.’

Domenico’s eyes blazed. ‘Then show me, amore.’

Keeping her eyes on his, Laura backed away and reached behind her to undo her zip. Domenico made a move to help her, but she shook her head, smiling, watching his eyes dilate as she stepped out of the dress wearing outrageously provocative scraps of lace-edged nude chiffon so sheer her nipples were clearly visible as they hardened in response to the heat in his eyes. With a growl he scooped her up to lay her on the bed, his lips and tongue caressing her through the fabric as his fingers slid up her thigh to find the heat pulsing behind the triangle of chiffon that grew damp as he found the small, erect bud beneath it.

‘Domenico!’ she gasped, writhing under the caress, and he tore himself away to strip off his clothes. He kissed her knees, then gently parted them to lie between her thighs as he pressed kisses all over her face and down her throat, pausing for a moment in the hollow between her breasts before he renewed his attentions to the thinly veiled nipples that were so sensitive to the touch Laura could hardly bear it. She reached out a questing hand to retaliate, but he closed his fingers round her wrist.

‘Touch me and I am lost,’ he panted, and laid a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her quivering body. He peeled the damp scrap of chiffon away at last, to replace it with his lips and seeking tongue, and Laura gasped and clutched at his hair, and Domenico slid back up her body and entered it with a sure, triumphant thrust she felt in every part of her as his eyes blazed down into hers. She smiled into them, tightening inner muscles around him in response, and he kissed her deeply, gripping her hip bones as they moved together, their mutual arousal so intense the orgasm they experienced almost in unison left them shaken and speechless, clutching each other for support as the throbbing died away.

At last Domenico raised his head to smile down into Laura’s face, smoothing damp tendrils of hair from her face. ‘What are you thinking, tesoro?’

Laura shook her head, her eyes still dazed. ‘I never dreamed that sex could be like that, Domenico.’

‘But it is not just sex for us,’ he said huskily. ‘It is my heart making love to your heart. Or is that too romantic for my practical Laura?’

She shook her head. ‘From anyone else it would be, but from you, no, Domenico.’

‘That is good. But do not talk of anyone else! You are mine.’ He kissed her possessively by way of emphasis. ‘And to show I can also be practical, what would you like to eat?’

‘That means you’re hungry, not practical!’

‘A man must eat,’ he said, and slid his hands behind her to unhook the bra she’d forgotten she was wearing. He tossed it aside and bent to kiss each hard little peak, but then drew back regretfully, shaking his head. ‘We must eat before we love again.’

‘And you can’t get more practical than that,’ she teased, revelling in Domenico’s reaction when she sat up and deliberately arched her back as she took the escaping pins from her hair.

‘The eating can be postponed,’ he warned, his eyes darkening, but when he reached for her she laughed and scooted across the broad bed to stand at the far side, shaking her hair down like a scarf to act as cover. ‘My Botticelli Venus!’ exclaimed Domenico, but Laura shook her head.

‘I’m real, not a painting, and I want a shower before we eat. Do you have a dressing gown I can borrow?’

Later, wrapped in white towelling robes provided by the hotel, they shared lobster and strawberries, drank a little of the celebration champagne Domenico had ordered and talked non-stop, telling each other everything that had happened in the time spent apart.

‘It is a pity you could not come to Venice,’ said Domenico, feeding Laura a strawberry. ‘My parents want so much to meet you.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘I have met with your mother,’ he pointed out.

‘I know, but—’

‘Does she like me?’

‘Well, yes, she does, but—’

‘And my parents will like you,’ he informed her. ‘They invite you to their house in Umbria next time you come.’

‘But, Domenico—’

‘You are very fond of this word ‘‘but’’,’ he said, and leaned over to kiss her. ‘I have told my parents about you, so naturally they wish to meet you.’

Laura eyed him apprehensively. ‘What, exactly, have you told them?’

‘That I have met this beautiful young lady who looks like a princess from a fairy tale with her long golden hair, and who works in banking in London’s Docklands. They were most impressed, also very happy for me.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Since Alessa I have shown no interest in commitment, you understand.’

‘Commitment?’

‘Is it so frightening a word?’ He stroked a fingertip down her cheek. ‘I am very much in love with you, Laura. These stolen moments together are sweet but not enough for me. I want you in my life all the time.’

Laura’s mind went round in circles as she watched Domenico load the trolley and push it outside the door. What did he mean by ‘all the time’?

‘You do that very expertly,’ she commented as he rejoined her on the bed.

‘It is no surprise that I do. My father was a hard taskmaster. In vacations from college I worked in the hotel kitchens, carried luggage to rooms, waited on tables once I was considered fit to do so, acted as barman, receptionist.’ He threw out his hands. ‘I did not change beds or clean rooms, but otherwise I have done most things.’

She picked up one of the slim, beautiful hands. ‘Yet this looks as though it’s never done more than sign your name.’

He shrugged. ‘You may call it vanity, but it is a matter of pride for me to look as good as I can.’

‘Then you can understand my feelings when you surprised me in scruffy old clothes in the garden, with my hair hanging down!’

‘It is hanging down right now.’

‘That’s different.’

He frowned. ‘You are changing the subject, Laura. You do not want to be with me all the time?’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I do. But the cautious, practical side of me says we haven’t known each other long enough to make plans of that kind.’

Domenico raised her up against the stacked pillows and sat cross-legged, facing her. ‘So. How long must we know each other before you will come to me? Weeks, months? You are little more than a child, of course—’

‘I’m twenty-three!’

‘But I am thirty-four. Until I met you I did not miss a woman’s presence in my life. But now my apartment feels empty without you. So does my life.’ He moved nearer, his eyes intent on hers. ‘It is a waste of valuable time to spend so much of it apart, amore.’

‘I know, but it would be a very big step for me to take.’

‘You would be sad to leave your mother and sister,’ he said, nodding. ‘But Venice is not far. They could fly to see you as often as they wish.’

‘What sort of timescale do you have in mind?’

‘In January I usually take a skiing holiday.’ He smiled persuasively. ‘It can be our honeymoon.’

Laura’s eyes widened. ‘You mean you want to marry me?’

In one lithe movement Domenico was beside her. He took her in his arms, smiling into her startled eyes. ‘Is this so great a surprise? Should I have served a diamond ring with the lobster to convince you?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘I’m surprised because you told me that Alessa had put you right off marriage.’

‘This was true. Then you came to Venice and changed my mind—and my heart!’

She kissed him fervently by way of thanks then frowned suddenly. ‘Are you a Catholic, Domenico?’

‘Yes, though not as devout as my mother would wish.’

‘Then this could be a problem.’

He shrugged. ‘I would not ask you to change your own faith, Laura, though our children would naturally be raised in mine.’

‘Whoa!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Not so fast. Let’s sort ourselves out before we go on to the subject of children.’

Domenico leaned back against the stacked pillows, holding Laura close. ‘Now we are comfortable to do this sorting out.’

‘First of all,’ she began, determined to be practical, ‘we haven’t known each other long.’

‘This may be a problem for you, amore, but it is not for me.’ He turned her face up to his to kiss her. ‘So what is the second problem?’

‘Your religion looks on marriage as permanent—no divorce allowed.’

‘Divorce will not be a problem for us,’ Domenico assured her. ‘Once you are my wife I will never let you go.’

Ninety per cent of Laura was thrilled to bits with this declaration. But ten per cent warned that it was only sensible to get to know each other better before burning her boats so finally. ‘I want very much to marry you one day, Domenico—’

‘But,’ he said, resigned. ‘You like this word too much,’ he said again.

She looked at him squarely. ‘If we rush things you might regret it, and feel trapped in a marriage you no longer want. And because we are both human and fallible and come from different cultures this might well happen—’

‘And we could both grow wings and fly to the moon, but none of this will happen,’ interrupted Domenico, and kissed her fiercely. ‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘No more buts.’ He kissed her again. ‘Because I adore you, Laura mia, I will give you a little time to get used to the idea, but not too much. I am not a patient man.’

‘I noticed that the first time we met,’ she said dryly.

He smiled and threaded his hands through her hair. ‘I saw a young girl in a white sunhat and dark glasses which hid her face, and instead of recognising my fate felt only relief because the tourist I had been ordered to meet arrived on time.’

‘Ordered?’

‘Lorenzo can be very imperious! I was not pleased to take time from a very unpleasant situation to meet Fenella’s friend. But later that night, when I met you at Florian’s, I was very pleased indeed, and most grateful to my cousin,’ he assured her, and caressed her earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

She gave a little shiver and wriggled closer. ‘I certainly didn’t think you were my fate at Marco Polo, even if you were the best-looking man I’d ever met.’

‘You thought that?’ he said, delighted.

‘Oh, yes. And that was before I saw the eyes behind the sunglasses. Those baby blues of yours pack quite a punch, Domenico Chiesa!’

‘If they attracted you to me I thank God for it,’ he said fervently.

‘What was the situation that made you so impatient to get rid of me?’ she asked curiously.

‘A guest at the hotel had accused one of the cleaners of stealing a valuable ring, and I had to leave the problem unresolved to go to Marco Polo.’

‘Ah, I see. What happened when you got back?’

‘During my absence the guest had found her ring. Her husband was very embarrassed. He offered money to Anna, but with much dignity she refused.’

‘Good for her! Does she still work for you?’

‘Of course. She is very loyal.’

‘And she trusted you to be loyal to her?’

Domenico nodded gravely. ‘Trust yourself to me in the same way, amante, and I swear I will never give you cause to regret it.’

Laura put her arms round his neck. ‘If I do marry you—’

‘When you marry me,’ he corrected.

‘What will I do with myself? I’m used to working. You know I love your apartment, but I can’t just sit there all day twiddling my thumbs until you come home.’

‘If you wish you could work in the hotel with me.’ He smiled in sudden inspiration. ‘You can lighten my workload and be my very own personal assistant.’

‘Sounds tempting, but there’s a language problem, remember? I learnt a little Italian in school but I’m far from fluent,’ she warned, secretly rather thrilled with the idea.

‘You can take more lessons during this time that you are making me wait.’ Domenico drew her into his arms. ‘But I can teach you the most important words right now. Say after me. Ti amo, Domenico.’

‘Ti amo, Domenico,’ she repeated fervently. ‘Ti amo per sempre.’

Chapter Ten

AFTER a lavish breakfast with Domenico next morning Laura made a proposition that surprised him.

‘It must cost an arm and a leg here,’ she said, refilling their coffee-cups. ‘How would you like to spend the rest of your stay in my flat? Think of the money it would save.’

Domenico’s eyebrows rose. ‘You would prefer this?’

‘Yes. How about you?’

He shrugged, smiling. ‘To be with you is all I desire, Laura—it matters little where we are. You wish to go now?’

‘Yes, because we need to go shopping for food. You don’t have to come with me for that,’ she added.

‘You know that I enjoy shopping with you, tesoro.’

‘But that was in Venice. You’ll find it a bit different in Bow!’

‘I will enjoy it just the same. But first give me the pleasure of watching you dress.’ Domenico smiled at her look of surprise. ‘I would consider this a great privilege.’

Laura found it oddly erotic to put on underwear, even the less provocative kind she normally wore, with Domenico’s eyes following the process. Her colour high, she put on a fresh white shirt and the tailored black trouser suit she’d worn to work the previous day. Her fingers were all thumbs as she coiled her hair up, but at last she did her face and slid her feet into her shoes. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Done.’

‘You wear these clothes to the bank?’ said Domenico, getting up.

‘Yes.’

‘Then now I understand why you are Ice Maiden.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘I think this severe look is very sexy, tesoro, and want to kiss much more than your hand. But if I do, this robe will shed its whiteness all over your suit.’

‘You could take it off,’ she said, then fended him off, laughing, as he promptly tossed the robe on the floor and snatched her in his arms. ‘No, Domenico, please, or I’ll have to start all over again.’

When the taxi deposited them outside Laura’s building later Domenico took their luggage into the lift and once the doors closed on them kissed her as though they’d been parted for months.

‘It is a whole hour since I did that,’ he said when they reached her floor.

‘We need to go shopping for food,’ Laura reminded him breathlessly, and Domenico frowned.

‘Then I should have kept the taxi. I have no car this time.’

‘We walk,’ she informed him, and grinned at his look of dismay. ‘A couple of carrier bags should be a doddle with those skier’s muscles of yours.’

‘A doddle? What is that?’

‘It means it should be very easy for you.’

‘I shall do whatever you want,’ he assured her. ‘But first I wish to unpack my clothes.’

‘Nice to know where your priorities lie!’ she teased, laughing.

It was a surprisingly intimate process to make room among her own clothes for Domenico’s. When the contents of his suit bag hung in the wardrobe and the rest of his clothes were folded away in drawers with hers, Laura turned to meet a look in his eyes that told her the feeling was mutual. He held out his arms and she leaned into them, but after a few moments Domenico sighed deeply, kissed her forehead and gently pushed her away.

‘Now we buy this food, yes?’

‘Yes.’

It was a bright, sunny day, with a sharp, autumnal edge to it, and Laura felt so happy she wanted to sing as Domenico held her hand on the walk to the supermarket. But once they started filling a shopping trolley she had to remind him constantly that her storage space was limited and her refrigerator small. Brushing aside her protests, he insisted on buying an expensive Italian coffee machine to make the Italian coffee he found.

‘The machine can live on your kitchen counter, Laura. I do not like instant coffee.’

Rather than get into a pitched battle in public she gave in, mainly because she loved good coffee as much as he did. But she dug her heels in about the other things on her list.

‘I need basics like butter, bread and milk,’ she said firmly.

‘Of course. But we need other things also,’ he said, and tossed in packets of parma ham and diced pancetta. He found pasta from his own country, and got into an animated conversation with a woman at the cheese counter before making his selection. ‘Now we need the ingredients for insalata,’ he said, and Laura, very conscious of envious glances, followed in his wake as he made for the fruit and vegetable section.

When they reached the checkout at last Laura grabbed Domenico’s wrist. ‘I pay for this,’ she hissed in his ear.

‘No, you do not,’ he answered, and gave her a look of blue, limpid innocence. ‘It is just a coffee maker and a few trifles of food. Surely you will allow me the pleasure of this?’

Defeated, Laura watched the objects sailing through the checkout, and winced when the total was announced. ‘How are we going to carry this lot?’ she asked as Domenico pushed the loaded trolley to the entrance.

‘It is a doddle!’ He smiled in triumph, took out his phone, and rang one of the taxi firms listed near the door. ‘Allora, we wait a little,’ he said as they went outside. ‘We can plan our menu for dinner. Or would you like to go out tonight?’

But Laura had no intention of letting Domenico spend any more money that day. ‘If you’ll be happy with something simple I’d rather eat at home.’

‘Bene, so would I. But I shall do the cooking. Just a simple tomato sauce for the pasta, a few crisp morsels of pancetta, some Parmigiano, and we have a feast.’

‘I wondered why you bought so many tomatoes.’ Laura gave him a radiant smile.

‘Why do you smile at me so?’ he asked in an undertone.

‘Because I just love being here with you like this, doing ordinary things. Normally I look on shopping as an unavoidable chore. With you it was something to enjoy.’

‘When we are married,’ he said, leaning nearer, ‘our entire life will be something to enjoy, Laura.’

The time they spent together proved Domenico’s point. Laura had suggested the stay in her flat to find out if they could live together in harmony at such close quarters, and the experiment was a success. They talked non-stop, learning everything they could about each other as they lingered over breakfast, went out for a late lunch, but made dinner together at home. They rode on the Docklands Light Railway for Domenico to experience Laura’s daily commute to the bank, and went up in the London Eye to marvel at the views. The only shadow on the entire time came on the Sunday evening while they were preparing dinner together. Laura answered the phone and frowned.

‘Why, Edward, what a surprise,’ she said, very distinctly, and made a face as Domenico smiled wolfishly.

‘Just a call to ask how you are. I thought we might go out for a drink.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ she said politely. ‘I have a friend staying with me for the weekend.’

‘Bring her along too. Or I could come round to you. I can bring a bottle.’

‘I’m afraid my friend wouldn’t like that, he’s not here for long,’ said Laura, wishing that Edward could see the domesticity of the scene. One of Domenico’s sauces bubbled on the stove, filling the air with savoury fragrance, half-full wineglasses stood on the coffee-table and Sunday papers were scattered on the floor in front of the sofa.

‘Oh. I see,’ said Edward stiffly.

‘Are you settling in well in the new job?’ she asked, sucking in her breath as two arms closed round her like steel bands.

‘Very well, thanks. You’re still in Docklands?’

‘I certainly am. Work as usual tomorrow, unfortunately, so thanks for ringing. Goodnight.’

The moment she put the phone down Domenico turned her in his arms. ‘I am a friend of yours?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you not tell him I am your lover?’

‘It’s nothing to do with him!’

‘Did he sleep in your bed?’ said Domenico through his teeth.

Laura’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘No, he did not! Edward and I were just friends.’

‘But he wanted to be your lover. It is my turn to feel jealous.’ Domenico released her, but only to turn out the heat under the sauce before picking her up to carry her to the bedroom, a gleam in his eye. ‘He still wants you, this doctor of yours. But you are mine.’

If she’d had any doubt on the point beforehand, the following interlude convinced Laura beyond all possible doubt. As a lover Domenico was normally tender as well as passionate. But this time, fuelled by jealousy, he took possession of her like a conqueror, setting every part of her on fire as he took her to the very brink again and again until he felt her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she gasped in the throes of climax, and with a shout of triumph he surrendered to his own release and collapsed on her, his face buried against her breasts.

Heart hammering against his damp face, Laura smoothed a hand over his ruffled dark hair, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Making love was the only activity that ever left Domenico dishevelled.

‘Are you better now?’ she enquired when she had breath to speak, and he raised his head to look at her.

‘Much better. I was jealous.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you hungry?’

Laura thought about it. ‘Yes. But I don’t think I can move quite yet.’

‘I am crushing you.’ He rolled over and drew her with him, frowning as he smoothed the hair back from her face. ‘That has not happened before.’

‘What, exactly?’

‘The urge to make every part of you know it belonged to me.’

‘Believe me, Domenico, every little part got the message!’

He smiled triumphantly. ‘Bene.’

‘Now, I need food, Gian Domenico—a heaping plate of complex carbohydrates smothered in whatever you’re brewing up in that pan out there.’

He laughed and kissed her at length, then rolled out of bed and stood up, stretching his nude, graceful body before he spun round, seized her hand and pulled her with him into the bathroom. ‘Before we eat we shower, yes?’

‘You bet. Hand over that frilly cap thing, please.’ Laura made a face at him. ‘If I have to dry this hair before I eat I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’

‘Use shorter words, per favore,’ he ordered. ‘Making love to you is good in every other way, but bad for my English vocabulary.’

Laura grinned as she stuffed her hair into the cap. ‘You mean I fried your brains.’

For answer Domenico deposited her in the shower and turned on the cold water, avoiding her flailing arms as he joined her.

‘Beast,’ she gasped, turning the switch to warm.

‘I would enjoy making you warm again,’ he said, nuzzling her neck.

‘Not before I eat!’

Later, after they’d consumed bowls of pasta with a sauce of tomatoes simmered with garlic, red onion and chillies, Domenico drew Laura down with him on the sofa and fed her grapes, one by one.

‘How decadent,’ she murmured drowsily. ‘Like a Roman orgy.’

‘I am Venetian, not Roman,’ he reminded her. ‘How do you feel now, Laura?’

‘Well fed and well loved!’

‘Bene. I feel this, too.’ He smiled quizzically. ‘But it is not what I mean. We have been together almost every minute since we left the hotel. Is that long enough to show you that we can be happy living together always?’

So Domenico had been aware of her experiment all along. ‘I need longer than that!’

He sighed deeply. ‘So do I, but I must return to Venice on Tuesday morning.’

‘And I have to go to work tomorrow.’

‘If you must get up early we should go to bed. But only to sleep. You look tired, amore.’

‘No wonder! Your reaction to Edward’s phone call was exhausting.’

‘How did he know you had been injured?’

‘He saw me at the hospital. I didn’t know Edward had transferred there.’

‘So he works in the neighbourhood!’

‘And works very long hours, like all hospital doctors,’ said Laura firmly.

Domenico looked down his nose. ‘If he rings you again, tell him the truth, per favore. He must be convinced that there is no hope for him.’

‘There never was any hope for him in that way.’

‘I could make it even clearer,’ said Domenico silkily, ‘if you give me the name of this hospital.’

‘Certainly not. Now, weren’t you saying something about bed?’

He gave her a narrowed look. ‘You think you will seduce me into forgetting about this Edward, yes?’

Laura smiled slowly. ‘Oh, yes.’

He caught her close. ‘You are right.’

Next morning Laura had to wrench herself out of Domenico’s arms to get up. Hating the thought of leaving him for the best part of the day, she shut herself into the bathroom to let him sleep, but when she came out in her dressing gown, face and hair ready for the day, the scent of coffee was in the air and Domenico was leaning against the window ledge fully dressed, waiting to watch as she put her clothes on.

‘Buon giorno,’ he said, and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘When you are ready I will give you coffee.’

‘Why,’ said Laura as she slid out of her dressing gown, ‘do you like to watch me dress? From a male point of view I would have thought the reverse process more interesting.’

‘I like that, too. Very much. But to watch you cover your delicious body with those prim clothes you wear to work—’ He threw out his hands. ‘I cannot explain.’

‘I’ve certainly never had an audience for it before!’

Domenico smiled smugly. ‘This is just for me, yes?’

‘Just for you,’ she agreed. ‘But only because you make such great coffee,’ she added as he handed her a cup.

‘I will miss you so much today,’ he said, sighing. ‘Would you like to go out to dinner tonight, tesoro?’

Laura shook her head. ‘I want every moment here alone with you, not in some restaurant with other people.’

‘Ah, Laura, ti amo!’ Domenico relieved her of the coffee-cup and took her in his arms. ‘Tell me you love me.’

‘Surely you know I do by now?’ She smiled. ‘If not I’ll try to convince you when I come home.’

‘I will look forward to this all day.’ He kissed her cheek very carefully.

Laura handed him her spare key. ‘You’d better have this in case you want to go out. See you tonight.’ She reached up to give Domenico a swift kiss and forced herself to leave him.

Laura made sure she arrived home early for once. She unlocked the door, expecting a warm welcome, but to her disappointment there was no one in the flat. Then she smiled as she saw the note anchored down by the kettle.

Amore, I am shopping. I will see you very soon. D.

The doorbell rang while Laura was hanging her jacket in the wardrobe and she rushed through the living room to open the door. Her radiant smile died abruptly. Instead of Domenico it was Edward, with flowers.

‘Someone left the building as I arrived so I was able to come straight up.’ He handed her the small bouquet.

‘Thank you for the flowers, but I’m sorry, I can’t ask you in.’ Laura stood square in the doorway, keeping him outside on the landing. ‘I’m expecting Domenico back any minute.’

‘Is this the ‘‘friend’’? I thought he would have gone by now.’ Edward scowled. ‘He’s your lover, I suppose?’

‘Yes, he is,’ she said bluntly.

‘Is he your reason for turning me down?’

‘No. He was nothing to do with it. I met Domenico later, on a trip to Venice.’ Go, go, ordered Laura silently.

‘Love at first sight, I suppose,’ he snapped, staring moodily into the stairwell. Then he smiled suddenly. ‘By the way, Laura,’ he said, raising his voice, ‘I trust there were no complications after losing the baby?’

‘No—’ Laura stopped dead as Domenico came into view. ‘Hi, you’re back,’ she said inanely. ‘Let me introduce you. Domenico Chiesa—Dr Edward Lassiter.’

‘Piacere,’ said Domenico tersely.

‘Hello, there.’ Edward acknowledged him with a brief nod, then smiled smugly at Laura. ‘Must dash. See you.’

She closed the door on him in relief. ‘Sorry about that.’

Domenico eyed her in unsettling silence for a moment. ‘Why did he come here tonight?’ he demanded.

‘To ask if you were my reason for turning him down.’

Domenico gave her a look that rang alarm bells in her head. ‘As I came up the stairs I heard him ask a quite different question.’

Laura looked away quickly, powerless to control the rush of colour in her face. ‘He was referring to a friend of mine, who lost a baby recently. Edward was on duty when I rushed her to the hospital.’

‘What friend is this?’ he demanded.

She turned to face him. ‘You know I can’t tell you her name, Domenico.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a private, personal thing. I promised her I wouldn’t tell a soul. Ever.’

Domenico flung away to the window, to stare blindly at the lights of London, desperately wanting to believe Laura. But her face had flushed with such obvious guilt it was impossible to ignore the doubts gnawing at him. He took in a deep breath and turned round to look at her, his heart contracting when he saw that the colour had drained from her face, leaving it milk-pale. ‘Laura, are you asking me to believe that a busy doctor came here tonight just to ask about your friend?’ he asked at last.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly are you implying?’

Suddenly his suspicions boiled to the surface. ‘I think that you are the one who had this aborto! Why in the name of God did you not tell me?’

Laura felt as though every drop of blood in her veins had frozen solid. She stared at his haggard face in icy outrage. ‘How can you possibly believe such a thing?’ she demanded.

He seized her by the shoulders, his olive skin ashen as his eyes bored down into hers. ‘Tell me the truth, Laura! Were you expecting my child?’

‘No, I was not.’ Her eyes clashed with his angrily. ‘Take your hands off me.’

Domenico’s hands dropped, but his eyes stayed locked with hers. ‘So why did Edward speak of this mysterious other woman? In my country doctors never reveal details of their patients.’

‘They don’t here, either. Edward was too clever to name names. I suppose he saw you coming up the stairs and seized the moment to settle old scores.’ Laura stared back at him, her eyes unwavering.

‘How did he know who I was?’

‘I mentioned your name and told him I met you in Venice. One look at you was enough to tell him who you were.’ She stepped back, her eyes remote and cold as discs of gold glass. ‘Edward waited quite a while to get his own back on me for the ring episode, but he did an excellent job when he finally got round to it.’

Domenico felt stabbed by sudden doubt. He threw out a hand. ‘Laura, just give me the name of this friend who lost a baby and I will apologise with all my heart.’

‘I can’t do that. I don’t want your apologies, either,’ she said scathingly. ‘Words are easy. After all, not so long ago you promised to love me forever, and like a fool I believed you meant it.’

‘I did mean it!’ He made an involuntary move towards her, his mouth twisting as she backed away. ‘It is the truth, Laura.’

‘Why should I believe you? You refuse to believe me.’ She felt suddenly bone-tired. ‘Please leave, Domenico. Now. I’m sure your hotel will find a bed for you.’

He stared at her incredulously. ‘You mean this?’

‘Never more serious in my life,’ she assured him, with indifference that so obviously enraged Domenico she felt a fleeting surge of triumph.

For a moment or two the silence throbbed like a living presence in the room as they stood motionless, staring into each other’s eyes.

‘Be very careful. If I go now, Laura,’ he warned at last, his voice utterly devoid of emotion, ‘I will not come back.’

She shrugged. ‘Fine by me. I’ll ring for a taxi.’

‘Do not trouble. I shall do that myself,’ he said with hauteur, and strode into the bedroom.

Laura stared after him in misery, feeling as though her world were breaking in pieces around her. But after a moment she squared her shoulders and turned away to find a vase for the flowers Edward had picked up at a garage, from the tag on the wrapping paper. Shaken and sick, she fiddled with them blindly until Domenico returned with his luggage.

‘The taxi will be here in five minutes,’ he informed her curtly. ‘If you wish I can go outside to wait for it.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s raining. You’d better wait in here.’

‘You can endure my presence that long?’ he said with biting sarcasm, flinging the bags down.

‘Actually, no, I can’t.’ She threw the flowers in the wastebin and rounded on him like an angry tigress. ‘You wait here. I’ll take the bedroom. Goodbye.’

But as she made for the bedroom door Domenico startled her by seizing her in his arms. He glared down into her outraged eyes for a moment, then crushed his mouth to hers.

‘Arrivederci,’ he snarled, and put her away from him. He picked up the bags, threw open the door, then strode through it and slammed it shut behind him.

Chapter Eleven

NONE of the staff at the Forli Palace, not even those who remembered the disaster of his cancelled wedding years before, had ever seen Gian Domenico Chiesa in the mood that enveloped him like a dark miasma on his return from London. He was perfectly courteous, always approachable, and worked longer hours than anyone, but the blue eyes so much admired by female staff members were curiously lifeless, as though a light had been snuffed out behind them.

Domenico knew that he was causing comment among his staff, but could not summon the energy to care. And he spent so little time at his apartment after the London trip that he seriously began to consider selling it. He no longer felt pleasure in his retreat. He saw Laura everywhere: on the balcony, hanging over the rail to look at the water traffic, or in his sitting room, asleep beside him on the sofa, or, most vivid of all, in his arms in his bed. When he walked through the Piazza San Marco he sometimes caught sight of a woman with long fair hair and felt such an intense longing to speak to Laura it was almost pain. But too proud to risk rejection, he never actually rang her. And he gave up all idea of doing so when the mobile phone he’d given her arrived at the Forli Palace. There was no note—nor, he thought bitterly, had he expected one.

He took to work as an antidote, but however many hours he put in it was impossible to put Laura from his mind. Domenico knew that his parents were worried, but he made excuses to avoid visits to the beautiful farmhouse they were restoring in Umbria. He was in no mood to answer his mother’s probing questions. Lack of sleep became so much part of his life that on a trip to Florence for a meeting with the board of the Forli Group comments were made about his health by Lorenzo and Roberto Forli. He brushed them aside, used long hours as explanation, and politely refused Roberto’s offer to take over for him any time he felt like a break. Getting away was useless. The pain would merely travel with him. He knew that he would forget the anguish of his parting with Laura one day. Of course he would. But one day seemed a long way off.

Just like Domenico, Laura buried herself in work, and no longer took any pleasure in her flat. It was an effort to return to it every night. Her bright idea of bringing Domenico home to it for his stay had backfired on her. His presence haunted the place. No matter how often she washed the sheets the scent of him seemed to linger in her bed. She sent the mobile phone back to him as soon as she bought a new one, and only the cost of postage to Venice decided her against doing the same with the coffee maker.

In her determination to forget Domenico, she made two drastic changes to her life. She bought a car and had her hair cut.

When Laura drew up outside Briar Cottage one Saturday afternoon Isabel came hurrying to see the new purchase, then stared in amazement as her daughter got out of the car.

‘Good heavens!’

‘Same old me—new hair,’ said Laura blithely. ‘I had it done this morning, which is why I couldn’t make it last night, as usual. What do you think of the little car?’

‘Looks good. Where did you get it?’

‘Claire’s boyfriend went with me to buy it. According to Ben, a good-looking blonde gets taken for a ride if she buys a car on her own,’ said Laura, rolling her eyes.

Isabel laughed and kissed her, then stood back to admire the new haircut. In the late afternoon sun the hair gleamed like burnished gold. A longish fringe swept to one side of Laura’s forehead and the rest curved under slightly just short of her shoulders.

‘Please say you like it, Mother.’ Laura smiled brightly. ‘It’s a lot easier to cope with like this in the mornings.’

‘Which follow a lot of late nights, by the circles under your eyes,’ observed her mother. ‘But I love the hair. Now, bring your bag and have some tea to see you through to supper. You’ve lost weight.’

Laura did as she was told but refused the cake offered with tea. ‘Sorry—big lunch. How’s Abby?’

‘Enjoying life, thank God. She’s made friends—both sexes—and revels in the work, which is no surprise.’ Isabel sighed. ‘Otherwise she behaves as though nothing happened. Maybe that’s a good thing. I wish I could be sure.’

Laura smiled bleakly. ‘Your daughters don’t have much luck with men, do they?’

‘Abby seems to be coping rather better than you right now.’ Isabel paused for a moment. ‘Laura, I haven’t asked what went wrong between you and Domenico, but I can’t help feeling worried. One minute you were on cloud nine, then wham! You were down in the depths.’

Because six long weeks had crawled by since the night Domenico walked out of the flat, Laura decided it was time to put her mother in the picture.

‘It was Edward’s fault,’ she said baldly.

‘Edward?’ said Isabel, taken aback.

‘He came to the flat when Domenico was there.’ Laura gave a terse description of the episode.

Isabel’s face blanched when she heard about Edward’s parting shot. ‘He knows about Abby?’

‘Afraid so. It was just bad luck that he was on duty when I took her in.’

‘No need to tell me what happened next, then. Domenico thought Edward meant you?’

‘Of course he did. Edward finally got his revenge. I told Domenico that Edward was asking after a friend of mine, but he didn’t believe a word of it because I wouldn’t give him a name.’ Laura smiled bitterly. ‘Domenico was convinced I was the guilty party so I told him to pack his bags and leave.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Laura, you should have explained,’ said Isabel, appalled.

‘How could I? I promised Abby I wouldn’t tell a soul.’

‘She wouldn’t have minded in this instance!’

‘Mother, I promised her.’ Laura’s chin lifted. ‘Besides, that’s not the point. Domenico should have believed me.’

‘When you lied to him did you blush as usual?’

Laura looked mutinous. ‘Of course I did. I probably looked the picture of guilt. But that’s irrelevant. He should have trusted me.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘Especially as up until that point he was all for getting married in the New Year.’

Isabel blinked. ‘Goodness! That was sudden.’

‘I agree. So, practical to the last, I insisted we got to know each other better first.’ Laura’s eyes flashed gold fire. ‘How right I was.’

‘I suppose so, but I can’t help feeling sorry. I like Domenico. Far more than I ever did Edward.’ Isabel looked thoughtful. ‘Though it amazes me that he abandoned medical ethics out of petty revenge. His parents would have a fit.’

‘Since you’re unlikely to discuss it with them at your bridge club they’ll never know, hopefully.’ Laura heaved a sigh. ‘But Edward’s punchline convinced Domenico it was me. In Italy, he informed me, doctors never discuss other patients.’

Isabel raked a hand through her hair, frowning. ‘It infuriates me to think that Edward used Abby to ruin your life. Can’t you report him to the British Medical Council, or something?’

‘Believe me, I thought of it. But he didn’t name names, Mother, so it probably wouldn’t wash. But don’t worry, I sorted it. I asked Edward to meet me at a café and told him I’d go to his superiors if he ever mentioned Abby again.’ Laura’s eyes gleamed coldly. ‘He got the message, believe me.’

‘That’s my girl!’ Isabel got up to clear away. ‘Have you heard from Domenico since?’

‘No. I sent the phone he gave me to the Forli Palace, and I’ve changed the number in the flat, remember? So even if he wanted to contact me he couldn’t.’ Laura smiled valiantly. ‘End of story.’

But in her heart of hearts Laura had hoped that Domenico would write to apologise, or at least to acknowledge receipt of the mobile phone. He had not. And she pined. And bitterly regretted having her hair cut as an act of defiance Domenico wouldn’t even know about. Wild horses wouldn’t have made her admit it, but she’d wanted to cry her eyes out after the hairdresser had finished with her. And the general reaction on the trading floor at the bank on Monday made her regret it even more. Her reception couldn’t have been more rowdy if she’d appeared in a black satin basque and fishnets. Laura parried all the comments with her usual Ice Maiden smile, and let off steam by swimming several lengths of the pool that night, followed by a thorough workout in the gym. She felt tired enough afterwards to enjoy a peaceful supper in front of the television, and got up to answer the telephone without her usual leap of hope that it might, just might, be Domenico.

‘Hi,’ said Fen. ‘How’s things, Miss Green?’

‘OK, Mrs Tregenna. How’s married life?’

‘Just as blissful as living in sin. Only now I’m wearing a wedding ring for the sin part.’

‘Thank you for sharing that, Fen!’

‘Talking of weddings, we received a belated but absolutely wonderful present today,’ continued the bride. ‘Guess what it is?’

‘Surprise me.’

‘It’s the most fabulous chandelier with gold threads twined in the glass. From Murano,’ added Fen significantly. ‘Perfect for our dining room because it just happens to match the candlesticks you bought us. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?’

‘Lots of chandeliers in Murano, Fen.’

‘This was specially ordered by Domenico, smarty pants. He was obviously with you when you bought the candlesticks.’

‘Yes.’

‘Just yes?’

Laura sighed. ‘He was kind enough to help me with my shopping. Satisfied?’

‘Not really. Incidentally, Jess tells me that Lorenzo and Roberto are a bit concerned about cousin Domenico. He came to a board meeting recently looking terrible. Jess thinks the new woman is no longer in his life. She’s obviously dumped him.’

‘What a shame.’

‘Hey, this is Fen you’re talking to, Laura Green. I may have been on a pink cloud the day of my wedding, but I noticed that Gian Domenico hot-footed it down to you when he found you were missing, then came back later with a face like thunder. I’d bet my new wedding ring that you’re this mystery woman of his and you had a little tiff. I get your voicemail every time I try to find out, and you text me back instead of having a real chat.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Laura, resigned. ‘We did fall out, for reasons I won’t bore you with.’ Actually, she longed quite violently to pour out her unhappiness to Fen as she’d always done, but this time it was impossible without bringing Abby into it. ‘I’m sorry that Domenico’s off colour,’ she said instead. This wasn’t true. She was fiercely glad to hear that he was no better than she was. ‘You haven’t heard the big news, then?’ she went on, in an effort to divert Fen.

‘What big news?’

‘I’ve bought a car.’

‘Wow. At last!’

‘And—are you sitting comfortably?—I’ve cut my hair.’

Isabel Green was taking advantage of half-term for a short holiday with her friend Janet, which meant that Laura had no trip to Stavely to look forward to at the end of the week.

‘Do something nice over the weekend, darling,’ said Isabel. ‘I’ll see you the following Friday.’

Laura’s plan for the weekend was to keep as busy as possible. Laundry, household chores, shopping, ironing, and then a party Ellie and Claire were giving jointly on Saturday night. Now she had a car there would be no comment when she refused a second glass of wine, and, better still, she could leave whenever she liked, instead of the usual hassle of sharing taxis with people who liked staying on later than she did.

After carrying out her plan for the day, Laura was not in much of a party mood later as she brushed her damp hair into its new shape. She felt even less so when she eyed her full-length reflection in the butterfly-print dress. The effect was different with the new-length hair, too girly by far for her liking, and she felt a sudden urge to strip off the dress—and the memories that went with it—and spend the evening at home with a video. But with a sigh she picked up her bag and collected her car keys. She would turn up at the party, as faithfully promised, and even try to enjoy it in the way she would have once, before her trip to Venice.

Later in the evening a taxi drew up in Bow outside the converted match factory that housed Laura’s flat. The passenger paid the driver and pressed the bell marked ‘L. Green’. When there was no response he pressed the bell again and stood still for some time, eyeing the keys in his hand. At last he unlocked the main entry door and mounted the familiar stairs to the first floor. He pressed the buzzer on the door of Laura’s flat with no hope that she would open it. And even if she did, he thought grimly, she might slam it shut again the moment she saw his face. At last he unlocked the door, opened it a little and called her name. Lights were on inside but there was no answer. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and wished he’d asked the taxi driver to wait.

Domenico had never felt more tired in his life as he went inside and closed the door. A wash, he decided, and shrugged off his jacket. Cold water on his face might help. But to reach the bathroom he must cross Laura’s bedroom. With a strong feeling of intrusion he went into her room and stopped dead just inside the door when her familiar perfume sent a wave of such desire roaring through his body he felt dizzy. He stood with eyes closed and hands clenched for a moment or two, then took in a deep breath and went into the bathroom. And instead of desire felt a stab of pain at the sight of the absurd frilly shower cap and the small white robe hanging behind the door.

White-hot jealousy seared him as it struck him that a man might accompany Laura back to the flat, and instead of washing his face he returned to the living room in a sudden desperate hurry to get out of there. But first he must leave a note with her key. He shook his head to clear it, took a diary and his fountain pen from his jacket and sat down on the sofa to compose a note. When his sleep-starved brain refused to translate the words into English he rubbed his eyes in despair. If he could just rest for a while perhaps his mind would work again…

When Laura got back to Bow she manoeuvred the car into her slot in the basement parking area and went up in the empty lift barefoot, dangling her killer heels by the straps. She padded along the hall from the lift to her door, yawning as she closed it behind her, then clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream when she saw a man sprawled, dead to the world, on her sofa.

Chapter Twelve

LAURA’S heart beat a crazy tattoo as she tiptoed across the room to look down at her visitor. He lay with legs outstretched and head back, utterly motionless, a leather diary and a fountain pen near the hand trailing on the floor. His face looked thinner, she noted with a pang, expecting the black lashes to fly up at any moment. But Gian Domenico Chiesa was dead to the world. Dead? In a panic Laura touched a finger to his wrist, but his pulse was steady and slow, and she shied away, embarrassed, wondering how long he’d been here. More importantly why he was here, when he’d sworn never to come back. Yet here he was, so he obviously still had her key.

In all fairness she could have changed the locks. And the fact that she hadn’t proved that she’d hoped, deep down, that Domenico would come back some day. Well, here he was. So the obvious move was to wake him and demand an explanation. But he looked so unutterably weary lying there she hadn’t had the heart to do it. Domenico’s sleeping face looked drawn, and showed every minute of his eleven-year seniority over her. She backed away as he said something, but Domenico was talking in his sleep, muttering in fragmented Italian she couldn’t understand. She eyed him in alarm as he started threshing about. Any minute now he would land on the floor with a bump. She laid a gentle hand on his wrist, and he started violently, then opened the eyes that still had the power to flip her heart over in her chest.

‘Laura?’ He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly, and she put out a hand, but dropped it again before it could touch him. ‘Mi scusi!’ he said hoarsely. ‘I did not mean to sleep.’

‘How long have you been here?’ she asked coolly.

‘I am not sure.’ He looked at his watch then swore under his breath, dark colour rising along his cheekbones. ‘Dio, it is long past midnight. I did not intend—again forgive me. Because you were not here I thought only to leave your key with a note.’

‘I see,’ she said distantly. ‘Normally I spend weekends in Stavely, but my mother is away.’

He nodded. ‘I know this.’

‘Really? How?’

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘I will explain. But first I must apologise for intruding.’

‘It was certainly a surprise to find you dead to the world on my sofa,’ she agreed coldly. ‘Particularly since you swore you’d never come back here again.’

‘I wanted to see you,’ he said, and swallowed dryly. ‘It is great audacity to ask, but could you allow me to make some coffee?’

‘I’ll do it,’ Laura said firmly, and set to work in a silence neither of them broke until the fragrant brew was ready. She filled two beakers and handed one to Domenico.

‘Grazie,’ he said gratefully.

‘Would you like something to eat?’

He shook his head and downed a gulp of coffee like a man in need of caffeine to survive. Looking slightly better, he eyed her objectively, as though seeing her clearly for the first time. ‘You have cut your beautiful hair!’

‘I felt like a change. I bought a second-hand car, too.’ She smiled sardonically. ‘Claire’s boyfriend went along to make sure I got a good deal. No chance of this for a dumb blonde on her own, apparently.’

‘No one could think of you as such.’ His mouth twisted. ‘You have changed, Laura.’

‘So have you.’

He shrugged. ‘But I look years older while you look even younger than before.’

Laura sat in the small basket chair and waved him to the sofa. ‘You’d better sit down.’ Before you fall down, she added silently.

Domenico did as she said, looking very different from the man she’d first met in Venice. His beautiful shoes were the best thing about him. His jeans and blue shirt had suffered for having been slept in, there were dark rings under his eyes, a growth of stubble darkened his jaw and his thick, waving hair was wildly untidy.

‘I apologise for my appearance,’ he said ruefully.

‘Never mind that. Tell me how you know my mother is away.’

‘Mrs Green rang me at the hotel,’ he said, startling her.

‘How did she know you were in London?’

‘Not London. Your mother rang the Forli Palace, Laura.’

‘She rang Venice?’ she said incredulously.

‘Yes, but I was not there at the time. She left a message for me, with a telephone number, and I contacted her immediately it was given to me.’ He took in a deep breath. ‘I thought something had happened to you.’

Laura licked lips that were suddenly dry. ‘When was this?’

‘Yesterday. Your mother was with your sister in Cambridge. Abigail answered when I rang, and explained that she was the ‘‘friend’’ you took to the hospital. She gave me a very stern lecture for doubting you, but your mother was much kinder.’ He looked up at Laura. ‘I understand now that you could not reveal Abby’s secret.’ His eyes darkened. ‘I would so much like to meet the bastardo who did this to her.’

‘Did Abby tell you who it was?’

‘No. Her concern was for you, Laura. And her disapproval was for me,’ he added wryly.

Laura smiled at the thought of it.

‘This pleases you?’ he asked.

‘I can just see Abby telling you off. But I’m sure my mother made you feel better.’

‘She was very honest with me,’ said Domenico sombrely. ‘She knew I could not ring you, but she thinks I should have written to you.’

Laura shrugged. ‘Why should you want to?’

‘I did not want to.’ His eyes met hers. ‘You hurt my heart and my pride, Laura.’

‘I had good reason!’

‘But before I spoke with Abigail I did not know the truth. When I did I thought of writing to you, but I speak English better than I write it. I could not hope to put my feelings into words.’ He shot her a wry look. ‘Nor could I ask my assistant to write such a letter for me.’

His assistant, thought Laura with a pang. ‘You engaged someone, then?’

‘My father insisted. My Forli cousins are convinced I am ill from overwork, and talked with my parents. Allora, I now have help I do not want.’ The bloodshot blue eyes locked with Laura’s. ‘Hard work is not my problem.’

She looked away. ‘If you’ve spoken to my mother, why didn’t you just ring me instead of writing to say—whatever you wanted to say?’

Domenico threw out his hands. ‘She would not give me your new phone numbers without your permission, so I decided there was only one thing to do. I took advantage of Roberto’s offer of help and was fortunate enough to get a flight here today.’

‘You came a long way on the off chance of finding me in on a Saturday night,’ she said coolly.

Domenico threw out a hand. ‘Since I could not ring, what else could I do? Because you were not here I tried to write a note to leave with your key, but while I tried to translate the words into English I fell asleep. I knew nothing more until you woke me.’ He looked at his watch and got up. ‘Dio! I must go to my hotel, and let you sleep.’

Fat chance of that, thought Laura.

Domenico took his phone from his jacket, consulted a card, punched in some numbers and after a brief conversation disconnected and sat down again.

‘It is a wait of five minutes,’ he informed her. ‘Which is good, because it gives me time to say what I have flown from Venice to say.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I love you, Laura,’ he said simply.

She held her breath, her heart beating thickly as she waited for him to go on, but he sat in silence, his eyes on hers as he waited for her response.

‘If you’d told me that before you spoke to my sister I might have believed it,’ she said at last, and watched with satisfaction as the colour leached from Domenico’s drawn face.

‘You will not forgive me,’ he said quietly.

‘Do you blame me?’

‘No.’ He threw out his hands in appeal. ‘But you looked so guilty when you talked of this friend, Laura. You blushed and would not look at me.’

‘Because I’m such a hopeless liar,’ she said defensively. ‘I had to keep talking about a ‘‘friend’’ instead of my sister.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I was so sure it was you that I longed to comfort you, grieve with you. But you sent me away.’

Laura looked him in the eye. ‘If I had been expecting your child, Domenico Chiesa, you would have been first to know,’ she assured him, and for the first time won a ghost of a smile from him.

‘I was angry because you could go through such pain and not tell me, yet confide in your friend the doctor,’ he explained.

‘I didn’t go through anything,’ she reminded him. ‘I didn’t confide in Edward either. He just happened to be on duty when I took Abby in that day. I was appalled when he referred to it that night. Not because I was afraid you would believe it was me—I never for a moment expected that—but because he was unethical enough to say anything at all.’

The doorbell rang and Domenico got up. ‘The taxi is here.’

Laura nodded. ‘You’d better go, then.’

Domenico looked at her steadily as he put on his jacket. ‘So. Are you going to let this vindictive friend of yours have his victory, Laura?’

She rose to her feet, the chiffon drifting as she moved. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He wanted to tear us apart—and he succeeded.’ He caught her hand. ‘If you tell me you no longer love me I will go. And this time I will not come back. But you must tell me the truth.’ He smiled a little. ‘I will know, now, if you lie.’

‘I still have feelings for you, yes,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘Bene. Then I will call for you tomorrow.’ Domenico kissed her hand and left without giving her time to consent or refuse.

Laura woke late next morning after the best night’s sleep she’d had for a long time. And the moment she opened her eyes she knew the reason why. Domenico was back in her life. The self-assured Domenico Chiesa had changed a lot in the time they’d spent apart, but one look at his sleeping, haggard face had made it clear that she loved him per sempre, just as she’d once told him. And he obviously still felt the same or why had he come? They’d given each other pain—six long weeks of it. But now they both had a second chance to make it up to each other she, for one, was going to take full advantage of it.

At ten-thirty her phone rang, and Laura smiled. Domenico hadn’t been too tired to make a note of her new number.

‘Buon giorno, Laura. Did you sleep well?’

‘Good morning. I slept very well. Did you?’

‘I had more sleep last night than in all the endless time we have been apart.’

‘Good. You looked pretty tired last night.’

‘I did not look pretty at all last night! Today I look a little better.’

She laughed. ‘And how you look is very important to you.’

‘Not so much any more. Now I have different priorities. If you will eat lunch with me I will tell you about them, Laura.’

‘That would be nice.’

‘Bene. I shall come for you soon, then.’

What did he mean by soon? Laura rushed through a shower, then brushed damp hair into shape with one hand while she slapped moisturiser on her face with the other. With no time to dither over clothes, she pulled on black cord jeans and a slouchy ice-pink sweater, and because her feet were still protesting after a night spent in four-inch heels slid them into flat suede boots. She was ready and waiting and had just started the coffee maker when the doorbell rang, and with a sigh of relief she ran to snatch off the receiver.

‘I am here, Laura,’ said Domenico, and she pressed the release button and went out on the landing to watch him come up the stairs. But for once he came up in the lift. When the doors opened she could see why. He was carrying a vast picnic basket in one hand and a cool-box in the other.

‘What on earth have you got there?’ she said, laughing.

His eyes lit up at the sound as he strode towards her, smiling. ‘This is our lunch,’ he informed her as she held the door wide for him to pass through.

‘You really do look prettier today,’ she told him.

Domenico put his burdens down and made her a graceful bow. He wore the same suede jacket, but with dove-grey trousers of impeccable cut and a white wool shirt instead of his signature blue. The circles were less in evidence beneath his eyes, which had lost their bloodshot weariness, but now, by daylight, Laura saw changes that clutched at her heart. His face was leaner, the cheekbones more prominent, and there was even an odd thread of silver in the glossy black hair waving so obediently about his head today. But the smiling self-confidence was back in full force as Domenico kissed her hand, then drew her closer and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘You are not pretty, Laura, you are beautiful,’ he informed her, surveying her from head to toe.

‘I never could get my head round that myself, but since the haircut I feel even less so,’ she said with a sigh, and smiled ruefully. ‘I could have cried when I saw the result.’

‘Then why did you have it cut?’

Laura flushed. ‘Guess!’

‘To defy me, naturally. I miss that long rope of hair,’ he said with regret, ‘but you look delightful with shorter hair also. Was this much admired by the ragazzi at your bank?’

She pulled a face. ‘There was total uproar until they found that only the hair had changed.’

Domenico smiled with satisfaction. ‘You are still Ice Maiden?’

‘Yes. To them, at least,’ she added, her pulse racing at the hot, hungry look he gave her in response. ‘Now, explain about the picnic. It’s raining out there.’

‘It is not raining in here, carissima—’ He stopped short, then shrugged. ‘If you object I will not refer to you so.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t object.’

‘Bene,’ he said huskily, and took the basket and box into the small kitchen area. ‘I thought we might eat here in private, so that we can talk uninterrupted by waiters, but if you prefer I can take you to lunch at the Ritz.’

‘No, not the Ritz,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s a wonderful place, but that’s where Edward embarrassed me with the ring episode.’

‘Ah!’ Domenico smiled grimly. ‘Then most definitely not the Ritz.’

‘You’ve been clever enough to organise lunch so we’ll have our picnic here. But not yet. It’s early. I’ve made coffee.’

He sniffed the air. ‘Grazie. May I take off my jacket? Then I shall put some of this in your refrigerator.’ He frowned as he stowed containers away. ‘There is very little food in here, Laura. It is a good thing I am here to see you eat properly.’

‘A very good thing,’ she agreed.

Domenico transferred the last container, closed the fridge, and leaned across the counter to look into her eyes. ‘You mean this, Laura?’

‘With all my heart,’ she said quietly.

He took in a deep breath, but instead of seizing her in his arms, as Laura wanted him to, Domenico filled two mugs with coffee, added a little milk to one and took them across to the small table in front of the sofa. ‘Today we shall share the sofa, yes?’

‘Yes, Domenico.’

‘That is so much what I like to hear.’ He drew her down beside him. ‘I have things to say. If you say, ‘‘Yes, Domenico’’ in answer to all it will make me very happy.’

She took a fortifying sip of coffee. ‘Can I say something first, please?’

‘Yes, Laura,’ he said promptly, and smiled. ‘You see? It is easy.’

She shook her head soberly. ‘What I’m going to say isn’t easy at all.’

His smile died. ‘You no longer love me?’

‘I’ve never stopped loving you, even when you suspected me of doing something I never could, ever.’ Laura gulped more coffee and put the mug down, turned to face him and took a deep breath. ‘Look, Domenico, I appreciate that abortion is the only solution for some women, but it’s not for me.’

Domenico looked startled. ‘It does not surprise me, Laura, but why are you telling me this?’

She glared at him. ‘Because you accused me of having an abortion!’

His eyes widened in horror. ‘Cosa? No! I thought only that you had lost our child and could not bear to tell me—’ His eyes filled with sudden comprehension. ‘Laura, is this why you sent me away that night?’

She nodded vehemently.

‘Dio, I know now what is meant by the language barrier!’ He let out a deep breath. ‘In Italian aborto can simply mean miscarriage, Laura.’

She stared at him in dismay. ‘Is this true?’

‘Any dictionary will confirm it. Your lessons in school did not include this word?’

‘No, but I wish they had.’ She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘It would have saved six long weeks of misery. For me, anyway,’

‘For me, also,’ he said bitterly.

‘After what happened to Abby I was ultra-sensitive on the subject.’ Laura shivered. ‘Even though she was virtually raped, and didn’t want the baby, Abby cried her heart out after she lost it, Domenico. Women have a tough time fighting their hormones.’

With a smothered groan he pulled her close, rubbing his cheek over her hair. ‘To think that one word tore us apart!’

‘We’re together now,’ she said into his shoulder.

He turned her face up to his and lowered his head until his lips were a breath away from hers. To her frustration they stayed there, just out of contact, and she slid a hand up into his hair and closed the gap. At the first touch their lips crushed together in hunger and Domenico lifted her onto his lap, his arms hard around her as they kissed with a starving desperation fuelled by the long weeks of separation. When the need for oxygen forced them apart at last he leaned his forehead against hers.

‘Ti amo, Laura,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I have been in such need of you, just to hold you in my arms like this. Tell me you love me, tesoro.’

‘Of course I love you.’ She blinked fiercely. ‘I’ve been as miserable as sin since you left me.’

‘I did not leave you,’ he said with passion. ‘You sent me away.’

‘And all over a misunderstanding,’ she whispered, and stroked a hand down his cheek. ‘I’ll start more Italian lessons right away, so it never happens again.’ Laura drew away suddenly, her face hot. ‘Or am I taking too much for granted?’

Domenico smiled indulgently. ‘How could you do that? We belong together, Laura mia.’

‘Yes, Domenico.’ She smiled demurely and he laughed.

‘Ottimo! You learn quickly. But I cannot think clearly like this. You must sit beside me while I say the things I am here to say.’

‘Yes, Domenico.’ She grinned at him and gave him a quick kiss before sliding off his lap to sit beside him. ‘There.’

‘Before your mother rang me,’ he began, taking her hand, ‘I had decided to put my apartment up for sale.’

‘What?’ Laura gazed at him in horror. ‘You can’t do that!’

Domenico shrugged. ‘Without you I could no longer bear to live there.’

‘Then I’d better come and live there with you—eventually,’ she added hastily as his eyes lit up.

‘Soon, Laura,’ he said imperiously, ‘not eventually. We have wasted enough time apart.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘I came here today with such good intentions, amore. I meant to be patient, to court you and show how much I care for you, but I cannot wait. I need your answer now. Say you will marry me.’

‘Yes, Domenico.’

‘Soon?’

‘Yes, Domenico.’

He let out a deep, unsteady breath and drew her back onto his lap, his cheek against her hair as he held her in an embrace that threatened her ribs. ‘I love you, Laura,’ he said, after a while, in a voice so deep and ragged with emotion it brought tears to her eyes.

‘I love you, too,’ she said, sniffing, and Domenico tipped her face up to his.

‘You are crying!’

‘Happy tears!’

He kissed them away, kissed her mouth briefly, and got up. ‘Allora,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘No. Have you?’

‘No. When I woke up my first thought was you, also the second and third thought, but then I told myself to be practical and ordered a picnic lunch to bring to you.’ Domenico smiled at her. ‘Food has not been of interest to me lately, but now I am hungry.’

‘So am I,’ said Laura, and for the first time in weeks found she was starving. ‘I could eat a horse.’

He grinned. ‘Che peccato! I did not think to order horse.’

They got out plates, sliced bread and opened containers together, and with much laughter got in each other’s way in the confined space before they actually sat together to wolf down slices of Bayonne ham and Norfolk turkey with some of the salad greens Laura had already, along with most of a ciabatta loaf, and a glass of the Prosecco Domenico produced from the cool-box.

‘That was just lovely,’ said Laura with a sigh when their plates were empty.

‘I chose well, then?’ asked Domenico.

‘Very well.’ She smiled at him. ‘But, gorgeous though it was, the food didn’t matter. It was eating it together that made it a feast.’

‘E verita, carissima!’ He kissed her, and went on kissing her with mounting purpose, but with superhuman effort Laura broke away and stood up.

‘This place is so small it looks like a slum when it’s untidy, so let’s clear up before—’

‘Before?’ whispered Domenico, kissing a flushed ear.

‘Before any more talking,’ she said severely.

When the kitchen was immaculate, Domenico drew Laura down beside him on the sofa and put his arm round her. ‘Amore, do you remember that I was out shopping that last night when you arrived home?’

‘Of course I do. I remember every detail of that night,’ she said with a shiver. ‘I assumed you’d gone out for wine.’

‘Not for wine.’ He took a small package from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘For this.’

Laura removed wrappings and found a box with a world-famous name on it. She held her breath as she pressed the button and stared in wide-eyed silence as the lid flew open to show a gold ring set with a sparkling stone the colour of expensive cognac.

‘I was right,’ he said huskily. He took the ring from the box and held it up beside her face. ‘It is not as beautiful as your eyes, but it is almost the same colour.’

Laura swallowed hard on the lump in her throat. ‘It’s breathtaking. Perfect. I’ve never seen a topaz cut like that.’

Domenico slid it onto her finger, his eyes alight with laughter. ‘Ah, Laura, how I love you.’

‘You’re laughing at me,’ she accused. ‘Shouldn’t you be down on one knee?’

‘I thought you did not like such romantic gestures.’

‘I would from you, Domenico.’

He slid to one knee immediately, and raised her hand to his lips. ‘So, will you marry me, Laura?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Even though this is not a topaz? I tell you this,’ he added apologetically, ‘so that you do not describe it so to someone who knows it is not.’

Laura looked down at the glittering stone. ‘What is it, then?’

‘It is a champagne diamond, tesoro.’

She stared at him speechlessly, then down at the ring, and burst into tears.

‘Carissima!’ Domenico leapt to his feet and snatched her into his arms. ‘If you do not like it I shall buy you another—’

‘No!’ She hugged him hard, then held her wet face up to be kissed. ‘It’s beautiful and I love it. But if you’d given me a topaz I would have loved that, too.’

‘Ah, Laura.’ He drew her down on his lap on the sofa and held her close, kissing away her tears. ‘So, fidanzata mia, how soon can we be married?’

‘We’ll need to talk to my mother about that. I’ll go to work tomorrow, but take the rest of the week off, so we can go down and see her,’ said Laura with decision. ‘But for the moment why not ring for a cab and go back to the hotel with the picnic things? You can collect your luggage and check out at the same time.’

Domenico cupped her face in his hands. ‘Are you sure of this? I can go back to the hotel each night if you prefer.’

Laura stared at him in astonishment. ‘And waste all that money on hotel bills and taxis? Are you mad?’

He laughed. ‘My practical Laura!’

‘That’s me. Practical—and yours,’ she assured him, and received a passionate kiss in response.

While Domenico was out Laura changed the bed and tidied up the flat, a process that took longer than usual due to frequent pauses to admire her ring. When Isabel Green rang as promised, to report on her return home, her euphoric daughter gave her the glad news.

‘You sneaky, wonderful mother to ring Venice. I love you to bits. Do I ever tell you that?’

‘Not often,’ said Isabel, sounding suspiciously husky. ‘But it’s nice to know. So all is well?’

‘Oh, yes. Very well indeed.’ Laura gave a deep sigh of pure contentment. ‘I thought we’d take a trip down to Stavely on Tuesday for some wedding talk and stay for a night.’

‘Darling, how lovely. I thought Domenico might not be able to spare the time.’

‘He doesn’t go back until Friday. Oh, and Mother, don’t bother making up Abby’s bed. Domenico will share mine.’

When Domenico had returned from his round trip Laura threw open the door to him and he put his bags on the floor and took her in his arms, kissing her as though they’d been parted for days.

‘I did not mean to be so long,’ said Domenico, releasing her. ‘Have you missed me?’

Laura grinned as she closed the door. ‘Actually, I haven’t missed you at all. I’ve been too busy. I’ve spoken with Mother, and rung Abby and Fen with the news, and I’ve got everything ready for supper, and,’ she added with emphasis, ‘I’ve put clean sheets on the bed.’

Domenico took in a deep breath. ‘Only a few short days ago I believed I would never share your bed again.’

Laura leaned up to kiss him. ‘You’re not only invited to share mine here, but the one in Briar Cottage, too. I told Mother we’d go down to Stavely on Tuesday.’

Domenico leaned against the counter, watching her with such pleasure Laura took a long time to make supper due to a need to be kissed a lot. While they ate ham omelettes they discussed the best way to please everyone with their wedding plans.

‘But if I am truthful it is only you I wish to please,’ said Domenico, toasting Laura with the last of the Prosecco.

‘If you could please your own family at the same time it would start things off on the right foot,’ she pointed out.

He grinned. ‘What is this right foot?’

‘You know perfectly well! We’ll ask Mother,’ added Laura. ‘She’ll know what to do.’

‘However we arrange it I shall pay,’ said Domenico, and held up a hand at her frown. ‘Your mother is a widow and I will soon be her son-in-law. It is only right that I take care of her.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, darling. We’ll talk it over with her and ask her advice. She likes you a lot,’ Laura told him. ‘Otherwise she wouldn’t have rung you in Venice.’

‘I am very glad of this,’ he said soberly. ‘I shall always be grateful to her. Also to Abby for trusting her secret to me. But it disturbs me that this doctor of yours also shares it.’

‘It disturbed me, too, so I did something about it.’ Laura’s eyes glittered as brightly as her ring as she told him about her warning to Edward.

Domenico frowned blackly. ‘Did you tell him what grief he had caused us?’

‘No fear. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.’ She grinned. ‘It was very hot in the café so my blush went unnoticed when I told Edward that you and I were still lovers.’

‘It was not a lie.’ He leaned to kiss her cheek. ‘We shall be lovers per sempre.’

Laura turned her mouth up to his for a moment in appreciation. ‘Now, let’s forget about Edward. I have a practical suggestion to make.’

He smiled indulgently. ‘Will I like it?’

‘Yes. Let’s wash these plates and go to bed.’

Domenico let out a deep breath and kissed her nose. ‘I have been waiting to hear you say this since you mentioned the sheets on your bed—’

‘But you wanted me to suggest it first?’ she said, grinning at him. ‘Do I have to ask now, then?’

‘This time only. Never again,’ he assured her.

When they were in bed together at last, Domenico took Laura into his arms with such a heartfelt sigh she hugged him hard.

‘I have wanted this so much,’ he said huskily. ‘Not just to make love. Of course I want this very much also—what man would not—but I need to hold you for a long time until I know I am not dreaming.’

‘How long?’ said Laura, wriggling closer.

He breathed in sharply. ‘Not so very long,’ he said with difficulty, then stared in surprise as she sat up and turned on her lamp.

‘I’ve got a little present for you.’ She opened the drawer in her bedside table and took out a fold of tissue paper.

Domenico sat up to take it from her, his eyes questioning.

‘I was given this by my grandmother when I was ten,’ she told him. ‘I thought you might like it.’

He removed the paper from a small gold locket engraved with the initial ‘L’ in the cartouche.

‘Open it,’ said Laura.

Domenico ran his thumbnail along the catch, and gazed in delight at the strand of bright gold hair coiled inside the locket.

‘I kept it so you can remember when I’m old and grey,’ she said with a catch in her voice.

He closed the locket, clasped the chain round his neck and took her in his arms. ‘Mille grazie, innamorata. I shall treasure this always, and take much pride in showing it to our grandchildren.’

‘Do I get a kiss in return?’

‘Many kisses!’

Domenico kissed her with hunger, exulting in Laura’s response as she caressed his shoulders with urgent hands, her breathing ragged as his kisses moved down her throat to her breasts and the nipples that sprang erect in response to his lips and grazing teeth. She gasped his name as he slid his fingers up her thighs to find the little bud throbbing between them, his caresses taking her to the point of frenzy before he moved to lie between her parted thighs, his arousal erect and ready.

‘Ti amo, Laura,’ he said, in a tone she’d never heard before.

‘Then love me now,’ she whispered, and with a victorious smile he entered her with a sure, slow thrust that held them transfixed by pure sensation for an instant before they began to move in gradually increasing urgency to achieve, at last, the ultimate, heart-stopping moment of glory.

On a bright December afternoon two months later Laura clutched Domenico’s hand as she looked down from the plane at the sunlit canals and gleaming buildings of Venice rising up to meet them.

He leaned nearer. ‘You are nervous as the plane lands, carissima?’

‘No, just excited.’ She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Happy, too, Domenico. It was such a lovely day yesterday. Your mother and father were very kind. They seemed to like me.’

He laughed indulgently. ‘How could they not? They have always wanted a daughter. They were also much charmed with your mother and sister. Isabel has promised to show them round the countryside at Stavely during their stay.’

‘It’s very good of them to move out of their place in Umbria for us to honeymoon there.’

‘I hope it will not be too cold for you at this time of the year.’

‘A Brit like me?’ Laura laughed, and shook her head.

Domenico smiled. ‘If you are cold I shall think of ways to make you warm again. Do not forget your wrap. You will need it on the water.’

When they left the plane the captain and the flight staff were waiting to see them off, and to Laura’s surprise she was presented with a small bouquet of rosebuds along with their congratulations.

‘How lovely,’ she said to Domenico as they entered the terminal.

‘I let them into the secret when I reserved the flight,’ he said, smiling smugly.

Laura laughed at him, so happy she wanted to crystallise each second of this day and treasure it. A heavy gold band accompanied the champagne diamond on her finger, she looked her best in a swathe of caramel wool draped over the shoulders of a white wool coat cut by one of Domenico’s countrymen, and, best and most important by far, her handsome bridegroom was holding her arm with openly possessive pride. As they entered the airport building a young man came hurrying towards them, smiling, and greeted them in a flood of Italian Domenico stemmed with a raised hand.

‘Basta! My wife is not fluent in our language yet, Carlo. Speak English.’

‘Mi scusi,’ he said, with a bow to Laura. ‘Welcome, Signora Chiesa. Please accept my good wishes.’

‘Thank you,’ she said warmly, and eyed him closely. ‘I think we’ve met before.’

‘This is Carlo Mancini, one of my receptionists at the Forli Palace,’ said Domenico. ‘But today he will wait for our luggage and deliver it to the apartment before we arrive there. Is everything arranged, Carlo?’

The young man nodded, smiling, and gestured towards the landing stage. ‘It awaits, signore.’

Laura’s eyes widened as Domenico took her hand to lead her through the crowds to the quayside, not to a water taxi as she’d expected, but to a gondola decked with flowers. The smiling gondoliere touched his straw hat as Domenico helped her aboard, and Laura gave him a delighted smile and sat down, noting that they were the focus of quite a few tourist cameras when Domenico put his arm round her.

‘So this was why we had to make the early flight today,’ she said in his ear as the gondolier sank his oar into the water.

Domenico grinned at her, the light in his luminous blue eyes triumphant. ‘Enjoy it while you may, Signora Chiesa. We Venetians ride by gondola on our wedding day only. I know my practical bride scorns romantic gestures, but this is tradition, Laura mia, even if it is a day late.’

‘I love it,’ she sighed, watching the late winter sun rippling on the water as the gondolier threaded skilfully through the Grand Canal traffic. She gave him a sidelong look. ‘It obviously depends on the gesture and who makes it.’

‘From this day these will be made by your husband only,’ he warned her.

‘Absolutely,’ she assured him. ‘So tell me again what happens next.’

‘We go to the apartment, where Carlo will have delivered our luggage. You can drink some of your favourite tea,’ he went on, his arm tightening. ‘Later we go to the Forli Palace to meet the staff and eat a celebration dinner. This will be served early so that we can go to bed in good time to prepare for the trip to Umbria tomorrow.’

‘Domenico,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘I notice that bed is featured in the itinerary.’

‘But of course.’ He grinned at her. ‘Brides must expect this.’

The slow, languorous journey down the Grand Canal was the crowning touch to two days Laura would remember all her life, starting with the wedding ceremony in Pennington. Guido and Anna Chiesa had looked on with love as their son slid the wedding ring on his bride’s finger, and there’d been some suspicious sniffing in the congregation—not from Isabel Green, as one might have expected, but from Fen, as she’d watched her father escort Laura down the aisle.

Domenico had even persuaded Laura to wear a conventional bridal gown instead of her practical idea of the unworn bridesmaid dress made for Fen’s wedding.

‘Humour me, carissima,’ he’d asked, and, because Laura found it hard to say no to anything he wanted she’d given in. Her mother had agreed fervently with Domenico. But Isabel had refused to let him pay.

‘I’ve let you have your way about the reception at the Chesterton, but I must buy my daughter’s dress,’ she’d said gently, and Domenico had kissed her hand in laughing defeat.

Laura had given in about the dress, but instead of conventional white had chosen a long Chantilly lace sheath the colour of champagne, with a short sleeveless version for Abby. The contrast of the sisters, one so fair and the other so dark, had drawn much admiration from the guests who’d flown from Italy for the wedding, and at the reception afterwards Domenico had made a graceful speech of thanks to Isabel Green for allowing him to marry her beautiful daughter, and welcomed her to Venice with Abby as often as she wished to visit.

‘You are dreaming,’ said Domenico as Laura gazed at the sunlight gilding the ancient buildings lining the Grand Canal.

‘I was thinking of our wedding.’ She turned to smile at him. ‘You made a great speech.’

‘I meant every word. I am very fond of my new mother-in-law, and I think Abby feels warmer towards me now. She is a very lovely girl, Laura. I will take great care of her when she visits us.’

‘Are you influenced by what happened to her?’

‘Of course. No man must ever hurt her again.’

‘I love you so much, Domenico,’ said Laura, moving closer. ‘I still can’t believe we’re actually married.’

He laughed, and kissed her cheek. ‘When we get home I shall take very great pleasure in removing any doubts, tesoro.’

She smiled demurely. ‘You removed one or two last night.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘I would have continued to do so this morning, but I had ordered breakfast very early to allow us to reach Heathrow in good time for our flight.’

‘I didn’t want to get up!’

‘I know this.’ Domenico chuckled. ‘You growled at me like a little tigress when I tried to wake you.’

The sun was setting in a red ball over the Salute as the gondola halted in the narrow canal near the apartment. Domenico gave the gondoliere a sizeable tip and to the accompaniment of fervent good wishes helped his bride onto dry land.

‘Allora, Signora Chiesa, we are here.’

Hand in hand they mounted the steps to the first floor of the building. Domenico unlocked the door, then picked Laura up in his arms to carry her across the threshold. As he set her on her feet she reached up to give him a kiss, then went through the apartment on a tour of inspection, exclaiming over the fresh flowers everywhere before she went out onto the balcony to watch the sun sink into the lagoon. Domenico came behind her to slide his arms round her waist.

‘Welcome back to Venice, tesoro.’

Laura turned in his embrace, gazing up at him with such love his breath caught in his chest. ‘I’m not dreaming, am I?’

He shook his head lovingly. ‘No, sposa mia, you are not dreaming. You are here, in Venice, in my home and in my heart.’

Their lips met in a long, reverent kiss as though the occasion was too important for mere passion, then they went inside, closing the glass doors on the lagoon night.

‘I don’t want any tea,’ said Laura as they reached the bedroom. ‘I want you, Domenico.’ She smiled as his eyes darkened and he crushed her close for a moment before undoing her coat.

‘We shall celebrate our marriage in the place where we first made love,’ he said with satisfaction, and smiled wryly. ‘I rarely slept here after you sent me away. You were here with me in the bed, in every room. I could not get you out of my mind.’

‘I was the same,’ she said huskily. ‘Let’s make a promise never to quarrel again, Domenico.’

‘I do not make promises I cannot keep,’ he said regretfully, sliding the zip of her dress down. ‘I have a temper; so have you. But I promise we shall never be parted again.’

‘When we quarrel we must have make-up love straight away,’ she said firmly and stepped out of the caramel jersey dress in the lacy underwear worn for precisely this moment. She slid a suspender from a stocking, but Domenico shook his head and pulled her close to kiss her before scooping her up to lay her on the bed.

‘That is my privilege. I will undress you, tesoro,’ he informed her.

‘Will we stop wanting each other so desperately now we are married?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Never,’ he promised huskily, the process of removing the scraps of lace and satin firing them both to such a state of frenzied arousal that their loving was hot and sweet and utterly satisfying, but very short.

‘You are Ice Maiden no longer!’ panted Domenico, burying his face against her breasts.

‘That gondola ride was to blame—the best foreplay one could ask for,’ said Laura breathlessly as she smoothed the damp hair back from her husband’s forehead. ‘I see now why Venetians keep it for their wedding day!’

Domenico looked up with a grin. ‘We shall ride by gondola often if it has that effect on you.’

‘The effect on you was just the same!’

‘That was nothing to do with the gondola. I will always want to make love to you—every night of our lives.’

‘Every night?’

‘This is a problem?’

‘Not for me.’ She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘After all, I’m a lot younger than you!’

Domenico growled and flipped her on her back, grinning. ‘Then before I get too old perhaps I should make love to you again now, yes?’

‘That’s your male Venetian pride talking again!’ She stretched luxuriously and smiled up at him. ‘I’m so glad you cancelled the gondola ride that first time, darling.’

‘I did so because of your dislike of romantic gestures,’ he said, running a possessive finger down her cheek. ‘But now I believe that fate prompted me to save the gondola trip for our wedding day. I knew even then, carissima, that you were my destiny.’

In The Venetian’s Bed

by

Susan Stephens

Susan Stephens was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta. in true Mills & Boon® style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and were married three months later. Almost thirty years and three children later they are still in love. (Susan does not advise her children to return home one day with a similar story as she may not take the news with the same fortitude as her own mother!)

Susan loves her family, her pets, her friends and her writing. She enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. She reads, cooks and plays the piano to relax, and can occasionally be found throwing herself off mountains on a pair of skis or galloping through the countryside. Visit Susan’s website at www.susanstephens.net

Don’t miss Susan Stephens’s exciting new novel, Master of the Desert, available April 2010 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

Chapter One

NELL FOSTER’S shout brought the people strolling along the narrow street to an abrupt halt. The scene froze in a distorted snapshot. On the cobbled calle above the canal a tall, dark man was holding a limp blonde child in his arms. From the gondola swaying gracefully below him, a young mother thrust out her arms in alarm.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing with my daughter?’ On the pretext of helping her to disembark the gondolier had passed Molly to a stranger!

Nell’s voice sounded shrill in the oppressive silence of the ancient backwater, and shock made her actions disjointed as she hurried to disembark. She stumbled on the treacherous moss-coated steps, forcing the man holding Molly to lurch out and save her. She shook him off angrily. Molly was like a rag doll in his arms, the soft breeze feathering fronds of baby hair around her face.

‘Give her to me now!’ People stared. Nell didn’t care. She had one goal in mind, and that was Molly. While they had been travelling along the canal at a snail’s pace with no means of escape Molly had fallen asleep so heavily Nell hadn’t been able to wake her. It was an unnatural sleep that terrified Nell. And now this man had taken Molly from her.

‘No.’ The deep, faintly accented voice was brusque and uncompromising.

He was refusing? Nell looked for support, but there was something so commanding in the man’s manner that, rather than attempting to help her, people were already starting to move away.

Used to wielding authority, she guessed, he was in his mid to late twenties and expensively though casually dressed. He was groomed in a way only the rich had time for—pressed trousers, crisp shirt, and with a lightweight sweater slung around his shoulders that she would have needed superglue at the very least to keep in place. He made her feel shabby, frightened and very angry.

‘Stand out of my light.’ Dipping his head to look her in the eyes, he rapped the words at her.

‘Give my daughter back to me!’ Nell met and held his gaze. She had no intention of moving one inch. What, and leave Molly in the arms of some man she didn’t know?

‘Don’t,’ he warned, stepping back when she tried to take Molly from him.

‘Don’t? What do you mean, don’t? That’s my daughter you’re holding.’

Dazzling black-gold eyes equally full of determination locked with Nell’s.

‘You’ve had a shock. You’re unsteady on your feet. If you fall into the canal, who will rescue you?’ He glanced at Molly lying insensible in his arms, turning the question into a rebuke.

A few locks of inky black hair had fallen into his eyes as he spoke—the only part of him that had resisted perfection. Nell resented absorbing that much about him. ‘We need help. Can’t you see?’ She fumbled for her phone while the sun beat down on her shoulders, making it impossible to breathe. The man holding Molly seemed to exist in a bubble of air-conditioning.

‘You’re overwrought,’ he said coldly.

Overwrought? ‘Are you surprised?’ She watched with mounting anger as he pulled out a phone and flipped it open. It seemed like another tactic to avoid giving Molly back to her. ‘Who are you calling?’

He paused with the mobile halfway to his ear. ‘An ambulance.’

‘An ambulance?’ Nell’s mouth dried. Briefly, her mind refused to accept the possibility of an ambulance coming down the canal. But she knew there had to be some means by which emergency cases could be transported to hospital in Venice.

Emergency cases? Molly was only eighteen months old! She’d never had a day’s illness in her life.

Nell stared at the man more intently. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head as he listened to the voice at the other end of the phone line.

Nell gazed at Molly lying in his arms. She was almost frightened to touch her own daughter. Molly looked so frail, as if all the life had leached out of her.

The man started speaking rapidly in Italian. Nell had found the language an interesting challenge earlier, but now it was just a hostile barrier she couldn’t cross. Her heart jerked as his phone snapped shut. Why didn’t he say something? Couldn’t he see she was desperate for information? But all his attention was focused on Molly. His brow was furrowed and she could see he was worried. It endorsed her own fears. Why wouldn’t Molly wake up? No one slept like this unless there was something seriously wrong.

When he moved she followed him into the shade. ‘Will the ambulance be long?’

‘No.’

‘So, do you know what’s wrong?’ She ran a hand through her hair. Why should she assume he knew anything? But she was desperate. She didn’t know what was happening, she didn’t know him—she didn’t know anything. ‘Who are you?’

Panic was rising inside her chest. She fought it back, forcing herself to concentrate as he started to say something. She couldn’t afford to go to pieces.

‘I’m a doctor—a medical practitioner.’ He held her gaze fast in a blaze of self-assurance.

If that was meant to reassure her, it had the opposite effect. All the panic and fear drained out of her to be replaced by dread. She had been brought up to trust and respect the medical profession, and she’d had no reason to change that opinion until a catastrophic event had pulled the wool from her eyes.

‘My name is Dottore Luca Barbaro.’

The man had moved on smoothly to introductions, Nell realised. It was as if she were watching a horror film in slow motion, a film that had no connection with her life. ‘Dr Barbaro,’ she repeated distractedly.

‘That’s right.’

He sounded as though he expected her to fall on her knees and give thanks.

‘Well, now that you’ve made your call, Dr Barbaro, you can give my daughter back to me!’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ His brow furrowed.

‘Trust you? Why should I trust you?’

‘You’re in shock,’ he said, sounding irritable. ‘It’s better if I hold her.’

Better? What could be better than for a child to be held by its own mother? ‘I’m not in shock. Give her to me.’ The urge to rip Molly from his arms was growing every moment, but she couldn’t risk manhandling Molly, not when there was something so obviously wrong.

Nell’s mind darted about, trying to land on a sensible course of action, but nothing made sense—especially this man appearing out of the blue to take charge of their lives. ‘Have you been following us?’ she said suspiciously.

‘Following you?’ His eyes mirrored his impatience.

‘Oh, so you just happened along. And you tell me you’re a doctor. Quite convenient, don’t you think?’

‘Why should I lie to you? I am a doctor. I live just over there.’ He jutted out his chin to indicate some building.

She didn’t look. She had no intention of staring at a place she had no wish to see. ‘And you were standing by your window when our gondola floated past?’

‘Your gondolier rang to warn me you were on your way.’

That seemed so incongruous, it had to be impossible. Then Nell remembered the gondolier had made a call. It was so easy to be seduced by ravishingly beautiful and apparently unchanged Venice, and forget how easily the modern world coexisted with the old.

‘Luck was smiling on you,’ he remarked.

‘Luck?’ It was Nell’s turn to snap.

‘Lucky for you your gondolier knew me and where I live. Marco only had to ring to check that I was in, and then he brought you straight here.’

‘He brought us here intentionally?’

‘He was trying to help you.’

A fact that seemed lost on the child’s mother, Luca thought. He eased his neck. His head was thumping. Sleep deprivation had finally claimed him. This was supposed to be his day off, but when the call came suggesting a worrying case, his time on duty had slipped into its third day. That didn’t matter. The patient came first. The patient always came first.

‘The gondolier brought you here as quickly as he could.’ His tolerance levels, thin at the best of times when dealing with civilians, were at an all-time low. While one part of his brain knew it was routine for the mother to be concerned and emotional, the other, more forceful side resented her interference. The result? He was spitting out words to drive his message home. And the message was: Leave me to deal with this. I don’t need to be here, I don’t want your thanks, just don’t expect me to be your emotional support when I have a job to do.

But there was no nurse here to take the woman away. Grinding his jaw, Luca attempted to calm her down. Human decency demanded that much of him. ‘Marco could see you needed a doctor, so he brought you to me. Didn’t you tell him you needed help?’

‘I didn’t think he understood.’

‘He didn’t. Lucky for you he used his initiative.’

Oh, forget human decency. He was just too damn tired, and the child needed all his attention. Besides, there was something else nagging at him—something that meant he had to be harsh. Feelings, thoughts, all of them inappropriate, were swimming round his head, pulling his eyes to her body when they should be on the patient.

He didn’t need this. A particularly harrowing shift had left him tired and susceptible—how else could he explain the way he was reacting to her?

Luca turned back to the patient in his arms before he had chance to lock eyes with her mother.

‘What are you doing now?’ Nell tensed as he inspected Molly’s fingernails.

‘You’re going to have to put your mistrust of doctors on hold while I check my patient.’

His patient? Her baby. Her life. Nell gritted her teeth. And as for putting her mistrust on hold…! Didn’t this just underline everything she felt about doctors? Didn’t this man’s detached manner justify all the ugly emotion welling inside her now—emotion so close to hatred it was impossible to tell the difference?

‘So, what exactly are you checking, Doctor?’

‘Oxygen levels.’

‘And you can do that just from staring at my daughter’s hand?’

‘I can see if the nails are pink and healthy, or if they are tinged with blue.’

‘Blue? Let me see!’ Fear welled in Nell’s throat. She had no medical training to draw on. She didn’t know if Molly’s nails were pink enough. What kind of mother didn’t know the colour of her own daughter’s nails? Why hadn’t she noticed the colour of Molly’s nails when she was well so she had something to compare them with now?

‘You can’t be expected to know everything.’

And now he could read minds? She doubted he was trying to placate her. In any case, she didn’t want his understanding: she wanted facts. ‘How can I help if you don’t tell me what’s going on?’

‘You can’t help,’ he said flatly.

‘So a mother’s care is worth nothing?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ he said wearily.

‘Then give her to me.’ Nell’s tone sharpened.

He levelled a gaze on her face. ‘If you want me to assess her medical condition you’ll leave her where she is.’

‘You’re a doctor and you don’t know what’s wrong with her yet?’

‘I can’t be certain—’

‘But you must have some idea.’

‘Stop pressing me for answers. You should try to relax—’

‘Relax?’

‘All right, then, how about trusting me?’

‘Why should I trust you? I don’t know you. You could be anyone!’

‘Look, just stay calm, or move away. You’re disturbing my patient.’

Nell held her ground. ‘Your patient is my daughter! If you’re not capable of helping Molly then I’m going to find someone who is.’

‘Where?’

He fired the word back at her. She flinched and fell silent.

‘If you just stay calm everything will be all right,’ he told her.

The man’s assurance infuriated her. He had intoned the platitude in the way Nell was beginning to think must be dished out along with the accreditation MD. ‘And maybe I could stay calm if I thought you had any idea what was wrong with my daughter.’

‘I can’t be sure of anything yet.’

‘Or you don’t know.’ She had been too trusting once before, and that had ended in tragedy. She wasn’t going to make that same mistake again. Not with Molly.

When her husband, Jake, had been killed in a car accident, Nell hadn’t known that Molly’s father might have survived had the junior doctor mistakenly sent to tend him at the roadside been properly trained. Later, in Casualty, she had believed the medics had been trying to save Jake’s life, not covering for their colleague’s mistake. When they had finally admitted Jake was dead it had come as a complete shock to her. There had been no warning, no preparation at all.

It had been a life-changing event that had led to Nell starting a campaign to help others in a similar plight. That campaign was now a charitable trust with volunteers countrywide in the United Kingdom. People who could liaise with the medical staff within a hospital and give whatever support was required to a patient’s relative or friend.

This Luca Barbaro seemed too glamorous, too young, to be an experienced doctor. Very like the young medic who had tended Jake. Nell’s heart lurched.

‘Can you call the hospital? Tell them I want someone there as soon as we arrive—a paediatric consultant, someone experienced. The best!’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ His voice was bordering on sarcastic.

‘Not good enough,’ she said sharply.

His answer was to lock his fingers under Molly, as if she was about to do something stupid like snatch Molly from him. Or was it just to drive home the message that he was in charge?

He leaned over the canal at a perilous angle to peer down it—with Molly in his arms. Nell’s hands balled into fists. Molly’s tiny frame suspended over murky water! Her head was banging with tension by the time he straightened up to stare at her in silence. Did he expect her to start a conversation—about the weather, maybe?

‘You should tell me your name.’

Her eyes had to be registering astonishment, Nell knew. This wasn’t some social gathering where it was mandatory to engage in small talk. She didn’t want to chat with him. She didn’t want to get to know him. She didn’t want to tell him her name. ‘Perhaps you should tell me what you know about Molly’s condition.’

Nell’s brave front dissolved as Luca Barbaro held her gaze. There was something in his eyes that made her heart lurch with dread. How bad was it? Why didn’t he say something to reassure her? Was it because there was nothing to say?

‘You’ll have to tell me your name sooner or later.’

A doctor possessed any number of strategies for winkling out facts from distressed relatives, as she knew only too well, but giving her name as Molly’s next of kin was mandatory. ‘My name is Nell Foster,’ she offered stiffly.

‘And the child’s name?’

‘My daughter’s name is Molly.’ Nell had drawn herself up, thinking she was ready for him. But the moment she spoke Molly’s name her self-assurance disappeared. Molly was the one fixed point in her life, a point around which everything else in her world revolved. Everything she did, thought, or planned was for Molly. As tears welled behind her eyes, she only managed to hold herself together by staring fixedly at her baby.

‘Molly Foster,’ he murmured. ‘Very nice.’

The tender note in his voice took Nell by surprise. Her mouth tightened. She didn’t want his smiles or reassurance. She wanted the answer to one simple question: why had Molly been taken ill?

‘So, Molly…’

She refocused, hearing his crooning tone. No one spoke to Molly like that except for her.

‘Is this your first visit to Venice, Molly?’ he continued, oblivious to the distress he was causing.

‘Yes, it is,’ Nell answered for her daughter stiffly. The rational side of her brain told her that he was watching for signs as he spoke to Molly, clues that might help him to arrive at a diagnosis. The emotional side of her brain didn’t trust him to get it right. She didn’t trust any doctor.

And then he glanced up as if sensing her appraisal. She must have swayed, because the next thing she knew his free hand was under her arm and he was steadying her, and the sensation was shooting up her arm like…

She pulled free with surprise. It was hard to believe his touch had affected her so acutely. How could she respond to a man at a time like this? It disgusted her. It was as if her body was tuned to a different frequency from her mind and she had no control over it. As he moved she was forced to move with him to stay close to Molly, but she took care to keep her distance from the man holding her.

‘That’s better,’ he said infuriatingly, as if Nell had moved into the very spot he would have chosen for her. ‘You should stand well back from the canal. You’ve had a shock and we don’t want any accidents.’

We? She guessed that was the type of nursery-speak he used in the hospital. It was exactly the type of thing she had made it her crusade to abolish.

‘Molly needs you to be strong. She’s very poorly. You do understand that?’

Nell’s stomach clenched with fear. ‘Of course I understand.’ But she didn’t understand any of it. How could Molly be so sick? She wanted him to say it was a mistake. She wanted Molly to wake up.

‘Take some deep breaths, Nell. It will help.’

Nell’s face was hostile as she stared up. She wasn’t the one in need of help here! And she felt Barbaro’s use of her first name as another outrage. While she had been waiting in the hospital for Jake she had noticed that all the patients were addressed by their first names. She had also noticed that no one called out, ‘Hey, John,’ to Jake’s consultant, but had addressed him respectfully as Mr Delaware. She had resented it then, she resented it now. But she had to let it go. Resentment didn’t help Molly. She recommended breathing exercises to her volunteers to use in moments of stress, and tried them now. Gradually the muscles in her chest began to release—but he was leaning over the canal again.

‘Must you do that?’

Rocking back on his heels, Luca Barbaro stared down at her. ‘I’m looking for the ambulance.’

Did that give him the excuse to expose Molly to risk? ‘Well, don’t do it while you’ve got my daughter in your arms. Or give her back to me.’

‘No.’

She couldn’t risk a tussle that might land them all in the water. She had to content herself with stroking Molly’s brow, which had grown warm and clammy. Her chest was working like a miniature bellows, while her cheeks were unnaturally pink. ‘Does she have a fever?’

‘I’ll know more when we reach the hospital and I can run some tests.’

‘So, in fact, you know damn all?’ Hot and cold waves of terror were washing over her. She knew she shouldn’t shout, or lose her cool, but some atavistic instinct was shouting at her to take Molly and run…find help. But where would she run to? She was lost in the maze of backwaters that made up the hidden face of Venice. This calle was a long way from the regular tourist trail with its friendly vendors and signposts to the main attractions. Her knowledge of Italian was minimal, and she would lose valuable time trying to find her way back to the Grand Canal…time Molly might not have.

Nell’s heart pounded as her mind filled with a deep and unreasonable hatred of Venice. Everything that had seemed so beautiful, so charming when they had first arrived had turned an ugly face on them. She glanced around, wondering if the dilapidation harboured the blight that had infected Molly—or the water, perhaps? The unusual silence of the traffic-free centre, which so recently she had enjoyed, now represented isolation; the lack of signposts seemed now to be a ploy to confuse the unwary tourist. And worst of all, Venice had welded her to this stranger, a man who said he was a doctor. And even if he was a doctor, for all she knew Luca Barbaro was a podiatric surgeon, happier sawing off bunions than treating children! But she was stuck with him. She couldn’t risk setting out on her own with Molly and getting lost.

It was her fault. She shouldn’t have brought Molly so far from home for a holiday. But then Jake’s accident had happened at the end of their road—on familiar territory…The policewoman sent to break the news and comfort her afterwards had said that was where so many accidents happened, when people let their concentration slip after a long journey. And of course, it hadn’t helped that Jake had had a secret life to distract him. It was hardly surprising he’d gone off the road.

The accident had happened on a Friday night, when Casualty was like a war zone. She had been locked inside her thoughts, fearing the worst, hoping for the best, when the scream came. It had been a woman’s scream, a scream that connected with Nell on so deep a level she had known her whole life was somehow wrapped up in it. When they finally allowed her into Jake’s room, no one had warned her that he wasn’t alone. The last thing she had been expecting to find was a young woman with a tiny baby in her arms, weeping by her dead husband’s bed.

Chapter Two

‘WHAT are you doing?’ Nell refocused as Barbaro fished out his phone again.

‘Calling the ambulance service.’

Was it possible to edit the information he gave out any more? ‘Why?’ she pressed insistently.

‘To make sure there isn’t a hold-up. My patient needs proper care, which I can’t give here.’ He glanced around then held Nell’s stare as if daring her to argue.

Nell had to force herself not to shout. He was talking about Molly so impassively, as if he were a puppet master working them from the remotest reaches of his ivory tower. She shuddered involuntarily. The past, horrific as that had been, was nothing compared to this.

‘Tell me everything you can remember about the day.’

To keep her busy and distracted, Nell suspected as dark eyes probed her thoughts. She wanted time to collect herself, to examine her own actions. If she had done something wrong to bring Molly to this point, then she wanted to be the first to know. ‘Molly was quite well when we woke up this morning.’ A faint smile touched Nell’s lips as she remembered the lighthearted start to their day.

‘Cast your mind back to the moment when you first noticed signs of deterioration.’

‘Deterioration?’ The ugly word wiped out anything good about a day earmarked for pleasure that had tilted on its axis to reveal a face as sinister and outlandish as any of the painted masks she had seen in Venice.

‘Can’t you remember when she first slipped into this state?’

‘If you mean, do I remember when Molly fell so deeply asleep I couldn’t wake her?’ The way he was speaking…so remote, so detached. She couldn’t bear it. She wouldn’t bear it.

‘That’s right,’ he went on. ‘Tell me when the patient—’

‘My daughter’s name is Molly.’ She would not have him discussing Molly as though she were some test case in a textbook.

‘When Molly first became sleepy.’

Nell shook her head as she thought it through out loud. ‘Why did I wait for a problem to become a crisis?’

‘Because you thought she was only sleeping.’

She hadn’t been speaking to Luca Barbaro but to herself, and turned on him angrily. ‘I should have picked it up.’

‘Get over the guilt and tell me what you remember.’

His sharp voice shook her into gear. ‘It happened so gradually I hardly noticed.’

‘Until you couldn’t wake her, I presume? Has anything like this ever happened before?’

‘Never.’

‘This is important, Nell,’ he warned.

‘Do you think I don’t know that? And it’s Ms Foster, thank you.’ She stared at him with hostility. But for Molly’s sake she had to go over everything again. Nell started to snatch at whispery strands of recollection from the day—the simple breakfast, the cappuccino froth lodging on her lip, which Molly had wanted to copy…dabbing it on, holding her up to laugh at her reflection in the mirror…Nothing to give warning of what was to come. And why was he examining Molly’s fingertips again? Was she getting worse?

The fear was rising again. It sat on her thought processes like a heavy weight. This was far worse than Jake’s accident, even though she’d been pregnant with Molly then, and still had everything to learn about betrayal, loss and loss of trust. She had survived the disillusionment of discovering Jake’s double life, survived having everything she believed in ripped away, and with no warning at all, but, staring at Molly lying lifeless in Luca’s arms, she wasn’t sure she was equal to this.

She wanted to ask more questions, but remembered from her experience with Jake that doctors were masters of deception. What would this man tell her that she could believe? She had been told so many lies. Where there’s life, there’s hope—that was just one of the many platitudes she had been fed in the hospital. No one told her before she went into Jake’s room that he was already brain-dead, and that his body only lived on thanks to the machines breathing for him.

‘Have you come up with anything yet?’

Dragging herself back to the present, Nell realised that Luca Barbaro had a frighteningly similar manner to the doctors she had encountered in the hospital following Jake’s accident. ‘I’m trying to remember.’ She was struggling with every atom of intellect at her command to try and pin down a trigger. If she could just identify the moment when things had changed…

She’d been over and over it, and still nothing new, and now the past was sucking her down again like quicksand. Jake’s death had flung back the curtain on his secret life, proving she hadn’t known the man she loved, the man she believed loved her and their unborn child. But Jake was wild, a free spirit. He would never have been content with a conventional life with her…

Barbaro was staring at her, Nell realised, his eyes hypnotic, demanding. He’d guessed something was chipping away at her mind. She didn’t want him climbing inside her head, reading her thoughts.

‘Tell me everything you did from leaving the hotel,’ Barbaro prompted.

His manner rankled. He was so sure of himself, so altogether comfortable in his deeply tanned skin. But however much she wanted to hit back, this was for Molly, and she would give him every bit of help that she could. ‘She became sleepy about half an hour after we boarded the gondola. At first I thought it was because she found the ride soothing. I was day-dreaming too…’ Nell stopped abruptly. Help was one thing, sharing her personal impressions with this man was something else.

‘And before that?’

‘Nothing. She was fine.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. Will you give her to me?’

‘No. You might drop her.’

‘Drop her?’ Was he mad? ‘I can assure you, I won’t!’

‘You look light-headed to me.’

‘Is that in your professional opinion?’

Ignoring the sarcasm, he leaned out again, and so far this time, Nell grabbed him by the sleeve.

He looked down at her hand on his arm and she quickly drew it back.

‘Will you please try to calm down?’

‘How do you expect me to be calm when you take chances with my daughter—when you stand there saying nothing, explaining nothing?’ Nell shook her head. She would never get through to him. As far as Dr Barbaro was concerned, she was the unavoidable encumbrance that came with each of his patients—their relative or friend.

Digging in her pocket, she found her phone. Relief flooded through her; she could do something now. She could ring the emergency services—take over. And the number was…?

Why hadn’t she thought to ask at the hotel about the local emergency number? Because an emergency was the last thing you thought about on holiday…because all it took was one ray of sunshine and your brain shut down.

‘What are you doing?’ Luca Barbaro said sharply.

She ignored him and kept on punching numbers. ‘I’m ringing our hotel.’

‘Why?’

‘To ask them for the number of the emergency services.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of handling this. It’s too late for them to do anything, and you’ll just complicate everything. It will be quicker if we wait.’

‘For how long?’ she almost shouted.

‘You’d make better use of your time if you could remember something.’

Their voices were rising over Molly’s head, Nell realised, clamping her mouth shut. Did he think she was being deliberately obstructive?

‘Where did you start your day?’ he demanded.

She thought back to St Mark’s Square: grandeur and scale beyond imagining. Pigeons wheeling over their heads like dull grey streamers. The cafés, the crowds. Molly eating ice cream, pasta…She blenched. ‘Molly doesn’t have food poisoning, does she?’

He frowned, but didn’t answer.

‘Don’t you know?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not prepared to confirm or deny anything until I’m certain.’

He was sorry? She doubted that somehow. ‘You must be able to tell me something.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘How far away are we from the hospital?’

‘Not too far.’

‘Then why don’t we walk?’ she said with exasperation.

‘Not too far by boat,’ he clarified.

Nell felt as if she was tearing up inside with frustration. She wanted to do something. Most of all, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, leaving Molly safe and well in her pushchair. With an angry sound she raked her hair.

‘If this is getting too much for you, I could always help you down to that ledge and you could sit down.’

Too much for her? Sit down? She couldn’t believe he was pointing to a seat cut into the rock beside the steps rubbed smooth by countless weary travellers—as if she could relax like them. ‘I’m not tired!’ She ignored his outstretched hand. The last thing she wanted to do was sit down. No, not the last thing. That had to be taking his hand. She had no intention of touching any part of him.

The black-gold gaze lingered on her face. ‘Worrying will only sap your energy.’

‘Thanks for the advice.’ Nell raked her hair again until it stood in even angrier spikes. ‘Why don’t you save the platitudes, and give my daughter back to me?’

‘Bad temper won’t help either…’

He was looking at her hair. Let him look. It perfectly mirrored her feelings. Doubtless Barbaro preferred his women to have long, silky tresses he could wind around his fist…

A siren blasted and Nell exhaled with relief. At last something was happening.

The launch painted in orange and white had Ambulanza emblazoned along the side and across the front. Moving steadily towards them, it finally slowed beside the steps.

‘Be careful when you climb on board,’ Luca Barbaro advised. ‘Leave Molly’s pushchair to one of the men. We haven’t time to deal with a second emergency.’

And then he was gone—with Molly. When she went to follow, one of the paramedics got in her way. Nell panicked, the past mocking her, reminding how they had kept her away from Jake. But then Barbaro stuck his head out of the cabin to see where she was and shouted something in Italian. She didn’t wait to work out what it was. The man moved out of the way, and she hurried on board.

The fear that she would be separated from Molly was so real Nell had to ram the past back in its box and lock it up again. She had to tell herself that this wasn’t a replay of Jake’s accident, but something entirely different, and that she had to keep a clear head if she was going to stay on top of this new nightmare.

As she ducked her head to enter the cabin she could see Luca Barbaro was already treating Molly. He was clearly in his element, moving purposefully, calmly. The men knew him and watched him confidently. Their attitude relaxed her a little.

‘Sit here, please.’ Without taking his attention from Molly, Barbaro directed her to a bench seat on the opposite side of the cabin. As far away from Molly as possible.

He’d shifted up a gear, sloughing off all the irritation she’d sensed on shore. He was delivering instructions into his phone now, as well as to the men on board, and she didn’t need to understand the language to know who was in charge, or to gather that this was a full-blown emergency and there was no time to lose.

The creeping cold that had started down her spine spread to Nell’s shoulders as she sat watching. She didn’t even know that she was shivering until Luca Barbaro turned in the middle of attending to Molly and murmured something to one of the paramedics. Then the man tossed a blanket over her shoulders and she drew it tight.

Nell watched him work with a mixture of awe and dread, all the time willing Molly to wake up. But it didn’t take long for her to lose her flimsy faith. She was stung into speech by the sight of a syringe in his hand.

‘Are you sure all this is necessary?’

‘Yes.’ He glanced over his shoulder too briefly to make eye contact.

She had only wanted him to explain what he was doing. He had checked Molly’s vital signs, listened to her chest, checked her pulse, her blood pressure, tapped her back, scrutinised her fingernails for the umpteenth time and shone a light into her eyes. And now she wanted to be with Molly, holding her…

Nell made her request the moment he straightened up.

Barbaro remained staring at Molly, waiting for signs of improvement, she guessed.

‘Not yet.’

‘When?’ But the powerful engines started up at that moment, drowning out her voice, and then the launch surged forward, fixing her in place. Nell waited until she judged it safe to move—

‘Sit down!’

The harsh command shunted ice through her veins. She speared a look of resentment at him, but at that moment the launch picked up speed, and as it thrust forward the prow lifted, tilting the deck at an extreme angle. Thrown off balance, she was forced to make a grab for one of the upright poles and cling on desperately.

Barbaro’s voice reached her over the roar of the engines. ‘Police launches and ambulances break the speed limits inside the city and we’ll be going even faster when we reach the Grand Canal. Get back to your seat and sit down now. It isn’t safe to stand up.’

Tears of frustration welled in Nell’s eyes. ‘You might have warned me.’ But Barbaro had already turned back to tend to Molly. She tried to get back to her seat, but the launch hit another boat’s wake and lurched unexpectedly.

Nell finally staggered back to her seat, where the weight of emotion pinned her in place. Terror made her want to cry, to sob hysterically and shout out: why? Why Molly? The emotion building in her throat, in her chest was nearly choking her. She guessed that everyone on board would be used to emotional incontinence—all the more reason not to give way to it. She would hold herself in check—do whatever it took not to distract them from treating Molly. Her chest was heaving convulsively, but she made herself calm down. Then at last Dr Barbaro stood back and she could see Molly clearly.

Nell paled. There were so many tubes and wires connected to Molly’s tiny frame. She stared up fearfully, trying to read Luca Barbaro’s face, his eyes…She was so hungry for information. Why didn’t he say something to her?

‘Can I sit with Molly now?’ Her voice was small. ‘Can I hold her?’

‘You might dislodge the drip.’

The drip? She hadn’t noticed it before, but now she did. It was suspended above Molly like an abomination. ‘I wouldn’t—’ Nell’s throat seemed to be caught in a vice. ‘Does she need that?’

‘It’s used for rehydration, and we’re giving antibiotics too, as a precaution.’

Nell frowned. ‘You don’t know what’s wrong with my daughter but you’re pumping her full of drugs?’

‘I consider it necessary.’

‘And what’s that machine?’ She wanted to know. She wanted to know everything. She wanted to drive him, drive him hard. How else was she to find out what was going on? How else was she going to let him know she was there for Molly?

‘A nebuliser. It delivers the medicine in a fine mist so the patient can breathe it in without it disturbing them.’

‘Without it disturbing them?’ Nell shuddered as she stared at the mask on Molly’s face, the coarse green elastic binding her fine baby hair to her moist skin. The noise from the machine was enough to disturb anyone. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Nothing was going to disturb Molly; nothing could disturb her while she was in this condition.

The sooner they arrived at the hospital the sooner she could breathe easily again, Nell realised. Or maybe not even then. Maybe this man was representative of the type of cold-hearted individual she was going to find there. Something inside her said, if she could just touch Molly, give her love…

‘I won’t disturb her, and I won’t pull anything out.’

She suffered his scrutiny in silence, holding herself together in the hope of passing his test.

‘All right,’ he agreed finally and, Nell guessed, reluctantly. ‘I’ll lift her onto your knee and then you can hold her while she inhales the medicine.’

‘Thank you.’ She was so grateful, all her feelings of hostility towards him started to fade. ‘Does she need the drip as well as the mask?’ Nell tried not to let her gaze linger on the fine tubing hanging from Molly’s slender arm. Molly had never needed a plaster to cover an abrasion in her whole life, let alone required a needle to be inserted in her arm…

‘It’s the most efficient way I know to administer antibiotics and rehydrate the body.’

The body? Nell gasped involuntarily.

‘Your daughter,’ he corrected himself tersely.

Had she got through to him? His dispassionate voice suggested otherwise. ‘The most efficient way you know? How can I be sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘You can’t. I’ll have to take her off you if you are going to get upset.’

‘Don’t threaten me! I’ve got no intention of breaking down, I can assure you,’ she managed coldly, staring into his eyes until he looked away. Then she drank in every nuance of Molly’s changed appearance. Rather than its usual porcelain perfection, Molly’s complexion was ashen and her lips were tinged with blue…like her nails. She looked up again. ‘I think it’s time you told me what’s going on.’

‘When I know I’ll tell you, and not before.’

He was not prepared to deliver a diagnosis that might be disproved once the child was admitted to hospital, where all the necessary tests could be carried out, nor was he accustomed to being harangued—let alone by some pixie-haired termagant with eyes like cobalt searchlights. He’d been looking forward to some hard-won down time when the call came through from Marco, the gondolier. He hadn’t had chance to eat or to drink all day, let alone take a shower, or shave. And his reward for a being a good citizen? A woman who scrutinised his every move as if he were a first-year med student!

If the child hadn’t been so sick he would have left her in the care of his very competent colleagues on board the ambulance. Then her mother could have driven them crazy with her questions. His focus was always on the people under his care. Relatives and friends were the province of his nurses. They acted as intermediaries for him, shielding him from distraction—just the way he liked it. If Nell Foster wanted more—well, she couldn’t have it.

But something made him wonder about her backstory. Why had Ms Foster stripped every bit of feminine allure from her appearance? There wasn’t a suggestion of femininity in her baggy clothes, and the spiky hair was a good indicator for her personality. Her face looked as though it had never seen make-up, and yet her eyebrows were beautifully shaped, and her eyes, fringed with long black lashes, were beautiful. Her teeth were film-star perfect—a fact he could attest to with confidence, since she drew back her lips to snarl at him as many times as most people cast deferential smiles in his direction.

Deferential, her? That was a laugh! She evidently hated doctors, mistrusted them…and him most of all. In this situation he would have expected her to be grateful, hanging on his every word, but she couldn’t have made it plainer that she considered him to be a threat rather than a help to her daughter.

Nevertheless, she stirred feelings in him he was finding it hard to ignore. Her attitude irritated him, he was affronted by it, but there was something more, something electric…But those feelings were not only unusual for him, they were also forbidden to a man in his position. It was more than his fledgling career was worth to…

To what? Sleep with Nell Foster?

That was what he’d wanted to do since the first moment he’d set eyes on her—and therefore he had to put distance between them the moment he could.

Chapter Three

‘I’M STILL waiting for an explanation,’ she reminded him.

He watched her glance sweep across the lines and tubes attached to his patient. Nell Foster was continually harassing him and questioning his judgement. Part of him resented it, part admired her spirit, but most of all he was concerned for the child lying so still and silent on the stretcher. He didn’t want to show the mother how concerned he was. She was steadier now and he wanted to keep her that way. Too much knowledge would frighten her, too little might raise her hopes.

He found himself assessing her covertly. The mother was very different from the child. Nell Foster was robust, her features strong and clearly defined. It followed that the child must take after her father, which opened up more questions. He made himself stop and turn back to his charge. The little girl’s eyes were as vividly blue as her mother’s—he’d seen that when he checked her over. But was her gaze half as direct? He could only hope she was a fighter like her mother.

‘I’m still waiting!’

He turned his professional face to Nell. Her wide, intelligent gaze assured him she wouldn’t let up. It also hit him forcibly in the chest. Clearing his throat, he gazed at the roof of the cabin and launched into a reasonable explanation without giving too much detail. ‘There’s some congestion in your daughter’s lungs. I’m trying to ease her breathing.’ He stopped there, but even this was a first. He never divulged information piecemeal, never uttered a word that wasn’t backed up by hard fact. There was a whole range of tests he would have to carry out before he could be sure of his diagnosis…

‘When will you be able to give me some real answers?’

He had to look at her. ‘Soon, I hope.’

‘You hope?’ She was scathing. ‘How soon can we get someone else to look at Molly—someone who can do more than hope?’

Her mouth was set in a firm line, which drew his attention to her lips. He ignored the insult, and tried to ignore her lips. He brought professionalism to bear like a steel curtain, cutting Nell Foster out of the picture. ‘At the very least, I’ll need an X-ray to confirm my diagnosis. The drugs should help—’

‘Should?’

‘Medicine is not an exact science.’ He couldn’t believe how pompous he sounded.

‘So why not leave her alone until we reach the hospital? Anyone can see she’s sleeping. I think it would be better if you left her to rest rather than pumping her full of drugs before you know what you’re doing!’

‘Oh, do you?’ He’d had enough, but bit his tongue and focused on the child lying on the stretcher. How could he tell Nell Foster that her daughter wasn’t sleeping, but unconscious?

‘If Molly is having difficulty breathing,’ Nell persisted, ‘we should be able to hear something. Coughing, wheezing.’ Her eyes sharpened with certainty, and as he watched hope flood her face something rapped again on the stone he called a heart.

‘Nell, stop this!’

He didn’t know why he’d used her first name in such an emotional and unprofessional way, but the strange thing was that when Nell Foster’s eyes filled with tears his stung too. And it was not just tiredness that made him empathise with his patient’s mother—there was something more, something he had never let through before. There was fragility behind her bravado; he could hear it like a silent cry of desperation. ‘It isn’t always that simple,’ he said carefully. Most people would be content with that.

He should have known. ‘Go on,’ Nell said, firming her jaw.

He looked at her and measured her strength. It didn’t fall short, and that was something he could connect to. He owed it to her to be straight. ‘Sometimes, when things are really serious, there’s very little to hear at all.’

‘Really serious?’ She looked at him and he saw her spirit crumple; the fire went out of her, which again, incredibly, hurt him like hell.

What was this? What was happening to him? He never got involved emotionally. It was one of the first things he’d learned at med school—the moment you became prey to your emotions you were no use to anyone, least of all your patient. ‘Try not to get upset.’ He knew it sounded trite but he didn’t know what to say, had never felt like this before. He longed to escape the suffocating tension swirling round the cabin.

‘What do you suggest?’ Her voice was shaking with emotion. ‘Am I supposed to remove myself to some emotion-free zone when I’ve just been told my daughter is dangerously ill?’

He could think of nothing to say.

‘Luca?’ she pressed.

Her use of his first name gave him a jolt, even though he knew it was merely a measure of her desperation. ‘We can only wait now,’ he said honestly.

Did he really think she was going to crumble? Nell wondered, holding Luca’s gaze. Maybe at one time in her life she might have broken down, but not now. The turning point had been Molly’s birth. She’d had something to fight for since then. She would keep this vigil with him, keep it and will Molly well again.

Nell forced herself to look at everything dispassionately, to listen and become accustomed to all the alien sights and sounds: the nebuliser humming, the launch’s engines throbbing, the muted Italian exchanges rising and falling expressively around her like a song.

‘Andiamo!’

Luca barked out his instruction as they turned into the wide stretch of water that formed the main thoroughfare through Venice. It jolted Nell back to reality, made it hard to cling to the little life-raft of calm she had formed in her mind. She clutched the seat, ready now as the launch tipped at an even steeper angle. But the momentum jerked her forward and she was only stopped from slipping off the seat by Luca’s whip-fast reactions.

‘Sit back as far as you can, or I’ll have to take her from you.’

His voice was as harsh as before. She had put too much store in the brief flash of kindness. Nell drew Molly closer. No one was going to take Molly from her. Her daughter was back where she belonged, where she was going to stay…

‘Don’t hold her so tightly.’

She loosened her grip immediately. She wanted to get it right for Molly.

‘If you must lean on something, lean on me.’

Lean on him? ‘I’d rather not.’

‘Just until you become used to the rhythm of the boat—’

‘I can manage, thank you!’ Nell shrank away, relieved when Luca seemed to have second thoughts and left her to have a word with the captain of the boat, but even his back view was unsettling.

Dr Luca Barbaro was a manifestation of everything Nell knew she had to fear. He was arrogant, with an iron resolve, along with an innate certainty that everything he did or said was right. She took in the wide shoulders blocking out the light, the legs aggressively planted on the deck to keep him steady…the hands she could only describe as fighting, strong hands, but with a doctor’s long, tapering fingers. Every square inch of the flesh she could see appeared to be tanned a uniform bronze. Luca Barbaro would have fit well in some medical drama played out on television—one where the lead doctor was improbable heartthrob material. She could only hope he possessed more qualifications than his Hollywood counterparts.

Nell tried to relax, tried to settle into the rhythm of the boat so that Molly would be comfortable. But her thoughts kept on colliding like skittles. How long before they reached the hospital? How long before they found a proper doctor? How long before someone told her what was wrong with Molly?

‘I’ll take her now.’

Had they arrived? Nell looked up and realised they had. As she started to get up Luca stopped her.

‘I’ll take her,’ he repeated. ‘She’ll be safer with me.’

Safer? How could a child be safer anywhere than in its mother’s arms? But there was such a tangle of wires and tubes hanging from Molly, Nell was terrified she might dislodge one of them.

Luca put his free hand on her shoulder and pressed her down. ‘I want you to wait for one of the men to help you disembark. I live and work in Venice, so I’m used to travelling at high speed on water. You might be a little unsteady on your feet.’

She had vowed not to let Molly out of her sight, but what if she stumbled and hurt her in some way—pulled out one of the tubes?

As she watched them go, Nell suffered a presentiment; the dark cloud enveloping her made her doubly impatient to disembark. ‘Look after her,’ she called.

Luca Barbaro didn’t look back as he walked swiftly away with Molly and one of the paramedics at his side, holding the drip.

The men on board the launch seemed to take so long securing the mooring ropes, though it could only have been a matter of seconds, Nell reasoned, telling herself to be calm. She had no option but to wait until they had finished in order to have Molly’s pushchair brought up from the hold. Meanwhile she followed Molly’s progress on shore. There was a nurse waiting for the new patient outside the hospital gates. Luca didn’t break stride as he drew level with the man; the only concession he made was to angle his head to accommodate the nurse’s shorter frame as they exchanged information, and then they disappeared through some gates.

She was like a hare out of the traps when one of the crew finally came to help. But Luca had been right, and she was glad of the man’s steadying hand as she left the launch. The swirling brown water looked far from inviting from this angle, and she couldn’t adjust to terra firma right away.

‘Piano, piano, signora,’ the man insisted, holding on to her.

Nell claimed the pushchair, called her thanks and was off. It was as if Molly had left a burning trail, which if she hurried she was sure she could follow.

‘Signora?’ A security guard stood in her way.

‘What do you want?’ Nell knew she sounded impatient, and her voice was shaking, but Molly’s trail was growing cold. ‘I’m with Dr Barbaro.’

The guard stood firm.

‘You have to let me go inside. Dr Barbaro has taken my daughter into the hospital.’ She mimed, pointing, hoping he understood. ‘You must have seen them? They were here just a minute ago. You have to let me pass!’

But the language barrier proved insurmountable. ‘Signora, per favore…’

‘No! You have to let me in!’ Her voice was desperate, and she tried to twist past him. But the security guard had seen it all and put his hand on the gate, stopping her.

‘Mi dispiace…’ Nell struggled to compose herself. ‘I’m sorry.’ She used her hands to make placating gestures while she racked her brain for some useful words. None would come. Her knowledge of Italian was so limited. She tried smiling—that always worked. ‘I don’t speak Italian, signor.’ It was so hard trying to appear normal, rational, calm—the type of person a security guard would happily allow inside his hospital. Impossible, in fact, when the world and everything in it was swirling in front of her eyes and the only image she could see clearly was Molly lying in Luca Barbaro’s arms. Molly attached to tubes and wires, Molly’s beautiful face half-hidden by a mask. Molly. ‘Per piacere, signore…’ Nell was nearly sobbing now.

‘Mi dispiace, signora.’ The guard shook his head.

‘You have to let me in!’ Nell tried brute force, her weight against his. ‘I have a little girl to go to!’

But she had no chance of getting through. As her shoulders slumped in defeat, the guard cupped her elbow and gently chivvied her along to the door of his stone-built security post, which was situated on the wrong side of the hospital gates. Leaving her for a moment, he stepped inside his lodge and locked the door.

It had finally happened. Her worst nightmare had come true. Luca had taken Molly—shut her out when Molly needed her most.

Nell started in alarm as a small wooden panel slid open in front of her face.

‘In primo luogo, signora, dove fare questo—’

‘I must do what?’ Nell gazed at the form in the security guard’s hand with foreboding. ‘Oh, no, signor…’

‘Si,’ he said firmly. ‘Per favore.’

A glance around the towering walls dividing her from Molly was all it took to convince Nell she had to comply. When he handed her the form she had to fill in Nell measured the sheets in one angry gesture. She had to fight for control. ‘Un—er—biro, signor, per piacere?’

‘Certo.’ With obvious relief he handed a pen over.

Nell raced through the form, interpreting it as best she could. Fortunately, forms the world over were much the same, and she did have some experience of filling them in, though she tried not to think about the last time she had done so. When she had finished the guard took them from her and checked each page meticulously.

‘Can I go now?’ It was like being back at school. Only she was older, and this wasn’t playtime.

‘Si, signora.’ The guard pulled back from the opening.

His manner had changed to reveal more consideration. But she didn’t want to dwell on the sympathy she could see in his eyes: she had to stay strong; she had to pay careful attention to his directions. She would forgive him anything if he would just hurry!

Nell abandoned the pushchair, and started to run.

The first corridor she came across was long and featureless. At the end she had two choices. Molly’s trail had vanished. Nell stared from left to right and back again. Then in answer to her prayer a door opened.

‘My daughter, mia figlia…trauma…?’ Nell tried everything she could think of as the nurse came towards her.

‘La piccola raggazina?’

‘Si!’

The nurse put a hand on her arm, which Nell shook off angrily. The nurse seemed to understand, though, and smiled reassurance. ‘This way, signora. Please, come with me.’

The nurse seemed so bright, so happy and confident. Nell told herself her manner had to be a sign that Molly must have recovered. She was even smiling expectantly as they walked through some swing doors into a treatment room. But the smell of antiseptic hit her, tossing her back into the nightmare of Jake’s accident, and the lights were so bright…

As Nell began to orientate herself she felt the nurse’s steadying hand creep beneath her arm.

Molly was lying propped up on a bank of pillows. Her tiny arms were like sticks at either side of her body, her tiny fists digging into the mattress as if she was struggling to hold herself even more erect in order to breathe. Was she awake? It was impossible to tell.

For the first time since this whole dreadful episode had started Nell found she was hoping Molly wasn’t. She didn’t want her to be awake while her fragile blue-veined chest was pumping frantically. She looked in agony, and the strain on her heart had to be enormous.

Slowly Nell’s focus expanded to take in the nurse standing at each corner of the bed. Luca was standing at the head of it, closest to Molly. He turned as if he had been expecting her.

‘There’s nothing more you can do?’ She guessed that much and then thought his lips looked dry. She noticed that he had to moisten them with his tongue before he could answer.

‘No.’

She waited, but that was all he said. Without waiting to be invited Nell went straight to Molly’s side. Kneeling on the floor, she took her daughter’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. Then the miracle she been hoping for happened. Opening her eyes, clutching at her throat, Molly turned her head.

‘Mumma,’ she gasped.

Chapter Four

‘NO! YOU can’t ask me to go there. I hate Venice! I’m never going back! Not even for the sake of the organisation…’

That was what she’d said to her committee, Nell remembered, yet here she was, speaking in Venice to introduce the hospital patients’ support charity she had founded almost ten years before. The cause she believed in so passionately was far more important than any personal considerations.

She’d had plenty of practice and was a seasoned public speaker, but even so she was nervous tonight. Nowhere made Nell quite so tense as Venice, with its stylish inhabitants and bitter memories. And although only one doctor was holding out against her scheme, he was influencing everyone else. He was Medical Director of his family’s hospital trust, the man the rest looked to for their lead—the man she had to convince if this hospital was to be the flagship to spread her scheme across Venice and then Italy, as they had planned. Nell was the scheme’s founder, the one who could persuade the obstinate Medical Director to get the ball rolling. So, here she was. Shaking.

The moment she had been told the name of the doctor she had to convince, a face had flashed into her head. She had tried to deny the possibility that it was the same man, telling herself that the Dr Barbaro she’d met would have moved on by now. Barbaro was a popular surname in Italy, and ‘her’ Luca Barbaro belonged to the past, along with Molly’s nightmarish and thankfully only truly serious asthma attack.

It had taken time to confirm. Asthma wasn’t easy to be sure of in a very young child. But he’d been sure, Nell remembered. Luca Barbaro had been sure of his diagnosis and had put her in touch with the very best specialist in the field, a man who would continue the investigations he had started when they returned home.

A lot of things had changed since then, Nell thought, viewing her face critically in the mirror. She’d known that if she wanted to win people over she had to inspire confidence. The first thing to go had been her spiky hair. She smiled as she started brushing out her shoulder-length bob. It was hard to believe she had once sported such a radical hairstyle and boho clothes.

She was especially glad to be wearing her confidence-inspiring uniform today. She needed it more than the audience! The crisp white shirt, dark business suit and low-heeled courts formed a suit of armour she could hide behind.

She wasn’t going to let the past—any part of it—interfere with the project that was so dear to her. But she knew at least some of the adrenaline racing through her veins was for the memory of the man who had stood so squarely against her in Venice. Enough time had passed for her to be able to separate Luca Barbaro the man from Luca Barbaro the doctor tending Molly—and the man had left a lasting impression.

Nell’s face lit up as her thoughts switched to her boisterous ten-year-old. Molly was here with her now in Venice. Some of Jake’s insurance money had been used to employ the very best nanny Nell could find, an older woman called Marianna, who travelled everywhere with them. The three of them lived a simple life, with no men to complicate the situation. Living without romance had proved easier than Nell had imagined. The most important thing was that Molly had consistency in her life. She would not risk some man breezing into their lives then breezing out again. She had better things to think about.

Nell sensed Molly’s approach before she even heard her daughter’s footsteps. Just as on every other day, she spared a moment to give thanks for Molly’s continued good health and by the time the door burst open, she was standing in front of it with her arms spread wide in invitation. As Molly flung herself into Nell’s embrace, it was hard to imagine that this was the child who had been taken so gravely ill the last time they had visited Venice.

She had Barbaro to thank for that, Nell reflected. And yes, perhaps she had been guilty of underestimating him at the time. But she had been so strung out, and had thought him too young to deal with such a critical situation. It was largely thanks to him Molly had recovered, that she was able to live a normal life and engage in every activity a child of her age was entitled to enjoy.

His parting letter to them had been brief but detailed and Nell could remember her surprise when she’d received it. She still resented the way he’d walked out on them both without a backward glance the instant Molly was moved into the children’s ward. They hadn’t seen him again, not once—his letter had been handed to her by a nurse. But she still kept a log of Molly’s symptoms as he had advised, and ensured Molly received careful monitoring under the supervision of the doctor Luca Barbaro had recommended.

Nell tried to blank her mind to the dark eyes haunting her thoughts. Luca Barbaro’s lack of human consideration still had the power to sting. But it was his arrogant manner together with the aftermath of Jake’s accident that had propelled her work forward, so it had done some good.

Hearing Molly chatting happily with Marianna now made Nell angry all over again on her daughter’s behalf. What kind of cold-hearted individual lost interest in his patient the moment the crisis was over? She had expected a few words at least for Molly, even perhaps some acknowledgement for herself—she wasn’t sure why or of what, just that she’d wanted something from him. But he’d simply handed them over to the care of his nursing team, written a brief letter and disappeared.

That was years ago. She was over it now, and having Molly with her in Venice had transformed the dreaded return into fun. No one was going to spoil that for them. As far as Nell was concerned they were laying the final ghost together. And now it was almost time for the meeting to start. She had to forget Barbaro and concentrate on that.

‘Ready?’

Nell smiled as Marianna asked the question. ‘As I’ll ever be. Come with me for luck, Molly?’

‘Can I sit in the audience when you go onto the platform?’

‘Of course. Marianna, could you stay with her?’ Nell was used to imposing her will these days, but never on a woman she considered to be almost a surrogate mother to them both.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Marianna assured her.

The first few seconds of any talk were always the worst. After that Nell always settled into her stride. Today was different. Today, as she delivered her prepared talk, Nell was conscious of two things: Molly and Marianna creeping down the steps at the side of the platform to find a seat near the front…and a man standing at the back of the room in the shadows.

Nell felt him even before she saw him, and her heart raced in response. From that moment on, his presence was a nagging distraction. The lights had been dimmed to allow the audience’s attention to focus on the stage, but through some inner eyes she could sense his every movement—the regular movement of his chest as he drew breath, the muscle working in his jaw…She tried to tell herself that she was being ridiculous, but unless Luca Barbaro had a doppelgänger in Venice, there was no mistaking the arrant masculine figure.

It was her worst nightmare come true. It was also her moment of triumph, Nell told herself firmly. Each time one of her volunteers went into a hospital to speak up for anxious relatives, she thought of Luca Barbaro and the offhand way he had treated them—leaving her at the mercy of a security guard while Molly was taken away, refusing to give her any information about Molly’s condition…His lack of consideration was one of the prime drivers that had led her to expand the scheme—a fact she was sure he would be delighted to learn.

Firming her jaw, Nell continued with her speech. There would have to be a meeting with Barbaro at some point, she knew that, but she had thought it would be conducted somewhere different, somewhere private—a sterile office, neutral territory, where she would lay her case before him with the same lack of passion he had displayed the first time they met. But for this one evening this hall was her territory, and the man in the shadows was a hostile and unwanted intruder who had chosen not to sit with the rest of the audience, but to remain leaning against the door with his arms folded across his chest as if to signify the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere. And even with a roomful of people between them she could sense his animosity.

A frisson of alarm ran down Nell’s spine when he shifted position. He was even taller than she remembered, and the heat of his stare was drilling into her…

She had stopped talking, Nell realised; everyone was waiting for her to continue. With a quick smile of reassurance, she started to wind up her speech. She couldn’t afford to lose her concentration now that she was about to throw the meeting open to questions.

She had made sure that invitations had been delivered to every hospital and clinic in the area, not just the staff of this hospital in which she hoped to pilot the Venice scheme. The work of her volunteers depended upon the co-operation of the staff within each establishment…and that meant every single member of staff. Nell glanced again at the figure in the shadows, wondering what it would take to get Luca Barbaro on her side.

She listened carefully to each question, judging the mood of the audience before she spoke. She had less to do at the sharp end these days than she would have liked, but she was a good speaker, and her role was to spread the scheme, recruit and train. It was up to her to convince the audience that the successful record of her project was something they wanted to buy into.

For about a quarter of an hour things went really well. Nell was using an interpreter and the discussion so far had been good-humoured. It augured well for her pilot scheme. She was relieved to have found an answer to every question…relieved that the man in the shadows seemed to have disappeared.

‘Will you personally set up your project?’

Every fibre in her body tensed. The voice, speaking English, was unmistakable.

‘Yes.’ Nell took a moment before saying anything more. Her breathing had turned instantly ragged, and she knew that her voice would be trembling when she spoke again if she didn’t pull herself together. The last thing she wanted was for Luca Barbaro to know how badly he affected her.

‘That’s right, I will be staying in Venice while we test the pilot scheme.’ She spoke firmly, scanning the room. But he had moved. The lights had been turned up for the questions, but she couldn’t spot him. ‘I always remain on call during the start-up period.’

The interpreter began to translate, which gave Nell the chance to search for Luca.

‘So you’re going to be working in the hospital, supervising the scheme?’

Nell ground her jaw. Why couldn’t she see him? ‘No, I’ll be off site. My job is to train—’

‘And to pass on your dislike and mistrust of the medical profession?’

Nell froze. She wasn’t alone in that. Quite a few members of the audience had no trouble understanding English and she could hear a low rumble of surprise. When the interpreter translated Luca’s words into Italian the rumble grew.

Everyone was waiting to see what she had to say in reply. She kept it light and friendly, even faintly indulgent, hoping to make it seem that she was dealing with an honest mistake, rather than a troublemaker. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re wrong, Dr…’ She waited for Luca to supply his name—to come out of the shadows and face her like a man.

He chose not to.

Resting her hands lightly on the podium, Nell smiled ruefully at her audience. ‘I couldn’t do the work I do if I held those views, could I?’

‘Really?’ he demanded, and she saw him.

Luca Barbaro had moved into the centre aisle at the front of the stage in full view of everyone. ‘I’d like to know how you expect to foster good relations between medical professionals and your organisation,’ he went on, ‘when you are so clearly suspicious and biased against—’

‘Dr Barbaro, please.’ Nell’s voice rang out, silencing him. This wasn’t the first time she’d been interrupted since founding the charity, and she had learned how to defuse most situations.

‘Signor Barbaro,’ the interpreter at her side discreetly corrected her. ‘Signor Barbaro is the medical director and one of the most eminent paediatric consultants in Venice.’

Nell made a thoughtful sound to show that she had heard. So Luca was right at the top of his profession—why wasn’t she surprised? ‘Signor Barbaro,’ she continued smoothly, ‘most facilities are only too happy to welcome our volunteers, and find that their work improves relations between patients, relatives and staff. I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from introducing our scheme in your hospital.’

Everyone in the hall must have heard his contemptuous huff. Nell’s eyes hardened briefly, but then with a sweeping gesture she introduced the men and women sitting in a block in front of her. ‘You can speak to any member of the team if you need more information on how we work. Most of these volunteers are in fact retired doctors or other members of the medical profession themselves.’ Her trump card. Nell waited patiently for the interpreter to do her work.

‘I’ll speak to them as you suggest,’ Luca agreed when the buzz of interest faded. ‘And then I’ll speak to you.’

He bowed, and the audience, reassured, started to applaud.

Gathering up her papers, Nell left the stage. She hoped to slip away, delaying the inevitable face-to-face encounter with Luca until she’d had time to prepare, but he was waiting for her at the foot of the steps.

‘Hello, Nell. Welcome back.’

‘Thank you.’ Her heart was thundering so violently she could hardly breathe. She wasn’t sure why he had attacked her in the hall, though she had swiftly defused it and he hadn’t come back at her. ‘It’s been a long time.’ She couldn’t allow any of this to become personal. She was in Venice for a reason. Luca Barbaro’s endorsement was crucial if her pilot scheme was to be a success.

But it didn’t help that the response she’d had to him the first time they met hadn’t faded. In fact it had hit home even more strongly, like a sledgehammer, making it impossible to think straight. It wasn’t that he was older, or that his aura of power had increased…she wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew that he affected her more urgently. He even smelled different: warm, spicy, masculine, dangerous…

‘So, what brings you here? What makes you think Venice is in need of your services?’

He was like a coiled spring. She launched into her reassuring spiel. ‘People everywhere welcome the support of our volunteers…’

This wasn’t the right time or place for a serious discussion, though. ‘Perhaps we can organise a proper meeting so that I can reassure you.’

‘Perhaps…’

She didn’t like the way he was looking at her—eyes darkening with something. Humour, maybe? Or rather, she liked it too much. She held his gaze because he had to know the strength of her resolve. This was a good scheme. It had helped more people than he could imagine, and she wouldn’t let it fail because of the way this man made her feel.

He had more presence than she remembered. The planes of his face were more rugged and his hair had been cut abrasively short, which suited him. It suited the hard expression that had crept into his eyes. Everything about him was unsettling. The blue-black stubble was darker, the lips crueller but also more sensuous. He exuded strength and purpose and, she saw, an implacable resistance.

‘How do you fund this?’ he said bluntly.

Nell’s hackles rose. Did he think she was dishonest? She didn’t want to get into detail now, but she didn’t want him running away with the thought that this was a profit-making exercise either. ‘Donations, mostly. We’re a registered charity. The volunteers work for expenses only, and some of them refuse to take even that. I am not salaried. I fund myself from an invested sum.’ She stopped there, her eyes telling him plainly that was all he needed to know about her personal finances. She wasn’t about to tell him it was the very large compensation pay-out she had received after Jake’s death that had allowed her to start the scheme.

‘This meeting wasn’t about raising funds, Signor Barbaro.’ Nell exaggerated his elevation just enough to let him know it gave him no greater standing in her eyes. ‘It was about informing the local hospitals and the public about what we can offer. And may I remind you,’ she continued evenly, ‘that this isn’t an ego trip for me, or for you? We’re here to support people who need our help—and that’s your help and mine.’

‘As far as I’m aware, I’m already helping just by doing my job.’

Nice to know the ego was intact! ‘But now we have a chance to do something together…’ She broke off abruptly. Her usual line of persuasion hardly seemed appropriate in this instance.

‘To do something together?’ Luca prompted ironically.

She met his gaze without a flicker of expression. ‘Yes, we would be working together for a time if you agree to let us set up the pilot scheme in your hospital.’ She glanced around dismissively. ‘Are there any more questions I can help you with now?’

‘Just one. Who zipped you into that suit?’

The fact that he had noticed at all threw her—but then her image had changed rather dramatically since the last time they had met. Even so, it was an uncomfortably intimate observation, and he had obviously meant it as a parting shot because by the time she was ready to fire back, he had started to walk away. ‘Any more sensible questions?’ she called after him.

He turned to stare at her over his shoulder, his lips tugging down in a wry smile as he pretended to reflect. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Good!’ She snapped the word before she could stop herself, knowing she too was making it personal.

Luca’s response was a long, slow smile, which reminded her how good he was at reading thoughts. ‘But I’ll be sure to think of some by the time we have our private meeting. Just you and me.’

Nell didn’t know whether to be relieved or not when he walked away.

She didn’t move until he had disappeared into the crowd and then she let out the air in her lungs in one juddering breath. She almost fell into the chair Marianna was holding out for her when she got back to the dressing room.

‘Who was that?’ Marianna’s voice was a cautious mix of concern and suppressed excitement.

‘You noticed?’ Nell shrugged wryly.

Molly provided a welcome distraction, launching herself at Nell. ‘You were great, Mum! And so was that man.’

‘What man?’ Nell’s heart started thumping again. She knew very well to whom Molly was referring. ‘What on earth makes you say that?’

‘He made it exciting. Everyone shot up when he spoke.’

Nell’s eyes narrowed as she caught Molly sharing a conspiratorial glance with Marianna. She’d make Barbaro shoot up next time she saw him…

The thought was barely formed before the door swung open.

‘Hello again, Nell.’

Nell couldn’t believe her eyes. She couldn’t believe Luca would have the nerve to walk in unannounced. Her pulse was so far off the scale she couldn’t even speak.

Molly spoke for her. ‘Hello.’ Tipping her head, she looked at Luca then at her mother, her eyes bright at the thought of the entertainment to come.

Luca hunkered down to Molly’s level to introduce himself. ‘Hi. So you’re Molly.’

As Molly turned a questioning face her way Nell felt all the old resentment bubbling up inside her.

‘Do you remember me, Molly?’ Luca said.

‘Of course I do. You called out to Mum when she was speaking in the hall.’

As Luca glanced around, Nell knew they were both thinking the same thing—the emergency hospital admission had left no imprint on Molly’s young mind.

‘Yes, that was rude of me.’ He spoke casually, as if he and Molly were sharing a confidence.

‘It made things interesting,’ Molly observed. Her voice was neutral, but her glance kept flicking between Luca and her mother.

‘It certainly did,’ Luca agreed.

Nell didn’t pick him up on it. She didn’t want to make too much of what had happened in the hall for all sorts of reasons—most importantly, she didn’t want Molly becoming suspicious.

Suspicious? There was nothing for Molly to become suspicious about. But she was clearly waiting for an explanation as to why they had such an interesting visitor.

Nell had made sure that Molly understood her condition for her own safety. They never laboured it, but there was no reason not to tell her about the first time they had met Luca. ‘When you were taken ill in Venice all those years ago, Signor Barbaro was your doctor.’

‘Oh, now I see.’ Molly stared at Luca with increased interest.

‘So, we’re friends?’ Luca held out his hand.

‘You bet!’ Molly’s face broke into a grin.

The sight of the two of them forging a compact made Nell uncomfortable. But she was bound as always by her wish to put the project before her own feelings. And this meant that he was serious about them having a meeting. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Thought I’d better tie up our appointment before you found yourself completely booked up,’ he said. ‘Five minutes of your time?’

‘Of course.’ Nell hadn’t thought it would be so easy, but against all her expectations it seemed that Luca Barbaro was prepared to consider her scheme.

Marianna said, ‘Don’t forget our challenge back at the hotel, Molly.’ Nell realised that she was about to take Molly and discreetly slip away. That she didn’t want. ‘You don’t have to go.’

‘Doom Merchant Seven,’ Molly was confiding to Luca. ‘Marianna will never beat me. I’ve reached level twelve.’

Luca dipped his head in approval. ‘One short of me.’

‘Really?’ Molly’s face was incandescent with admiration.

‘Perhaps I’ll take you on some time,’ Luca suggested, standing up.

‘Would you?’

Luca was probably just saying it for effect, Nell told herself, which Molly wouldn’t realise. She would help him to back out gracefully and save Molly’s feelings in the long run too. ‘I’m sure Signor Barbaro has other things to do than play computer games.’ Luca slanted her a glance, and she added sharply, ‘Doubtless, as the top paediatric consultant in Venice and the medical director here, you have very little time to spare.’

He had moved behind her, where Molly could see him and she couldn’t, though she could feel his warm breath brush her ear when he started speaking.

‘You don’t know me at all if you think I would pass up an opportunity to play Doom Merchant Seven with a master.’

Molly started giggling and Nell felt her face heat up. Luca was right. She didn’t know him. Better for all of them if she kept it that way.

Marianna held out her hand. ‘Come on, Molly, your mother’s got things to talk about.’

‘No!’ Nell began to collect her things. ‘Wait a minute and I’ll come with you.’

‘Why don’t you come on later when we’ve finished our game?’ Molly piped up. ‘You’ll only be bored sitting there watching us.’

Nell saw a muscle twitch in Luca’s jaw and suspected he was trying not to laugh.

He waited until the door closed behind Molly and Marianna before saying, ‘You’re not frightened of me, are you, Nell?’ He leaned back against the wall to stare at her, arms folded.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ But what was ridiculous was the shimmer of desire quivering down her spine. ‘What do you want?’ An appointment, Nell wondered, or something more?

He tipped his head, his lips curving in a half-smile. ‘You have nothing to fear from me. Weren’t those your words to me back in the hall?’

‘I might have said something like that with regard to the scheme,’ Nell admitted. Tilting her chin, she held his gaze. ‘No, I’m not scared of you. You’re just here to make an appointment.’

‘That’s right. We didn’t settle on a date or a time in the hall.’ He smiled. ‘I’d like to pin you down right now.’

Chapter Five

GRABBING her diary, Nell briskly settled on a mutually convenient date, then stowed the book back in her briefcase and made for the door. Business was one thing, lingering with Luca was another—and she had no intention of giving him the impression that her life was an open playing field.

Luca smiled to himself. She was tougher now, and far more together than he remembered, but brittle too. Maybe she would crack if he went in too hard. But maybe that was what he wanted. He might support her scheme, he might not…He’d need to know a lot more about it first. Like, how far would Ms Foster be prepared to go to gain his compliance?

OK, that wasn’t one of the questions he’d be asking, but if she’d been a threat in those boho clothes with her hair gelled up in spikes, in a severe suit with her shirt buttoned up to her chin she was more of a promise. A promise he was making right now to himself. And that hair was glorious—how could she have ever cut it short? It looked as if every strand had been hand-polished with silk. How would it feel to run his fingers through it…how would it look spread out on a pillow?

‘I won’t keep you.’

He refocused. She was ending the meeting on him? Still, he liked a challenge. ‘I think we’ve made a bad start.’

She didn’t cave in right away at his admission, merely nodded and smiled gravely. He smiled too and turned up the charm. ‘How about I buy dinner to make up for it?’

Her eyes widened as she stared at him. ‘Dinner? Are you serious?’

‘Why not?’ He shrugged, lips pressing down as if everything in the hall had been nothing more than a misunderstanding. ‘You asked for questions, I gave you questions. That’s it. But I would like to discuss the scheme further.’ Now he had to hope the project came before her pride.

As he waited for her response, he took the opportunity to observe her without distraction. It had been a long time and there were many changes. He always listened to his senses—how a patient looked, how they felt beneath his hands. His intuition had never let him down in the past and it was as acute as ever now. She was undeniably sincere about this scheme of hers—and though she obviously didn’t know it, she was hot.

‘Why are you smiling?’

Because she was different? Because he was intrigued, wanted to know all there was to know about her? No. Because this time he was going to take her to bed.

‘Are you so confident I’ll accept your invitation that you’re already celebrating?’ she suggested.

He killed the smile, ignored her cynicism and gave himself a sharp reminder that he couldn’t afford any more lapses of attention. ‘No, of course not.’ He met the level gaze head-on. ‘What on earth would I have to celebrate if you decided to accept?’

She smiled at that, almost. It made him feel good inside. Better than good. He had never forgotten her—had never forgotten the fright she had given him when he was just starting out on his career and the smallest indiscretion might have brought the whole pack of cards tumbling down. He’d been forced to remove himself from the case, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten Nell. When he’d heard she was coming to Venice he’d moved heaven and earth to make sure he could attend the meeting. And the moment he’d first set eyes on her again, the engine inside him had gone into overdrive. He’d had no alternative but to stand up, stand out, confront her, be the leader of the pack—there was a primeval instinct driving him. It wasn’t her scheme he was arguing for or against; he was staking his claim.

Seeing Nell with Molly had complicated things. He had anticipated meeting up with the same harridan who had bad-mouthed the colleagues he held in such high regard, who thought all doctors were demons and who was asking to be thoroughly and relentlessly bedded until she became a recognisable human being. What he’d actually found was a dedicated worker on a crusade to improve the world, a mother whose whole face lit up every time she looked at her child…a woman with enough secrets hidden beneath that bright blue stare to pique his interest.

Plan ‘A’ had called for the briefest of introductions followed by consummation. Plan ‘B’ called for something rather more subtle—like dinner first, Venetian-style.

‘In that case, I accept.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ For a moment he wondered what she was talking about. His senses were stirring all over the place, but the activity hadn’t reached his brain yet.

‘Dinner?’ she reminded him. ‘Now I know how much it will pain you to take me out, I couldn’t possibly refuse. And you should pay a penance for your bad behaviour in the hall.’

A penance? He had to kill the thoughts darting round his head or she’d see them in his eyes and change her mind fast. ‘Dinner together.’ He affected a frown. ‘Was that my idea?’ It was fun provoking her, fun seeing her head cock to one side and her lips falling open in surprise…but the best fun of all was to be had seeing her eyes darken as she stared up at him.

‘I believe so,’ she observed primly. ‘It certainly wasn’t my idea. And I hope you’ll be taking me somewhere nice—no fast food.’ She raised a brow.

‘Fast food?’ He lingered over the words, if only because it gave him more time to look at her, to watch her blue eyes darkening still further. ‘Only tourists eat on the run. A true Venetian likes to take his time and savour every mouthful.’ The same way he likes to make love. But he didn’t add that.

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said drily.

You and me both. He smiled faintly.

‘It will be a good opportunity for me to have a preliminary chat with you about how our scheme can operate in your hospital before we have our actual meeting,’ she went on, determinedly businesslike. ‘I can assure you it has the potential to enhance the services you offer—’

‘My services?’ He kept his face perfectly straight.

‘You are in charge now, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Her eyes had changed—hardened—as she pursued her goal. He didn’t want to get into discussions about business—not until he had investigated Ms Foster’s personal potential a little further. ‘I’m sure we’ll find plenty of time to discuss your scheme over dinner.’ He smiled reassuringly.

He sensed she hadn’t forgiven him yet for his attack on her in the hall. He wasn’t going to have it all his own way; they were well-matched. That made an exciting change.

‘Venice will be our first outpost in Italy,’ she remarked. ‘Shall we go?’

He held the door for her. ‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

‘I have to be if I’m going to support my team as they deserve, if I’m going to convince people like you that it’s a good thing we’re doing, and not a threat.’

He couldn’t help but admire her control after the way he had gone for her in the hall. He also sensed she had softened towards him, if only because she could see a gleam of hope that he might be persuaded to consider allowing her volunteers into his hospital. He pressed home the advantage. ‘I hope you’re hungry?’

‘Starving, Luca.’

The comic look was clearly meant to warn him she was going to eat her way through the menu, but her use of his first name was a definite plus…

‘Signor Barbaro?’ She waved her hands in front of his eyes as they stood waiting for the lift. ‘Are you still with me?’

‘You called me Luca—shall we stay with that?’ He guessed she was balancing the need to get him on her side against her wish to keep him at a safe distance.

‘All right. I suppose in that case you’d better call me Nell.’

He didn’t point out that he usually did, but decided to make her work. ‘I’m looking forward to discussing the project—though of course, if it’s not convenient to have dinner now, Nell, we can make it some other time.’ He made his voice uninterested, as though she’d lost his attention.

‘No! No, dinner is great. I’ll just call Marianna to let her know where I am, but that’s fine.’

She sounded really worried as the lift doors slid open…and she trembled beneath his hand when he touched her back.

‘Guess I’m stuck with you, then,’ he said lightly.

She was as casual as could be, but she removed herself from touching distance once they were inside the lift. ‘I guess you are.’

Luca Barbaro was the most charismatic human being she had ever met. She was in real danger of falling under his spell, Nell realised. How was she supposed to stop thinking what it would be like to be in bed with him?

Ever since she had discovered the truth about Jake she had stayed clear of sex. She’d got her fingers badly burned trying to hold the interest of a man every woman wanted—but now, thanks to Luca, her hormones were running riot again. Luca Barbaro was everything Jake had been, and much more. And now she was about to do business with a man who looked as if he might throw her to the ground and ravish her at the slightest provocation.

Was she ready for this? Blood surged through her veins as she thought about it. She had never felt so aware, so alive—which was all Luca’s fault. Celibacy had been a piece of cake before he arrived on the scene.

‘Nell?’

Nell’s face flooded with heat as if he had guessed at all the erotic thoughts crowding her mind. And all he was doing was standing outside the lift doors waiting for her to step into the lobby.

‘Shall we?’ he invited.

She stepped out promptly, knowing she had to get him on board; if she did that, the rest would follow. She would have to chant that like a mantra if she was going to get through the rest of this evening unscathed.

Luca had chosen the very place Nell had been longing to try, though she had ruled it out, as it was far too expensive. It was small and smart, with leaded glass windows, and the sign above the door was discreet to the point of invisibility. It would have been almost impossible to find without him. Located in the maze of narrow walkways that spread out like a web behind the Grand Canal, it was reputed to have the best food in Venice. The concierge at the hotel had told her that even out of season a table had to be booked at least one month in advance. She noticed Luca didn’t seem to have any trouble getting a table just by walking in off the street.

‘A café would have been fine.’

Luca ignored that comment as he held her chair. ‘Are you happy for me to order the food for you?’ he said, once they had sat down.

‘Perfectly.’ It gave her a chance to weigh him up while he scanned the menu. ‘But no tentacles, or stomach linings.’

‘I’ll see what I can do for you.’

Again the wry smile that made her heart pound, and his position a mere arm’s length across the table from her was distinctly worrying. She should have thought more carefully before accepting this invitation.

He spoke rapidly to the waiter, who hurried back to the kitchen.

‘What did you say?’ she demanded. It had taken Luca all of five seconds to order their meal. Maybe it would just be one course and coffee? Perhaps he didn’t want to linger over it either?

‘The chef knows what’s good. I’ve left it to him. Fish OK? I told him white fish, no awkward bones.’

‘Not eel?’

He gave her a quizzical glance. ‘Not very adventurous, are you, Nell?’

‘I can be,’ she said defensively.

‘Plenty of adventure in other areas?’ Luca suggested drily.

Arousal ripped through her like a tornado. There was a smile hovering around his lips, which warned her to be more circumspect about her assertions in future. It was easy to believe Luca knew every salacious thought running through her mind. And this was just a preliminary business meeting?

‘Just no taste for slimy things,’ she clarified, dragging the conversation back to terra firma.

Luca’s smile deepened. ‘But eel is delicious. Rich and savoury. And don’t they say you should challenge yourself every day?’

‘Well, this is my day off.’

‘Really? I didn’t know you had such a thing as a day off. In that case—’

‘It’s still a no-eel day,’ she said, doubling her determination not to be drawn into a flirtatious discussion.

‘That leaves us with a lot more avenues to explore…’

‘Dead ends?’ She firmed her lips. She mustn’t get into verbal jousting with him! Easing her position on the seat, she picked up the discarded menu and started to study it avidly—until Luca took it out of her hands and replaced it the right way up.

The food came in a steady stream—asparagus spears dripping in butter, celery with olive oil, artichokes with parsley and mint, as well as delicious fat tomatoes sitting on a bed of finely chopped basil and mozzarella cheese. ‘I’ll never be able to eat a main course after this,’ she moaned.

‘Mangiando, mangiando, viene l’appetito.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Nell paused with the fork halfway to her mouth.

‘Something my grandmother used to say,’ Luca explained. ‘Eat, and your appetite will come.’

She didn’t think he was talking about food.

The possibility of seeing more of Luca while she was in Venice was suddenly a very exciting prospect indeed…

No, Nell told herself firmly, she was being ridiculous. Maybe Luca was irresistible, but she wasn’t the type to indulge in a holiday romance. She had too much responsibility to be able to disengage her everyday life from the possibilities that opened up when you were a stranger in a foreign country…

‘Are you enjoying yourself, Nell?’

Actually no, she was feeling far too tense now. ‘The food’s delicious,’ she said carefully. It occurred to her then that beautiful people expected every door to open for them before they even had time to raise their fist and knock. Day-dreams were one thing, but she had to show Luca that her own door had no intention of opening for him—by so much as a crack.

Fat pink prawns slicked in butter and oil were followed by pasta in cream sauce, crisp slices of pizza, aromatic soup. ‘Oh, no, really, not for me,’ Nell protested as the waiter placed a plate of succulent melon and prosciutto ham in front of her.

‘Don’t you like it?’ Luca frowned. ‘I could have it changed for something else.’

‘No, it’s not that, but…’

‘You can’t eat any more?’

‘I like to think I know when I’ve had enough.’

His lips curved as he inclined his head. ‘That’s good, Nell. Shall we take a pause? Another glass of wine, perhaps?’

‘Half,’ she cautioned.

As if he’d picked up her discomfort, he started talking about Molly, which was the verbal equivalent of a neck massage. At some time during the conversation the memory of him heckling her at the meeting faded into insignificance. Nell liked nothing more than to talk about Molly, and she was the one thing they had in common that was a safe topic. She explained how Molly’s steady return to good health had given her the opportunity to expand the scheme—leaving out the part where Luca had been one of the drivers with his arrogance and aloofness.

‘It’s wonderful to hear,’ he said. ‘Some children can be lucky, others less so.’

‘The diary helped a lot,’ Nell admitted. The log of Molly’s symptoms had been the prime instrument in keeping Molly’s doctors accurately informed about her progress under their treatment.

‘Do you still keep it?’

‘Every day.’

‘I’d like to see it some time.’

Nell was surprised to find it easier to talk to Luca now that he had slipped into professional mode. Was it possible he had moved on as much as she had? Was it too much to hope that, just as she had listened to his advice regarding Molly’s treatment, Luca had taken note of her distress at being kept out of the information loop when Molly had been a patient in his hospital? Did it signal the fact that he really was receptive to her scheme?

‘Never become complacent, will you?’ He reclaimed her attention.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t. And…’

‘And?’ he prompted.

‘And thank you,’ she said simply.

‘It’s my job,’ he reminded her.

It was like crossing a bridge from her side to his. The vast chasm that had been between them had narrowed considerably, though it seemed strange to be thanking him when she had left Venice that first time so full of anger and resentment—feelings so pronounced she had built up her campaign on the strength of them.

‘I’ve been thinking about what your organisation has to offer.’

Nell’s ears pricked up. This was everything she had hoped for. It made dinner less of an ordeal as she struggled to keep her senses in check, and more of an opportunity.

Luca ordered water and they kept on chatting, Nell gaining in confidence as she explained the workings of her scheme. He didn’t need to know that it had taken all her courage just to return to Venice with Molly. That just made it all the more important that she didn’t return home empty-handed. He was right: dinner had been a good idea. She would do whatever it took to convince him the scheme would work—within reason, of course.

Reason played no part in Luca’s thinking. He was working on blind instinct, feeling his way beneath Nell’s defences any way he could, waiting for her to open up to him, needing that to happen before he could take things further. He wanted the inside track on what her plans were, and he wanted her…now more than ever.

Chapter Six

TO GAIN her confidence Luca found himself telling Nell about the history of the osteria where they were eating dinner and his connection to it.

‘My great-grandfather opened the restaurant at the end of the nineteenth century. It was called Ai Tosi then, “the boy’s place” in Venetian dialect.’ He returned Nell’s look. ‘Named after his two sons, Rico and Giuseppe, rather than for any other reason you might suppose.’

Her lips curved. Encouraged, he continued, ‘The wine we’re drinking now used to be brought by horse-drawn barge from the countryside around Venice, and then transported across the lagoon in rowing boats.’

Resting her chin on the heel of her hand, she stared at him, but jerked upright when he leaned across the table to refill her glass. His senses roared into overdrive. The fact that she was so aware of him was a timely reminder of the most demanding reason for his wanting this meeting.

‘I don’t think I ought to drink any more.’ She placed her hand over the top of the glass.

‘No pressure. Just leave it.’

‘If you don’t mind, I will.’

‘But you should taste the sweet wine they bring with pudding. It’s served with hot chestnuts. A speciality of the house, unmissable.’

‘You make it sound irresistible.’

‘It is.’

‘You’re spoiling me.’

Not half as much as he would like to! ‘Nothing special—this is my local.’

‘Your local?’ Tipping her head to one side, Nell gave him a wry glance. ‘I’d like to know where you go for a treat. Go on,’ she encouraged. ‘Tell me some more about this place.’

‘Well, as I said, the sweet wine is a speciality of the house. It’s the same wine my great-grandfather used to make when he was in charge here. You must try some, and eat the roasted chestnuts while you drink it.’

Irresistible, Nell thought again, which was as far as her thought processes could stretch before Luca went on and she was bewitched by the sound of his voice again.

‘The cellar was equipped with large barrels, some of them weighing as much as five thousand kilograms, and others around seven hundred kilograms…’

His accent was like honey, soothing her senses, making her relax. She could have listened to him talking all night.

‘The barrels had to be filled many times each year because the restaurant was so successful. But for the sweet wine…’

‘Yes?’ Nell found herself gazing, entranced, into Luca’s eyes, and quickly straightened up. Whirlwind romance…Love at first sight…Random thoughts kept breaking into her concentration. But she was sensible, level-headed—more than that, she was on a mission. She couldn’t afford to let daydreams take over.

But still…

‘My great-grandfather kept his own equipment here on the premises to make it himself,’ Luca was explaining. ‘He crushed the grapes, and supervised the preparation of what soon became the most famous liquor in the region. And here it is.’

Along with the roasted chestnuts, it was just as delicious as Luca had promised. In fact, everything was perfect—apart from the fact that she hadn’t got any sort of commitment to the pilot scheme from him. Perhaps over coffee…

‘No,’ Luca said when she suggested there was time for one small espresso. ‘Let’s not drink coffee here.’

‘No?’ Nell asked as he called for the bill. ‘So where are we going to have coffee?’ Not at his place, that was for sure!

‘We’ll take it with us.’

His eyes were warm, his reserved, courteous manner everything she could have hoped for. It reassured her. ‘Take it with us? Where?’ Suddenly she was buzzing with anticipation.

‘It isn’t every day you come to Venice, and I want to make this evening special for you.’

‘Special how?’

‘Just special.’ Luca’s smile died and his face turned serious suddenly. ‘I shouldn’t have said that as if you were a regular tourist. I haven’t forgotten the last time you were here, Nell.’

‘I didn’t think you had.’ As he reached out to touch her hand Nell felt Luca’s confession had brought them another step closer.

‘Good.’ He exhaled and relaxed. ‘You can’t have many happy memories of Venice to look back on.’

‘How could I?’

‘Will you let me change that?’

There was nothing in his eyes but concern…concern, warmth, and maybe perhaps there was something more, but she didn’t want to dwell on it in case she was mistaken. She settled on business instead. ‘I would like an opportunity to tell you a bit more about what my organisation can bring to your hospital. We haven’t done too much talking about business tonight, have we?’

‘There’s still time. Over coffee. If you’ll come with me.’

‘Oh…well…’ She was wavering suddenly. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. Surely the morning would do just as well. But did she really want the evening to end?

‘Don’t look so worried. I promise to give you a hearing.’ He glanced at her. ‘Now would be the best time, as I’m pretty tied up for the next couple of days.’

‘Oh, well, then…’

The waiter distracted them, arriving with the bill and a flask of coffee. Nell smiled. ‘I thought you were joking about taking it with us.’

‘I never joke about coffee.’

Luca’s eyes were full of humour, which Nell thought almost more dangerous than the wine. But still she said yes.

‘We won’t be going in a gondola, will we?’ Irrational maybe, but the fear had never left her.

‘Not a gondola,’ Luca confirmed as they walked past a row of the traditional boats. He came to a halt beside a sleek white craft.

‘I’m impressed.’ Nell stared at it.

‘Don’t be. Practically everyone in Venice has a boat.’ Luca dismissed the fabulous launch with a wave of his hand.

But not like this one, Nell guessed as he handed her on board.

‘So, where are you taking me?’ She acted cool, but she hadn’t expected him to start casting off. An evening on board a fabulous yacht, alone with a man she found intensely attractive? She wasn’t normally so reckless, but on this occasion—

‘Out onto the lagoon,’ Luca said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘It’s a sight everyone should see at least once in a lifetime. It’s so magical at night—and it’s a crucial part of my programme to rebuild your faith in Venice.’

‘You don’t need to go to all this trouble for my sake.’

‘I want to.’ He held her gaze for a moment. ‘And it’s my pleasure. I’m very proud of my city.’

With one last glance at the shore, Nell told herself not to be so silly. Luca wasn’t going to try and seduce her on his boat. Anyway, it was her best chance to talk to him about her scheme without distraction.

Though surely she could have one night off, she thought rebelliously. A trip by moonlight along the shores of the most beautiful city in the world? How could she resist? Luca was right: this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and one she had no intention of squandering.

The black velvet sky was littered with stars, and the ancient buildings lining the San Marco Basin might have been made out of spun sugar with their dainty trelliswork picked out by moonlight. As Nell settled back on the comfortable leather seat her spine tingled at the thought that she would soon be gliding across the water, admiring the same sights that people for centuries had loved. And Luca hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it would be beautiful. It was absolutely stunning.

‘This is incredible.’

‘Didn’t I tell you? I’m going to drop anchor here and then we can have our coffee.’

‘Do you come here often?’ she teased.

‘Only when I’ve got a really difficult case on my hands.’

‘Are you suggesting I’m difficult, Doctor?’

‘Difficult?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You’re one of the most complicated cases I’ve ever encountered.’

What was she doing? This was getting dangerous. She shouldn’t be flirting with Luca, she should be talking about work. But her pulse disagreed. It had started racing the moment Luca had stopped the boat. How was she supposed to concentrate on work when he had brought her to one of the most romantic places in the world; when they’d had such a wonderful evening together, and that evening still had time to run? And when the biggest surprise of all had turned out to be the fact that they got on so well?

The truth was, deep down, she wanted to believe in romance again. To dare to love again, even. A secret affair in the most beautiful city on earth…

When Luca ducked his head inside the cabin to find coffee-cups for them Nell couldn’t help noticing how lithe he was, how powerful. There was surely no harm in observing that much about him!

‘Did the waiter know what you had planned tonight?’ she asked when he emerged.

‘I don’t confide all my secrets in him.’

His expression was drawing her in, tempting her to believe everything she wanted to believe. One ebony brow arcing above sparkling eyes was all it took to make Nell wonder how many of Luca’s secrets involved her. ‘So you don’t make a habit of this?’

‘Do you care?’

Yes, she did—very much indeed. ‘No, of course not,’ she said flippantly.

He gave her a cup to hold and poured out the coffee. Clinking his tiny demi-tasse against hers, he murmured, ‘To us.’

‘To our successful association.’

‘There’s still a lot I need to know about this scheme of yours before I give the go-ahead.’

‘I’ll answer any question you care to ask.’

‘Will you indeed?’

‘Yes…’ She hadn’t missed the innuendo, and she hadn’t meant to hold his gaze. Luca’s smile was faint, but very dangerous.

And he was right: this was a magical place. That had to be the reason why things happened when they weren’t supposed to, and why she was weakening at the very moment when she had to be strong. Silent messages were flying between them, insistent messages too powerful for her to resist…

Removing the coffee-cup from her hand, Luca leaned inside the cabin and stowed it with his own. Coming back, he smoothed a lock of hair that had fallen over her face. ‘I like your hair longer. It suits you.’ He tucked another wayward strand behind her ear.

A spasm of nerves hit Nell the moment Luca’s fingers touched her face, but when he left her side to attend to something on the boat she wondered if she had got it wrong. She ached with longing, already missing him, missing his closeness, his attention. But when he came back he was cool, as if nothing special had happened between them.

And then his hand brushed hers lightly. Was that an accident? Did he mean something by it, or was she guilty of imposing her own desires on Luca’s innocent actions? Her hand was still tingling while Luca seemed content to gaze out across the lagoon. Every part of her was tingling with awareness of how close he was, how alone they were…all the possibilities.

As the silence enveloped them Nell closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The air was warm and softly fragranced with his scent, with hers and with the unmistakable salty smell of Venice. The only sound she could hear was gently lapping water and their mingled breathing: steady, regular, soothing. And then she felt Luca’s fingers on the back of her neck, brushing her hair aside, tracing her earlobe…the lightest touch, feathering, then pulling away. Had she imagined that? Opening her eyes, she stared at him but he was gazing towards the opposite shore.

Leaning back against the rail, Nell turned her face up to the sky. Silence closed around them. And then she felt his warm hand touching her thigh. Was she imagining that too? Closing her eyes, she savoured the trail of fire he left behind him as he pushed up her skirt, stroking, searching, finding…

She didn’t dare to breathe or move in case he stopped. Reckless or not, she needed him.

The back of his hand brushed between her legs, quickly, lightly, a frustrating butterfly’s wing of a touch. But that was all it took for him to prove how swollen she was, how moist, how hot for him.

Exhaling on a sigh, Nell edged her legs apart, wanting so much more. But instead of giving her what she craved, Luca lifted his hand away. Somehow she stopped herself crying out with frustration, then gasped instead when he claimed her arms with a perfect blend of possession and reassurance. She couldn’t pull away now, even had she wanted to. Tipping up her chin, she met his gaze. She wanted him and she wanted him to know it. Sweet fingers of arousal were caressing her body in the most delicious torture she had ever known: the strength in his hands, the curve of his lips, the delicious suspension of time he had created—she didn’t want any of it to end.

‘Must you wear this armour now?’ Murmuring against her lips, he pushed the jacket from her shoulders.

Luca didn’t know how close he had come to the truth, Nell thought as the jacket fell to the deck. It was her armour, and he was right: there was no need for it now.

Luca started on the buttons of her shirt, taking his time. He had to force himself to hold back or he knew he might be too rough with her. But it was taking every ounce of his willpower to slow the pace. When he let her shirt drop to the deck he sucked in his breath at the sight of the cobweb chemise she wore beneath. The thought of more delicate wrappings to remove excited him beyond belief. But it pleased him to take his time, because it pleased her, and he liked to see how aroused the delay made her.

Rolling her head back, she sighed, offering him the tender hollow at the base of her neck. Dipping his tongue, he licked and felt her tremble. Moving away again, he eased the delicate top over her head and let it flutter to the deck. The fastenings on her skirt were easily released and she had already slipped off her shoes when she climbed on board in deference to his teak decks.

She was wearing hold-ups beneath her skirt. Just who was torturing whom here? And how much more torture was he supposed to take?

Luca answered his own question silently: quite a lot more. The lacy tops clung to her firm, full thighs, leaving a tantalising hand-span of soft ivory flesh between that and the briefs she wore. They were so fine as to be almost transparent, and there was no mistaking how aroused she was.

The moment he captured her breasts would live with him forever. The pebbled nipples sent delight coursing through his overly sensitive finger pads. They appeared to be forcing themselves insistently through the flimsy fabric of her bra, and when he caressed them, lavishing them with the attention they deserved, he heard her whimper and the fire inside him raged into an inferno.

He removed the bra quickly, tossing it aside. The heaviness of her breasts was a revelation to him. He chafed her nipples again, more fiercely this time, relishing her cries of encouragement. Each new sound she made was a discovery that only intensified his pleasure. His senses were flooded with erotic heat. The scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin, the look on her face—all of it seemed designed to urge him on.

Luca knew just how much pressure to use, how to stroke and when to apply the firm touch she craved. She was melting into him, her body warm, moist, and swollen with desire. He lavished attention on her breasts until each taut nipple strained towards him. Her breasts had never looked so beautiful, Nell thought, as they did now in the dappled moonlight, nor had they ever felt so cherished and warm beneath a man’s touch…

She cried out when Luca moved away, but before she had time to miss him he encircled her waist and dragged her close, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her briefs. Removing them in one easy movement, he swung her up, settling her onto a wooden platform. Nudging her thighs apart, he moved in close. His fingers found her wet, but evidently not wet enough, not as wet as Luca wanted her. And so he started stroking delicately, persuasively, responding intuitively to each sound she made. Resting her head against his chest, Nell relaxed completely, happily giving way to pleasure.

Hearing foil rip, she felt a brief surge of panic. He stopped immediately, even before she pressed her hands against his chest.

‘Why?’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

By then the moment of doubt had passed. She shook her head vigorously, and he began teasing her again, brushing her lightly before pulling away, until it was she who wrapped her legs around his waist to draw him close.

As his hands moved to cup her buttocks she spread her legs wide, leaning back within the secure curve of his arm and tilting up her hips to meet him. ‘I need you now, Luca. Please, don’t tease me any more. I need you to make love to me…’

She felt him tense briefly, but then he moaned as if the same spear of desire had pierced him too. Their free will was lost in that instant; they were both slaves to the same hunger, both willing captives. She couldn’t think now; she could only feel as he filled her, stretching her beyond imagination, burying himself to the hilt, groaning with ecstasy as she closed her muscles around him to take him deeper. He didn’t settle, or pause; she wouldn’t let him. She asked and he gave, thrusting firmly, deeply, rhythmically rocking in time to her hungry cries, his body overwhelmed by the same force that gripped her. The waves of sensation built quickly for both of them and soon their wild cries were pealing out across the empty water.

That was just the start. Luca knew how to keep the pulse soft and low until she had recovered, when he increased the beat in time with her need. Having eaten, she wanted more, and soon she was feeding ravenously on pleasure again, luxuriating in his strength, in his virility. Luca was everything she had ever dreamed a man should be and never was, unselfish, intuitive…

As they came down from the peak together, Nell could see that Luca was as stunned as she by what had happened between them. For that brief time they had been free, and it was an abandon she found both exhilarating and terrifying, but it was a luxury she knew she would have no trouble getting used to.

Sex with Nell was a revelation for him. The intensity beyond belief, the pleasure unimaginable. It was as if the years of waiting, of thinking about her, had coalesced into this one fervid episode, and all the yearning in his heart had burst free. He wanted more of her than he had supposed. He wanted everything. He wanted all of her—

All of her body.

He had to be sensible, after all. They lived in different countries, led separate lives. It was extraordinary sex, but that was all it was. He needed to get real, and enjoy what they had while it lasted.

Luca carried her into the cabin, where they made love again to a more relaxed pace as they fell in with the gently rolling rhythms of the boat. Another ghost laid, Nell reflected as they lay quietly afterwards. After Jake’s death it had crossed her mind that she might have failed him in bed and that was what had driven him into the arms of another woman…but if Luca was dissatisfied, he had a strange way of showing it.

‘What are you looking so happy about?’ There was a glint in his dark eyes as he caught her staring at him and rolled on top of her once more.

‘This,’ Nell whispered, taking him deep.

She felt so safe in Luca’s boat. It was an erotic cocoon, a tiny dot on the vast lagoon—and that was also a metaphor of their night together. This encounter was a tiny dot on the vast map of their lives and wanting any more was foolish. But as the hours sped by, Nell discovered that even the past couldn’t stop her wanting things she couldn’t have.

It was approaching dawn when Luca sat up abruptly next to Nell’s sleeping body.

What was he doing? Where was he going with this?

He’d wanted sex and he’d got what he wanted. That should be enough for him. But in the restaurant he’d enjoyed her company too—really enjoyed it. And sex with Nell had only left him wanting more.

But that wasn’t practical, or realistic. He needed distance, thinking space. He didn’t need to get involved, and she was clearly the kind of woman who got involved.

He had to make the break now before things got too complicated.

By the time he had buried his head in his hands and reflected for a few seconds, Luca had convinced himself that seducing Nell had been a mistake. It was up to him to nip it in the bud and make sure it didn’t turn into a full-blown disaster—for both of them.

‘Luca, what’s wrong?’ Nell awoke as he pulled away from her to sit up, and felt the loss of him like a wound. He was resting his elbows on his knees, and his face was hidden from her.

‘We should be going. I have to get up early.’

His voice was cool, dispassionate, and she felt snubbed. But then, hadn’t he said he would be tied up for the next couple of days?

Yes, and wasn’t that the reason she was supposed to have used this time to tell him about her scheme?

As Luca’s words echoed in her head a cold hand tracked down Nell’s spine. There had been something, something essential, missing from his voice. The tone that had been so teasing and warm before had turned detached, as if he were talking to a stranger. He hadn’t used the voice of a man who had just been making love to a woman. He had spoken to her like one polite stranger to another.

‘You can wash there.’ He gestured abruptly towards the shower cabinet on board.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll shower at the hotel,’ she said. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get away. ‘I won’t keep you.’

If Luca had noticed the dig he didn’t show it as he dressed. He kept his back turned to her, as if he wanted to shut her out. Nell kept telling herself that any moment he would turn to reassure her and draw her into his arms. They had shared so much; they had shared everything. Hadn’t they?

With the last button on his shirt secured, Luca stood up and stretched. Easing past her, he ducked out of the cabin and went to raise the anchor with an electric winch. He took his seat at the bridge, switched on the engine and engaged the control lever, all without a word.

As the boat started moving towards the shore Nell remained where she was, sitting tensely on the edge of the bunk where they had made love. She didn’t move again until Luca brought the boat alongside the landing stage at her hotel.

Her insides were ice as she stood up, but her face was flaming with humiliation. As she went to move past him he held out his hand to steady her as she stepped onto the shore. ‘Thank you…’ She stopped. What was she supposed to add? Thank you for a lovely evening? Taking a steadying breath, she fell back on, ‘Thank you. That was a delicious meal.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ he said without a trace of irony. ‘See you at the meeting.’

She barely heard him, and only belatedly realised he had been saying something about a meeting. ‘What time…?’ But he had already turned the boat away and her voice was lost on the wind.

Chapter Seven

WHY had she trusted Luca enough to go to bed with him? Why had she stayed? Maybe because it was too easy to become complacent when you were safe in someone’s arms, Nell reflected, careful not to let her feelings show. ‘Has anyone called for me this morning, Marianna?’

‘No one.’

‘Are you sure?’ Nell glanced at her wrist-watch. It was almost eleven o’clock.

‘Of course she’s sure, Mum. Why?’

As Molly’s intelligent gaze searched her face, Nell turned away, afraid of what Molly might see. The cold ball of humiliation inside her was growing more indigestible every minute. ‘No reason. I’m just waiting for feedback from last night.’

‘From your dinner with Luca?’

‘From my meeting with Luca.’ Nell hated the betraying edge that always crept into her voice when she was lying. She didn’t want to talk about Luca with guilt still pulsing through her veins. She had allowed herself to be a cheap one-night stand, which should never have happened. She should have remembered that he had walked out of her life once before. What had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking, of course. The carnal urge to mate had been too strong. Playing so far out of her league meant wising up, or leaving casual sex to those who knew how to handle it.

Feeling two pairs of eyes trained on her face, Nell stared intently into her coffee-cup. She wasn’t about to admit that she had already rung the hospital, having locked herself in the bathroom to make the call. Signor Barbaro couldn’t be found, the man at the other end of the line had told her. Perhaps Signor Barbaro didn’t want to be found—at least not by her.

Feeling Molly’s gaze burning into her face, she tried to lighten the mood. ‘So, what would you like to do today, Molly?’

‘Dunno.’

Great! Her mood was catching. Nell turned to Marianna, but before she could speak the phone rang. They all tensed. After a moment Marianna went to answer it.

‘Luca Barbaro for you,’ she mouthed.

‘Thank you.’ Retreating into a corner of the room, Nell turned her back for some privacy. ‘Hello?’

‘Didn’t we have an appointment this morning?’ Luca sounded as if he had a thousand other things on his mind.

‘You said you were tied up for the next couple of days, and I thought—’

‘My schedule’s unpredictable. You should have checked before deciding not to turn up.’

And you might have waited before turning your boat around to be sure I had heard! ‘I apologise if I’ve kept you waiting. It seems I misunderstood.’ Hurt was bubbling away inside her, but she couldn’t forget why she was in Venice and the part Luca must play if the scheme was to be a success.

‘Half an hour?’ His tone was brisk.

‘Yes, I’ll be there.’

‘They’re expecting you at the gate. Collect a badge and come straight up.’

It was hardly the call she had been hoping for. Nell’s expression hardened as she pictured Luca’s arrogant face. How gracious of him to grant her an audience. Was this payment for services rendered? Did he think she used her body like an incentive-packed goodie bag?

But she had to calm down. Her pride had to take second place to the scheme—and like it or not, Luca Barbaro was the man she had to convince to establish her scheme in Venice, unless they were to completely redraw the plans they’d made.

It was time to put on her armour again.

Luca hadn’t kissed her once, Nell realised as she sat down across from him. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but now it did.

And wasn’t that how people behaved when sex was an end in itself and the people involved meant nothing to each other?

And hadn’t she walked into the situation with her eyes wide open?

Trust? There was no such thing between a man and a woman, Nell thought, opening up her briefcase. Bringing out the documents she had prepared for Luca, she made a silent vow not to leave until she had his co-operation.

‘Would you like a glass of water?’

Did she look pale? She didn’t want him suspecting how she felt inside. ‘For some reason I’m feeling the heat today. I’ll be fine in a moment.’

‘I’ll get you a glass of water anyway and turn up the airconditioning.’ Leaving his seat, he walked across the room.

Even now she couldn’t look at him without trembling—and it was impossible not to look at him. Did she want to see how beautifully coordinated he was, how perfectly balanced?

Dragging her gaze away, Nell forced her mind back to the business at hand. ‘Would you like to look at these?’ She pushed some papers across the desk. ‘I thought they’d give you some idea of what we do.’

‘I’d rather hear it from you than read some glossy brochure prepared by your marketing people.’ Putting the glass of water down in front of her, Luca returned to his seat.

‘Marketing people?’ Nell held his gaze. ‘Ours is a small volunteer-based scheme. I don’t use marketing people. I wrote every word on these pages myself.’

‘Still…’ Leaning back, he rested his head on his arms. ‘I’d like you to tell me about it.’

And she’d thought she had put every safeguard in place. How could she remain immune to him? He was such a powerful masculine force, he was impossible to ignore. But did he even remember last night? Or were there so many similar nights for Luca Barbaro, he barely marked their passing? If so, she hoped he remembered to change the sheets…

‘Would you like to begin?’

Corralling her wandering thoughts, Nell launched straight in.

‘So we’re to be the guinea pigs for your pilot scheme?’ Luca interrupted after she had been talking for a few minutes.

‘I thought you might be happier testing my assertions for yourself. How about Monday for a tour of the hospital and a trial run? What do you think?’ she pressed when he didn’t reply.

What did he think? He had to be impressed by the way she was handling a difficult situation. He was tempted to let her try the pilot scheme. And the itch he had scratched last night had started up again. ‘What do I think?’ He rasped a thumb across the stubble on his chin and held her gaze. It pleased him to see her eyes darken, but beneath the front he sensed she was wary. He wanted her again. If nothing else the pilot scheme she had suggested would throw them together.

And between now and Monday? He couldn’t concentrate on work while his mind was full of Nell. And his mind was firmly lodged beneath his belt. A little to one side of that was a pocket full of supplies.

‘I think…’

‘Yes?’ She became instantly alert.

‘I think I need to know a lot more about you before I agree to this pilot scheme.’

‘More about me?’ Nell shook her head, suddenly incensed. What more did he need to know? After last night she could only conclude that giving every appearance of enjoying someone’s company was an act as far as Luca was concerned—an act for which he expected payment in kind. ‘I’ve told you all you need to know about me. The project is what’s important.’

As Nell swallowed, it drew Luca’s attention to the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, and lust roared up inside him. There was a red mist dancing in front of his eyes that had no bearing on her project, but as a whipping boy it served him well. ‘So, I’m to allow you, a woman I hardly know, into my hospital with your band of volunteers, trained who knows how, just on your say-so?’

‘Not on my say-so. On my track record, and on all those recommendations from other establishments I have brought here for you to study.’

‘That will take time, and then I’ll have more questions.’

‘I’ll give you all the time you need.’

Perfect. He curbed his smile as he dipped his head in acknowledgement of the offer. He could see she was gritting her teeth, while he was trying to calm the lustful little demon lashing about inside him. He wanted sex…sex with no hang-ups, no consequences, no complications. But life was never that simple.

What was going through Luca’s mind? Nell was still stinging with humiliation from last night—and what was worse, she still wanted him. But whatever had happened last night, she had to take the project forward. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got his agreement to host the pilot scheme. It had become a matter of pride now.

The shutters were drawn, his eyes were dark and the air was sultry. Exactly how far was she prepared to go to ensure that he didn’t back out of the scheme?

She shook away the thought. But it was one thing making angry resolutions at a safe distance, quite another keeping them when she was shut in a small room with Luca. How could she not be aware of him when she was still throbbing from his extremely thorough attentions? Responding to the thought, Nell eased her position on the seat.

‘Getting hot, Nell?’ Luca murmured, sending another fireball of arousal flooding through her.

‘No, I’m fine. Your air-conditioning is very efficient.’

He only had to raise a brow to call her a liar.

The tension in the air was growing harder to ignore by the minute. She started telling him about the project to channel her thoughts in a safe direction, but she was fully aroused, which made her thoughts disjointed, and she could see Luca was only paying lip-service to what she was saying. She couldn’t blame him. She was hardly making sense.

As she handed some documents across the desk, thinking it would keep him busy while she pulled herself together, their hands touched. The moment hung in the air, connecting them by a stream of tension that had to find release.

They came together like a raging tornado, Luca’s postcoital brush-off consumed in the heat along with all Nell’s other complaints against him. He could satiate her most basic need, and that was all she cared about. His arms were so welcome, strong and familiar, and the scent of him was intoxicating as he dragged her close. He backed her towards the door and she heard the key turn in the lock, and as he swung her up she cried out, already anticipating pleasure. There were no preliminaries. Luca just wedged her against the wall and dragged up her skirt. At the same time he was pulling down her briefs, he was unfastening his zip. And the next moment he was sinking inside her, holding her safe, fastening her legs around his waist, his hands firm on her buttocks. Spreading her wide, he pounded hard, fast.

‘You want this, don’t you, Nell?’

‘Yes…Oh, yes!’ Pleasure so wild, so intense it made their previous encounter seem tame? She wanted it.

‘Tell me,’ he instructed her fiercely. ‘Tell me everything you want from me. I have to hear you say it.’

Words poured from her lips, words she didn’t recognise, harsh, crude words that brought a look of brutal satisfaction to Luca’s face. ‘I want you, Luca. I want more!’

‘Like this?’ he suggested.

‘Oh, yes…’ She gasped as he rolled from side to side and the pleasure mounted.

‘And this?’

How could she answer while Luca was talking roughly in her ear, telling her in Italian, in English what she wanted, what she needed, and what he was going to give her? Nell’s mouth fell open ‘Yes, yes…’ She groaned and dug her fingers into him, bucking convulsively as he took her to a level of pleasure she had never experienced before. All thoughts of holding back, or preserving some propriety were lost in the urge to offer herself for his attentions, to angle her body, to part her legs wider still, to use her hands now to open herself more for him. And Luca responded intuitively, keeping the pleasure building until Nell reached a peak so high she was frightened to fall off it…

‘Now,’ he ordered fiercely, thrusting fast and deep.

With a cry she rushed over the edge, grinding her hips greedily against him. He made it last for the longest time, serving her selflessly, skilfully, while she gasped and shrieked with pleasure like some wild creature that recognised no boundaries.

At last the explosion softened into a series of delicious aftershocks, and after soothing her Luca took his turn, building the rhythm again until he found savage release in a series of powerful thrusts that incredibly brought Nell to the brink again so that this time they plunged into the abyss together.

Lowering her gently to her feet, Luca was careful to steady her, but then he stood back and she heard him fasten his fly as he crossed the room.

‘There are some tissues on the desk.’

His voice was calm, impersonal. And why not? His job was done. As she slipped on her briefs, she had to wonder about her sanity. She had to wonder about a man whose heart was nothing more than a pump, with about as much feeling as one of his hospital machines. She had let lust get the better of her again, and now she was going to pay the price. If only she’d thought things through first, this would never have happened. But she hadn’t thought at all—she’d had one goal in mind, and she’d reached that rather faster than she had expected.

It wasn’t until she had finished dressing and had bent down to slip on her sandals that Nell noticed the discarded foil.

He had come prepared. He had been expecting this.

Rage exploded out of her. ‘You cold-hearted bastard!’

‘What?’ Turning, Luca levelled a quizzical stare on her face. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘What’s wrong with me?’ Picking up the packet from the floor, Nell threw it at him. ‘Do you keep a store of these in your office, just in case?’ She firmed her lips when he didn’t answer. ‘You had this planned all along, didn’t you, Luca? I can’t believe I’ve been taken in again!’

‘You’re a grown woman. You knew what you were doing. Would you rather I had taken no precautions at all?’

‘Of course not—’

‘Then why are you complaining?’

He was so cool she could hardly speak. But as he turned she grabbed his arm. Before she knew what she was doing, she had raised her hand to him.

Catching hold of her wrist, Luca dragged her close and kissed her hard. She fought him off, but he knew her too well, and in a moment she was kissing him back—hungrily, desperately.

Luca pulled away first, holding her at arm’s length to give her a long, lazy smile. That smile, Nell realised, told her the kiss was just more proof of his domination.

Shaking as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, she held his gaze. ‘Why am I complaining? I’m surprised you need to ask.’

Luca’s lips pressed down as he eased his shoulders in a shrug. ‘You seemed like a willing partner to me.’

‘But there has to be more to sex than—’

‘Than what, Nell?’ Grabbing her arms, he drew her close to stare into her eyes, and then abruptly he let her go again. There was too much in her eyes…things he didn’t want to see.

She lashed out at him again, this time with words. ‘Do you know how much I hate you? You make me feel dirty!’

Dirty? Reeling back, he realised she couldn’t have said anything to shock him more. Yes, their relationship was like nothing he had ever known before—casual but intense, disturbing…and dirty? His blinding flash of shame turned to anger. She had struck at the core of his self-belief. He was a principled man, a man who kept a fence around him for a reason. How could he do his work without denial, without selfrestraint? His life was ruled by objectivity; there was no room in it for personal considerations. His emotional austerity had never been breached before, and it couldn’t be breached in the space of a few days by a woman he hardly knew.

‘Dirty? What are you talking about?’

‘How do you describe having sex up against a wall?’

There wasn’t much he could say to that. He watched her straighten her clothes, sensing she was straightening out her thoughts at the same time. Once she’d finished, she turned to face him. Her eyes had turned to blue ice.

‘Nothing to say, Luca?’

‘What do you want me to say?’

With a mirthless laugh she shook her head. ‘I might have been a fool to fall for this again, but you are one cold, hard bastard.’

‘What’s your problem, Nell?’

‘What’s my problem? I’m not the one with a problem. You’ve got the problem, Luca. You don’t know the meaning of emotion. You don’t have a feeling, caring bone in your body!’

He was still stinging from her earlier attack. ‘Isn’t that an overreaction to what was some rather good sex?’

Nell shook her head. ‘Your conceit overwhelms me.’

‘Don’t burden me with your emotional baggage. We had good sex, we both enjoyed it, end of story.’

Nell’s face reflected her incredulity. ‘You are something else…’

‘I’m a man.’

‘And a doctor,’ she observed softly and ironically. ‘What a perfect combination.’

‘Meaning?’

‘It explains your frame of mind.’

‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ he snapped, angry at her and with himself for reacting to her nonsense.

‘All right, I will. I never told you how my husband died, did I?’

Luca raised his brows. ‘Does that have relevance?’

Shooting a glance at the ceiling, Nell gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Oh, yes, Luca, I think it does. Jake died because of medical incompetence. And after he died I was left waiting, not told anything, deliberately deceived, while other doctors scrambled to cover for their colleague’s mistake. You wanted to know how I fund this project, how I got it off the ground? The hospital had to pay out for their doctor’s mistake, that’s how.’

‘I still don’t see—’

‘No, you wouldn’t. Just a tick here, and a cross there, and Jake’s tragic accident was a cover-up in which his whole medical team was embroiled. They treated me like a piece of no-account dirt. They ignored me, patronised me, lied to me, fobbed me off with medical terminology and gobbledygook. I only found out the truth about what really happened at the inquest.’

‘But what does this have to do with me?’

‘It’s a state of mind, Luca. Think back to when Molly was taken sick. Have you any idea how much worse you made that experience with your coldness, your impatience, your unpleasantness towards me? I was in despair. I was desperate. I thought my baby was going to die, like my husband had, and you just shut me out!’

‘My concern was for the child—’

‘The child? You’ve met Molly, you know her, and yet you can still only see her as the child, the patient, the statistic! What’s wrong with you?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me—and I hope you’re not bracketing me with the incompetents who handled your husband’s case!’

‘Listen to you.’ She raked her hair, and then looked at him almost as if she felt sorry for him. ‘Still hanging on to your pride. Jake’s case, as you call it, was his life. My husband’s life, Luca.’

‘You have my condolences.’

‘Your condolences?’ There was a disbelieving laugh in Nell’s voice. ‘Patients are just so many records on a computer file as far as you’re concerned. With no character or history to flesh out the individual. Is it just me, or is that how you treat all your sexual partners too?’

‘No!’ he cut across her. For a moment he was speechless; she had really shocked him. She had held a mirror up in front of his face and he didn’t like what he saw. Was that how she saw him? Was that how he was? Was he guilty of treating both his patients and his partners like bodies to be processed for the best possible outcome?

Had he failed to treat Nell as a woman all those years ago on the canal—as a mother, as a fellow human being? And if so, what was his excuse? Oh, yes…he was a doctor.

It sounded pretty thin now. And yes, he had been busy, stressed-out, exhausted…but he had still been a human being, and he could have related to her on that level for however short a time. Instead he had presumed that she wouldn’t understand, that he was too busy, that his knowledge was too specialised for a mere civilian to comprehend.

Or had he just been too self-important to consider her feelings? And was he still guilty of that now? It was too late to wish he’d done things differently all those years ago…was it too late for him to change?

It hardly mattered, Luca realised. His intention not to complicate things with Nell had backfired on him in the most spectacular fashion. It might have taught him something, but if this was a new beginning for him, as far as Nell was concerned, it was the end.

‘I’d like to confirm that my volunteers are still welcome here on Monday.’

Her voice was shaking, but her eyes told him she was as determined as ever. And he had been preparing to reap the whirlwind of her personal hurt. She had surprised him yet again.

‘Monday?’

‘Have you changed your mind?’ She held his gaze.

He hesitated. ‘How are we going to—?’

She cut him off. ‘Going to what, Luca? Separate our work from what has happened between us? That’s easy,’ she said before he had a chance to answer. ‘We won’t spend any time together that isn’t directly connected to the project. Unless of course you’re going to allow your personal life to interfere with improvements to your hospital services?’

He felt as if he was standing on a rapidly shrinking ice floe, and hit back the only way he knew how. ‘Don’t be in any doubt, Nell. I always put the hospital first.’

‘Good. Then I’ll see you on Monday. You’ll find I’ve put everything you need in this information pack for you. You can check all the references of the volunteers, and if there’s anything you’re unsure of, don’t hesitate to get in touch.’

His admiration went up a notch. She’d been profoundly upset, and still remained true to her purpose. He was thankful for the project too—it was all they had left now. But still his natural caution stepped in.

‘I make no promises. I’ll read everything and then talk to a few people.’

‘Procrastinate?’

‘Make a considered judgement.’

They held each other’s gaze. She was as stubborn as he was. He sensed this was a pivotal moment. ‘So…Monday,’ he said as casually as he could.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll tell the security guard to expect your people for the pilot scheme. We’ll go ahead for now. There’ll be badges waiting at the gate. I’m presuming you’ll be with the group?’ He couldn’t believe her answer meant so much to him.

‘Of course.’

Instead of allowing her triumph to show, she behaved professionally, coolly, as if this was the outcome she had expected all along. How she felt about the man making the offer was similarly buried. Silently, he saluted her.

Risk-taking was new to him, but it was apparent that there was no such thing as casual sex with Nell. He had to change something, or there would be no sex at all—and that wasn’t something he was prepared to factor into his calculations.

‘See you on Monday. If not before…’

Not before, Nell thought, allowing a slight smile of acknowledgement to touch her lips as she gathered up her things. She was still throbbing from sex, heated from their argument, reeling from Luca’s unexpected agreement to take in her scheme. But more than all that, she was stunned by the way she had opened up to him. What kind of fool exposed so much of herself to a man who didn’t know the meaning of emotion?

Chapter Eight

‘YOU did what?’ Nell blenched.

‘I rang up Luca and invited him round for tea,’ Molly repeated blithely.

‘How on earth did you find his number?’ Nell’s mind was racing. After everything that had happened between them, all the pain that had spilled out of her, she just wanted to forget—to put some distance between them. She had started to do just that even before she left Luca’s office. And now this!

‘I rang the hospital, told them I was a former patient and asked to speak to him. They put me through. You don’t mind, do you, Mum?’

What had happened between Luca and herself wasn’t Molly’s fault, Nell realised. Should she make a fuss and risk provoking curiosity even more, or just grit her teeth and go along with it? ‘No, dear, I don’t mind.’

No, dear? Out of the corner of her eye Nell saw Marianna’s raised eyebrows. Was this what it had come to? Had raising the barricades against Luca made her into some sort of stuffy Victorian mama? ‘Sorry!’ Dropping to her knees, she held out her arms. ‘Give me a hug, Moll, I need it. It’s been one of those days.’

‘I thought you saw Luca today?’

‘I did!’ Nell used a comic voice and pulled a face as if she had encountered a troll. To her relief Molly started laughing.

‘But you don’t mind if he comes to tea?’

‘Too late to worry now.’ And what could go wrong with Molly and Marianna around to back her up?

They arranged to eat outside on the balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. She would find an opportunity to draw him aside and tell him that this was the first and last time they would be meeting like this. Luca had been Molly’s doctor and this was a nice way for Molly to thank him—but that was it.

Molly had made all the arrangements—ringing Room Service to place her order, and then Housekeeping to make sure they had enough cushions for an extra guest. She had even set the table by herself, arranging the floral centrepiece provided by the concierge and positioning candles either side of it.

‘Candles in broad daylight? It isn’t dark yet,’ Nell pointed out.

‘Don’t be so boring, Mum. Remember, this is Venice. It’s supposed to be romantic.’

‘Romantic?’

‘A romantic city, I mean,’ Molly quickly amended.

And then Nell was too busy pacing up and down trying to convince herself she could handle tea with Luca to notice what was going on. It was only when the knock came on the door and Marianna and Molly got there before her that she realised they were both dressed to go out.

‘Where do you think you two are going?’

‘Out.’ Molly tipped her chin as she stared at her mother.

‘But you can’t go out! What about tea?’ For a moment, Nell thought Molly might relent. It was a proper English afternoon tea, their favourite: scones, jam and cream, breakfast tea with either milk or lemon, and soft sponge cakes coated in chocolate and toffee sauce to eat afterwards.

Molly stared at the tray longingly. ‘Sorry—things to do, people to see. Isn’t that right, Marianna?’

Marianna had perfected the art of staring off into the middle distance, Nell thought, glaring at her.

‘Don’t look so worried, Mum! It’ll be fun!’

Fun? What had Luca been thinking, accepting Molly’s invitation? ‘You’re probably right.’ She didn’t want to get into an argument.

The buzzer went.

‘Luca.’ As Nell opened the door, she hoped her eyes said what her voice couldn’t in front of Molly and Marianna—that he should have found an excuse not to come.

A bemused expression crossed his face as Molly and Marianna walked past him. ‘I’m sorry. I thought…’

‘Yes, so did I. Do you want to come in? You don’t have to,’ Nell assured him sincerely once they had turned the corner.

‘Don’t be silly.’ He walked in knowing he had been conned, and by a ten-year-old. He’d never guessed women started so young. He felt some explanation was necessary. ‘Nell…’

Shutting the door, she leaned back against the wall. ‘Luca?’

The call from Molly had taken him by surprise, but afternoon tea had sounded so innocent he hadn’t dreamed it was a set-up. He stared outside at the balcony, where deep-cushioned seats had been drawn up to a table draped in a damask cloth. For once he was lost for words and barely managed a lame, ‘This is nice.’

‘What are you doing here, Luca?’ There were only two chairs, Nell noticed now, cursing her inattention to detail.

‘Molly invited me. I assumed it was your idea…’ Clearly not, he thought, seeing Nell’s expression. ‘Next time I speak to her, I’ll—’

‘There won’t be a next time, Luca. There’s no reason for you to contact Molly. I won’t have her misled.’

‘Misled?’

Isn’t it blindingly obvious? She doesn’t have a dad and she’s considering you for the role. ‘I won’t have her misled into thinking you’re a friend,’ Nell clarified. ‘I didn’t want to raise her suspicions by saying no to this scheme of hers—before I knew she was planning to disappear—but you should have had the good sense not to come.’

‘I didn’t want to disappoint her.’

And now he’d developed feelings?

‘I won’t have Molly sensing how tense we are around each other. I don’t want you here, Luca. I thought I made that clear yesterday. Anything we have to say to each other can be said in the workplace or on the telephone.’

He dipped his head in ironic acknowledgement, and she didn’t move until he left the room. Even the way he shut the door, with a barely discernible click, seemed designed to mock her.

Eyes shut, Nell analysed her feelings. Her heart was pounding. She still wanted him. It was that simple.

She had to fight the urge to rush to the door to call him back. She waited until she was sure that he’d gone before letting out her breath in a juddering stream. Only then was her gaze drawn to the tray of dainty sandwiches and cakes waiting for them out on the balcony. Stalking across the room, she picked up the tray and tossed the contents into the canal.

She couldn’t settle. She paced the room until Molly and Marianna returned from their walk.

‘Did it go well?’ Molly asked eagerly.

‘As well as could be expected,’ Nell said honestly. ‘If you’d stayed you would have been able to help us eat the cakes.’

‘You ate everything?’ Molly gazed at the empty tray.

‘Er, yes. Every scrap.’ A white lie was necessary, Nell decided.

‘But you didn’t light the candles,’ Molly observed.

‘Shall we go out?’ Nell changed the subject. The last thing she wanted was to enter into a conversation about Luca, a man so divorced from normal human feelings she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been stamped cold-hearted end to end like a stick of rock.

As Nell had hoped, Molly’s interest switched immediately. ‘Where would we go?’

‘I don’t know…but I’ve decided that it’s time you and I and Marianna had an adventure.’

Nell began to relax as the water taxi travelled across the lagoon. This was better than moping around at the hotel. There was no point in trying to protect Molly from believing Luca would remain part of their lives, and then spoiling it all by being miserable. She had made a mistake, but she could and she would get over him—and Molly deserved some fun.

Like many cities in warm climates, Venice came alive in the evening. This was their first trip to one of the smaller islands on the tidal flats. Nell had asked the concierge at the hotel for suggestions for their night out, and he had mentioned a celebration to commemorate the end of the sixteenth-century plague. It would be like one big party, he had told her, and Nell thought it sounded like a good experience for Molly. She had bought them all fearsome long-beaked masks, explaining to Molly that Venetians had once filled these with herbs and other sweet-smelling medicaments, which they believed kept them safe from the disease.

‘You look gross,’ Molly commented, when Nell put hers on.

‘Well, perhaps we won’t put them on until we get there.’

Molly wasn’t listening. She was too busy peering out of the window at the other craft travelling in convoy with them across the lagoon. All the vessels were dressed with lanterns and greenery, and Nell could see that many of the passengers were in full costume. The women were wearing elaborate silk gowns in every colour of the rainbow, while the men wore close-fitting breeches with cloaks flung around their shoulders. It made them look like gallants of old escorting their beautiful masked companions to a romantic tryst.

The sense of anticipation increased as the fleet drew closer to the island. It was as if they were escaping back to another age, Nell thought. Seeing Molly’s face pressed to the window, she smiled wryly. It was about time she made a good decision.

‘Come on,’ she said when they docked. ‘We don’t want to get left behind.’ With Marianna on one side of Molly and Nell on the other, they hurried on shore to follow the crowd streaming along the dockside towards the shady alleyways leading to the town centre.

When they reached the main square it was packed. ‘Stay close to me,’ Nell warned Molly and Marianna, ‘I don’t want you to be swept away. There are so many people here. I had no idea it would be so busy.’

In the middle of the square was a large fountain. Around this were colourful stalls, and, lining the edge of the square, elegant houses set like jewels amongst tiny boutiques with leaded light windows. Flowers tumbled from wrought-iron balconies, splashing colour across ancient walls, and there were banners and flags hanging everywhere. Amongst the crowd, street entertainers on stilts with striped baggy trousers, painted faces and top hats appeared like fantastic creatures from another world. There were musicians playing—several bands at once, all of them competing for the crowd’s attention. The noise was incredible, but Nell found it exhilarating. Biting her bottom lip, she turned full circle, hardly knowing which way to look first.

Then there was an explosion above, and everyone around her was staring into the sky, staring and pointing to the fireworks, which she presumed must mark the start of the celebrations. As cheers and laughter erupted all around them, she held on tight to Molly.

‘I can’t see,’ Molly complained.

‘I’ll try and lift you up.’ But it was difficult. There was such a press of people, and Nell had to be content with squeezing into a corner behind a food stall, where Molly could stand on a step between her and Marianna.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Molly cried excitedly clapping her hands.

‘Yes, it is,’ Nell shouted back. They couldn’t have been anywhere but Italy with the noise and exuberance, glitter and glamour. The craziness and abandon so perfectly reflected the soul of a people who wore their hearts on their sleeves and kept their faces turned to the sun. The mouth-watering scent of food teased their nostrils, and there was the heady fragrance of young wine, candle-wax, perfume, gunpowder…And now people were dancing, the couples swinging each other round to the energetic rhythms provided by a small group of elderly men dressed in traditional costume who were playing the harmonica, the accordion, the fiddle and the drum. Immediately a nearby group started up in competition, and then another and another. It was chaos, but such wonderful chaos.

Most people had taken the trouble to dress up like those she had seen on the boats, and nearly everyone was masked. It lent an air of mystery, of romance, a sense that anything was possible. Molly quickly put her mask on, though it kept slipping off, and Nell was sorry she hadn’t noticed before now how big it was.

‘I wish we’d come in proper costume.’ Molly had to tug off her mask so that Nell could hear her above the noise.

Downing her own mask, Nell agreed.

‘Perhaps if we come again next year?’

Nell was just about to put the damper on that idea when suddenly her eyes were covered from behind and she shrieked. Molly shrieked too—with excitement.

In that instant Nell knew who it was, though recognising him did nothing to stop her heart from pounding.

She turned to see a tall, powerfully built figure dressed from head to toe in black. The plain black mask enhanced his strong, saturnine features, and he wore a black cloak lined with scarlet silk. ‘Luca?’

He made a bow. ‘We are all anonymous here, lady.’

‘But it is you!’ Staring up, Molly clutched his hand.

‘In Venice we wear masks so that everyone is equal, and even a humble man like me may offer his services to three beautiful ladies.’ He acknowledged Marianna, and bowed to Nell, who gasped as he swung Molly onto his shoulders.

‘Shall we go?’ he invited.

Nell was so stunned by Luca’s unexpected arrival she couldn’t think of a single word to say. At least for Molly’s sake he seemed prepared to overlook his frosty reception at the hotel. Perhaps it was better to keep it that way. ‘Go where?’ she said at last.

‘Anywhere the music takes us.’

‘Yes, let’s!’ Molly checked with Nell. ‘Can we?’

With most of his face hidden behind the mask, Luca’s lips appeared crueller and more sensuous than ever. The dark glint in his eyes warned Nell to be cautious. She couldn’t forget his savage kiss, or their impassioned encounters. But she needed him—the project needed him—and she didn’t want to cause a fuss in front of Molly. She had to balance her mistrust against her duty…

‘Don’t forget,’ he said, ‘we’re all anonymous here.’

‘Please, Mum!’

Molly was pressing her to make a decision. Ripping her away now would cause an ugly scene, leaving doubts, questions Nell couldn’t, and didn’t want to provide answers for. But just one night, one anonymous night behind masks…It didn’t mean she had to start trusting him. She could let go, be herself. Or rather, be the person she longed to be…

Before Nell had chance to state her decision, a glamorous older woman came out of the crowd towards them.

‘Bellissima! What a pretty child!’

She was wearing full costume like Luca, her face almost completely hidden behind an elaborately jewelled mask. ‘Would you like me to take a picture of your group?’ She pointed to the camera swinging from Nell’s wrist.

Nell smiled politely. ‘No, thank you.’ The last thing she wanted was a reminder of Luca. But wasn’t it rude and unreasonable of her to refuse the offer? ‘I don’t want to trouble you,’ she amended.

‘It’s no trouble, I assure you. It will make a lovely souvenir for you to take home.’

The accent was so attractive. Nell guessed she was Italian, possibly even Venetian like Luca. She handed over the camera. ‘Thank you. Grazie,’ she added when the picture had been taken.

‘Prego,’ the woman said, smiling as she disappeared into the crowd.

‘Now, come along, Molly,’ Nell said firmly. ‘I’m sure Signor Barbaro is here with friends. We mustn’t keep him—’

‘Signor Barbaro? Who is this Signor Barbaro?’ Luca demanded, turning his head up to Molly. ‘Do you know him?’

Molly threw herself happily into the conspiracy. ‘No!’

‘I can assure you, ladies, I am entirely at your service.’

‘Just a minute!’ Nell was forced to chase after them as Luca strode off through the crowd with Molly sitting on his shoulders. She caught up with him by the fountain and grabbed his arm. ‘We’re going back to the hotel now. It’s well past Molly’s bedtime—’

‘But the main firework display is at midnight. Won’t you be staying for that?’

‘How can we? Once it’s over all these people will want to go back to Venice. We’ll never find a water taxi—’

‘And so you’ll come back on my boat—’

‘Oh, yes!’ Molly agreed enthusiastically.

‘Absolutely not!’ Nell’s mouth tightened as she turned to glare at him.

‘Why not?’ Luca said.

A thousand reasons blazed from Nell’s eyes as she stared at him, none of which she could give voice to while Molly was in earshot. ‘Because we can’t possibly impose on you?’

‘It’s no imposition. There are so many small canals crisscrossing our city; it is only a short distance from one side to the other by water.’

For a time they were silent, while the party carried on around them. Nell realised that if she wanted Molly to remain unaware of the currents between herself and Luca, refusing his offer of a lift home was unhelpful. This was what they were here for after all…an evening of fun.

Nell looked up, realising Luca was saying something. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I was just explaining to Molly that they should have told you in the shop that this type of mask is generally worn by men. Will you allow me to make amends?’

Nell’s heart turned over as Luca stared at her. She sensed his question went a lot deeper than the masks.

Molly distracted them both. ‘I told you they were gross.’

‘Well, I thought they would teach you something important about the history of Venice. The plague, and how it affected all of Europe—’

‘Commendable, I’m sure,’ their masked companion observed drily. ‘But there are other more interesting, and possibly less ghoulish, tales about Venice that Molly might want to hear.’

‘Like what?’ Molly pressed, instantly grasping the fact that it might be possible to extend the conversation until the fireworks started.

‘Harlequin and Columbine, for one.’

‘Please!’ Molly looked down at Nell again.

Tantrums she could deal with firmly, but when Molly was making a perfectly reasonable request, how was she supposed to refuse without seeming to be a killjoy?

‘Well, perhaps we can stay long enough for you to hear about Harlequin and Columbine…’

It surprised Luca to discover how much he wanted to be part of their adventure. The sight of Nell with her daughter touched him. She had tried to bring the carnival alive for Molly, and if she hadn’t quite pulled it off he wasn’t going to leave her to flounder this time. ‘And then long enough after for that for me to find new masks for the three of you?’

‘We couldn’t possibly accept,’ Nell protested.

‘Why not?’ Molly stared first at her mother and then at him.

Luca found himself warming under the sense of responsibility. ‘Why not?’ he repeated gently, looking at Nell.

‘Because…’

‘I’d really like to—I’d like the chance to share our customs, our holiday with you. Won’t you let me?’

‘When you put it like that…’

There was a moment—no, more than a moment—when he felt a new and very different kind of triumph. But Molly was shrieking with excitement, and before he could identify what it meant he was forging a passage for their little group through the crowd and heading for the shops.

Which was how they came to be watching fireworks at midnight after a night of dancing and eating sweet, crispy pastries still warm from the oven. And then one of the bands struck up a tarantella, and Luca insisted they must all join in the dance.

‘Not again! I can’t,’ Nell protested, but it was no use; Luca’s enthusiasm was irrepressible, and it was such fun dancing with a crowd of Italian families. All age groups were represented, teenagers dancing unashamedly with their grandparents, mothers with their sons. Then a grey-haired gallant swept Marianna into the action. Nell couldn’t resist now!

Laughter and shrieks were erupting all around them, and then Luca swung both Molly and Nell off their feet and whirled them round and round until they were dizzy. The moment the music finished in a crashing finale, he lifted Molly onto his shoulders again and went in search of some ice cream.

‘I really can’t!’ Nell looked incredulously at the giantsized cone he was holding out to her.

‘Tonight you can,’ their masked companion assured her. ‘Tonight you must forget the usual and allow the fantastic to take you over. It is one of the first rules of carnival.’

They had barely finished the ice cream when Luca insisted they visit the sideshows. There were fortune-tellers, hoop-la, and a shooting gallery, where he excelled, and finally apple-bobbing, where Molly was surprised to find something that reminded her of home.

‘Festivals are much the same the world over,’ Luca explained. ‘And where there are apples, there is apple-bobbing. Shall we make your mother take a turn?’

Nell tried until she was helpless with laughter, but she still couldn’t manage to secure a single apple in the barrel of water.

‘You need sharp teeth for this,’ Luca advised, collecting one for her with a flourish.

Nell held his gaze a beat too long, and knew she was blushing by the time she looked away.

‘I’m glad the masks don’t stop you eating ice cream.’

‘The masks make anything possible,’ Luca assured Molly, who was now wearing the child-sized mask he’d bought her—a fabulous thing, extravagantly decorated with sequins and feathers. ‘A humble man may dance with a noblewoman, a milkmaid with a prince—’

‘Or a simple doctor with three grand ladies,’ Nell suggested impishly, flourishing her own rather elegant mask, which was attached to the end of a white-painted stick. It was the Columbine mask Molly had insisted she choose. Nell had been relieved when Luca could not be persuaded to exchange his plain black mask for a matching Harlequin, quartered in the same red, black, white and bronze.

‘But they make a pair,’ Molly had protested.

Exactly, Nell’s eyes had seemed to say as she stared at Luca, so don’t you dare buy that mask!

‘I think I’ll leave it,’ he had said, shooting an ironic glance at Nell—and the plague masks were tactfully left behind in the shop.

But after the apple-bobbing Molly started to flag. ‘We’d better get back now,’ Nell said. ‘You don’t have to leave, Luca, we can get a water taxi.’ She could see that none of the Italians were ready for home yet, and so it was a good time to leave. There were plenty of small craft lined up at the edge of the canal, waiting to take passengers back to the city.

‘Why don’t I take Molly back?’ Marianna suggested. ‘There’s no reason why you should have to leave, Nell. I’m perfectly capable of taking her home. In fact I’m a little tired myself,’ she added, smothering a yawn. ‘So, if you don’t mind…’

It was hard for Nell to disagree. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’

‘And I’ll find you a taxi—make sure it’s someone I know, who will look after you,’ Luca offered.

Striding to the landing stage, he called a man over and Nell saw that money was changing hands. ‘You didn’t need to do that,’ she insisted when he returned. ‘I would have paid—’

‘Older customs prevail during carnival. One such tradition demands that a man must protect and care for his female companions. You must allow me to play out my role.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of denying you that,’ Nell said wryly. She was rather enjoying this strange anonymity. It felt as if they were starting with a clean page. Two people who had only just met, who brought with them none of the ghosts from the past…One night…one anonymous night…

She waved to Molly and Marianna as their boat sped away, and then turned back to confront her striking companion. ‘So, where will you take me, kind sir?’

‘To dress you,’ Luca said, his lips curving wickedly.

Chapter Nine

THE costume shop belonging to one of Luca’s friends was located in one of the narrow alleyways behind the square. It was dark inside like a warm cave full of jewels, but the jewels were silk, and the silk was cut cunningly to make the most of the female form.

Nell gasped as she saw herself in the ruby-red gown Luca had picked out for her. The bodice left nothing to the imagination, but she felt exposed in a very feminine way, a way that prompted her to ease her breasts a little further out from the cruelly laced bodice.

‘It has to be tight, signora,’ the shop owner explained to her in the dressing room, ‘to make the most of your bosom.’

Well, it certainly did that. Did all Venetians have such a knowing way with them, Nell wondered, or was that just another product of the magic that was carnival? There was a transparent lace fichu peeping out at the front of the bodice of the dress, and that was all that stood between her and total exposure. Her nipples were on fire, the blood rushing to them thanks to the boned and laced top, and every time she eased her shoulders in a shrug they were straining to escape. So she wouldn’t be doing that, Nell determined.

Her waist looked minute, her bosom huge, her feet tiny in the high-heeled satin slippers. The dress rustled as she moved, causing the air around her to rise up bringing with it an age-old mix of perfumes. She felt as if she had been transported to another time, another world, where anything was possible…

‘You should use this mask now, and carry a fan,’ the owner advised. ‘And a beauty spot just here,’ she added, placing a small black patch on Nell’s cheekbone beneath the fabulous white silk mask studded with rhinestone and pearl she was wearing in place of the Columbine mask. The woman had dressed her hair in the style she had so admired. It was held up with diamanté combs at each side and fell in soft curls around her face.

The owner stood back to admire her protégé. ‘You look beautiful, signora…like a true lady of the court.’

‘That’s how I feel,’ Nell admitted, smiling as she examined her greatly changed reflection in the looking glass. ‘Like a lady of the court.’ A wicked lady, she added to herself silently, pursing her lips to add some rouge.

‘Would you like to show the gentleman who brought you here now?’ the woman invited. Nell knew that she had opened the shop especially for them at Luca’s request, but like Luca she was playing the game of anonymity to the hilt.

With a last glance over her shoulder at the fascinating stranger in the looking glass, Nell inclined her head.

He was stunned when she came through the door. It was fortunate that his role in this drama demanded that he dip her a low bow. His feelings were so close to the surface, so raw and unconfined, he was glad of his mask as well as the shadows in the intimate boutique. ‘You look beautiful, signora…The costume becomes you.’ His arm tingled beneath the touch of Nell’s small, pale hand. ‘Shall we continue the adventure?’

As he stared into her eyes he could see them darkening behind the mask. But there was a warmth between them now he found as addictive as the lust. And she was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman in the history of carnival. And she was his.

The music had slowed to more sensuous rhythms by the time they returned to the square; the old people and the children had long since gone to their beds. But for the beautiful young woman in her ruby-red gown and her striking companion, a tall, powerful figure dressed all in black, the night had just begun.

‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’

‘I’d love one.’

‘Then we shall call in at Ai Tosi and arrange for our own supply.’

‘Instead of coffee?’ Nell suggested drily.

‘Coffee?’ Her masked companion looked askance.

‘Carnival?’ she whispered, guessing what was in his mind.

‘You’re learning,’ he murmured.

She hadn’t expected a waiter to set up an ice bucket for them in the square and then stand guard over it. ‘This is such an incredible night.’

‘No, it’s carnival,’ the masked man at her side corrected her, whispering in her ear so she shivered involuntarily. Taking her hand, he twirled her round slowly, sensuously in front of him. ‘And now we dance…’

His touch shimmered down her naked arms, making her quiver in delicious anticipation. There was so much of her that was covered, and so much that was revealed. But her eyes were bold now. As they stepped onto the dance floor she felt all the constraints forced upon her by modern convention disappear. The high-heeled shoes tipped her hips at an inviting angle and the gown thrust her breasts out on display. Even the steps she was taking, tiny, controlled, modest, were a reminder of the forces simmering so near the surface. This was a new world, a time out of time, where they were simply two people, one man and one woman, who found themselves in a setting designed for intrigue and romance.

As the beat of the music grew faster their movements became stronger and more passionate. It was as if they were playing out all their deepest thoughts and desires in moves and flashing looks born of the moment, with no stain from the past to dilute them. Nothing could hold them back; they were aware of nothing but each other; all that stood between them now was the truth. It was attraction at its purest and most physically intense. It transcended all the value judgements they might have made in that other world where carnival held no sway. Could there be a greater escape, a greater rush than this? Nell wondered, as her dark companion tipped her so low over his arm that her hair brushed the ground. Sweeping her up again, he brought her close, so their lips were almost touching at the end of the dance.

‘Are you thirsty?’

All her appetites were raging, and thirst was only one of them. She nodded.

‘Come with me and we’ll find a quiet spot.’

He took her to a bench in the shadows, where they could see without being seen. Like a wraith the waiter approached with iced flutes, which he filled with champagne.

‘That will be all, thank you.’

She sat back as her handsome companion dismissed the waiter, and she prepared to sip the golden liquid.

‘No!’

The command was soft, but forceful.

‘No?’

‘This is how we drink…’ Twining his arm around hers, he brought his own glass to her lips to feed her with the sparkling liquid.

She reciprocated, steadying the delicate rim against the full swell of his bottom lip.

‘Now drink,’ he murmured.

She held his gaze as she obeyed. As a drop fell onto the full swell of her bosom, he dipped his head and licked it away. She drew in a fast breath of surprise, of delight—the touch of his tongue, a little rough and very knowing, was so stimulating. Easing her shoulders back, she made sure that he had a nipple to attend to next…

‘Lady, you will be compromised,’ he warned, pulling away.

She pouted, missing the delicious sensation, feeling it as an ache between her legs that forced her to ease her position on the stone bench without even knowing that she did so. But he saw.

‘There is an answer to your problem…’

‘Tell me,’ she instructed.

‘There was a time when a lady’s honour was worth more than a man’s life. And so, in order to progress a relationship forged on the briefest of meetings without unpleasant consequences, a way was devised to…accommodate a gentleman’s companion.’

‘Accommodate?’ She tasted the word.

‘I don’t touch you…you don’t touch me.’

‘Oh.’

‘And you’re already disappointed.’ His lips tugged up in wry appreciation. She didn’t answer.

‘Sit forward a little and then lean back against the bench and let your legs fall open…’

She did as he said, excitement racing through her at the thought of doing something so wicked…But what?

‘I want you to close your eyes and imagine you are wearing no underwear. Close them,’ he ordered, when her eyes widened in surprise at his suggestion. ‘That’s good. Now imagine you have one leg over my shoulder, and you are quite exposed…the cool evening breeze is tantalising you, and you long to be touched…’

Desperately aroused, she moistened her lips, her ears keenly tuned to hear his next instruction.

‘And now I’m touching you…just those lush, swollen lips…one finger on each, massaging gently. It’s so good, and you sigh, but it isn’t enough. It only reminds you of the place I’m not touching…the place that seems more swollen and needy than anywhere else…But I’m cruel, I ignore it…’

His chanting voice never rose higher than a whisper, but he might have been giving her the sternest of instruction. Her hips were working against the silken folds of her gown as if he were indeed touching her.

‘That’s good,’ he murmured approvingly, ‘that’s very good. So good in fact, I’m going to reward you…’

A cry escaped her throat and she opened her legs a little wider.

‘Yes, I’m watching you. You’ve opened your legs so wide for me, and I’m looking at you now very closely. I can see that you’re swollen, and moist, and ready for me. I can see your muscles contracting and relaxing, I can feel your heat…and now my finger has found you—’

She cried out, clutching the bench to steady herself, while he made quieting sounds.

‘I know which side you like the best…I know how to rest my finger there and stroke gently but persuasively—’

A sound escaped her throat. She was close, so close…

‘I’m rubbing now…a little faster, and with more pressure. You like it…you like it very much. You are bucking against me, urging me on…calling to me, ordering me…That’s right…that’s right,’ he soothed, when she moaned her encouragement. ‘Your cheeks are flushed; your breathing rapid…I’m going to hold you now, because in another few passes of my finger you’re going to be there and I have to catch you when you fall…’

She shrieked as he tipped her over the edge, writhing on the bench in the throes of the most extreme pleasure she had ever known. It went on and on, and he held her firmly in his arms, smothering her guttural cries in the folds of his cloak.

Until that moment, he hadn’t touched her once.

‘There, my lady, isn’t that better? And no damage done. Even an irate father, or some other man who might think he has a claim on you, can have no complaint. You have done nothing wrong other than throw yourself into the spirit of carnival.’

‘How convenient.’ A sensuous smile curved her lips. ‘Do you have many such celebrations here in Venice, sir?’

‘As many as you like,’ he promised softly, holding her gaze.

But the dream couldn’t last forever. A sombre mood fell over them as they left the little shop. Nell, in her everyday clothes again, was unmasked, though she carried with her the beautiful Columbine mask Luca had bought for her. She clutched it as if in some way it could help her to hold on to the fantasy. But it was just a fantasy, and as such it was already fading.

When they boarded Luca’s boat he went immediately to loosen the mooring ropes, leaving Nell on her own in the cabin. He was distant, changed, not the wicked gallant she had spent the evening with. Now he was preoccupied, purposeful and once again remote.

The sleek white craft had a history she preferred to forget. It only taunted her with the knowledge that Luca could arouse her at will. She wondered now if it had all been play-acting for him. He had removed his costume to steer the boat home and the black jeans and shirt he wore beneath seemed like a brazen statement of his masculinity—a cruel reminder of how much she wanted him.

She was glad he didn’t ask her to join him in the cockpit. She still couldn’t believe what had happened, or that she had let herself go to such an extent—and in public! Anyone might have seen them! Except that, as Luca said, they had done nothing wrong, and he had not touched her.

He was an incredible man—incredible and untouchable. He always kept part of himself detached and distant, safe inside his fortress without a gate.

Left alone with her thoughts, Nell stared back across the lagoon at the twinkling carnival lights. They were receding into the distance, and finally they disappeared. She turned again to look at Luca as he opened up the throttle. The sudden surge of power made her pulse race. It took so little—he seemed to have beguiled her into a permanent state of arousal. But at least she was able to study him from the safety of the cabin: the chiselled profile, the powerful forearms braced against the wheel, muscle and sinew clearly delineated in the moonlight…

She was so engrossed in her appreciative inspection that she didn’t realise the Columbine mask was slipping from her lap until she heard it clatter to the floor. As she bent to pick it up she felt him look at her.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I dropped my mask.’

‘Yes, I know that…’

She knew his words were double-edged, and it was true, she had dropped her mask, but then so had he. And now? Now she was angry with herself, because nothing had changed, and it seemed nothing could stop her wanting him. And they still hadn’t even kissed properly yet.

Was it all a game to him? All she wanted was a moment’s tenderness, a kiss, a tender kiss…and she wanted that so badly that even her pride wasn’t enough to brush the need aside.

Why couldn’t she face up to the truth? Luca didn’t have a tender bone in his body. If she waited for a tender kiss she’d wait forever. But on the bright side, Nell reflected ironically, she could have the most incredible and inventive sex with him any time she liked.

‘I wish you hadn’t bought these.’ She stared at the mask, knowing it had become the butt of her ill humour, but all the anger inside her had to find an outlet somewhere.

‘I couldn’t let you inflict that ugly thing on Molly. And I could hardly leave you out.’

‘I was trying to teach Molly something.’

‘You can do too much preaching where children are concerned. I think it’s better if you point them in the direction they should go. Then with a little encouragement and guidance—’

‘And you know so much about children?’

‘I’ve treated a lot of them, yes.’ Slowing the boat as they approached the city limit, Luca glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘The first time we met I thought you smothered her.’

Instantly the air was full of ugly, unspoken words. That was how it always was between them. They were like two fires raging out of control, meeting in a furious clash of fractured hopes and damaged dreams. In the end they always burned each other out.

‘Think about what I’ve said, Nell…’

His parting shot before turning back to steer the boat made her fury rise, but, since she was unable to retaliate, it gave her chance to consider what he had said more carefully. After Jake’s accident Molly had become the centre of her universe—and that was a lot of attention focused on one small child.

‘You really think I smother her?’ she called out to him. She had to know.

‘You can’t cover a green shoot with compost, however rich in nutrients, and expect it to grow. You have to let the shoot see the sun from time to time.’

She didn’t really want to hear that, Nell discovered. ‘Please don’t patronise me—and for goodness’ sake, spare me the psychology!’

‘So you can go on making the same mistakes?’

‘We’re talking about my daughter. The way I bring up Molly is my business. It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘So I should have let her wear that ugly plague mask when there are so many more attractive possibilities?’

Their voices had become raised, and as they drifted in towards the hotel mooring Nell finally snapped. ‘Oh, you’re right! You’re always right!’

‘Not always, Nell,’ Luca assured her in a low voice. ‘Just most of the time where you’re concerned.’

Chapter Ten

MOLLY was still tired at breakfast the next day, but her face lit up every time she mentioned Luca. And she just wouldn’t stop talking about him. Nell bore it the best she could, smiling, listening attentively, struggling to keep her own feelings under wraps. She couldn’t help but notice that Molly carried the mask he had bought for her everywhere she went.

Why hadn’t she thought to buy one as fanciful and delicious? It was exactly the type of thing she would have adored when she was Molly’s age. Instead, she had picked out something ‘worthy’, something she thought Molly would learn from. But Luca was right about that at least; there were many different ways of learning…

When the phone rang, Nell answered it absently, still watching with concern as Molly picked half-heartedly at her food. ‘Luca?’ She practically sprang to attention, but then she noticed that Molly was watching her and carefully relaxed.

‘Nell. Are you still there?’

‘I haven’t forgotten our meeting.’

‘I’m not calling about a meeting.’

‘Oh?’ There was an ache in her chest so real she was rubbing it, Nell realised, pulling her hand away. One night with a man in a mask did not a romance make! When would she face reality and accept things for what they were? And she really should thank him again for the masks—

‘I’m not calling about the masks either,’ he said as if he had read her mind. There was a smile in his voice. She almost wished he would use his cold, remote voice. It would be easier to deal with. She had seen another side of him, a warm, amusing, sensual side, and she wanted to claim it, hold it tight…

‘I’m calling to apologise,’ he said.

‘What?’ Stunned, Nell looked at Molly. ‘Could you give me a moment?’

‘I’ll go and find Marianna.’ Molly skidded to a halt by the door. ‘And Mum?’

‘Yes?’

‘Can you tell Luca I said thank you for the mask?’

‘Of course.’ Nell waited with her hand over the receiver until Molly had left the room.

‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wanted to say that it was wrong of me to interfere between you and Molly last night.’

Fighting to keep her breath steady, she managed, ‘Forget it.’

‘That’s just it. I can’t forget it, and I want to make it up to you both.’

‘That’s really not necessary.’

‘You’ll have to forgive me if I disagree. My sister’s children are staying with me while she’s away with her husband, and I thought it would be an ideal opportunity for Molly to meet some kids her own age.’

No, she couldn’t do this…not even for Molly. ‘But she doesn’t speak Italian.’ That was a starting point. She’d think up some more excuses as she went along.

‘The language won’t be a problem—children have their own language,’ Luca assured her. ‘And of course, you and Marianna would be welcome to come along too.’

‘I said Marianna could have some time off—’

‘Molly will be quite safe here at the house, then. My mother’s staying over too.’

‘Your mother?’

As Nell mulled it over Luca added, ‘I think Molly enjoyed herself last night. She should experience the real Venice while she has the chance.’

Nell hated it when he was right.

‘Well, what do you think of the idea?’

Molly would love being with children her own age, Nell reflected. It was just what she needed.

‘So, what do you say?’

As Molly’s wistful face flashed into Nell’s mind, she realised there was only one thing she could say.

‘Thank you. We’d love to come.’ For an only child, the opportunity Luca had proposed was like gold dust.

‘Is this Luca’s house?’ Molly stared up at the grand façade.

‘I suppose it must be.’ Nell followed Molly’s gaze. She knew some people would only see the dilapidation in Venice, but what she saw was history and the accumulated talent of craftsmen across the ages displayed on every corner. ‘It’s like a living museum.’

‘I love it here, Mum.’

‘So do I,’ Nell admitted wistfully. She’d come a long way from hating Venice. She rapped on a brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head and after a minute or so an elderly gentleman opened the door.

When they walked into the vaulted hall it was as if they had stepped back in time. Nell suspected that the frescoes on the ceiling panels and on the walls must be originals that had been restored. It was cool and shady and very beautiful, with lush palms thriving in ornate pots.

‘They love the shade.’

They turned to see an elegant older woman entering the hallway through one of the tall archways. Her heels clipped on the marble floor as she came towards them.

‘Buon giorno! Hello! I saw you looking at them,’ she explained to Nell, indicating the tall plants with a graceful gesture. ‘Grazie, Paolo. I will take charge now. Bellissima!’ she exclaimed, dipping to cup Molly’s face in slender beringed hands. ‘I am delighted you decided to spend the day with me.’

Molly’s face broke into a smile as she stared up. ‘You’re the lady from last night—the lady who took our photograph.’

‘Forgive me. I should have introduced myself then, but I didn’t want to intrude. I am your friend’s mother.’ Smiling, she turned to offer her hand in greeting to Nell. ‘Forgive me. Our lives revolve around children in Italy.’

Nell returned the smile as they shook hands. She was almost as entranced as Molly—except by the reference to their ‘friend’! What had Luca told his mother?

‘I’ve heard all about you,’ Luca’s mother was explaining to Molly. ‘And my grandchildren can’t wait to meet you. They’re in the garden now.’ She held out her hand, which Molly took without hesitation.

So Luca had been with his mother the previous evening. Which shouldn’t have mattered to Nell, except she found that it did…a great deal. ‘Did Luca explain that we have a meeting today?’ She glanced at Molly.

‘Don’t worry, Nell—may I call you Nell? Molly will be happy here at the palazzo. And as for your meeting…’ His mother’s smile widened. ‘I’ve told Luca I think it’s such a good thing you’re doing I’m going to ask you if you will consider me as one of your volunteers.’

Nell’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘I’d love to talk to you about it.’ She hadn’t expected to find support in such an unexpected quarter.

‘Then we’ll talk just as soon as you finish your meeting with Luca.’

The mother was almost as persuasive as the son, Nell thought wryly. Then they noticed the elderly retainer hovering by the door.

‘Mi scusi, Contessa Barbaro…’

‘Si, Paolo. Please tell the children that Molly and I will be with them shortly. They are so impatient, you know,’ she said, turning back to Nell.

As Molly mouthed, ‘Countess?’ Nell shrugged discreetly, and then tensed. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Luca was behind her; she could feel his energy lapping over her.

‘Mother…’

‘Bello!’

‘Molly.’ With a small bow, he greeted Molly formally with a handshake.

As he turned to greet her, Nell realised that all the tiny hairs had risen in unison on the back of her neck.

‘Molly and I were just leaving, bello. We’ll speak again soon, Nell, I hope?’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘What’s this, a conspiracy?’ Luca asked drily.

‘Your mother has offered her services as a volunteer.’ Nell found it hard to hide her satisfaction, or to quell her memories of the previous night.

‘Has she, now?’ Luca’s gaze followed the sound of heels disappearing into the distance.

‘Well, I’m ready to start. Where are we meeting?’ The sooner they concentrated on business, the better!

‘The meeting’s been cancelled.’

‘By whom?’

‘By me.’

She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t see that we need a formal meeting at this stage. We can talk just as well here.’

‘Here?’

‘Why not here?’ His rugged features softened into a smile.

Luca could be extremely charming when it suited him, Nell thought, struggling to remain immune. But when one corner of his mouth tugged up as it was doing now it made such an attractive crease down one side of his face, and his eyes…

‘I thought you might like the grand tour first,’ he suggested, reclaiming her attention with a jolt. ‘It’s rather an interesting old house.’

And not the only thing that had caught her interest, Nell mused drily, keeping her thoughts to herself. But was it wise to be investigating the furthest reaches of some ancient palace with a man she had such strong feelings for?

With his mother about, and the elderly servant moving on silent feet who knew where…Yes, it would be fine, she concluded. ‘Thank you, I’d love to see round.’

Luca led the way up the stairs. Except they weren’t stairs as Nell knew them, but more like something out of a Busby Berkeley movie spectacular, with a magnificent sweeping marble staircase that had a grand piano tucked beneath its curve. ‘Impressive…’

‘Don’t get too carried away,’ Luca warned wryly. ‘This place is huge, and it’s a huge responsibility too—not to mention a huge drain on my pocket. But as it’s been passed down the generations…’ He eased his shoulders in a shrug. ‘I do all the heavy restoration work myself, only calling in the experts when I need craftsmen for the stone carvings, or for the frescoes.’ He glanced at the ceiling she had so admired.

‘You don’t mind acting as labourer?’ He was more than equal to the task, but she was surprised to think of him loading stone onto his shoulders or ripping away rotten wood with his bare hands.

‘I consider it a privilege. I happen to think this is a cause worth fighting for, and it brings me closer to the past, to the people who built this place, and my ancestors who lived here.’ With a rueful smile he peeled a piece of plaster from the wall.

‘But it’s a never-ending task?’ Nell guessed.

‘Like painting your Forth Bridge in Great Britain?’

As he smiled a bolt of heat shot through her, and it wasn’t just lust—it was something that left her feeling far more vulnerable than that.

‘The relatives.’ Luca nodded, indicating the life-sized portraits hanging on the walls above their heads.

‘From the year dot?’ Nell almost smiled too as their eyes met briefly.

‘And beyond,’ he assured her.

What was happening to her…to them? Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, Nell forced herself to concentrate as Luca started to give her a potted history of the house. In spite of everything, were they starting to like each other? They’d had the worst of starts, but last night she had seen a different side to him. Apart from the sensuality, he had been light-hearted, fun, full of enthusiasm for the traditions and history of his country. And now she had discovered a deeper side—a side she would never have guessed at; a side that belied Luca’s stylish outer shell and revealed a man who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, who cared deeply about his heritage, his family, the things that really mattered…

‘At the moment, of course, this place is only a work in progress, not yet a home.’

Was this the same cold-hearted individual talking now, the man she thought she knew? ‘Well, I think it’s beautiful,’ Nell said honestly, ‘and well worth fighting for.’

‘I camp out in a few rooms at the top. Would you like to see them?’

‘I’d love to.’ Her enthusiasm was burgeoning and she was intrigued to see how he lived. Following Luca across the landing, Nell ducked her head as they started up a second, much narrower flight of stairs.

‘This is the attic, which used to be the servants’ quarters before I moved in. But now this is my mother’s room, these are the children’s rooms, the nursery…’

As they moved on, Nell was sure he couldn’t have surprised her more. Each room was meticulously restored with each ancient architectural feature intact.

‘And finally, this is my room.’

It overlooked the canal, with light spilling through the open windows. ‘Oh, Luca, it’s beautiful!’ The view drew Nell to the balcony, where she looked out over the canal. Suddenly she realised what she was doing. ‘I’m so sorry—I should have waited to be invited in.’

‘Go right ahead.’

Walking up to the stone balustrade, Nell rested her arms on it and allowed herself, just for a moment, to imagine what it might be like to call such a place home. Did Luca know how fortunate he was? Yes, she thought he did.

‘It’s like a Canaletto painting come to life.’ She felt a tremble of awareness, and knew that he was right behind her.

‘I’m glad you like it.’

As he trailed one fingertip down her naked arm, she turned. ‘No, Luca.’

‘No?’ His lips curved in the way she could never resist.

‘No.’ She walked a few steps away from him. She’d burned her fingers for the last time. She couldn’t switch on and then off again as Luca seemed able to do. ‘We’re going to be working together, so I hope…’

‘That we can be friends?’

She nodded, pressing her lips down wryly as she prepared to drive a wedge between them. ‘Friends, yes, but lovers?’ She shook her head. Insanely, for a moment, she hoped he would disagree, drag her to him and kiss away her doubts. But, as he hadn’t kissed her yet, and she had hardly given him the best of encouragement, it wasn’t likely that situation was about to change now.

She wasn’t surprised when he turned away and started pointing out the various sights that made Venice the city it was. There wasn’t anything in Luca’s expression to suggest that he was disappointed by her stand. Perhaps as a man he was programmed to make a move, and just couldn’t help himself. Or perhaps he wasn’t particularly concerned about her refusal. And if that was the case, shouldn’t she be glad? Wasn’t that safer?

The only difficulty with her resolution to remain aloof from Luca, Nell discovered later, was that man might be programmed to mate, but so was woman. She was sitting outside in the garden with his mother, watching the children play. Luca, who was on call, had been paged by the hospital. It had brought their encounter on the balcony to an abrupt halt, which she suspected was a relief to both of them.

Luca’s balcony had been off a sitting room the size of a small ballroom. She guessed his bedroom would be somewhere beyond that. The palazzo was so vast, and his quarters so isolated, no one would have known if they had lingered in his room. But far better for her that things had turned out the way they had.

‘These times are the best, don’t you think, my dear?’

Nell turned her head as the contessa began to speak. They were enjoying some welcome shade beneath a bleached linen parasol, reclining on identical deep-cushioned sunbeds. ‘Midday?’ Nell wrinkled her nose, not liking to disagree—but it was scorching hot.

‘I’m talking about dream-time, Nell, when we let our minds fly free.’

Nell stiffened. Dream-time? How much had the contessa guessed about her relationship with Luca? She played it safe, humming a non-committal answer, and tried to distract herself by concentrating on the children. She started to smile. Luca had been right about them finding their own language…

‘Stolen times.’

The contessa wasn’t about to give up, Nell reflected wryly. The older woman was definitely on a reconnaissance mission. Nell decided to act innocent. ‘Stolen times?’

‘They’re the sweetest of all, don’t you think?’

The contessa made everything sound so deliciously decadent. Tipping her sunglasses down her nose, Nell tried not to smile. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’

‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t rather be somewhere else right now.’

‘Well, I suppose…’ Luca’s bedroom sprang mischievously into her mind.

‘I hardly know you, and yet I feel instinctively that you should relax and spoil yourself more frequently.’ The contessa rose up a fraction on the sunbed and turned her head to look at Nell. ‘I hope you don’t mind me speaking my mind like this?’

‘No, of course not.’ What else could she say with the contessa’s gaze soldered to her face?

‘Good, I’m glad you agree.’ The contessa sat up, all business now. ‘I would like to invite you to dinner tonight—with Molly, of course, and Marianna.’

What, and see Luca again? ‘No. I mean, I’m afraid that won’t be possible tonight, Contessa.’

‘Not possible?’

Nell saw some of her son’s iron resolve in the contessa’s imperious cobalt stare. ‘I have a lot of work to do before our meeting. I mean, I know it’s been delayed, but—’ Nell knew she was flailing and wasn’t surprised when the contessa flashed back.

‘But? You must have prepared for the meeting you were supposed to hold this morning?’

‘That’s true…’ Nell was up against an immovable force, and she knew it.

‘Well, then? Molly is happy, as you can see.’ The contessa gestured towards the small playground, where Molly and an older child had taken charge of the smaller children on the swings. ‘She can stay here and play with my grandchildren, while you return to the hotel to prepare for dinner…’ The confidence in the older woman’s voice began to fade as Nell stood up decisively.

‘That’s very kind of you, but I really can’t accept,’ she said firmly. How could she remain under the same roof as Luca and act as though there were nothing between them? Their encounter on his balcony, coupled with the way her thoughts had strayed while she was in his home, meant she had to keep her distance. ‘I’ll fetch Molly now—’

‘But there is no reason to take her home yet. Why don’t you let her stay the night?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of putting you to so much trouble.’

‘Trouble? Nonsense!’ the contessa exclaimed, waving her hands for emphasis. ‘If my grandchildren are happy that is all I care about. You will be doing an old lady a very great favour. Please. And you must come to dinner so you can say goodnight to her.’

‘Well…’

‘I would enjoy it so much, and so would Molly.’

Checkmate, Nell realised wryly, mentally knocking her king onto its side. ‘I’ll just make sure Molly’s OK with that.’

‘Of course…’ There was a faint smile playing around the contessa’s lips as Nell hurried away.

By the time she got back to the hotel Nell had changed her mind again. Molly was a confident child who didn’t need tucking in; if she was to stay the night with the contessa, there was no reason for Nell to return to the palazzo for dinner.

‘But the water taxi’s on its way to pick you up,’ Luca’s mother protested when Nell called to excuse herself. ‘Luca has just this moment returned from the hospital. Here, let me pass you over to him.’

‘No, that’s…’ Nell started tapping her foot as she listened to the muffled exchanges between mother and son, and then tensed as Luca came on the line.

‘Nell? Aren’t you coming? Mother’s expecting you.’

‘I’m sure your mother will understand.’

At the other end of the phone, Luca quickly clutched at another straw and held on to it. ‘But it’s my mother’s…’ He calculated quickly. ‘…sixtieth birthday.’ He had to cover the mouthpiece to smother the indignant sound sailing across the room. ‘You don’t want to ruin it for her, do you?’

‘Your mother didn’t say anything about it being a special occasion!’

‘Well, she wouldn’t, would she?’

And have her think she must bring a gift? Probably not. ‘But your mother hardly knows me. Surely she won’t miss me at the celebration.’

‘You made quite an impression…’

‘That much of an impression?’ Her voice was ironic.

‘No, I suppose you’re right.’ He played it straight. ‘But it is her birthday and I want everything to be perfect for her. Mothers, eh? What can you do?’

‘Don’t you have any scruples at all?’

Luca let the silence hang. He didn’t know about his scruples, but he did have to see Nell again—and not just for sex. Since the carnival the lasting impressions in his mind had been coloured by a woman he desired, a woman he enjoyed being with, a woman whose smile he could never forget. In the same way he could never forget what fun she was when she was truly relaxed, or how she laughed, or the way she was with Molly, and even her consideration for Marianna. He had snapshots in his head right now—all of them of Nell. The sex was extraordinary between them, but so was the hunger he felt just to be with her again.

‘May I tell Mother to expect you?’

Nell ground her jaw. ‘Tell the contessa that I’m looking forward to it.’

Luca’s lips curved in a smile as he cut the line.

Nell had spent some time at the dinner explaining to the contessa the pivotal role she hoped Luca would play in the scheme, and how she needed him. She wasn’t the only one who could use her wiles, and if bringing the contessa on board proved to be the key to Luca’s co-operation, she’d go flat out to make sure it happened.

Yes, she needed him, and in how many ways? Nell wondered as the contessa took up the banner for her and started trying to persuade her son to forget about pilot schemes and make the voluntary service a permanent fixture at the hospital immediately. Luca didn’t comment, or argue as he usually did, but sank his face into his hand to stare at Nell as if her project was the last thing on his mind.

It was the last thing on Nell’s mind too. It felt so good just being in Luca’s home. His masculinity invaded even the air they breathed as well as her body, and her mind. He had baited the hook and she had swallowed it gladly. She wanted to talk to him, to learn everything about him; she wanted time with him, time that wasn’t tainted by duty or by lust. Having begun the process of getting to know him, she was hungry for more, even though she knew how dangerous that was.

Raising her damask napkin to her lips, Nell took a few moments out to escape the dark eyes drilling into her. She couldn’t, she mustn’t fall in love with him. After Jake, how could she trust her own judgement?

‘So you will agree to this, bello?’

Nell refocused to see Luca’s shoulders move in an easy shrug. ‘I can refuse you nothing.’ The contessa seemed reassured.

He was agreeing? To what? What had she missed? Nell was suddenly acutely aware of everything around her.

‘So, Nell.’ Luca turned to her. ‘Do you think we will be able to work together successfully?’

Had he agreed to everything while she had been daydreaming? Nell wondered. Maybe not, but it looked as though they were a giant step closer to coming to an agreement, thanks to his mother. But how would she find working with Luca on a daily basis? Would she be able to handle it—to keep him at a distance, keep her thoughts in check? Would she be able to stop Molly thinking this working arrangement might lead to something more?

Molly was waiting for her answer with as much, if not more interest than Luca and his mother, Nell realised, agonising over the reply she should make. The voluntary scheme meant a lot to her, but Molly meant infinitely more.

‘I’ll be back at school soon, so we won’t be here forever,’ Molly was pointing out.

That was true. And this was everything she’d hoped for. She had to get over her personal concerns and give it a chance. ‘Welcome to the team.’ Nell raised her glass.

‘To our closer association,’ Luca answered, holding her gaze.

But just at the moment when she should have been suffused with triumph, Nell’s anxiety levels rose. As they brought their crystal goblets together in a toast she couldn’t help noticing the barely contained excitement in Molly’s eyes. It complicated everything.

‘Paolo was looking tired, so I brought your coat out,’ Luca explained in answer to Nell’s unspoken question. She was standing in the hallway waiting for the elderly servant to bring the coat and show her out. She had been hoping to slip away while Luca had been detained by a call from the hospital. Marianna was staying over to help the contessa with the children, which to Nell’s mind had seemed to leave everything tied up neatly—until now.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?’ Luca demanded.

‘I didn’t want to disturb you. And Paolo very kindly called a taxi for me—’

‘A taxi?’ Luca stared at her. ‘So you were going to leave without saying goodbye to me?’

She opened her mouth, but only a half-sigh of apology came out.

‘Surely you knew I would take you back?’

‘I didn’t think…’ Nell’s voice tailed away as Luca’s gaze remained on her face. ‘Look, there’s really no need for you to take me back. The water taxi will be here in a minute.’

‘There’s every need. Do you think I would let you return to the hotel on your own at night when my boat’s moored outside the door?’

‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’

‘Nell, whatever’s happened between us, we can still be friends. We have to be if we’re going to be working together.’

The threat was light, but it was there. ‘Bene.’ She slipped into Italian, using a word she had heard on numerous occasions—some of those occasions when people had thrown up their hands and caved in. With so much to lose, it seemed appropriate now.

‘Complimenti!’ Luca murmured wryly. ‘You have another word of Italian.’

‘Are you mocking me?’

‘Would I?’

She refused to look at him. She would not look at him and see the humour she knew would be in Luca’s eyes—the humour that always won her over.

‘Imagine how improved your language skills would be if you decided to stay in Venice.’

Was he teasing? ‘I won’t be here long enough for that,’ she assured him.

As he opened the door Nell wondered if she would ever get used to the sight in front of her. The view was extraordinary; opening the door like raising the curtain on some sumptuous theatrical production. Unlike most other canals the life of the dark water in Venice was dictated by the closeness of the open sea and tidal flats. It moved sinuously in a constant pattern of restless waves so that even Luca’s large launch swayed lazily in the current beside the landing stage. And just a few yards further along the bank, Nell realised, was the spot where they had first met.

She hugged herself, knowing she had to divide her life into boxes, or she’d never come through this visit to Venice in one piece. The only way she could do it was by maintaining a professional relationship with the man who had saved Molly’s life, the man who could make her scheme a success.

‘You’re remembering, aren’t you?’

Luca’s voice was gentle. He had turned to watch her as she stared out across the water. The cobbled calle where they had stood all those years ago was grazed by moonlight, illuminating the exact spot where Luca had stood with Molly in his arms…and there were the steps where she had stumbled…

‘You must look to the future, Nell,’ he said gently. ‘For your sake as well as for Molly’s.’

Nell turned without comment to board the launch. It was no use fooling herself. She knew their future was none of Luca’s concern.

Chapter Eleven

NELL spent the morning at the hospital, learning the ropes, observing the way things were done. Each place she visited had its own take on what constituted a smooth-running operation, and it was crucial that she knew what that was in Luca’s hospital so that she could avoid treading on anyone’s toes. By the time the volunteers were ready to go in she would have everything prepared for them, from a map of the building to a list of staff names.

She was about to leave when Luca stopped her by the door. ‘I’d like to take you to lunch.’

‘Lunch?’ Alarm bells started up.

‘There are a few more points I’d like to discuss…’

And hadn’t she fallen for that before?

‘I’m serious, Nell,’ Luca insisted, as if reading her mind.

Nell’s heart gave a doleful thud as she realised that he was. And in spite of all her brave assertions, she was disappointed.

‘It shouldn’t take long—Nell? Do you need me to phrase my offer some other way?’

‘No, no. I’m sorry.’ Her eyes cleared as she stared up at him, but her thoughts were still far away. ‘Lunch should be OK.’

He frowned. Nell guessed he suspected she was thinking out loud, and not simply about dining arrangements.

‘So shall we go?’ he pressed.

There was a touch of impatience in his voice, but she could see nothing remotely predatory in his gaze. ‘If you feel it would be helpful.’

‘I do.’

He had managed to secure a table for them at the most romantic restaurant in Venice. When Nell moved in front of him to sit down he caught a waft of her scent. It reminded him of a spring meadow—it reminded him to cool down. Though how he was supposed to do that when the temperature was soaring inside as well as out, he had no idea. Thunderclouds were threatening over the San Marco Basin like an oppressive scene-setter for some dramatic encounter. He had to hope their lunch date would be spared the fireworks. He wanted to talk, to get to know her, to relax…something both of them found equally difficult to engineer time for.

‘How do you do that?’ he murmured as she slid into the booth.

‘How do I do what?’ She glanced at him, just the briefest eye contact, and then looked away as if she didn’t trust herself to hold his gaze.

‘How do you look so cool when everyone else in Venice is at melting point?’

She smiled faintly. ‘That’s funny.’

‘Funny?’

‘I used to think that about you.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ve grown used to the heat…become used to dressing for it more sensibly.’

The comment drew his attention to the elegant, loose-fitting dress she had on, one of a selection she had taken to wearing for work in place of a suit. She looked beautiful.

She stiffened when she caught him staring at her. ‘Should we call for menus?’ she suggested.

She was all business, keeping him at arm’s length. He couldn’t blame her for that. She knew as well as he did that there was always an unlit fuse between them…a fuse which common sense dictated neither one of them should ignite. A few points to go over? Had he really used that line again? His technique was slipping badly.

Except that technique was redundant where Nell was concerned. All that seemed right when he was with her was openness and sincerity. Nell was different to any woman he had known; she defied analysis. She was unpredictable: defensive, strong, yet so vulnerable. And more than a match for him.

Luca had found himself, uniquely, unsure of how to proceed. Instinct had always been enough to guide him in the past; he had certainly never planned a date with such precision before. He needed it to be a success.

‘I think things are going well so far…’ she started stiffly.

If this lunch was to remain neutral and friendly, he’d better get his mind in gear fast and think of something to say that was connected to her scheme. ‘Yes…’ He tried to refocus his mind, but his thoughts remained stubbornly single-track. He wanted a lot more than a business discussion with her.

It was a pretty interesting situation. He was sitting opposite the most desirable woman he had ever met, a woman he had already slept with, only to find that, having reached the goal, it wasn’t enough—and nor was it the open-ended ticket he had supposed. If anything sex had made Nell more distant. She had retreated behind a barrier he didn’t know how to breach. But he would breach it. He had to…if he was ever going to know her properly.

‘We won’t make too much of a call on your time once we are up and running.’

Her voice brought him back to full attention. ‘I wouldn’t have agreed to become part of this scheme of yours if I didn’t want to be involved.’ What was his alternative—not to see her?

‘Just be sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for, Luca—’

‘I do know,’ he cut across her. In truth, he wasn’t sure of anything right now. But on this one point he could reassure her. ‘I took charge of the family trust when I was twenty-five—’

‘Around the time we first met?’

He gave a nod of assent.

Which might explain why he had taken himself so seriously, Nell conjectured. It was one hell of a responsibility. ‘And the trust runs the hospital.’

‘That’s why I’m so protective of it,’ Luca confirmed. ‘That’s where all my own spare cash goes…when it’s not going into the house. Hospital first, house second.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘They’re both my life’s work, as they were my father’s. I made a promise to him before he died that I would carry on his work, and I have.’

The ache in Nell’s chest grew worse. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to like him any more than she already did. She didn’t want proof that he could be trusted, or had principles and strength of purpose…because that made it even harder not to fall in love with him.

He turned away to order wine.

‘Just water for me, please. Aqua naturale, per favore.’ She spoke directly to the waiter and could feel Luca’s gaze burning into her.

‘Bene,’ he murmured approvingly. ‘Won’t you have one glass of wine?’

‘I prefer to keep a clear head, if you don’t mind. And I’ll just have a starter. I have to get back to the hotel in…’ Glancing at her wrist-watch, she exclaimed with surprise, ‘Goodness, I didn’t realise that was the time. I’m really sorry, Luca, but I’ll have to leave here in about half an hour.’

The disappointment he felt was even worse than he could have imagined.

They had been working side by side for almost a week, and Luca had to admit Nell’s voluntary scheme was working well. Hell! Even his mother was involved!

He stood watching for a while as Nell laughed at some joke she was sharing with one of his patients. Professionally speaking, his insistence that she should be part of the voluntary service on the ground was the best call he’d made in a long time. She was a natural; everyone loved her. But from a personal point of view it stank. She was under his gaze every day, forcing her delicious scent up his nostrils and making him watch her silky hair swinging round her shoulders as she walked her sassy walk. He had to observe her kindness at close quarters, share in her humour, witness her strength—all of which dug into him, reminding him what might have been if he had found his feelings a little sooner.

As it was, she barely noticed him when she was working. She was so busy—too busy. That was what she had said the first time he had invited her for coffee, and now she said it every time he asked, talking to him in a no-nonsense voice she apparently reserved for him alone. A voice that made him feel like a recalcitrant child who was getting under her feet—in his own hospital!

She could make time for everyone else, why not for him? What did he have to do to change things back to how they had used to be? Had he dreamed up the attraction between them? Only the constant ache in his groin reassured him that wasn’t true…

And along with the purely physical ache, there was a growing need for closeness on a very different level—and that was proving to be almost a bigger problem than the first. He didn’t have any coping strategies for dealing with his emotional needs. How could he, when he’d never had any before?

He needed to woo her.

Woo her? Luca’s lips pressed down as his inner voice came up with the suggestion. He’d been trying to do just that, not that he’d known where to begin—he hadn’t had attempted to woo anyone since leaving school. He’d arranged a romantic meal, and made sure there were fresh flowers in her office. He’d taken the whole damn group of volunteers including Nell to a concert. He’d even contemplated queuing in the rain for tickets to one of the art galleries, before deciding that contracting pneumonia was contrary to all the accepted principles of seduction. As far as wooing went he had so far proved to be an abject failure.

Running a liberating finger beneath his collar, Luca stared out broodily through the window. Even the weather was against him.

‘Luca?’

He looked round at her voice and watched her as she came swiftly across the ward towards him, smiling pleasantly. Pleasantly! He would have to take action soon.

He responded sensibly and professionally. ‘Nell, hello.’ He even curbed his smile, allowing himself just a small nod of approval. ‘You’re fitting in really well. And I thought you said your talent was for management, not hands-on?’ He couldn’t hold back the smile now, because it was true: she had made a real difference to morale on the wards.

When Luca smiled at her, hardly smiling really, more a slight tug at one corner of his mouth, but with so much challenge and humour in his voice, Nell wondered how she was staying so strong. Common sense, she told herself firmly, controlling the impulse to excitedly share everything she had learned that day. ‘Oh, you know…’ She flicked her wrist in a casual gesture. ‘I’m really enjoying it. I like people.’

Luca’s expression darkened. She didn’t like him…not enough. ‘How are the volunteers coming along? Are they ready to carry on without you yet?’

‘Can’t you wait to get rid of me?’ she said wryly. ‘I’d like to give them a couple more weeks.’ She consciously diverted the conversation onto a practical track before Luca had chance to absorb her teasing remark. ‘Your mother has offered to take over the pastoral side for me when I return home. She’ll make an excellent superintendent for the scheme.’

His mother working—that had been another shock. Nell had certainly wrought some changes during her short stay in Venice.

‘She can’t wait to start,’ she added.

He was shut out while his mother was in the loop. How had that happened? ‘When did you say you were leaving?’ he demanded.

‘I didn’t. But this was never going to be forever, Luca.’

As Nell held his gaze, Luca wondered how much pleasure she was getting from turning the tables on him. When they had first met he had wanted sex and nothing more. Then he’d discovered how much he enjoyed her company on a personal basis. Now he wanted to deepen the relationship, but she was holding out on him—making him pay. ‘I know you have to leave,’ he said impatiently. ‘But don’t you think you should tell me when?’

‘I won’t disappear without telling you.’

‘Not like you tried to do after dinner that time?’

‘Of course not. This is different.’

Was it? It only took a word, or a glance, for passion to flare between them, and now they were facing each other like contestants in the ring. ‘Before you go I’ll need to see your database of volunteers,’ he pointed out, unnecessarily harshly. ‘I shall want the names of everyone involved in the project so I can check up on them—particularly who’s actually going to be in charge. And keep me up to speed in future, will you?’ His unfocused anger was rising with every word.

‘I’ll be sure to release the necessary details so you can check up on your mother,’ she told him drily. ‘Or you could boot up your own computer, and hit “volunteer database”. Relax, Luca. I’m not trying to hide anything from you. Your mother only confirmed today, and I haven’t had chance to amend the records yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘I’ve finished my shift.’

‘Let me see you to the door—’

‘That’s not necessary, Luca.’ She held up her hand to stop him. ‘I know my way out.’

It had been a long day on her feet and Nell was desperate to get away from Luca and back to the hotel. Confrontation with him always shook her up, made her ache for all the things she couldn’t have. But for the first time since setting up the voluntary scheme she knew where she really belonged, and that was at the sharp end, dealing with people, not in the office. And it galled her to think that Luca appeared to know her better than she knew herself.

She lost herself with considerable relief amongst the press of people boarding the water-borne vaporetto. It was full of strangers going about their business, and at this moment she envied every one of them; they all seemed to know in which direction they were heading, which was more than she did. She was increasingly drawn to the richness of life in Italy, but she couldn’t forget that her home was in England and that this was just a temporary stay. Perhaps one day she would be able to come back…

Gazing over her shoulder at the hospital building, Nell realised that Luca had made her reconsider her life and see things very differently. She should thank him for that—but from a safe distance, she reflected wryly.

Luca was like a band about to snap. There was something in the air…ions, electric particles, the sultry heat of Venice that made everything in the city slow to a crawl. Even the pigeons couldn’t be bothered to fly, and had taken shelter beneath the seats on the Piazza San Marco, hoping for scraps. He couldn’t concentrate in order to do his job properly. He couldn’t seem to get on with anything. He couldn’t manage without her.

He had to do something—something different, special, unique, to grab her interest. He wanted to start again from the beginning, get everything right this time, and then see how it panned out.

He found her sitting in the beautiful walled garden his mother had created before she gave him the palazzo. The two women were watching the children playing under Marianna’s supervision as if they were friends of long standing. ‘Buona sera, Mama, Nell.’ He didn’t wait; he jumped straight in. ‘I had an idea…’

‘Really, bello?’

‘No need to make it sound such a landmark, Mother.’

The shrewd blue gaze remained on his face, prompting him to say what he had on his mind. ‘It’s impossibly hot in the city. The scheme is running smoothly. I thought we should all take off, and go up to the chalet.’

‘To the chalet?’ The contessa thought about it. ‘That is a good idea, bello. But don’t you have work to do?’

‘I couldn’t possibly leave,’ Nell confirmed, shaking her head.

Luca had anticipated that. ‘This is the ideal opportunity for you to see if your scheme works without you, Nell. Or aren’t you ready to test it yet?’ He knew she couldn’t resist the challenge.

‘I’m ready to stand in for you, Nell,’ his mother cut in, as he had also anticipated. ‘But who will take your place, Luca?’ She shook her head, but more to give him an opening than to point up any problems with his idea, Luca suspected.

‘I have a full team at the moment. They can do without me for a couple of days.’

‘You not suggesting we go away together?’ Nell looked horrified at the prospect.

He fielded both women at once. ‘I’m covered at the hospital, and we’ll take the children with us. I’m suggesting a long weekend of mountain air, Nell, not a prolonged sojourn in my harem.’

‘Luca!’ His mother frowned severely at him. Then their gazes locked and understanding dawned in her eyes. ‘The children love it here. Why do you want to disturb them?’ She turned to Nell. ‘The heat doesn’t affect them at all, does it?’

‘But surely the heat affects you, Contessa?’ Nell said. ‘You’d like to go to the mountains, wouldn’t you?’

‘I won’t be hot in Venice if I’m taking over from you in an air-conditioned hospital,’ the contessa pointed out. ‘And Marianna won’t leave the children…’

‘So you and I will take off, Nell,’ Luca finished.

Nell gasped, but his mother only managed to spear him a look as if to say she was surprised any son of hers had taken so long coming to the point. But then she didn’t appreciate the subtlety required. He’d tried the way that came naturally to him and found he’d made no progress at all—and normally, whenever a door slammed in his face he could usually find a window to climb through…

But as he eased the collar of his shirt Luca wondered if he might self-combust before Nell gave him her answer. Taking things at such a slow pace was not his modus operandi of choice.

Before Nell had chance to get over her shock at his suggestion, his mother held up her hand. She was wearing the mock-innocent expression she always employed whenever she was on the verge of pulling off some great coup. ‘But going up to the chalet is a wonderful idea! Didn’t I say you should spoil yourself a little, Nell?’

‘I’m not sure…’ Nell’s brow puckered up.

He could see she was thrown by the fact that his mother was all for his suggestion. Having the contessa’s endorsement gave it a seal of respectability, of propriety…

‘You’ll be all the better for coming fresh to your work, Nell,’ his mother added. ‘But of course, it’s up to you. I wouldn’t dream of influencing you.’ Closing her eyes, she sank back in her seat.

When the devil came tempting, he didn’t wear Chanel and have centuries of refinement and good sense to back him up, Nell thought as she stared at the contessa. All she really wanted was someone to push her over the line between, ‘No, I couldn’t possibly,’ and, ‘Why not?’ And the contessa was a good friend, someone she had come to trust in the short time she’d known her.

‘You know what Molly will say, don’t you?’ Lifting her head, the contessa smiled at Nell.

As a family the Barbaros had perfected the art of the low blow. Molly frequently complained to Nell that she should give her some space. It was a typical pre-teen moan, but it wouldn’t have surprised Nell to learn that Molly had confided all the details of their latest minor disagreement to the contessa.

‘It’s not forever,’ the contessa cajoled.

‘Just a long weekend,’ Luca added.

‘And the air in the mountains would do you so much good.’

‘What do you think?’

As Nell held Luca’s stare she had to stifle the buzz of excitement she felt in case it showed in her eyes. ‘We wouldn’t be alone?’

‘Alone?’ the contessa exclaimed. ‘Certainly not. We keep a large staff at the chalet. There isn’t a chance of you being alone. Do you think I would expose you to gossip, Nell?’ She opened her eyes very wide.

But that was a hard one. Something told Nell the contessa would be totally indifferent to gossip.

Luca was beginning to show all the signs of a man who had been forced to sit down too long. If anything, he looked bored by the whole discussion, Nell thought, watching him ease his powerful legs as he stood up.

‘Too many women for you, bello?’ his mother teased, seeing Molly come running up to them.

‘I’ve always got time for this one.’ His brooding mood changed in an instant. Catching Molly to him, he swung her high into the air, and as she heard her daughter’s delighted squeal, Nell realised she had made a decision.

Chapter Twelve

THE large staff turned out to be one smiling cook and her husband, who told Nell in perfect English that he was gardener-cum-snow-shoveller, as well as general factotum to Luca’s family when they were in residence. And he couldn’t have been happier to welcome her to the palazzo.

‘Palazzo?’ Nell murmured, gazing at Luca. ‘Another one?’

‘An affectation of the staff. I think of it as a chalet.’ His lips pressed down as he shrugged.

‘You seem blessed with an overabundance of very large houses. And talking of the large staff your mother referred to, where are they?’

‘It’s late summer—they must be away on holiday.’

‘All of them?’ If such a large force ever existed at all, Nell thought, realising they were probably going to be left pretty much to their own devices. When Luca had spoken about a chalet, Nell had pictured something small and quaint such as she had seen in Switzerland, but the word palazzo put everything in its proper perspective. Chalet Aquila was only quaint as far as its wooden walls and steeply pitched ceilings were concerned. Small, it was not. But there was a benefit to that, Nell reassured herself. She could easily find her own private space in the library, or the snug, or even outside on the fabulous, glass-lined balcony overlooking the mountains.

Perhaps the contessa was right after all, Nell decided as she started to unpack in her room. This break in the mountains was just what she needed.

‘Dinner at eight?’

Her feet almost left the ground as Luca poked his head round the door. Their bedrooms were on separate wings, which had reassured her, but she hadn’t expected things to be so casual.

‘Sorry…should have knocked,’ he said.

‘Yes, you should!’

He found it hard to hold back, hard to adjust to all the strictures he’d placed upon himself now that he had decided to woo Nell properly. But, seeing her expression when he took her by surprise, he gathered that his new career as her respectful suitor would be short-lived if he couldn’t adapt. What he wanted to do was walk right in and take her on the bed. It was about time. But no…he had to hold himself in check and curb his natural instincts—adopt the sex-drive of a sloth.

‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ she said firmly.

‘I thought I’d take a walk first.’ Maybe the crisp night air might cool his ardour! ‘If you need anything, just ask Maria or Tomas.’

So she was to be left alone. Was Luca regretting his invitation already? Nell stood motionless, listening to Luca’s footsteps disappearing down the wooden steps until he reached the ground floor. Then she hurried across to the window overlooking the front of the house, where she could see the path leading from the front door. Why hadn’t he invited her along? She would have liked a walk…

She had never taken such trouble with her appearance, Nell realised. She was doing it out of pique because Luca was making it clear he wasn’t interested and she had no intention of losing her self-esteem. No woman, however determined she was to resist a man, liked to think she was invisible.

She was glad Molly had talked her into packing a floaty dress. The shops in Venice were irresistible and this was one crazy purchase she would almost certainly never wear again. Gossamer-fine and very feminine, it weighed almost nothing. And it came out of her overnight bag without so much as a crease.

Nell’s heart started thundering the moment she walked through the door to join him for dinner. Luca had made less of an effort, but then he always looked stunning even in jeans. They clung snugly to his lean hips and the chunky belt drew attention to his firm torso. There was just enough bronze to tempt her gaze beneath the open buttons of his black linen shirt, and she had a thing for powerful forearms, especially when, like Luca’s, they were shaded with dark hair. His feet were bare, which for some reason she found extremely sexy.

And this was dinner with a colleague?

Yes, and if she didn’t know the difference between that and a date, it was time for a reality check. But his hair was still damp from the shower and he smelled great as he held her chair. Full marks for being a gentleman in the dining room; nil for his manners in the bedroom.

A smiling Maria served them a delicious meal. Nell tried out her Italian, and was pleased to find herself understood. She was picking it up almost as quickly as Molly. Luca made no comment, not even when she glanced at him as Maria praised her efforts. He was more sphinx-like than the sphinx, except when she turned the conversation to her scheme—only then did he become animated. On the whole, though, their conversation seemed more of a chore than a pleasure.

She was disappointed, but not surprised, when he stood up the moment they had finished coffee.

‘Well, I think I’m going to get an early night.’

‘You’re going to bed now?’ She stared at him.

‘The mountain air.’ He stifled a yawn. ‘I hope you will excuse me.’

Was she boring him? ‘Of course.’

As the door shut Nell threw herself back in her chair. Luca wiped out by the altitude—Luca, who never tired? She wasn’t affected at all! But then he had been out for a walk…perhaps he had taken one of the mountain lifts in the area. That must be it, because surely it wasn’t high enough here for the altitude to affect him? And she certainly wasn’t ready for bed yet. She had far too much energy—and nothing to expend it on.

Maria pointed Nell in the direction of a gym in the basement, where she worked out, and then took a sauna. After showering, she dressed in the towelling robe she found in the communal bathroom off the gym. Collecting a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchen, she wandered into the snug to take in a film. It was well past midnight by the time she climbed the stairs.

Hesitating on the landing to check everyone was asleep, Nell couldn’t help peering down the corridor towards the bedroom where Luca was sleeping. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, and all the doors were firmly closed.

Retiring to her own room, she went inside and shut the door. Then she opened it again—just a crack. Then a little bit more. Perhaps Luca would want to check up on her, to make sure she was all right?

Or not.

Either way, she didn’t want to lock herself away like Rapunzel in the tower.

The night was long and Nell heard every creak and grumble as the warm timbers cooled. But unfortunately, none of those noises heralded Luca creeping down the corridor towards her room.

Not that she wanted him to, of course.

At breakfast the next morning she was red-eyed and irritable.

‘Sleep well?’ Luca enquired brightly, appearing not to notice how she looked or what mood she was in. ‘The bed wasn’t lumpy, was it?’ he pressed when she didn’t answer.

No; in fact, the bed had been perfect. Wide, firm, cosy…and decidedly empty, as he very well knew. Which was just as it should be. Nell ground her jaw as she made slow progress along the delicious buffet Maria had set out for them.

‘You seem…’

‘Yes?’ she demanded snappily, rounding on Luca.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Edgy?’

‘Must be the altitude getting to me. Only it’s having the opposite effect on me. All you want to do is sleep, while I…’

‘Yes?’

She wasn’t going to admit that he was the cause of her restless night. ‘Well, it’s a strange bed. I can never sleep on the first night.’

‘Really?’ He appeared to think about it. ‘Shall we eat outside? The fresh air will do you good.’

Nell hummed sceptically.

‘Or perhaps I could recommend something to help you sleep?’

‘No, thank you. I’ll be all right.’

‘I mean, like a bracing walk,’ he clarified.

‘To tire me out?’ There was a band of tension stretching between them that only the most strenuous of walks could possibly alleviate.

‘Exactly.’

Although perhaps that band of tension was all on her side. Luca seemed perfectly relaxed, which had the effect of making Nell even more strung out. ‘Good idea,’ she said without much enthusiasm. Sitting down, she forced herself to eat.

But the picnic in the mountains exceeded all Nell’s expectations. Luca urged her on until they reached a meadow carpeted with wild flowers. Apart from the beauty surrounding her, which was certainly a distraction, there was no problem with her carnal urges—they were well and truly subdued after the demanding trek.

‘You’ll sleep well tonight,’ Luca observed with a maddening degree of confidence.

‘I certainly will,’ Nell said, playing his game as she flopped onto the ground with relief. Rolling onto her stomach, she lifted herself up on her elbows to look beyond the plateau they had reached to the view beyond. The snow-capped mountains formed a crescent around the lush green valley far below them. Dragging her gaze away, she ran her fingers through the mass of flowers that seemed to proliferate where they had set up camp. ‘I never imagined there would be so many flowers this late in the summer. And the air’s so fresh.’

‘The altitude,’ Luca reminded her. ‘We’re high above the pollution from the city here. And plants at this height keep on flowering until the first snows, and even then they peep through until they’re completely buried.’

They sat together on a blanket Luca had brought in a roll on top of the rucksack containing their food. It wasn’t a large rug, and once the food was laid out on it and they were sitting down it was almost impossible to keep a space between them.

Nell held herself aloof, but she noticed that Luca seemed to be a different man in the mountains. He was relaxed and totally at ease with the silence, as if the cool, clean air had gently lifted the stresses of his demanding work from his face.

‘What a contrast it is here to Venice,’ she observed. ‘And yet we’re so close.’

‘When the skies are clear it’s sometimes possible to see these mountains from the city, but it’s been too muggy recently.’

‘But lovely all the same. You’re so lucky to have two of the most beautiful places in the world at your disposal.’

‘Yes, I am,’ he agreed without pretence that it might be otherwise.

As he gazed out across the valley in silence, Nell’s imagination took flight. This was the perfect moment, the moment in which the hero in any novel might reach across and kiss her. As Luca turned to face her their eyes locked and the breath caught in her throat…

‘Turkey or ham?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Nell blinked at him.

‘Turkey or ham?’ he repeated. He was holding a panini in each hand, offering her the choice.

They munched along in silence, drinking fresh raspberry juice, which was delicious. But, while nothing could have been improved upon and she had no complaints, Nell still felt dissatisfied. She might be determined to resist the attraction between them, but she didn’t want to be ignored by Luca either!

‘You look tired,’ he observed with approval as they started collecting up the picnic things. ‘This should help you sleep tonight.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ Keeping her features composed, Nell dipped her head and concentrated on the rug she was folding.

She buried her head beneath the pillows and tried to turn her mind to something else. But that wasn’t easy when Luca was sleeping in a room just a short walk away.

It was three o’clock in the morning and she was wide awake. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed her eyes and checked the clock on the mantelpiece. She slid her legs over the side of the bed, padded to the door and opened it a crack.

Silence greeted her. Deciding to get a drink, she crept downstairs in the dark, not wanting to put a light on and cause concern. Opening the kitchen the door very carefully so it didn’t squeak, she walked inside.

‘Luca!’ She took a pace back. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same question. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘So the picnic didn’t work?’

‘For you either.’ His lips tugged down in wry amusement.

‘Must be the altitude.’

‘Must be.’

There was an edge of irony in his voice. ‘Camomile tea?’ she suggested lightly, spotting various herbal infusions on a shelf.

Luca tipped his whisky glass towards her. ‘Can I tempt you to something stronger?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Temptation was behind them, where she intended it to stay.

Two minutes later, the tension humming through her body, the awareness twanging her nerves, Nell was wondering why on earth she hadn’t grabbed a cold drink and fled instead of putting the kettle on. But she was quite safe, she reminded herself—wild hair, no make-up and comfy men’s pyjamas from a market stall hardly made it look as though she was attempting to seduce him!

The drink was ready at last. ‘I’m off to bed, then,’ she mumbled.

Luca gave her a fast glance. Was he imagining it, or had she been dawdling? ‘Goodnight.’ He kept the voice clipped, impersonal, but he didn’t start breathing properly again until he heard her bedroom door close a few minutes later.

If this was what it meant to behave with propriety, to court a woman properly, to turn Nell from rejecting him because she thought he only wanted sex into pursuing him because he showed no interest, he could only hope she had an epiphany soon—like right away, before the frustration made something explode.

He’d done with wooing like a sloth, Luca decided the next morning. He’d had no sleep at all and it clearly wasn’t working. Some things just weren’t meant to be. He’d have breakfast first and then go where his instinct was telling him to go, do what he had to do…

He followed the delicious aroma of coffee, toast and freshly scrambled egg into the kitchen, then pulled up short when he saw who was cooking. ‘Where’s Maria?’

‘It’s her day off, isn’t it?’ Nell pointed out.

She didn’t look up from the eggs she was stirring in the skillet and her hair had fallen forward over her face so all that he could see was a fine trace of pale silhouette edging a dark cloud of silky hair. He wanted to run his hands through it, over it and then down the expanse of naked neck showing above the simple top she was wearing. Then he would transfer his attention to her breasts before licking his way down to her navel…

‘Soft, moist and runny, or dry?’

He stared at her, speechless.

‘Eggs,’ she elucidated. ‘Scrambled eggs. Some people can’t bear them sloppy. I prefer them that way myself.’

‘Right. Yes. Me too. You didn’t have to make breakfast, but I’m glad you did.’ He let the smile back into his voice. ‘Maria would have been only too happy to make something before she left, though.’

‘I didn’t think it was fair to keep her on her day off. I’m quite capable of scrambling an egg.’

‘I’m sure you are.’ He wasn’t even aware that his voice had faded as they stared at each other.

‘Taste?’ She held out the wooden spoon.

He hesitated, not trusting himself to behave.

‘People like different amounts of seasoning. I wasn’t sure…’ Now it was the turn of Nell’s voice to dwindle. ‘Luca, what’s the matter? Don’t you feel well? I know you couldn’t sleep last night, but…’

‘I’ve never felt better,’ he said honestly, watching her blue eyes darken. But he wanted more than a quick coupling…a lot more. The sexual charge between them was always there, but he was greedy for more now. He wanted to connect, to belong, to share, to open up…He wanted so many things that he had never wanted before, and had never had the opportunity to claim for himself.

‘Mustn’t let the eggs spoil.’ She turned back to the cooker, clearly flustered by what she could see in his face.

‘More toast?’ she murmured later as he was tucking into a second helping.

Damn, she was a good cook. ‘Mmm,’ he said, wiping his lips on a napkin. He stood up to save her crossing the kitchen with the fresh slices. When she passed him the plate the toast slipped, and as they both dived to save it somehow they became entangled. His hand moved up her arm to her breast—

‘No, Luca!’ Freeing herself, she held up her hands as if to ward him off. ‘We came here for a rest.’

‘You came here to be with me,’ he told her, sure of his ground.

She raked her hair in a gesture he recognised from years back. ‘That isn’t fair. You’re not fair!’

‘What? Telling the truth isn’t fair?’

‘Oh, it’s so easy for you, isn’t it? But I know it’s all an act!’

‘An act? What act?’ Suddenly he was shouting too. And then she was tangled in his arms again, half-kissing, halffighting. But even then she managed to surprise him. Reaching up, she laced her fingers through his hair in an attempt to drag him down to her.

‘No, Nell!’ He pulled back.

‘No?’ The black passion in her eyes turned to blue ice.

‘No. We’ve tried that already and we know it doesn’t work.’ His voice was steady, reasoned, but he could see twin spots of fury forming on her cheeks. It was always like that between them, passion so close to the surface it only took the slightest encouragement to break free.

‘What, then?’ Her voice was anguished as she turned her face up to him. He knew it reflected all the hurt and anger she felt inside. ‘How should we behave towards each other, Luca?’

He held her firmly when she tried to break away. ‘I’ll tell you how, and it isn’t like this. I don’t want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you—and there’s one hell of a difference.’

His words hung in the air between them as if they both needed time to absorb what he’d said.

‘Luca…’

Cupping her chin, he made sure of her silence the only way he knew how. When he let her go again she stood breathless, staring up at him.

She had no idea that he could be so tender, or that a kiss started in passion could turn into music that sang in her soul, tuning her body to his so acutely she knew they were one.

He nuzzled her face again, rough stubble against soft skin. Closing her eyes, she let her lips part and gasped to feel his tongue. He was teasing her, withdrawing before she had time to get used to the sensation, then capturing the full swell of her bottom lip, tugging gently, so gently he almost made her cry. It raised every tiny hair on the back of her neck, and as her limbs softened with desire his arms went around her and he lifted her, carrying her across the room towards the door…

Luca’s bedroom was almost identical to her own. Shady and cool, with linen blinds drawn low across the picture windows. Beyond them the windows must have been open because the cream shades were billowing lightly in the stiff morning breeze.

She shivered as he set her down.

‘You’re not cold, are you?’

‘I think we both know I’m not.’

Luca’s eyes were slumberous, hiding his expression. ‘I suppose I should know everything about you, since I’m a doctor. And it’s not like me to misdiagnose.’

‘There’s always a first time, Doctor.’ Humour had always been a cover for their insecurities and awkwardness. Now, suddenly, it had become something more, a secret connection that was a symbol of the journey they had taken together.

‘I’d better check I can still remember where all your pleasure zones are located. It’s been so long I may have forgotten what to do.’

‘I doubt it,’ Nell murmured, sinking lower on the bed as Luca lay down beside her, ‘but if you have forgotten, after my experience at the carnival I should be able to talk you through it.’

‘I can’t wait.’ He smiled as he dropped a kiss on her brow, on her eyelids, on her mouth…

He was so gentle with her, his fingers light as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His hands moved over her, sending tiny darts of pleasure coursing through her. She was on fire for him. She wanted everything he could give her…but she wanted his kisses most of all.

Tilting her chin, he stared into her eyes. ‘You frighten me,’ he whispered.

And then she didn’t have chance to question him because his lips claimed hers, his tongue probing, seeking, while his hands showed all the longing she dared hope for.

‘I frighten you?’ she murmured later, searching his gaze. ‘I’ve never felt like this before…’

‘Then that’s good,’ Luca whispered against her mouth, ‘because it wouldn’t be fair for only one of us to suffer.’ Tracing the length of her arm with one fingertip, he finally took her hand and laced their fingers together. ‘I want this to last, Nell.’

‘For how long?’ she whispered.

‘Forever.’

‘Forever?’

But he silenced her with another kiss, and then, brushing his chin against her face, he made her whimper. She could feel his warmth and his strength in every fibre of her being. ‘It’s like the first time…’ Turning her face up, she stared deep into his eyes. ‘I want you, Luca.’

‘I think I know that.’ He smiled as he kicked off his shoes, and then, removing her sandals, began caressing her feet, manipulating them skilfully.

She moaned softly. ‘I didn’t even know I liked this…’

‘Then you have everything to discover.’

He caressed her breasts, pushing her top out of the way so he could move on to her belly, where he teased her by running his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. He brushed her lightly between her legs to hear her moan. He could feel her heat, sense her need…Her lips were slightly parted and as he teased her some more she eased her legs apart, inviting more. Reluctantly, he refused the offer. It was far too soon.

Her pulse leapt when he eased her top over her head and she was already loosening her jeans. He put his hands over hers, stopping her. There was a long way to go before she was ready for that.

‘Why?’

He moved down the bed as she spoke, laving kisses on her breasts, on her belly, licking, nipping, preparing her. ‘Because I’m not ready yet.’

Her eyes called him a liar, and unfortunately it was true. He was at crisis point, thrusting hard against the opening of his jeans. But he could hold back, and so she would too.

He ripped off his shirt in one impatient movement, exulting when Nell’s hands went immediately to press against his chest.

‘You’re so hard…you’re magnificent.’

Taking hold of her hands, he kissed each one of her fingertips in turn. ‘And you’re beautiful…the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.’ They had both waited so long for this trial of sensual endurance, he wouldn’t spoil it now by allowing the heat building up inside him to take over. He wanted tenderness and sensuality for both of them, and he would have it, even though her eyes were entreating him, her lips begging him…

She nearly destroyed his self-will when she nipped each of his hard brown nipples in turn between her thumb and forefinger. And then she writhed against him and he had to grit his teeth and think of everything but how much he wanted her. But even then he just grew harder. Her voice was a seduction, her body a sin…He found the answer in lifting himself out of real time so that he could observe her clinically, telling himself in a mind- if not body-numbing mantra how much better he could make it for her if only she would wait. But how he wanted to express all the feeling welling inside him: caring, cherishing, loving…

‘Kiss me, Luca.’

He needed no encouragement. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her deeply. All the barriers between them broke down and disappeared as he prolonged the kiss, stroking her tongue, sucking it, plundering, moving and thrusting in a shadow of the act she craved so desperately. He moved to her breasts, capturing first one nipple and then the other, heating them with his hot breath until they strained towards him, begging to be sucked, flaunting themselves through a tormenting barrier of flimsy lace.

He refused to be hurried, and only smiled when she called out to him to try and urge him on. He lingered at the waistband of her briefs, and just when he knew she couldn’t stand any more he moved down the bed again and started massaging her feet.

She was so frustrated she tried to roll away, but he caught her to him easily. He was still laughing softly when he started licking behind her knees, and thrilled to realise that she’d had no idea she was so sensitive there. How little she knew of love. Reaching up his hands, he began to stroke her thighs, tantalising her by sweeping short of where she needed him to be. He could feel her quivering. Moving up the bed, he let her feel his weight, just for a moment, his hard, toned frame pressing into her. Then, slipping his hand beneath her briefs, he stroked her belly, reaching down to feather a torment between her legs…stretching delicately, tugging a little, then stroking, but always missing the special place where she longed for his attention. She kept adjusting her position in an attempt to outwit him, but he kept her still with one hand while with two fingers of the other hand he began to massage gently.

‘Now, now,’ she begged hoarsely, as once again he avoided touching her most sensitive place.

She was trembling all over, shaking so much she could hardly speak. His answer was to dip his tongue into the hollow at the base of her neck and lick her until she begged for mercy, and only then did he lower the straps of her bra.

‘I hate you!’ she told him softly when he looked up.

‘I know. But not for long.’

He weighed her breasts appreciatively as a prelude to laving them with his tongue. Her nipples strained towards him, and her smooth, pale skin was flushed rose-pink after he had rasped his beard against her. Now she was arching against him, calling out for release.

‘Do you still hate me?’ he teased. ‘Because if you want more you must lie still and be a good girl…’ He gazed down, frowning, pretending disapproval, as she thrust her hips towards him. ‘What are you doing?’

The stern tone of his voice made her tremble even more. What did she have to do? ‘You’re impossible!’ she accused him.

The result of his teasing was clearly defined beneath the cobweb fabric of her briefs; the tone of his voice had aroused her all the more. ‘Please, Luca, no more teasing. I can’t bear this…You’re…’ Her voice faded into a groan as he touched her lightly between the legs. Drawing her knees back, she writhed beneath him.

‘Impossible?’ he supplied drily.

‘Worse than that…’ was all she could manage. She was sobbing with frustration. As he cupped her buttocks she exhaled raggedly.

‘You greedy girl,’ he murmured. ‘Can’t you wait?’

‘No!’

‘Well, you won’t be needing these.’ Catching hold of the waistband of her briefs, he slipped them off.

Her eyes slanted like a cat’s as she smiled her satisfaction. ‘Now,’ she commanded in a whisper.

‘Maybe I don’t think you’re ready yet—’ He gasped, the words stolen from his lips as she took him firmly in her hands.

‘I think I am,’ she said, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Chapter Thirteen

SHE might be acting strong, but he was going to take precautions first and then she could do what she liked with him.

He eased into her, taking care not to hurt her. There was something different between them now, something that demanded all his attention.

‘Wait,’ she said abruptly.

He stopped immediately when she asked him to. She didn’t speak; he just felt her hands pressing against his chest. ‘Am I hurting you?’

She was panting, tensing, Nell realised. The size of him…how had she forgotten? It had always been fast, animalistic, almost feral before, like two wild beasts without thought or care. But this was different in every way, tender, exquisitely sensitive. Nothing could have prepared her…

‘No…I don’t want you to stop. It’s like the first time…’

‘For me too.’

He kissed her deeply, caressing her at the same time, finding her and stroking her while he drove steadily on. His touch was so persuasive, so delicate and intuitive. He waited until she had relaxed completely, and then it was she who made the first move, lifting her hips towards him so that he could inhabit her completely.

His warm breath raced against her ear, delivering tiny electric shocks throughout her system. She held his gaze, tightening her muscles around him and working her hips so that he was rubbing rhythmically against her, yet making no attempt to withdraw…

Without warning, she came violently, clinging to him, crying, bucking, gasping, greedily working her body against his to make it last.

He made it last.

Luca understood every part of her. He knew how to prolong the pleasure and how to gently persuade her she wanted more. ‘I’m not ready…I can’t be…’

But he was right. Her innermost muscles were already clenching and relaxing in anticipation as she writhed provocatively beneath him. He took her again, plunging deep, working steadily, only pausing each time she climaxed.

Maybe he had made her wait too long. She was so frustrated, it was like having to skim the cream off the top of the milk before you could drink it. She was completely abandoned, lying with her knees back, opening herself for him, every inhibition lost in the frantic hunt for pleasure. His muscles were hard and bunched beneath her hands where she had grabbed his hips to urge him on.

The light was fading by the time he released her, and only then did he wonder about the desperation he’d sensed in her as they made love. Was she still so unsure of him?

It was their last night at Chalet Aquila and yet it was their first real night together. Had she become an addiction he couldn’t break? Luca wondered as he soothed Nell with kisses. He had never expected it to be like this when he had taken time to make it special for her. He had never expected her to be so vulnerable. But when she had turned to him with her eyes wide and frightened when he was making love to her, it was almost as if she was anticipating rejection…rejection at the very moment when he had cherished her the most.

Who had done this to her? Who had hurt her? It had to be Molly’s father. Jake.

Tipping up her chin so he could look into her eyes, he saw the deep-rooted fear she always tried so hard to hide, and knew then there was still so much she wasn’t telling him. ‘Nell…don’t hold out on me.’

‘Hold out on you?’

She tried the smile, the confident, sensuous curve of her lips that at one time would have been enough for him to forget any question he might have had in mind, but not this time. ‘Nell…’ His look told her he was prepared to wait for however long it took.

Her smile faded, her eyes flickered and then she turned her head away. Cupping her chin, he gently brought her back again. Why was she still keeping secrets from him? What did he have to do to prove himself to her? Weren’t they close enough yet? Didn’t she know he would never hurt her intentionally? The last thing on earth he wanted to do was to turn her back into the hostile individual he had first encountered on the banks of the canal. His only thought now was to protect her. ‘You demand honesty of me,’ he said gently.

‘Yes,’ she said, meeting his gaze.

‘Then why can’t you be honest with me?’

‘I am honest with you,’ she protested.

‘So, tell me about Jake.’

She froze in his arms. ‘What do you want to know?’ Sitting up, she bunched her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around them.

‘Everything.’

‘I already told you why I couldn’t trust doctors.’ She stopped and glanced up at the ceiling as if she was struggling to hold in her feelings.

‘But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there, Nell? It wasn’t just me as a doctor you were hostile towards when we first met. There was a barricade around you a mile wide.’

‘When we first met I had a sick child, and you were Molly’s doctor. Do you really think that would have been a good time to start an affair with you?’

‘I’m not talking about starting an affair. I’m only interested in the defences you had in place—and why they were there. You still had them when I saw you speaking on the platform in that suit—’

‘So, you’re judging me on my clothes?’

‘Your armour,’ he argued softly.

He was right, but it had been a long fight back after Jake’s deception. She couldn’t forget how that lack of judgement had torn her world apart. With sex and men out of the picture she had felt safe, but now she was vulnerable again. And there was Molly to consider. Could she pretend not to have noticed how Molly’s face lit up every time Luca was around? Could she take the risk that, if things went further, he might let them down as Jake had done?

She took a breath. ‘I was married—I thought happily. I was pregnant with my first child. We had everything to live for. Then a policewoman came to the door one day. She said, “There’s been an accident…”’

It was as if the colour surrounding her had abruptly turned to black and white. As she told him about her husband’s fatal accident, he understood what had hurt her even more than the sense of helplessness. She had been betrayed. He listened as she told him about the other woman, the woman who had held Jake’s baby in her arms. She couldn’t hate that woman, or her baby, and then he knew that Nell had turned that hatred on herself. She didn’t need to tell him how much it hurt, because he could feel it for her.

‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she whispered.

No. She had been vulnerable and alone. And that was why when he met her all those years ago in Venice she had been so angry and frightened. She had believed she was to blame again, but this time for Molly’s illness.

‘But why do you still feel guilty?’ he prompted gently.

She didn’t speak for a while and then she tipped her chin up to face him. ‘Because everything that happened came from me wanting something I couldn’t have. Jake was so wild, so exciting, and I was…’

‘What?’

‘Can’t you see?’

‘No, I can’t see.’ A sudden surge of anger blinded him. He was angry with himself, with Nell. What was she trying to say? Did she still love her dead husband?

‘I wasn’t enough for Jake,’ she said starkly. ‘That was why he needed someone else. It hurt to find that out. And if I’m still hiding behind those defences you were talking about, it’s because I don’t want to be hurt again.’

‘You don’t need to hide to achieve that. You simply need to know your lover would not betray you.’

She didn’t respond to that, staring at her hands, and Luca felt a wave of sheer, painful rage as he realised what her silence meant.

‘So you think all men are the same as Jake? That we would all break our vows so lightly?’

She hesitated too long. ‘Thank you,’ he said tensely.

‘Thank you for what?’ She glanced at him warily.

‘You’re too fond of pigeon-holing people, Nell. Doctors, nurses, men in general, Latin men in particular…all of us neatly labelled and filed away in your head.’ Holding her gaze firm, he saw he was right. He swung out of bed and started throwing on his clothes. ‘Do you have any more insults up your sleeve? Please, don’t hold back—or shall I try to guess? The Latin lover who lies and cheats his way through countless women? Is that it, Nell? Do you really think you can tar me with the same brush as Jake?’

‘No, of course not—’

‘Then what?’

She didn’t know. All she could hold on to was the knowledge that it was she who was inadequate. Why else had Jake made a parallel life with another woman? She couldn’t risk that happening a second time, not with Molly to consider.

‘Jake was a weakling, a coward. I hope you’re not suggesting I am too?’

She flinched from Luca’s tightly controlled anger, but she also felt a shock of surprise. ‘A coward?’ She had always seen Jake as a man who sparkled brighter than a diamond. And Luca was so far from being a coward, his suggestion was risible.

‘Yes, a coward,’ he repeated scathingly. ‘What else would you call a man who refuses to live up to his responsibilities, a man who cannot face the woman he married and tell her the truth, a man who lied to two women, both of them bearing his child. Contemptible.’ With a sound of disgust, he shook his head.

Nell opened her mouth to protest, and shut it again. She had simply never looked at it from that point of view, but suddenly she found it hard to believe that she had shut her mind to Jake’s responsibility for so long.

‘But surely it must have been hard for him. With two women, two children…’ She hardly realised she was speaking out loud. She was still trying to make sense of it, trying to look back at her marriage from the new perspective Luca had just given her.

‘Are you making excuses for him?’

‘No, of course not.’ It had been an automatic response, after years trapped in the web of self-delusion that insisted she was to blame for the breakdown of her marriage.

Luca was staring at her incredulously. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Luca, don’t look at me like that—’

‘Do you still love him?’

‘What?’

‘Do you still love him?’

Loving Jake was so far from her mind, Nell’s brain locked. Nothing would come to her lips. She held out her hand as Luca started for the door.

‘Perhaps it’s as well our time in the mountains is almost at an end,’ he snapped at her. ‘I’ll leave you to shower. Use my bathroom and then go and pack.’

‘Pack?’

‘There’s no reason why we shouldn’t go back to Venice this evening. I don’t see any point in staying here now. As far as I’m concerned we might as well leave right away, in fact.’ His voice was so cold, so hard.

Nell’s head was reeling. She couldn’t believe Luca thought she still loved Jake, but in this mood he wouldn’t listen whatever she said. She tried anyway as he stalked away. ‘Luca, it’s not that I love Jake—’

He paused at the door. ‘Do you really think you have the monopoly on feelings?’

‘No, of course not. Luca, please listen—’

With a contemptuous sound he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him as if he couldn’t wait to put distance between them.

If she had thought the drive back to Venice in total silence was hard, the arrival was much worse. Molly’s crestfallen face when Nell arrived back early said it all. But what had she thought her reception would be like, when she had returned to the palazzo with red-rimmed eyes and Luca was so tense he could barely speak to anyone?

What had she allowed Molly to think? Nell felt a shaft of guilt pierce her as she met her daughter’s anxious, enquiring gaze. That there was a romance brewing between her mother and a man Molly clearly adored? If she had done that, it wasn’t merely careless, it was unforgivable.

‘Well, you can go back to the hotel if you like, but I’m not coming with you,’ Molly announced mulishly.

‘What?’ Nell refocused. ‘Oh, yes, you are, young lady. It’s time for bed.’

‘In my pyjamas?’ Molly held out the sides of her baggy trousers. ‘You said you’d be back on Monday, so I got changed ready for bed.’

‘Well, you can get changed back again.’

‘I don’t want to!’

‘Don’t worry, Molly, you can stay over on another occasion.’

Nell and Molly turned to stare at Luca, with very different expressions on their faces.

Having Luca side with her threw Nell for a moment. She was torn between holding firm and being reasonable. Just because her weekend had finished so very badly was no reason to ruin Molly’s.

She sighed. ‘If the contessa doesn’t mind you staying over—’ She hardly got the words out before Molly whooped with joy, threw her arms around her neck and kissed her roundly on the cheek and then skipped off.

Before her mother had a chance to change her mind, Nell thought wryly, watching her.

‘The boat’s right outside,’ Luca said coolly.

‘Oh, no, thank you. But if you’d like to call a taxi—’

‘That will take longer.’

And he couldn’t bear her there a moment longer than necessary. ‘If you’re sure it’s no trouble?’

‘None at all.’

Luca dropped Nell off at the landing stage outside her hotel. In the time it took them to cross the canal neither of them spoke a word. As she disembarked outside the hotel, Nell thanked him and then paused only to confirm their plans.

‘There’s no reason to change the time of our meeting, is there?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Well, no, of course not, but—’

‘Then goodnight.’

He was already turning the boat around, watching the sides didn’t scrape against the wharf, visually measuring the space in which he had to turn the prow without banging into any of the mooring posts. Dismissing her.

‘Goodnight, Luca,’ she whispered. ‘And thank you again.’

For the weekend? For the boat trip back to her hotel? He didn’t know, and right now he didn’t care. He had fallen in love with a woman who was still in love with her dead husband, even if Nell might not know it herself. Better to face up to the truth now than to run away from it, as she had been. Firming his jaw, Luca opened up the throttle and turned the boat for home.

The next day Nell found herself staring at Luca’s empty chair and thinking it a symbol for their relationship. She had arrived early for their meeting after a sleepless night, and had begun by making a few phone calls. The rest of the time she had spent sorting through the things she would take with her without actually seeing any of them. She was still numb after Luca’s accusation that she loved Jake. The dismay she felt was not just at the inaccuracy of his assertion but at the discovery that Luca was as vulnerable as she was. And she hadn’t reached out to him once.

They’d had one night untainted by the past, and that, ironically, had been the night of the carnival, when they had each taken refuge in the past. Hiding behind masks had allowed them to meet and fall in love as if they were strangers. It was all so clear now. But the moment reality had broken through again, neither of them had been able to change who they were…at least, not enough.

But still they’d stumbled on, adding one building block at a time to the knowledge and understanding they’d gained of each other, and it hurt to think that they had parted so bitterly at a time when they had never been closer. But then the only thing that had always eluded them was trust…

And now it was too late to mend the rift.

Hearing footsteps, Nell pulled herself together. She had the volunteers to think about. She had to make sure that everything was in order for them before she left.

Luca swept in with the briefest of greetings, sat down, pulled out a sheaf of documents from his briefcase, and scanned them briefly. ‘There’s not much left for you to do here, is there?’

‘That’s right.’ Was he relieved? Her leaving would certainly put an end to the disruption she had brought to his perfectly ordered life.

‘So, you’ll be moving on again?’

‘I’ll be returning home with Molly and Marianna.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘As soon as I can confirm the flights.’ That wasn’t true. She had already confirmed the flights while she had been waiting for him. They would be leaving tomorrow, since there was no reason for her to stay in Venice. She dreaded telling Molly, but it would only get harder the longer they stayed.

‘Do you need any help with that? I know people at the airport.’

And have him know what her plans were? Better to make a clean break. ‘No, thank you. It’s all in hand.’

‘So it’s all over?’

‘All over?’ Nell repeated, following Molly’s gaze out of the aircraft window. They were a few minutes into the flight and the plane was banking steeply as it made a turn to climb above the mountains she had visited with Luca.

‘You know what I mean.’ Molly’s voice was tight, and she wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Nell glanced round at Marianna, but she was fast asleep. ‘Darling, I’m—’

‘What?’ Molly’s brows drew together fiercely as she rounded on Nell. ‘Sorry? No, you’re not.’

‘We always knew Venice wasn’t forever—’

‘I’m not talking about Venice!’

‘What, then?’

But Molly had already turned away. Anyway, Nell knew very well what she meant. She had tried to protect her, but you couldn’t protect your child from life however hard you tried. Luca had come into their lives and now he was gone again, and Molly was grieving for him.

‘Molly, please. Can’t we talk about this?’

Molly snatched her arm away as Nell went to comfort her and kept staring fixedly out of the window. Nell didn’t have to see her face to know that she was crying.

Chapter Fourteen

THE house was a flatter, duller place. Even his nephews and nieces were subdued for once, and his mother was hardly speaking to him.

No, that was wrong: she had managed one tirade over breakfast. He was a hard, unfeeling brute, apparently, without an ounce of tenderness in him. His glib answer that she was probably right had stayed with him throughout the day, nagging at him like a toothache. Was it his fault Nell had left Venice without warning, taking Molly with her? Did he suggest she leave his mother a note at some unearthly hour to say that she was leaving, the same note that had been flung at him across the breakfast table?

He had done the right thing. No man could live with the ghost of another man standing at his shoulder.

The house seemed cold when she opened it up, cold and unwelcoming. Molly went straight to her room and Nell heard her throw herself onto the bed.

‘I’ll go up, shall I?’ Marianna suggested.

‘No, leave her for a while. She’ll have a sleep, and then she’ll get over it.’

Nell pretended not to see Marianna’s raised brow. She had to protect Molly, but she couldn’t have her dictating which path she should take through life. She had enough trouble getting that one right without outside interference.

‘I’m going to make a coffee.’ She smiled hopefully at Marianna. ‘Would you like one?’

‘No, you go right ahead. Coffee always keeps me awake, and I think Molly’s got the right idea.’

Maybe Marianna was right, but there was no way she could follow her example, Nell realised as she walked into the kitchen.

And since when had the kitchen been so big, so empty, and the house so lonely?

Luca arrived home after the most strenuous workout at the gym he could remember. It was then he had one of the stranger telephone conversations of his life.

It concerned an unfinished game of Doom Merchant Seven, a little-known computer game, familiar only to aficionados of highly competitive techno-sport.

‘So, you chickened out?’

Molly’s voice was cold and hostile, and for a moment he couldn’t work out what she was talking about.

‘Molly?’

‘Oh, so you do remember who I am?’

‘Of course I remember.’ He thought quickly, glancing at his watch. It was eleven o’clock at night. ‘You got home safely?’ He was playing for time, trying to think how best to handle the situation from his slim set of resources marked fledgling personal relationships: care of.

‘Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t be talking to you if we hadn’t.’

‘How’s your mother?’ It was out before he could check himself.

‘As if you care.’

That hurt.

‘So…’ Molly picked up where she had left off. ‘You let me beat you that time, didn’t you?’

She’d guessed. He got the picture now. Luca smiled wryly. Molly was smart.

‘And now you’re too chicken to play me for real, finish that game we started.’

‘No—it’s not that.’

‘What, then?’

‘You’re in London, I’m in Venice.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

He wasn’t about to answer that one.

‘I thought you cared about us…’

There was a long, ragged silence, during which he was sure he could hear Molly trying to stifle tears. The hard front, the cover story that had given her an excuse to call him, everything had dissolved into the shattered hopes of one small child. And he was just as guilty as Nell…thinking they could hide the way they felt about each other, when every glance, every accidental touch, even the charge in the air when they were in the same room gave the game away.

And he did care for Molly, more than she realised, more than he knew how to handle.

There was a loud sniff.

‘So are you going to finish that game or not?’

He smiled, hearing the steel had returned to Molly’s voice. It was the same steel her mother had.

They shouldn’t have to be so brave. And he didn’t have to be such a coward. What was really at risk here—his pride?

‘Well?’ Molly demanded.

He could picture the small face, pale brows drawn together, eyes fierce, lips firm, as Molly waited for his answer.

‘I don’t suppose you’re going to let me off?’

‘You got that right.’

‘It’s nice of you to go to so much trouble, Molly.’

Nice? It was a miracle, Nell thought, feeling a rush of relief as she surveyed the dining-room table. Molly had been surly and unresponsive on the flight home and had slept in until lunchtime the following day. The rest of Saturday had been spent in what Nell could only describe as a state of tension. She had waited for an explosion, which strangely didn’t come. By Sunday morning the atmosphere in the house had reached crisis point, and the very last thing she had been expecting was that Molly would take it upon herself to lay the lunch table, cutting fresh flowers from the garden for a centrepiece and even rummaging in the dresser drawers to find the candles that only ever came out at Christmas. She took it as a sign that they were over the worst. Molly had decided to be brave about her break with Venice—and if Molly was happy then Nell was happy. She would just have to find a way to live with the ache in her heart.

Nell took particular care with the meal, and was just going to freshen up when she heard muffled giggles and bustling around in the hallway. ‘Molly, who’s there?’ Thinking someone had arrived, she quickly tugged off her apron and blew the hair out of her eyes. Checking the roast wouldn’t burn, she opened the kitchen door to find it wasn’t someone arriving. It was two people leaving.

‘Molly? Marianna? Where are you going? Lunch is almost ready.’

‘Wish we could stay, Mum. Places to go…’

Nell’s heart began to race. ‘Oh, no. You wouldn’t.’ Her face froze. ‘You have!’

Molly was avoiding her gaze, and Marianna had adopted her ‘I haven’t a clue what’s going on’ expression.

‘Marianna, tell me what’s happening. Molly!’ Nell’s voice sharpened as Molly hurriedly opened the front door. ‘I insist you tell me what you’ve done! It isn’t funny—’

‘Please don’t be angry with her.’

They all looked up at the same time to see Luca, tall and tanned and immaculately dressed as ever, sheltering beneath the protective cover of Nell’s storm porch with the rain sheeting down behind him.

Nell recovered first. Drawing on every reserve of strength she had, she said, ‘Luca—what are you doing here?’

‘I felt sure I would receive a warm welcome.’ He slanted an ironic smile at her, and then turned to Molly. ‘I brought you something.’

Molly had been hanging back, unsure of her mother’s reaction to what might turn out to be the biggest mistake of her life. ‘Really?’ she said hesitantly.

Luca exchanged a brief glance with Nell to check he wasn’t barred from bringing presents. At her small nod, he smiled. ‘Doom Merchant Eight.’

‘Wicked!’

‘Leave her,’ he murmured to Nell when Molly seized the package with indecent haste. ‘Give me an hour with your mother, Molly, and then it’s game on.’

‘This time,’ Nell interrupted, barring Molly and Marianna’s path to the door, ‘why don’t we all eat together, and then you can go out with Marianna later, Molly?’

‘I think we should give you some space, Mum.’

Nell wasn’t sure she wanted to think too deeply about all the things she could see in Molly’s eyes. ‘All right, then. One hour.’ She moved away from the door. ‘I’ll keep dinner warm for you.’

‘Why did you walk out like that?’ Luca asked. They were sitting in the kitchen nursing mugs of coffee while his jacket dried out.

‘I thought it was best. For me, for Molly.’

‘You could have said goodbye, Nell.’

‘I didn’t want to…’

‘You didn’t want to what?’ he pressed when she fell silent.

‘I didn’t want to go over the past. I didn’t want to dredge it all up again. I didn’t know what I could say to convince you that I don’t love Jake.’

Luca dipped his head in acknowledgement.

‘You have no idea…’ Her voice broke, and she had to wait a minute until she felt steady enough to speak. ‘You can’t imagine what was happening in my head when I walked into that hospital room…prepared for the worst, yes, but prepared to say goodbye to the man I loved, the man I thought loved me, the man I thought I could trust. My whole world stopped turning on that day. Everything I had believed in was a lie. Every decision I made, every thought I had was influenced by the fact that I wasn’t one person, I was half of a couple. Now suddenly all that was snatched away. I didn’t know who I was any more, and it took a long time to recover a sense of self-worth. It was only when Molly was born that I felt I had something to live for again.’

‘It’s not enough for anyone to be half of a couple,’ Luca observed softly. ‘But there’s no reason why you can’t be half of a couple and an individual as well. You have to retain your own identity. If half of a couple always leans and the other always props, that’s not a real partnership.’ He made a steeple with his fingers. ‘Sometimes we all have to lean, and that’s when you need to know there’s someone there for you.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Nell’s gaze brightened as she stared at him, ‘I didn’t have anyone to lean on. So I built a wall around myself.’

‘And when Molly was born you took her into the stockade.’

‘Until Marianna came along and injected some normality into our lives.’

‘Marianna helped you as much as Molly, I think.’

‘Oh, yes, she did. But…’

‘There were certain things Marianna couldn’t help you with?’ Luca prompted wryly.

‘I couldn’t tell her that I felt—I felt a failure as a woman.’

Taking her hands, Luca drew them away from her face. ‘Will you stop that? You’re not a failure. You’re a wonderful woman. Beautiful, desirable, kind…a wonderful mother, and a caring human being, which is perhaps the most important quality of all. Your husband was weak, and sometimes weak people can do more damage than we know.’

‘I don’t love him,’ she said quietly.

‘I know that. I’m sorry. Sometimes things seem to get so heated between us…so many frustrated hopes, desires, they erupt in a great storm like the lava in a volcano that can’t be contained any longer. I know you’re not that weak.’

She sighed. ‘All I feel is pity for him now, because he lost his life, and regret because he ruined so many other lives.’

‘He was just a coward. And he can’t ruin your life unless you let him.’

‘It’s me that’s the coward. I should never have run away from you.’

‘You’re not a coward. You’re the most courageous woman I know. Look at how much good you’ve done in Venice. And bringing Molly up, making a life for yourself—how can you call yourself a coward?’

‘I couldn’t face you…’

‘But everyone has a secret fear they’d rather not confront. For you that means risking your heart again. And this time you’ve got Molly to consider. Don’t you think I understand that? Don’t you know that’s why I’m here? To make you believe you can trust me?’

As he drew her hands into his and held them tight, Nell began to smile. ‘So you’re not here because you’ve heard about my roast beef and Yorkshire pudding?’

‘English food?’ Luca flashed her an ironic smile, relieved to see her eyes were clear and bright. Cocking his head to one side, he observed wryly, ‘It’s safe to assume it wasn’t the cooking that brought me here.’

‘That was delicious, Nell.’ Luca put down his napkin. ‘You have changed my mind completely about English food in a single meal.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ Nell smiled. They had just finished eating and for once she hadn’t burnt the carrots. ‘But something tells me you didn’t come all this way to talk about my cooking.’

‘No. I wanted to talk to you, about you. About us.’

‘Us?’

‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said with a smile.

‘Everything hinges on trust, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, it does,’ he agreed. ‘But you can’t expect trust to spring fully formed into a relationship. It takes time to build, to take root and twine around the person you care about. It’s what binds you together, makes you feel safe, warm, confident.’

‘You’re an expert now?’ Nell said wryly.

‘No, and I don’t pretend to be. I have trust issues too. I’ve had to learn to trust feelings, to interpret them as accurately as I interpret scientific information. I use gut instinct in my work as an adjunct to everything I learn from scientific testing, but I have a problem trusting that same instinct when it comes to human relationships. I didn’t want to risk it either, Nell.’

‘But you’re learning?’ Her eyes teased him.

‘I hope you think so.’ He was perfectly serious. ‘And to prove it to you, I’d like you to read this.’ Reaching into his breast pocket, Luca brought out a leaflet.

‘What is it?’ Nell held back.

‘Take a look. Tell me what you think. I’m going to have it updated every year.’

Nell started to read out loud, ‘“Guidelines for visitors to Venice. What to expect if you are taken to hospital…Twenty-four-hour emergency numbers…Danger signs for parents to be aware of…”’ Her voice tailed away. ‘Why haven’t you shown me this before?’

He shrugged. ‘Because part of me wouldn’t accept that I had learned so much from you when we first met. A terrible thing, pride.’

Nell started reading again. ‘But this is good.’

‘It was long overdue. You were right. I had a lot to learn in those days, and I hope this proves that I have tried to make changes. Your scheme is good, Nell. I’m going to keep it. Not because of the way I feel about you, but because I believe it is an improvement to the services we already offer—’

‘Just a minute.’ Laying her hand on Luca’s sleeve, Nell stopped him. ‘Can we just rewind for a moment?’ When he frowned in bemusement she added in her business voice, ‘I believe you said something about the way you feel about me?’

‘Oh, that,’ Luca murmured wryly, and his eyes were dancing with laughter.

The telephone interrupted their kiss, which was everything a kiss should be, Nell thought as she floated across the room.

‘The cinema?’ she said into the receiver. Her gaze flicked to Luca. ‘But what about your computer game, Molly? And you haven’t eaten yet…You have? You were starving…yes, I see.’ She cut the connection, shaking her head. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, turning to Luca, ‘but you may have to wait a little longer for your contest.’

‘I’ll get over it,’ Luca assured her, holding out his arms. ‘Come here. How I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve only been gone a couple of days,’ Nell pointed out as he drew her close.

‘Exactly.’

When at last he let her go, he shot a glance through the window. ‘Shall we go out?’

‘Out?’

‘For a walk.’

‘But it’s raining!’

‘An adventure?’ he suggested.

‘Like a carnival in the rain?’

‘Call it your one new and exciting challenge for today.’

‘I prefer rain to eel, that’s for sure.’ She began to laugh.

‘Marianna has a key, doesn’t she?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you have a raincoat?’

‘Hey, I live in England.’

‘Then let’s go out. I need to talk to you.’

They walked for miles. Nell was glad Luca had come prepared in a heavy waterproof jacket and sturdy shoes. The wet-weather look suited him, she mused as they walked along the pavement overlooking the river, arms entwined.

‘Are you wet enough yet?’ she teased when they stopped on top of a bridge from where they could look out over London. Water was dripping off their noses, and Luca’s hair was hanging in his eyes. Even then he looked like the most temptation she’d seen since…since she’d last seen him, Nell thought, wondering how hard it would be to live without him.

Flicking the wet hair out of his eyes, Luca held her gaze. ‘Would you consider exchanging all this for life in a crumbling palazzo?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The rain,’ he prompted. ‘It would be quite a wrench leaving it, I imagine.’

‘Oh, and Venice never floods?’

‘At least we provide platforms so that people don’t have to get their feet wet.’

‘But you’re not frightened to put your toe in the water, are you, Luca?’

He gave her a look of rebuke for the irony. ‘I’m not frightened of anything.’

‘You’re such a man!’

‘That’s certainly true,’ he agreed. ‘Or at least it was the last time I looked. But you haven’t answered my question yet, and I’m not going to let you run away from me this time.’

‘Can you repeat the question?’

Putting his arms around her waist, Luca drew her close so their lips were almost touching. ‘I have to say, this isn’t exactly the way I had this planned in my mind.’

‘So, you’ve been rehearsing what you’re going to say to me. I can’t wait. It must be good.’

‘I hope you think so.’

‘You only hope?’ Nell teased.

‘All right, I’m confident.’ Luca grew serious. ‘I’m saying I love you, Nell. I’m saying I can’t live without you.’ He exhaled with something like exasperation. ‘Can’t you see? The hospital misses you, my mother misses you, Paolo misses you—’

‘Maria and Tomas miss me?’

‘You have no idea.’

‘But do you miss me?’ Nell whispered, searching his eyes.

‘More than you’ll ever know. I need you. I love you so much, Nell. I want all of us to live together in Venice…’

‘In Venice?’

‘So you can help me to bring the old palazzo back to life.’

Nell couldn’t control her smile. ‘And you have another free labourer on hand?’

‘Did you think I’d invite a weakling to share my life?’

She smiled. ‘But—Molly…’

Touching a finger to her lips, Luca reassured her. ‘I know you come as a package, Nell. That’s one of your attractions.’

‘Ah, now I understand. You get a games partner and a labourer.’

‘I know a bargain when I see it.’ Luca’s smile faded but the warmth in his eyes grew. ‘Will you marry me, Nell? I can’t live without you,’ he said simply. ‘I love you more than life itself.’

‘My answer’s yes. And I love you too, Luca. More than you’ll ever know.’

And they sealed their pledge with a very wet kiss.

A Family For Keeps

by

Lucy Gordon

Lucy Gordon was born in england. She wanted to be a writer all her life, and began by working on a British women’s magazine. As a features writer, she gained a wide variety of experience. She interviewed some of the world’s most attractive and interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Charlton Heston, Sir Roger Moore and Sir Alec Guiness.

A few years ago she and her italian husband returned to Venice and lived there for a couple of years. this proved the perfect base for exploring the rest of italy, and she has given many of her books italian settings: Venice (of course), Rome, Florence, Milan, Sicily, Tuscany. She has also used the Rhine in Germany for Song of the Lorelei, for which she won her first RITA® award, in 1991. her second RITA came in 1998, with His Brother’s Child, set in Rome. eventually Lucy and her husband returned to England, where they now live.

Don’t miss Lucy Gordon’s exciting new novel, The Greek Tycoon’s Achilles Heel, available April 2010 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

Prologue

THIS would be a good place to die.

She didn’t utter the words but they were there in her heart. They swam up from the depths of the black water. They lingered around the cold grey stones and whispered away into the darkness.

She hadn’t thought about dying when she’d planned to come here. Only revenge. There had been a long time to think about that.

The passion for revenge had brought her to this corner of Venice. She’d envisaged no further, certain that the next step would reveal itself when the time came.

Instead—nothing.

But what had she thought was going to happen when she got here? That the first face she saw would be the one she was seeking?

Or rather, one of the two faces she was seeking. One face she might not recognise after so many years, but the other she would know anywhere, any time. It haunted her by day and lived in her nightmares.

It was cold. The wind whistled along the canals and down the little alleys, and there was no comfort in all the world.

‘I can’t sleep at night, yet now I could sleep for ever. For ever—and ever—and ever—

‘Yes, this would be a good place…’

Chapter One

AT MIDNIGHT Venice was the quietest city in the world, and in winter it could be the most mournful.

No cars, only the occasional sound of a passing boat, footsteps echoing on the hard stones, or the soft lap of tiny waves. And even this would soon die away into silence.

Here, by the Rialto Bridge, shadow merged with stone and stone with water, so that it was hard to tell if the bundle of clothes in the corner contained a living being or not.

At first sight, Piero thought that it probably did not, so still did it lie. He approached the bundle and gave it a tentative prod. It groaned softly, but didn’t move. He frowned. A woman from the sound of it.

‘Hey!’ He tapped again and she rolled a little way so that he could discern a face. It was pale and drawn, and in this light that was all he could make out.

‘Come with me,’ he said in Italian.

For a moment she stared at him out of blank eyes, and he wondered if she had understood. Then she began to haul herself up, making no protest, asking no questions.

He half guided, half supported her away from the bridge, in to an alley, which turned into another alley and then into another, and another. To the casual eye they looked identical, all cold, narrow, gleaming with rain. But he found his way between them easily.

The woman with him barely noticed. Her heart was like a frozen stone in her body, numbing all feeling except despair.

Once she stumbled and he held her safe, muttering, ‘Not much farther.’

She could see now that they had reached the rear entrance of a building. There was just enough light to reveal that it was palatial. There was a large set of ornate double doors, maybe twelve feet high. But he passed these and led her to a much smaller door.

At first it stuck, but when he put his shoulder to it, with a movement that was half a push, half a shake, it yielded. Inside there was a torch, which he used to find the rest of the way.

Their footsteps sounded hollow on the tiled floors, giving her the sense of a grandiose building. She had a brief impression of a sweeping staircase and a wall with pale spaces where there had once been pictures.

A palace, but a shabby, abandoned palace.

At last he led her into a small room, where there were an armchair and a couple of sofas. Gently he guided her to one.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, speaking for the first time.

He regarded her with surprise.

‘English?’ he asked.

She made the effort. ‘Sì. Sono inglese.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ he said in perfect English. ‘I speak your language. Now you must have some food. My name is Piero, by the way.’

When she hesitated he said, ‘Any name will do—Cynthia, Anastasia, Wilhemina, Julia—’

‘Julia,’ she said. It was as good a name as any.

In one corner stood a tall ceramic stove, white with gilt decoration. In the lower part was a pair of doors, which he opened and began to pile wood inside.

‘The electricity is off,’ he explained, ‘so it’s lucky that the old stove remains. This one has stood here nearly two hundred years, and it still works. The trouble is I’m out of paper to light it.’

‘Here. I got a newspaper on the plane.’

He showed no surprise at someone who had managed to buy a plane ticket and then slept in the street. He simply struck a match and in a few moments they had the beginnings of a fire.

At last they considered each other.

She saw an old man, tall, very thin, with a shock of white hair. He wore an ancient overcoat, tied with string around the waist, and a threadbare woollen scarf wrapped around his throat. He seemed a mixture of scarecrow and clown. His face was almost cadaverous, making his bright blue eyes exceptionally vivid by contrast. Even more noticeable was his smile, brilliant as a beacon, which flashed on and off.

Piero saw a woman whose age he couldn’t guess except to put her in the mid thirties. Perhaps older, perhaps younger.

She was tall, and her figure, dressed in serviceable jeans, sweater and jacket, was a little too slim to be ideal. Her long fair hair hung forward like a curtain, making it hard to see her properly. Perhaps she preferred it that way because she mostly let it hang. Just once she brushed it aside, revealing that suffering had left her with a weary, troubled face, large eyes, and an air of distrusting all the world.

Her face was too lean and almost haggard. There was beauty there, but it came from a fire that burned far back behind her eyes.

‘Thank you for finding me,’ she said at last, speaking in a soft voice.

‘You’d have been dead by morning, lying in that freezing place.’

‘Probably.’ She didn’t sound as though this were of much interest. ‘Where are we?’

‘This is the Palazzo di Montese, home of the Counts di Montese for nine centuries. It’s empty because the present count can’t afford to live here.’

‘So you live here instead?’

‘That’s right. And nobody bothers me because they’re afraid of the ghost,’ he added with relish.

‘What ghost?’

He reached behind the chair to where an old sheet lay on the floor. Draping it over his head, he threw up his arms and began to wail.

‘That ghost,’ he said, tossing the sheet away and speaking normally.

She gave a faint smile. ‘That’s very scary,’ she said.

He cackled like a delighted child. ‘If people didn’t believe in the ghost to start with they wouldn’t take any notice of me. But everyone around here has heard about Annina, so they tell themselves it’s her.’

‘Who was she really?’

‘She lived seven hundred years ago. She was a Venetian girl with a vast fortune but no title, which mattered a lot in those days. She fell madly in love with Count Ruggiero di Montese but he only married her for her money. When she’d borne him a son he locked her away. Eventually her body was found floating in the Grand Canal.

‘Some said she was murdered, others that she had escaped in a small boat, which capsized. Now she’s supposed to haunt this place. They say you can hear her voice calling up from the dungeons, begging to be released, crying to be allowed to see her child.’

He stopped because a faint sound had broken from her.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘I haven’t scared you, have I? Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?’

‘Not that kind of ghost,’ Julia said softly.

He started the supper. By now the fire was burning merrily, so he fixed a grid over the burning wood, and used this to heat coffee.

‘There’s some sausages too,’ he said. ‘I cook them over the flames on forks. And I have rolls here. I have a friend with a restaurant, and he gives me yesterday’s bread.’

When they were both settled and eating, she said, ‘Why did you take me in? You know nothing about me.’

‘I know that you needed help. What else is there to know?’

She understood. He had welcomed her into the fellowship of the dispossessed where nothing had to be told. The past did not exist.

So now she was officially a down-and-out. It was not such a bad thing to be. After the way she’d spent the last few years it might even be a step up.

‘Here,’ she said, reaching into a bag and bringing out a very small plastic bottle, containing red wine. ‘The man next to me on the plane left it behind, so I took it.’

‘Would it be indelicate to ask if you obtained the plane ticket in the same way?’

She gave a real smile then.

‘Believe it or not, I didn’t steal it,’ she said. ‘If you go to the right airline you can get a ticket from England to Venice for almost nothing. But when you get off the plane—’ She shrugged.

‘You can find winter prices in the hotels now,’ Piero pointed out.

‘Even so, I’m not spending a penny that I don’t have to,’ she said in a voice that was suddenly hard and stubborn. ‘But I’ll pay my way here,’ she added.

‘Cheaper than a hotel,’ he agreed, waving a sausage.

‘And the surroundings are grand. You can tell it’s the real thing.’

‘Know a bit about palaces, do you?’

‘I’ve worked in a few,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’m surprised someone hasn’t bought this to turn it into a luxury hotel.’

‘They keep trying,’ Piero said. ‘But the owner won’t sell. He could be a rich man, but it’s been in his family for centuries, and he won’t let it go.’

She rose and walked over to the tall window from which came some illumination, even though it was night. She understood why when she looked out and saw that the room overlooked the Grand Canal.

Even in late November, past midnight, this thoroughfare was busy with life. Vaporetti, the passenger boats, still plied their trade along the length of the canal, and lights shone on both banks.

In the room where she stood, beams of dim light coming through the stained glass windows made patterns on the tiled floor. These and the glow from the stove were the only defence against the darkness.

She didn’t mind. The gloom of this place pleased her, where bright light would have been a torment.

‘Do you live here all the time?’ she asked Piero, sitting down and accepting another coffee from his hands.

‘Yes, it’s a good place. The amenities have been turned off, of course. No heat or lighting. But the pump outside still works, so we have fresh water. Let me show you.’

He led her down to the small stone outhouse where there was the pump and an earth closet.

‘We even have a bathroom,’ he declared with pride.

‘Positively the lap of luxury,’ she agreed solemnly.

When they went back inside she was suddenly swept by a weariness that almost knocked her off her feet. Piero looked at her with shrewd, kindly eyes.

‘You’re almost out of it, aren’t you? You sleep on that sofa, and I’ll have this one.’

He struck a theatrical attitude.

‘Fair lady, do not fear to share a room with me. Be assured that I shall not molest you in your sleep. Or even out of it. That fire died years ago, and even in its better days it was never more than a modest flame.’

Julia could not help smiling at his droll manner.

‘I wasn’t afraid,’ she assured him.

‘No, I suppose certain things about me are fairly obvious,’ said the gaunt scarecrow before her.

‘I didn’t mean that. I meant you’ve been kind and I know I can trust you.’

He gave a sigh.

‘How I wish you were wrong!’ he said mournfully. ‘There are cushions over there, and here are some blankets. Sleep tight.’

She thanked him, curled up on the sofa in a blanket and was asleep in seconds. Piero was about to settle down for the night when a footstep outside alerted him, and a moment later a man entered, making him smile with pleasure.

‘Vincenzo,’ he said softly. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

The newcomer, who was in his late thirties with a lean, harsh face, asked, ‘Why are we whispering?’

Piero pointed to the sofa, and Vincenzo nodded in understanding.

‘Who is she?’ he asked.

‘She answers to Julia, and she’s English. She’s one of us.’

Vincenzo nodded, accepting the implication of ‘us’, and began to unpack two brown paper bags that he’d brought with him.

‘A few leftovers from the restaurant,’ he explained, bringing out some rolls, a carton of milk, and some slices of meat.

‘Doesn’t your boss mind you taking these?’ Piero asked, claiming them with glee.

‘Perks of the job. Besides, I can handle the boss.’

‘That’s very brave of you,’ Piero said with a knowing wink. ‘They say he’s a terrible man.’

‘So I’ve heard. Has anyone bothered you here?’

‘Nobody ever does, although the owner is an even more terrible man. But if he tried to throw us out I expect you’d handle him too.’

Vincenzo grinned. ‘I’d do my best.’

This was a game they played. Vincenzo was actually il Conte di Montese, the owner of the palazzo where they were standing, and also of the restaurant where he worked. Piero knew this. Vincenzo knew that he knew it, and Piero knew that Vincenzo knew he knew. But it suited them both for it to remain unspoken between them.

On the sofa Julia stirred and muttered. Vincenzo moved a little closer and sat down, watching her.

‘How did you find her?’ he asked quietly.

‘Curled up in a corner of an alley, which is odd because she says she flew here.’

‘She took so much trouble to come to Venice, only to collapse in the street?’ Vincenzo mused. ‘What the devil is driving her?’

‘Perhaps she’ll tell me the reason later,’ Piero said. ‘But not if I ask.’

Vincenzo nodded, understanding the code by which Piero and those like him lived. He was used to dropping into his empty home to find various squatters sheltering there.

He knew that a sensible man would have driven them out, but, despite his grim aspect, he lacked the heart. He looked in occasionally to keep an eye on the place, but he’d found that Piero was better than any caretaker, and the building was safe with him. Now his visits were as much to check on the old man’s welfare as for any other reason.

Julia stirred again, settling into a position where more of her face was visible.

Moving quietly, Vincenzo dropped to his knees beside her and studied her. He supposed he shouldn’t be doing that while she was unknowing and defenceless, but something about her drew him so that he could not turn away.

Her face spoke of mysteries and denied them in the same moment. She wasn’t a girl, he thought, probably somewhere in her thirties, marked by grief and with a withdrawn look so intense that it was there even in sleep.

Her mouth was wide, generous, designed to be mobile and expressive. He had known women with lips like that. They laughed easily, talked well, and kissed urgently with warm, sweet breath.

But this woman looked as if she seldom smiled, except as a polite mask. And she had forgotten how to kiss. She had forgotten love and pleasure and happiness. This was a face from which tenderness had been driven by sheer force. Its owner was capable of anything.

But it hadn’t always been true. She had started life differently. Traces of vulnerability were still there, although perhaps not for long. Something had brought her to the point where life would harden her quickly.

Then a strange feeling came over him, as though the very air had moved, and the ground beneath him had trembled. He blinked, shaking his head, and the feeling vanished. Quickly he moved away.

‘What’s the matter?’ Piero asked, handing him a cup of coffee.

‘Nothing. It’s just that for a moment I felt I’d seen her before. But where—?’ He sighed. ‘I must be imagining it.’

He drank his coffee and turned to go. At the door he stopped and handed Piero some money.

‘Look after her,’ he said quietly.

When Vincenzo had gone Piero wrapped himself in a blanket and lay down on the other sofa. After a while he slept.

Doors clanged again and again. It was a dreadful, hollow sound, and it soon became agonising.

She flung herself against one of those iron doors, pounding and shrieking that she should not be here. But there was no response, no help. Only stony, cold indifference.

There were bars at the windows. She pulled herself up to them, looking through at the world from which she was shut out.

She could see a wedding. It did not seem strange to find such a scene in this dreary place, for she knew instinctively that they were connected.

There was the groom, young and handsome, smiling on his day of triumph. Was there something about his smile that wasn’t quite right, as though he was far from being the man his bride thought?

She knew nothing of that. The poor little fool thought he loved her. She was young, innocent, and stupid.

Here she came, glowing with love triumphant. Julia gripped the bars in horror as that naïve girl threw back her veil, revealing the face beneath—

Her own face.

‘Don’t,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Don’t do it. Don’t marry him, for pity’s sake don’t marry him.’

The last words were a scream, and suddenly she was sitting up, tortured into wakefulness, tears streaming down her face, and Piero kneeling beside her, his arms about her, trying vainly to offer comfort for a wrong that could never be put right.

For breakfast next morning Piero laid on a feast.

‘Where did these come from?’ Julia asked, looking at the rolls stuffed with meat.

‘From my friend from the restaurant who dropped in last night, the one I told you about.’

‘He sounds like a really good friend. Is he one of us?’

‘In what sense?’

‘You know—stranded.’

‘Well, he’s got a roof over his head, but you might call him stranded in other ways. He’s lost everyone he ever loved.’

Over breakfast she produced some money. ‘It’s only a little but it might help. You’ll know where the bargains are.’

‘Splendid. We’ll go out together.’

She wrapped up thickly and followed him out into the day. He led her through a labyrinth of tiny calles, until her head was swimming. How could anyone find their way around this place?

Suddenly they were in the open, and the Rialto Bridge reared up over them, straight ahead. She’d been here the night before and gone to frozen sleep at one end, where the shore railings curved towards the water.

She’d come to this place searching for someone…

Now she looked around, but all the faces seemed to converge, making her giddy. And perhaps he had never been here after all.

Venice was bustling with life. Barges made their way through the canals, stopping to seize the bags of rubbish that had been dumped by the water’s edge. More barges, filled with supplies, arrived at the open air market at the base of the Rialto.

Piero stocked up with fiendish efficiency, buying more produce with less money than she would have thought possible.

‘That’s a good morning’s work,’ he said. ‘Now we—you’re shivering. I guess you took a chill from those stones last night. Let’s get you into the warm.’

She tried to smile but she was feeling worse by the minute, and was glad to turn back.

When they reached home Piero tended her like a mother, building up the stove and making her some hot coffee.

‘You’ve got a nasty cold there,’ he said when she started to cough.

‘Yes,’ she snuffled miserably.

‘I’ve got to go out for a while. Stay close to the stove while I’m gone.’

He left quickly, and she was alone in the rapidly darkening building. There was something blessed in the silence.

She went to the window overlooking the Grand Canal. Just outside was a tiny garden, bordered by tall wrought iron railings, right next to the water.

By craning her neck she could make out the Rialto Bridge, and the bank lined with outdoor tables on the far side of the canal. The cafés were filled with people, determined not to be put off by the time of year.

She wandered back to the stove and sat on the floor, beside it, dozing on and off.

Then something made her eyes open sharply. The last of the light had gone, and she could hear footsteps in the corridor. It didn’t sound like Piero, but somebody younger.

The sound drew close and halted. Then the door handle turned. It was enough to make her leap up and hurry into the shadows where the intruder could not see her. Inwardly she was screaming, Go away! Leave me alone!

She stood still, her heart thumping wildly, as the door opened and a man came in. He set the bag he was carrying on the floor, and looked around as though expecting to see somebody.

She told herself not to be foolish. This was probably Piero’s friend. But still she couldn’t make herself move. Nobody was a friend to her.

The man came into a shaft of light from a large window. It was soft, almost gloomy light, but she could make out that he was tall, with a rangy build and a lean face that suggested a man in his thirties.

Suddenly he grew alert, as though realising that he was not alone. ‘Who is it?’ he called, looking around.

She tried to force herself to speak, but a frozen hand seemed to be grasping her throat.

‘I know you’re somewhere,’ he said. ‘There’s no need to hide from me.’

Then he moved quickly, pulling back one of the long curtains that hung beside the window, revealing her, pressed against the wall, eyes wide with dread and hostility.

‘Dio Mio!’ he exclaimed. ‘A ghost.’

He put out his hand and would have laid it on her shoulder, but she flinched away.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she said hoarsely in English.

His hand fell at once.

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, also in English. ‘Don’t be afraid of me. Why are you hiding?’

‘I’m—not—hiding,’ she said with an effort, knowing she sounded crazy. ‘I just—didn’t know who you were.’

‘My name is Vincenzo, a friend of Piero’s. I was here last night but you were asleep.’

‘He told me about you,’ she said jerkily, ‘but I wasn’t sure—’

‘I’m sorry if I startled you.’

He was talking gently, soothing her as he would have done a wild animal, and gradually she felt her irrational fear subside.

‘I heard you coming,’ she said, ‘and—’ A fit of coughing drowned the rest.

‘Come into the warm,’ Vincenzo said, beckoning her to the stove.

When she still hesitated he took hold of her hands. His own hands were warm and powerful, and they drew her forward irresistibly.

He eased her down onto the sofa, but instead of releasing her he slid his hands up her arms and grasped her, not roughly but with a strength that felt like protection.

‘Piero says your name is Julia.’

She hesitated for a split second. ‘Yes, that’s right. Julia.’

‘Why are you trembling?’ he asked. ‘It can’t be that bad.’

Something in those words broke her control and she shuddered violently.

‘It is that bad,’ she said, in a hoarse voice. ‘Everything is that bad. It always will be. It’s like a maze. I keep thinking that there must be a way out, but there isn’t. Not after all this time. It’s too late, I know it’s too late, and if I had any sense I’d go away and forget, but I can’t forget.’

‘Julia.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘Julia.’

She didn’t hear him. She was beyond anything he could say or do to reach her. Words poured out of her unstoppably, while tears slid down her face.

‘You can’t get rid of ghosts,’ she wept, ‘just by telling them to go, because they’re everywhere, before you and behind you and most of all inside you.’

‘Yes, I know,’ he murmured grimly, but she rushed on, unheeding.

‘I have to do it. I can’t stop and I won’t, and I can’t help who gets hurt, don’t you see that?’

‘I’m afraid the person who gets hurt will be you,’ he said.

For answer she grasped him back, digging her fingers into him painfully.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Nobody can hurt me any more. When you’ve reached your limit, you’re safe, so I don’t have to worry, and there’s nothing to stop me doing what I have to.’

Abruptly she released him and buried her face in her hands as the feverish energy that had briefly sustained her drained away, leaving her weak and shaking.

For a moment Vincenzo was nonplussed. Then he put his arms right around her and held her in a tight clasp. He didn’t try to speak, knowing that there was nothing to say, but his grip was rough and fierce, silently telling her she was not alone.

After a long time he felt her relax, although even that had a strained quality, as though she had forced it to happen.

‘I’m all right,’ she said in a muffled voice.

He relaxed his grip and drew back slightly. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m all right,’ she insisted fiercely. ‘I’m all right, I’m all right.’

‘I just want to help you.’

‘I don’t need anyone’s help!’

Instantly he got to his feet and stepped back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just—’

‘You don’t have to explain. I know how it is.’

She looked up at him, and in the dim light he had an impression of a pale face, surrounded by long fair hair, like one of the other-worldly creatures that populated the pictures that had once filled this palace. He had grown up with the ghostly faces, accepting them as a normal part of his world. It startled him to meet one in reality.

‘It’s like that for you too?’ she asked.

After a moment’s pause he said, ‘For everyone in one way or another. Some less—some more.’

He said the last words hoping she would tell him about herself, but he could see her defences being hastily reassembled. The moment was already slipping away, and when he heard the sound of Piero approaching he knew it had gone.

Chapter Two

PIERO pushed open the door, his face brightening when he saw the visitor.

‘Ciao,’ Vincenzo said, clapping him on the shoulder.

‘Ciao,’ Piero said, looking around. ‘Ah, you two have met.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I gave the signorina a fright.’

‘Why so formal? This isn’t a signorina. It’s Julia.’

‘Or are you perhaps a signora?’ Vincenzo queried. ‘You understand, a signora is—?’

‘Yes, thank you, I speak Italian,’ she said edgily. ‘A signora is a married woman. I’m a signorina.’

She wasn’t sure why she insisted on parading her knowledge of Italian at that moment, unless it was pride. Vincenzo’s understanding had made her defensive.

‘So you speak my language,’ Vincenzo said. ‘I congratulate you. So often the English won’t trouble to learn other languages. Do you speak it well?’

‘I’m not sure. I haven’t used it for a while. I’m out of practice. I can brush up on it here.’

‘Not as easily as you think. In Venice we speak Venetian.’

After that he dived into the bags he’d brought, seeming to forget her, which was a relief. She took the chance to wander away to the window and stand with her back to them, watching the canal, but not seeing it.

Instead she saw Vincenzo in her mind’s eye, trying to understand the darkness she sensed, in his looks and in the man himself. Everything about him was dark, from his black hair to his deep brown eyes. Even his wide mouth, with its tendency to quirk wryly, suggested that he was not really amused. Or, if so, that the humour was bleak and fit only for the gallows.

A man whose inner world was as grim and haunted as her own.

But still she tried to thrust him from her mind. He was dangerous because he saw too much, tricking her into blurting out thoughts that had been rioting in her head, but which she’d kept rigidly repressed.

I have to do it—I can’t help who gets hurt.

Say nothing. Never let them suspect what you’re planning. Smile, hate, and protect your secrets.

That was how she had lived.

And in one moment he had triggered an avalanche, luring her into a dangerous admission.

Nobody can hurt me any more—so there’s nothing to stop me doing what I have to.

She looked around, and saw to her relief that Vincenzo had gone. She hadn’t heard him leave.

Piero was beaming at her, waving a bread roll in invitation.

‘We feast like kings,’ he announced grandiloquently. ‘Sit down and let me serve you the Choice of the Day. Trust me, I was once the head chef at the Paris Ritz.’

She wasn’t sure what to believe. Unlikely as it sounded, it might just be true.

Her cold grew worse over the next few days. Piero’s care never failed her. From some store room he managed to produce a bed. It was old, shabby and needed propping up in one corner, but it was more comfortable than her sofa, and she fell onto it blissfully.

But he refused to let her thank him.

‘It comes easily to me,’ he assured her. ‘I used to be a top physician at Milan’s largest hospital.’

‘As well as being a great chef?’ she teased him.

He gave her a reproachful look. ‘That was the other night.’

‘I’m sorry. I should have thought.’

She knew that Vincenzo sometimes came to visit, but she always lay still, feigning sleep. She did not want to talk to him. He threatened secrets that she must keep.

But he too had painful secrets. He’d hinted as much.

Every second afternoon Piero would go out, returning three hours later. He never told her where he went, and she guessed that these occasions were connected with the events that had brought him to this limbo.

One afternoon he entered wearing his usual cheerful look, which became even brighter when he saw her.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ she ventured.

‘Not today. She wasn’t there, but she will be one day.’

‘She?’

‘Elena, my daughter. Ah, coffee! Splendid!’

She respected his desire to change the subject, but later, when the darkness had fallen, she asked gently,

‘Where is Elena now?’

He was silent for so long she was afraid he was offended, but then he said, ‘It’s hard to explain. We sort of—mislaid each other. But she’s worked abroad a great deal, and I’ve always been there to meet her when she returned. Always the same place, at San Zaccaria—that’s the landing stage where the boats come in near St Mark’s. If I’m not there she’ll want to know why, so I mustn’t let her down. I just have to be patient, you see.’

‘Yes,’ she said sadly. ‘I see.’

She wrapped the blanket around her and settled down, hoping that soon her mind would start working properly again, and she would know what to do next.

Then she wondered if that would ever happen, for when she closed her eyes the old pictures began to play back, and there was only grief, misery, despair, followed by rage and bitterness, so that soon she was hammering on the door again, screaming for a release that would never come.

Sometimes she would surface from her fever to find Vincenzo there, then go back to sleep, curiously contented. This was becoming her new reality, and when she awoke once to find Vincenzo gone she knew an odd sense of disturbance. But then she saw Piero, and relaxed again.

He came over and felt her forehead, pursing his lips to show that he wasn’t pleased with what he found.

‘I got you something,’ he said, dissolving a powder in hot water. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’

‘Thanks, Piero,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Or do I mean Harlequin?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Harlequin, Columbine, Pierrot, Pierrette,’ she said vaguely. ‘They’re all characters from the Commedia dell’ Arte. Pierrot’s a clown, isn’t he?’

His eyes were very bright. ‘It’s as good a name as any. Like Julia.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

The cold remedy drink made her feel better and she got to her feet, rubbing her eyes. Her throat and her forehead were still hot, but she was determined to get up, if only for a while.

It was mid-afternoon and since the light was good she went out of the little room into the great reception hall and began to look about her.

The pictures might be gone but the frescoes painted directly onto the walls were still here. She studied them, until she came to one that stopped her in her tracks as though it had spoken to her.

It was at the top of the stairs, and showed a woman with long fair hair flying wildly around her face like a mad halo. Her eyes were large and distraught as though with some ghastly vision. She had been to hell, and now she would never really escape.

‘That’s Annina,’ said Piero, who had followed her.

‘It’s Annina if we want to be fanciful,’ said Vincenzo’s voice.

He had come in silently and watched them for a moment before speaking.

‘What do you mean, ‘‘fanciful’’?’ she asked.

He came up the stairs, closer to her. She watched him with hostile eyes, angry with herself for being glad to see him.

‘We don’t know if that’s what she really looked like,’ he explained. ‘This was done a couple of centuries later, by an artist who played up the drama for all it was worth.

‘See, there are prison bars in one corner, and there’s a child over here. And this man, with the demonic face, is Annina’s husband. Count Francesco, his direct descendant, didn’t like having the family scandal revived. He even wanted the artist to paint over it.’

Scandalised, Julia spoke without thinking. ‘Paint over a Correggio?’

She could have cut her tongue out the next moment. Vincenzo’s raised eyebrows showed that he fully appreciated what she’d revealed.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘It is Correggio. And of course he refused to cover it. Then people began to admire it, and Francesco, who was as big a philistine as Correggio said he was, realised that it must be good after all. So it’s stayed here, and people take their view of the story from this very melodramatic picture. Naturally, the ghost looks just like her. Ask Piero.’

His smile showed that he knew exactly the trick the old man was playing to scare off intruders.

‘I’m sure I don’t know what she looks like,’ Piero said loftily. ‘I’ve never seen her.’

‘But she’s been heard often,’ Vincenzo observed. He clapped Piero on the shoulder. ‘I’ve left a few things for you. I may see you later.’ He pointed a commanding finger at Julia. ‘You—into the warm, right now.’

She returned to the little room with relief. Her brief expedition had lowered her strength, and when she had eaten something she curled up again and was soon asleep.

It was after midnight when Vincenzo reappeared. When he was settled he became sunk in thought. ‘How many people,’ he asked at last, ‘could identify a Correggio at once?’

‘Not many,’ Piero conceded.

‘That’s what I thought.’ He glanced at the sleeping Julia. ‘Has she told you anything about herself?’

‘No, but why should she? Our kind respect each other’s privacy. You know that.’

‘Yes, but there’s something about her that worries me. It could be risky to leave her too much alone.’

‘But suppose she wants to be left alone?’

‘I think she does,’ Vincenzo mused, remembering the desperation with which she had cried, ‘I don’t need anyone’s help.’

Nobody said it like that unless their need for help was terrible.

All his life he’d had an instinctive affinity with needy creatures. When his father had bought him a puppy he’d chosen the runt of the litter, the one who had held back timidly. His father had been displeased, but the boy, stubborn beneath his quiet manner, had said, ‘This one,’ and refused to budge.

After that there had been his sister, his twin, discounted by their parents as a mere girl, and therefore loved by him the more. They had been close all their lives until she had cruelly repaid his devotion by dying, and leaving him bereft.

He had loved a woman, refusing to see her grasping nature, until she’d callously abandoned him.

Now he would have said that his days of opening his heart to people were over. No man could afford to be like that, and he’d developed armour in self-defence.

He made an exception for Piero, whom he’d known in better days. There was something about the old man’s gentle madness, his humour in the face of misfortune, that called to him despite his resolutions.

As for the awkward, half-hostile woman he’d found sleeping here, he couldn’t imagine why he’d allowed her to stay. Perhaps because she wanted nothing from him, and seemed consumed by a bitterness that matched his own.

Suddenly a long sigh came from the bed. As they watched she threw back the blanket and eased her legs over the side.

Vincenzo tensed, about to speak to her, but then something in her demeanour alerted him and he stopped. She stood for a moment, staring into the distance with eyes that were vague. Slowly Vincenzo got to his feet and went to stand before her.

‘Julia,’ he said softly.

She made no response and he realised that she was still asleep. When he spoke her name she did not see or hear him. After a moment she turned away and began to walk slowly to the door.

She seemed to know her way as well in the darkness and in the light. Without stumbling she opened the door, and went out into the main hall.

At the foot of the stairs she stopped, remaining still for a long time. Moonlight, streaming through the windows, showed her shrouded in a soft blue glow, like a phantom. She raised her head so that her long hair fell back and they could both see that her eyes were fixed on the picture of Annina, at the top of the stairs.

‘Can she see it?’ Piero muttered.

‘It’s the only thing she can see,’ Vincenzo told him. ‘Nothing else exists for her.’

She began to move again, slowly setting one foot in front of the other, climbing the broad stairs.

‘Stop her,’ Piero said urgently.

Vincenzo shook his head. ‘This is her decision. We can’t interfere.’

Moving quietly, he began to follow her up the stairs until she came to a halt in front of the fresco showing the distraught Annina. It too lay in the path of the moonlight that entered through windows high up in the hall.

‘Julia,’ Vincenzo said again, speaking very quietly.

Silence. She was not aware of him.

‘Dammit, that’s not her real name,’ Vincenzo said frantically. ‘How can I reach her with it?’

‘There’s another name you might try,’ Piero murmured.

Vincenzo shot him an uneasy glance. ‘Don’t talk like that, Piero. Enough of superstition.’

‘Is it superstition?’

‘You know as well as I do that the dead don’t come back.’

‘Then who is she?’

Vincenzo didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

A soft moan broke from her. She was reaching up to touch the picture, beginning to talk in soft, anguished tones.

‘I loved him, and he shut me away—for years—until I died—I died—’

‘Julia,’ Vincenzo said, knowing it would be useless.

Instead of answering she began to thump the wall.

‘I died—’ she screamed. ‘Just as he meant me to. My baby—my baby—’

Abruptly all the strength went out of her and she leaned against the wall. Vincenzo grasped her gently and drew her away.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m here. Don’t give in. Stay strong whatever you do.’

She looked up at him out of despairing eyes, and he knew that she couldn’t see him. For her, he didn’t exist.

‘Let’s go,’ he said.

She shook her head and tried to pull away. ‘I must find him,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Don’t you understand?’

‘Of course, but not tonight. Get some rest, and later I’ll help you find him.’

‘You can’t help me. Nobody can.’

‘But I will,’ he insisted. ‘There has to be a way if there’s a friend to help you. And you have a friend now.’

Whether she understood the words or whether it was his tone that reached her, she stopped struggling and stood passive.

It was the first time he’d seen her face turned towards him without suspicion or defensiveness. But he could still feel her trembling, and it made him do something on impulse.

Putting his hands on either side of her face, he kissed her softly again and again, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth.

‘It’s all right,’ he said again. ‘I’m here.’

She did not reply, but her eyes closed. He wrapped his arms right around her, leading her carefully down the stairs. She held onto him, eyes still closed, but moving with confidence while he was there.

Step by step they made their way to the bottom of the stairs, then back into the little room, where Vincenzo guided her to the bed so that she could lie down again.

She murmured something that he could not catch, then seemed to relax all at once. Vincenzo pulled the blanket up and tucked it tenderly around her.

‘Not a word of this, my friend,’ he said, joining Piero. ‘Not to anyone else and especially not to her.’

Piero nodded. ‘We wait until she mentions it.’

‘If she ever does.’

‘You think she won’t remember what happened tonight?’

‘I don’t think she even knows what happened tonight. She wasn’t here.’

‘Then where was she?’

‘In some far place where nobody else is invited. It’s dark and fearful, and it’s from there that she draws her strength.’

‘Her head must be very muddled if she thinks she’s Annina.’ Piero sighed. ‘It was like meeting a ghost in the flesh.’

Vincenzo raised an eyebrow. ‘Rid yourself of that idea, my friend. She is no ghost.’

‘But you heard what she said. She was buried—she died—the child—she was speaking as Annina.’

‘No,’ Vincenzo said sombrely. ‘What’s really horrifying is that she was speaking as herself.’

At last Julia awoke to find everything clear. Her body was cool again and the inside of her head was orderly.

‘Have you come back to us?’

Looking around, she saw Vincenzo sitting nearby, and wondered how long he’d been there.

‘Yes, I think I have,’ she said. ‘More or less. I may even be in one piece.’

She swung her legs gingerly to the floor and began to ease herself up. He crossed the floor quickly and held out a hand.

‘Steady,’ he said as she clung to him. ‘You haven’t been eating enough to keep a mouse alive. No wonder you’re weak.’

‘I’m not weak. You can let me go.’

He did so and she promptly sat down again.

‘OK, I’m weak.’

‘Give yourself time. Don’t rush it.’

He spoke in his normal way, but she had an odd sensation that something was different. He was looking at her curiously, with a question in his eyes.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘How do you mean?’

‘You’re giving me a strange look.’

For once she seemed to have caught him off guard. ‘I was just—wondering if you’re really better. You certainly seem—’ He seemed to be searching for the right words. ‘You seem more like your normal self.’

‘That’s how I feel,’ she said, wondering what he was implying.

‘Good,’ he said, sounding deflated. ‘Stay there while I make you some soup.’

The hot soup was straight from heaven. When she’d eaten she went down to the pump for a wash.

She returned to find Vincenzo still there. He was sitting by the window, sunk in his own thoughts, and didn’t at first hear her. When she hailed him he seemed to come out of a dream.

‘OK?’

‘Yes. Who’d have thought washing in freezing water could feel so good? How long was I out of it?’

‘Just over a week.’

‘I slept for a week?’

‘Not all the time. You kept recovering slightly, then you’d insist on getting up and walking around before you were ready. So you got worse again.’

‘But to sleep for a week!’

‘Or a hundred years,’ he said ironically.

‘Yes, now I know how the sleeping princess felt. I’ve even lost track of the date. Mind you, I often—’

She checked, as if about to reveal something, but then thinking better of it. Vincenzo’s curiosity was heightened.

‘You often forget the date?’ he asked. ‘How come?’

‘Nothing. I didn’t mean that.’

She met his gaze, defying him to disbelieve her openly, although she knew he wasn’t convinced. He backed down first.

‘Well, anyway, it’s December second,’ he said.

‘That’s weird, to fall asleep in one month and awake in another. And no newspapers or television. It’s strange how nice life can be without them.’

‘To shut the world out!’ he mused. ‘Yes, that would be nice. What is it?’

He asked because she had suddenly stopped in the middle of the floor, and her eyes became vague, as though she were listening to distant voices.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s just that—I had such dreams—such dreams—’

‘Can you recall any of them?’ Nobody could have told from Vincenzo’s voice that the answer mattered to him.

‘I think so—there was—there was—’

She closed her eyes, fighting desperately to summon back a memory that lay just beyond reach. It was disturbing, and yet in its heart lay a feeling of peace, the very one she was seeking.

‘Try,’ Vincenzo said, unable to keep a hint of urgency out of his voice.

But it was a fatal thing to say. The minute she reached out for the dream it vanished.

‘It’s gone,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I hope it comes back. I think it was lovely.’

He shrugged. ‘If you can’t remember it, how do you know it was lovely?’

‘You know how it is with dreams. They leave you with a kind of feeling, even when you forget the details.’

‘And what feeling did this one leave behind?’

‘It was peaceful and—happy—’ She said the last word in a tone of astonishment. ‘Oh, heck, it was probably nothing at all.’

‘Nothing at all,’ Vincenzo agreed.

She looked around. ‘Where’s Piero?’

‘He’s gone to the landing stage.’

‘Looking for Elena? Perhaps she’ll come today.’

Vincenzo shook his head. ‘She’ll never come. She died several years ago.’

Julia sighed. ‘I wondered about that. I can’t make him out. How does he come to be living like this?’

‘At one time he was a university professor. Elena, his daughter, was everything to him, especially after his wife died. Then she died too and everything finished for him.’

‘He lost a child?’ she murmured.

She felt something tearing at her at the thought of Piero and his lost child. There was no pain like it. How could anyone recover?

‘She was drowned while out sailing. They found her body three days later. I was on the quay when they brought her home, and I saw Piero, staring out to sea as the boat came in. But when it landed he didn’t seem to see it, just walked away. He didn’t even go to her funeral because he refused to believe she was dead.

‘He’s never accepted it. I’ve tried to make him understand. I’ve even taken him to the cemetery at San Michele, to show him her grave, but he won’t look at it.’

‘Of course not. You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Isn’t it better for him to face reality?’

‘Why?’ she asked quickly. ‘What’s so marvellous about reality?’

‘Nothing, I suppose.’

‘Let him cling to his hope. Without it he’d go crazy.’

‘But he’s already a little crazy.’

‘Then let him be crazy, if that’s the only way to stop his heart breaking,’ Julia said, almost pleading with him. ‘How can you understand?’

‘Perhaps I can,’ he said wryly. ‘Anyway, I know what you mean. Tell me—are you crazy?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, almost cheerfully. ‘I’m as mad as a hatter.’

‘Because of the ghosts inside you? That’s what you said.’

‘If I did, I was feverish. I don’t remember.’

‘I think you do. I think you remember what you want to remember.’

Her relaxed mood vanished and his probing made her nerves taut again.

‘I don’t know who you are,’ she said in a low, angry voice, ‘but I can’t see why you come here.’

‘Must there be a reason?’

‘Well, you don’t need a place to sleep, do you? And why else would you be here except to patronise us? No, I’m sorry—’ She threw up her hand. ‘I didn’t mean to say that. But just don’t start getting clever with me.’

‘Not even to stop you hurting someone?’

‘I’m not going to hurt anyone.’

‘Except yourself.’

‘That’s my problem.’

‘Mio Dio, it’s like trying to argue with a hornet. I only said you picked your memories to suit yourself.’

She gave an edgy laugh.

‘If I could do that I’d forget a lot of things. It’s the ones I can’t help remembering that are the problem. Piero’s the wise one. He’s found a way to choose what to remember.’

‘Yes, I guess he has,’ Vincenzo said wryly. ‘And I think I hear him coming, so can we delay our hostilities for another time?’

She walked over to the window, annoyed with herself. For a brief moment she had been at ease with him, regaining human feelings that she had thought lost for ever. Then he had stepped over an invisible line, actually daring to understand her. And he had become an enemy again.

The door opened and Piero appeared.

‘Not today?’ Julia asked sympathetically.

‘Not today,’ he said brightly. ‘Never mind. Maybe next time.’

Abruptly Vincenzo remembered that he had to be somewhere else, clapped Piero on the shoulder, and departed.

Chapter Three

THE next afternoon, while Piero was out, Julia spent the time looking around the great building. The sight was both melancholy and magnificent.

The grandeur was still there. The Counts di Montese had lived like kings, secure in their wealth and authority. Now it was all gone. The rooms were silent and draughts whispered down the corridors.

The walls of the grand staircase were lined with frescoes, leading to a large one at the top, that she now knew was Annina. Watching it gave her a vague sensation of disturbance that grew with every moment. She wanted to run away, but she forced herself to keep climbing until she was facing the painted woman with her wild hair and her tormented eyes. Her heart raced faster and faster; she was suffocating—

And then it stopped. As suddenly as it had started the suffocating misery and terror ceased, leaving her with a feeling of calm release, almost as though someone had laid a comforting hand on her, and said, ‘I’m here. I’ll make it all right.’

The sensation was so clear that she looked around to see who had spoken. It was almost a surprise to find herself alone, the awareness of another presence was so intense.

She moved away from the picture. The disturbing currents that had flowed from it a moment ago had vanished. Now it was just a picture again.

Walking on through the building, she explored the rooms that were almost bare of furniture. She grew more fascinated as she went from room to room. She knew and understood places like this.

She took her time, studying the frescoes on the ceilings, some of which were very fine. Unlike the pictures, they were fixed, impossible to sell without tearing down the building. They gave her an idea of how magnificent this place must have been at its height.

At last she went into the great bedroom where the Count di Montese must have lived and held court. It was empty except for the huge bed and a few chairs, but the sense of grandeur lingered. She looked up at the ceiling frescoes. Then she tensed.

Was it her imagination, or was there a patch where the colours were darker? The afternoon light was fading fast, and she could not be sure.

Hurriedly she found a chair, pulled it out and reached up. By standing on tiptoe she could just touch the patch and feel that it was damp.

And that meant it was recent, she thought. Somehow water was coming through that ceiling right now.

But where did it come from? She ran to the window and pushed it open, leaning out to look up. Just above her was a row of small windows, suggesting an attic.

She hurried out and down the corridor, urgently seeking a way of getting up to the next floor. At last she found a small, plain door that looked as if it might be the one. But it was locked.

There was no time to lose. She was assailed by a vision of water pouring down through ceilings, over walls, unstoppably ruining the beautiful building.

She rattled the door, which was old and shaky on its hinges. There was only one way to do this. Gathering all the strength she could muster, she gave a hard kick, and knew an unbelievable sense of satisfaction when the door gave way.

Oh, the blissful release of one violent action!

She sprinted up the stairs and found herself in the great attic at the top of the building.

It was long and low, and seemed to be used as a store room. There was some furniture here, and what looked like pictures, wrapped in heavy brown paper.

And there, by the wall, was a water tank, with a pipe leading from it across the floor. The pipe was old and broken, and water was pouring from it with terrible inevitability. If not stopped it would flood the floor, soaking down until the whole building was damaged.

Then she set her chin.

‘Not if I have anything to do with it!’ she breathed.

She needed something to wrap around the pipe! But what? Rags would do for now.

A frantic search around the attic revealed nothing of any use, and the water was pooling across the floor, threatening the wrapped pictures that were leaning against the wall.

Her handkerchief was too small. She would have to use her woollen sweater. Wrenching it off, she wound it frantically around the belching pipe, but already water was seeping through.

Something else! Her shirt. She managed to tear this into strips and tie them around the pipe, but the water just kept coming. Soon she would need a torch, as the light was fading every moment.

She must dash downstairs to find something more reliable, and put more clothes on, since with both her sweater and shirt gone she was freezing in her bra. She headed for the door, but stopped to rush back to the pipe and tighten the rough bandage. Then she raced back to the door, not looking where she was going, and colliding with someone.

At once two strong arms went around her and she fell to the floor with her assailant.

With everything in her she cursed him. It was hard when she was out of breath, but she did her best. She cursed him for delaying her, she cursed him for lying on top of her so that she couldn’t escape the sensation of his big, powerful body against hers. She cursed him for his warm breath on her face and the smell of lemons and olives that came from him. Above all she cursed him for the feel of his loins against hers, and the sweet warmth that was beginning deep inside. She rejected it, she repudiated it, she wanted no part of it. But it was there, and it was all his fault.

‘Get off me,’ she snapped.

As he recognised her voice Vincenzo demanded, ‘What the devil—?’

‘Get off me.’

For a moment he didn’t move. He might have been too thunderstruck to move, lying against her, gasping.

She too was gasping, she realised in outrage. The warmth was becoming heat, spreading through her.

‘I said get off me.’

He did so, moving slowly, as if caught in a dream. In the gloom he pulled her to her feet, but didn’t release her. Looking into his eyes she saw her own sensations mirrored and, perversely, it increased her rage at him.

‘What are you doing up here?’ he asked with difficulty.

‘Trying to stop the place from being wrecked. There’s a burst water pipe up here, and it’s going to flood this building from the top down.’

He seemed dazed. ‘What—what did you say?’

She ground her teeth. Was the house going to be ruined because he couldn’t take in more than one idea at a time?

Then she saw that his gaze was riveted on her, and in the same moment she realised that her bra had become undone in the struggle, slipping down, revealing her full, generous breasts. Furiously she wrenched herself from his grasp, snapping, ‘Can I have your attention please?’

‘You’ve got that,’ he said distractedly.

‘Just you mind your manners.’

That seemed to pull him back to reality.

‘I’m sorry, it must have happened when—it was an accident—’

‘An accident that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t jumped me.’

‘Well, I wasn’t expecting to find you here in a state of undress. Mio Dio, you haven’t brought a man up here, have you?’

‘There’s going to be another accident if you don’t watch it,’ she threatened. ‘One that may leave you unable to walk. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly.’

She had been trying to hook up her bra at the back, but she was too angry to concentrate and it wasn’t working.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

‘No funny business.’

‘That’s a promise. I’ll count myself lucky to get out of here alive.’

She turned and stood there while he hooked up the ends, his fingers brushing softly against her skin. She braced herself against the sensation on her skin that was already overheated from something that had nothing to do with the winter temperature.

When he’d finished he said meekly, ‘Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing here without being threatened with bodily violence?’

She remembered the broken pipe. In the last few minutes it had receded into unreality.

‘You’ve got a burst pipe up here,’ she said. ‘It could soak the whole place.’

She led him across the floor to where he could see better. As he realised the danger, a violent word, sounding like a curse, burst from him.

He stripped off his scarf and wound it around the pipe. But it too was instantly soaked.

‘Hold it,’ he told her tersely. ‘I’m going to get something safer.’

He stopped just long enough to pull off his jacket and put it about her shoulders. Then he made a run for it.

Julia shrugged her arms into the jacket, which was blessedly warm. She was deeply shaken by the last few minutes.

She’d had it all sussed—or so she’d thought. No hopes, no pity, no sympathy, and above all no feelings, of any kind.

But some feelings were harder to suppress than others. They acted independently of thought and anger, and left a trail of problems.

She set her chin. Problems were made to be overcome.

In a few minutes Vincenzo was back, bearing a roll of heavy, sticky tape.

‘This will hold it for a while,’ he said, winding it around the pipe and the wadding. ‘But we need a plumber.’

He took out his cell phone and dialled. There followed a curt conversation in Venetian.

‘There’ll be someone here in about half an hour,’ he said, switching off. ‘Until then, it’s a case of hanging on and hoping for the best.’

‘Then we’d better move those pictures out of the way,’ Julia said, indicating the wall.

Together they began lifting the pictures off the floor, balancing them on chairs so that they were clear of the water. Some of them were heavy, and after a while they were both breathing hard.

‘Let’s sit down,’ he said.

As he spoke he returned to the pipe, settled beside it and began winding more tape. She went to sit on the other side.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘It’s hard work for someone who’s been ill recently.’

‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ve been feeling better ever since I kicked the door in.’ She laughed. ‘I think that’s what I’ve really been needing all this time.’

‘To kick a door in?’ he asked, startled.

‘Yes. It’s one of the great healing experiences of life.’ She gave a sigh of satisfaction.

‘Well, it certainly seems to have done you some good,’ he observed. ‘You look more alive than I’ve ever seen you.’

‘I feel it,’ she said.

She was about to stretch luxuriously, but then she realised that this wasn’t safe. Vincenzo was a big man and his jacket hung on her in a manner that revealed a lot, even with the darkness to help her.

And even the darkness didn’t help very much. They were sitting by the window, and enough light came in to make life difficult.

‘How did you come to be up here?’ she asked quickly.

‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ he said, taking elaborate care not to look at her.

‘You first.’

‘I saw the door hanging from one hinge down below. I thought it must have been smashed in by a tank.’

‘No, just little me,’ she quipped lightly.

‘I came up to see what was happening. If it’s not a rude question, how do you come to be here?’

‘I saw the water coming through in the room underneath. It’s ruining the ceiling fresco. Honestly, the clown who owns this place ought to be shot for not looking after it properly.’

‘Really,’ he said with a dry irony that she missed.

‘What a fool he must be,’ she said indignantly, ‘taking stupid risks with the water!’

‘The water is cut off.’

‘But nobody thought to drain that tank, did they? Or check the antiquated pipes.’

‘No, you’re right,’ he said quietly.

‘Well, there you are. He’s an idiot.’

‘Will you stop flailing your arms about like that?’ he demanded. ‘At least, if you want me to behave like a gentleman.’

‘What?’ She looked down at herself and grabbed the edges of the jacket together again. ‘Oh, that!’

‘Yes, oh, that!’ He was looking away from her. ‘Can I turn back?’

‘Sure. No problem. There’s not a lot to me, anyway,’ she declared hilariously.

His mouth twisted in mocking humour. ‘Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?’

Her answer was to pull the edges apart again and look right down, burying her head deep in the gap.

‘Nope,’ she said, emerging and drawing the edges together again. ‘Nothing there worth looking at. Take my word for it.’

‘If you say so.’

He stared at her, startled by the change that had come into her face. Her eyes were brilliant and she seemed to be almost in a state of exaltation, tossing her long hair back from her face so that Vincenzo had one of his rare chances to see it properly.

Where had the wraith of the last week gone? he wondered. This woman had an almost demonic energy.

‘Anyway, why are you getting so worked up?’ he asked. ‘Why do you care so much?’

‘Everyone should care about great beauty,’ she said firmly. ‘It can’t defend itself. It has to be protected and cherished. It’s not just ours. It belongs to all the people who come after us.’

‘But why do you care so much?’ he persisted. ‘Are you an artist?’

‘I’m—’ The question seemed to bring her up short, like a shot from a gun.

‘That’s not important,’ she resumed quickly. ‘The Count di Montese should be ashamed of himself, and you can tell him I said so.’

‘What makes you think I know him?’

‘You know him well enough to summon a plumber to his house. Of course you might be the caretaker, in which case you’re doing a rotten job. Still,’ she added, tossing him an olive branch, ‘maybe you couldn’t be expected to know about that fresco.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘It’s a genuine Veronese, sixteenth century. I suppose the owner would have sold it off with the rest if it wasn’t painted on the ceiling.’

‘Very possibly,’ he murmured wryly. ‘By the way, the room below this is his bedroom. What shall I say if he asks why you were there?’

‘Tell him he’s lucky I was.’

Vincenzo grinned. ‘I will.’

‘I was just looking around. Snooping, I suppose you’d say.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, I expect I would. If I tell the owner he’ll kick you out.’

‘Then I’ll kick him back,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget my kicking foot has had some practice today. I hope he doesn’t dare to try to make me pay for that door.’

‘He probably will,’ Vincenzo assured her, his eyes dancing. ‘He’s a real stinge.’

She laughed, and her hair fell over her face.

‘Oh, hang it,’ she said, flicking it back over her shoulder. Looking around, she noticed a length of string lying on the floor, reached for it and used it to tie her hair back.

‘That’s better,’ he observed. ‘It’s nice to be able to see your face.’

‘Yes, people with my sort of forehead should never wear their hair long,’ she agreed.

‘What’s wrong with your forehead?’

‘It’s low,’ she said, showing him. ‘Most people have foreheads that are high and curve backwards, so if they grow their hair it falls down the sides of their face. But mine’s so low that long hair falls forward over my face.’

He assumed a mock serious air, making a play of inspecting her. ‘Yes, I see what you—’

‘What is it?’ she asked when he fell silent abruptly.

‘Nothing—that is—I don’t know.’

Once more he’d been assailed by the odd feeling he’d had the first night, that something about her was mysteriously familiar.

There were sounds coming from outside, voices from the stairs. The next moment Piero appeared, and with him a man carrying a bag of tools.

‘At last,’ Vincenzo said, getting to his feet.

‘Mio Dio!’ Piero exclaimed, looking around him.

‘Yes, it could have been a disaster but for Julia. Take her downstairs, Piero, and get her warmed up.’

Julia let herself be led away to the place where there was warmth, and fresh clothes, and hot coffee. Piero laughed heartily at her story, especially the tale of how she’d criticised ‘the owner’.

‘It’s too bad of Vincenzo not to have told you the truth,’ he said. ‘He is the owner. His full name is Vincenzo di Montese.’

‘What? You mean he’s the count? But I thought he was one of us?’ she cried, almost indignant.

‘So he is. What do you think makes us as we are? Is it simply not having a roof over our heads, or is there more?’

‘There’s much more,’ she said, thinking of the last few years when she’d had a roof over her head, and still been poorer than she was now.

‘Exactly. Vincenzo has his ghosts and demons, just like us. In his case it’s virtually everyone or everything he’s ever loved. They betray him, they die, or they’re taken from him in some other way. As a boy he worshipped his father. He hadn’t seen the truth about him then.’

‘What truth?’

‘Sheer brute selfishness. He was a gambler who cared about nothing and nobody as long as he got his thrill at the tables, no matter how huge his losses. People say he went to pieces after his wife died, and it’s true he got worse then. But it was always there.

‘The old count stripped this place of its valuables, so that now all Vincenzo owns is the shell. He lost the woman he loved. They were engaged, but the marriage fell through because her family said they didn’t want to see her dowry gambled away, and who can blame them?’

‘Didn’t they put up a fight if they loved each other?’

‘Vincenzo couldn’t put up a fight. He felt that he had so little to offer that it wouldn’t be fair. He’s a Montese, which means he has the pride of the devil.’

‘But didn’t she fight?’

Piero shrugged. ‘Not really. She may have loved him in her own way, but it wasn’t a through-thick-and-thin kind of way.’

‘What about him?’ Julia wanted to know. ‘Did he love her in a through-thick-and-thin kind of way?’

‘Oh, yes. He’s an all-or-nothing person. When he gives it’s everything. I remember their engagement party, in this very building. Gina was incredibly beautiful and knew how to show herself off. So she climbed those stairs and posed there for everyone to admire. And he stood below, looking up at her, almost worshipping. You never saw a man so radiantly happy.

‘But that same night his father left the party and went to the casino. The amount of money he lost in an hour triggered the avalanche that followed, although I suppose it would have happened anyway.

‘The count took his own life soon after. Having created the mess, he dumped it all on Vincenzo and made his escape. The final selfish betrayal.’

‘Dear God!’ she said, shocked. ‘You must have known Vincenzo well if you were at the party?’

‘I was there in my capacity as Europe’s greatest chef.’

‘Again?’ she warned. ‘You’re repeating yourself.’

‘Ah, yes, I’ve been a chef before, haven’t I? Well, whatever. If you could have seen the look on Vincenzo’s face that night—the last time he was ever happy. He loved that woman as few women are ever loved. And when she turned from him something in him died. That part of his life is over.’

‘You mean he’s given up women?’ Julia asked with a touch of disbelief.

‘Oh, no, quite the reverse. Far too many, all meaningless. He attracts them more easily than is good for him, and forgets them the same way.’

‘Maybe he’s the wise one,’ Julia murmured.

‘That’s what he says, but it’s sad to see a man bury the best of himself beneath bitterness. And it’s got worse these last few months since he lost his sister, Bianca, the one person left that he could talk to. They were twins and they’d always been very close.

‘She and her husband died in a car crash, only a few months ago, leaving him with her two children to care for. They’re all the family he has left now. Everyone and everything gets taken away from him, and now he seems to feel more at home with down-and-outs.’

They heard Vincenzo and the plumber coming down the stairs, the plumber leaving, and Vincenzo approaching. Julia was standing by the window and he went straight to her, arms wide and eager. Then she was swallowed up in a huge hug.

‘Thank you, thank you!’ he said fiercely. ‘You’ll never know what you’ve done for me.’

‘Piero’s just told me who you are,’ she said, struggling to breathe. ‘You’ve got a nerve, keeping a thing like that to yourself.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘I just couldn’t resist. Besides, think how much good you did me with that frank assessment of my character. Thank you for everything, Julia—or whoever.’

It was the first time he’d openly hinted that he doubted her name, and he backed off at once, saying hastily, ‘I’m taking you both to supper tonight. Be ready in an hour.’

He vanished. Julia stood there, wondering at a tinge of embarrassment that had appeared in his manner.

Her clothes were all six years old, but she was thinner now and could get into them easily. She found a blue dress that was simple enough to look elegant.

She had almost nothing in the way of make-up, a touch of pink on her lips, and no more. But it had a transforming effect.

‘That’s better,’ Piero said when he saw her. ‘Let him see how nice you can look.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Piero!’ she said, suddenly self-conscious. ‘I’m not going on a date. What about you? Are you dressing up in your Sunday best?’

‘Top hat and tails,’ he said at once. ‘What else?’

But when Vincenzo, smartly dressed in a suit, called for them Piero was still in his coat tied up with string.

‘Are we going to your own restaurant?’ he asked.

‘We are.’

‘Are you sure you should be taking me there, dressed like this?’

‘Quite sure,’ Vincenzo said, with the warmest smile she had ever seen from him. ‘Now let’s go.’

Chapter Four

VINCENZO’S restaurant was called Il Pappagallo, the parrot, and stood down a street so narrow that Julia could have touched both sides at once. The lights beamed out onto the wet stones, and through the windows she could see an inviting scene.

It was a small place with perhaps a dozen tables, lit by coloured lamps. A glance at the diners showed Julia why Piero had been reluctant to come here among those well-dressed people. But Vincenzo had overruled him for friendship’s sake, and she liked him for it.

He led them inside and right through the restaurant to the rear door, which he opened, revealing more tables outside.

‘Normally we couldn’t eat outside at this time of year,’ he said, ‘but it’s a mild night, and I think you’ll enjoy the view of the Grand Canal.’

She had partly seen it before through the palazzo windows, but now she saw the whole wide expanse, busy with traffic. Behind the vaporetti and the gondolas rose the Rialto Bridge, floodlit blue against the night sky.

‘Let me take your order,’ Vincenzo said. ‘I think we’ll start with champagne because this is a celebration.’

She’d forgotten what champagne tasted like. She’d forgotten what a celebration was.

‘We serve the finest food in Venice,’ Vincenzo declared, and a glance at the menu proved it.

She returned it to him. ‘Order for me, please.’

The champagne arrived and Vincenzo poured for them all in tall, fluted glasses.

‘Thank you,’ he said, raising his glass to her. ‘Thank you—Julia?’

‘Julia,’ she said, meeting his eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of confirming or denying her name.

Piero was looking gleefully from one to the other. She guessed he was imagining a possible romance. She shrugged the thought away, but she supposed his mistake was understandable. Many women would find Vincenzo irresistible. It wasn’t a matter of looks, because strictly speaking he wasn’t handsome. His nose was a little too long and irregular for that.

It was hard to tell the shape of his mouth because it changed constantly, smiling, grimacing, always reflecting his mood, which wasn’t always amiable. There was a touch of pride there, and more than a touch of defensiveness.

No, it wasn’t features, she decided, but something else, an indescribable mixture of charm, bitter comedy and arrogance, something unmistakably Italian. It was there in his dark, slightly sunken eyes, with their gleam that was so hard to read. A woman could drive herself distracted trying to fathom that gleam, and doubtless many women had. There was a time when she herself might have been intrigued.

But the next moment, as if to tell her to be honest with herself, she was assailed by the memory of lying beneath him on the attic floor, so that the hot, sweet sensation began to rise up in her from the pit of her stomach, threatening to overcome her completely.

She drew a long, ragged breath against the threat, refusing to give in. She was stronger than that.

Piero provided a kind of distraction, rejoicing in the champagne, pronouncing it excellent.

‘Only the best,’ Vincenzo said.

‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, for the sake of something to say.

Vincenzo nodded. ‘I thought you’d know about that.’

She pulled herself together, refusing to let him overcome her, even though he had no idea that he was doing so.

‘Maybe I don’t know,’ she parried. ‘Maybe I only said ‘‘Yes’’ to sound knowledgeable. Anyone can do that.’

‘True. But not everyone would know about Correggio and Veronese.’

‘I was guessing.’

‘No, you weren’t,’ he said quietly.

She was getting her second wind and was able to say, ‘Well, it’s not your concern, and who are you to lecture me about people concealing their identity?’

‘Can’t you two go five minutes without bickering?’ Piero asked plaintively.

‘I’m not bickering,’ Vincenzo said. ‘She’s bickering.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are.’

‘Stop it, the pair of you,’ Piero commanded.

As one they turned on him.

‘Why?’ Julia asked. ‘What’s wrong with bickering? It’s as good a way of communicating as any other.’

‘That’s what I always say,’ Vincenzo agreed at once.

He met her eyes and she found herself reluctantly discovering that she was wrong. There was a better way of communicating. The look he was giving her was wicked, and it contained the kind of shared understanding she knew she would be wiser to avoid.

Piero raised his glass.

‘I foresee a very interesting evening,’ he said with relish.

‘Can we eat the first course before we have to fight another round?’ Vincenzo asked.

It was her first experience of Venetian cuisine, with its intriguing variety. A dish described simply as ‘rice and peas’ turned out also to contain onions, veal, butter and broth.

They drank Prosecco from hand-blown pink, opalescent glasses.

‘They come from home,’ Vincenzo said. ‘There were some things I was damned if I was going to sell.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ she said, turning a glass between her fingers. ‘I can understand you wanting to keep them.’

‘My father gave me the first wine I ever tasted in one of these,’ he remembered. ‘I was only a boy, and I felt like such a big man, sitting there with him.’

You idolised him, she thought, remembering Piero’s words. And he betrayed you.

‘Isn’t it risky using them in a restaurant?’ she asked.

‘These aren’t for the ordinary customers. I keep them for special friends. Let’s drink a toast.’

They solemnly raised their glasses. Somewhere inside her she could feel a knot of tension begin to unravel. There were still good times to be had.

‘Are you warm enough out here?’ Vincenzo asked her. ‘Would you prefer a table inside?’

‘No, this is nice.’

‘We have the odd fine night, even in December. It’s after Christmas that it gets really bad.’

When the rice and peas had been cleared away she saw Vincenzo look up and meet the eye of a very pretty waitress, who returned a questioning smile, to which he responded with a wink and a nod of the head.

‘Do you mind doing your flirting elsewhere?’ Piero asked severely.

‘I’m not flirting,’ Vincenzo defended himself. ‘I was signalling to Celia to bring in the next course.’

‘And you had to do that with a wink?’ Julia enquired humorously.

‘I’m trying to appeal to her. She’s going to vanish next week, just when I’m going to need her most.’

‘But I thought you didn’t need too many staff at this time of year,’ Julia said.

‘It’s true the summer rush is over, but in the run-up to Christmas there’s a mini-rush. I shed staff in October and increase them in December. In January I shed them again, then increase them in February just before the Carnival. A lot of workers like it that way—a few weeks on, a few weeks off. But Celia’s going off just when I need her on. I’ve begged and pleaded—’

‘You’ve winked and smiled—’ Julia supplied.

‘Right. And all to no avail.’

‘You mean that this young female is immune to your charm?’ Piero asked, shocked.

‘His what?’ Julia asked.

‘His charm. Chaa-aarm. You must have heard of it?’

‘Yes, but nobody told me Vincenzo was supposed to have any.’

‘Very funny, the pair of you,’ Vincenzo said, eyeing them both balefully.

Celia appeared at the table bearing a large terracotta pot, in which was an eel, cooked in bay leaves.

‘This is a speciality of Murano, the island where the glass-blowing is centred,’ Vincenzo explained. ‘It was once cooked over hot coals actually in the glass furnaces. I can’t compete with that. I have to use modern ovens, but I think it’ll taste all right.’

When Celia had finished serving the eel he took her hand, gazing up into her eyes, pleading. His words were in Venetian but Julia got the gist of them without trouble, and even managed to decipher, ‘My love, I implore you.’

Even if it was all play-acting, she thought, it had a kind of magic that a woman would do well to beware. Celia seemed in no danger. She giggled and departed.

‘I guess I can’t persuade Celia.’ He sighed. ‘Tonight’s her last night. She’s about to get married and go on her honeymoon. That’s her fiancé over there. Ciao, Enrico.’

A burly man grinned at him from another table. Vincenzo grinned back in good fellowship. Julia concentrated on her food, trying not to be glad that Celia had a fiancé.

As they ate the eel, washed down with Soave, her feeling of well-being increased. She had forgotten many things about the real world: good food, fine wines, a man who had dark, intense eyes, and turned them on her, inviting her to understand their meaning.

She was too wise to accept that invitation, but the understanding was there, whether she wanted it or not. It tingled in her senses, it ached in her heart, so long starved of the joyous emotions. It told her that she must risk just this one evening.

After the eel came wild duck. While it was being served she turned to look out over the canal.

‘Have you ever been to Venice before?’ Vincenzo asked.

‘No. I always meant to, but somehow it never happened.’

‘Not even when you were studying art? Please, Julia,’ he added quickly as she looked up, ‘let’s not pretend about that, at least. You recognised a Correggio and a Veronese at the first glance, and you can’t turn the clock back to before it happened. You’re an artist.’

‘An art restorer,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘At one time I fancied myself as a great painter, but my only talent turned out to be for imitating other people’s styles.’

‘You must have studied in Italy. That’s how you know the language, right?’

‘I studied in Rome, and Florence,’ she agreed.

‘Then I’ll enjoy showing you the whole house, although it’s only a ghost of itself now. I wish you could have seen it in its glory days.’

‘You’ve lost everything, haven’t you?’ she said gently.

‘Just about.’ He glanced at Piero and lowered his voice. ‘Do I have any secrets left?’

‘Not many.’

‘Good, then I needn’t bore you with the whole story. Now let’s eat. With duck we drink Amarone.’

He filled their glasses with the red wine that had just been brought to the table. Julia sipped it with relish and looked back at the canal.

‘I should like to see Venice in summer,’ she said, ‘when it’s bright and cheerful, not dark and menacing as it is now.’ She glanced at him, smiling. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude about your city.’

‘But you’re right. It’s true, Venice can be menacing, especially on quiet winter nights. Its history has been one of blood as well as romance, and even today there are times when an assassin seems to lurk around each corner, and peril haunts every shadow.

‘In the summer the tourists arrive and say, ‘‘How pretty! How quaint!’’ but if Venice were only pretty and quaint it would soon grow dull.’

‘Pretty and quaint are two words that never occurred to me,’ she said wryly. ‘That’s what sleeping on the stones can do for you.’

His grin broadened into a laugh, and she realised how seldom there was real amusement in his face. It was there now, and it delighted her.

‘You have all my sympathy,’ he said. ‘Nowhere else are the stones as hard as ours. Venice is the loveliest city in the world, but it can also be the most cruel. And that’s why I wouldn’t live anywhere else. Does that sound crazy?’

‘No, I understand it. You can’t study art for long without knowing that anything that’s merely pretty grows tedious very soon.’

He nodded.

‘In the same way, a woman who has only looks soon palls. Sadly, it takes a man time to understand that, and when he’s found out it may be too late. The woman with the dark, dangerous heart may be already beyond his reach.’

She gave a wry smile.

‘That’s very nice talk, but aren’t you deluding yourself?’

‘Am I?’

‘How many men truly want a woman with a dark, dangerous heart?’

‘The discriminating ones, perhaps.’

‘And how many men are discriminating? You don’t need a dangerous heart to do the washing-up.’

‘You mean that it would be an attribute of a mistress, rather than a wife?’

‘I mean that you’re spinning glittering fantasies in the air. They have no reality behind them.’

‘I didn’t realise that you knew me so well.’

The words were lightly spoken, but with a slight warning edge. In truth, she didn’t know him at all.

‘I like to choose my own fantasies,’ he said lightly. ‘And I decide what they mean.’

His eyes challenged her. She met the challenge and threw it back, but she could think of no words that weren’t more perilous than silence.

She glanced at Piero, afraid that she would find him regarding them with gleeful interest, but he was engaged in a mad flirtation with Celia, who was laughing at his jokes, and giving him extra food and wine. He consumed everything with gusto, especially the wine, and it was clear that he was soon headed for blissful oblivion.

Seeing him so absorbed, she began to feel as though she were alone with Vincenzo, who didn’t take his eyes from her.

‘Why won’t you tell me who you are?’ he asked softly. ‘And why you are here. I might be able to help.’

At one time she would have replied quickly that nobody could help her. Now she merely shook her head.

‘You’ll have to tell someone, some time. Why not me?’

‘Because you get too close.’

‘People who care should get too close. Don’t keep yourself shut away. Why are you smiling like that?’

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t really.’

‘There you go again, hiding. You’re like someone who barely exists. I know only what you choose to tell, and, since that’s almost nothing, it’s like being able to see right through you. I don’t know your name or what brought you here, or why you try so hard to conceal yourself in the dark.’

‘The light frightens me,’ she whispered.

‘But why? You answer one question and a thousand others spring up. When will your mysteries end?’

‘They won’t. Vincenzo, please, it’s better if you don’t seek to know them.’

‘Better for whom?’

‘For both of us, but mostly for you.’

‘Then you already know what’s happening to me.’

‘Don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t think it. Don’t let it happen.’

‘Don’t you want to be loved?’

‘How can I tell? What is it like?’

‘Are you saying that no man has ever loved you?’

‘Please—’

‘No man has wanted to take you in his arms and lie with you, demanded the right to claim and possess you in every way?’

‘It doesn’t matter what they’ve wanted,’ she told him. ‘Who cares what men say? Only fools believe them. No, I’ve never been loved. I might have thought so, but we all have these little self-delusions.’

‘Until the truth breaks in at last,’ he agreed. ‘There’s nothing you can tell me about self-delusion. But the biggest self-delusion of all is to tell ourselves that we can manage without love in future.’

‘Look at my face,’ she said, drawing the hair back. ‘I’m an old woman.’

‘No, you’re not. There’s suffering in your face, but not age. You’re a young woman who’s learned to feel old inside.’

She smiled in ironic acknowledgement. ‘You see too much.’

His fingers brushed her hand, and she could feel in the light touch everything he was trying to say.

‘Don’t,’ she warned him. ‘Don’t reach out to me.’

‘Suppose I want to?’

‘But I can’t reach back. Can’t you understand? I have nothing to give.’

His fingers possessed hers and he didn’t look at her directly as he said, ‘Perhaps I don’t want you to give, but to take.’

‘It makes no difference,’ she said sadly. ‘I no longer know how to do either. I forgot both long ago.’

‘How long?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Six years, two months and four days.’

The stark precision of the answer startled him.

‘And what happened, six years, two months and four days ago?’ he asked.

‘I packed my feelings away in an iron chest marked, ‘‘No longer required’’. Then I buried that chest too deep to be found again. I’ve even forgotten where it is.’

‘I don’t believe that. You’ll remember when you want to. Can’t I help you do it?’

‘I don’t want to remember,’ she whispered. ‘It hurts too much. Tell me, Vincenzo, how deep is your iron chest buried?’

‘Not as deep as I’d like. I find I can’t do without those feelings, even if they hurt. Better be hurt than dead inside.’

‘Meaning I’m a coward?’ she demanded swiftly.

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You implied it.’

‘Why are you trying to quarrel with me?’ he asked quietly.

‘Perhaps because I really am a coward,’ she admitted after a moment. ‘I have so little courage left, and I need all of it.’

‘And I threaten it?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, you do.’

She had said that she could not reach out, but she knew how fatally easy it would be to seek warmth from this man who seemed to have so much to give. But it would deflect her from her true purpose, and nothing must be allowed to do that.

‘You do,’ she repeated.

‘Don’t be afraid of me.’

‘I’m not afraid of you, but I will not let you in. Do you understand?’

‘I told myself the same thing about you, but somehow you got in.’

‘I wasn’t trying to,’ she said quickly.

‘I know. Maybe that’s how you managed it. You were there before I could put my defences in place.’

‘You’re forgetting that I don’t really exist,’ she said.

She tried to speak lightly, but it was hard, and he made it harder by coming back swiftly with, ‘Sometimes I wish you didn’t. You’re trouble. I don’t know how or why, but you’re big trouble, and you’re going to throw my life in turmoil.’

‘Just ignore me.’

‘That’s a dishonest reply.’ For a moment he was angry. ‘You know it’s too late for that.’

‘Yes,’ she murmured after a moment. ‘Yes, it’s too late. It’s much too late.’

Hours had passed. Customers were leaving the restaurant, and lights were going off. Lost in her awareness of Vincenzo, Julia hardly realised it was happening.

A waiter approached them to say that Vincenzo was needed for some formality. When he’d gone Julia turned back to Piero, and found him, as she’d expected, deeply, blissfully asleep.

Vincenzo returned as the last customer was leaving, and smiled at the sight of their friend.

‘He’d better stay here tonight,’ he said. ‘There’s a little room behind the kitchen where I sometimes sleep when I’m working late.’

He summoned a waiter. Together they carried Piero through the kitchens into the tiny bedroom and laid him gently on the bed.

‘You’d better stay here, too,’ he told Julia. ‘You can have the apartment upstairs that Celia has just vacated.’

He showed her up the narrow staircase into the tiny apartment. Celia had stripped the bed before leaving, and he helped her make it up.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But there was no need for you to take so much trouble. I could have gone back.’

‘No,’ he said at once. ‘I don’t want you sleeping in that huge, empty place alone. I couldn’t feel easy about you.’

‘You don’t have to look after me,’ she said with a little smile. Then she gave a little laugh. ‘Except that you do, all the time, don’t you? I just hate admitting it, which isn’t very nice of me.’

Her voice fell softly on his ears and caused an ache inside him. She worked so hard to keep her gentler side hidden that when she allowed him a sudden glimpse it caught him off guard.

He came closer, looking at her with hot, dark eyes. He remembered another time when he’d looked at her like this. Then he’d held her in his arms, kissing her, and she had known nothing about it. She knew nothing now.

She had felt soft and good against his body, and her lips had been sweet against his. That sweetness had taken possession of him, making him long to kiss her more deeply, although he’d known he must not do so while she was asleep. Instead he had kissed her eyes and her tears.

But for her it hadn’t happened. That thought was very bitter to him.

Unable to stop himself, he brushed her cheek with gentle fingers. She didn’t draw away, only looked at him sadly, quite still.

‘Vincenzo,’ she said at last.

‘Hush,’ he begged. ‘Say nothing.’

His fingers continued their way down her cheek and across the soft contours of her mouth. He was entranced, absorbed by her, lost in her. He touched her cheek and her mouth again with fingertips that barely brushed them, yet which seemed to burn her.

She tried to protest, but no words would come. She should stop him, but she lacked the will. This had been inevitable since a few hours ago, when she’d become aware of him as a man. She should have taken flight then, when there had still been time. Except that there had never been time.

He was going to kiss her, and she wanted it with an intensity that shocked her. It was against every plan she had made, but suddenly that no longer mattered. She could feel her hands tightening on him, pulling him forward until his lips touched hers.

They felt strangely familiar, as though they had kissed before in some other life. But in her other life there had been no kisses, no warmth or sweetness, or gentleness of lips teasing hers, part plea, part command, part exploration.

‘Who are you?’ he whispered against her lips.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said through her swimming senses. ‘I’m not real.’

‘You’re real now—in my arms.’

‘Only here,’ she whispered.

‘The rest doesn’t matter. Kiss me—kiss me.’

She did as he wanted, finding that after the years alone she still knew how to tease and incite a man. It was an intoxicating discovery and it sent her a little wild.

Now she allowed her hands and mouth to do as they pleased, and the things that pleased them were sensual, outrageous, experienced. He was right. This alone was real, and everything in her wanted to yield to it.

With every movement she made Vincenzo felt shock flowing along his nerves. He’d suspected the fires inside and it had tormented him, but now he knew for certain. He’d partly discovered the truth that afternoon when he’d discovered that her breasts were surprisingly generous, given her apparently boyish figure.

All the sensuality she normally kept banked down was flaming in his arms now, inciting him to explore her further, wanting more. He didn’t know her real name, but her name no longer mattered. This woman was coming back to life, and he knew that he, and no other, must be the man to make it happen.

She kissed dreamily, but like a woman who understood a man’s body, and every soft touch lured him on. Entranced, he dropped his lips to the base of her throat, moving them in soft, teasing movements and sensing her heated response. His own response was roaring out of control.

Only she could stop him now, and she made no attempt to do so. When he began to remove her clothes she trembled, but was removing his at the same time. It was she who drew him to the bed, and after that nothing could have stopped him.

Chapter Five

MY FIRST man in six years.

The thought came to Julia as the dawn crept in. The night had been hot and fervent, and it had left her feeling at ease in a way she had forgotten. The sheer sense of blinding, physical release had at first stunned, then invigorated her.

They had claimed each other again and again. After the first time it was she who had taken the initiative, voraciously demanding as she felt her body return to life. And he had responded with unflagging vigour.

Six years of cramped frustration, deprivation, ending in one night of blazing fulfilment.

Images came back to her: his body, hard, lean and strong, his love-making, a mingling of power and tenderness, with the power becoming predominant as he’d sensed her need.

My first in six years. And before that—ah, well!

Before that there had been passionate adoration given to the wrong man, who had betrayed it and left her with a smashed life to endure.

She sat up, careful not to awaken Vincenzo, who slept silently and heavily, as though exhausted. It was a tight fit in the narrow bed, especially as he stretched out in abandon.

He’d made love like that, she thought, with an abandon that had startled her, so different was it from the controlled surface he presented to the world.

She hadn’t meant to take him to bed, so she told herself. Either that or she had meant it from the first moment. One of the two. Did it matter which?

Their aggressive encounter in the attic had awoken in her a physical hunger, long suppressed, and satisfying it had become urgent.

I didn’t think I was like that, she thought wryly. But I suppose after so long…

He moved in his sleep and stretched out a hand, seeking until he encountered her skin. Then it stopped, lying gently against her as though nothing else in the world mattered.

Strangely, it was that gesture that alarmed her. If he’d grasped her robustly she would have cheerfully returned to the fray. But the touch against her body was tender. It spoke of emotion, and she knew that emotion must be kept out of this. Only that way could she feel safe.

After a moment she moved his hand away.

Vincenzo stirred and stretched, almost pushing her out of the tiny bed. She laughed, clinging on for dear life, and he awoke to find her looking down at him. He grinned, remembering the night they had passed together.

Her passion had astounded him. More accustomed to her mental and emotional defensiveness, he’d been taken aback by her sensual abandon. She’d given everything with fierce generosity and demanded everything with an equally fierce appetite. When he had been satiated she had been ready to start again.

Now she looked fresh, light-hearted and mysteriously younger. There was even a teasing look in her eyes that had never been there before.

‘That was fun,’ she said.

The words brought him back down to earth. ‘Fun’ described a race through the canals, a brilliant costume for Carnival. It bore no relation to the experience that had just shaken him to his roots.

But he answered her in kind, speaking lightly.

‘I’m glad you feel the night wasn’t wasted.’

She was silent, but shook her head, teasing.

He reached out so that she could take his hand, then he would draw her closer for a kiss. But instead she laughed and got to her feet, looking around for something to throw over her nakedness. Finding his shirt on the floor, she seized that.

‘Spoilsport,’ he sighed.

She chuckled and left the room, heading for the kitchen. He followed at once, catching up, putting his arms about her from behind, and nuzzling her hair.

‘All right?’ he asked softly.

‘Of course,’ she said brightly. ‘Everything’s fine.’

He partly withdrew his hands, just as far as her shoulders. ‘That’s good,’ he said quietly.

‘Do you know how I make coffee in this kitchen?’ she asked with a laugh.

‘I’ll make it.’

‘Lovely. Then we’ll go down and see if Piero’s awake yet. He and I should be going soon.’

He dropped his hands.

‘Whatever you say.’

She turned suddenly. ‘There’s something you should know. Don’t expect too much from me just now. I’m not used to being in the land of the living. I’ve forgotten how things are done there.’

He frowned, alerted by a new note in her voice, but not understanding it. ‘The land of the living? I don’t understand.’

‘For the last six years I’ve been in prison.’

Julia had told Vincenzo that kicking the door in had been one of the great healing experiences of life, and it was true. With that one blow she had put her lethargy behind her, and was ready for the task that had brought her here.

Walking home with Piero that morning, she bought a map, and studied it as soon as they were inside.

‘Can I help?’ he asked.

‘I want to go to the island of Murano.’

‘Take the waterbus. It’s about a twenty-minute journey. I’ll show you the exact place. Are you going to look at some of the glass-blowing factories?’

‘No, I’m looking for a man. His name is Bruce Haydon. He has relatives there and they’ll know where he is now.’

‘Is he Italian?’

‘No, he’s English. He had some Italian family on his mother’s side, but he’s lived mostly in England.’

She knew he was hoping to hear more, and she was foolish to keep silent. She should simply say that Bruce Haydon had once been her husband; that he had betrayed her vilely and condemned her to hell. But just now she wasn’t ready to say the words.

When she’d changed back into her jeans he led her to the San Zaccaria landing stage, and waited with her while the boat arrived. Passengers poured off, more passengers poured on. As she was about to turn away Piero tightened his grip on her arm.

‘Come back safely,’ he said.

‘Yes, I will,’ she promised him in a gentle voice.

As the boat drew away from the landing stage she looked back and saw Piero standing where she had left him. He remained motionless, growing smaller until she could no longer see him.

At last the boat reached the landing stage at Murano. It was a small island, constructed, like Venice, of canals and bridges, famous for its glass-blowing, but without the glamour of the main city.

With the aid of the map she was able to discover a row of houses beside a canal, and began to make her way along, searching for one front door.

Then it was there before her, the front door with a brass plaque proclaiming that here lived Signor and Signora Montressi, the name of Bruce’s Italian relatives. Luck was with her.

She rang the bell and waited. But there was no reply.

She told herself she must be patient.

She found a café and ordered coffee and sandwiches. From her bag, she took a small photo album in which she kept pictures to show people who might have seen him. It wasn’t very up to date. None of the photographs was less than six years old.

The first one was a wedding picture, showing a handsome man, grinning with delight. There was no sign of his bride. Julia had cut her out of the picture.

He had dark hair and eyes, but, although his Italian ancestry was visible, his face was slightly too fleshy for the kind of dramatic looks that Vincenzo had. He lacked Vincenzo’s intensity too, parading instead an air of self-satisfaction.

She stopped and gave an exclamation of annoyance at herself. Forget Vincenzo! Comparing every other man with him was futile. For many reasons.

But there was no way to forget Vincenzo. Piero had said, ‘He’s an all or nothing person. When he gives it’s everything.’

After last night she knew that it was true.

But Piero had also said Vincenzo had too many women, ‘all meaningless’.

So he was like herself, she thought. Nature had shaped him one way, and hard lessons had shaped him differently.

In that hot, dark night he’d become his true self again, giving generously, endlessly, revealing himself to her with no defences, nothing held back.

And it shamed her that she’d only half responded, revelling in the physical pleasure that he gave so expertly, returning it with every skill at her command, but giving nothing else. Her heart was still safely hoarded in her own control.

She remembered the scene in the kitchen that morning. He’d been tender and affectionate, seeking to evoke the same in her. She’d disappointed him because she was unable to do anything else.

Blurting out that she’d been in prison had been an impulse, instantly regretted. After that she hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough, and he’d sensed it, and let her go, saying little.

She returned to the pictures, trying to concentrate on them and forget Vincenzo.

After the wedding snap came a selection of photographs taken over the next four years, during which the man put on a little weight, but continued to be good-looking and pleased with himself.

‘Whatever did I see in you?’ she asked the grinning head. ‘Well, I paid a heavy price for it.’

He filled the first half of the book. In the second half there was a different set of pictures.

They showed a baby, starting with the day it was born. Then the child became gradually larger and prettier, with curly blonde hair and shining eyes. And always she was laughing.

Julia slammed the album shut, closing her eyes and fighting back the tears. For a moment she sat there, rigid, aching, while heartbreak tore her apart.

At last the storm passed, and she forced herself to return to reality and behave normally.

‘Not much longer,’ she promised herself. ‘Not much longer.’

The weak moment was behind her.

Her second visit to the house was equally fruitless. It was dark before she returned a third time.

As she turned into the canal-side street she could see the lights in the windows. The door was opened by a pretty young girl.

‘Signora Montressi?’ Julia asked.

‘Oh, no, she and her husband have gone until after Christmas. They’re taking a Caribbean cruise. They left three days ago. I’m afraid that’s all I know. I only come in to feed the cat. They’ll be back in January.’

She almost ran away, needing to be alone to absorb the shock. To have got so close and then have the prize snatched out of reach.

She walked about aimlessly for a long time before catching the boat back across the lagoon. It was late but there were still plenty of travellers, and she stood looking over the rail at the black water. It would be a relief to get home.

Home. How strange that she should think of the palazzo as home. Yet there would be a warm welcome for her there, and what else was home but that?

‘Scusi—scusi—’

She moved as someone squeezed past her. At the same moment the boat ploughed into an extra high wave, causing it to lurch. As she grabbed the rail the strap of her bag began to slide down her arm. She twisted, trying to save it, and lost her grip.

As she watched the bag went sailing down into the water, carrying with it her precious album of pictures.

Vincenzo would have liked to get out of the dinner party at the Danieli Hotel, but he had promised and must keep his word. So he did his duty, sat next to an heiress who’d plainly heard of his circumstances, smiled, behaved with charm, concealed his boredom, and forgot her the moment the party was over.

From the hotel it was a short walk home, past San Zaccaria, and across St Mark’s. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he’d actually walked past the landing stage before he realised what he’d seen. He turned sharply back.

‘Piero,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Waiting for her boat,’ the old man said.

Vincenzo’s heart sank. It was usually in the afternoons that Piero came here on his fruitless mission. If he’d started coming so late at night, he must be getting worse.

‘I don’t think there are any more boats tonight,’ he said, laying his hand on Piero’s shoulder.

‘There’s one more,’ Piero said calmly. ‘She’ll be on that.’

‘Piero, please—’ It tore him apart to see the frail old man standing in the cold wind, clinging onto futile hope.

‘There it is,’ Piero said suddenly.

In the distance they could see lights moving towards them. Sick at heart, Vincenzo watched as it made its slow journey.

‘She went to Murano,’ Piero said. ‘I put her on the boat here this morning.’

‘Her? You mean Julia?’

‘Of course. Who did you think I meant?’

‘Well—I was a bit confused. I probably had too much to drink. What’s this about Murano?’

‘She went there looking for someone called Bruce Haydon.’

After a moment they both saw her standing by the rail. As the boat drew nearer she seemed to notice them suddenly. A smile broke over her face and she waved.

The two men waved back, and Vincenzo saw that Piero’s face wore a look of total happiness. He wondered who the old man was seeing on the approaching boat.

At last it reached the landing stage and passengers came streaming off. Piero went forward, his arms outstretched, and Julia hugged him eagerly.

‘You’re back,’ he said. ‘You came home.’

‘Home,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s what I was thinking.’

‘Thank goodness you got back safely,’ Vincenzo said. ‘We were a bit concerned.’

She seemed to see him for the first time.

‘There was no need,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t lost.’

‘We didn’t know that. Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re safe now.’

The three of them began to walk back across St Mark’s Piazza and into the labyrinth of canals and little alleys that led home. Vincenzo kept firm hold of her arm, until she firmly disengaged herself.

She was angry with him again for knowing her secret—that she’d been in prison—even though she herself had disclosed it. And she was angry with herself for doing so.

‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘I don’t need help.’

‘Yes, you do. Even prickly, awkward you. And don’t walk away from me when I’m trying to talk to you.’

‘Don’t talk to me when I’m trying to walk away.’

‘If you aren’t the most—’

‘It’s no use trying to reason with her,’ Piero said. ‘I’ve tried, but it’s pointless.’ He added in a deliberately provocative tone, ‘After all, she’s a woman.’

Julia turned and walked backwards, her eyes fixed on him.

‘I’d stamp on your feet if I had the energy,’ she teased.

Piero’s answer to this was a little dance. ‘You couldn’t do it,’ he asserted. ‘I used to dance leading roles with the Royal Ballet in London.’

She began to imitate him, and they hopped back and forth while passers-by gave them a wide berth, and Vincenzo watched them, grinning.

Later, as the three of them sat by the stove Vincenzo said, ‘Did things go well?’

‘No,’ she said robustly, ‘things went just about as badly as they could. The people I went to see are on a cruise. I missed them by three days, and they won’t be back until January. I had an album of pictures of the man I’m seeking, and on the way home it fell overboard. So now I don’t even have that.’

Vincenzo frowned. ‘For someone who’s just lost everything you’re astonishingly cheerful.’

‘I’m not cheerful, just mad. Mad-angry, not mad-crazy. I’ve been acting like a wimp, but now I’m done with weakness. When the pictures went overboard I was devastated for a whole minute, but then something inside me said, ‘‘That’s it! Time to fight back.’’’

‘The man you’re looking for,’ Vincenzo said carefully, ‘is he anything to do with—what you told me last night?’

‘Anything to do with my being in prison? Yes, he put me there. He cheated and lied and managed to get me locked up for his crime.’ She surveyed them both. ‘He’s my husband.’

Piero turned his head slowly. Vincenzo stirred.

‘My name isn’t Julia. It’s Sophie Haydon. My husband was Bruce Haydon. My mother warned me against him, but I wouldn’t listen. We were always a little uneasy with each other after that.’

‘What about your father?’ Piero asked.

‘I barely knew him. He died when I was a baby. Bruce and I were married over nine years ago. We had a daughter the next year, a gorgeous little girl called Natalie. I loved her to bits. She—she’s almost nine now.’

Her voice shook on the words, and she hurried on as though to prevent the others noticing.

‘Bruce had a little business, import, export. It wasn’t doing well and he hated it that I earned more than him. I was working as an art restorer, getting plenty of clients, starting to be employed by museums and great houses.

‘And then there was a spate of art thefts, all from houses where I’d been working. Of course the police suspected me. I knew all about the keys and burglar alarms.’

She fell silent again, staring into space for a long time. Then she jumped to her feet and began to pace up and down, her feet making a hollow, desolate sound on the tiles.

‘Go on,’ Vincenzo said in a strained voice.

‘I was charged and put on trial.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Bruce made me a wonderful speech about fighting it together. And I believed him. We loved each other, you see.’ She gave a brief, mirthless laugh. ‘That’s really funny.’

She fell silent. Neither of the other two moved or spoke, respecting her grief.

‘In the last few days before the trial,’ she went on at last, ‘my mind seemed to be working on two levels at once. On one, I just couldn’t believe that they could find me guilty. On the other, I knew exactly what was going to happen. I knew they were going to take me away from Bruce and Natalie, and I spent every moment I could with them. Bruce and I—’

She stopped. It was better not to remember those passionate nights, his declarations of undying love, lest she go mad.

‘We took Natalie on a picnic. On the way back we stopped in a toy shop and she fell in love with a rabbit. So I bought it for her and she hugged it all the way home. When the trial began I’d say goodbye to her in the morning and she’d clutch that rabbit for comfort. When I came home she’d still be clutching him. The neighbour who was looking after her said she never let go of him all day.

‘On the last day of the trial I got ready to leave home and Natalie began to cry. She’d never done that before, but this time it was as though she knew I wasn’t coming back. She clung to me with her arms tight about my neck, crying ‘‘No, Mummy. Mummy, don’t go, please don’t go—please, Mummy—’’’

She was shuddering, forcing herself to speak through the tears that coursed down her cheeks.

‘In the end they had to force her arms away from around my neck, while she screamed and screamed. Then she curled up on the sofa, clutching her rabbit and sobbing into his fur. That was the last time I ever saw her. All she knew was that I went away and never came back. Wherever she is now, whatever she’s doing, that’s her last memory of me.’

She swung around suddenly and slammed her hand down on the back of a chair, clinging onto it and choking in her agony. Vincenzo rose quickly and went to her, but she straightened up before he could touch her.

‘I’m all right. Where was I?’

‘The trial,’ he said gently.

‘Oh, yes. They found me guilty. Bruce came to see me in prison a couple of times. He kept promising to bring Natalie ‘‘next time’’, but he never did. And then one day he didn’t come. My mother told me he’d vanished, taking our little girl.

‘I don’t remember the next few days clearly. I know I became hysterical, and for a while I was on suicide watch. That was six years ago, and I haven’t seen either of them since.

‘It was him, you see. He’d copied my keys, picked my brains. He’d drive me to work and ask me to show him around, ‘‘Because I’m so interested, darling.’’ So he knew what to look for, how to get in, how to turn off the alarm. Sometimes there were security staff, but they trusted him because he was with me. And everything he learned he sold to a gang of art thieves.

‘All the thefts happened over the same weekend, then they vanished abroad, leaving me to take the blame like a tethered goat. By the time I realised how Bruce was involved he’d vanished too.’

‘But surely you told the police?’ Piero asked.

‘Of course, but even I could hear how hollow it sounded—clutching at straws to clear myself. My sentence was longer because I’d been ‘‘unco-operative’’. I couldn’t tell them anything, because I didn’t know.

‘And all the time I knew he had my little girl somewhere. I didn’t know where and I couldn’t find out. She was two and a half when I last saw her. Where has she been all that time? What has she been told about me? Does she have nightmares about our last moments, as I do?’

Her voice faded into a despairing whisper. After a moment she began speaking again.

‘Then a couple of the pictures turned up at an auction house. The police managed to trace the trail right back to the mastermind, and he told them everything. He hadn’t long to live and he wanted to ‘‘clear his conscience’’, as he put it. He said Bruce used to laugh about how I trusted him, and how easy I was to delude.’

‘Bastardo!’ Vincenzo said with soft venom.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘but I suppose I should be glad of it, because that story was what cleared me. It meant that Bruce and I hadn’t colluded. My conviction was quashed and I was released.’

She paced a little more before stopping by the window.

‘My lawyer’s fighting for compensation, but my only use for money is to pay for a proper search for Bruce, if I haven’t found him by then.’

‘Aren’t the police looking for him?’ Vincenzo suggested.

‘Not as hard as I am. To them he’s just another wanted man. To me he’s an enemy.’

‘Yes, I see,’ Vincenzo said, almost to himself.

Her voice mounted in urgency.

‘He wrecked my life, left me to rot in prison and took my child. I want my daughter back, and I don’t care what else happens.’

‘Have you no family to help you?’ Piero asked.

‘My mother died of a broken heart while I was in prison. She left me a very little money, just enough to come here and start searching for Bruce.’

‘So you came to Venice to find his relatives?’ Piero asked.

‘Yes. They’re only distant, but they might know something that could help me. I had some good friends who visited me in prison, and they used to bring stories about how Bruce had been ‘‘seen’’. Some of them were wildly unlikely. He was in Arizona, in China, in Australia. But two people said they’d spotted him in Italy, once in Rome, and more recently in Venice, crossing the Rialto Bridge.

‘That’s why I went straight to the Rialto that first night. Don’t ask me what I thought I was going to do then, because I couldn’t tell you. The inside of my head was a nightmare. Luckily the Rialto is near this place and Piero found me on his way home. If my friend really did see Bruce it may mean nothing, or he may be living only a few minutes away. You might even have seen him.’

‘It would help if you had some pictures of him,’ Vincenzo observed.

‘I know, but my pictures went to the bottom of the lagoon an hour ago.’ She clutched her head. ‘If only I’d shown them to you last week—’

‘You were full of fever last week,’ Piero said. ‘You didn’t know whether you were coming or going. It’s just bad luck, but we probably wouldn’t have recognised him anyway.’

She nodded. ‘The Montressis are my best lead. They’ll be back in January, and then I’ll hunt him down and get my daughter back.’

‘But will it be that simple?’ Vincenzo asked. ‘After six years she may want to stay where she is.’

She gave him a look that chilled his blood.

‘I am her mother,’ she said with slow, harsh emphasis. ‘She belongs with me. If anyone tries to stop me, I’ll—’ She was breathing hard.

‘Yes?’ he asked uneasily.

She met his eyes. ‘I’ll do what I have to—whatever that might be—I don’t know.’

But she did know. He could see it in her face and feel it in her determination to reveal no more. She wouldn’t put her thoughts into words because they were too terrible to be spoken.

He didn’t recognise this woman. She’d freely claimed to be ‘as mad as a hatter’, and there were times in her delirium and sleepwalking when she’d seemed to be treading some fine line between reality and delusion. But now he saw only grim purpose in her eyes, and he wondered which side of the line she had stepped.

And who could blame her, he wondered, if her tragedy had driven her to the wrong side?

Chapter Six

‘SO,’ VINCENZO said gently, ‘when you find Bruce—’

‘He’s going to give her back to me. If he’s reasonable I’ll promise him twenty-four hours’ start before I point the police in his direction.’

‘But then he’ll get away,’ Piero pointed out.

Julia turned on him.

‘You don’t think I’m going to keep my word, do you?’ she asked scornfully. ‘As soon as I’m clear with Natalie I’ll put them straight onto him. After what he did to me, I’ll have no remorse about anything I do to him.

‘I’ve had plenty of time to learn to be strong. I’m a different person now. Sophie was a fool. She thought feelings were wonderful because they made her happy.’

‘She doesn’t sound like a fool to me,’ Vincenzo said quietly.

‘Oh, she was worse than that,’ Julia said with an edge of contempt for her old self. ‘She needed people and she believed in them. She hadn’t learned that that’s the quickest way to hell. But Sophie’s dead and good riddance to her. Julia knows it’s better to use people than trust them. She’s grown wise.’

‘Too wise to love?’ Vincenzo asked. ‘Too wise to need?’

‘Too wise to feel. The one thing she learned in prison was not to feel anything.’

‘Not even for her child?’

She took a sharp breath. ‘That’s different. She’s part of me, flesh of my flesh. It’s as though someone had torn my heart out and wouldn’t give it back.’

‘So that’s why you said you had nothing to give,’ he reminded her in a low voice.

‘Yes, and it was true, so believe it.’

There was a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘And suppose I choose not to believe it?’

‘That’s your risk, but remember that I warned you.’

He was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.

‘I’ll be going now. Walk a little way with me.’

She followed him quietly, and as they neared the outer door he said, ‘It’s a long time between now and mid-January. How are you going to spend that time?’

‘Sharpening my sword,’ she said with grim humour.

‘Don’t talk like that,’ he said harshly.

‘Why? Because you’ve got some fairy-tale picture of me as sweetness and light? Maybe I was, then. Not now. Now I’m a monster who knows how to fight dirty. And I’ll do it.’

He raised an eyebrow, dampening her agitation.

‘I was only going to suggest a better way to pass the time. Come and work for me while Celia’s away. Of course, for an artist, waitressing may seem like a comedown—’

‘But for a gaolbird it’s a step up,’ she said lightly.

He refused to rise to the bait. ‘Will you take the job?’

She hesitated. She had promised herself to beware of him. She made that promise often, and broke it constantly because he touched her heart, deny it as she might.

As if he could read her mind, Vincenzo said quietly, ‘Never fear. I won’t trouble you. In fact I ought to apologise.’

‘For what?’

‘Pressuring you. I guessed that something painful had happened, but I had no idea of anything like this.’

She smiled in mockery of herself. ‘Now you know how I turned into an avenging witch. Not a pretty sight, am I?’

‘I’m not judging you. What right do I have? But I can’t believe that Sophie is dead. I think she’s still there somewhere.’

‘More fool you,’ she sighed. ‘You’ve been warned.’

‘Let’s leave that for the moment. You need peace and space, and I’ll let you have them while you’re working for me.’

‘All right, I’ll take the job.’

‘Good. You can have the apartment over the restaurant.’

She shook her head.

‘Thank you, but I’ll stay here. I can’t leave Piero alone now. I know he was alone before, but something’s changed. I have a feeling that he needs me.’

‘I thought you had no feelings.’

‘This is family obligation.’

‘And you two are family?’

‘Not by blood, but in other ways.’ She added quickly, ‘And that’s not an emotion either. It’s survival.’

‘And what about me? Am I part of the family?’

She didn’t answer, and he knew he was excluded from the charmed circle.

It ought not to matter. He still had relatives with whom he would spend Christmas, leaving these two misfits to whatever comfort they could find with each other. And yet it hurt.

As the month moved towards Christmas, winking lights glinted everywhere, in shop windows, strung across the streets and over the bridges.

People called out of windows and across bridges, wishing each other, ‘Buon Natale.’ Merry Christmas. Decorated trees appeared in the squares, and red-robed figures strode about the little city, waving cheerily and talking to children.

‘Father Christmas,’ Julia exclaimed, pleased.

‘Babbo Natale,’ Piero corrected her. ‘That’s what we call him. Babbo means ‘‘Father’’.’

‘I thought that was padre?’

‘Padre means ‘‘father’’ too,’ Piero agreed. ‘But it’s more formal. Babbo is a kind of affectionate diminutive. Some children use it to their fathers, especially when they’re very young.’

‘Did Elena do that?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes. I’ve always been Babbo to her, except for—well, there was a time when we argued a lot, and she started calling me Papà. But that’s all over now, and when she comes back I’ll be Babbo again. Hey, look over there! A whole collection of them!’

He pointed to the Grand Canal, where six red-garbed figures were rowing one gondola, accompanied by blaring Christmas music, and the subject of Elena was allowed to drop.

The week before Christmas she awoke to find Venice under snow. Delighted, she and Piero went out and walked arm in arm through the city that had been totally transformed. Snow-covered gondolas bobbed in the water, snow-covered bridges glittered over tiny canals. A brilliant, freezing sun poured down blindingly on the white blanket, and she had to shield her eyes from the glare.

Now there were musicians wandering the alleys and the piazzas, wearing the traditional shepherds’ garb of buckskins and woollen cloaks, and playing bagpipes. The sweet, reedy sound pursued them to St Mark’s, where they threw snowballs, ducking and diving, laughing at each other like people who hadn’t a care in the world.

Vincenzo had insisted on giving her a generous amount of money for saving his home from damage. ‘Your caretaker’s bonus,’ he called it.

Julia had immediately passed it on to Piero. When he’d demurred she’d told him that this was only half the amount, and she was merely sharing with him. From his sceptical look she’d doubted that he’d been fooled, but he’d accepted the money.

‘Get something warm to wear,’ she told him.

But as the days went on there was no sign of new clothes. Evidently he had other priorities, which he was not prepared to discuss.

She was a huge success at Il Pappagallo. Venice was filling up with Christmas tourists, and the restaurant was crowded every night. Some of the customers insisted on being served only by her.

She enjoyed this admiration, which made her laugh. Vincenzo, she was secretly pleased to note, didn’t find it funny.

‘You shouldn’t let Antonnio monopolise you,’ he said as they were walking through the dark calles one night. ‘There are plenty of other customers.’

‘He’s the kind who always makes sure he’s noticed,’ Julia said lightly. Antonnio’s persistent gallantry had done her ego a world of good.

‘And you always make sure you serve him first,’ Vincenzo growled.

‘Only because he grabs that table near the kitchen.’

‘Yes, so that he can grab your hand as you go past, and devour it,’ he said, as close to ill tempered as she’d ever seen him. ‘In future, I’ll serve him.’

She chuckled. ‘He’ll love that.’

‘You’re loving it.’

‘Well, he did promise me a very special tip,’ she mused.

‘Be careful. Antonnio’s ‘‘special tips’’ are legendary and they don’t involve money.’

She took his arm. ‘Oh, stop being so pompous. I’m just doing my job. And after six years shut up with women maybe I don’t mind a little admiration.’

‘A little admiration,’ he scoffed. ‘Another moment he’d have had you down on the floor.’

She didn’t answer that with words, only with an ironic glance.

‘I see,’ he said grimly. ‘Perhaps the woman who boasts of no feelings likes making me jealous?’

‘The woman with no feelings says she doesn’t belong to you, and you have no right to be jealous. What happened to your promise to back off and give me space?’

‘I wouldn’t be the first man to make a promise he can’t keep.’

‘Vincenzo, what are you hoping for?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m waiting to meet Sophie.’

‘She’s gone. She died some time during my second year in gaol. She won’t come back.’

‘You’re wrong. She never completely went away. That’s why I can’t free myself of you.’

They had come to a halt under a lamp that showed them to each other in bleached, unearthly hues. Her face, once too thin, had filled out a little, he realised, and lost some of its tormented look. She had fine, beautiful bone structure, and the slight extra flesh suited her, reclaiming some of her youth.

Tonight she had revelled, siren-like, in her customers’ adulation, making him wonder at the different moods that turned her into so many people. Any of them, or none of them, could be the real woman, and all of them were driving him mad.

‘You should try harder to free yourself from me,’ she said. ‘It’s just a question of being strong-minded.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to be strong-minded.’

Snow began to fall, just a few flakes at first, then more and more. Through them she searched his face in the cold light. ‘In the end I’ll go away and leave you,’ she whispered. ‘Like everyone else.’

‘I know,’ he said sadly. ‘But who knows when the end will be? Not tonight.’

As he spoke he gathered her into his arms, and she went into them easily, offering her lips to his kiss and returning it with passion.

She knew that very passion was her enemy. It threatened to distract her from her purpose, but she couldn’t help it. He brought her back to life, and the feeling was sweet, wild, and frightening.

‘No—no—’ she whispered, more to herself than him.

He drew back to look at her with troubled eyes. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘No,’ she said explosively, fastening her mouth on his.

She was kissing him with frantic desire, possessed by feelings that were almost too sweet to be borne. It was she who explored his mouth, almost attacking him in her urgency, teasing his lips, his tongue, feeling the deep satisfaction of his response.

‘Stay with me tonight,’ he murmured against her mouth.

But she shook her head. ‘Not now—not tonight—’

‘Mio Dio! How much do you think one man can stand? You’re not being fair. He ill-used you and you revenge yourself on us all.’

‘No, it’s not that, I swear it. But I don’t feel that I belong anywhere. The past is over and I can’t tell about the future.’

‘Your daughter is all that matters to you, I know that.’ He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. ‘But I can be patient and hope for my turn.’

‘Even if it never comes?’

‘Do you believe that one day you’ll get your heart’s desire?’

‘I have to,’ she whispered.

‘So do I. Let’s leave it there, and hope for better times.’

He slipped his arm about her shoulders, and she leaned contentedly against him as they walked the rest of the way in the falling snow.

At midday on Christmas Eve a cannon was fired from the turrets of the Castel Sant’ Angelo in Rome, and Christmas had officially begun.

She and Piero listened to it together on a battery-powered radio she’d bought. The restaurant had closed, Vincenzo had gone off to his family, and she had settled in for Christmas at the palazzo.

They had stocked up with seasonal goodies, including panettone, the traditional rich fruit cake.

‘We’re supposed to fast for twenty-four hours after the cannon,’ Piero explained, ‘but I don’t believe in slavishly adhering to every tradition.’

‘Neither do I,’ she said. ‘Let’s have some cake.’

As they munched she said, ‘I remember when I was a child, hanging my stocking up on Christmas Eve.’

‘Children don’t do that in Italy,’ he explained. ‘Stockings don’t go up until Epiphany, January sixth.’

‘I’m not waiting until then to give you your present.’

‘You gave me those gloves, and the scarf, two weeks ago,’ he reminded her.

‘Well, I had to give them to you early before you froze to death. What happened to all that money you were supposed to be spending on yourself?’

‘I gambled it away. I used to be notorious for breaking the bank at Monte Carlo.’

‘All right, don’t tell me. Anyway, here’s some boots and warm socks. I had to guess the size.’

The size was perfect. He put them on and paraded splendidly before her. She smiled and applauded, feeling content.

‘And this is yours,’ he said, pulling out a small object, carefully wrapped in newspaper.

Opening it she found a china Pierrot figure in a black mask and a costume decorated with many colours. Now she knew what had become of his money. She had seen this in a shop and it cost a fortune.

‘Pierrot,’ she said.

‘So that you don’t forget me,’ he said.

‘Do you think I ever could? Buon Natale, Pierrot.’

‘Buon Natale.’

Vincenzo’s gift to her was a cell phone. He called her halfway through Christmas Day.

‘It’s a sad Christmas for you,’ he said.

‘Not really. I have my friends now, and I have hope. Is that your niece I can hear?’ Behind him she could make out a little girl’s laughter.

‘Yes, that’s Rosa.’

‘It’s a lovely sound,’ she said wistfully.

‘Your time will come. Cling onto that hope.’

‘I will. Buon Natale.’

‘Buon Natale—Sophie.’

She smiled and hung up without answering.

After the lull of Christmas there was an immediate flurry of business. As they were clearing up on the second night she said, ‘Do you mind if I hurry away? I want to get back to Piero.’

‘Isn’t he all right?’ Vincenzo asked quickly.

‘He’s got a bit of a cold. I’d just like to make a fuss of him.’

‘I suppose he caught cold going to San Zaccaria.’ Vincenzo groaned. ‘I wish he wouldn’t do that in this weather.’

‘But he doesn’t any more. He hasn’t been there since—’ She fell silent as the truth dawned on her. ‘Since that day I went to Murano.’

‘And we met your boat,’ Vincenzo said. ‘And you came ashore and hugged him.’

As Julia reached home she looked up, wondering if Piero would be there, looking out for her as he sometimes did. But there was no face at the window, and for some reason that made her start to run.

He was probably just asleep, but still—

When she entered their room she couldn’t see him at first. He was lying stretched out, breathing heavily. She moved quietly, not to awaken him, but then she realised that he was unlikely to have awoken, whatever she did.

His forehead was hot to the touch, and there was an ugly rasping sound to the breath, which seemed to tear his throat.

‘Piero,’ she said, giving him a little shake. ‘Piero!’

He opened his eyes, but only a little way.

‘Ciao, cara,’ he croaked.

‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed. ‘This is bad. Listen, I’m going to get help for you.’

‘No need,’ he gasped, and his feverish hand sought hers. ‘Stay here,’ he whispered. ‘Stay with you—only you.’

‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘You’ve got to get well. I’m calling Vincenzo. He’ll know what to do.’ Then, before she could choke back the idiotic words she heard herself say, ‘Don’t go away.’

The ghost of hilarity flickered over his gaunt features. ‘I won’t.’

She found her cell phone and left the room. She didn’t want him to hear her call. To her relief Vincenzo answered at once.

‘It’s Piero,’ she said. ‘He’s very ill. I think it could be pneumonia.’

He made a sharp sound. ‘All right, stay with him. I’ll call an ambulance and be right there.’

She returned to find Piero sitting up, looking around him anxiously. As soon as he saw her he stretched out an arm.

‘I wanted you—you weren’t there…’

He held onto her like a child, his eyes fixed on her face.

‘I called Vincenzo. He’s sending for an ambulance.’

‘Don’t want—hospital—’ came the painful rasping. ‘Just you. Hold onto me.’

She settled him back on the sofa, and knelt beside him, one of his hot hands in hers. He kept his eyes on her, as though seeing her was all he asked. Her heart was heavy, for something told her that the end was very near.

He knew it too, she was sure, and wanted to spend his last few moments alone with her.

She heard a noise outside and went quickly to look out of the window. Down below, in the little garden that fronted onto the Grand Canal, she could see Vincenzo, opening the wrought-iron gate, and propping it so that it stayed open.

She returned to Piero, clasping him in her arms, and after a moment Vincenzo joined them.

‘The ambulance is on its way,’ he said.

As he got a better look at the old man his eyes signalled his shock, and he leaned over the back of the sofa, grasping Piero’s arm warmly.

‘Old friend, don’t give us a fright like this.’

Piero managed a faint smile.

‘Don’t need—ambulance,’ he croaked. He looked at Julia. ‘I have—all I want—since she came back to me.’

Vincenzo frowned. Her eyes met his, reminding him of what they had realised earlier.

‘He doesn’t mean me,’ she said softly.

Vincenzo nodded. He had understood.

‘Of course I came back,’ she said to Piero. ‘You always knew I would, didn’t you—Babbo?’

She hesitated only a moment before using the pet name that only his daughter had used. It was a risk, but worth it. She knew she’d guessed right when he turned a radiant face on her.

‘Oh, yes,’ he whispered. ‘Always. I kept going to wait for you. People told me you were dead, but I knew—one day—you’d be on the boat.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘And you were.’

He gave a sigh and his eyes closed. Vincenzo’s gaze met Julia’s and she could see that he felt helpless.

Piero’s eyes opened again and when he spoke his voice was faint.

‘I was afraid—but when you saw me—you smiled—and I knew that I was forgiven.’

She drew in her breath. Suddenly her eyes were blinded with tears.

‘There was nothing to forgive, Babbo,’ she murmured.

‘But there was—’ he insisted weakly ‘—said such terrible things—you know my temper—always sorry afterwards but—this time—this time—’

His breathing came faster, more laboured. A frantic note crept into his voice. ‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it—’

‘Of course you didn’t. I always knew that. I forgave you long ago.’

A smile broke over his face, and although the light was fading from him it was the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. Shining through it was the glow of happiness and peace.

Suddenly he seemed to become afraid. ‘Elena—Elena—’

‘I’m here—always. I love you, Babbo.’

‘I love you, daughter.’

Vincenzo turned away, covering his eyes.

A few moments later there was the sound of footsteps outside, and a voice calling, ‘Is anybody there?’

Hastily controlling himself, Vincenzo went out into the hall where two young men had arrived with the ambulance. He beckoned and they quickly followed him.

One of them gasped when he saw the room. ‘What a way to have to live!’ he said. ‘The sooner we get him to hospital, the better.’

Julia spoke in a muffled voice. ‘You’re too late.’

They drew near to where the two figures clasped each other. Piero’s eyes were closed and his rasping breathing had stopped. He lay quiet and peaceful.

‘Poor old fellow,’ said one of the young men sympathetically.

Julia laid her cheek tenderly against Piero’s white hair.

‘Don’t feel sorry for him,’ she said softly. ‘He died as he wanted to, in his daughter’s arms.’

The two young men took over, laying Piero gently on a trolley. Julia planted a last kiss on his forehead before he was wheeled away, down into the garden and into the ambulance boat tied up in the water.

Together they stood at the window as the ambulance pulled away down the Grand Canal, until its lights were no longer visible. When it had gone Vincenzo opened his arms and she went into them.

‘I’m going to miss him so much,’ she said.

‘So am I. But you were right. He was happy at the end and that’s what matters.’ He took her face in his hands and looked down at her.

‘You were wonderful,’ he said tenderly.

He brushed the hair back from her face, then drew her against him, with her head on his shoulder, and they stood like that in silence for a long time.

‘I’m taking you away with me,’ he said at last. ‘You can’t live here alone.’

‘All right, I’ll move. But not now.’ She turned back into the room, suddenly so lonely. ‘I want to spend one more night here.’

Piero’s few pathetic possessions were still there, including the gifts she’d given him. She sat down on the bed, lifting his gloves, looking at them, stroking them.

‘Who was he really?’ she asked.

‘Professor Alessandro Calfani, a philosopher. Once I thought I knew him well, but now I think I never knew him in any way that mattered. Did you understand what he meant about Elena forgiving him?’

‘He told me she used to call him Babbo, but stopped after some kind of estrangement. It sounded as though they had a big row. I guess when he wanted to say sorry, it was too late.’

‘But it was all right for him in the end.’ Vincenzo sat down beside her, and slipped his arm around her shoulders.

Suddenly the sight of Piero’s things hurt her unbearably, and she buried her face in her hands. She struggled to fight the tears, but it was useless, and at last she cried without trying to stop.

‘I loved him so much,’ she wept against Vincenzo’s shoulder.

‘So did I,’ he said sombrely, holding her tightly as much for his sake as hers.

‘Stay with me here tonight,’ she said. ‘I want to remember him with you.’

He drew her down onto the bed that was only just big enough for the two them, and drew blankets over them.

She was still weeping and he made no effort to stop her. Sometimes he kissed her tumbled hair. Once he drew it back and stroked her face with tender fingers before kissing her gently on the mouth. She looked at him quickly.

‘It’s all right,’ he whispered. ‘Go to sleep. I’m here.’

She closed her eyes and he felt her relax. At last her breathing told him that she was asleep. He rested his head against her and had begun to drift off when she stirred and began to mutter.

‘Julia,’ he whispered, but then, ‘Sophie.’

She gave a gasp that was almost a cry, and awoke.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘It’s a dream—it keeps coming back—’

‘What happens in your dream?’

‘It’s about Annina.’

‘You identified with her, didn’t you? I can see why now. You loved your husband, and he shut you away for years—’

‘And I died,’ she said slowly. ‘I died.’

‘That’s what you said, standing before her picture.’

She looked at him quickly.

‘But how could you know that? It was only in my dream.’

‘You were sleepwalking. You really went up there, and I came with you, just to see that you were all right.’

She searched his face. ‘Yes, you did, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘And you said you were my friend.’

‘Do you remember anything else?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Yes.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘You kissed me.’

‘That was the first time I ever kissed you, and you didn’t know, not then or next day. I kept hoping you’d remember, but you looked through me.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I couldn’t. You needed to remember for yourself.’ He grinned. ‘I made good resolutions about waiting until the moment came.’

‘You didn’t keep them very long.’

‘True. I’m not a patient man.’

‘I’m glad of that.’ She reached up and put her arms about his neck. ‘I’m so glad of that.’

When he was sure he’d understood her properly he tightened his own arms about her.

‘My love,’ he said, ‘let us drive the ghosts away. They have no place here now.’

‘No,’ she whispered, drawing him close. ‘Not now.’

Chapter Seven

THE next day Julia left the palazzo for good, and moved into the little apartment over the restaurant. It consisted of one main room, and bedroom, with a tiny bathroom and even tinier kitchen.

New Year was almost on them, and she plunged into work, available at all hours, taking on any jobs, to keep her mind occupied.

‘Don’t overdo it,’ Vincenzo advised one evening as she was just coming on for the late shift. ‘You were here early, you helped with cleaning up all afternoon, and now you’re starting work again.’

‘I prefer to keep busy. The Montressis will be back soon. When New Year’s over I’ll try Murano again.’

‘On your own?’

‘Yes, but don’t worry about me. If they’re not there I won’t fling myself melodramatically into the lagoon. I’ll just keep trying until they are. I’ll go as soon as Piero’s funeral is over.’

It was Vincenzo who had paid for the funeral, arranging for Piero to lie beside Elena on the island of San Michele.

When the day came they both boarded the black motor boat that would take them across the lagoon. They made the journey standing up behind the black-draped coffin. Inside, Piero lay wearing the gloves, scarf and boots she had given him.

Soon the island came in sight, the outer rim of cypresses encased by a terracotta wall, and a few minutes later they reached the landing stage. Pallbearers appeared and carried the coffin onto dry land.

At the inner gate they were met by an official who checked the details with Vincenzo.

They were the only mourners. During the service she kept her eyes fixed on the coffin, topped by flowers from herself and Vincenzo. She had known Piero only a few weeks, yet she felt she had lost a very dear friend.

It was time to take the coffin to its final resting place. As they moved out of the chapel she could see that some of the cemetery was conventional, with burials in the ground, and headstones.

But this place had been created for economy of space, and most coffins were placed in narrow vaults, piled on top of one another, as many as ten high. At the outer end was a marble plaque giving the details of who lay there, with a picture. As there was also a holder for flowers a whole wall of these plaques was an impressive sight. Where two flowered walls faced each other the effect was of an enchanted bower.

Elena was on the fourth tier, her picture easily visible. She bore a marked resemblance to her father, having his sharp features and brilliant smile.

Slowly Piero’s coffin was slid into the space beside her, and the end fitted into place.

‘Goodbye,’ she whispered. ‘And thank you for everything.’

‘I’d like to put some fresh flowers in my sister’s urn,’ Vincenzo said.

They walked along the long walls of flowers until Vincenzo stopped, pointing up at something above his head.

‘That’s Bianca,’ he said. ‘And the one beside her is her husband.’

Julia tilted her head back, but was unable to see the pictures clearly.

‘How do you get up so high to change the flowers?’ she wanted to know.

‘There are some steps somewhere.’

He went searching around the corner and reappeared wheeling a set of steps high enough to reach the upper levels. Julia studied his sister’s face and even from this distance she could see the family resemblance between them. There was a gentleness about Bianca that was instantly appealing.

‘I didn’t like him,’ Vincenzo said, ‘but she loved him. They only had four years together before they died.’

‘Why didn’t you like him?’

‘He was too smooth a character. You can see it there in his face.’

She glanced up again, trying to get a better view of the man, whose face was partly obscured by flowers.

Suddenly she felt as though the very air about her had shuddered. She clutched the steps to avoid falling.

‘What is it?’ Vincenzo asked, concerned.

‘I want to climb up.’

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

‘I need to see more closely.’

Feeling as though she were moving through a nightmare, she began to climb the steps, her gaze fixed on the man’s face as it grew closer. She took a deep breath, expecting it to change before her eyes. This must all be a terrifying mistake.

But there was no mistake. The face engraved in the marble was that of her husband.

She could hear Vincenzo’s voice calling her from a great distance. Gradually the world stopped spinning and she realised that she was sitting on the steps, shivering violently.

‘For God’s sake, what’s the matter?’ he demanded, aghast. ‘You nearly fainted up there.’

‘It’s him,’ she said through chattering teeth.

‘What do you mean?’

‘My husband, Bruce. That’s him up there.’

‘Julia, you’re overwrought.’

‘I tell you, that’s him.’

She forced herself to her feet. ‘Let me see him again.’

‘All right, and you’ll find that it’s just a chance resemblance.’

She climbed back to the top step and fixed her eyes on the man, almost hoping to find that it had been a mistake. But there was no doubt. It was the face she hated. Silently she went down and sat on the steps again, feeling as though she were turning to ice.

‘That is Bruce,’ she said slowly. ‘How does he come to be here?’

‘Julia, I think you’re wrong. You haven’t seen him for years and your memories are distorted by hatred.’

‘I know what he looked like,’ she said angrily. ‘Oh, why was I stupid enough to lose his pictures overboard? If I still had them you could see for yourself. That’s him.’

Vincenzo drew a sharp breath. If she was right the implications were so monstrous that for the moment he couldn’t accept them.

‘I can’t get my head around this,’ he said slowly. ‘I know him as James Cardew. He came here five years ago.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘Julia—’

She clutched his hand painfully. ‘Was anyone with him? Tell me.’

‘He had a little girl with him,’ he said slowly.

‘How old?’

‘About three.’

‘Blue eyes? Fair hair, slightly ginger?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s my daughter. Where is she?’

‘Mio Dio!’ he whispered, appalled. ‘How can this have happened?’

‘Where is she?’

‘Since they died she lives with me.’

‘I must see her.’

‘Wait!’ She’d half risen and he seized her arms. ‘It isn’t as simple as that.’

‘She is my daughter. I am her mother. What could be simpler?’

‘But you can’t just go up to her and tell her who you are. She thinks you’re dead.’

She shook her head wildly. ‘No, I don’t believe you.’

‘James told us that he was a widower. The child believed it. She’s had years to get used to the idea. For her it’s reality. Julia, please try to understand. You can’t simply burst on her out of the blue.’

She leaned hopelessly against the side of the steps.

‘I didn’t believe I could hate him any more than I did,’ she said. ‘But he had one last trick up his sleeve.’

Other mourners were coming towards them along the tunnel of flowers. He helped her to her feet.

‘Let’s find somewhere else.’

They found a seat in the cloisters at the far end and sat quietly for a few minutes, both stunned by what had happened.

At last a harsh sound, part laugh, part sob, burst from her.

‘I’ve dreamed of this for so long. It was going to be the happiest moment of my life. Now I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. You’ve got to admit that’s funny. Oh, heavens, isn’t it hilarious?’

She began to laugh softly, trying to smother the sound with her hands.

‘Don’t,’ Vincenzo begged, slipping his arm around her.

‘What shall I do? Cry?’

When he didn’t answer she looked up and saw that he was looking back the way they had come, to where a middle-aged woman and a little girl had appeared before the plaques of Bianca and her husband. The woman was controlling a pushchair in which a child slept.

‘Who are they?’ she asked in a shaking voice.

‘The woman is Gemma. I employ her as a nanny.’

‘And the little girl?’

The world seemed to stop. He was looking at her with an expression of terrible sadness.

‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered. ‘That’s—?’

‘Yes.’ He was gripping her tightly now.

‘Let go of me.’

‘No. Julia, stop and think. She doesn’t know you. She’s grieving for the death of her parents.’

‘They weren’t her parents. Your sister wasn’t her mother.’

‘But she loved her as though she was. I’m sorry, I know this is painful for you, but for Rosa’s sake you must listen.’

‘Rosa? Her name is Natalie.’

‘Not any longer. He told us her name was Rosa. She’s forgotten Natalie.’

‘Forgotten me, you mean?’

‘I think he set himself to drive you out of her memory, yes.’

‘And he succeeded.’

‘It’s been five years,’ he said urgently. ‘The child believes what she’s been taught to believe. Think what the truth would do to her now. Don’t force any more burdens onto her.’

‘You’re saying I’m a burden to her?’ she demanded, aghast.

‘You would be at this moment. I beg you to leave it until we’ve both had time to think.’

‘Time for you to spirit her away where I can’t find her,’ she flashed.

He didn’t reply in words, but the white-faced look he gave her was so full of shock that she backed off.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ he said harshly. ‘Is that the sort of man you think I am?’

‘How do I know? Once I thought Bruce was wonderful. When people are fighting over a child they do things that you wouldn’t have dreamed—’

‘Are we fighting? Have we ever fought? I think I’ve deserved better from you than that kind of accusation. But since you lump me in with all the others, here.’

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled something and tore off the page with a gesture that was almost violent.

‘That’s where I live now,’ he snapped. ‘Come any time and you’ll find her there. But think very carefully about what you’re going to say to her.’

Without giving her a chance to answer he stormed off in the direction of the woman and child. Julia sat, frozen with dismay, shocked at herself for having said such a thing to him, appalled at the discovery that had made them almost enemies.

She watched the little scene in the distance. The woman had drawn the steps up to the wall of plaques, climbing them, then taking out the flowers. She descended and indicated for the child to climb up, with the fresh flowers she was holding. She mounted and began to place flowers in the urns, first her father’s, then Bianca’s.

She was coming down now, sitting on the steps in exactly the same spot where Julia had sat only a few moments ago. She wasn’t weeping, merely crouching there with the stillness of despair. The woman tried to comfort her, but to Julia it was hard to tell if the child even noticed.

She felt as though a band were tightening about her heart. How well she knew that feeling of desolation, so deep that the slightest movement didn’t seem worth the effort.

Then it swept over her in a tide of anguish. This child was grieving for the loss of her parents, of her mother.

Her mother! Not Julia. Not the woman who’d yearned over her through heartbroken days and agonised nights. Someone else!

Then the little girl looked up, saw Vincenzo and, with a glad cry, began to run towards him. He opened his arms and she hurled herself into them, babbling in Italian. Julia could just hear the words.

‘I looked for you—’

‘I’m here now,’ he soothed her. ‘But what are you doing here?’

‘You said you were coming to the funeral of your friend, so I asked Gemma to bring me to see Mamma and Papà. I knew you’d come to see them too.’

Julia began to move forward very slowly, staying close to the wall, making no disturbance, but getting close enough to see better. Then the little girl raised her head from Vincenzo’s shoulder, and Julia gasped at the sight of her. If she’d had any doubts before, they were settled now, for it was her own mother’s face that she saw. This was the child she had last seen years ago, at the start of the nightmare.

Vincenzo looked back and for a terrible moment Julia thought he would ignore her. Instead he said gently, ‘Rosa, I have a friend for you to meet.’

The child looked straight at her. Julia held her breath, waiting for the burst of joyful recognition.

But it did not come.

Rosa regarded her mother politely but without recognition.

‘Buongiorno,’ she said.

‘Buongiorno,’ Julia replied mechanically. ‘I am—’

She fell silent. No words would come. She could hear her own heart pounding.

‘This is Signora Julia Baxter,’ Vincenzo said.

‘Buongiorno, signora. Sono Rosa.’

She offered her hand. Hardly knowing what she did, Julia took it. For a moment it lay in hers. Her daughter had shaken her hand like a stranger.

Vincenzo was introducing the nanny, who had a kind face. Julia greeted her mechanically. She was functioning on automatic while her brain struggled to cope.

‘Julia came with me to Piero’s funeral,’ Vincenzo explained. ‘He was a friend we were very fond of.’

‘I promised Carlo he could come to see Mamma and Papà this time,’ Rosa said. ‘He was too young before.’

‘Carlo?’ Julia asked blankly.

She knew that she sounded vague, but that was because her mind was rejecting the monstrous idea that was growing. Surely it was impossible?

But nothing was impossible.

‘He’s my little brother,’ Rosa said, indicating the sleeping child in the pushchair. ‘He’s only two.’

She reached out eagerly to Vincenzo. ‘Come with me.’

He took her hand and they went up the steps together. Julia heard her say, ‘I didn’t do the flowers properly.’

And Vincenzo’s tender reply, ‘Let’s do them together.’

He helped her to arrange the leaves. When they had finished the child stood a moment looking at the pictures. Slowly she passed her fingertips over them as though seeking comfort from the cold marble, then leaned forward and kissed them, first her father, then her stepmother. Julia bent her head, unable to watch. But in the next moment she looked up again, unable not to watch.

She waited for her daughter to cry, but, as before, Rosa’s face was blank. Whatever she was feeling was being kept bolted down and hidden from the world.

‘Just like me,’ Julia thought, appalled. ‘I know exactly what’s happening to her inside. But no child should feel like that, or have such a look of frozen misery. Dear God, what’s happened to her?’

After a moment the little girl came down and went to the pushchair, gently shaking the toddler. He awoke with a gurgle, instantly smiling.

Like Bruce, Julia thought. He’s got his face and his charm.

The nanny started to help but Rosa shook her head, polite but determined as she undid the straps and helped him out. Hand in hand they climbed the steps together.

‘Look,’ Julia heard her say. ‘That’s Papà and that’s Mamma.’

He beamed and stretched out his hands to the faces of his parents, but when they encountered only cold marble he flinched back. Puzzled, he looked at his sister, and reached out again.

‘Mamma,’ he said. ‘Mamma, Mamma!’

He began to sob, pounding the marble with his fists and screaming out his disillusion.

At once Rosa gathered the child into her arms, murmuring soothing words.

‘It’s all right, little one. It’s all right. We’ll go home now.’

She helped him down to the ground, put him back into the pushchair and kissed him gently, stroking him until he stopped crying.

‘It would have been better to wait until he was a little older,’ Vincenzo told her.

Rosa nodded sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Vincenzo. I just didn’t want him to forget them. But I should have remembered he’s only a baby.’

She turned politely to Julia.

‘Buongiorno, signora,’ she said, as politely as a little old lady. ‘I’m afraid I must be going now. I hope that we will meet again.’

‘So do I,’ she said with an effort.

She watched as the little party walked away, the baby’s hand extended to clutch Rosa’s, as though there he could find safety.

‘I didn’t know they were coming here,’ Vincenzo said. ‘Rosa just spoke of the next few days.’

‘That little boy—is he—?’

‘Yes, he’s Bianca’s son, and James’. I wish it hadn’t been sprung on you like that.’

‘I suppose I should have thought of it.’

Suddenly the wind that blew down the corridor of flowers was bleak and desolate. She shivered.

‘It’s cold. I’m going home.’

The group had reached the end of the path and were about to turn out of sight. They stopped and looked back at Vincenzo.

‘We need to talk,’ he said, ‘but—’

‘But you have to go.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Your family needs you.’

‘You’ll come with us to the landing stage?’

‘I think I’ll wait and take the next boat. Go quickly before they get worried.’

‘Yes.’ He was uneasy, but there was no choice.

Julia didn’t watch him catch up with the others. She turned away and walked in the opposite direction, wondering how this could have happened. After the years of yearning and hoping she had finally met her daughter again, and the moment that should have been so happy had brought her greater pain than anything in her life.

Vincenzo didn’t appear at the restaurant that evening. Julia tried not to read anything into it, but she regretted hurling an accusation at him. He was her only friend and it was foolish to alienate him.

But she knew that this practical reason wasn’t the only one. Bit by bit the sense of closeness they shared had become essential to her.

She thought of him as the man she might have loved if love were not impossible for her now. Deeper than that she didn’t dare to look into her own heart.

When the restaurant closed she went wearily up the stairs and shut herself in. Her brain felt as though it were going around and around on a treadmill. She must go to bed and try to sleep, but she knew she would only lie awake.

The building was old-fashioned, with shutters on the windows. As she went to close them for the night her gaze was caught by something in the calle below. Pushing open the window, she leaned out and saw a man standing there.

‘Come in,’ she called.

She was at the door, waiting for him as he turned the corner of the stairs, ready to open her arms to him in her relief.

‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ she said fervently.

He nodded almost curtly, but made no move toward her. ‘I had to.’

‘I thought you were angry with me after what I said.’

She stepped back to let him into the room, realising that there would be no embrace.

‘No, I’m not angry any more,’ he said. ‘You were in a state of shock. Let’s forget that it happened.’

This wasn’t the joyful reunion she’d anticipated when she’d seen him in the street. He was here, but emotionally he was holding back from her in a way he’d never done before. When she laid a hand on his arm he smiled cautiously, but didn’t take her into his arms.

‘Perhaps you’d make me a coffee,’ he said politely.

‘Of course,’ she replied, matching his tone.

As she was working in the kitchen he came and stood leaning against the doorway.

‘I may even have deserved your suspicion,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t spirit her away, but for a moment I did wish I could turn the clock back, to before you appeared, and stop it happening. Rosa has been part of my family for five years. I love her. Do you think I wanted to admit that she’s yours?’

‘Does that mean that you’re going to say that she isn’t?’ she asked sharply.

‘I can’t do that. I wish I could, but I did some checking on the internet tonight. I found several reports about the robbery, confirming everything you told me. One of them had a tiny picture of your husband, just good enough to show that he really was the same man as James Cardew.

‘And the first time I ever saw you, that night Piero brought you home, there was something familiar about you. I didn’t understand it, but actually I was looking at you and seeing Rosa.’

‘But we’re not alike.’

‘Except for one thing—her forehead. She has exactly the same low forehead that you have. Usually her fringe hides it, but tonight I saw her brush the fringe back, and then everything became clear.’

They returned to the main room and he chose a single chair rather than the sofa where she might have sat beside him.

‘I need to know more,’ she said quietly. ‘Everything you can tell me about him.’

‘Does it really matter now?’

‘I have six years of blanks to fill in. I won’t like what you tell me, but I have to know.’

‘Yes, I suppose you do,’ he said at last. ‘All right. I’ll tell you everything I can.’

Chapter Eight

VINCENZO took a deep breath, and started.

‘It seems as though your friends who thought they’d seen him in Venice and Rome were right. Bianca met him in Rome, where he was as an art dealer.’

‘An art dealer?’ Julia cried in disgust. ‘But he knew nothing except what he learned from me.’

‘He seems to have been a genius at presentation. Plus he had a lot of money and his premises were in the wealthy part of town.’

‘That would be his cut from the robberies,’ she guessed.

‘Yes, it must have been enough to give the impression of success. When Bianca came home he followed her here. He said he was expanding, establishing a branch in Venice. The truth, as I later learned, was that he’d had to get out of Rome, fast. He’d sold some apparently priceless artefacts to a powerful family, who naturally wanted their money back when they turned out to be fakes.

‘They sent people to Venice, who explained to James that, if he didn’t pay up, bad things would happen to him. So he did, having no choice.

‘After that, what money he had left ran out quickly. He was extravagant. He bought useless rubbish for show, made bad investments. He was a rather stupid, shallow man.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly it.’

‘But there was nothing to make me suspect him of worse than that. He had a passport in the name of James Cardew and hers said Rosa Cardew. He had a whole file of paperwork establishing that James Cardew was a successful art dealer with a list of grateful clients in several countries. Someone in the gang must have forged them for him before they parted company.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Julia said. ‘Otherwise the man who split on him could have given the police his new name. No, it must have been done later, by someone else. I dare say false documents are easy enough to get, if you have the money.’

‘He certainly had money for a while. When it ran out he got desperate. He tried to get some out of me, although this was after the crash and the whole world knew that we had nothing. But he was sure I had some secret cache hidden from the creditors. He suggested that it was time I handed over Bianca’s ‘‘share’’.’

‘Yes, that was how his mind worked,’ she remembered. ‘He could never believe that things were exactly as they seemed, especially where cash was concerned. Did he think she had a secret fortune when they married?’

‘He as good as admitted it. I don’t think he married her entirely for love. Maybe not at all.’

It took her a moment to appreciate what he was saying, and then she turned on him.

‘Is that supposed to delight me?’ she demanded furiously. ‘Do you think I care who he loved?’

‘I don’t know how you feel. You were once deeply in love with him.’

‘That was in another life.’

He nodded wryly. ‘I keep telling myself that things happened in another life. But it’s odd how the lives overlap when you least expect it. Anyway, like a fool I borrowed against the restaurant for my sister’s sake. She’d had a rough time. I didn’t want things to get worse for her.’

‘How long did it take him to come back for more?’

‘Not long. This time we had a fight and he ended up in the canal.’

‘Good,’ she said simply.

‘The one good thing I know of him is that he honestly seemed to love Rosa. In his way he was a good father.’

‘A good father, after the way he separated her from her mother, without a thought for either of them?’

‘I only meant that he always showed her a lot of affection, and interest. If she tried to tell him something he’d stop what he was doing and listen, however long it took. Lots of parents can’t do that, however much they love the child—’

‘Yes, all right,’ she interrupted him in a strained voice. ‘You’re right, he was a good father. I remember now how he loved being with her.’

‘And she adored him. She also came to love Bianca. That’s not easy for you to hear, but you have to know what you’re dealing with.’

‘Thank you,’ she said in a colourless voice. ‘I couldn’t tell much from seeing her today.’

‘No, she didn’t cry or show any emotion, did she?’ he said heavily. ‘It’s been four months, and still—’

Julia stared. ‘You mean she’s never cried?’

‘Not once. Even on the first day, when the news came—’ He broke off with a helpless shrug. ‘She just closed in on herself. She won’t let anyone in, not even me.’ He looked at her. ‘That’s something you know all about.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Sometimes it’s the only form of self-protection you have.’

‘To pack your feelings away in an iron chest marked, ‘‘No longer required’’. Then bury that chest too deep to be found again,’ he said, reminding her of her own words.

‘But she’s so young!’

‘She’s eight years old, but she’s already lost three parents, and she can’t talk to anyone about it. We all have our burdens but—’

‘But hers are the worst,’ Julia agreed sombrely.

‘Normally she loves Carnival, but now she refuses to think of it.’

‘Carnival?’

‘In February. Everyone dresses up in masks and colourful costumes. Last year she had a wonderful time with James and Bianca. Maybe that’s why she’s not interested this year. I keep trying to entice her, telling her how excited she ought to be, but—’ He shrugged.

‘You can’t get into someone’s mind by force,’ Julia said.

‘No, I guess I know that.’

Suddenly she burst out. ‘What am I going to do? Do you know how I’ve dreamed of the things I’d say to her when we met again? And now none of them will be right. What can I do?’

‘You can trust me.’

‘Can I?’ she asked before she could stop herself.

He grimaced. ‘I suppose you’re bound to think that way.’

‘How do I know what to think?’

He rose. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t talk any more. We both have a lot riding on this, and we can’t afford to quarrel.’

‘In the meantime, I’m totally in your hands,’ she said angrily. It was the kind of thing she’d resolved not to say, but she couldn’t help herself. The strains of the day, the helpless sense of being so near and yet so far, filled her with tension that found relief in bitterness.

‘I wish I could persuade you that you’re safe in my hands,’ he said.

‘But you have my daughter and I don’t,’ she cried. ‘How am I supposed to get past that?’

‘Supposed to forgive that, you mean. Perhaps you never will. We’ll talk another time.’

‘When do I see her?’

‘You have my address. All you have to do is turn up and bulldoze your way in.’

‘You know I won’t do that.’

‘Right, because you’re a good mother. That’s what’s holding you back. Not me.’

‘And it’ll always hold me back, won’t it? It’s what you’re counting on.’

‘Don’t say any more, Julia. Don’t say things that will make the future harder.’

She turned on him. ‘Harder? How much harder than this can it get? Can’t you understand what’s happened? The last time I saw my child she clung to me and cried, ‘‘Mummy, no!’’ Today she—didn’t even—recognise—me.’

The words came out in jerks. She was trembling violently, unable to prevent the sobs coming. They rose up in her, bursting out as gasping screams.

‘Julia!’ He came to her but she fended him off.

‘No—no—keep away—I’m all right.’

‘But you’re not. At least let me help you.’

‘How can you help me—when we’re enemies?’ she choked. ‘That’s true, isn’t it?’

‘No, we’re not enemies. Perhaps we’re on different sides, but you and I could never be enemies.’

‘That’s just words,’ she flashed at him. ‘If we’re not enemies now, we will be in the end. Don’t you know that?’

By his face she could tell that he did know it, however hard he might try to deny it.

‘No,’ he said, trying to sound convinced. ‘There’s too much between us.’

‘There’s nothing between us that matters,’ she flashed. ‘Nothing—nothing—’

She couldn’t finish. The sobs were rising again, threatening to suffocate her. Vincenzo abandoned argument and did what he should have done at first, putting his arms around her and holding her tightly.

‘Don’t try to talk,’ he murmured. ‘Talking doesn’t help.’ He sighed, resting his cheek against her hair. ‘I don’t really know what does help, but it isn’t words.’

She couldn’t answer. Waves of grief overwhelmed her. It was as if all the tears she had shed over the last few years were still there to be shed again.

From somewhere she heard him murmuring her name, and felt his head resting against hers. He was right. Words were useless. The only comfort lay in shared warmth, and it was only to be found in him.

‘All these years,’ she wept, ‘thinking of her every day, longing for her, loving her, but not knowing what she looked like any more, dreaming of when I’d find her again, what we’d say to each other—’

‘I know, I know,’ he whispered.

‘What did I think was going to happen? Deluding myself—she was bound to have a new life—but I wouldn’t let myself see it—’

‘Julia—Julia—’

‘She doesn’t want me.’

‘It’s too soon to say that.’

‘No, it isn’t. Don’t you see I’ve been fooling myself all this time? I’m a stranger to her. She doesn’t want me and she never will.’

She wept without restraint. She had come to the end of the journey and the ending was bitter and hopeless. He tried desperately to soothe her, turning her face up to him and kissing it repeatedly. Her wretchedness tore at him and for a moment he would have done anything in the world to make things right for her.

Anything but the one thing she wanted.

He’d seen her face like this once before, the night she’d walked in her sleep and he’d promised to help her. How far away it seemed now.

He kissed her tears, then her lips, gently at first, then fiercely as though trying to call her back from some distant region.

‘You said there was nothing between us,’ he said huskily. ‘But you’re wrong. There’s this—and this—’

For a moment she almost yielded. The feeling was so sweet and welcome. But now the distress that fuelled her whole life had extended to him, and she would not weaken.

‘Yes,’ she said wistfully. ‘But it’s not enough. Please, Vincenzo—’

He sighed and released her.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s not enough. I’d better be going.’

She wanted to say something to keep him there. She wanted him to go.

She longed to think of the right thing to say, but the words wouldn’t come to her, and he was equally silent.

‘Goodnight,’ he said at last.

‘Goodnight.’

He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Julia could only stand, in violent despair, watching that closed door, wishing she could dash her head against it.

That night her dreams were haunted by a child screaming for the mother she was about to lose. She could feel the arms about her neck, desperately clinging on as she was torn away.

‘No, Mummy, no!’

She awoke to find herself sitting up, staring into the darkness, clinging onto the wall as though to stop herself from falling.

After that she didn’t dare go back to sleep. She got up and spent the rest of the night walking the silent calles.

She wondered what she would say to Vincenzo, but when she went to work there was no sign of him. Someone said he’d called to say he wouldn’t be in today.

She made a decision.

‘I’m due for a day off,’ she told the head waiter, ‘and I’d like to take it now. I’m sorry about the short notice—’

‘It’s OK, we’re not too busy,’ he said kindly.

She stormed out into the street and began to run in the direction of the Grand Canal. It was an unfamiliar route, but by now she was becoming a Venetian, and managed not to get lost more than once. When she reached the water she boarded a traghetto, one of the two-man gondola ferries that crossed the Grand Canal. Like the others she made the journey standing upright, huddling her jacket around her against the icy wind, and the snow that was falling again.

By studying a map she managed to identify the address Vincenzo had given her in the Fondamenta Soranzo. As she reached the shore she was already working out the rest of the way: down this calle, across that little bridge.

Suppose they weren’t there? Suppose his disappearance meant that he’d taken her away? Wherever they had gone, she would find them.

There was the doorway, opposite her on the other side of a small canal. In another moment—

You’re a good mother. That’s what’s holding you back. Not me.

The words seemed to leap out at her from the clear air. Only last night she’d said she would not ‘bulldoze’ her way in. And now she was doing it.

She watched the house for any sign of movement. Slowly, she began to retreat into the shadows until she turned the corner. Then she ran back the way she’d come and almost jumped into the returning traghetto.

On the other side she jumped out again and headed straight for the nearest art shop. There she spent money in a fury, buying colours, pencils, brushes and pigments. She finished off with a large, canvas artist’s bag, stuffed everything into it, and headed for the Palazzo di Montese.

As she came near she crossed her fingers, hoping that she could still get in. There was the little back door. She put her shoulder to it, giving it a push and a shake. It opened.

‘Trust you to know how to do it,’ she whispered to the unseen friend she still remembered.

Once inside she carefully closed the door and hurried on upstairs. In the upper corridor she stopped and looked up at the ceiling, where there were some frescoes that had taken her attention before. Now that the light was good she could see how really fine they were; also that they needed her attention.

‘I should have done this before,’ she muttered.

Unlike most of the ceilings in the palazzo, this one wasn’t too high, and now she knew where to find a stepladder. She put it in place and shinned up, but was still not close enough.

A tall, empty bookshelf stood nearby. From the top of the stepladder she managed to scramble onto it. Lying on her back, she had just the view she wanted. The old, familiar excitement began to grow in her as she saw what time had done to the fresco, and knew what she could do to make it right.

So absorbed was she that she failed to hear the faint sounds coming from below. It was Vincenzo’s voice that alerted her.

‘Careful where you step. Take my hand.’

And then a child’s voice, ‘It’s awfully big, Uncle Vincenzo. Did you and Mamma really used to live here?’

‘We did once, when we were children. Did she ever tell you about it?’

‘She did sometimes. She promised to bring me here, but Papà heard her and got angry. Why was that?’

‘I don’t know, cara. He had his own way of seeing things. Perhaps we shouldn’t have come.’

‘Oh, but you promised. I’ve been looking forward to it.’

‘But it’s a gloomy place, for you.’

‘It wasn’t always gloomy, though, was it?’

‘No, my darling. Once it was full of lights and laughter. But that was a long time ago.’

Julia lay on top of the bookcase, unable not to eavesdrop, her heart beating fast at the sound of her daughter’s voice. But Vincenzo’s voice also caught her attention. There was no harshness in it now. It was gentle and tender as he spoke to the child.

They must just be on the stairs below, and she could hear him very clearly, talking about the old days in this place. Sometimes the little girl laughed, and then he laughed with her. They were delightful together. Julia lay there, high up, listening, torn between sadness and aching delight.

But she couldn’t stay here, waiting to be discovered. Slowly she began to inch to the edge of the bookcase, from where she could get to the stepladder.

Nearly there—nearly there—one hand on the ladder—a few more inches—

But the ladder moved as she touched it. Grasping frantically, she somehow lurched back against the bookcase, and the next moment the whole lot came crashing down to the floor, with her underneath.

For a moment she lay still, trapped beneath everything, more winded than hurt.

She heard Vincenzo call, ‘Rosa, come back here—’ and the next moment the child came flying around the corner.

‘Uncle Vincenzo, come quickly.’

He appeared a moment later, frowning at the sight, then exclaiming violently as he recognised her.

‘It’s the lady from yesterday,’ Rosa cried.

‘Julia, what the devil? Julia!’

‘I’m all right,’ she gasped. ‘If you could just get this stuff off me—’

Instantly the child reached out tiny hands to the bookcase.

‘Get back,’ Vincenzo told her sharply. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’

When he was sure she was clear he removed the stepladder, then lifted the bookcase and swung it right away.

‘Don’t try to get up,’ he ordered Julia as she began to move.

‘I’m all right,’ she said decidedly. ‘No bones broken.’

‘Your forehead’s bleeding,’ Rosa said.

She touched it and found the trickle of blood. Then Vincenzo’s arms went about her and he was helping her to her feet.

‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes, of course I—hey.’

He’d lifted her and was carrying her to the room that had been the count’s bedroom. Rosa ran ahead and opened the door so that he could go through and lay her on the great bed. He pulled off his jacket and put it under her head as a pillow. Then he sat beside her, glaring.

‘If you aren’t the most—what the devil were you doing?’

‘Looking at your frescoes.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s about time somebody did. It’s my job.’

‘You have to do it here and now?’ he demanded, astounded and exasperated in equal measure. ‘No—wait—that can come later. You need a doctor.’

‘I just had a little fall and a few bruises. But I could do with something to drink.’

‘I’ll get you some water from the pump. Rosa, stay with her. Don’t let her get up.’

He left the room, and at once the child came to the bed, as though standing guard.

‘It’s all right,’ Julia said. ‘I’m not going to run away.’

‘Good, because Uncle Vincenzo says you mustn’t.’

‘Do people always do what Uncle Vincenzo says?’

Rosa considered this seriously. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Do you?’

She shook her head solemnly. Julia wondered if she was imagining a gleam of mischief in the childish eyes. She would have liked to believe it was there.

‘You’re the lady I met yesterday, aren’t you?’

Julia nodded.

‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m an art restorer.’

‘Is that the same as an artist?’

‘No, I was never much good as an artist, so I look after other people’s pictures, and repair them.’

‘Are you doing that for Uncle Vincenzo?’

‘The truth is that I had no right to be here. I’m just nosy, I’m afraid.’

This admission seemed to strike a response in the child.

‘Oh, yes, like when you’re looking at a book of pictures and you’ve just got to keep turning over more and more pages.’

‘That’s it,’ Julia said. ‘The pictures are so beautiful that you can’t get enough.’

‘And you wish ever so much that you could make pictures like them,’ Rosa said wistfully. ‘But you just can’t.’

Julia looked up quickly to see Vincenzo standing in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him come in, and wondered how long he’d been there.

Rosa was full of eagerness.

‘Uncle, this lady understands about pictures and wanting to look at them even though it’s time to go to bed.’

Vincenzo grinned. ‘We have constant battles about bedtime in our house.’

He brought a glass of water to the bed and offered it to Julia, who was hauling herself up painfully.

‘Thank you,’ she gasped, fumbling for the glass.

But it was Rosa who secured it, climbing onto the bed and directing Vincenzo to hold Julia up. He slipped his arms beneath her shoulders while the little girl held the glass to her lips.

‘Can I have your hankie, please, Uncle?’

He handed over a clean handkerchief, and Rosa used it to dab at the blood on Julia’s forehead. Her little face was concentrated, as though this were the most important job in the world. Her hands were gentle.

‘There,’ she said solemnly at last. ‘That will do until the doctor sees it.’

‘Thank you,’ Julia said as Vincenzo laid her back on the jacket. She smiled at Rosa. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘I’m going to be a nurse when I grow up,’ the child told her. ‘Or I may be an art restorer. If I can read all the books in time. But it’s hard because Gemma keeps telling me to put the light out and go to sleep.’

‘I used to get into trouble for that too. My mother couldn’t understand that, to me, an art book was as good as a thriller.’

Rosa nodded again, this time vigorously. ‘What did you do?’ she asked.

Julia leaned nearer, like a conspirator, and whispered, ‘I got smaller books and hid them under the bedclothes.’

She winked. Rosa gave a little gasp, which almost turned into a giggle. Almost.

‘Now can I ask what you’re doing here?’ Vincenzo said. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me, instead of coming here alone and climbing about in that dangerous way?’

‘I did it on impulse. I thought it would give me something to think about other than—well, things I didn’t want to think about.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rosa grow suddenly still. It was an alert stillness, as though someone had blown a trumpet, and she was waiting.

‘I expect you have a lot of things that you don’t want to think about,’ Julia said carefully.

Rosa nodded.

‘But you can’t stop,’ she said.

‘I know. The more you don’t want to think of them, the more you keep thinking of them, until it’s like a great big stone crushing you. And you can’t get out from under it.’

This time Rosa didn’t nod, but a light came into her eyes, and she continued to watch Julia intently.

‘I think I should get you back to your flat,’ Vincenzo said. ‘Then I’m sending for the doctor, and I want no argument. Nor are you coming in to work at the restaurant. You’ll rest until Epiphany is over.’

‘Then she can spend Epiphany with us,’ Rosa breathed. ‘Uncle Vincenzo, please say she can.’

Julia drew in her breath, waiting for Vincenzo to find some excuse.

‘Will you feel well enough for that?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I know I will.’

‘You’ll come?’ Rosa exclaimed. ‘And stay with us all day?’

Julia glanced at Vincenzo. He was very pale, but he spoke steadily.

‘Of course you will stay all day. So now you must rest properly, to make quite certain that nothing prevents you being our guest.’

‘My guest,’ Rosa said proudly.

Chapter Nine

IT SNOWED the night before Epiphany, but by the morning it had stopped, the sun was out, and Venice lay under a shining white blanket.

Vincenzo came to collect Julia and exclaimed, ‘Mio Dio, what are you carrying?’

‘Gifts for Rosa. After all, it’s her day, isn’t it? Piero told me that Italian children hang up their stockings now, not at Christmas.’

‘You’d better let me take some. There was no need to load yourself down like a donkey.’

‘Six missing birthdays. Six missing Christmases. I’m making up for all those times I wasn’t able to watch her face as she opened things. She won’t know, but I will.’

As they walked through the snow she said, ‘By the way, how did I become Signora Baxter?’

‘It was the first name I could think of. Do you mind?’

‘No, it’ll do. I’m so happy today I’d agree to anything.’

She gave a little skip in the snow and he had to grab her to stop her slithering. They laughed together and now he could hear the different note in her voice. She had come back to life. The next moment she broke free and began to pelt him with snowballs. He dropped the parcels and pelted her back.

As it was a feast day there were no traghetti crossing the Grand Canal, so they walked over the Accademia Bridge. Halfway across Julia stopped and looked down the length of water to where it broadened out into the lagoon, flashing and gleaming like a million swords in the sunlight.

‘If people knew Venice was as beautiful as this in winter, nobody would come in the summer,’ she said.

‘You’re turning into a Venetian,’ he teased.

‘I reckon I am.’

She gazed ecstatically up into the sky, which was a brilliant blue.

‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she breathed. ‘After all these years I’ve seen her again, I’m going to spend the day with her and she likes me. Not as a mother—it’s too soon for that, I know. But she likes me, she likes me.’

‘Steady,’ he said, taking her shoulders. ‘Try to keep your feet on the ground.’

‘No, why should I?’ she said, laughing. ‘I don’t want my feet on the ground. The ground’s so hard. Believe me, I know. I’ve slept on it.’

He gave her a gentle shake. ‘Julia, you’re crazy.’

‘Yes, I’m crazy,’ she cried joyfully. ‘I’m crazy with happiness, crazy, crazy!’

Some passers-by looked at her, but instead of scuttling past in alarm they grinned, falling in with her mood. This was Venice, where crazy people were the norm.

Just the same, Vincenzo took the precaution of kissing her firmly before she could say any more.

‘Will you shut up?’ he begged between kisses.

‘Maybe. Persuade me.’

He kissed her again and again, feeling her young and glorious in his arms, wishing it could always be like this. He took her face between his hands, looking deep into her eyes. But although he saw his own reflection there he knew that was only on the surface. Behind that surface was something else that excluded him.

‘Julia,’ he said, trying to call her back to him. ‘Sophie.’

‘Whatever. What does anything matter? I thought I’d never have even this much again, and I’m going to enjoy today. I’ll worry about the rest later.’

Now he could see her as she’d been years ago, young and full of hope, before grief and despair had marked her. He grinned and told her something that would please her.

‘You heard what Rosa said about your being her guest? Because she was the one who invited you. She’s determined to do all the entertaining herself. She even wanted to cook the meal, but I drew the line at that. Gemma cooked it, but she’ll be leaving as soon as we get there, to spend the day with her family.’

‘You should have let her cook it,’ Julia declared. ‘It would have tasted glorious.’

‘I’ve tasted Rosa’s attempts at cooking,’ he said darkly. ‘Believe me, it would probably have poisoned you.’

‘I wouldn’t care. Isn’t she a wonderful little person, Vincenzo? Did you notice what she did that day in the palazzo, when I had that fall?’

‘You scared the life out of me.’

‘But not out of her. She wasn’t scared, although it must have sounded like a terrible crash down where you were, and I heard you tell her to come back, but she didn’t take any notice—’

‘The little monkey never takes any notice,’ he said, unable to keep the fond pride out of his voice.

‘She just dashed up bravely. It could have been anything making that racket, but all she cared about was finding out. She’s one of those people who runs forward to life with her arms out. I’m so proud of her already, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am—’

‘She’s wonderful,’ Julia carolled up to the sky.

He gave up trying to remonstrate, knowing that she was beyond reason. Nor did he really want to bring her down to earth. Something caught in his throat at the sight of her joy, and he wished it could last for ever.

‘We should hurry,’ he said. ‘Gemma can’t leave until we get there.’

‘Then let’s go,’ she said, seizing his hand and pulling him off the bridge, determined to be delayed no longer. Soon they reached the Fondamenta Soranzo, where her eyes sought the windows of the house.

‘Look, there’s Rosa, watching for us,’ she cried, and waved eagerly.

The little girl waved back, beaming. Vincenzo opened the front door into a large hallway, with a flight of steps leading up.

‘We live up there,’ he said.

‘Uncle Vincenzo!’ called a child’s voice from upstairs, and the next minute Rosa came flying down to envelop him in a fierce embrace.

Then she turned her attention to Julia, too. But immediately she stood back and became the perfect hostess, polite and formal.

‘Buongiorno, Signora Baxter. I am very pleased to welcome you to this house and I hope you will have a very happy day with us.’

‘Thank you, I know that I will,’ Julia said, charmed. ‘But please call me Julia.’

‘Signora Julia.’

‘No, just Julia.’

Rosa cast a quick glance at Vincenzo, who shrugged and indicated Julia, saying, ‘It’s for our guest to decide.’

‘My guest,’ Rosa insisted. ‘Because I invited you.’

‘Yes, you did, and it was very kind of you,’ Julia said, smiling.

The sun had come out. Her daughter was a charming child with generous, confiding ways, and she had reached out to her.

‘Come with me.’ Rosa seized her hand and drew her up the stairs, Vincenzo following.

The apartment was spacious and attractive. The main room contained furniture that looked antique and had probably come from the palazzo.

Rosa took her coat and ushered her to the sofa, then bustled busily away. Julia heard her speaking to someone in the next room, then Gemma emerged, wearing an outdoor coat, and bid everyone goodbye.

In the centre of the room was a low table on which stood several plates, bearing cakes and biscuits, some elegant glasses, and a bottle of Prosecco. Rosa reappeared and began to pour some of the sparkling white wine for Julia and Vincenzo and orange juice for herself.

‘Please have a cake,’ she said to Julia. ‘Lunch will be in an hour.’

‘Perhaps I’d better look after the final stages,’ Vincenzo said. ‘Why don’t you show Julia your presents?’

Rosa promptly became a child again, bouncing to her feet and drawing Julia into the next room where there was a decorated tree, and signs of gifts opened with eager fingers. Rosa showed them off proudly.

‘I should really have waited for you to come before I opened my presents.’

‘Never mind,’ Julia told her. ‘When I was your age I always got down to business very early, usually about six o’clock on Christmas morning. In England children hang up their stockings at Christmas, not Epiphany.’

Rosa was wide-eyed. ‘You don’t have Befana?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.’

‘Befana is a kindly witch. They say the three kings invited her to visit the baby Jesus with them, but she was busy and didn’t go. Later she changed her mind, but by then she’d missed the star and lost her way. So now she flies around on her broomstick and leaves presents in every house where there are children, because she doesn’t know which house is the right one.’

‘That sounds lovely. I’m glad you told me about her. Now I know who it must have been.’

‘Must have been?’ Rosa queried.

‘This old woman who whirled around my head on her broomstick, and dropped something into my bag. She said she hadn’t delivered everything to this house, and didn’t have time to come back, so would I bring a few things for her?’

As she said this Julia produced her gifts. She had spent much time choosing them in an art bookshop, asking for ‘Something for a very intelligent eight-year-old.’ The sight of Rosa’s face as she unwrapped everything told her that she’d chosen well.

‘You remembered,’ Rosa breathed.

‘Yes, I remembered what we said the other day,’ Julia agreed, ‘but I also remembered myself when I was your age. These are the kind of things I loved to read.’

She fell silent, watching as Rosa examined one book that she’d chosen with particular care. It was almost entirely pictures, each one with a large caption that was repeated twice, once in Italian, once in English.

Rosa ran her fingers down one of the shiny pages, letting them rest on the English. She was frowning a little, but then she nodded and looked up, smiling.

Julia reached into her bag. ‘And I brought this for Carlo. I didn’t wrap it because I thought perhaps you should see it first and make sure it’s all right.’

It was a magnetic fishing puzzle. There was a brightly coloured picture, showing jungle creatures against lush foliage. Each animal could be separated from the background by dint of dangling a magnet until it made contact.

Rosa let out a whoop. ‘He’ll love this.’

‘I hope so. The shop said it was suitable for a two-year-old. It’s supposed to develop his skills at—well, moving and co-ordination and that sort of thing. Oh, never mind that. It looks fun.’

‘Oh, yes, it does. Carlo will love it.’

‘I remembered how sad he seemed the other day, and I thought he needed cheering up.’

‘You saw him at San Michele, didn’t you? Uncle Vincenzo was right, I shouldn’t have taken him. He thought he was going to see Mamma and Papà and when they weren’t there he cried. But you see—’ She hesitated.

‘Please trust me,’ Julia said. ‘You can tell me anything. I won’t repeat it.’

Rosa nodded. ‘My mother died when I was the same age as Carlo, and I can’t really remember her. And I hate that. It’s like having a gap when there ought to be somebody. I didn’t want that to happen to Carlo, but I got it wrong.

‘He’s too young to understand about people dying, you see. He only knows that there’s something missing. So Uncle Vincenzo and I show him lots of extra love. Gemma does too, of course, but we’re his family. And that’s different.’

‘Yes,’ Julia said slowly. ‘Family is different.’

‘Do you have any family?’

‘I—no.’

‘None at all?’

‘My parents are dead.’

‘And you never got married?’

‘Well, yes, I did, but he’s dead too.’

‘No little boys or girls?’ When Julia didn’t answer Rosa was immediately contrite. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Please forgive me.’

‘You weren’t rude,’ Julia said huskily. ‘I did have a little girl but I—lost her several years ago. She would have been about your age now.’

Rosa didn’t answer in words, but she got up from the floor where she was sitting and put her arms about Julia’s neck. Julia hugged her back, overwhelmed by the feel of her child’s warmth and her cheek pressed against her own.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa whispered.

She drew back and smiled directly into Julia’s face.

‘It would be nice to think she would have been like you,’ Julia said.

A glint of mischief came into the child’s face. ‘You wouldn’t like it really. Uncle Vincenzo says I’m a fiend.’

‘Oh, does he? And are you?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m the worst fiend who ever, ever lived.’

‘Hmm. That sounds final enough. I guess you must be.’

As she spoke her eye was caught by a large photograph on the sideboard. It was a wedding picture, the bride in glorious white satin and lace. Vincenzo, looking younger, stood beside his sister.

Just behind it was another picture, showing the bride and groom with a little girl in front of them, and in another the bride stood alone, holding the child in her arms. They were regarding each other fondly.

Julia drew a sharp breath. For all her euphoric mood there would still be such moments to be faced. Rosa had been three when these pictures had been taken, and recognisable as the baby Julia had lost. Now she was nestling in the arms of another ‘mother’. Unconsciously Julia tightened her own arms around her child, as though by doing so she could reclaim her.

‘That was you,’ she said softly.

‘Oh, yes, when Mamma and Papà got married.’

Julia forced herself to let go. ‘Do you have any more?’

‘There’s an album here,’ Rosa said, diving down the side of the bookcase.

Vincenzo appeared in the doorway, saying, ‘I’m just going to check on Carlo, see if he’s awake yet.’

‘I’d better come too,’ Rosa said at once.

‘I can be trusted to look after him,’ he complained.

‘Yes, but—he likes to see me when he wakes up,’ Rosa said seriously, and hurried out of the room.

Vincenzo sighed. ‘She’s just like her mo—Like Bianca. She thinks nobody else can be trusted to do anything. We won’t leave you alone for long.’

When they had gone Julia began to go through the album Rosa had given her. She knew the contents would hurt, but she had to learn all she could.

It was full of pictures of Bianca and Rosa: more wedding shots, then every milestone in the child’s life, birthdays, Christmas, Epiphany.

There was the child in her father’s arms, snuggling against him with an air of content. On this evidence he looked like a good father.

And he really did love her, she thought. That’s why he took her with him instead of leaving her with my mother. What am I going to tell her when the time comes?

‘Come along,’ said Rosa’s voice from the doorway.

She was holding Carlo by the hand, leading him forward until they were both standing before Julia. He was the image of his father.

‘Say ‘‘Buongiorno’’,’ Rosa told him in a stage whisper.

But the little boy hid his face against her and shook his head vigorously.

‘He’s shy,’ Rosa said. ‘Look, little one, here’s a present for you.’

But he only shook his head the more and began to grizzle, clinging onto his sister.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa said, lifting him in her arms. ‘I’d better take him back. He’ll be better later.’

She hurried out with the weeping child. Vincenzo, who had been watching, said in a low voice, ‘While we have a moment, there’s something I need to know, although I have a horrid feeling I know the answer. If your husband simply vanished I don’t suppose there was ever a divorce?’

‘Not that I heard of.’

‘So he was still married to you when he married Bianca. Bastardo! And Carlo is illegitimate. You’ve seen how it is with him and Rosa. He’s one of the things that’s holding her together.’

Something else linking her to her new life. Something else taking her away from her mother.

‘Julia—’

‘It’s all right,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’ve got my breath now.’

She rose and went in search of Rosa. Hearing a murmur from behind a door across the hall, she followed the sound and found herself in a room with a bed and a cot. The two children were sitting on the floor.

‘May I come in?’ she asked tentatively.

Instead of hiding, the little boy giggled at her. Encouraged, Julia sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘He doesn’t mind me?’ she asked.

‘No, he’s all right here,’ Rosa explained, ‘because this is our room. Befana brought him lots of presents this morning. Look.’ She swept out a hand towards a merry pile. ‘But this one is still his favourite, even though it’s years old.’

She pointed to a blue furry rabbit that the boy was clutching, so old and shabby that much of its fur was gone. As Julia looked a strange feeling began to come over her, part ache, part joy. She had seen that rabbit before, long ago, in another life, when it was bright and new.

‘Yes, it looks very old,’ she said slowly. ‘Who gave it to him?’

‘I did,’ Rosa said proudly. ‘His name is Danny. He was my best friend when I was young.’ She spoke as if she were a hundred. ‘Mamma said that when we met I was clutching him and I wouldn’t let him go. Papà was ever so cross.’

‘Wh—why?’ Julia asked in a shaking voice.

‘He didn’t like Danny. He kept trying to throw him away.’

Of course he did. Because he knew I’d given you that toy just before we were parted, and he wanted to wipe me out of your mind.

‘When you say he kept trying to throw him away—’

‘He did it again and again. Mamma kept rescuing Danny and giving him back to me. It’s funny that she understood when Papà didn’t.’

‘She sounds nice,’ Julia said carefully.

‘She was lovely. She used to get cross with Papà because he wouldn’t write home to the family and try to get some pictures of my mother.’

‘She did that?’

‘Yes. She’d ask me if I remembered my real mother, but he stopped her. I heard them arguing. He said she was my mother, but she said a real mother was special and nobody could take her place.’

So Bianca had been generous and kind. Julia felt a moment’s gratitude to her, mingled with pity that she too had come under Bruce’s spell.

‘I don’t think Papà liked my mother very much,’ Rosa went on. ‘He didn’t keep any pictures of her, and he wouldn’t talk about her. If I asked him, he always started talking about something else.’

‘You don’t have any pictures of her at all?’

‘No,’ Rosa said wistfully. ‘I don’t even know what she looked like.’

‘You can’t remember anything?’

‘Oh, yes, odd things. She used to hold me close against her, and she smelled lovely. And she laughed all the time. I remember her voice too, not the words because I didn’t understand them, but the way she spoke. She loved me. I could hear it.

‘But I can’t see her face. That’s why it would be nice to have some pictures of her and me together, and it would be real again. Because she was real, and yet she wasn’t. Like a ghost really. If I saw her I wouldn’t recognise her.’

‘Yes,’ Julia whispered. ‘I know what you mean.’

Carlo made a small sound, demanding attention. Rosa took charge, arranging his arms more firmly around the elderly rabbit.

‘Danny looks like a good friend,’ Julia said.

‘He’s always been my good friend,’ Rosa confirmed. ‘But now he has to look after Carlo. I’ve explained that to Danny, so that he doesn’t think I don’t love him any more.’

‘That was clever of you,’ Julia said. ‘Some things need to be explained in case people—or rabbits—misunderstand.’

Now she knew why Vincenzo had said the baby was keeping Rosa together. She had become his mother, responding to his needs and forgetting her own, feeding him, encouraging him.

She lost me at the same age, Julia thought. She knows exactly what to do for him.

And suddenly she saw herself, not as a mother alone, or a mother bereft, but as a mother in an eternal line of mothers, all loving a child more than themselves, whether or not it was their own child, and ready for all the sacrifices.

Whatever those sacrifices might mean.

Chapter Ten

WHEN it came to serving lunch Rosa was in her element, taking charge of the kitchen, blithely disregarding the fact that Vincenzo was a restaurateur, and reducing him to the status of a waiter. Julia watched in amusement as he meekly obeyed her orders.

As the guest of honour she was served first and received constant attention. The meal was excellent, and she solemnly thanked her hostess.

‘I was there too,’ Vincenzo said, aggrieved.

‘Yes, you were very helpful,’ Rosa told him kindly. Behind her hand she told Julia, ‘Actually Uncle Vincenzo did quite a lot.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said, catching her eyes and grinning.

She grinned back. Carlo joined in the laughter, banging his spoon on the table, and Julia laughed from sheer happiness.

Afterwards Rosa put Carlo down for his nap while the others got on with the washing up.

‘I must take my hat off for the way you’re coping,’ he said.

‘I’ve had to take a few deep breaths, but I’ll be blowed if I let anyone know that.’

‘Except me. Or don’t I count?’

‘In a way you don’t,’ she mused, not unkindly, merely reflecting. ‘You already know the worst of me.’

‘I know the best, too.’

She turned to him eagerly. ‘Vincenzo, listen, something wonderful happened. Do you remember that rabbit I told you about, the one I bought her a few days before we were separated?’

He nodded. ‘It’s Danny, isn’t it? I thought so as soon as I knew who you were. I remember the first time I saw her. She was clutching it tight. Her father didn’t like that.’

‘Yes, she told me. She also said that your sister kept rescuing it. She seems to have defended my right to be part of my daughter’s life, despite everything he did to blacken me.’

‘He cast you in a bad light whenever he could. I suppose he had to, in order to explain why he had no contact with your family. But, as you say, Bianca defended you.’

He stopped quickly as Rosa came back to say that Carlo was sleeping. She spent the next hour going through the books Julia had bought her, showing them to Vincenzo and carefully explaining any points that he might find too difficult to understand. Julia watched him with fascination, liking the way he didn’t talk down to the child.

After that Carlo woke up and they all played magnetic fishing. Carlo went at it with great energy and crowed with delight whether he succeeded or not. Vincenzo was unaccountably clumsy, while Julia and Rosa, both equally dextrous, went head to head in a hard-fought challenge.

‘I think that’s a draw,’ Vincenzo said at last through his laughter as the two competitors solemnly shook hands.

The phone rang. Yawning, he answered it.

‘Gemma! Are you having a good day? Oh, I see—yes, it’s a tough situation—you’d better stay. Don’t worry, I can manage. I’ll just take my orders from Rosa. Ciao.’

He hung up. ‘Gemma’s elderly mother is feeling poorly and she wants to stay there tonight.’

‘Lovely!’ Rosa bounced with joy. ‘Now Julia can stay with us. I’ll make up the bed in Gemma’s room.’

‘Rosa,’ Vincenzo said hastily, ‘you’re supposed to ask our guest what she wants to do, not just mow her down with a bulldozer.’

Rosa turned astonished eyes on Julia. ‘But you do want to stay, don’t you?’ she asked in a puzzled voice. ‘I mean, you don’t really want to walk home alone in the cold and dark.’

‘She wouldn’t be alone,’ Vincenzo said. ‘I’d walk with her.’

‘No way,’ Julia said. ‘You can’t leave Rosa and Carlo here alone.’

‘No, I can’t, can I?’ he realised.

‘You see?’ Rosa said triumphantly. ‘And you don’t want to do that walk alone, do you? Because it’s terribly cold and terribly dark and you might fall into the water and you wouldn’t like that.’

‘I might even get lost and that would never do. It’s very kind of you to ask me.’

‘That’s all right, then.’ Rosa bustled away.

Julia choked with laughter, barely able to meet Vincenzo’s eye.

‘It looks like you’re stuck with me,’ she said.

‘Oh, we’ve both been given our orders. She’s a very assertive little character.’

‘She always was,’ Julia remembered. ‘Even when she was Carlo’s age she was strong-willed.’

‘I wonder where she gets that from,’ Vincenzo said wryly.

‘No, you don’t. You think you know.’

He grinned. ‘It may have crossed my mind.’

‘I’d better go and help Rosa.’

Together they put fresh linen on the bed in the snug little room. The look Rosa gave Julia was brim-full of delight.

We could be a family, she thought as they settled down for tea. I’m dreaming and if I pinch myself I’ll wake up. But I don’t want to.

Nothing happened to spoil it. A lull fell on the evening and they watched cartoons on television until it was bedtime.

Rosa departed with Carlo, then came back in her pyjamas.

‘Carlo wants you to say goodnight to him,’ she said, taking Julia’s hand.

But they found him already asleep. Despite her efforts she felt her eyes blur as time shifted back to another dimly lit bedroom, another two-year-old, sleeping in perfect trust and confidence.

‘Goodnight, my darling,’ she whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek. Suddenly she couldn’t resist adding the words she had always said, all those years ago. ‘Angels keep you.’

‘What did you say?’ Rosa asked quickly. ‘It sounded like English.’

‘Yes, it was English. I don’t suppose you understand that, do you?’

‘Not very well, but I’ve started English lessons at school. The teacher says I’m the best in the class.’

Of course you are, she thought, because English was your first language. At two and a half you knew three hundred words, and the last words you cried out to me were in English.

Rosa hopped into bed and held out her arms. Julia hugged her fiercely.

‘Say it to me too,’ Rosa begged as she lay down to be tucked in.

‘Buonanotte, mia cara. Speroche gli angeli ti custodiscano.’

‘No, like you did before, in English.’

‘Goodnight, my darling. May the angels keep you.’

She kissed her child, and sat there holding her hand until Rosa went to sleep. Even then she sat there, brooding, full of joy and sadness.

At last she backed quietly out of the room, and closed the door.

As she returned to the main room she could hear the phone ringing again, and then Vincenzo speaking in an angry, impatient voice.

‘Look, don’t call me at home, and especially during Epiphany. Don’t you people have any families? I’ve told you before, the answer’s no, and it’s going to stay no. Goodbye!’

He hung up firmly.

‘Well, that’s telling them,’ Julia said, going in and settling herself comfortably on the sofa.

‘Someone wanting to buy the palazzo for a hotel,’ he growled. ‘It’s like trying to swat flies. Kill one and there’s a dozen others.’

‘Piero once told me that you were dead set against it.’

‘That’s putting it very mildly indeed.’

‘It’s a pity. It would make a wonderful hotel.’

‘Are you out of your mind? Sell my home?’

‘Of course not. You turn it into a hotel.’

‘Using what for money?’

‘You get investors. Why not? Look at the Danieli. It started its life as a palazzo, in the fourteenth century.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Put yours to use. Bring it back to life. Isn’t that better than letting it fall into ruin?’

‘It’s already doing that.’

‘So put a stop to it now. There’s still time to restore it before things get worse.’

‘Ah, now I see. You’re touting for business. Mind you—it’s an idea.’

‘I don’t know why you’ve never thought of it before.’

‘Because I’m the world’s worst businessman. All I saw was fending off the sharks who thought I was desperate enough to sell at a knock-down price. I just wanted to make enough money from the restaurant to keep my head above water, but that’s not enough, long term.’

‘No, and the best way to beat the sharks is to steal their ideas. You’ll have your home back, not as it was, but more than you have now.’

‘People don’t live like that any more,’ he mused. ‘Not in the modern world. They either go into business, or the place goes under.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe it floods when there’s nobody there to protect it.’

She nodded, smiling back at him.

‘I’m getting dangerously light-headed,’ he mused. ‘You’re filling me with crazy ideas and they’re beginning to sound sensible.’

‘Of course. I’ll be your first backer.’

‘Have you got any money to invest?’

‘Not money. These.’ She held up her hands. ‘I’ll renovate the frescoes for nothing, and that will be my stake. You’ll have to do the place up and get some suitable furniture. It might be best to open it a wing at a time, and move the restaurant in there almost at once.’

‘And what about the pictures that were sold?’ he demanded. ‘Even with investment I couldn’t buy them back. Or do we open with bare patches on the walls?’

‘Of course not. You put up copies, which is what you’d have to do even if you had the originals. The insurance company would insist.’

‘And you’re going to knock me out some copies, are you?’

‘Certainly. I do a mean Veronese, and my Rembrandt is even better, although I must admit my Michelangelo isn’t so hot.’

‘Your—?’

‘But we can put those in a dark corner and people won’t notice. And don’t forget you still own some pictures, stored upstairs. You can either hang them or use them to raise more cash.’

The words were pouring out now as the excitement of the idea gripped her. For a moment she was all artist and planner. Vincenzo regarded her with wry admiration.

‘You’ve got everything worked out, haven’t you?’

‘Not at all. It came to me this minute, because of that phone call, but now it’s all becoming clear.’

‘Wait, I can’t keep up with you.’

‘You don’t have to. Just say yes to anything I say, and leave the rest to me.’ She added unnecessarily, ‘I’m a very organised person.’

‘So tell me what we’re going to do.’

‘We’re probably not going to do anything,’ she said regretfully, ‘but if we were I’d say you ought to start making plans. It’ll be Carnival soon—’

‘In a few weeks. It’ll take a year before we could open—’

‘I know that, but you could have a big party there during this Carnival, and make a press announcement.’

‘A party,’ he mused. ‘We used to have great Carnival parties there when I was a boy. Such costumes, such outrageous masks!’ He gave a sudden grin, full of sensual reminiscence. ‘If you only knew the things we did!’

‘I think I can imagine. All behind the safety of the masks, of course.’

‘Of course. That’s what masks are for. When it all started, hundreds of years ago, masks were forbidden the rest of the year. But in the last few weeks before Carnival anyone could hide their face, become someone else, and do as they pleased. Then you had all of Lent to fast and be good, and generally make up for it. The tradition lasted.’

‘And did you usually have much to make up for?’ she teased.

‘Well—’ he said in a considering tone. ‘A moderate amount.’

‘Hmm!’

‘Perhaps a bit more than that. When you’re a young man—’ He stopped with the air of someone choosing his words carefully.

‘Go on,’ she encouraged.

‘Let’s just say that self-restraint wasn’t considered a virtue.’

‘I suppose being a Montese helped.’

‘Nonsense. With the mask on, nobody knew who I was.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ she said with hilarious cynicism.

‘Well—maybe.’ Again there was the grin, recalling days of delight, before the crushing burdens descended.

‘I’ll bet the girls were queuing up halfway across St Mark’s Square.’

He looked offended. ‘What do you mean, halfway across?’

He stared into his glass of red wine, seeing it all there, the whirling colours and wild faces, the dangerous freedom and the dangerous use he’d sometimes made of it.

He’d loved that sense of wonderful things about to happen, but it had gone from his life, fading away down the winding alleys, like his outrageous youth.

Only once, recently, had he recaptured that feeling: in the darkness of a hot, sweet night with a woman in his arms who had maddened and intrigued him from the first moment. She had made love to him with a fervour and abandon that had startled even while it had thrilled him.

Afterwards he had told himself that she was his, and it was the biggest mistake he had ever made. But for those few riotous hours he’d known that she belonged in Carnival, beautiful, secret, unpredictable.

‘Your face gives you away,’ Julia said, watching him.

That startled him. ‘What am I thinking?’

‘You’re remembering your wild youth.’

‘Well—yes, but there was a bit more to it than that.’ He looked at her leaning back against the cushions, her eyes bright.

‘I wish I’d known you then.’

‘You might not have liked me. I was a bit of a hooligan, the way young men tend to be when they have too much money and are too much indulged. You know what happened to my family. The fact is that when the crash came I wasn’t very well equipped to cope. Too spoiled. Too used to my own way.’

‘What happened to your fiancée?’ Julia asked, trying to sound less interested than she was.

‘She married a man with pots of money. Our engagement party was a Carnival event, with everyone dressed up to look like somebody they weren’t—which is ironic, if you think of it.’

‘Do you still mind about her?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s so far away that I can’t remember what it felt like to love her. I was another person. You know that feeling.’

She knew it well. Wisdom told her to drop the subject now, but for some reason she couldn’t let it go.

‘Piero told me how she came down the grand staircase, looking wonderful, and you stood there—’

‘Probably with a fatuous expression on my face,’ he said. ‘I should have seen then that it was the staircase and the surroundings, plus the title, that she really wanted. She just had to marry me to get them. When they weren’t on offer any more—’ He shrugged.

He gave a brief laugh. ‘I suppose in my heart I always knew the truth, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it. When she dumped me so fast it was a surprise, and yet it wasn’t, if you see what I mean.’

She nodded.

‘I’d like you to see one of those Carnival parties,’ he said.

‘Well, maybe I will, if our idea comes off.’

‘Oh, suddenly it’s our idea?’

‘But it’s a good idea. Vincenzo, after what happened to you, you seem to have got your life back together, but actually you’re treading water. It’s time to go on to the next thing. Get your home back, and as soon as it’s even partly habitable, you, Rosa and little Carlo can take up residence.’

‘And what about you?’

‘I’ll be there, not in expensive rooms because we’ll need them for paying customers. I’ll just have a tiny place, and we’ll meet for business discussions.’

‘You mean you’ll stay a ghost?’ he challenged her. ‘You came in the night, now you plan to haunt the fringes of my life?’

‘Hardly the fringes, since we’ll be living under the same roof. It’s the best thing for Rosa. I’ll be around when she needs me. She and I can see each other every day, but I won’t be intrusive. You say I’ll be a ghost, but maybe that’s right for her. She’s at ease with ghosts, haven’t you noticed? She knows some of them are friendly.’

‘And is that the best we can ever hope for?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘I don’t know. You once said you’d like to turn time back until before we met. If you did that, I’d be wiped out too, wouldn’t I?’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ he growled. ‘Do you understand your own feelings about everything? I wish I hadn’t met you like this. It might have been so different, but who knows where the road leads from here?’

‘Some day—’

‘Some day—when one of us has turned the other’s life upside down.’

‘Yes, we can’t get past that, can we?’ She sighed. ‘The rest is a happy dream, and dreams can only last so long.’

‘But you know better than anyone how long dreams can last,’ he said. ‘As long as you have the courage to make them. Let’s keep ours while we can, forget reality and think about us. I know, I know—’ He silenced her with his fingertips across her lips. ‘Who can tell if there’ll ever be an ‘‘us’’? But can’t we pretend, just for a little while?’

She tried to murmur, ‘Yes,’ but he silenced her again, this time with his lips. The touch of them answered all questions. For a few precious moments there was no other reality but the one to be found in his arms.

When he rose and held out his hand to her she went with him, smiling. As they passed through the dark hallways he held her close, burying his face against her neck, her hair, telling of his desire in whispered tones that made the hot eagerness spread through her like fire.

‘Mummy!’

The sound ripped through the air, piercing them, driving them apart.

‘Mummy, Mummy, no!’

It came from behind Rosa’s door and it was followed by a long, despairing wail. Julia was through the door in a moment, putting on the light.

Rosa was sitting up, her eyes closed, her arms outstretched as if in a desperate plea, tears pouring down her face, lost in some terrifying nightmare. Julia sat on the bed and pulled her into her arms, hugging her tightly until the little girl awoke.

‘There, darling, there, darling.’ She was talking English although she didn’t know it. She was aware of nothing except the need to soothe and comfort the child.

Rosa was awake now, sobbing violently, clinging onto her. Vincenzo went to Carlo, who’d been roused by the noise, and picked him up. His face was haggard.

At last Rosa’s weeping subsided, and she lay with her head on Julia’s shoulder, hiccupping slightly. Julia drew back and looked down into the tear-stained face, trying to believe what she had heard. The child’s words had been so like that other time. Surely it wasn’t possible—?

‘What happened?’ she asked, remembering to speak in Italian this time. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’

‘Yes—I think so—it was cold and dark and I was frightened.’

‘Can you remember anything else?’ she asked, trying not to let her voice shake.

Rosa frowned for a long time, but at last she shook her head.

‘It’s just dark, and I’m feeling scared and—so lonely and unhappy. It’s like—the worst thing in the world is happening, but I don’t know what it is.’

‘Do you—remember what you called out?’

‘I don’t think I said anything. I just screamed and screamed.’

She searched Julia’s face in sudden anxiety. ‘Did I say anything?’

‘No,’ Vincenzo said in a tense voice. ‘You didn’t. You just made a lot of noise and scared us both to death, you little rascal.’

His voice had become teasing, telling her everything was all right, warning Julia to probe no further.

The warning was needless. Not for the world would she have pushed her child faster than she was ready to go. Tonight she’d been shown a ray of hope, and she would live on that.

‘Do you want some hot milk?’ he asked.

Rosa nodded contentedly, resting her head against Julia again.

‘Can you get it, please, Uncle Vincenzo? I want Julia to stay.’

He laid Carlo back in his cot and went out to the kitchen.

‘Do you get nightmares often?’ Julia asked gently.

‘Sometimes. Since my parents died. But they’re all confused and muddled up and afterwards I can never tell what they were about…’

Her voice trailed off and after a moment Julia realised that she had gone to sleep again, contented now. She sat stroking the tousled hair, brooding over her child with fierce, protective joy.

After a while she laid her down, and Rosa half opened her eyes, whispering, ‘Is Carlo holding Danny?’

‘No, he’s on the floor.’

‘Can I have him?’

Julia picked up the shabby old rabbit and tucked Rosa’s arms around him. The child gave a small grunt of pleasure, and was asleep instantly.

Julia slipped to her knees beside the bed and knelt there, holding one of Rosa’s hands, watching her with loving eyes that missed nothing.

Vincenzo, coming in a moment later, found them like that, and went silently away without being observed.

Chapter Eleven

GEMMA returned next morning, and Vincenzo walked home with Julia. Rosa would have come with them, but Vincenzo gently discouraged her. This was their first chance for a private conversation since the events of the night before.

She had remained with Rosa a long time, emerging to find that Vincenzo had gone to his room. That had been a kind of relief. What would they have said to each other?

Now they walked in silence until Julia said, ‘I feel as if I’d got to know Bianca, with Rosa’s help. I’m glad. She’s real now. And I have to deal with her.’

‘Deal with her? How?’

‘By accepting her. I suppose I had some idea of driving her out because she was usurping my place, but I can’t do that. There has to be room for all of us. Rosa will only turn to me if she can bring Bianca with her.’

‘Does that make you hate my sister?’ Vincenzo asked in a low voice.

‘No, I’m grateful to her. She did me no wrong. She looked after my child, and made her happy. Rosa says that Bianca actually defended me when her father tried to wipe me out. She wouldn’t let him do it.’

‘She was the most generous woman alive,’ Vincenzo said sadly.

‘Yes, I know that now. She tried to do me justice, and I’ll do her justice.’

‘And in the end Rosa will turn to you,’ Vincenzo said. ‘And you’ll take her away.’

‘Are you saying you’d just stand back and let me?’

‘I won’t stop her being with her mother, if that’s what you mean. It has to be her choice, but you’re going to win. We both know that. The affinity is there. She feels it. Deep down inside that child knows who you are. She doesn’t understand what she knows, but it’s there, and sooner or later it will come to the surface.’

‘It nearly happened last night,’ Julia said. ‘She was crying out in English.’

‘How can you tell? No is the same in both languages.’

‘But she cried ‘‘Mummy’’ not ‘‘Mamma’’.’

‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘She was reliving that moment, but when she woke up she didn’t remember. Next time—’

‘It’s a lot for her to take in,’ she said placatingly. ‘It might be a while yet.’

She wondered at herself for denying the very thing she most longed for, but, intentionally or not, he’d reminded her that they were on opposite sides, and she wanted to comfort him for the loss he was facing.

As the restaurant came in sight, still closed up, they saw a young man standing outside, trying to peer through the windows.

‘Hallo,’ Vincenzo called.

The young man jumped. He was thin, fair-haired and awkward-looking.

‘Hallo?’ he said. ‘I’m Terry Dale. I work for Simon and Son. I’m looking for Mrs Haydon.’

‘That’s me,’ Julia said at once. To Vincenzo she added, ‘They’re my lawyers in England. I called them when I moved in here.’

‘Let’s go inside,’ Vincenzo said, opening the door to the restaurant and ushering them both in.

‘I came because I’ve got good news about your compensation,’ Terry Dale said when he was inside.

‘I thought it was far too soon for the compensation to be settled,’ Julia said.

‘Normally, yes, but now that the conviction’s been quashed, they want this one off their plate fast. They’ve made a generous offer.’ Conscious of Vincenzo’s unmoving presence, he scribbled something on a scrap of paper and thrust it at her. ‘How about that?’

Julia’s eyes opened wide at the sum.

‘Are you sure you didn’t add on an extra nought by mistake?’ she asked.

‘Good, isn’t it? But that’s not all. Everyone knows you’ve been looking for your husband, and if you’ve got any leads—well—’

‘It’s been years,’ Julia said carefully. ‘He may not even be alive any more.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Even if he were dead the police could track back and find out who he’s been associated with, interview anyone he’s known, that kind of thing. It could be worth quite a bit more to you.’

‘I didn’t know it worked like that.’

‘Officially it doesn’t, but this kind of information can help—’

Terry Dale was scribbling more figures, showing them to her like a puppy appealing for a pat.

‘I don’t like this,’ she said. ‘It looks like some people still think I’m in cahoots with him.’

‘Oh, no, but they know you’re looking for your daughter, and when you find her it’ll help us get onto his trail. Like I say, it could be worth a lot of money to you.’

‘That’s too bad, because there’s no help I can give,’ she said firmly. ‘I can’t point you in the direction of my husband, and you can take that as final. The lesser compensation will have to do.’

‘Well, it’s a pity because—’

Julia picked up the paper with the figures and tore it again and again.

‘Goodbye, Mr Dale. Please thank your boss for his efforts and ask him to finalise matters.’

She saw him out and turned to find Vincenzo regarding her with a look that was half appreciation, half suspicion.

‘I didn’t see the figures,’ he said now, ‘but it must have been tempting.’

‘Oh, yes? And have police swarming all over the place, upsetting Rosa? No way.’

Inwardly she was cursing Bruce. Was his malign influence going to spread over the whole of the rest of her life, blighting everything?

‘I’ve made my decision,’ she said, ‘and now I know where I’m going from here.’

A light had come on inside her. Vincenzo was reminded of the night she’d returned from Murano, ablaze with confidence and decision.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘First, give up my job as soon as you can do without me.’

‘Right now if you like. Celia’s due back from honeymoon.’

‘Can I stay in the apartment for a while?’

‘Sure. She won’t be moving back in. But what are you going to do?’

‘Get in practice at my job. Hone my skills again before I start on your place.’

She thought for a moment before adding, ‘There’s one thing I’m grateful for, and that’s that the Montressis were away. If they’d been there I might have stirred things up in a way I’d be regretting now.’

‘He’s lucky they never bumped into him,’ Vincenzo observed. ‘They might have recognised him.’

‘Not really. I don’t think he’d seen them for years. They were only very distant relatives, but I pinned everything on them because they were all I had. Well, I won’t need to bother them now. I’m just going to get to work.’

In prison she’d done some drawing, and even taken an art class for other prisoners, but now she needed sustained work to bring herself back up to standard.

Taking sketch books and charcoal, she began to walk around Venice the next day, making rapid strokes, creating life on the paper.

At first she took in the showplaces, St Mark’s, the Rialto Bridge, but then she turned away into the little canals, the calles with washing strung overhead, the empty boats bobbing in the water. The outlines were easy, but when she’d mastered them there was the more tantalising task of evoking the atmosphere of those mysterious little places.

Absorbed in this challenge, she took a while to realise that she wasn’t alone. A small but determined ghost was flitting just behind her, always vanishing if she turned her head, but then emerging again in determined pursuit.

‘All right,’ she called at last. ‘Come out where I can see you.’

A figure, swathed up to the eyebrows in scarves, and down to the ears in a thick woolly hat, emerged from around a corner and presented herself. Julia folded her arms, regarding her wryly. The figure immediately folded her own arms.

‘Are you following me?’ Julia asked.

A nod.

‘Is anyone with you?’

A shake of the head.

‘You’ve run away on your own?’

The eyes were as mischievous as the voice. ‘I’m not on my own. I’m with you.’

Rosa pulled down the scarf, revealing a cheeky grin.

‘Uncle Vincenzo let me come to the restaurant with him today. He said you were upstairs so I was going to go up, but then I saw you leaving by the side door. So I followed.’

‘Does anyone know where you are?’

‘Yes. You do.’

‘I don’t think that’s quite enough,’ Julia said, trying not to laugh, and pulling out her cell phone. In a moment she was through to the restaurant.

‘Vincenzo? I’ve someone here who needs to talk to you.’ She held out the phone to Rosa. ‘Talk.’

Rosa giggled and began her persuasion.

‘I ran after Julia, and she says I can spend the day with her—’

‘I said no such thing.’

‘But you were just going to, weren’t you? I can, can’t I, Uncle?’

‘Give that to me before you land me in trouble,’ Julia said, hastily seizing the phone. ‘Vincenzo?’

‘I’d only just discovered that you’re both gone,’ came his harassed voice.

‘Vincenzo, if you’re thinking what I think you are, I’ll never forgive you.’

There was a silence.

‘I wasn’t thinking that.’

‘Really?’

‘I wasn’t thinking that you’d run off with her,’ he said tensely.

‘You’d better be sure about that.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘Of course she is. She’s having the time of her life laughing at both of us. You’d better let her stay with me officially, otherwise she’ll just creep after me at a distance. Don’t worry, she’s safe with me.’

She couldn’t resist adding, ‘Whether I’m safe with her is another matter.’

At this Rosa gave a giggle that clearly reached Vincenzo down the line.

‘I’ll say yes—having no choice. But you’d better put yourself in her hands. She knows Venice better than you do.’

Julia hung up and turned to her daughter. ‘We’re going to have a great time.’

Rosa gave a brilliant smile, took her hand, and they wandered on together.

‘What did you think Uncle Vincenzo was thinking?’ Rosa asked.

‘It’s a long, complicated story,’ Julia said hastily. ‘I’ll tell you another time.’

After that the child said little, simply seeming to be content to be in Julia’s company. And it was she who chose the next object to draw, pointing at an ornate bridge.

Julia promptly took out her sketch book, sat on a small flight of steps, and began to work rapidly. When she’d finished she showed the result to Rosa, who gave her an impish look, took the book, flipped over a page, and began to make a sketch of her own.

With disbelieving pleasure Julia looked at the result.

‘You can draw,’ she breathed.

Another page, another rapid sketch, drawn with an inexperienced but confident hand. Beneath a quiet surface Rosa was already a boldly confident artist. This was truly her daughter.

‘Papà didn’t like me drawing,’ she confided. ‘He said it was a waste of time. But Mamma said I should do it if I wanted to. It was our secret.’

‘She was—’ Julia checked herself and started again. ‘Your mother was right.’

The words were hard to say, but she felt she owed Bianca that much.

After that, wherever they stopped, they shared the drawing. Julia showed the little girl some new strokes, and had the delight of discovering a responsive pupil. It was a perfect day.

But then something happened that was like the sun going in.

As they moved closer to the glamorous heart of the city she noticed that almost every street had a shop that sold wild, colourful masks for the coming Carnival. Several times she would have stopped to look closely, but Rosa always pulled her on.

‘Hey, stop a minute,’ Julia begged at last.

Rosa stopped obediently and stood beside her, looking into the window. But she said nothing.

‘They’re for the Carnival, aren’t they?’ Julia said.

‘That’s right.’ Just the two short words, almost snapped out.

‘It’s quite soon, isn’t it?’

‘Next month.’

‘I’ve seen pictures, of course—people in those incredible costumes—it must be so exciting.’

‘Yes, it is.’

Julia turned her head uneasily to look at the child, conscious of something strange in her replies. Her delight of only a few minutes ago had been abruptly quenched. Now she spoke like a robot, and her face was stiff.

Then Julia remembered Vincenzo saying, ‘Last year she had a wonderful time at Carnival with James and Bianca, but this year she refuses to think of it.’

Silently calling herself a fool, she said, ‘Why don’t we go and have something to eat?’

Rosa nodded and followed her to a little café.

When they were seated with milk shakes she said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It’s your parents, isn’t it?’

Rosa nodded. After a moment she said, ‘I had a costume with lots and lots of colours last year, but this year I wanted a pink satin one. So Mamma bought it for me last July. She said we’d keep it for the next Carnival. Only then—’

She stopped. She was controlling herself almost fiercely, but her lips trembled.

‘And you don’t want to go without her?’ Julia asked gently.

‘I won’t ever go again,’ Rosa said, calming herself at last. Now her voice was too controlled, too unyielding.

Julia took a risk.

‘I think you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘If Mamma bought that lovely pink dress for you, then she’d want you to wear it, for her sake.’

‘But she won’t be there.’

‘No, but you can think about her, and you’ll know that you’re doing it for her.’

‘But that won’t bring her back, will it?’

‘It’ll bring her back in your heart, which is where it really matters.’

Rosa didn’t answer this, but she shook her head stubbornly. The impish confidence was gone, replaced by a stark misery that was all the worse because she felt that nobody really understood.

‘Let’s go back,’ Julia said gently. ‘Vincenzo will be worrying about us.’

The sun had gone from the day and a dreary rain had begun to fall. They found Vincenzo at the door, looking for them.

‘What is it?’ he asked as soon as he saw Rosa’s face.

In a quiet voice Julia explained. Instantly Vincenzo put his hands on the little girl’s shoulders, searching her face tenderly.

‘Hey there, piccina,’ he said. ‘Have you been crying?’

She shook her head. ‘I just remembered what you said—about how everyone leaves you.’

‘What?’ he said, aghast. ‘Rosa, I never said that.’

‘Yes, you did. You said it to someone at Mamma and Papà’s funeral. I overheard.’

‘But I—’ Vincenzo checked. What use was it to say that he hadn’t known she was listening? ‘Cara, I was feeling terrible, and that’s the sort of thing people say when—when—I didn’t mean it.’

‘Yes, you did,’ she said quietly, looking him straight in the eye. ‘And it’s true. People leave you even when you plead and plead with them not to.’

Her voice faded. She was staring into the distance.

‘Darling—’ Julia put a hand on the child’s shoulder, but Rosa didn’t seem to notice. She was lost in an unhappy dream.

‘Even if it’s the most important thing in the whole world,’ she said, ‘and you’re trying to make them understand and begging and begging them not to go—they still go—and they don’t come back.’

Suddenly she looked straight at Julia, who drew in her breath. Did she imagine that those childish eyes contained a hint of accusation?

Then the moment was gone, and Rosa was looking bewildered.

‘I think we should go straight up into the warm,’ Julia said.

Upstairs they thawed out with the help of hot drinks sent up from the restaurant. Rosa began to seem more cheerful.

‘Do you live here alone?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Can I come and visit you?’

‘Whenever you like.’ She noticed Rosa’s eyes closing. ‘We walked a long way today. Why don’t you take a nap?’

She tucked the child up in her own bed, where she fell asleep almost at once. Julia sat beside her for a while, free at last to watch over her with loving possessiveness.

You’re mine, she thought. If only I could tell you.

Terry Dale called her a week later. Things were moving fast.

‘The sooner you can get over here to sign the papers, the sooner you’ll have the money,’ he said.

‘Fine, I’ll be right there.’

‘What about Rosa?’ Vincenzo asked when she told him. ‘Have you thought that your going away might worry her?’

‘Yes, and I’ve got a plan. If I’m quick she need not even know I’ve gone. She’s back at school now, and you said she has a good friend who often invites her for sleepovers. If you can get her invited for a couple of nights I can be there and back before she knows it.’

A few days later he told her the plan was in progress.

‘She’ll go home from school with Tanya tomorrow,’ he said, ‘and stay for two nights. Can you be back by then?’

‘I’ll manage it.’

‘I’ve promised her you’ll have dinner with us tonight.’

It was a good evening spent eating, laughing and watching television. The shadow had gone from Rosa’s manner and she seemed free from the ghost that had briefly haunted her.

Julia promised to come to dinner again when Rosa returned from her visit, and the child went to bed, content.

‘And what about me?’ Vincenzo asked as he walked home with her. ‘Do you promise me that you’ll come back?’

‘Don’t be silly. You know I’m coming back.’

‘Sure, you’ll return for Rosa’s sake. You heard what she said. Everyone leaves you in the end.’

‘But that’s what you believe,’ she reminded him.

‘Only because I’ve been proved right so often.’

‘Trust me,’ she said, echoing the words that he had said to her so many times.

‘Shall I take you to the airport tomorrow?’ Vincenzo asked.

‘No, thank you. I have something else to do first.’

She refused to tell him any more. Next day she left, heading, not for the airport, but for San Michele. Before boarding the boat she bought flowers.

In the cemetery she went first to Piero’s grave, and used half of the flowers to refill his urn.

Then she went to find Bianca. Pushing the steps into place, she climbed up, removed the wilting flowers from the urn, and replaced them with fresh ones. For a long time she looked at the sweet face of the woman her daughter called Mamma. Then she touched it gently.

‘I just wanted to say thank you,’ she said.

Julia’s trip went well. She signed papers and received a cheque for the first part of her compensation, the rest to follow soon.

There were more questions about her husband, but she smiled and played dumb, and in the end her inquisitors gave up.

On the day of her return to Venice she was at the airport long before she needed to be, only to find it shrouded in fog. Passengers were allowed to board, pending an improvement in the weather, but it did not happen and they were requested to leave the aircraft.

Two hours later she called Vincenzo on her cell phone.

‘I’m going to be late for dinner tonight,’ she said. ‘There’s a thick fog and the planes are grounded.’

‘There’s no fog at this end,’ he said, frowning.

‘Well, it’s a pea-souper over here.’

‘How do I explain to Rosa? She doesn’t know you’re in England.’

‘Make some excuse. Say I’m not well. Say anything—’

There was a whistling sound in her ear as the line went dead. The phone needed a top-up. While she was looking around for somewhere to do it a voice came over the tannoy.

‘Will passengers for Venice please start boarding—?’

‘Thank goodness,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, why did this have to happen?’

Vincenzo turned to see Rosa watching him, very pale.

‘She’s not coming, is she?’

‘Cara—’

‘I heard you say she was in England. She’s gone right away and she’s not coming home.’

‘Yes, she is coming home, but her plane’s been delayed by fog. She’ll be here as soon as she can.’

‘You didn’t say she was going away to England.’

The sight of her rigid face shocked him. This wasn’t simply childish disappointment. She was reliving an old nightmare.

He dropped down so that their eyes were on a level, trying desperately to find a way past her defences. It was like trying to communicate with someone behind bars.

He was assailed by a feeling of danger. If he couldn’t reach her, and get her to reach out to him, she might be behind those bars for ever.

‘Julia only went for a couple of days, to get things sorted out in England so that she can come here for good. We didn’t tell you in case you were upset, and she’s coming home quickly.’

Rosa shook her head. Her eyes were blank.

‘No, she isn’t,’ she said.

He could have wept. If the child had been upset he’d have managed to cope, but her calm acceptance was ominous.

‘You’d better talk to her yourself,’ he said, hoping the noise he’d heard on Julia’s phone didn’t mean what he feared. But when he dialled he heard the same noise again and ground his teeth.

‘She needs to top it up,’ he said in despair.

‘Perhaps she won’t bother,’ Rosa said.

‘Of course she will. Why wouldn’t she?’

She didn’t reply, but her eyes revealed what she really believed: that Julia had blanked them out, and it was convenient for her phone not to work.

‘She’s probably boarding the plane right now,’ he insisted. ‘That’s why she can’t do anything about her phone. We’ll hear from her when she lands.’

There was a touch of pity in the little girl’s eyes. Why couldn’t he face facts?

‘Can we have dinner?’ she asked. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘She’ll be here,’ he said, despairing.

‘It’s all right, Uncle. Honestly. You were right. People always leave you.’

‘Cara, I wish you’d forget I ever said that.’

‘But it’s true.’ Then, in a strange voice, she said, ‘I begged her not to go—but she did—and she never came back.’

It was as though a phantom had flitted past, chilling the air for a moment before it vanished.

‘Who are you talking about?’ he asked, barely able to speak.

‘Let’s have something to eat,’ she repeated.

‘Rosa, who were you—?’

But it was useless. The phantom had gone. He let the subject drop, fearful of doing damage if he persisted.

For the rest of that evening she behaved normally, even cheerfully. You had to know the truth, he thought, to recognise the storm she was suppressing. Nor could he help her, because she wouldn’t let him.

He kept hoping that Julia would find a way to call them soon. But the evening passed with no word from her, and at last it was time to go to bed.

He was awoken in the morning by Gemma, shaking him urgently.

‘I can’t find Rosa,’ she said.

He threw on his clothes and checked every room in the apartment, but it was a formality. In his heart he knew where she had gone.

‘Has the phone rung?’

Gemma shook her head.

‘All right, I’ll be back soon.’

He called for a water taxi and reached the nearest landing stage just as it arrived.

‘The airport, as fast as you can,’ he said tersely.

He entered the terminal at a run and kept on running until he saw Rosa sitting, watching the arrival doors with terrible intensity.

She glanced at him as he sat beside her, and something in her face silenced all words of reproach.

‘How long have you been here?’ he asked quietly.

‘A couple of hours.’

He looked up at the board. It showed two planes landed from England, but he didn’t know if either of them was Julia’s.

‘She’ll be here,’ he said. ‘She promised.’

There was no reply, but he felt a small hand creep into his and grip it so tightly that he winced with pain.

The doors slid open. Passengers were beginning to stream out. Rosa’s gaze became fixed again, as if her whole life depended on this moment. Vincenzo too watched, trying to distinguish one figure from the many others.

But it was Rosa who saw her. Leaping up with a sudden shriek, she began to run.

‘Mummy—Mummy—Mummy!’

Heads turned as the child darted through the crowd to throw herself into a pair of open arms. With a heart overflowing with relief, Vincenzo followed her until he was a few feet away from Julia, and was in time to see Rosa draw back to look her radiantly in the face and say, ‘You came back.’

Chapter Twelve

‘YOU came back.’

‘Yes, darling. I always meant to, it was just the fog.’

But Rosa shook her head, impatient that Julia hadn’t understood.

‘You didn’t come back before,’ she said.

Then the first inkling of the truth came to Julia and her startled eyes met Vincenzo’s.

‘Before?’ she asked cautiously, hardly daring to hope.

‘You went away before,’ Rosa cried, ‘and you never came back.’

Julia dropped to her knees, holding onto Rosa and searching her face.

‘Do you remember that?’ she whispered.

Rosa nodded. ‘You gave me Danny, and then you went away. And I cried. I didn’t want you to go, but you went.’

‘Do you know—who I am?’

‘I—think so,’ Rosa said slowly. ‘I think—you’re Mummy.’

‘Yes, darling. Yes, I am—I am, I am—’

She buried her face against Rosa and wept tears of joy, feeling them sweep away all the other tears she had cried through so many bitter, anguished nights.

‘But I don’t understand—’ Rosa said.

‘I know, piccina—this is your mummy,’ Vincenzo said. ‘There’ll be time to understand later. Let’s all go home.’

He took charge of Julia’s trolley, and wheeled it out of the airport, glancing over his shoulder to see where they were following, walking slowly because they were hugging each other at the same time.

He helped the boatman with the suitcases, noticing that Julia had managed to acquire several new ones, and that they were heavy. By the time they caught up, everything was ready for departure.

He sat in the front, leaving them together in the back, just sitting, holding hands, not speaking through the roar of the engine, simply content in their discovery. As they sped across the water he wondered where the future led. He had only to glance at the faces of the mother and child in the back to know that each of them had all they wanted.

At last the boat came to a halt in the Fondamenta Soranzo.

‘You need to be here tonight,’ he said in answer to Julia’s look of surprise.

While waiting for Julia’s arrival he’d already called Gemma to say that Rosa was safe, so they arrived to find the apartment empty, Gemma having taken Carlo shopping.

Vincenzo assigned himself the role of cook and waiter, plying them with breakfast while they looked at each other in their new light.

‘Why did you go away?’ Rosa asked sadly. ‘You left me, and you never wrote or sent cards, and Papà said you were dead—’ Her voice shook.

Until this moment Julia had never quite decided how much she would tell Rosa when the time came. To speak of prison and her father’s betrayal seemed terrible. But now she saw that the child was carrying a burden that crushed her, the belief that her mother had callously abandoned her.

‘I had no choice, darling,’ she said softly. ‘They put me in prison for something I didn’t do, and then your father took you away. I didn’t know where you were, but I never stopped loving you, and as soon as I could I came looking for you.’

She knew she’d judged right when she saw the load lift from Rosa’s face. Her mother had not, after all, walked away from her. Nothing really mattered beside that.

Rosa noticed Vincenzo carrying Julia’s things upstairs.

‘Are you coming to live with us now?’ she asked, thrilled.

‘I’ll be here tonight, and we can talk all we want. After that—’

After that—what? She sought Vincenzo’s face for some sign of what he was feeling, but his features revealed nothing.

‘You can have my room,’ he said.

‘That’s very kind of you, but you—’

‘I’ll be fine.’ He almost snapped out the words. ‘It’s time I was getting to work. I’ve neglected it a bit recently.’

‘I’m sorry about what I did,’ Rosa told him. ‘I mean, running off. But you see—’

‘Yes, I do see,’ he said, ruffling her hair. ‘But we were very worried about you. I’m so glad you’re safe. Now I must go.’

They didn’t see him for the rest of the day. For Julia it was a happy time, spent with her daughter, exchanging memories, feeling the bonds assert themselves.

‘I always knew there was something about you,’ Rosa confided. ‘I didn’t know what, but I knew you weren’t just anyone.’

Vincenzo telephoned to say that he’d contacted Rosa’s school and arranged for her to have a few days off for them to be together. But he hung up before Julia could thank him.

Late that night she waited up for him to return. There were so many things that she wanted to say to him too, if only he would be here. She resisted the thought that there was something ominous in his choosing to be absent.

As the hours passed she went to bed and lay awake, listening, longing for him. Now her heart reached out to him as never before as she understood the full extent of his generosity. He’d known from the start that he would lose Rosa as he had lost almost everything else. But he had put no barriers between them. On the contrary he’d done all he could to help the two of them rediscover each other, whatever the cost to himself.

She wanted to see him, hold him, and pour out her feelings now that the road was clear for them at last.

Eventually she heard the front door, then his footsteps. Throwing on a dressing gown, she went out to see him, and found him making up the sofa.

‘You can’t sleep there,’ she said aghast. ‘It isn’t long enough for you.’

‘It’ll do for tonight.’

‘But tomorrow—’ Surely there was some way to say that his bed was big enough for two, if they squeezed in tightly. But why did it need saying?

‘I’ve made arrangements for tomorrow. There’s a tiny hotel just opposite. I’ve taken a room there.’

‘A hotel?’ she echoed, aghast.

‘It’s just on the other side of the canal. You can see it from here.’

‘But when will I see you?’

‘I’m not the one you need to see.’

‘What about all the things we need to talk about?’

‘Such as?’

There was no encouragement in his manner and so, instead of what she wanted to say, she blurted out, ‘Money.’

His face seemed to close against her. ‘Go ahead. Talk about money.’

‘Now I’ve got my compensation I can invest some money in our hotel. And I’ve got the name of an Italian firm that goes in for this sort of thing. My lawyer in England has some international connections and he says these people are very good, completely trustworthy. Here.’

She handed him a scrap of paper, and he studied it before saying briefly, ‘I’ve heard of them. They have a good reputation. Have you been in touch?’

‘Certainly not. This is your show.’

‘Really?’

‘I only obtained their name,’ she said indignantly. ‘You said yourself that you’re the world’s worst businessman.’

‘All right, all right.’ He held up his hands as if fending off a swarm of bees.

It was going all wrong. Why didn’t he take her into his arms and make everything perfect? Why couldn’t he apparently see that now they were free to love each other? Unless he didn’t want to see it.

‘You’d better get back to bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll sleep pretty well here. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said despondently, turning away to the door.

‘Julia.’

‘Yes?’ She turned back, heart beating with hope.

‘Thanks for all you’ve done—about the money and the hotel and everything. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said again, and closed the door behind her.

Vincenzo listened to her go into his room, cursing under his breath, wondering what was suddenly wrong with him.

Why should such an apparently simple thing have become so hard? She stirred his blood and his heart more than any woman had ever done, including his faithless fiancée. And what could be more natural than to ask her to be his wife?

But the words had frozen in him because he couldn’t dismiss the picture of her face when she’d said it was better to use people than trust them. He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the memory, but it was replaced by another one: Julia saying, ‘I’ll do what I have to—whatever that might be.’

And if he could obliterate her voice and her expression, there was another memory that could never be dismissed because he could still feel it in his flesh: their first night together when she had loved him with wanton abandon, taking him on, challenging, demanding, giving, with a desire that was as fierce as it was dazzling.

Only afterwards, when he knew her story, had the niggling questions come.

Me? Or was I just the man in her bed when her need was great?

‘Better to use people…’ She had said it.

He wanted to shout a denial, to say she wasn’t like that. But, as she’d so often told him, he knew nothing of her true self: as little, perhaps, as she did herself.

Today she had reclaimed her daughter’s heart, but there were still matters to be sorted out. Not just living arrangements, but the child’s attachment to himself and her baby brother.

For Julia, their marriage would make solid, practical sense. If he proposed now, she would say yes but he wouldn’t know why. They would set up home with the children, the perfect picture of a happy family.

And he would never be quite certain of her or her love, as long as he lived.

The next day Vincenzo discovered the reason for Julia’s numerous heavy suitcases. Somehow, in a mere two days, and in between dealing with lawyers, she’d found the time to buy up half the clothes shops in London.

Her hair had been cut short, brushed back and styled elegantly against her head. She no longer felt any need to hide her face from the world, or anybody in it.

She had drawn a line between her past and her future, and her transformation had rocked him onto the back foot. If he hadn’t known what to say to her before, he was totally at sea now.

He concentrated on practical business, contacting the firm she’d mentioned. A posse of dark-suited men descended from their offices in Milan, looked the palazzo over and expressed enthusiasm. There were discussions with Julia. How much could she invest? What value did she put on her restoration work? Finally they declared that they already had investors on their books eager for just such an opportunity.

They agreed to the idea of a Carnival party to make the press announcement, after which serious work would begin, to have everything ready for the following year.

When they’d gone Vincenzo walked around the empty building, trying to come to terms with the way his life had been turned upside down yet again, but this time in a manner that offered him new hope.

‘To come back,’ he murmured. ‘To see it come alive again.’

‘It’ll be wonderful,’ Julia said. She had been keeping a little behind him, in the shadows.

He looked at her, thinking that here was something else to unsettle him. He was just about growing used to her changed appearance.

She might have stepped out of the pages of Vogue. She was elegant, groomed to perfection, wearing a white silk shirt and the very latest fashionable trouser suit in dark blue. The perfume that reached him was as clear and subtle as a spring flower.

She belonged in a palace, he realised. The lost soul he’d first met had been an aberration. Now she was mistress of the situation, mistress of her own life at last. She exuded confidence from every pore, every sleekly groomed line. He could almost feel her being carried away from him by an irresistible current.

‘I’m going to start work down here,’ she said, indicating the great hall.

‘I thought this was where we were having the press party.’

‘It is. This will give us a point of interest to show people.’

‘I see. Good idea.’

Would they ever, he wondered, have anything else to talk about but business?

Julia watched him standing at the foot of the great staircase, looking up.

What did he see? Perhaps it was his fiancée, the woman he had loved more than all the world, slowly descending, receiving the tribute of his radiant expression? Was this why he had suddenly become unable to draw closer to her?

‘I’d better be going,’ she said. ‘Rosa knows something’s up, and she wants to be told everything.’

He grinned. ‘I can just hear her saying it.’

‘Will you be in for supper tonight?’

‘I’m afraid not. The tourists are already beginning to arrive for Carnival, and the restaurant is busy. We’ll have to move fast if this place is going to be ready for the big evening.’

An army of cleaners moved in the following day. Julia took Rosa along to see them at work, and to keep a jealous eye on the frescoes.

‘I’m going to set up work just here, behind the staircase,’ she told her. ‘I might even give a demonstration at the party.’

‘Aren’t you going to wear a beautiful dress?’

‘If I’m going to paint, I’m probably better in jeans. But you can wear a beautiful dress. What about the one you told me about, the one your mother bought for you?’

‘But aren’t—you my mother?’

‘Yes, darling, but she was too.’

Suddenly Julia remembered that Rosa had never wept for Bianca’s death, and, perhaps, now she might feel that she never could. She hurried to say, ‘You don’t have to choose between us. It’s all right to love us both.’

Rosa’s eyes were wide with relief. ‘Is it really?’

‘Of course. You’ve got two mothers. She’s Mamma and I’m Mummy. It’s all very simple.’

She hugged the little girl and Rosa seemed happier, but Julia still had the feeling that something was being held back. Patience, she told herself.

The next moment Rosa startled her.

‘When are you and Uncle Vincenzo going to get married?’

‘I—what makes you think that we’ll get married?’

‘But you must. It would make everything perfect. He can’t keep living in a hotel.’

How like a child, Julia thought, to see the matter in a sensible light. It was true that there were many realistic reasons for their marriage. And just as many reasons why it could never happen.

‘It takes a little more than that,’ she said carefully. ‘People have to love each other as well.’

‘But of course he loves you. Do you want me to ask him?’

‘No!’ Julia exploded before she could stop herself.

‘All right,’ Rosa said plaintively. ‘I only thought—’

‘Darling, do me a favour,’ Julia begged. ‘Stop thinking. Put it right out of your head.’

She thought she’d gained her point, but a moment later Rosa said, ‘Is it Gina?’

‘Who?’

‘Gina, that he was going to marry. Everyone says he was dotty about her, but that was ages ago.’

‘And everyone still talks about how she swept down that staircase and he looked at her adoringly,’ Julia couldn’t help saying. ‘Even now, so long after.’

Rosa looked at her wisely.

‘Perhaps you should make them talk about you,’ she said.

For years afterwards, Julia wondered if she’d known, even then, what her daughter was planning. She denied it to herself, but sometimes even her own secrets were hidden from her.

Carnival started on February tenth, the first day of a two-and-a-half-week-long feast of gaiety and indulgence.

‘Aaaa-aaah!’ Julia greeted the day with a luxurious sigh up to the deep blue sky. ‘This is gorgeous. I can’t believe it’s still so early in the year. Look at this weather.’

‘The sun always comes out for Carnival,’ Vincenzo told her, ‘even if it goes in again afterwards.’

The festivities were everywhere. Outrageous costumes, topped by mysterious masks, could be seen whirling through the piazzas and peering around corners.

Harlequin and Columbine, Pantalone, Pulcinello, Pierrot, Pierrette: they all danced through the music-haunted streets, celebrating the wild liberty that came with anonymity.

Rosa seemed to have forgotten her resolve to play no part in the jollity, except that Julia sensed it was not so much forgotten as put aside for the moment. She now seemed determined to make Julia take her responsibilities as hostess seriously.

The party was to be in eighteenth century dress, and brilliant costumes began to appear in Julia’s room, to be pored over, then returned to the hire shop. Rosa was ruthless about discarding any that did not appeal to her.

‘But I rather like that gold one,’ Julia said.

‘The white one is better,’ Rosa said firmly.

It was truly a glorious dress, satin and brocade, with a tiny waist. In a few minutes Julia was surveying herself in the mirror, adding yet one more persona to the long list she’d acquired recently.

She wasn’t quite certain who this mysterious creature might be, with her sequinned gown and mask. But she felt it might be fun to be her for a while.

When the cleaners had finished work at the palazzo they were able to move into a few rooms temporarily, and oversee the arrangements. Over five hundred people would be there. Some were press, others had bought costly tickets. Venice was alive with rumours and nobody wanted to miss this event.

Even baby Carlo was brought to sleep there for a couple of nights, for no Venetian was ever too young for Carnival.

Acting on Rosa’s instructions, Julia had not mentioned her costume to Vincenzo, who, as far as she knew, had made no plans to dress up.

‘Shame on you,’ she teased. ‘You’re the host of this party and you should be wearing satin knee breeches and lace.’

But she’d misjudged him. He was a Venetian, and satin and lace held no terrors for him. On the night he appeared before her in all his glory. Eighteenth-century garb suited him. The brocade of the black and gold coat and the lace at the neck had the strange effect of underlining his masculinity.

‘Dressed like this,’ he said, ‘a rake could go out on the town and—’ He broke off with a wistful, reminiscent sigh.

‘Fine,’ she told him. ‘We’ll go out on the town—but together.’

He might have answered, but Gemma looked in to say, ‘Rosa has a surprise for you.’ She vanished, leaving the door open.

After a moment Rosa appeared. She was wearing a pink satin carnival dress. It was grand and glorious, sweeping the floor, with sleeves like wings. On her head she wore a bonnet of pink satin and lace, and in her hand she held a pink, full-face mask on a stick.

Slowly she advanced towards them, the mask held up over her face, and sank down in an elegant curtsey. They all smiled and applauded, and she rose.

But she did not remove the mask, just stood there, her shoulders seeming to sag. It was Julia who reached out to draw the mask away, revealing that behind it the child was in tears.

She didn’t try to hide them now, just stood there with them sliding down her cheeks.

‘This is the dress you told me about?’ she said.

Rosa nodded.

‘Mamma bought it for me, for Carnival,’ she said huskily. ‘But I wouldn’t wear it because I was angry with her for going away. Now—’ a sob shook her ‘—now I want to tell her that I’m sorry, and it’s too late.’

At last she could hold back no longer, and when Julia opened her arms she went into them, weeping.

Julia held her close, torn between pain for her child and happiness that Rosa had opened her heart to her.

‘It’s not too late,’ she said. ‘There’s still a couple of days of Carnival to go. Tomorrow we’ll go to San Michele together.’

‘Can we really?’ Rosa was transformed.

‘Tonight everyone can see how lovely you look. And tomorrow you can tell her all about it.’

‘Can I wear my dress to San Michele, for Mamma?’

‘Of course you can.’ She dried the child’s tears.

When Rosa had gone Julia glanced at Vincenzo who had remained silent and very still, watching them. She wished she could read the expression in his eyes, but his jewelled mask concealed them.

‘Aren’t you going to get dressed?’ he asked. ‘I don’t even know what you’re wearing yet.’

‘Excellent. Then you won’t know which one is me. I think I’ll enjoy that.’

‘You’ll drive me too far.’

‘I probably will in the end, but we aren’t nearly there yet.’ Her eyes dared him. ‘It’s going to be a fascinating journey.’

‘Julia—’

‘I think people are arriving. You’d better go and greet them.’

‘What about you? This is as much your night as mine.’

‘I’ll be there.’

From the first moment the evening was a triumph. The knowledge that the Palazzo Montese was to live again had aroused interest all over Venice, throughout the hotel industry, and among those who passed their lives in one hotel after another.

Julia left the spotlight to Vincenzo, while she worked in the corner she had set apart for restoration, answering a stream of fascinated questions. She was dressed quietly and simply in velvet trousers and silk shirt.

Rosa was having the time of her life, but at last she came and fetched Julia determinedly, taking her hand and drawing her upstairs. Gemma was there, and the two of them helped her to dress.

‘Time to go,’ she said at last. ‘This way.’

Brooking no argument, Rosa took her hand and led her down as far as the top of the main staircase.

‘Darling, I don’t think—’

‘Go and stand in front of that picture, the one of Annina.’

Too dazed to do anything but obey, Julia went down to stand before the picture. Something drew her eyes up to the wild face of the woman who had once seemed so like herself in her misfortunes.

Not any more. It was time to do what Annina had never been able to do, to seize her fate and wrest it to her own will. An excitement was growing in her. She knew now why Rosa had done this.

Behind her she could hear the buzz of the crowd fall silent. Slowly she turned.

Vincenzo was standing at the foot of the steps, looking up at her. As she had always known he would be. As Rosa had always known he would be.

Slowly Julia began to descend, a vision in shimmering white, her face covered by a white lace mask. After a few steps she removed it, looking down on the man who never took his eyes from her.

His hand moved up to his own mask, seized it, tossed it away. Now she had a clear view of his face, and it was brilliant with love and happiness. It was the look she had longed to see.

He didn’t take his eyes from her as she approached closer and closer. The masks were gone. Now there was only truth.

‘Who—are you?’ he asked uncertainly.

She was standing before him. Slowly she kissed him, then drew back at once.

‘That’s who I am,’ she said. ‘The woman who loves you.’

Once more she laid her lips on his, and kept them there while his hands settled on her waist, lifting her into the air, while not letting his mouth part from hers.

The crowd broke into applause, although none of them was really sure why. Somebody must have started it, but it could have been anyone. It might even have been a little girl, watching gleefully from above, determined to make this turn out right. A good organiser. Her mother’s daughter.

There were still formalities to be gone through, guests to be greeted, smiles to give. But everything that happened now seemed part of a dream, and the only reality came at the end of the evening when Rosa led them to the side entrance, where a gondolier was waiting.

As they pulled away Vincenzo blew her a grateful kiss, before leaning back against the cushions, drawing Julia into his arms.

‘I think it’s all been taken out of our hands,’ he said.

‘Perhaps it’s the only way it could happen,’ she agreed. ‘Why did everything suddenly become so hard?’

‘A thousand times I came to the edge of telling you how much I love you, and want to marry you. But I became afraid in case you thought I was seizing you for fear of what I’d lose. I wanted you to trust me and I didn’t think you ever would.’

‘If you’d told me that you loved me, I’d have trusted and believed you,’ she said fervently. ‘And I could have said that I love you.’

‘I wasn’t sure that you did. You tried so often to warn me that you couldn’t love me.’

‘That was foolish of me. I love you with all my heart.’

‘If you say that, I have nothing else to want. I know now that I was wrong. Not everyone leaves. I’m not going to let you leave me.’

He kissed her fiercely, letting his passion make the argument for him, feeling her response give him the answer that said more than speech.

‘Are you sure it isn’t a risk?’ she murmured.

‘Maybe. My risk.’

‘Our risk.’

He nodded. ‘Our risk. But love is always a risk, and I’ll take it if you will.’

The gondola was leaving the centre of the city behind, leaving the music, the dancing and the wild figures, drifting into the semi darkness, where the little canals were illuminated only by tiny lamps and silence waited around every corner.

He took her hand in his, holding it tightly.

‘If there is any safety in the world,’ he said, looking at their clasped hands, ‘it’s here. But perhaps we shouldn’t ask for safety, just a light showing the way to the next canal, and perhaps the one after that.’

She didn’t answer in words, but when he released her hand and laid his lips on hers she gave herself up to him completely. All turmoil stilled. All questions answered.

Behind them the gondolier rowed silently, taking them towards the light that showed the way to the next canal, and the one after that, and then onward to wherever the future led.

Preview

The perfect destination for romance…

A Venetian Affair

Three captivating Italian romances from three favourite Mills & Boon authors!

In February 2010 Mills & Boon bring you two classic collections, each featuring three favourite romances by our bestselling authors

AT THE BOSS’S COMMAND

Taking on the Boss by Darcy Maguire
The Millionaire Boss’s Mistress by Madeleine Ker
Accepting the Boss’s Proposal by Natasha Oakley

A VENETIAN AFFAIR

A Venetian Passion by Catherine George
In the Venetian’s Bed by Susan Stephens
A Family For Keeps by Lucy Gordon

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

First published in Great Britain 2009
Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

© by harlequin enterprises ii B. V./S.à.r.l 2010

A Venetian Passion, In the Venetian’s Bed and A Family For Keeps were first published in Great Britain by harlequin Mills & Boon Limited in separate, single volumes.

A Venetian Passion © Catherine George 2005
In the Venetian’s Bed © Susan Stephens 2006
A Family For Keeps © Lucy Gordon 2005

E-ISBN: 978-1-4089-1549-3

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Full Title Page

A Venetian Passion

About The Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

In The Venetian's Bed

About The Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

A Family For Keeps

About The Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Preview

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