‘Look at me,’ Damiano whispered.

She did so, and found his lips close to her own.

‘Help me, Sally. Say you agree,’ he said softly, his breath whispering against her face.

‘But—’

‘Say it. For my son’s sake.’

‘All right. I agree.’

Slowly Damiano dropped his head until his mouth brushed hers. She held herself steady, waiting for it to be over, feeling the tremors go through her, fighting every instinct that urged her to press against him and tempt him on—and on …

His lips parted from hers, but she could still feel the warmth of his breath. She tried to force her mind to take control. Damiano’s kiss had a power over her that she must fight. But her flesh challenged her, telling her mind that thoughts were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the sweetness flooding through her, destroying the common sense that had always ruled her life.

His eyes told her that he’d felt her tremble in his arms and knew his power over her. Now nothing could ever be the same. He would force on her a kiss of passion that would leave her no choice. She braced herself—part fearful, part furious, part craving.

She ought to leave Venice, she thought. She couldn’t bear to hurt the child, but it was better for him not to indulge in groundless hopes. But another voice spoke within her, urging her to marry Damiano and put her whole heart and soul into winning his love.

Not Just a

Convenient

Marriage

Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Sir Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, in which romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.

Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award. You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.

I dedicate this book to Carla, my Venetian sister-in-law, who made the light-hearted remark that inspired me to write it.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXTRACT

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘WOW! CASANOVA! FANCY THAT!’

The young man devouring the contents of a book was alight with excitement. Sally, his sister, sitting beside him in the plane, regarded him curiously.

‘What are you on about, Charlie?’

‘Casanova, the great lover. He came from Venice. It says so here.’ He held up the tourist booklet about the city. ‘He had a thousand women and gambled a fortune every night.’

‘Then I can see why he attracts you,’ she said wryly.

At eighteen, Charlie had gambling debts that were fast mounting, something that barely troubled him while he could rely on his sister to stump up. But Sally had rebelled. Appalled by his developing addiction and the fearsome characters who were beginning to haunt their home, she’d hurriedly got him out of London. Now they were on a plane approaching Venice in what looked like a holiday but was actually an escape.

‘It’s not just the gambling,’ Charlie said. ‘He could have any woman he wanted, and they say that even now his legend lives in Venice. Aw, come on, that should interest you.’

‘Shut it!’ Sally told him.

His manner became comically theatrical. ‘How can you be so hard-hearted? You’re going to the most romantic city in the world and you couldn’t care less.’

‘Just as you couldn’t care less about the trouble your gambling causes. You’re only trying to change the subject. So just drop it, little brother. Or else!’

‘Or else what? Throw me out of the plane?’

‘No, I’ll do something much worse than that. I’ll cut off the money and make you get a job.’

‘Aaargh! You’re a cruel woman.’

Their tone was light, but beneath the banter was a hard reality. Since their parents had died seven years earlier she’d been responsible for him. She wasn’t proud of the result. He showed no signs of growing up.

As he’d said, they were travelling to the most romantic city in the world: Venice. Over a hundred little islands, connected by canals and bridges. A place of staggering beauty and magical, romantic atmosphere. And if she ‘couldn’t care less’ as he accused, it might be because there had been little romance in her life. Without being exactly plain she had looks that were ordinary, with nothing enchanting or alluring about them. Men did not tend to fall at her feet, and the one time she’d fancied herself in love there had been little happiness, and pain in the end. She had no illusions that her life was about to change now.

‘Why did you insist on coming to Venice when we could have gone anywhere?’ Charlie persisted.

‘Because I had a friend who’d booked a trip here and had to cancel at the last minute,’ she said. ‘I managed to get her hotel rooms, and air tickets.’

She had seized the offer as a chance to get away fast and cheaply. Otherwise she wouldn’t have chosen to make this trip in January.

A voice on the loudspeaker announced that the descent was about to start. Soon they could see Marco Polo Airport near the boundary of the mainland. Close by was the sea, with the two-mile causeway stretching out over the water to the multitude of little islands that made up the city of Venice.

‘Hang on,’ said Charlie. ‘It says here that there are no cars in Venice. Does that mean we have to walk along that causeway?’

‘No, there’s a car park called Piazzale Roma on the very edge of the city,’ she said. ‘A taxi can take us as far as that, then we get out and do the rest of the journey by boat through the canals.’

As they descended she gazed out of the window, enchanted by the glittering sea stretching out to where Venice could just be glimpsed on the horizon. When they landed there was the relief of finding a plentiful supply of taxis, and soon they were on their way across the causeway.

Now the city was just ahead, looming up in all its legendary beauty. The taxi turned into Piazzale Roma, and stopped near the water. Here there was a crowd of motor boats, the Venetian version of taxi. Sally gave their destination, the Hotel Billioni, and soon they were moving out into the Grand Canal, the huge elegant highway that sliced through the centre of Venice. At last the boat turned into a tiny side canal and halted where a flight of steps came down to the water. The boatman took their bags and led them the few yards to the hotel.

After checking in they were shown upstairs to the two rooms where they were to stay. Sally went straight to the window and threw it open.

Below her the little canal was quiet and mysterious. Darkness was falling and the only light on the water came in soft gleams from the windows above.

The little she had seen of Venice so far was enough to confirm its reputation for romance and mystery. It would attract lovers, perhaps for their honeymoon.

The word ‘honeymoon’ directed her thoughts to Frank, despite her efforts to prevent it. These days she didn’t often let herself think of him, not since she’d resolved to put him out of her life.

He’d attracted her. His kisses had pleased her, yet for some reason she’d resisted his urging to take them further.

‘C’mon, Sally,’ he’d said, sounding irritated. ‘This is the twenty-first century. Kisses aren’t enough any more.’

He was right. If she’d wanted to go to bed with him she was free to do so. But something held her back. When she found him with another girl it was hurtful but not really a surprise.

He accused me of being cold, she thought, and maybe he was right. Will I ever want a man so much that I can’t control myself? Probably not. If it was going to happen I guess I’d know by now.

She gave a little self-mocking laugh.

I’ve come to the city of Casanova, but somehow I don’t think even he could make me passionate. I’m too sensible. But then, I’ve always needed to be.

The sound of Charlie moving in the next room reminded her why good sense was necessary. She had made many sacrifices for him. Even being here was a sacrifice, as it might have cost her the chance of a wonderful job. She was an accountant, working independently with reasonable success, but suddenly a job with a major firm beckoned. If she’d stayed at home it might have been hers. But they were unlikely to keep it open for her, at least, not for more than a week.

She could hope, but she knew hope could be destructive if it was all you had.

Charlie’s head appeared round the door.

‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and have some supper.’

The restaurant downstairs was humming with life. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen and they spent a merry few minutes choosing food.

‘And this is just the start,’ Charlie said. ‘We’re going to have a great time.’

‘You might. My time will be taken up watching you to stop you going crazy.’

‘Hah! So you say. But this is the city of Casanova, the great lover. You’ll be fighting the men off.’

A chuckle overhead revealed that one of the waitresses had heard and understood.

‘It is true,’ she said. ‘This was the home of Casanova.’

‘Never mind him,’ Sally said. ‘He can wait. I want some supper.’

‘Fish,’ Charlie enthused. ‘Did you ever see so much fish?’

‘We have everything you want, signore,’ the waitress declared.

‘It’s lucky you all seem to understand English so well,’ Sally observed. ‘We’d be really lost otherwise.’

‘But people come to Venice from all over the world. We must be able to talk with them. Now, what can I get you?’

‘I’ll have the codfish prepared with olive oil, garlic and parsley.’

‘Me too,’ Charlie announced.

‘Duo baccala mantecata,’ she announced triumphantly, and bustled away.

‘Is that what we ordered?’ Charlie asked.

‘I guess it must have been.’

‘It sounds great. I’m beginning to think you did the right thing in hauling me out here.’

‘I didn’t haul you.’

‘Come on. You practically chucked me into your suitcase.’

‘Well, all right. I was getting a bit worried by those phone calls that kept coming from people who wouldn’t give their name. One called himself Wilton but the others wouldn’t tell.’

‘Wilton—well—yes.’

‘You mentioned him once, made him sound like a nasty piece of work.’

‘Was that the only reason? Didn’t you want to get shot of Frank?’

‘Frank doesn’t exist any more. Don’t ever mention him again.’

Charlie gave her a hilarious look.

‘First you kick Casanova into the long grass. Then Frank. Perhaps the entire male sex should be nervous about you.’

But he laid a hand on her shoulder in a friendly clasp. Young and self-centred as he was, Charlie could still be sympathetic.

They spent the meal planning the next day’s sightseeing.

‘We’ll get on a vaporetto,’ she said. ‘That’s the water equivalent of a bus. That way we’ll see the Grand Canal and the great bridges across it. Then we can go and see St Mark’s Square.’

‘Only it’s not a square,’ he said, studying a leaflet. ‘It’s a huge rectangle full of shops and restaurants.’

‘It sounds lovely.’

Finally they drifted back upstairs.

‘Goodnight,’ he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘Sleep tight, and be ready to take Venice by storm tomorrow.’

She gave him a gentle thump and left him. Before going to bed she went to the window to enjoy the view over the little canal. Below, she could just make out a small pavement with steps leading down into the water. A man’s voice seemed to be coming from inside. He sounded angry.

Suddenly a door was flung open and the man came out. From a little way above Sally could just see that he was tall, dark, in his mid-thirties, with a face that might have been handsome but for the fierce, uncompromising look it bore. He was speaking Italian, which she couldn’t understand until he snapped, ‘Lei parla come un idiota.’

I guess I know what that means, she thought. He’s calling someone an idiot. Not a guy you’d want to meet on a dark night. He’s probably the bouncer.

The man stormed back into the building, slamming the door. Sally closed the window and went to bed.

That night it rained. By morning the rain had stopped, leaving the streets wet and glistening. They spent the day discovering Venice, wandering through narrow alleys that inspired the imaginative side of Charlie’s nature.

‘All these twists and turns,’ he enthused. ‘If you were following someone in secret they’d never know you were there. Or if you were trying to avoid them you could dart out of sight often, then dart back again.’

‘You’re just a naturally tricky character.’ She laughed.

‘Well, it can come in handy,’ he agreed, not at all offended by being called tricky.

They found where to board the vaporetto for a trip along the Grand Canal, which was followed by a visit to the Rialto Bridge. Finally they took a water taxi down a narrow canal.

‘I will set you down just there, where the canal ends,’ the driver said, ‘and from there it’s just a short walk to St Mark’s.’

At last they reached the Piazza St Marco. One end was dominated by a huge, decorative cathedral, while around the sides were dozen of shops and cafés with tables outside.

‘Let’s sit out here,’ she said.

‘Wouldn’t it be warmer inside?’ Charlie protested.

‘It’s not too cold and I like sitting outside and watching the world go by, especially in a place like this—so many people, so much happening. But you can go inside.’

‘And look like a sissy while my sister sits out here?’ he asked with a grin. ‘No, thank you.’

They found a table and ordered coffee, glancing around them as they sipped it.

‘Oh, look,’ Sally said suddenly. ‘That lovely dog.’

She’d fixed her eyes on a brown and white springer spaniel bouncing around, enjoying the puddles.

‘It’s so nice to see them having fun,’ she said.

‘You’re a sucker for dogs,’ Charlie observed. ‘If you love them so much I can’t think why you don’t have one.’

‘Because I’d have to leave him alone so much. It wouldn’t be kind. You never knew Jacko, did you?’

‘The dog you had before I was born?’

‘That’s right. I adored him. He had a terrific personality, just like that one over there. Bouncing everywhere, demanding attention.’ She struck a dramatic attitude. ‘Wuff! Look at me! That’s what he’s saying.’ She turned to the dog, who had come close enough to hear her. ‘Yes, all right, I’m looking at you. You’re beautiful.’

His ears perked, his face lit up, and the next moment he was flying towards her, bouncing into her lap, sending her coffee flying over her clothes.

‘Hey, look at your jacket!’ Charlie exclaimed.

‘Oh, heavens! Well, never mind. It’s only a jacket. It was my fault for calling him.’

‘And he’s covered you with wet paw prints.’

Suddenly a scream tore the air. ‘Toby! Toby!’

A young boy was dashing across the piazza towards them, waving his arms and screeching. Just behind him was a middle-aged woman, also running, her face dark with thunder.

‘Toby!’ the child shrieked. ‘Vieni qui!’

He reached Sally and flung his arms around the dog so fiercely that she was knocked off balance and would have crashed to the ground if Charlie hadn’t seized her just in time.

The woman began a tirade in Italian. Without understanding the words Sally gathered that she was furious and her manner towards the animal was alarming.

‘It’s all right,’ Sally said firmly. ‘It was an accident, not his fault.’

Hearing her speak English, the woman responded in the same language.

‘He’s a bad dog,’ she said. ‘He’s never been disciplined properly and it’s time something was done about him.’

‘No!’ the child screamed, tightening his arms around the animal. ‘He’s not bad.’

‘Of course he’s bad,’ the woman said. ‘Signor, mi appello a voi.’

The man she appealed to seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Looking up, Sally thought she recognised him as the man she’d seen at the hotel the night before. But it had been so dark that she found it hard to be sure.

‘Papa!’ the little boy screamed.

So this grim, scowling creature was the father of the boy. Only a swift response would help now. She confronted him.

‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ she said, praying that he spoke English. ‘I don’t know how much you saw—’

‘I saw the dog hurl himself at you and cover you with mud,’ he said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.

‘He’s just affectionate. It was my fault for calling out to him. He was being friendly.’

To her relief he nodded. ‘That’s generous of you. Thank you. Are you hurt?’

‘Not at all. It’s not his fault that it’s been raining.’ She patted the furry head. ‘You can’t help it raining, can you?’

‘Wuff!’

‘There, you see. He agrees with me.’

The boy gave a chuckle. The man’s face relaxed and he laid his hand on the child’s shoulder. The only person not pleased was the woman. The man spoke a few words to her in Italian. She glared and walked off.

‘She hates Toby,’ the boy complained.

‘How could anybody hate him?’ Sally said. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

‘He makes a mess of the house,’ the man said. ‘Usually in a place she’s just cleaned. Pietro, I think you have an apology to make.’

The child nodded, took a deep breath and faced her, with his arm protectively around Toby. ‘We’re sorry for what happened, signorina.’

‘It’s all right. Sometimes accidents just happen, one after another.’ She leaned down to the dog. ‘As long as Toby isn’t hurt.’

As if to answer Toby licked her face. In response, she bumped her nose against his. Pietro giggled in delight. Toby promptly licked her again, then turned to Charlie, who received his attention with pleasure.

‘While they’re occupied, allow me to buy you a coffee,’ the man said. ‘Then I will escort you back to your hotel. And of course I will pay for your clothes to be cleaned.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘At the Billioni Hotel.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Actually I think I saw you there last night. You were calling someone an idiot. Are you the manager?’

‘I’m the owner.’

‘Oh—er—well, it’s a very nice hotel.’

‘But it still needs some work. You don’t have to be tactful.’ He offered his hand. ‘My name is Damiano Ferrone.’

‘I’m Sally Franklin.’ They shook hands cordially.

‘And the young man with you? Your husband?’

‘Goodness no. He’s barely grown up. That’s Charlie, my brother.’

‘And you are here on holiday together?’

‘Yes, we decided to explore the world a little. I know most people don’t take holidays in January—’

‘But Venice is beautiful all the year round. We get many visitors in winter. But perhaps you regret the rain.’

His glance indicated the damp paw marks on her jacket.

‘I don’t regret anything that lets me meet such a gorgeous dog,’ she said. ‘I just love them.’

‘So I saw. You immediately became my son’s favourite person.’

They laughed together. It was remarkable, she thought, how his face, though formed in stern lines, softened when he spoke of the child.

‘Does his mother mind the muddy paw marks?’ she asked.

‘He has no mother. My first wife died giving birth to him nine years ago. He used to have a stepmother but she left us.’

‘Doesn’t she ever come back to see him?’

‘Never.’

‘Does he mind? I mean—were they close?’

‘Not really, but she was the only mother he’d ever known, so he clung to her. But when our marriage ended—’

A shriek of laughter interrupted them and made them turn to where the others were playing.

‘I remember when I had a dog just like that,’ she mused. ‘Full of vim and wanting to be the centre of attention all the time.’

‘He belonged to Pietro’s real mother. He’s the only legacy he has of her.’

‘So of course he treasures him. Yes, over here!’ She raised her voice as Toby raced back towards her, hurling himself once more into her arms while Pietro jumped up and down with delight. Damiano smiled fondly at the sight of his child’s happiness.

‘I think Toby is trying to tell you something,’ he observed.

‘Well, he certainly seems to like me,’ she ventured.

‘Enough to invite you to our house this evening for dinner—as a way of apologising for ruining your clothes. Please say you’ll come.’

Pietro looked up into her face, nodding eagerly, and she guessed he was the one Damiano was trying to please.

‘We’d love to come,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t we, Charlie?’

‘Sure, fine.’

‘I’ll just go back to the hotel and change,’ she said.

‘There’s no need,’ Damiano declared.

‘But look at the mess Toby’s left me in,’ she said, comically indicating the paw marks. She put her face close to the dog’s. ‘This is all your fault.’

‘He’s very sorry,’ Pietro said, ‘and he’ll make it up to you at dinner. But you must come with us now.’ He nudged Toby. ‘Tell her she’s got to come now.’

‘Wuff!’

‘Well, if Toby commands, I can’t refuse.’ She laughed.

It was the right answer. Both Pietro and his father beamed. And Sally found herself overtaken by a sense of exhilaration, caused by the sheer unexpectedness of the situation. For someone who spent her life analysing figures and making careful plans there was strange delight in being swept away without warning. When Damiano offered her his arm she took it with pleasure.

From St Mark’s Piazza it was a short journey to the water, where they found a taxi that took them along the Grand Canal.

‘Is your home far?’ she asked.

‘You can see it now.’

She gaped at the sight of the building that they were nearing. Knowing he was rich enough to own a hotel, she’d expected a substantial home, but this was huge and elaborate.

‘There?’ She gasped. ‘But it looks like a palace.’

‘It’s a hotel.’

‘Another one of yours?’

‘Yes, I own it. I live in the building next door.’

His home was smaller than the hotel but still impressive, with a broad stairway leading up from the great hall to the upper floors, where tall, decorative windows let in the light.

Bustling towards them was the woman who’d been in St Mark’s.

‘You’ve met Nora,’ he said. ‘She runs the house and she’ll show you around.’

Sally thought she detected a puzzled look in the housekeeper’s eyes, after the way they had met. But she greeted her cordially and showed her to a room on the ground floor.

‘You can be comfortable here until dinner is served,’ she said. ‘There is a bathroom next door.’

The room was magnificent, with furniture that looked antique and expensive. On one wall was a large picture of a woman luxuriously dressed in eighteenth-century clothing. Gold hung around her neck, and much care had clearly been lavished on her appearance.

Probably to impress the man who had paid for it, Sally thought.

‘Who is that?’ she asked Nora.

‘That was the Duchess Araminta Leonese, three hundred years ago,’ Nora said with a smile. ‘She was a very notable woman. The duke married her in the face of much opposition. His family wanted him to marry an aristocrat, but he said it had to be her and nobody else.’

‘Wasn’t she an actress?’ Charlie said.

‘She was a lady of the stage. And in those days—’

‘In those days that was a big scandal,’ Sally mused.

‘Oh, yes. Very big,’ Nora agreed.

As she turned to leave Charlie murmured to her, ‘I could murder a drink.’

‘Follow me, signore.’

They departed together.

On the wall was a mirror where Sally could study her appearance. Her jacket was a mess. The clothes beneath it were undamaged but they were plain and frugal, and she felt self-conscious at how they would look in these wealthy surroundings. But then she thrust the thought aside. Everything was happening out of her control, and it was pointless to worry about it.

She went to the window, which had a small balcony overlooking a narrow canal where she could see a gondola making its way along the water. Smiling, she turned back into the room.

Then she froze at the sight that met her eyes.

The figure standing there was small but alarming. It had a monstrous head. Horns reared up from the forehead, the eyes were huge and threatening, and the great nose was more like a beak. This terrifying creature had crept into the room unnoticed, and now stood there in a silent, deadly challenge.

At last it spoke.

‘It’s only me,’ said Pietro.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR A MOMENT Sally couldn’t take it in. Her head was spinning too fast to think.

Then the creature removed the alarming mask, revealing Pietro’s face.

‘It really is you.’ She gasped, sitting down suddenly.

She guessed she should have thought of the child when she saw the apparition was so short, but the stunning effect of the face had driven everything else out of her mind.

‘Did I make you jump?’ he asked.

‘Just a little.’

He came close, smiling in a cheeky, friendly way that dispelled the last of her alarm.

‘I just wanted to show you my mask,’ he said.

‘It’s—very effective,’ she said with feeling.

‘Yes, I’m going to wear it for the carnival. Everyone dresses up. I’ve got several masks but I think this is the best.’

He put it back on, turning the monstrous face towards her with an air of triumph.

‘Aaaaaargh!’ she cried, throwing up her hands in a theatrical pretence of terror that made him laugh with delight.

‘What’s going on?’ Damiano demanded from the door. ‘Pietro, what are you up to? You should know better than to scare our guest twice in one day.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’m strong enough for anything,’ Sally declared.

‘You may need to be if he’s going to get up to his tricks.’

‘But that’s what boys are for, getting up to tricks,’ she protested. ‘If they behave too well it’s no fun.’

‘Then I can promise you plenty of fun,’ Damiano said with an ironic glance at his son. He pointed to the door. ‘Out! And behave yourself, if you know how.’

When Pietro had vanished Sally said, ‘If he does know how I bet he’d never admit it to you.’

‘That’s hitting the nail on the head. I must leave you for a moment to make an urgent phone call, but when you’re ready the dining room is just across the hall. They’re already laying the table.’

He departed, and a few minutes later Charlie entered, rubbing his hands.

‘We’ve really fallen on our feet,’ he said gleefully.

‘Yes, they’re lovely people,’ she agreed.

‘That’s not what I meant. This guy has money. We can have a great time here!’

She regarded him wryly. It was clear Charlie’s acquisitive side was rearing its head.

‘Charlie, I know your idea of a great time,’ she said tersely. ‘Just try to behave yourself.’ A sudden impulse made her add, ‘If you know how.’

‘But I don’t,’ he said with an air of innocence. ‘I never have, according to you. And now we’re in Venice, you don’t expect me to behave myself here, do you?’

‘Whatever I was thinking of to bring you to the great pleasure city I can’t imagine.’

‘You wanted me to have fun, and I’m going to show my appreciation by having the best fun ever.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Now push off while I make myself ready for the evening.’

‘But you haven’t brought any extra clothes with you.’

‘No, but I can try a little make-up.’

If it would make any difference, she thought, self-mockingly. In this beautiful place she was more than ever aware that her looks were commonplace.

Many women would have envied her slim figure but she regarded it askance.

A bit too slim? she thought. Thin? Perhaps. Frank used to say he liked me that way, but the creature I saw in his arms had luscious curves and they were all on display. Ah, well! What does it matter now?

She made up as elegantly as possible but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that the Duchess Araminta on the wall regarded her with disapproval. Nora had hinted that she was a courtesan, a woman who’d spent her life enticing men, and the message she seemed to send out to Sally was, Is that the best you can do?

‘Yes, it is,’ she replied defiantly. ‘We can’t all be great beauties.’

Soon there was a knock at her door and Pietro presented himself in another mask. This one wasn’t alarming, but cheeky, leaving his mouth free. He took her hand and they went to the dining room together, followed by Charlie and Toby.

Supper was a collection of fine Venetian dishes. Damiano was attentive, asking her several times if he could get her anything. She revelled in it, unable to remember when she had last been so spoilt, and determined to enjoy it to the full. She guessed the treat would not last long.

Charlie too was having the time of his life, plaguing Damiano with questions about things to enjoy in Venice.

‘There’s plenty to see,’ Damiano told him. ‘The palaces, the monuments—’

‘I meant something a bit livelier than that,’ Charlie said. ‘Places where things happen and you have fun.’

‘There’s La Fenice,’ Damiano mused. ‘I’ve been there many times myself and always enjoyed it.’

‘Do plenty of people go there?’ Charlie asked.

‘About a thousand every night.’

‘Oh, boy, what a place! What do they do when they get there?’

‘They sit quietly and watch the performance,’ Sally intervened before Charlie could make an even bigger ninny of himself. ‘It’s an opera house.’

‘Opera—? You mean—serious stuff?’ His tone revealed exactly what he thought of serious stuff.

‘Not necessarily,’ Damiano said. ‘Sometimes they perform comic operas. We might go to see one. I’ll arrange it if you like.’

Charlie gulped. ‘No need to go to any trouble for me,’ he said hastily.

Sally caught Damiano’s eye and smothered a laugh. It was clear that he had understood Charlie perfectly, and was enjoying teasing him. His quizzical look asked her if he’d got the situation right. She gave him a brief nod.

‘This food’s terrific,’ Charlie said, with the air of someone changing the subject at all costs.

‘I’ll tell the cook you said so,’ Damiano said. And the moment passed.

Pietro made the evening delightful. He’d taken a shine to Sally after the way she’d defended him and Toby. Especially Toby, who was allowed to stay curled up under the table, from where he could be fed titbits.

‘Can you really eat in that mask?’ she asked the boy. ‘I know it doesn’t exactly cover your mouth but it doesn’t look comfortable.’

His reply was to bite a sausage, which he only just managed.

‘All right,’ she laughed. ‘I guess I don’t understand masks. What does this one make you?’

‘A monkey,’ Pietro said ‘But I’ve got another one that makes me a mouse.’

‘I’d like to see that. But not now,’ she added quickly. ‘Finish your supper first.’

Giving a quick glance at his father, Pietro replied with a studied air of obedience that didn’t fool her for a moment.

‘Yes, signorina.’

‘Oh, please, not signorina. My name is Sally, and that’s what I like my friends to call me.’ She added anxiously, ‘We are friends, aren’t we?’

Pietro nodded eagerly, and returned to eating. But before long he began chatting again, so that it was hard for anybody else to get a word in edgeways. Occasionally there was a mild protest from his father, but on the whole Damiano seemed inclined to be indulgent. Once he mentioned bedtime, but Pietro’s cry of, ‘Please, Papa,’ was enough to make him retreat. Yet at last even Pietro was unable to hide the fact that he was falling asleep.

‘Go along,’ said his father. ‘Say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Papa.’ Pietro turned to Sally. ‘Goodnight, Sally.’

‘Goodnight, Pietro. Goodnight, Toby.’

‘Will you be coming back to see us again?’

‘Yes,’ Damiano said at once. ‘She will.’

But Pietro’s clasp on her hand tightened as though he was still uncertain.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘why don’t I come up with you and we’ll say goodnight up there?’

He nodded.

‘Go on,’ Damiano said gently.

He gave his father a brief hug, then seized Sally’s hand again. Together they went upstairs.

As soon as she went into Pietro’s room she saw two large photographs on the sideboard. Both were of women. One had a beautiful, gentle face. The other was reasonably good-looking, but with a face that was intelligent rather than charming. She guessed these were Damiano’s two wives.

When Pietro was in bed she opened her arms. He hugged her enthusiastically before snuggling down.

‘You really will come and see us again, won’t you?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

She stayed with him until his eyes closed. Then she kissed his cheek and crept quietly away.

She found the dining room empty. At the far end was an open door that seemed to lure her on. She went to explore and found herself in a room with many windows overlooking the canal. Damiano was there, sitting near a floor-length window that led out onto a small balcony. He made a gesture indicating the chair beside him.

‘I hoped you would join me,’ he said, raising his wine glass. ‘So I came prepared.’

He pointed to a second glass on the table, and began to fill it with rosé wine.

‘Later in the year we could sit out there on the balcony,’ he said. ‘But the forecast is more rain.’

‘What’s happened to Charlie?’ she asked.

‘He’s in the next room, watching television. There’s a good soccer match on. It’ll keep him happy for a while.’

Thus leaving them in peace to talk without him. That was the unspoken message, and she was glad of it.

‘You really caught him off-guard, talking about opera,’ she said.

‘Yes, whatever he came to Venice for, it wasn’t that.’

‘However did you guess?’ She chuckled, and he joined in.

‘But why did he come here? He strikes me as a bouncy young man who doesn’t go in for sightseeing.’

‘True,’ she sighed. ‘He was getting a bit too bouncy. He’s only eighteen and—well—’

‘I understand. I’ve got a younger brother who often makes me tear my hair out. And I wasn’t a saint at eighteen either.’

‘And now?’ she couldn’t resist teasing.

‘Certainly not! Go on telling me about Charlie.’

‘He went a bit too far so I seized him by the scruff of the neck and told him to obey me.’

‘Obey you? I thought you said you were his sister, not his mother.’

‘That’s right, our parents died years ago. In some ways you could say I am his mother. He’s been in my care since he was eleven.’

‘Don’t you have any family to help? Uncles, aunts, grandparents—?’

‘None. Charlie’s the only family I have.’

He frowned.

‘Does that mean caring for him has denied you any existence of your own?’ he asked. ‘No career, nothing?’

‘Oh, no, I have a career as an accountant, and now that he’s older I can give it more time. At the moment I work freelance, so I can make my own hours, but soon I think I’ll have a very good job with a big firm. My interview went well, and I’m crossing my fingers.’

‘But is that all you have? You’re not married?’

‘No.’

‘And there’s no—forgive me, I don’t mean to pry, but surely there’s a man at home in England, waiting for you to have the time to marry him?’

‘No,’ she said wryly, thinking briefly of Frank before consigning him to nothing.

‘No emotional life at all?’ Damiano mused in a tone that gave nothing away.

‘I’ve had moments, but they didn’t amount to anything,’ she said, trying to sound casual.

‘The men didn’t meet your high standards?’

‘Or I didn’t meet theirs. That’s just as likely.’

‘So now all the hopes of your life are concentrated on the job?’

‘Signore—’

‘Wait. Enough of that. You told my son that you didn’t like formality. Your friends call you Sally. My friends call me Damiano.’

‘Damiano,’ she mused. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.’

‘My enemies would tell you it suits me. It comes from the Latin word Damianus, which means to conquer and subdue. It can even mean to kill.’

‘Your enemies? Do you have many?’

‘A respectable number.’

‘Respectable?’

‘I’m a businessman. If you don’t annoy a few people along the way you’re not doing it properly.’

‘So you’ve annoyed enough people to feel proud. You face each other, you conquer and subdue them, and they go off saying, “I’ll make Damiano sorry. Damn him!”’

He grinned. ‘I see you know how it’s done.’

‘Do they ever actually manage to make you sorry?’

‘Would I admit it if they did?’

‘I’m learning all the time. I must remember what you’ve taught me. It could be useful in my own business life.’

‘Here’s to you.’

He raised his glass. She raised hers and they clinked.

From below came the sound of singing. Damiano opened the door to the balcony and ushered her out. Now they could see a gondola gliding along the narrow canal below them. A young man and woman sat holding each other, lost in the delight of their love, their surroundings, and the gondolier singing behind them while propelling the boat.

As the song ended he looked up, saw them and called out, ‘The world belongs to lovers.’

‘Yes,’ cried the loving couple. ‘Yes, yes.’

They waved upwards, saluting the two on the balcony.

‘Oh, dear,’ Sally said. ‘They think—’

‘It happens all the time in this city, especially in winter when lovers come here for the magical peace and quiet. Please don’t be offended.’

‘I’m not offended,’ she said quickly.

There could be no offence, she thought, in being thought the lover of this handsome man. Luckily she was armoured, or she might have been in danger.

‘But why did the gondolier say it in English, not Italian?’ she asked.

‘His passengers must be English. It’s intriguing how many tourists come from your country. They seem so cool and restrained on the outside, but Venice brings out another side of them—one they usually prefer to hide, or even didn’t know they had.’

As if to prove him right the couple in the gondola were sharing a passionate kiss as they drifted away. Further ahead the little canal broadened out into the Grand Canal, from which came the noise of music and cries of delight. As they watched a vaporetto went past, crowded with excited passengers, some of them singing, some cheering.

‘It’s almost as though Venice has two different personalities,’ she said. ‘So quiet and gentle at one end of this little stretch of water, so exuberant at the other end.’

‘You’re right. But it’s not just two different personalities. A dozen, perhaps a hundred.’ He shepherded her back into the room, adding teasingly, ‘Like the English, really.’

‘You obviously think you know a lot about the English.’

He showed her back to her chair, and sat beside her. Suddenly he was no longer joking.

‘I know I like them,’ he said quietly. ‘My first wife came from your country, and I see her in Pietro. It’s a side of him that I encourage.’

‘Is that why he speaks my language?’

‘Yes, I’ve raised him to be bilingual.’

‘He must be very bright to speak it so well while he’s so young. He’s a lovely child.’

‘Yes, he is. There’s something I want to say to you. Thank you for making him so happy. It means a lot to me to see him laughing and playing as he’s done today.’

‘Doesn’t he do so often?’

‘Sometimes he seems merry, but it never lasts very long. He’s haunted by the feeling that two mothers abandoned him. As I mentioned earlier, his real mother died before he could know her. His stepmother simply left him.’

‘Poor little soul,’ Sally murmured. ‘Does she never contact him at all?’

‘Never. She said that he would be better off if she was completely out of his life. But it was just for her own convenience, not for Pietro’s sake. She never loved him. He has only me.’

‘And he’s everything to you, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. Both for his own sake and because—’ His voice died.

‘Because of his mother?’ she urged gently.

He nodded.

‘Because of Gina,’ he said quietly. ‘We had such a little time together. Pietro was born a month prematurely. It killed Gina and the baby himself nearly didn’t survive. In her last hours Gina was wild with terror, fearing for him. She had no thought for her own danger, only his. I held her in my arms, begging her not to leave me, but I knew it was useless. She was being snatched away by a power beyond her control, and only her baby mattered. So I swore to her that I would care for him and protect him all the rest of my life. Nothing would matter but his happiness.’

Sally had a strange feeling that the world had changed. Even the universe. This city, which was like nowhere else, might be the answer, but she sensed something more. The man sitting close by, talking in a soft voice, had been known to her for only a few hours. Yet he was confiding in her in a way that said she was not a stranger, but someone to whom he felt close, because that was what he wanted to feel.

She tried to tell herself to be sensible, but common sense had gone into hiding.

‘Did your promise comfort her?’ she asked.

‘I thought so. She whispered, “God bless you,” so perhaps it did for a brief moment. Then—she tried to say something else. But she choked and couldn’t speak. In her last few moments she was desperate to tell me something, but she died before she could say the words. Now I’ll wonder all my days what she wanted to say that was so important.’

‘But surely, in your heart you know what it was,’ Sally said. ‘She wanted to say that she loved you. It couldn’t be anything else but that.’

He raised his head and she saw in his eyes a smile that made her heart turn over. There was a warmth in it that felt as though he was reaching out and touching her, enveloping her in some feeling she’d never known before: a feeling that she wanted to know for ever.

‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that you must be the kindest person in the world.’

‘No,’ she said, suddenly self-conscious at the strength of her own feelings.

‘Don’t tell me that you’re not kind. I wouldn’t believe it.’

‘You don’t really know me.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. I knew you as soon as we met in the Piazza San Marco.’

The air was singing about her ears and she was at a loss for an answer. Part of her had the same feeling, that she knew him as though they had been acquainted for ever. But another part said exactly the opposite: that here was a man of mystery and contradictions; that she might know him all her life, yet never understand the first thing about him.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was whispering that it might be intriguing to follow that path, seeking the man he really was, perhaps finding him, and then—

Abruptly she closed off the thought, wondering what possessed her to give it even a moment. Soon they would say goodbye and he would cease to exist. Which would surely be a good thing.

Her next words seemed to come of their own accord, without any conscious decision.

‘You think you know me,’ she said, ‘but I don’t even know myself. I often believe I do, but then I discover I was wrong.’

He smiled.

‘Most of us could say the same. I’m convinced you’ve come to the right place. I promised Pietro that you would visit us again, which was rather impolite of me without asking you first—’

‘I forgive you,’ she said with a smile. ‘You couldn’t have asked me first, in front of him.’

‘Thank you. You’re a lady of great understanding. So when you come for your next visit we’ll spend a little time together and—who knows? I may manage to introduce you to yourself.’

There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but also a hint of temptation, leaving her free to choose which one to follow.

But it was an impossible choice; one she didn’t feel ready to make.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of bells from the clock tower in St Mark’s.

‘Goodness, is that the time?’ she said, checking her watch. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’

‘Yes, time can slip past when you’re thinking of other things,’ Damiano agreed quietly.

Suddenly there was a noise overhead. They both tensed with surprise, and looked up to find Pietro looking down at them from an upstairs window.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘You should be in bed,’ Damiano told him in an unsteady voice.

‘I wanted to see Sally,’ he said cheekily. ‘Are you all right, Sally? Is Papa looking after you properly?’

‘He’s doing his best,’ she said in a voice that was also a little unsteady. ‘But it’s time I was going home.’

‘I’ll call my driver,’ Damiano said. ‘We’ll take you back to your hotel.’ He took out his cell phone and said a few words in Italian.

‘He’ll be here in a couple of minutes,’ he said when he’d hung up.

Sally raised her head, meaning to say goodbye to Pietro, but to her surprise he’d vanished and his window was closed.

They collected Charlie and the three of them headed for the door, where a surprise awaited them. Pietro stood there, fully dressed.

So that was why he’d backed away from his window so quickly, Sally thought.

‘What are you doing here?’ Damiano demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be in bed.’

‘But we’re going to take Sally home,’ Pietro said. ‘We’re her friends. We should all go with her.’

‘Very well,’ Damiano conceded, opening the door. As Sally passed him he murmured, ‘At least my son has manners. He likes you so much he wants to be the perfect host.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she chuckled. ‘When you were his age, didn’t you seize any chance to stay up late?’

‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. All right, let’s get going.’

He helped her into the motor boat. Charlie and Pietro got in, and they began the journey down the narrow waterway into the Grand Canal. At this time of night it was still brilliantly lit, and music floated towards them from a distance. It felt like drifting through another world.

Part of her regretted leaving at this moment. Part of her was glad. It had been a relief to avoid facing the question that was teasing her. Damiano had spoken of introducing her to her real self. If she’d had to answer him—what would she have said?

She had no idea.

CHAPTER THREE

AT LAST THE Billioni appeared. The boat came to a halt and Damiano helped her out. As they entered the hotel the receptionist became alert and respectful, responding to his gesture indicating that he wanted her complete attention.

So he really is the owner, Sally thought.

Suddenly she heard Charlie mutter, ‘Oh, heavens! How did that happen?’

‘How did what happen?’ she asked, looking around.

Then she saw what had alarmed him. Through an open door she could just see into a room where there was a man whose face she recognised with alarm. He was in his thirties, sloppily dressed, unshaven, with dark hair that looked as though he didn’t bother to comb it. She didn’t know his name but she’d seen him lurking around their home in England, and knew that he was bad news.

‘Charlie, who is he? Charlie? Charlie, where are you?’

But he’d slipped away. Damiano was still engaged in conversation, so she headed for the door to confront the man.

‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said. ‘In England.’

‘Yes, I’m Ken Wilton and I’m looking for that brother of yours. Where is he?’

‘Why do you want him?’

‘Why do you think? He ran off owing me a lot of money, and I want it now.’

Her worst fears were realised, but she set her chin and faced him.

‘Charlie paid all his debts. I know that.’

‘You think that,’ he sneered. ‘I guess you gave him some money, huh?’

‘Yes. More than enough to pay what he owed.’

‘Is that what he told you? Well, I’m telling you that there’s a much bigger debt come to light, and I’m here to collect. Otherwise there’ll be trouble. So you’d better go and get him. He knows who I am.’

‘I’ll do no such thing. I don’t believe he owes you anything.’

He moved closer to her.

‘Really?’ he sneered. ‘I wonder just how sure you are of that, and how long it might take to change your mind.’

Sally tried to turn away from him, but he took her arm in a ruthless grip. ‘Where’s your brother?’ he said.

With a great effort she managed to wriggle free but he came after her and struck her, causing her to fall. A sharp pain went through her head as it hit the wall.

She heard a voice screaming, ‘Sally! Sally!’

Suddenly Pietro was on his knees beside her, trying to take her into his arms. Then a man’s voice cried out her name again and Damiano appeared in the doorway. The next moment her attacker had rushed to the window and dived out. They heard a splash as he landed in the water outside.

Damiano dashed to the window, glanced out, then looked back at Sally on the floor. A porter had followed them in, lured by the noise. Damiano barked some orders at him, then came to kneel beside Sally, drawing her up so that his arms supported her.

‘What did he do to you?’ he groaned.

‘He knocked her down,’ Pietro wailed. ‘I heard him yelling and then he hit her. Oh, Sally, please don’t die.’

Tears were pouring down his face. Through her pain and confusion one thing stood out for Sally—Pietro must be protected from the horror of what he’d seen...

‘I’m all right, Pietro,’ she said. ‘Truly. Just a little bump.’

‘We’ll see what the doctor has to say about that,’ Damiano said. ‘I’m taking you home with me. You can’t stay here in case that ruffian returns.’

‘It’s Charlie he’s after,’ she murmured. ‘Charlie—’

‘I’m here,’ he said, appearing. ‘He’s got away. They couldn’t catch him.’

‘Then the sooner we leave, the better,’ Damiano said.

He rose, drawing Sally gently to her feet, then lifting her in his arms.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’re coming with me and you’re going to be safe.’

‘He’s after Charlie—’ she whispered.

‘He’ll be safe too. You have my word on it. Trust me.’

All her instincts agreed, and she found herself relaxing in his arms as he carried her out, pausing only to bark some more orders at the receptionist.

‘They’ll pack up your things and send them after us,’ he told her.

‘My bill—’

‘Taken care of. Don’t worry about anything.’

Her head was aching and she could do nothing but rest it against his shoulder and yield everything up to him. She felt herself being lowered into the motorboat, Damiano sitting beside her with Charlie and Pietro facing. As they swept away Damiano made another call on his cell phone.

‘The doctor will be there when we arrive,’ he said when he’d hung up. ‘Here.’ He handed the phone to Pietro. ‘Call Nora, tell her to have two rooms ready.’

Pietro did as he was told. Sally couldn’t understand the Italian words, but she sensed the tension in his voice. When he finished he spoke urgently to Sally.

‘She’s getting everything ready. We’re going to look after you.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, reaching out to take his hand. The little boy’s concern touched her heart.

As Damiano had said, the doctor was there before them. Damiano carried her upstairs to the room that would be hers, laid her down on the bed, then stood back to watch.

The doctor declared that the bump on her head wasn’t serious, but a few days’ rest would do her good.

‘She’ll get everything she wants here,’ Damiano said. ‘I’d like you to come again tomorrow.’

‘Certainly. I brought some painkillers with me, and she should take some now. Then rest and good food is what she needs.’

‘She will be all right, won’t she?’ Pietro asked anxiously. ‘She isn’t going to die?’

‘Definitely not,’ the doctor said kindly. ‘She just needs to take it easy.’

Pietro gave a brief smile but his air was still one of anxiety. Sally reached for him.

‘I’m stronger than I look,’ she assured him. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

His reply was to throw himself into her arms.

‘Steady, don’t shake her,’ Damiano protested.

‘It’s all right,’ she hastened to say. ‘He isn’t hurting me.’

Nora brought in some water, which Sally used to take the painkillers. Then the men departed while Nora tucked her under the duvet. Whether it was the pills or the shock of the evening’s events, Sally began to feel drowsy, and soon the world drifted away.

She awoke to find Damiano sitting by the bed, watching her.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Better. My head isn’t hurting. I’m sorry to give you so much trouble.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ he said, speaking with a gentleness that contrasted with his words. ‘You are no trouble.’ He indicated some bags on the floor. ‘Your things have arrived, so you can unpack soon.’

‘My bill—’

‘I told you not to worry about that. You were attacked in my hotel. That’s my responsibility and the least I can do is wipe out your bill, and Charlie’s. Don’t mention it again.’

‘But that man—Wilton—what happened to him?’

‘He escaped, which may be a good thing. Otherwise the police would have become involved and you’d have found it distressing. The hotel security staff will find him.’

‘But how will they know what he looks like?’

‘They’ll know his appearance from the camera outside the front door that records the face of every visitor,’ Damiano said. ‘They’ll track him down and persuade him not to trouble you again.’

She didn’t ask what ‘persuade him’ meant. This man would have his own methods of persuasion that would probably make her shudder. She found that she could no longer fight off the horror. Tremors afflicted her, and she clenched her fists, struggling to stay calm.

‘Come here,’ Damiano said.

The next moment his arms were around her, enfolding her in warmth and comfort.

‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘Hold onto me. I’m going to look after you.’

She believed him. The feeling of safety seemed to envelop her, warming her heart and her flesh in a way she had never known before. She clung to him, letting her head rest on his shoulder, wishing it could stay there for ever.

For several minutes neither of them moved. Then he lowered her gently onto the pillow.

‘I want to understand everything,’ he said. ‘Getting rid of that lout was just the start. What else do you need me to do?’

She hesitated, glad to feel his strength and support, but uncertain whether she should tell him any more about Charlie.

‘You’ve done enough—’ she began.

‘That’s for me to say,’ he replied in a voice that was quiet but brooked no argument. ‘I want to know what lies behind this, and you’re going to tell me.’

She sighed.

‘I know I’m safe, but Charlie isn’t. Wilton was after him, and I don’t think he’ll give up.’

‘I promise you, he will when I’ve finished with him,’ Damiano said.

‘Where is Charlie now?’

‘Safely settled in the room next to you. Tell me about him. Once before you implied that he’s irresponsible, even for his age.’

‘He doesn’t mean any harm, but he’s young and he doesn’t think things through. He gambles a lot, and loses.’

‘And guess who has to pay up to get him out of trouble,’ Damiano said wryly.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t, but I find it so hard to refuse him.’

‘Even though you must know you’re not doing him any favours in the long term. He’s never going to learn better as long as he gets away with it.’

‘I know,’ she said wretchedly, ‘but there’s no one to protect him, and that’s my fault.’

‘I don’t believe that. Stop putting yourself down.’

‘Seven years ago I was knocked down in the road. My parents set out to drive to the hospital. A lorry crashed into their car and they both died.’

‘And you blame yourself for that?’ he demanded. ‘Surely it wasn’t your fault that you were injured?’

‘No, but if it hadn’t been for me they wouldn’t have been on the road and an eleven-year-old boy wouldn’t have been left an orphan. Since then I’ve been the only family he has.’

‘How old were you at the time?’

‘Twenty-one.’

‘Just twenty-one, and your life was taken away from you.’

‘No—no, not really. People expect to make sacrifices for the ones they love.’

‘But they don’t expect to live in a prison. Isn’t that your life? Behind bars, with Charlie’s needs holding the key?’

It was true. She’d never faced it before, but Damiano saw everything.

‘But you’re the same,’ she said. ‘You build your life around Pietro’s needs.’

‘A father expects to do that for his son. But a sister is entitled to a life of her own. One day he’ll have grown up enough to go his own way, and you’ll be left stranded in a desert. No husband, no lover, no children.’

‘But I have my career. I’ll always have that. When he finally leaves me I won’t be in that desert.’

‘You will if your career is all you have.’

‘But what can I do? He needs me, but I can’t make him understand. I beg him to be careful, and responsible, but he just thinks I’m making a fuss about nothing.’

‘As lads of that age often do,’ he agreed.

‘I can’t just abandon him.’

‘But can you defend him? When men like that come calling can you drive them off?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I guess I can’t.’ She gave him an ironic smile. ‘If you ever want a job as a bodyguard I’ve got a vacancy.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ he said, returning the smile. ‘But when you return to England, and Wilton pursues you again—’

‘Don’t, don’t!’ she cried. ‘My head’s spinning. I don’t know which way to turn.’

‘Perhaps fate will show you.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s a nice thought, but you can’t rely on fate. You have to fix things for yourself. Only I don’t know how.’

‘But perhaps fate does know how. Just be patient and see what happens. Now it’s time for you to eat something. Nora has prepared you a meal, and Pietro is going to bring it in. He’s determined to stay awake and be one of your attendants. You won’t mind having him fuss over you, will you?’

‘No, of course not. It was terrible for him to see what happened. I know it upset him, and if looking after me helps him cope with it, I’ll be very glad.’

‘Thank you. I knew you’d understand.’

The door opened a crack and Charlie’s face appeared. ‘Can I come in?’

He came to the bed and hugged her. ‘Sorry, sis. I just seem to land you in it, don’t I?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she told him in the chivvying tone she often used with him. ‘There’s nothing about you that I can’t cope with.’

‘I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me—’

‘If it wasn’t for you I’d be lonely. Don’t blame yourself, Charlie.’

‘Perhaps I should. Perhaps you should just dump me—’

‘And leave you at that man’s mercy? Get real. Grow up. We’re going to do this my way.’

He gave a comically theatrical salute. ‘Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am, three bags full, ma’am.’

She tried to mimic the salute, and winced at the pain in her arm.

‘No more of that,’ Damiano said. ‘You’ve got to rest every part of you until you’re better.’

‘That’s right,’ Charlie said.

He gave her an uneasy smile, which she returned. It was true, as she’d told Damiano, that Charlie was spoilt and self-indulgent. But his nicer side had a disconcerting habit of asserting itself unexpectedly. As he grew more mature, she thought, that side would be even more in evidence.

‘I’ll leave you,’ Charlie said. ‘Take care.’

He kissed her and went to the door. As he opened it they saw Pietro standing there with a plate in his hand. He advanced to the bed and set the plate on a small table.

Nora was there too, with a tray, but this was Pietro’s moment and she stayed in the background.

‘Are you better?’ he asked anxiously.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Truly? Truly?’

‘I promise. Oh, that food looks lovely.’

But as she took the first bite she went, ‘Ouch!’

‘What’s the matter?’ Damiano demanded quickly.

‘My mouth, where he hit it. It’s just a bit sensitive. I shall have to eat carefully.’

Luckily the food was soft and she managed well. Pietro didn’t take his eyes off her, and she had a sad awareness of how painful this must be for him, given his history.

While she ate Nora unpacked her bags and put the contents in a chest of drawers. Then Pietro and Nora left them.

‘Is that all you can eat?’ Damiano asked.

‘Yes, it’s lovely but I can’t manage any more.’

He removed the tray and sat close to her on the bed.

‘Get some sleep,’ he commanded. ‘Don’t lie awake worrying.’

He wrapped his arms about her, giving her a sweet feeling of being enveloped in warmth and peace. Looking up, she saw his face more gentle and kind than ever before. His lips were barely an inch from hers as he whispered softly, ‘I’m your friend and you can trust me. Don’t forget. That’s an order.’

She gave a weak laugh. ‘I guess it’s an order I’ll have to obey.’

He nodded, and for a moment she thought his mouth would touch hers. She held her breath, uncertain whether she wanted the kiss or not. But in a second it would happen, and she would know.

But his lips brushed hers so softly that she barely felt them.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,’ he murmured. ‘Did I hurt your mouth?’

‘No, you didn’t hurt me,’ she whispered.

‘Goodnight, Sally. We can talk again tomorrow.’

‘Yes—tomorrow—’

‘You’ll feel better then. Your mind will be clearer. But in the meantime, remember you have nothing to worry about. Both you and Charlie are under my care. Trust me.’

She watched as he left and closed the door. Then she closed her eyes, wondering what was happening to her.

She had a mysterious feeling of having been transported into a different universe, one in which nothing was certain and everything was mysterious.

She wondered how she could ever cope in such a place. For many years now she’d valued certainty above all else. It had started in her childhood when, without quite knowing why, she’d known that she was a disappointment to her parents.

Then Charlie was born, and she’d begun to understand. Their joy over having a son had shown her that a daughter would always be second best.

She’d struggled for their attention by plunging into her school work, using her natural gift for figures to get to the top of the class. They had praised her, but she’d always known in her heart that Charlie came first.

Some sisters would have blamed and resented him, but her natural generosity shielded her from bitterness. Plus even as a small child Charlie had a wicked charm that won her over. He was naughty, cheeky, impertinent. He could make her tear her hair out. But his giggle could win her over.

Their parents’ death had made him her responsibility. She’d applied herself to the task with an earnestness that had caused arguments. Charlie was shocked to find her stricter than his parents, and blamed her for it.

‘You think all life is about figures,’ he’d accused her from the authority of thirteen. ‘If the sums add up you think the world’s OK.’

She hadn’t known how to tell him that her severity was based on apprehension. She dreaded to let him down. If she was sometimes too stern, wasn’t that better than being too easy-going and seeing him get into trouble?

And she recognised that his accusation was partly right. There was a certainty about figures that made her feel safe.

Yet now she found herself in a world where nothing was as expected. Surprises bounced out to confront her every moment, and certainty barely existed.

But she would cope. She was efficient, organised, strong; virtues that had carried her through life thus far. What could possibly happen here that could defeat her?

From outside came the sound of singing again. Moving carefully she eased herself out of bed and went to look out. There below was another gondola with another romantic couple. And there too was Damiano sitting on the balcony, looking over the water.

After watching him for a moment she drew back, closed her window and leaned against it, her heart beating.

* * *

Next morning Nora was all attentiveness, bringing her breakfast, waiting on her, making sure that she took her pills. Charlie looked in, then Damiano, and Pietro. The little boy looked pleased to see her in good spirits, and hugged her.

‘I’ve got to go to school now,’ he said with a yawn. ‘But you’ll still be here when I get back, won’t you?’

‘Definitely she will,’ Damiano said. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to school.’

‘You don’t need to,’ Pietro said. ‘I can go alone.’

‘Well, perhaps—’

‘I’m not a little kid, Papa.’

To Sally’s surprise he seemed grumpy and offended, unlike the sweet-natured child she was beginning to know. Perhaps ‘macho’ set in early, she thought.

Pietro vanished without waiting for further argument, and she met Damiano’s eyes.

‘He’s getting independent,’ she said.

‘I guess so. He certainly doesn’t like me going to school with him. I was afraid he might be falling behind but his teachers all say he’s very bright and works hard, so I’m not sure why I’m suddenly unwelcome.’

‘Is it a long journey, difficult, dangerous?’

‘No, it’s just a few alleys away. Venice isn’t like any other city where you have to cross roads and be afraid of cars. He can manage it alone, but now and then I like to go with him. I hoped he liked it too, but recently he’s started saying no.’

‘He’s turning into his own man. You heard what he said. He’s not a little kid.’

‘I’d have thought he was still a kid, at only nine, but—well—’

‘He’s going to be like his father,’ she said in a faintly teasing voice. ‘When he grows up he’ll insist on doing things his way.’

‘I’m not sure that being like me would be a blessing,’ he said wryly.

‘That depends exactly what you mean.’

‘I mean a lot that I’m not willing to explain. Now, about today. I want you to stay in bed. The doctor will come later, and we’ll see what he says. In the meantime, you stay here.’

‘But what about Charlie?’

‘Leave Charlie to me. I’ll be in the hotel next door and I’m taking him with me. I’m planning some changes, a small theatre, a casino. He might have useful suggestions.’

‘So he’ll be safely under your wing,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t worry about anything. Goodbye for now. I’ll send some English newspapers up if you need distraction.’

He was as good as his word. She spent the day browsing the papers, eating, sometimes nodding off. The doctor called and said she was improving enough to get up the next day.

Once she got out of bed and went to the window where, by a lucky chance, she saw Damiano and Charlie in the alley below, deep in conversation.

He’s safe, she thought contentedly. Oh, thank goodness we found this man.

She returned to bed and dozed for another hour. When she awoke there was a soft knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ she called.

It was Pietro, carrying a mug.

‘English tea,’ he said proudly. ‘Careful!’

The last word was directed at Toby, who came flying into the room and leapt on the bed, forcing Pietro to back away to protect the tea.

‘It’s all right, I’ve got him,’ she said, clutching Toby. With an unconvincing attempt at severity she added, ‘You pestiferous pup. You can’t stop hurling yourself at me.’

‘Pestiferous?’ Pietro queried, setting the tea down beside her. ‘Is that an English word?’

‘Yes. It has several meanings, but one of them is “annoying”.’

‘Ah! Irritante.’

‘Definitely.’ She wagged a finger at Toby. ‘You are irritante.’

‘Wuff!’ He licked her finger.

‘He just takes everything in his stride.’ She laughed.

‘He does with you, because he loves you.’

‘And I love him. Oh, yes!’ She put her arms around the dog. ‘He reminds me of my own lovely Jacko.’

‘You have a dog?’

‘I used to, a few years ago. He died. But he’ll always be with me because we were so close. He was the first one who really loved me.’

He stared. ‘Didn’t your parents love you?’

‘Yes, in their way, but—I think having a girl was a big disappointment for them.’

‘But that’s not fair,’ Pietro said indignantly.

‘Life often isn’t fair,’ she said wryly. ‘Some things we just have to put up with. Anyway, when they finally had a son the family was complete. And I always had Jacko to turn to. He belonged to my father, but he and I were specially close.

‘One day I walked into the room and Jacko’s whole face lit up with delight at the sight of me. Nobody had ever reacted to me like that before, and I just had to love him. I could tell him things I couldn’t tell anyone else.’

Pietro nodded. ‘Yes. They understand everything.’

‘I’m sure you talk to Toby a lot.’ In a teasing voice she added, ‘Does he give you good advice?’

‘No, but he listens.’

There was a forlorn note in his voice that made her reach out to him, touching him gently on the shoulder.

‘What is it, Pietro? Are you unhappy?’

He didn’t answer, but she could see confusion in his face, and guessed he wasn’t sure whether to confide in her.

‘Can’t you tell me?’ she asked softly. ‘I’m a good listener. Almost as good as Toby.’

He smiled, clearly reassured by her understanding, but still unwilling to speak.

‘Tell me,’ she urged. ‘Please, tell me.’

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN PIETRO STILL didn’t reply she said, ‘Won’t you trust me? You never know, I might be able to help.’

But he shook his head. ‘Nobody can help. You can’t change things that have happened.’

‘That’s true. But you can change what you do about them. Is there something wrong at school? I remember when I was at school there was often something wrong. I kept getting into scrapes.’

She sensed at once that she was succeeding. Pietro’s intake of breath and his astonished look told her she’d hit a bull’s eye.

‘It’s school, isn’t it?’ she asked gently. ‘What happens?’

‘They laugh at me,’ he said morosely.

‘Why?’

‘Because of her, and the way she ran off.’

‘Her? You mean your stepmother?’

‘Yes, her. It was the school concert. I was going to sing a song all on my own. She and Papa were going to be there, but she didn’t come. He told me that she’d gone away.’

Sally drew a sharp breath. ‘You hadn’t known she was leaving?’

‘No. She was at home when I went to school that day, but she didn’t come to the concert. Papa was there. He thought she was coming, but she didn’t. Her seat stayed empty, and they laughed at me.’

‘Who did?’

‘The others in my class. They thought it was funny to see me look silly. Especially Renzo. The rest of them admire him, and if he laughs they all laugh.’

The class bully, Sally thought wryly. I’ve met a few.

‘But surely he’s not still laughing?’ she ventured.

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