A Venetian Affair
Catherine George
Susan Stephens
Lucy Gordon

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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.

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