But at last she realised that he wouldn’t do that. He felt bound by his promise to keep a polite distance, at least for now. The next move must come from her. Slowly she eased herself around so that she was facing him.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine—’
‘Then go to sleep. It’s been a long, hard day for you. For me too. I haven’t felt this worn out for ages. Get some rest, and tomorrow we can enjoy ourselves. Goodnight.’ He patted her shoulder, and turned away, seeming to fall asleep at once.
‘Goodnight,’ she said forlornly.
Outside stars gleamed and the moon shone down on the brilliant city. In the darkness of the bedroom two people lay still and quiet, eyes open, staring into space, wondering what the future held.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS SALLY who awoke first, and lay listening to the quiet room. From behind her she could just hear the sound of steady breathing. Turning slowly, she saw Damiano lying with his back to her. She edged towards him carefully, anxious not to awaken him, leaning over his shoulder just far enough to make out his face on the pillow.
Suddenly he moved, twisting around towards her so suddenly that she had to back off quickly, unwilling to let him find her like this after the way he’d kept his distance on their wedding night. She just managed to get out of his reach as he settled facing her.
His eyes were still closed and now she discovered him as never before. At first she’d seen him in commanding mode. Later she’d witnessed his other selves, one businesslike but friendly, and another, humorous, pleasant, even sometimes gentle. But now he looked vulnerable, unprotected, as he’d been in the photograph of him with Gina on their wedding day. This was the first time the living man had appeared to her defenceless, and she knew a sudden temptation to touch his face, caressing it softly until he awoke and smiled at her.
But he wouldn’t smile, she knew. He would be annoyed that she’d caught him off-guard. They had a deal and this wasn’t part of it.
At least, it hasn’t been up to now, said a voice in her head. But things change.
She recalled how often Charlie had accused her of being devoted to facts, figures and logic.
‘You simply never give in,’ he’d said, as though it were a crime.
‘No, I don’t give in. I like to win, and I’m going to win this time, whatever I have to do, and however long it takes.’
She looked down at Damiano’s face lying sideways on the pillow, eyes closed, completely unaware of her.
‘I’m going to win,’ she murmured softly. ‘You wait and see.’
She’d said, ‘Whatever I have to do,’ and that meant being prepared to take risks. Now she decided on the first risk.
Moving slowly, she leaned down and let her lips brush against his cheek. He didn’t open his eyes but she thought he murmured something. Crossing her fingers, she kissed his cheek again, then quickly slid out of bed and went to the window, turning so that she could see the moment when he awoke, and the way his eyes instinctively looked at her side of the bed. Now empty.
She reached up to stretch in the sunlight, yawning just loud enough to catch his attention.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
She glanced at him with eyebrows raised as though surprised to find him there.
‘Good morning,’ she replied. ‘Oh, isn’t it a lovely day?’ She yawned again, turning this way and that, so that the sun illuminated the silk nightdress and the way it lay against her slim figure.
‘Did you have a good night?’ he asked politely.
‘Lovely. I slept like a log, which I really needed because yesterday was so exhausting. What about you?’
‘The same,’ he said.
It wasn’t true. He’d lain awake for a long time, keeping a careful distance between them, listening to her breathing, alert for the slightest difference in the sound. But he heard nothing he could interpret as encouragement to reach out to her.
Nor would there be, he realised. She had declared her freedom from love in words that could not have been plainer.
But frustration was new to him and he knew he coped with it badly. In the last moments of sleep he’d been tormented by a fantasy in which she’d dropped a tender kiss on his face. But when he awoke she wasn’t with him but standing by the window, lost in thoughts that he guessed had nothing to do with himself. He’d assumed a casual air, but it had been hard.
‘I suppose we should get up,’ he said.
At breakfast Pietro was bubbling with ideas for showing Sally around Venice, starting with a ride in a gondola. She was eager for this. Damiano had taken her in a gondola when he proposed, but that had been a dark night. Now she wanted to enjoy the light.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said as they glided along. ‘There’s only one oarsman, so you’d think the gondola would go round in circles. How come it’s moving in a straight line?’
‘Because it’s bigger on one side than the other,’ Pietro explained.
He pointed out how the gondola bulged wider on the oarsman’s side, slowing the water down, so that the movement of the oar simply made the two sides of equal speed. Despite his youth he had an authoritative manner, and Sally listened with interest.
‘You’re a real expert,’ she said admiringly.
‘I’m a Venetian,’ Pietro said, as though that explained everything.
Which it did, Sally appreciated.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said warmly. ‘You must tell me a lot more.’
She was already on splendid terms with the child, and nothing could have made things better than her willingness to listen while he explained things about the city like a teacher instructing a student.
They spent the weekend in each other’s company, but there was a pause when Monday came and he had to attend school. Damiano’s time was taken up with his business interests and Sally, ‘the great organiser’ was faced with the problem of organising her new life.
‘I’ve got to learn Italian,’ she told Damiano. ‘I can speak English with everyone in this house, but outside I’m at a disadvantage. And disadvantage is something I cannot live with.’
‘How did I know you were going to say that?’ he said appreciatively. ‘Would I be accused of trying to control you if I suggested a good teacher?’
‘I’ll thump you if you don’t,’ she said, aiming a pretend punch at him, much to the enjoyment of Pietro, who was watching.
The teacher he suggested was excellent. After a few lessons Sally insisted that Charlie join her.
‘Must I?’ he protested. ‘I’m doing all right in the hotel. Everyone speaks English.’
‘That’s not enough. You’ve got to become an expert.’
‘Do as she tells you, Charlie,’ Damiano broke in. ‘Or she might thump you and, believe me, you don’t want that.’
He rubbed his face as he spoke. When they were alone Sally confronted him.
‘That’s taking it beyond a joke. Now he’ll think I really do thump you.’
‘You did, last night,’ he said. ‘For some reason you slept restlessly, flailing your arms about like a demented windmill. I reached out, meaning to awaken you, and your hand caught my face. Nearly knocked me out.’
‘I’m sorry. Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Are you kidding? I fled for my life. Look.’
He turned his head so that she could see a slight bruise near the hairline.
‘I did that?’ she asked, aghast. ‘I swear I never meant to.’
‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘Some people just go through life knocking people out without realising it. But I can suffer in silence.’
‘Thank you. It’s nice of you to see the funny side.’
It was a relief to be able to dismiss it as a joke, but in her heart she knew there was a reason for her restless sleep. It grew from lying next to Damiano, aching for his touch, trembling with the frustration of knowing that he would keep his distance. In sleep the tension didn’t leave her. It merely transm
uted into nightmares.
But she would learn to cope, she assured herself. It was easy to believe that she could succeed since she was increasingly at home in their daily life. Damiano might not pursue her with passion, but in other respects his admiration for her was growing.
One morning she entered his office to find him frowning over a paper filled with figures.
‘Just a moment,’ he asked edgily. ‘This stuff is going to give me a nervous breakdown.’
She looked over his shoulder at the column of figures where his finger was pointing.
‘Can’t you use this here?’ she asked, pointing to another column. ‘I don’t know exactly what they refer to but they make a much more impressive result than the ones over there.’
‘They look about the same to me,’ he said.
‘At first sight, yes, they do. But they add up differently. They come to much more, if that helps.’
‘It certainly would if—’ He seized a calculator and began to hit keys. At last he stopped and stared at her. ‘You’re right. But how did you know that?’
‘I added them up.’
‘In your head?’
‘It’s a trick I’ve always had. I read figures and my brain adds them automatically. Why do you think I became an accountant? It’s the only thing I’m good at.’
‘Good at?’ he exclaimed with a touch of awe. ‘I thought I was good at figures but I can’t do that.’
‘So what? Adding them up in a moment is little more than a circus trick. What matters is knowing what to do with the results when you have them. That’s what makes you a great businessman.’
‘I see you’re playing the tactful wife,’ Damiano said with a grin. ‘Don’t let your husband feel small because you can do something he can’t.’
‘Well, I’ve been made to suffer for it over time. I performed that “circus trick” for a boyfriend once, and never saw him again. He was a fellow student on my accountancy course so I thought I was safe.’
‘Showing you were more talented than him was the death knell of your relationship.’
‘Aha! Will it be the death knell of ours?’
‘Not at all. You’ve just shown me another way I can make use of you, and I’m going to make the most of it.’ He raised his glass. Salute!’
‘Salute!’ she responded, raising her own. Smiling, they clinked glasses.
There were several dinner invitations, for everyone wanted to meet Damiano’s wife. She found that she was fast acquiring a reputation as a woman to be reckoned with. One evening she fell into conversation with an influential elderly man who had been a university professor. The talk turned to masks and the way the fluid changing of personalities typified Venice.
‘But I think my own country can claim a little credit as well,’ she observed.
‘England?’ the old man echoed as though the mere idea was preposterous.
‘Well, the English did produce William Shakespeare, who wrote the line, “One man in his time plays many parts.” I think we knew something about it too.’
‘Hmm,’ the old man said wryly. ‘I suppose I have to concede that.’
‘Of course,’ she added, ‘it’s always possible that Shakespeare was secretly a Venetian.’
‘Of course he was! That settles it.’
Cheers and laughter went around the table. Nods were exchanged as everyone understood why Damiano had chosen this lively, intelligent lady.
Looking across the table, she saw that once again he was raising his glass to her. She returned the gesture, conscious that the other guests were watching them, envying a couple in such perfect accord.
Not yet, she thought with a little sigh. Not yet. But one day. Soon.
*
Pietro took his role as guide seriously.
‘It’ll soon be time for the Su e Zo per i Ponti,’ he told her. ‘You’ll enjoy that.’
‘We all will,’ Mario announced.
‘But what is it?’ she wanted to know.
‘It’s a race “Up and Down the Bridges”,’ Mario explained. ‘It starts in the Piazza San Marco. You’re given a map of places to tick off as you reach them and you have to cross about fifty-six bridges to get to the end, which is San Marco again. All the profits go to charity.’
‘It also has a touch of bacarada,’ Damiano observed, amused. ‘You’d probably call that a pub crawl. Not surprisingly it’s very popular, so I dare say you’ll be taking part, Mario.’
‘You bet.’
‘And me,’ Charlie chimed in.
The following Sunday they all gathered in the Piazza to cheer Mario and Charlie on their way. Although Carnival was over its spirit could still be felt, and many of the runners were in theatrical costumes. Mario was again dressed as Arlecchino, which Sally observed seemed to suit him well.
‘You think that’s all there is to me?’ Mario queried softly.
‘No, I’m sure there’s much more to you,’ she said, ‘and any day now the right girl will bring it out.’
‘The right girl, yes. But maybe—ah, well.’
‘What does “ah, well” mean? All the girls love you,’ she teased.
‘Not quite all of them.’
He said it with a glance at her that once she might have interpreted as flirtation. It wasn’t the first time Mario had spoken thus, but she always brushed these moments aside, assuring herself that Mario saw himself as her kid brother. Nothing more.
‘You’re right,’ she said jokingly. ‘Some girls must be put off by your serious, intellectual nature.’
‘You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?’
‘However did you guess?’ She chuckled and turned away to leave the room.
‘Sally,’ he called.
She turned back. There was an uneasy look on his face that she’d never seen before.
‘What is it, Mario?’
‘It’s just that—if things had been different—’
‘If things had been different I’d never have met Damiano, and that would have been a great pity.’
‘Does he make you happy?’
‘Why don’t you ask him if I make him happy?’ she said lightly. ‘That’s the important thing.’
‘And Charlie? You did it for him, didn’t you? Sally—’ Suddenly his voice was serious. ‘Do you ever do anything for yourself?’
‘Everything. I’m the most selfish creature in creation. Ah, good, there’s Charlie.’ She could barely keep the relief out of her voice.
It felt strange to be dismissing Mario so lightly. Once the admiration of a good-looking young man would have delighted her. But now everything in the world had changed. Only Damiano existed.
She wasn’t in love with him, she assured herself. That would be a disaster. But he was rightfully hers and she was determined to claim her property.
Charlie was also dressed as a clown, and fizzing with anticipation. Sally, Damiano and Pietro waved him and Mario off from St Mark’s and wandered through the city, keeping the runners in view as much as possible. Hours later the lads joined them, cheering and slightly the worse for wear. There was a riotous family supper, after which they strolled home through the streets.
All around them were flashes of light as people took photographs of the jolly crowd. Charlie and Mario danced along, accompanied by Pietro, who waved at everyone. Damiano walked with his arm around Sally’s shoulder and her arm about his waist.
‘It was a good day, wasn’t it?’ he said.
‘Oh, yes, it was lovely,’ she said, turning her head to look up and meet his warm smile.
He tightened his arm, looking more closely into her face. For a moment she thought he would kiss her, but a blinding flash made her tense, covering her eyes.
‘Ow!’ she said. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘Up there,’ he said, pointing.
They looked up at an open window, but there was no longer anybody to be seen.
‘Never mind,’ Damiano said. ‘It probably wasn’t us they were trying to get a shot o
f, but those mad boys.’
The lads were having the time of their lives, and Sally laughed with pleasure at the sight of them. It was the happiest day she’d spent for a while, and she wondered if the night could be happier yet.
But when they reached home Damiano said, ‘You’re half asleep. Go to bed. I’ll be up in a while.’
‘Mmm,’ she said, realising that he was right, and she was already nodding off. When he came to bed an hour later she was dead to the world.
*
Next morning Mario and Charlie were full of stories about their crazy antics. Pietro cheered them on, Toby wuffed his agreement and Damiano grinned with pleasure, occasionally meeting Sally’s eyes in a look of family solidarity.
He was due to visit another of his Venetian hotels that morning, and when he invited her to come with him she gladly accepted. They walked there and back, cheerful in the sunshine that was taking over the city. Sally was dazed by the narrow winding canals that stretched all around them like a maze. At last a spirit of mischief made her dart away from Damiano, out of sight. She heard him following and slipped around the next corner.
Then she realised that she’d made a mistake, having come so far that she was lost.
‘Give in?’ said a voice behind her.
It was Damiano, who’d taken a short cut to trick her, and now stood there grinning as he put both arms about her so that she was effectively imprisoned against his chest.
‘You’ll tease me once too often,’ he growled.
‘I wonder what will happen then.’
‘You may soon find out. This way.’
He led her into the next alley, where there was a little café. There he ordered coffee, not taking his hand from her, and finally sitting down between her and the door.
‘I thought you’d find me sooner than that,’ she said, half gasping, half laughing. ‘You know this town so much better than me.’
‘I like to think I do, but nobody really knows Venice as well as they think they do. It’s a city of secrets, and these tiny, narrow alleys are a kind of symbol of that. You’re at home here. I’ve felt that from the start.’
‘Well, I certainly love it.’
Not Just a Convenient Marriage Page 13