Now he touched her with mesmerising softness, running his fingertips over her eyes, her cheeks and her throat, stirring a range of sensations that flooded Venetia in rippling waves, filling her limbs with a luscious warmth that spread through her whole body.
She smiled dreamily up at him. ‘Did you know your hands are like trained magic on me?’ she breathed against his mouth.
Paolo stared down at her, eyes glimmering. ‘You are the magic that has happened to me, tesoro mio. You make me dizzy. And you’ve given me an ache that has driven me mad since I met you. Beautiful, beautiful Venetia,’ he whispered huskily, his hand squeezing her gently against him.
‘La Lanterna,’ announced the powerful voice of the gondolier who had stood perched at the stern behind them, silently and splendidly like a Florentine statue, moving the craft with skilled ease over the water.
They blinked up at each other, the spell almost broken, still trembling with the power of their emotions. Paolo released Venetia, but the pad of his thumb moved slowly across her full lips, his smouldering eyes fastened to her face; and then reluctantly his hand fell to his side. They sat a short moment in mutual silence, and then Paolo stood up.
‘Andiamo,’ he murmured, reaching a hand down to her. Venetia took it and let him pull her up, reacting instantly again to his touch on her wrist, feeling darts of heat all over her.
Paolo thanked the gondolier, and Venetia noticed he had given him a large tip.
Eyes still bright and faces flushed, the pair went up the elaborately sculpted stone steps to La Lanterna’s entrance. A doorman let them into the garden that, except for a cluster of giant sentinel trees, was artfully concealed like a discreet and mysterious jewel, sheltered by high walls and looking out on to the Grand Canal through wrought-iron gates.
The restaurant itself, poised at the centre of its own garden, was much more conspicuous. It was built around a very tall, thick-trunked tree, a pumpkin-shaped building of glass, lit up like a glowing beacon in the night, suspended forty feet above the ground as though floating in the air.
‘A restaurant in the clouds,’ Venetia breathed. ‘How amazing!’
‘It’s the creation of Mario De Luca’s dream, a Venetian young architect who died a couple of years ago at the age of thirty-two – a great loss to the Italian art world. You’ll see the interior… it’s just as, come si dice, fantastic, extravagant, magnifico.’
Venetia’s eyes clouded. ‘Yes, what a terrible waste. I had a friend who died young, not so long ago. He was a brilliant restorer of mosaics. It’s frightening when a life is cut off in its prime – it makes you wonder at your own mortality.’
‘Indeed,’ Paolo murmured, without looking at her.
Hands snugly clasped, they made their way up to the restaurant through an arched loggia walkway, sloping lengthily upwards and overflowing with heavy clusters of wisteria. The delicious fragrance of the purple flowers mingled with the smell of sea breeze. Every now and then, Paolo squeezed Venetia’s fingers. ‘Just to prove to myself that you’re real and not a spirit,’ he whispered in that deeply mellow tone which told her he was still emotional.
The dining area was a window on to Venice, a circular room that could seat sixty guests. Here fantasy and reality blended, creating art that, far from being detached from life, was an essential ingredient. With surrounding walls of reinforced glass, the sole décor of the place became the panoramic views over the restaurant’s garden, and the life on the Grand Canal and beyond.
Though the restaurant was full, Paolo managed to secure a table next to the window, affording them a breathtaking view over Venice, with the islands of Murano and Burano glowing like brilliant gems in the distance. A further surprise was in store for Venetia as the light in the room switched from calm powder blue to almost dazzling white; she gasped and gave Paolo a puzzled look.
‘Didn’t I tell you, cara, that you’d be just as fascinated by the interior of La Lanterna as you were by the exterior? The lights in the ceiling change every five minutes so that the setting and the mood are continuously different.’
They ordered two Bellinis, which arrived with the menus before Venetia had time to blink. She looked around her while sipping her cocktail. The clientele was elegant, every one of them Venetian. The women were dressed in the latest fashion and the men looked as if they were direct descendants of the Doges. Venetia felt distinctly under-dressed, even though that morning she had put on a black Valentino suit, offset by a chunky gold Cartier brooch and a pair of matching earrings. She had dressed more formally than usual that morning, having been asked to fill in for Giovanna at an important meeting with an American tycoon who had just bought a large panel with a mural of The Last Supper taken from a palazzo that was being pulled down, and had wanted Bianchi e Lombardi’s opinion on the matter.
As they studied the menu, the lighting changed again to mellow gold, creating a bubble of intimacy that enhanced the romance of the place. The warm glow gilded Paolo’s olive skin and Venetia was conscious, more than ever, of the rugged, darkly charismatic man sitting across from her. Those hawkish, lapis-blue eyes… that full, smooth mouth with its top lip outlined so sensuously. Paolo was a very sexy man to say the least. He was exotic, as were his mannerisms and his accent. Like most Italians, he cared for his appearance – always immaculately turned out; his hair, clean-shaven face and manicured hands were perfectly groomed. The sight of those strong, sun-kissed hands alone was enough to make Venetia go weak at the knees, and she found herself wondering how many women had felt their sensuous touch on their skin.
A waitress came to take their order. The girl was pretty, with the budding promise of an exuberant beauty to come. Paolo gave her his devastatingly charming smile that always made Venetia’s own heart beat a little faster, but which, when turned on another woman, made her feel as if a knife was raking her stomach. She thought of the young raven-haired beauty that she had seen with him; had he brought her here too? How many women had he escorted to this place, where, she had the impression, he was well known?
Paolo glanced at Venetia and now turned a special, intimate smile on to her.
‘Have you chosen, cara?’
‘Yes, I think I’ll have Capesante alla Veneziana to start off with and then the braised Rabbit with Fennel and Herbs. Thank you.’
‘Excellent choice! I’ll join you with the Coniglio in Porchetta. I think I’ll have Arancini con Mozzarella as an antipasto.’
Paolo ordered a bottle of Brunello diMontalcino and, once the young waitress had left, he turned his attention back to Venetia.
The twist of jealousy she had just experienced dampened her feelings and had injected a bittersweet tone into the evening.
‘You said earlier on that you wanted to talk to me about some business,’ she said, trying to bring some formality into their conversation. Maybe it hadn’t been so wise to have dinner with Paolo – neither had it been only dinner, she thought, recalling their passionate interludes.
Paolo laughed deep in his throat. ‘You little sorceress, you don’t miss a trick! I was going to leave that subject for another day, this place is so romantic it would be a shame to waste it on business, non siete d’accordo, don’t you agree?’
Venetia felt the intensity of his gaze as he spoke, those sapphire eyes at once casting their familiar spell. Still, she held them defiantly. ‘No better time than the present.’
Paolo sighed. ‘If you insist, cara! There’s no use fighting with a woman once she’s made up her mind about something… particularly you, Venetia,’ he said with amused exasperation. ‘I’m in the process of buying five hundred hectares of land in Manciano, which is a little over half an hour away from my home in Tuscany. It’s situated in a place of great natural beauty and consists of a very large villa in ruins, a chapel that’s also in pretty bad condition, a forest, and much land. I’d like to turn the villa into a luxurious hotel, restore the small church a
nd build a resort.’
‘Where do I come in?’
‘The chapel is a gem, but all the mosaics and decorations on its walls need to be restored, and I thought…’
‘In Tuscany, Paolo? But that’s miles away! You can’t expect me to commute to Tuscany every day.’
‘Cara, it was never my intention to have you commute to Tuscany every day. I was hoping that you would agree to be my guest for a month or so.’
What was he talking about? Had Venetia heard right? A distant logic told her it was the rosy shadows from the lighting, which had just turned crimson, that had changed his cobalt-coloured eyes to almost violet; dark and brooding, holding hers in their power. The same shadows softened his cheekbones and touched his mouth with a gentleness she had never seen there before. What was it about this man that could in an instant melt her heart, to the extent that all reasoning, all coherence and all sanity could disappear just like that, at the snap of a finger?
‘I’m not sure that Bianchi e Lombardi can spare me for that long. There are only two of us who specialise in mosaics in the department,’ she ventured.
They were interrupted by the smiling waiter in a white jacket, bringing their starter.
After the waiter had poured a little of the wine for them to sample, Paolo tasted it and nodded, asking him to leave the bottle with them. He filled Venetia’s glass and then topped up his own, waiting until the young man had moved away. His eyes flashed over Venetia, and amusement of a wicked sort leapt into them.
‘Signora Lombardi has given me the green light.’
Prickles rose on Venetia’s back as her old defences started quivering into place.
‘Signora Lombardi may be my employer and my godmother, but I have my own say in the matter.’ Deep inside, Venetia knew this was an empty phrase, but she couldn’t bring herself to just accept this mad invitation without some sort of defiant gesture.
Paolo put his elbows on the table and leaned towards her. ‘Has anybody ever told you how captivating your amber eyes are when they blaze with such angry golden flames?’
‘You always do this to me, Paolo.’
‘Do what, cara?’
‘You spring things on me as though I’ve no right to have an opinion or a say in the matter. I dislike this dictatorial attitude of yours, I’ve told you that before. I escaped from it at home and came to Italy to take my life into my own hands – and I’m not prepared to relinquish my freedom for anything, or anybody.’
There was a brief, stunned silence.
Paolo’s eyes had narrowed. They were particularly expressive now, ranging from a chilling glitter of reproach to a blaze of white-hot passion, and Venetia could see that his whole body had gone tense.
‘The idea of forcing you into anything, Venetia, was furthest from my mind,’ he said, leaning back on one elbow and rubbing his chin, his gaze still fixed on her. ‘I thought you would be happy to come, that we shared the same feelings… and maybe we would be able to get to know each other better. We Italians are not like you English – we have no half-truths, no subtleties. We are, or we are not.’
Venetia stared back, confounded again by his candour and the look he was giving her. His words made her feel guilty but harsh-ness was her only defence against her fluttering heart and her vulnerability to this curious chemistry between them. Apprehension was pulling at her again. Perhaps it was she who was the mercurial one. She did not know herself any more. Fearful and enthralling emotions seemed to take over her mind and her body in Paolo’s presence.
Ping Lü’s words came back to her – follow your heart, he’d said. She was so mixed up that she couldn’t discern what her heart was dictating to her. Still, none of these inner tortuous feelings were a reason for rudeness.
Venetia bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Paolo,’ she apologised. ‘All my life, when I was young, I was bossed around by an overpowering father. I resented it bitterly and that’s why I decided to leave England. I find it difficult now to… to let go of my control over things.’
Paolo looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. ‘You’re a creature of surprises, Venetia. You beguile and fascinate me.’ His mouth broke into an indulgent smile. ‘Ma capisco, cara.’
She lowered her gaze, her fingers playing with the stem of her glass. ‘Neither of us knows anything about the other.’
‘Only that there is an undeniable power that is pulling us towards each other,’ he said softly. The words seemed to linger in the air between them, equivocal, tantalising, and suggestive of all sorts of possibilities. Venetia felt a blush warm her cheeks and flood her whole body.
The empty plates were cleared away and replaced by the main course. For a while they fell into a companionable silence, concentrating on their rabbit.
Venetia was the first to break it. ‘I think I should know a little bit about you before I take this job you’re offering me.’
For a moment Paolo’s face was blank. Had he paled or was it again the effect of the light, which had switched to green? She watched him light a cigarette and blow out the flame on his Zippo. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, after a pause. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Did you grow up in Tuscany? Are your parents alive? Do you have brothers and sisters?’
‘Piano piano, cara, one question at a time!’ He cleared his throat. ‘My parents are dead, I have no brothers and sisters, and I grew up pretty much all over the place.’
‘How come?’
‘My father was an ambassador. We travelled every two or three years to a different country.’
‘That must have been interesting.’
Paolo’s face darkened. ‘It was very… unsettling – I don’t really belong anywhere.’ His words were almost whispered, as though he were talking to himself.
‘Did you not have a happy childhood, then?’
‘No, not very,’ he returned shortly.
‘Where did you go to university?’
‘In Rome. Actually, at one point, I thought I might become a chef,’ he confided, pouring some wine into Venetia’s glass, and then for himself.
‘So why didn’t you?’
He waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, I suppose it didn’t fit with my status. I went to business school instead.’ Paolo looked at Venetia across the top of his glass. ‘But what about you?’ His eyes were alight with curiosity.
She gave a slight shrug. ‘My life was very boring until I came to Italy – the life of a poor little rich girl. I went to boarding school, then I read architecture at Cambridge.’
Paolo’s gaze was unwavering. ‘What about a fidanzato? Have you never been engaged?’ His blunt question rattled her. The arrogance of Italian men never ceased to amaze her. Venetia shook her head.
‘Not even a serious boyfriend?’
‘Nope.’ She didn’t feel inclined to take him into her confidence right now; the last thing she wanted was to go into details about her private life.
Paolo tilted a sceptical eyebrow and took a sip of wine. ‘You’re a beautiful and passionate woman, Venetia. I’m astonished that, to this day, you’ve never encountered love en route. You must meet a lot of people in your wide range of work.’
His voice was smoky, soft; Venetia was once more distracted by his perfectly sculpted mouth.
‘I guess I haven’t been interested in that sort of thing – I love my work… passionately,’ she breathed, aware that his blue stare was still on her.
‘Work cannot replace the warmth of a person.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘You’ve never been in love?’
Venetia looked down to avoid those eyes that were trying to see into her soul. ‘Oh, I suppose my heart has beaten sometimes, like any infatuated teenager.’
‘Only infatuation, never anything more?’ He rubbed his chin again, as if in deep thought.
‘If it
had been real love, I wouldn’t be here today, would I?’
‘Are you looking for love then?’
Venetia smiled wryly. ‘Isn’t everyone?’
They had finished eating and Paolo reached for Venetia’s hand and covered it with his own.
The lights had changed to white again, and in the pearly glare she could see that his irises had lost all those violet overtones that had so confused her earlier. There was a little glint of something indefinable in his scrutiny as it rested on her that was electrifying. She felt a tremor run through her and, veiling her eyes with her lashes, she turned away so he couldn’t see her confusion. The little warning voice was there again, still wrestling for control. I must not give in to these feelings, she kept repeating to herself, but she knew fighting was useless. It was as if his touch and his kisses had branded her.
‘You can’t deny the magnetism that exists between us,’ Paolo whispered, forcing Venetia to turn her face back to him. The intensity of his blue gaze seemed to spring forward to catch hold of hers, searching them in the golden dappled light.
She blinked, feeling like she wanted to give into their power, to fall into them, but such was the turmoil that had stirred up in her again, she didn’t know what to say.
‘I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I first saw you – this has never happened to me before,’ he continued, a kind of lost expression darkening his face as he raked his other hand through his hair.
Venetia was on the verge of asking him about the beautiful young woman she had seen with him at the restaurant, and the rumours that went around but restrained herself. Her pride did not allow her to show him how insecure she felt. She would take advantage of the next few days to find out more about him.
At that point, the pretty waitress returned to enquire whether they would like some dessert, but they declined and ordered coffee.
‘You are not answering me, cara,’ he pressed, when the waitress had disappeared. ‘Why are you denying your feelings? I have invited you to take on this restoration work and to stay in my home because I want to be with you. Venetia, mia carina, I’m not a young man, I’m thirty-eight, so I’ve met and been with many women and I know what I feel for you is… it is not a fad.’
The Echoes of Love Page 12