A Venetian Passion

by Catherine George

  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 frien
d 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 forthco
ming 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.’