A Venetian Passion

by Catherine George

  ‘I can’t do that. I don’t want your apologies, either,’ she said scathingly. ‘Words are easy. After all, not so long ago you promised to love me forever, and like a fool I believed you meant it.’

  ‘I did mean it!’ He made an involuntary move towards her, his mouth twisting as she backed away. ‘It is the truth, Laura.’

  ‘Why should I believe you? You refuse to believe me.’ She felt suddenly bone-tired. ‘Please leave, Domenico. Now. I’m sure your hotel will find a bed for you.’

  He stared at her incredulously. ‘You mean this?’

  ‘Never more serious in my life,’ she assured him, with indifference that so obviously enraged Domenico she felt a fleeting surge of triumph.

  For a moment or two the silence throbbed like a living presence in the room as they stood motionless, staring into each other’s eyes.

  ‘Be very careful. If I go now, Laura,’ he warned at last, his voice utterly devoid of emotion, ‘I will not come back.’

  She shrugged. ‘Fine by me. I’ll ring for a taxi.’

  ‘Do not trouble. I shall do that myself,’ he said with hauteur, and strode into the bedroom.

  Laura stared after him in misery, feeling as though her world were breaking in pieces around her. But after a moment she squared her shoulders and turned away to find a vase for the flowers Edward had picked up at a garage, from the tag on the wrapping paper. Shaken and sick, she fiddled with them blindly until Domenico returned with his luggage.

  ‘The taxi will be here in five minutes,’ he informed her curtly. ‘If you wish I can go outside to wait for it.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s raining. You’d better wait in here.’

  ‘You can endure my presence that long?’ he said with biting sarcasm, flinging the bags down.

  ‘Actually, no, I can’t.’ She threw the flowers in the waste-bin and rounded on him like an angry tigress. ‘You wait here. I’ll take the bedroom. Goodbye.’

  But as she made for the bedroom door Domenico startled her by seizing her in his arms. He glared down into her outraged eyes for a moment, then crushed his mouth to hers.

  ‘Arrivederci,’ he snarled, and put her away from him. He picked up the bags, threw open the door, then strode through it and slammed it shut behind him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NONE of the staff at the Forli Palace, not even those who remembered the disaster of his cancelled wedding years before, had ever seen Gian Domenico Chiesa in the mood that enveloped him like a dark miasma on his return from London. He was perfectly courteous, always approachable, and worked longer hours than anyone, but the blue eyes so much admired by female staff members were curiously lifeless, as though a light had been snuffed out behind them.

  Domenico knew that he was causing comment among his staff, but could not summon the energy to care. And he spent so little time at his apartment after the London trip that he seriously began to consider selling it. He no longer felt pleasure in his retreat. He saw Laura everywhere: on the balcony, hanging over the rail to look at the water traffic, or in his sitting room, asleep beside him on the sofa, or, most vivid of all, in his arms in his bed. When he walked through the Piazza San Marco he sometimes caught sight of a woman with long fair hair and felt such an intense longing to speak to Laura it was almost pain. But too proud to risk rejection, he never actually rang her. And he gave up all idea of doing so when the mobile phone he’d given her arrived at the Forli Palace. There was no note—nor, he thought bitterly, had he expected one.

  He took to work as an antidote, but however many hours he put in it was impossible to put Laura from his mind. Domenico knew that his parents were worried, but he made excuses to avoid visits to the beautiful farmhouse they were restoring in Umbria. He was in no mood to answer his mother’s probing questions. Lack of sleep became so much part of his life that on a trip to Florence for a meeting with the board of the Forli Group comments were made about his health by Lorenzo and Roberto Forli. He brushed them aside, used long hours as explanation, and politely refused Roberto’s offer to take over for him any time he felt like a break. Getting away was useless. The pain would merely travel with him. He knew that he would forget the anguish of his parting with Laura one day. Of course he would. But one day seemed a long way off.

  Just like Domenico, Laura buried herself in work, and no longer took any pleasure in her flat. It was an effort to return to it every night. Her bright idea of bringing Domenico home to it for his stay had backfired on her. His presence haunted the place. No matter how often she washed the sheets the scent of him seemed to linger in her bed. She sent the mobile phone back to him as soon as she bought a new one, and only the cost of postage to Venice decided her against doing the same with the coffee maker.

  In her determination to forget Domenico, she made two drastic changes to her life. She bought a car and had her hair cut.

  When Laura drew up outside Briar Cottage one Saturday afternoon Isabel came hurrying to see the new purchase, then stared in amazement as her daughter got out of the car.

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘Same old me—new hair,’ said Laura blithely. ‘I had it done this morning, which is why I couldn’t make it last night, as usual. What do you think of the little car?’

  ‘Looks good. Where did you get it?’

  ‘Claire’s boyfriend went with me to buy it. According to Ben, a good-looking blonde gets taken for a ride if she buys a car on her own,’ said Laura, rolling her eyes.

  Isabel laughed and kissed her, then stood back to admire the new haircut. In the late afternoon sun the hair gleamed like burnished gold. A longish fringe swept to one side of Laura’s forehead and the rest curved under slightly just short of her shoulders.

  ‘Please say you like it, Mother.’ Laura smiled brightly. ‘It’s a lot easier to cope with like this in the mornings.’

  ‘Which follow a lot of late nights, by the circles under your eyes,’ observed her mother. ‘But I love the hair. Now, bring your bag and have some tea to see you through to supper. You’ve lost weight.’

  Laura did as she was told but refused the cake offered with tea. ‘Sorry—big lunch. How’s Abby?’

  ‘Enjoying life, thank God. She’s made friends—both sexes—and revels in the work, which is no surprise.’ Isabel sighed. ‘Otherwise she behaves as though nothing happened. Maybe that’s a good thing. I wish I could be sure.’

  Laura smiled bleakly. ‘Your daughters don’t have much luck with men, do they?’

  ‘Abby seems to be coping rather better than you right now.’ Isabel paused for a moment. ‘Laura, I haven’t asked what went wrong between you and Domenico, but I can’t help feeling worried. One minute you were on cloud nine, then wham! You were down in the depths.’

  Because six long weeks had crawled by since the night Domenico walked out of the flat, Laura decided it was time to put her mother in the picture.

  ‘It was Edward’s fault,’ she said baldly.

  ‘Edward?’ said Isabel, taken aback.

  ‘He came to the flat when Domenico was there.’ Laura gave a terse description of the episode.

  Isabel’s face blanched when she heard about Edward’s parting shot. ‘He knows about Abby?’

  ‘Afraid so. It was just bad luck that he was on duty when I took her in.’

  ‘No need to tell me what happened next, then. Domenico thought Edward meant you?’

  ‘Of course he did. Edward finally got his revenge. I told Domenico that Edward was asking after a friend of mine, but he didn’t believe a word of it because I wouldn’t give him a name.’ Laura smiled bitterly. ‘Domenico was convinced I was the guilty party so I told him to pack his bags and leave.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Laura, you should have explained,’ said Isabel, appalled.

  ‘How could I? I promised Abby I wouldn’t tell a soul.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have minded in this instance!’

  ‘Mother, I promised her.’ Laura’s chin lifted. ‘Besides, that’s not the point. Do
menico should have believed me.’

  ‘When you lied to him did you blush as usual?’

  Laura looked mutinous. ‘Of course I did. I probably looked the picture of guilt. But that’s irrelevant. He should have trusted me.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘Especially as up until that point he was all for getting married in the New Year.’

  Isabel blinked. ‘Goodness! That was sudden.’

  ‘I agree. So, practical to the last, I insisted we got to know each other better first.’ Laura’s eyes flashed gold fire. ‘How right I was.’

  ‘I suppose so, but I can’t help feeling sorry. I like Domenico. Far more than I ever did Edward.’ Isabel looked thoughtful. ‘Though it amazes me that he abandoned medical ethics out of petty revenge. His parents would have a fit.’

  ‘Since you’re unlikely to discuss it with them at your bridge club they’ll never know, hopefully.’ Laura heaved a sigh. ‘But Edward’s punchline convinced Domenico it was me. In Italy, he informed me, doctors never discuss other patients.’

  Isabel raked a hand through her hair, frowning. ‘It infuriates me to think that Edward used Abby to ruin your life. Can’t you report him to the British Medical Council, or something?’

  ‘Believe me, I thought of it. But he didn’t name names, Mother, so it probably wouldn’t wash. But don’t worry, I sorted it. I asked Edward to meet me at a café and told him I’d go to his superiors if he ever mentioned Abby again.’ Laura’s eyes gleamed coldly. ‘He got the message, believe me.’

  ‘That’s my girl!’ Isabel got up to clear away. ‘Have you heard from Domenico since?’

  ‘No. I sent the phone he gave me to the Forli Palace, and I’ve changed the number in the flat, remember? So even if he wanted to contact me he couldn’t.’ Laura smiled valiantly. ‘End of story.’

  But in her heart of hearts Laura had hoped that Domenico would write to apologise, or at least to acknowledge receipt of the mobile phone. He had not. And she pined. And bitterly regretted having her hair cut as an act of defiance Domenico wouldn’t even know about. Wild horses wouldn’t have made her admit it, but she’d wanted to cry her eyes out after the hairdresser had finished with her. And the general reaction on the trading floor at the bank on Monday made her regret it even more. Her reception couldn’t have been more rowdy if she’d appeared in a black satin basque and fishnets. Laura parried all the comments with her usual Ice Maiden smile, and let off steam by swimming several lengths of the pool that night, followed by a thorough workout in the gym. She felt tired enough afterwards to enjoy a peaceful supper in front of the television, and got up to answer the telephone without her usual leap of hope that it might, just might, be Domenico.

  ‘Hi,’ said Fen. ‘How’s things, Miss Green?’

  ‘OK, Mrs Tregenna. How’s married life?’

  ‘Just as blissful as living in sin. Only now I’m wearing a wedding ring for the sin part.’

  ‘Thank you for sharing that, Fen!’

  ‘Talking of weddings, we received a belated but absolutely wonderful present today,’ continued the bride. ‘Guess what it is?’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘It’s the most fabulous chandelier with gold threads twined in the glass. From Murano,’ added Fen significantly. ‘Perfect for our dining room because it just happens to match the candlesticks you bought us. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?’

  ‘Lots of chandeliers in Murano, Fen.’

  ‘This was specially ordered by Domenico, smarty pants. He was obviously with you when you bought the candlesticks.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just yes?’

  Laura sighed. ‘He was kind enough to help me with my shopping. Satisfied?’

  ‘Not really. Incidentally, Jess tells me that Lorenzo and Roberto are a bit concerned about cousin Domenico. He came to a board meeting recently looking terrible. Jess thinks the new woman is no longer in his life. She’s obviously dumped him.’

  ‘What a shame.’

  ‘Hey, this is Fen you’re talking to, Laura Green. I may have been on a pink cloud the day of my wedding, but I noticed that Gian Domenico hot-footed it down to you when he found you were missing, then came back later with a face like thunder. I’d bet my new wedding ring that you’re this mystery woman of his and you had a little tiff. I get your voicemail every time I try to find out, and you text me back instead of having a real chat.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Laura, resigned. ‘We did fall out, for reasons I won’t bore you with.’ Actually, she longed quite violently to pour out her unhappiness to Fen as she’d always done, but this time it was impossible without bringing Abby into it. ‘I’m sorry that Domenico’s off colour,’ she said instead. This wasn’t true. She was fiercely glad to hear that he was no better than she was. ‘You haven’t heard the big news, then?’ she went on, in an effort to divert Fen.

  ‘What big news?’

  ‘I’ve bought a car.’

  ‘Wow. At last!’

  ‘And—are you sitting comfortably?—I’ve cut my hair.’

  Isabel Green was taking advantage of half-term for a short holiday with her friend Janet, which meant that Laura had no trip to Stavely to look forward to at the end of the week.

  ‘Do something nice over the weekend, darling,’ said Isabel. ‘I’ll see you the following Friday.’

  Laura’s plan for the weekend was to keep as busy as possible. Laundry, household chores, shopping, ironing, and then a party Ellie and Claire were giving jointly on Saturday night. Now she had a car there would be no comment when she refused a second glass of wine, and, better still, she could leave whenever she liked, instead of the usual hassle of sharing taxis with people who liked staying on later than she did.

  After carrying out her plan for the day, Laura was not in much of a party mood later as she brushed her damp hair into its new shape. She felt even less so when she eyed her full-length reflection in the butterfly-print dress. The effect was different with the new-length hair, too girly by far for her liking, and she felt a sudden urge to strip off the dress—and the memories that went with it—and spend the evening at home with a video. But with a sigh she picked up her bag and collected her car keys. She would turn up at the party, as faithfully promised, and even try to enjoy it in the way she would have once, before her trip to Venice.

  Later in the evening a taxi drew up in Bow outside the converted match factory that housed Laura’s flat. The passenger paid the driver and pressed the bell marked ‘L. Green’. When there was no response he pressed the bell again and stood still for some time, eyeing the keys in his hand. At last he unlocked the main entry door and mounted the familiar stairs to the first floor. He pressed the buzzer on the door of Laura’s flat with no hope that she would open it. And even if she did, he thought grimly, she might slam it shut again the moment she saw his face. At last he unlocked the door, opened it a little and called her name. Lights were on inside but there was no answer. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and wished he’d asked the taxi driver to wait.

  Domenico had never felt more tired in his life as he went inside and closed the door. A wash, he decided, and shrugged off his jacket. Cold water on his face might help. But to reach the bathroom he must cross Laura’s bedroom. With a strong feeling of intrusion he went into her room and stopped dead just inside the door when her familiar perfume sent a wave of such desire roaring through his body he felt dizzy. He stood with eyes closed and hands clenched for a moment or two, then took in a deep breath and went into the bathroom. And instead of desire felt a stab of pain at the sight of the absurd frilly shower cap and the small white robe hanging behind the door.

  White-hot jealousy seared him as it struck him that a man might accompany Laura back to the flat, and instead of washing his face he returned to the living room in a sudden desperate hurry to get out of there. But first he must leave a note with her key. He shook his head to clear it, took a diary and his fountain pen from his jacket and sat down on the sofa to compose a note. When his sleep-starved brain re
fused to translate the words into English he rubbed his eyes in despair. If he could just rest for a while perhaps his mind would work again…

  When Laura got back to Bow she manoeuvred the car into her slot in the basement parking area and went up in the empty lift barefoot, dangling her killer heels by the straps. She padded along the hall from the lift to her door, yawning as she closed it behind her, then clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream when she saw a man sprawled, dead to the world, on her sofa.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LAURA’S heart beat a crazy tattoo as she tiptoed across the room to look down at her visitor. He lay with legs outstretched and head back, utterly motionless, a leather diary and a fountain pen near the hand trailing on the floor. His face looked thinner, she noted with a pang, expecting the black lashes to fly up at any moment. But Gian Domenico Chiesa was dead to the world. Dead? In a panic Laura touched a finger to his wrist, but his pulse was steady and slow, and she shied away, embarrassed, wondering how long he’d been here. More importantly why he was here, when he’d sworn never to come back. Yet here he was, so he obviously still had her key.

  In all fairness she could have changed the locks. And the fact that she hadn’t proved that she’d hoped, deep down, that Domenico would come back some day. Well, here he was. So the obvious move was to wake him and demand an explanation. But he looked so unutterably weary lying there she hadn’t had the heart to do it. Domenico’s sleeping face looked drawn, and showed every minute of his eleven-year seniority over her. She backed away as he said something, but Domenico was talking in his sleep, muttering in fragmented Italian she couldn’t understand. She eyed him in alarm as he started threshing about. Any minute now he would land on the floor with a bump. She laid a gentle hand on his wrist, and he started violently, then opened the eyes that still had the power to flip her heart over in her chest.

  ‘Laura?’ He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly, and she put out a hand, but dropped it again before it could touch him. ‘Mi scusi!’ he said hoarsely. ‘I did not mean to sleep.’