by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate
‘And now?’ she couldn’t resist teasing.
‘Certainly not! Go on telling me about Charlie.’
‘He went a bit too far so I seized him by the scruff of the neck and told him to obey me.’
‘Obey you? I thought you said you were his sister, not his mother.’
‘That’s right, our parents died years ago. In some ways you could say I am his mother. He’s been in my care since he was eleven.’
‘Don’t you have any family to help? Uncles, aunts, grandparents—?’
‘None. Charlie’s the only family I have.’
He frowned.
‘Does that mean caring for him has denied you any existence of your own?’ he asked. ‘No career, nothing?’
‘Oh, no, I have a career as an accountant, and now that he’s older I can give it more time. At the moment I work freelance, so I can make my own hours, but soon I think I’ll have a very good job with a big firm. My interview went well, and I’m crossing my fingers.’
‘But is that all you have? You’re not married?’
‘No.’
‘And there’s no—forgive me, I don’t mean to pry, but surely there’s a man at home in England, waiting for you to have the time to marry him?’
‘No,’ she said wryly, thinking briefly of Frank before consigning him to nothing.
‘No emotional life at all?’ Damiano mused in a tone that gave nothing away.
‘I’ve had moments, but they didn’t amount to anything,’ she said, trying to sound casual.
‘The men didn’t meet your high standards?’
‘Or I didn’t meet theirs. That’s just as likely.’
‘So now all the hopes of your life are concentrated on the job?’
‘Signore—’
‘Wait. Enough of that. You told my son that you didn’t like formality. Your friends call you Sally. My friends call me Damiano.’
‘Damiano,’ she mused. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.’
‘My enemies would tell you it suits me. It comes from the Latin word Damianus, which means to conquer and subdue. It can even mean to kill.’
‘Your enemies? Do you have many?’
‘A respectable number.’
‘Respectable?’
‘I’m a businessman. If you don’t annoy a few people along the way you’re not doing it properly.’
‘So you’ve annoyed enough people to feel proud. You face each other, you conquer and subdue them, and they go off saying, “I’ll make Damiano sorry. Damn him!”’
He grinned. ‘I see you know how it’s done.’
‘Do they ever actually manage to make you sorry?’
‘Would I admit it if they did?’
‘I’m learning all the time. I must remember what you’ve taught me. It could be useful in my own business life.’
‘Here’s to you.’
He raised his glass. She raised hers and they clinked.
From below came the sound of singing. Damiano opened the door to the balcony and ushered her out. Now they could see a gondola gliding along the narrow canal below them. A young man and woman sat holding each other, lost in the delight of their love, their surroundings, and the gondolier singing behind them while propelling the boat.
As the song ended he looked up, saw them and called out, ‘The world belongs to lovers.’
‘Yes,’ cried the loving couple. ‘Yes, yes.’
They waved upwards, saluting the two on the balcony.
‘Oh, dear,’ Sally said. ‘They think—’
‘It happens all the time in this city, especially in winter when lovers come here for the magical peace and quiet. Please don’t be offended.’
‘I’m not offended,’ she said quickly.
There could be no offence, she thought, in being thought the lover of this handsome man. Luckily she was armoured, or she might have been in danger.
‘But why did the gondolier say it in English, not Italian?’ she asked.
‘His passengers must be English. It’s intriguing how many tourists come from your country. They seem so cool and restrained on the outside, but Venice brings out another side of them—one they usually prefer to hide, or even didn’t know they had.’
As if to prove him right the couple in the gondola were sharing a passionate kiss as they drifted away. Further ahead the little canal broadened out into the Grand Canal, from which came the noise of music and cries of delight. As they watched a vaporetto went past, crowded with excited passengers, some of them singing, some cheering.
‘It’s almost as though Venice has two different personalities,’ she said. ‘So quiet and gentle at one end of this little stretch of water, so exuberant at the other end.’
‘You’re right. But it’s not just two different personalities. A dozen, perhaps a hundred.’ He shepherded her back into the room, adding teasingly, ‘Like the English, really.’
‘You obviously think you know a lot about the English.’
He showed her back to her chair, and sat beside her. Suddenly he was no longer joking.
‘I know I like them,’ he said quietly. ‘My first wife came from your country, and I see her in Pietro. It’s a side of him that I encourage.’
‘Is that why he speaks my language?’
‘Yes, I’ve raised him to be bilingual.’
‘He must be very bright to speak it so well while he’s so young. He’s a lovely child.’
‘Yes, he is. There’s something I want to say to you. Thank you for making him so happy. It means a lot to me to see him laughing and playing as he’s done today.’
‘Doesn’t he do so often?’
‘Sometimes he seems merry, but it never lasts very long. He’s haunted by the feeling that two mothers abandoned him. As I mentioned earlier, his real mother died before he could know her. His stepmother simply left him.’
‘Poor little soul,’ Sally murmured. ‘Does she never contact him at all?’
‘Never. She said that he would be better off if she was completely out of his life. But it was just for her own convenience, not for Pietro’s sake. She never loved him. He has only me.’
‘And he’s everything to you, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. Both for his own sake and because—’ His voice died.
‘Because of his mother?’ she urged gently.
He nodded.
‘Because of Gina,’ he said quietly. ‘We had such a little time together. Pietro was born a month prematurely. It killed Gina and the baby himself nearly didn’t survive. In her last hours Gina was wild with terror, fearing for him. She had no thought for her own danger, only his. I held her in my arms, begging her not to leave me, but I knew it was useless. She was being snatched away by a power beyond her control, and only her baby mattered. So I swore to her that I would care for him and protect him all the rest of my life. Nothing would matter but his happiness.’
Sally had a strange feeling that the world had changed. Even the universe. This city, which was like nowhere else, might be the answer, but she sensed something more. The man sitting close by, talking in a soft voice, had been known to her for only a few hours. Yet he was confiding in her in a way that said she was not a stranger, but someone to whom he felt close, because that was what he wanted to feel.
She tried to tell herself to be sensible, but common sense had gone into hiding.
‘Did your promise comfort her?’ she asked.
‘I thought so. She whispered, “God bless you,” so perhaps it did for a brief moment. Then—she tried to say something else. But she choked and couldn’t speak. In her last few moments she was desperate to tell me something, but she died before she could say the words. Now I’ll wonder all my days what she wanted to say that was so important.’
‘But surely, in your heart you know what it was,’ Sally said. ‘She wanted to say that she loved you. It couldn’t be anything else but that.’
He raised his head and she saw in his eyes a smile that made her heart turn over. There was a warmth in it that felt as though he was reaching out and touching her, enveloping her in some feeling she’d never known before: a feeling that she wanted to know for ever.
‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that you must be the kindest person in the world.’
‘No,’ she said, suddenly self-conscious at the strength of her own feelings.
‘Don’t tell me that you’re not kind. I wouldn’t believe it.’
‘You don’t really know me.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. I knew you as soon as we met in the Piazza San Marco.’
The air was singing about her ears and she was at a loss for an answer. Part of her had the same feeling, that she knew him as though they had been acquainted for ever. But another part said exactly the opposite: that here was a man of mystery and contradictions; that she might know him all her life, yet never understand the first thing about him.
Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was whispering that it might be intriguing to follow that path, seeking the man he really was, perhaps finding him, and then—
Abruptly she closed off the thought, wondering what possessed her to give it even a moment. Soon they would say goodbye and he would cease to exist. Which would surely be a good thing.
Her next words seemed to come of their own accord, without any conscious decision.
‘You think you know me,’ she said, ‘but I don’t even know myself. I often believe I do, but then I discover I was wrong.’
He smiled.
‘Most of us could say the same. I’m convinced you’ve come to the right place. I promised Pietro that you would visit us again, which was rather impolite of me without asking you first—’
‘I forgive you,’ she said with a smile. ‘You couldn’t have asked me first, in front of him.’
‘Thank you. You’re a lady of great understanding. So when you come for your next visit we’ll spend a little time together and—who knows? I may manage to introduce you to yourself.’
There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but also a hint of temptation, leaving her free to choose which one to follow.
But it was an impossible choice; one she didn’t feel ready to make.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of bells from the clock tower in St Mark’s.
‘Goodness, is that the time?’ she said, checking her watch. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’
‘Yes, time can slip past when you’re thinking of other things,’ Damiano agreed quietly.
Suddenly there was a noise overhead. They both tensed with surprise, and looked up to find Pietro looking down at them from an upstairs window.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘You should be in bed,’ Damiano told him in an unsteady voice.
‘I wanted to see Sally,’ he said cheekily. ‘Are you all right, Sally? Is Papa looking after you properly?’
‘He’s doing his best,’ she said in a voice that was also a little unsteady. ‘But it’s time I was going home.’
‘I’ll call my driver,’ Damiano said. ‘We’ll take you back to your hotel.’ He took out his cell phone and said a few words in Italian.
‘He’ll be here in a couple of minutes,’ he said when he’d hung up.
Sally raised her head, meaning to say goodbye to Pietro, but to her surprise he’d vanished and his window was closed.
They collected Charlie and the three of them headed for the door, where a surprise awaited them. Pietro stood there, fully dressed.
So that was why he’d backed away from his window so quickly, Sally thought.
‘What are you doing here?’ Damiano demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be in bed.’
‘But we’re going to take Sally home,’ Pietro said. ‘We’re her friends. We should all go with her.’
‘Very well,’ Damiano conceded, opening the door. As Sally passed him he murmured, ‘At least my son has manners. He likes you so much he wants to be the perfect host.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she chuckled. ‘When you were his age, didn’t you seize any chance to stay up late?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. All right, let’s get going.’
He helped her into the motor boat. Charlie and Pietro got in, and they began the journey down the narrow waterway into the Grand Canal. At this time of night it was still brilliantly lit, and music floated towards them from a distance. It felt like drifting through another world.
Part of her regretted leaving at this moment. Part of her was glad. It had been a relief to avoid facing the question that was teasing her. Damiano had spoken of introducing her to her real self. If she’d had to answer him—what would she have said?
She had no idea.
CHAPTER THREE
AT LAST THE Billioni appeared. The boat came to a halt and Damiano helped her out. As they entered the hotel the receptionist became alert and respectful, responding to his gesture indicating that he wanted her complete attention.
So he really is the owner, Sally thought.
Suddenly she heard Charlie mutter, ‘Oh, heavens! How did that happen?’
‘How did what happen?’ she asked, looking around.
Then she saw what had alarmed him. Through an open door she could just see into a room where there was a man whose face she recognised with alarm. He was in his thirties, sloppily dressed, unshaven, with dark hair that looked as though he didn’t bother to comb it. She didn’t know his name but she’d seen him lurking around their home in England, and knew that he was bad news.
‘Charlie, who is he? Charlie? Charlie, where are you?’
But he’d slipped away. Damiano was still engaged in conversation, so she headed for the door to confront the man.
‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said. ‘In England.’
‘Yes, I’m Ken Wilton and I’m looking for that brother of yours. Where is he?’
‘Why do you want him?’
‘Why do you think? He ran off owing me a lot of money, and I want it now.’
Her worst fears were realised, but she set her chin and faced him.
‘Charlie paid all his debts. I know that.’
‘You think that,’ he sneered. ‘I guess you gave him some money, huh?’
‘Yes. More than enough to pay what he owed.’
‘Is that what he told you? Well, I’m telling you that there’s a much bigger debt come to light, and I’m here to collect. Otherwise there’ll be trouble. So you’d better go and get him. He knows who I am.’
‘I’ll do no such thing. I don’t believe he owes you anything.’
He moved closer to her.
‘Really?’ he sneered. ‘I wonder just how sure you are of that, and how long it might take to change your mind.’
Sally tried to turn away from him, but he took her arm in a ruthless grip. ‘Where’s your brother?’ he said.
With a great effort she managed to wriggle free but he came after her and struck her, causing her to fall. A sharp pain went through her head as it hit the wall.
She heard a voice screaming, ‘Sally! Sally!’
Suddenly Pietro was on his knees beside her, trying to take her into his arms. Then a man’s voice cried out her name again and Damiano appeared in the doorway. The next moment her attacker had rushed to the window and dived out. They heard a splash as he landed in the water outside.
Damiano dashed to the window, glanced out, then looked back at Sally on the floor. A porter had followed them in, lured by the noise. Damiano barked some orders at him, then came to kneel beside Sally, drawing her up so that
his arms supported her.
‘What did he do to you?’ he groaned.
‘He knocked her down,’ Pietro wailed. ‘I heard him yelling and then he hit her. Oh, Sally, please don’t die.’
Tears were pouring down his face. Through her pain and confusion one thing stood out for Sally—Pietro must be protected from the horror of what he’d seen...
‘I’m all right, Pietro,’ she said. ‘Truly. Just a little bump.’
‘We’ll see what the doctor has to say about that,’ Damiano said. ‘I’m taking you home with me. You can’t stay here in case that ruffian returns.’
‘It’s Charlie he’s after,’ she murmured. ‘Charlie—’
‘I’m here,’ he said, appearing. ‘He’s got away. They couldn’t catch him.’
‘Then the sooner we leave, the better,’ Damiano said.
He rose, drawing Sally gently to her feet, then lifting her in his arms.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’re coming with me and you’re going to be safe.’
‘He’s after Charlie—’ she whispered.
‘He’ll be safe too. You have my word on it. Trust me.’
All her instincts agreed, and she found herself relaxing in his arms as he carried her out, pausing only to bark some more orders at the receptionist.
‘They’ll pack up your things and send them after us,’ he told her.
‘My bill—’
‘Taken care of. Don’t worry about anything.’
Her head was aching and she could do nothing but rest it against his shoulder and yield everything up to him. She felt herself being lowered into the motorboat, Damiano sitting beside her with Charlie and Pietro facing. As they swept away Damiano made another call on his cell phone.
‘The doctor will be there when we arrive,’ he said when he’d hung up. ‘Here.’ He handed the phone to Pietro. ‘Call Nora, tell her to have two rooms ready.’
Pietro did as he was told. Sally couldn’t understand the Italian words, but she sensed the tension in his voice. When he finished he spoke urgently to Sally.
‘She’s getting everything ready. We’re going to look after you.’