by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate
Her heart missed a beat. Had he begun to suspect why she gave so much more than he expected? Could she take the chance?
‘Damiano—’
‘Come on, time for you to get some rest.’ He withdrew his arms, forcing her to do the same. He opened the bedroom door. ‘I’ll come in quietly later, not to awaken you.’
Then he was gone and she had the solitude she needed to consider the revelation that had taken hold of her today.
Seeing Damiano with Gina, his face devastated by grief for her, had been a turning point. It was as though a brilliant light had suddenly illuminated all that had happened since the day they had met. Now she could see and understand everything she had refused to face before.
I’m in love with him, she thought. I have been almost from the start.
The magic had always been there. Wary of love, she’d fought it, refusing to recognise how devastating was his effect on her. But with every touch, every smile, he had invaded her heart, refusing to be banished.
Why had she never faced the truth before? The physical excitement that no other man had been able to inspire in her had sprung to life at Damiano’s touch. She’d ignored it, fearful of being vulnerable, something she had always tried never to be. The way he kept his distance had maddened her more and more, until she had to face the fact that she wanted him in her bed, and that desire could be a signpost on the road to love.
Mysteriously Gina seemed to be with her again, invisible but powerful, throwing down a challenge. And Sally’s defiant spirit arose.
‘From now on everything is going to be different. He was yours once, but he’s mine now.’
She recalled a conversation she’d had with Charlie when, as so often before, he’d tried to wriggle out of blame for his own irresponsibility by despising her ease with facts and figures.
‘You haven’t got a heart,’ he’d accused. ‘You’re just calculating.’
‘If by calculating you mean I make sensible plans, then I plead guilty.’
And I’ve got a plan now, she thought. Oh, yes, I’ve got a plan and I’m going to make it work. And if that makes me calculating, then I’ll calculate, because so much is at stake. All the happiness I could ever know, now and for the rest of my life. That’s what I’m gambling for, and if the odds are high I’ll just have to gamble harder. And then harder. Until I win.
‘And I’m going to win.’
* * *
Pietro was eager to tell Sally that soon there would be another festival, the Feast of St Mark.
‘There’s a gondola race,’ he said. ‘And people hold dances in the evening. Papa always has one in the hotel, and there’s a lot of soppy stuff.’
‘What kind of soppy stuff?’ she asked.
‘It’s also known as La Festa del Boccolo,’ said Mario, who’d been listening with amusement. ‘Boccolo means rosebud. There’s a story about a man who fell in love with a noble woman hundreds of years ago. He was only a servant so he couldn’t hope to marry her in those days. He joined the army and was killed in action. Before he died he plucked a rosebud and sent it back to her. Supposedly it was stained with his blood, so they still use red ones today.’
‘What a sad story,’ she mused.
‘It’s soppy,’ said Pietro contemptuously. ‘Come on, Toby, let’s go and play.’
‘That’s not like him,’ Sally observed when the boy and his dog had gone.
‘Children sometimes give rosebuds to their mothers,’ Mario said. ‘He did it once, with Imelda. She seemed to receive it more or less well, but then she threw it away. He found it a couple of days later.’
‘I’d like to slap her,’ Sally said crossly.
‘I think Pietro might give you a rosebud this time. He’s closer to you than he ever was to Imelda. Damiano’s over the moon about what a great mother you are.’
‘It’s nice to know that he approves of me,’ Sally said in a voice that gave nothing away.
She promised herself that when she was finished he would do more than approve of her for being a good mother to his son. He would desire her as passionately as she desired him. If she wasn’t there he would be desolate. His heart would beat for her and her alone, not only with desire, but with love.
This was her plan. The time was coming when she would don a new mask, but there were things still to be decided.
She slipped away to the shop where Mario had taken her to buy what she needed for Carnival. After inspecting everything closely she found exactly what she wanted: a glamorous costume and an intriguing mask.
She managed to carry everything home without being discovered, and hurried upstairs, hiding her purchases away in her old room until the moment she would need them.
That came with the Festival of St Mark. The day started well, with Damiano presenting her with a small bouquet of red rosebuds over breakfast. Pietro gave her a rosebud of his own, then exchanged a smile and a nod with his father. Charlie and Mario applauded.
‘Come on,’ Pietro said excitedly when breakfast was over. ‘Time for the gondola race.’
They secured places in a building overlooking the canal and cheered as a gondolier attached to the hotel won the race by a length. Then everyone streamed back for the celebrations, and to prepare for the masked ball in the evening.
‘Fine, I’ll wear what I wore before,’ Sally declared. ‘What about you?’
‘The same.’
They dressed together. She put on the gold satin garment she’d bought for last time and he helped her with the buttons. Her heart was beating as the moment drew near when she must put her plan into action. Suddenly she closed her eyes and clutched her head.
‘What is it?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Just a headache. I thought it would have gone by now, but it’s getting worse.’
‘Are you sure you’re well enough for tonight?’
‘Not really. Would you mind if I didn’t go?’
‘If you’re not well I’d rather you stayed here.’
‘Then I will.’
With his help she stripped off the dress and lay down. He kissed her cheek and departed.
The plan had begun.
She lay still to give him time to leave. When she was sure he was gone she slipped out and down the corridor to her own room. There she hurriedly dressed in an elegant red and blue gown she’d bought for tonight. The mask was glamorous, glittering about the eyes and covering most of her face with just a small gap for her mouth. A man looking down at her would just be able to see her smile, but no more.
She removed her wedding ring and put it away. Nobody must see it tonight. Until now the ring had been almost meaningless but that was going to change.
As she slipped out into the corridor the house was silent. Charlie and Mario were out having fun. Pietro was already asleep. The housekeeper remained at home for his sake but she was out of sight in the kitchen as Sally hurried down the stairs and slipped through the connecting door to the hotel.
At once she was in a crowd of revellers and was able to make her way to the ballroom without attracting notice.
As soon as she entered she looked for Damiano. It was hard because the ballroom lights were kept low, increasing the dramatic atmosphere. She had to search before she found him. His back was to her, but he wore the black velvet suit. She edged towards him, then halted with shock.
He was holding a woman close to him, his right hand stroking her neck, then drifting down to caress her breasts, his fingers easing their way into the material.
So that was it! That was what his restraint amounted to. He didn’t need to sleep with her because he was fooling around with other women. She wanted to scream, run away, fly at him, tear off his mask and slap his face.
If only she could decide which.
But while she was still struggling w
ith temptation, the man moved so that his left hand came into view, and suddenly all questions were answered.
Damiano had a scar on the back of his left hand, and she was just close enough to see that this man had no such scar. This wasn’t him, but a man wearing a very similar costume.
For a moment she was dizzy with relief as the nightmares that had danced before her faded. But where was he? She must identify him quickly without further mistakes. She glided through the crowd, frantically searching.
She saw him at last. The mask covered most of his face but he was holding up a glass of wine high enough for her to just make out the scar.
Now things were working out well. For her plan to succeed they must each recognise the other, but pretend otherwise, at least at the start.
Time for action.
He glanced in her direction and she seized a glass from a passing waiter, holding it up, approaching him to clink glasses, then turning away again.
‘Wait!’ He detained her with a hand on her arm. ‘You’re surely not going to leave me just like that.’
‘Aren’t I?’ she said in a teasing voice. ‘I just came to say hello.’
‘Hello. Not goodbye.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have other hellos to say.’ She indicated a group of men nearby.
He moved closer. ‘Let me see if I can change your mind about that.’
Taking her glass, he set it aside with his own, and slid a hand around her waist.
‘Hello,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘Hello.’
As they glided around the floor he held her too close for propriety. Looking up, she found his mouth close to hers, the lips touched with a faint smile that might have been designed to tempt her.
Had he recognised her? Did he think he was dancing with a stranger? Or did he suspect the truth and was trying to decide? Of the three she decided the third would be the most intriguing.
‘Who are you?’ he murmured.
She made her laugh as teasing as possible.
‘Come, come, you’re a Venetian. You know that I’m everybody and nobody. And does it really matter which?’
‘It does to me.’
She laughed again. ‘If you don’t know who I really am, it’s because you’re afraid to know.’
She said the last words with great significance, and felt his clasp tighten.
‘Why should I be afraid?’ he asked.
‘Only you can answer that. Some things we don’t know because we don’t want to know them.’
‘You make me sound like a coward.’
‘Not a coward, just a man like every other man on earth.’
‘So you despise us all?’
‘No, but I watch you with caution.’
He was silent for a moment. Then suddenly he said, ‘I know another woman who does that. She too has things she doesn’t want to know.’
‘About herself, or about you?’
‘Both, I suspect. And I can’t decide whether to tell her.’
‘But do you know her secrets?’
‘I know secrets she doesn’t suspect.’
‘Perhaps it’s the same with her.’
‘I often think it is,’ he said in a low voice.
The waltz came to an end, and she drew away from him. She needed time to think. Damiano’s words sounded as though he saw past her mask to the woman within. Deep inside some instinct told her that they were talking a secret language known only to the two of them.
‘Dance with me again,’ he said. ‘Dance with me now.’
‘Not now. Later, when I’m ready.’
She turned and departed before he could become more demanding. Other admirers clamoured for her attention and she went through them one by one, conscious of Damiano keeping her under permanent observation, until at last he stepped in and reclaimed her.
‘My turn,’ he said, taking firm hold and guiding her onto the dance floor. After a few turns he said, ‘You haven’t told me your name.’
But he had recognised her. She was confident of that now. A strange and exciting chance had opened before her. They could talk openly, yet behind the protection of their masks. It sounded impossible, but in the magical air of Venice nothing was really impossible.
‘Your name,’ he repeated.
‘I have several names. Tonight I am Mysteria, the woman of many masks. Haven’t you sensed that already?’
‘Perhaps. Maybe I don’t know whether to believe it. It’s so confusing.’
She gave a soft laugh, calculated to entice him.
‘If it’s confusing, that’s a reason to believe it.’
‘Now you’re trying to confuse me even more.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’
He had danced her into a corner, turning her so that she was shielded from everyone.
‘Kiss me,’ he commanded.
‘In these masks? Impossible.’
He tightened his grip but it was, as she said, impossible to get close enough.
‘Do I know you?’ he breathed. ‘Are you—could you be—?’
‘I could be anyone you want me to be. But who do you want?’
‘I want—I want—you!’
‘But I am nobody. I don’t exist.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘After tonight we will never meet again. I will vanish into thin air. That other woman will still be there, and you’ll have to decide if we’re the same person. And you will wonder if we ever met.’ She gave a slight chuckle. ‘You’ll probably feel that it’s best if we didn’t.’
‘Why do you laugh at me? Does it amuse you to confuse me?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘A man is always amusing when he’s at a disadvantage.’
‘Damn you!’ he whispered.
Before he could say or do more someone called his name. Furiously he turned to them, forcing himself to engage in polite conversation. When he turned back she had gone.
Watching him from the doorway, Sally could see his air of desperation as he looked this way and that. At last he grew close enough to see her, and came to a sudden sharp halt.
Sally raised her hand and beckoned to him, retreating through the open doorway. He followed fast, catching up, gazing down at her, breathing heavily.
‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.
‘Wherever you want to take me. I wonder where that could be.’
‘You know where it is. I’m taking you where you belong, to my room, to my bed. Unless—’ His confidence seemed to weaken. ‘Unless you do not wish to go there with me.’
She smiled. ‘Do you think that is my wish?’
‘I don’t know what I think. I don’t know anything about anything any more.’
‘Then why don’t we find out?’ She indicated the way ahead. ‘Go on, lead me. After all, you’re in command. You lead, I follow.’
What little she could see of his mouth twisted wryly. ‘We both know that’s not true.’
‘Who could possibly dictate to you?’
‘There is one woman who could.’
‘Lead on.’
She held out her hand. He took it and led the way through the hotel until they reached the connecting door. In a moment they were through and on their way up to the bedroom.
Sally had a blissful sensation that fate had blessed her plans. Everything was going well. She had no doubt that Damiano had recognised her.
He knew this was Sally, but which Sally? How many might there be? Her disguise had freed them both from the prison of their usual selves. Now they could each make love to a ‘stranger’ without being faithless to each other.
As they entered their bedroom he reached out to the wall switch, but she restrained him.
‘No,’ she murmured. ‘We don’t need light.’
After a moment he nodded. ‘I don’t need to see you,’ he agreed.
‘And why should you want to? You already know the things that matter about me.’ She moved closer so that he could feel her breath against his mouth. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.’
‘And you?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you want to know who I am?’
‘But I do know who you are. You’re the man who came when I beckoned.’
‘Does every man come at your command?’
For answer she gave a soft chuckle. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think every man follows you because he can’t help himself.’
‘What do the others matter? What does anything matter except that we are here, now, together?’
She stripped off her own mask, then reached up to his and slowly pulled it away. In the semi darkness she could just see his face enough to be sure it was Damiano, and knew he could see hers. But for the moment they should keep silent about their mutual recognition and enjoy the advantages of strangers.
She touched his mouth lightly with her fingertips, and would have drawn them away but he seized her hand, pressing it against his lips, kissing it again and again. Her response was a soft chuckle.
‘Why are you laughing?’ he demanded. ‘Was that what you meant me to do? Am I dancing to your tune?’
‘Do you think you are?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Would you mind?’
After a long moment he whispered, ‘No.’
‘I think you would. No man likes a woman to have too much power.’
‘That depends how she uses her power.’
She gave a soft laugh. ‘No, it doesn’t. No woman can be trusted. Never forget that.’
‘Do you say that I shouldn’t trust you?’
‘That’s your decision. If you take the risk of trusting me—I can do as I like.’
‘Stop it,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Stop trying to turn me against you.’
‘But you can always send me away. You’re the one in control now. Aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he said, but his voice shook.
‘Just throw me out, say you never want to see me again, and I’ll—’