“That looks to be a delicious vegetable stew. Much better than goulash I would have to admit.” Luke commented, walking into the room and offering her a casual, but friendly, smile.
Perceiving that this was Luke’s way of initiating a truce, she continued stirring and replied, “You’re welcome to try some. This is too much for just one person.”
“I’d love to try some.” Luke replied, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “But first I want you to try this.” He handed her a white paper bag that felt cold to the touch.
“What’s in here?”
“Gelato.”
“What’s gelato?” Rebecca asked, pronouncing the strange word slowly.
“It’s the creamiest ice cream you’ll ever taste in your life.” Luke replied, taking out a rapidly melting cup of cherry vanilla custard and handing it to her.
“This will spoil my dinner, Luke. Honestly, you’re always presenting me with temptations I find hard to resist.” Rebecca said innocently, immediately regretting the words. Inevitably, they both thought of their affair in Vienna, and the atmosphere quickly became thick with tension.
“I’ll put the gelato on ice then, and we can enjoy it after your delicious, and may I add, very healthy supper.”
Their evening meal was pleasant, and when Rebecca finally tasted the Italian ice cream, she was certain she would never again be satisfied with a frozen treat from anywhere else in the world. Later, as the musicians began to filter back in from their day trips and charge into the kitchen, Luke suggested that he and Rebecca take a walk around Venice.
“What do you say, Rebecca? As friends?” He ground out.
“As friends?” She echoed in disbelief.
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but we have to try, Rebecca.” Luke sounded as unconvinced as she felt. “What do you say?”
“Well, I guess…I say yes. I’m itching to go outside! Just let me get a sweater from my room in case it gets chilly later.” Rebecca sprang up from the table, but Luke grabbed hold of her waist and stopped her, as she froze.
Huskily, he said, “I’ll get you a sweater. You wait outside on the veranda and enjoy the moonlight.”
Rebecca followed his instructions, wondering how this “friendship” was really to be possible. Men and women were not friends, particularly not those who had once been lovers. Stepping out onto the airy veranda overlooking a cluster of docked gondolas, Rebecca silently acknowledged that she was still in love with Luke. Though she had never spoken the words to him, it was obvious to her that he had a powerful reign over her heart.
A brisk October gale blew Rebecca’s hair around until it blanketed her face, temporarily blinding her. Exactly at that moment, the distinct sound of a British accent rode the wind, causing Rebecca to gulp with dread.
“Good evening, fair Pamina. You are as beautiful in Venice as you were in Vienna, I must confess. It is excellent to see you.”
Yanking on her hair and forcing it behind her ears, Rebecca’s eyes blazed as she gawked at Milton Thornbrenner, unable to believe that he was standing there. “What are you doing here? How did you know I was at this villa?” She cried, outraged and frightened.
Ever since their first dinner, she had harbored a bad feeling about the enigmatic man and despised the way he referred to her by her character’s name.
Taking a puff from the acrid smelling pipe he held between thumb and forefinger, Milton replied, “I must say I was disappointed that you did not give me this address yourself. But it was easy enough to uncover from some of the stage crew left behind in Vienna.”
Rebecca found this to be a reasonable explanation, as most of the crew, including Clive the usher, had stayed behind. They would likely have no qualms about telling a wealthy gentleman where the orchestra was residing.
“So you came all the way to Italy to see me?” Rebecca asked incredulously.
“Indeed. I very much look forward to your next performance…and hopefully also an encore dinner.” Milton said, looking beyond Rebecca with darting eyes.
Rebecca whirled around to see what had caught Milton’s attention, horrified to see Luke standing there clutching her favorite button-down sweater in his hands. An expression of agonized disappointment warped his handsome face. In the shock of encountering Milton on the veranda of her new, supposedly private residence, she had forgotten that it would only take Luke a minute to fetch her sweater.
Luke’s eyes smoldered as he tightened his grip around Rebecca’s sweater. Wordlessly, he draped it over her shoulders and placed a protective arm around her.
To her surprise, he demanded curtly, “What are you doing trespassing on private property, sir?”
Milton bristled at Luke’s tone and replied coolly, “Requesting the pleasure of Miss Meadow’s company at dinner. Unless you are her betrothed, I don’t think you should mind.”
Rebecca flinched, fearing Luke’s temper would erupt volcanically from Milton’s chiding remark. Instead, he merely reiterated, “This is private property in case you’re hard of hearing. I suggest you leave at once before I send for the police.”
Unaffected, Milton said dryly, “I will take that response as confirmation that you are not her betrothed. However, I shall depart this property now, as I most definitely am not a trespasser.” He turned to Rebecca and asserted, “I shall encounter you elsewhere I am sure, at which time I will ask you once again to dine with me. Until then, have an excellent evening.”
Milton departed into the shadows, leaving Rebecca gaping and unable to speak. Luke moved away from her and said gruffly, “Let’s go.”
“Do you still want to go for a walk?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Well…yes. I just thought…”
“That your lover ruined the evening? Not at all.” Luke sneered.
“How dare you refer to him as my lover? I am going for a walk, but not with you. Good night!” Rebecca flared, as Luke’s face fell.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know he’s not your lover. I just can’t stand to see him chasing after you. It makes me want to murder the man! Come on, let’s walk by the canal and take a sail on one of the gondolas.” He encouraged.
“Fine. Let’s go. I can see this friendship is off to a beautiful start.” Rebecca said coldly.
In a tense silence, they strolled to the waterfront, where gondoliers were waiting to take couples on a ride around the Grand Canal. Luke handed one of the gondoliers some folded bills from his pocket and joined Rebecca on the gondola.
The gondola offered a panoramic vista of water, architecture, and the city beyond. Rebecca sat with hands folded in her lap, admiring the kaleidoscope of marble on the palaces, some dating from the Byzantine era. The gondolier began to serenade them, apparently assuming they were an amorous couple, as Rebecca looked down awkwardly.
“He has a pleasant voice.” She commented innocuously.
“Yes.” Luke agreed tersely.
“This is ridiculous!” Rebecca exploded as the gondolier continued singing, oblivious. “We’re acting like children when we should be savoring every second of this experience.”
“You’re right.” Luke admitted sheepishly. “How many times in your life have you sailed on a gondola?”
“Zero! Therefore, I would appreciate if you would be a little more congenial.”
“Only if you will.” He countered.
“Agreed.”
“We wouldn’t be in such irritable temperaments, though, if that fool hadn’t come to the villa.” Luke muttered under his breath, banishing all notions of civility for Rebecca.
Aflame with indignation, she clamped her lips together to keep from uttering foul language she would later want to rescind. It was Luke who had severed their romantic relationship, nipped it in the bud because of some macho notion of wealth as prerequisite for marriage. Reflecting on this truth, Rebecca could no longer contain herself.
Shouting over the gondolier’s tune, she raved, “You are the reason I e
ver paid a shred of attention to Milton! If it weren’t for your insecurities, I would have happily stayed with you!”
Luke regarded her darkly and retorted, “Call it insecurity if you wish. I merely call it reality. My scruples are too keen for me to continue as your lover, but my finances are too…”
“Yes, yes, you’re broke! Please spare me, Luke. I’ve heard it a hundred times before! But now you’ll be making more money in Venice. We both will. Perhaps you just don’t want to marry me and be stuck with the adult responsibility of a wife! Maybe you’re just an immature boy who wants to sow his wild oats!”
“If that is what you think of me, then you clearly don’t know me at all.” Luke stated darkly.
“And if you think that I am the type of woman to demand riches from a partner, then you don’t know me at all!” Rebecca shot back icily, as the gondolier finally concluded his song.
For the rest of the ride, neither Luke nor Rebecca spoke, both feeling misunderstood by the other. Rebecca stared out at the water, thinking how she might dine with Milton again just out of spite. But her conscience nudged her, insisting that vengeance is never a good reason to do anything. At the moment, though, she was too incensed to listen to good sense and resolved to poke around the neighborhood with the goal of encountering Milton and acquiescing to his persistent overtures.
With foolhardy wrath she blurted out, “I suppose I should see Milton again after all. You’ve been right all along. He has so much to offer a woman, and I might be very happy with him.”
While Rebecca had spoken the insincere words, Luke’s face had progressively colored to a dark, furious shade of red that communicated how deeply she had wounded him. As she regarded the tense lines of his brow and mouth, Rebecca knew that she had gone too far and could not retract her sentiments.
Hesitantly, the gondolier asked Luke if he would like another spin around the canal to which he stonily replied, “No. This is quite enough. Take us back to land.”
Those were the last words Luke spoke that evening. When the gondola floated back to the dock, the sky had turned cold and onyx. Luke immediately jumped out, not bothering to bid Rebecca good night.
*****
The next morning, Rebecca sat with Ryan in the sunlit kitchen, eating an eclectic breakfast of asparagus and fried eggs. As the siblings ate in silence, Mr. Graysen popped his head in to announce that she had a caller.
“He says his name is Milton Thornbrenner. Shall I ask him to wait for you in the parlor?” Mr. Graysen asked.
“Yes. Please do.” Rebecca replied.
“Who’s this Thornbrenner fellow?” Ryan asked curiously, taking a knife to the crisp asparagus.
Rebecca was taken aback. “I never told you? Oh, no, I suppose I didn’t. Well, I barely see you these days with our schedules. Anyway, Milton Thornbrenner is an Englishman whom I dined with just once back in Vienna. He claims to be my secret admirer.” She rolled her eyes, rising to walk to the parlor and meet him.
“What about Luke?” Ryan asked sadly.
“What about him? You know the story there! There is nothing between Luke and me, especially after last night.”
“Why after last night?” Ryan persisted.
“Ask Luke yourself! He’s your chum, isn’t he? Now, I have to go meet Milton and see what he wants.” Rebecca left her brother alone in the kitchen while she trudged over to the parlor where Milton was smoking a pipe.
“Buona mattina.” He greeted in horribly accented Italian.
“Good morning to you as well. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” She asked artificially.
“Well, I should say that’s the loveliest greeting you have ever given me. I see Italy agrees with you.” He exhaled a circle of putrid smoke before reaching for a bottle of brandy on the bar.
“Isn’t it a little early in the morning for brandy?” Rebecca asked with a furrowed brow.
“Never too early and never too late. It is always the right time for a few swishes of brandy. But tell me, how do you find life in the Mediterranean?”
“I just arrived yesterday, so I haven’t seen much yet. But so far the country seems delightful to me.”
Emptying his brandy glass in one swift motion, he poured some more and approached her. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just name it.” Milton spoke in a voice intended to be seductive. To Rebecca’s sensibilities, it merely sounded lewd.
Rebecca stalled, as Milton pounced. “I’ll take you to Piazza San Marco. No one comes to Venice without visiting the Piazza. Grab your wrap and we’ll be off.” Milton instructed, and Rebecca did not resist.
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.” She said dully, heading to the kitchen where her sweater was draped over a wooden chair.
Ryan was scraping the last egg morsels from his plate and looked up in surprise when Rebecca entered the room. “Did you send him away already?”
“No. I just came to get my sweater. He’s taking me to Piazza San Marco today.” She shrugged nonchalantly, hoping to dodge any additional questions from her brother.
“You need to be back by dark, Becky.”
“Pardon me? I don’t have a curfew.”
Ryan shook his head impatiently. “Don’t be so testy. I know you don’t have a curfew. Tonight at seven o’clock, Mr. Graysen is holding a meeting to discuss our upcoming performances.”
“Oh!” Rebecca brightened with interest. “Did he mention which opera we’re going to be training for?”
“It’s just a rumor, but I heard that it’s going to be one of Rossini’s comedies. We’re set to open in November and run until two weeks before Christmas.” Ryan replied in a conspiratorial whisper.
“I hope it’s The Barber of Seville! That would be such great fun. Don’t worry, I’ll be back long before seven. See you later.” Rebecca glided out of the kitchen and back into the parlor with a genuine smile on her lips.
Milton took one final swig of brandy and smiled broadly at her, assuming that her cheerful disposition was for him, although it was in spite of him---and in spite of all men, Rebecca thought.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Evening fell and still Rebecca had not returned from her excursion with Milton. Ryan sat with Luke in the parlor, drinking double espressos to be alert for what promised to be a lengthy meeting that night.
“Is she really with Thornbrenner?” Luke asked miserably as Ryan quickly nodded. “I can’t believe how many times I’ve let that woman slip through my fingers. It makes me furious.”
Ryan looked at his friend sympathetically. “I know you care for my sister, Springwell. I don’t want to be an intermediary, but I do wish there were some way to fix things between you.”
“I think things have been damaged beyond repair at this point.” Luke said quietly, betraying a deep and layered sadness.
“Don’t say that. I still see hope for the two of you.” Ryan offered.
“Let’s change the subject. Do you want some more espresso?”
“No, not unless I want to be awake for the next week straight!” Ryan joked, eliciting a marginal smirk from Luke.
The young men launched into a livelier discussion of Italian soccer as a delicate knock sounded at the open door. “Who’s knocking when it’s open?” Ryan asked comically, instantly sobering when he turned and beheld the woman standing in the doorway.
A raven-haired, hazel-eyed beauty with long legs and the elegant posture of a flamingo stood like an angelic apparition in the doorway. Ryan nearly dropped his espresso cup. Luke barely looked up from his cup to glance at the girl, who was still shyly standing outside the parlor.
With difficulty, Ryan ventured, “Uh…buona sera…good evening…is there something I can do for you?”
The beautiful girl, who looked little more than twenty years old, shifted in place on the shiny marble floor and replied in lightly accented English, “Yes sir, I am looking for Christopher Graysen, the conductor.”
Stumbling to his feet and gesturing for the girl
to enter, Ryan replied, “I’d be glad to get him for you. What is your name?”
“Concetta.” The girl answered timidly with a half curtsey. “Venice is my city, and I hear that your orchestra is here. I am a ballet dancer…maybe you need a dancer?”
“Well maybe we do!” Ryan answered heartily. “I’m Ryan Meadow. Very pleased to meet you. Or should I say, piacere!”
“Piacere.” Concetta shook Ryan’s hand gently and flushed self-consciously
“I’ll bring you to Mr. Graysen. I think he’s out on the veranda right now.” Ryan offered. Then, suddenly remembering that Luke was in the room, he tossed a quick goodbye over his shoulder and led Concetta onto the veranda.
*****
That evening, Rebecca sauntered into the villa just seconds before the clock struck seven, having been delayed by a very ardent Milton. She surmised that there must be something different about the Venetian air, as Milton had tried ceaselessly to kiss her and would have gone farther than that had she let him. Finally, she had told him that she needed to be present for a meeting at the villa and he would have to bring her back immediately. Reluctantly, he had deposited her at her new residence, asserting that he would be back the following morning to take her out to a champagne brunch.
Now Rebecca sat expectantly among her peers, waiting to hear Mr. Graysen’s first announcement since their arrival in Italy. Gazing across the room she noticed Ryan sitting next to a beautiful young girl. Luke was on the other side of him, looking gloomy. Rebecca reflexively looked away. Even Gloria and Annabelle were there, and Rebecca gave them a little wave, which the baby returned ecstatically with a coo.
Smiling directly at Gloria, Mr. Graysen began to speak. “Welcome to Venice, everyone! I am very excited to announce that we will begin work on our next production, The Barber of Seville, in just a few days time. To that end, I would like to introduce the newest member of our team.”
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