A Venetian Affair

by Catherine George

  ‘But you’re learning?’ Her eyes teased him.

  ‘I hope you think so.’ He was perfectly serious. ‘And to prove it to you, I’d like you to read this.’ Reaching into his breast pocket, Luca brought out a leaflet.

  ‘What is it?’ Nell held back.

  ‘Take a look. Tell me what you think. I’m going to have it updated every year.’

  Nell started to read out loud, ‘“Guidelines for visitors to Venice. What to expect if you are taken to hospital…Twenty-four-hour emergency numbers…Danger signs for parents to be aware of…”’ Her voice tailed away. ‘Why haven’t you shown me this before?’

  He shrugged. ‘Because part of me wouldn’t accept that I had learned so much from you when we first met. A terrible thing, pride.’

  Nell started reading again. ‘But this is good.’

  ‘It was long overdue. You were right. I had a lot to learn in those days, and I hope this proves that I have tried to make changes. Your scheme is good, Nell. I’m going to keep it. Not because of the way I feel about you, but because I believe it is an improvement to the services we already offer—’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Laying her hand on Luca’s sleeve, Nell stopped him. ‘Can we just rewind for a moment?’ When he frowned in bemusement she added in her business voice, ‘I believe you said something about the way you feel about me?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ Luca murmured wryly, and his eyes were dancing with laughter.

  The telephone interrupted their kiss, which was everything a kiss should be, Nell thought as she floated across the room.

  ‘The cinema?’ she said into the receiver. Her gaze flicked to Luca. ‘But what about your computer game, Molly? And you haven’t eaten yet…You have? You were starving…yes, I see.’ She cut the connection, shaking her head. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, turning to Luca, ‘but you may have to wait a little longer for your contest.’

  ‘I’ll get over it,’ Luca assured her, holding out his arms. ‘Come here. How I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’ve only been gone a couple of days,’ Nell pointed out as he drew her close.

  ‘Exactly.’

  When at last he let her go, he shot a glance through the window. ‘Shall we go out?’

  ‘Out?’

  ‘For a walk.’

  ‘But it’s raining!’

  ‘An adventure?’ he suggested.

  ‘Like a carnival in the rain?’

  ‘Call it your one new and exciting challenge for today.’

  ‘I prefer rain to eel, that’s for sure.’ She began to laugh.

  ‘Marianna has a key, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you have a raincoat?’

  ‘Hey, I live in England.’

  ‘Then let’s go out. I need to talk to you.’

  They walked for miles. Nell was glad Luca had come prepared in a heavy waterproof jacket and sturdy shoes. The wet-weather look suited him, she mused as they walked along the pavement overlooking the river, arms entwined.

  ‘Are you wet enough yet?’ she teased when they stopped on top of a bridge from where they could look out over London. Water was dripping off their noses, and Luca’s hair was hanging in his eyes. Even then he looked like the most temptation she’d seen since…since she’d last seen him, Nell thought, wondering how hard it would be to live without him.

  Flicking the wet hair out of his eyes, Luca held her gaze. ‘Would you consider exchanging all this for life in a crumbling palazzo?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The rain,’ he prompted. ‘It would be quite a wrench leaving it, I imagine.’

  ‘Oh, and Venice never floods?’

  ‘At least we provide platforms so that people don’t have to get their feet wet.’

  ‘But you’re not frightened to put your toe in the water, are you, Luca?’

  He gave her a look of rebuke for the irony. ‘I’m not frightened of anything.’

  ‘You’re such a man!’

  ‘That’s certainly true,’ he agreed. ‘Or at least it was the last time I looked. But you haven’t answered my question yet, and I’m not going to let you run away from me this time.’

  ‘Can you repeat the question?’

  Putting his arms around her waist, Luca drew her close so their lips were almost touching. ‘I have to say, this isn’t exactly the way I had this planned in my mind.’

  ‘So, you’ve been rehearsing what you’re going to say to me. I can’t wait. It must be good.’

  ‘I hope you think so.’

  ‘You only hope?’ Nell teased.

  ‘All right, I’m confident.’ Luca grew serious. ‘I’m saying I love you, Nell. I’m saying I can’t live without you.’ He exhaled with something like exasperation. ‘Can’t you see? The hospital misses you, my mother misses you, Paolo misses you—’

  ‘Maria and Tomas miss me?’

  ‘You have no idea.’

  ‘But do you miss me?’ Nell whispered, searching his eyes.

  ‘More than you’ll ever know. I need you. I love you so much, Nell. I want all of us to live together in Venice…’

  ‘In Venice?’

  ‘So you can help me to bring the old palazzo back to life.’

  Nell couldn’t control her smile. ‘And you have another free labourer on hand?’

  ‘Did you think I’d invite a weakling to share my life?’

  She smiled. ‘But—Molly…’

  Touching a finger to her lips, Luca reassured her. ‘I know you come as a package, Nell. That’s one of your attractions.’

  ‘Ah, now I understand. You get a games partner and a labourer.’

  ‘I know a bargain when I see it.’ Luca’s smile faded but the warmth in his eyes grew. ‘Will you marry me, Nell? I can’t live without you,’ he said simply. ‘I love you more than life itself.’

  ‘My answer’s yes. And I love you too, Luca. More than you’ll ever know.’

  And they sealed their pledge with a very wet kiss.

  A Family For Keeps

  by

  Lucy Gordon

  Lucy Gordon was born in england. She wanted to be a writer all her life, and began by working on a British women’s magazine. As a features writer, she gained a wide variety of experience. She interviewed some of the world’s most attractive and interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Charlton Heston, Sir Roger Moore and Sir Alec Guiness.

  A few years ago she and her italian husband returned to Venice and lived there for a couple of years. this proved the perfect base for exploring the rest of italy, and she has given many of her books italian settings: Venice (of course), Rome, Florence, Milan, Sicily, Tuscany. She has also used the Rhine in Germany for Song of the Lorelei, for which she won her first RITA® award, in 1991. her second RITA came in 1998, with His Brother’s Child, set in Rome. eventually Lucy and her husband returned to England, where they now live.

  Don’t miss Lucy Gordon’s exciting new novel, The Greek Tycoon’s Achilles Heel, available April 2010 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

  Prologue

  THIS would be a good place to die.

  She didn’t utter the words but they were there in her heart. They swam up from the depths of the black water. They lingered around the cold grey stones and whispered away into the darkness.

  She hadn’t thought about dying when she’d planned to come here. Only revenge. There had been a long time to think about that.

  The passion for revenge had brought her to this corner of Venice. She’d envisaged no further, certain that the next step would reveal itself when the time came.

  Instead—nothing.

  But what had she thought was going to happen when she got here? That the first face she saw would be the one she was seeking?

  Or rather, one of the two faces she was seeking. One face she might not recognise after so many years, but the other she would know anywhere, any time. It haunted her by day and lived in her nightmares.

  It was
cold. The wind whistled along the canals and down the little alleys, and there was no comfort in all the world.

  ‘I can’t sleep at night, yet now I could sleep for ever. For ever—and ever—and ever—

  ‘Yes, this would be a good place…’

  Chapter One

  AT MIDNIGHT Venice was the quietest city in the world, and in winter it could be the most mournful.

  No cars, only the occasional sound of a passing boat, footsteps echoing on the hard stones, or the soft lap of tiny waves. And even this would soon die away into silence.

  Here, by the Rialto Bridge, shadow merged with stone and stone with water, so that it was hard to tell if the bundle of clothes in the corner contained a living being or not.

  At first sight, Piero thought that it probably did not, so still did it lie. He approached the bundle and gave it a tentative prod. It groaned softly, but didn’t move. He frowned. A woman from the sound of it.

  ‘Hey!’ He tapped again and she rolled a little way so that he could discern a face. It was pale and drawn, and in this light that was all he could make out.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said in Italian.

  For a moment she stared at him out of blank eyes, and he wondered if she had understood. Then she began to haul herself up, making no protest, asking no questions.

  He half guided, half supported her away from the bridge, in to an alley, which turned into another alley and then into another, and another. To the casual eye they looked identical, all cold, narrow, gleaming with rain. But he found his way between them easily.

  The woman with him barely noticed. Her heart was like a frozen stone in her body, numbing all feeling except despair.

  Once she stumbled and he held her safe, muttering, ‘Not much farther.’

  She could see now that they had reached the rear entrance of a building. There was just enough light to reveal that it was palatial. There was a large set of ornate double doors, maybe twelve feet high. But he passed these and led her to a much smaller door.

  At first it stuck, but when he put his shoulder to it, with a movement that was half a push, half a shake, it yielded. Inside there was a torch, which he used to find the rest of the way.

  Their footsteps sounded hollow on the tiled floors, giving her the sense of a grandiose building. She had a brief impression of a sweeping staircase and a wall with pale spaces where there had once been pictures.

  A palace, but a shabby, abandoned palace.

  At last he led her into a small room, where there were an armchair and a couple of sofas. Gently he guided her to one.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, speaking for the first time.

  He regarded her with surprise.

  ‘English?’ he asked.

  She made the effort. ‘Sì. Sono inglese.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ he said in perfect English. ‘I speak your language. Now you must have some food. My name is Piero, by the way.’

  When she hesitated he said, ‘Any name will do—Cynthia, Anastasia, Wilhemina, Julia—’

  ‘Julia,’ she said. It was as good a name as any.

  In one corner stood a tall ceramic stove, white with gilt decoration. In the lower part was a pair of doors, which he opened and began to pile wood inside.

  ‘The electricity is off,’ he explained, ‘so it’s lucky that the old stove remains. This one has stood here nearly two hundred years, and it still works. The trouble is I’m out of paper to light it.’

  ‘Here. I got a newspaper on the plane.’

  He showed no surprise at someone who had managed to buy a plane ticket and then slept in the street. He simply struck a match and in a few moments they had the beginnings of a fire.

  At last they considered each other.

  She saw an old man, tall, very thin, with a shock of white hair. He wore an ancient overcoat, tied with string around the waist, and a threadbare woollen scarf wrapped around his throat. He seemed a mixture of scarecrow and clown. His face was almost cadaverous, making his bright blue eyes exceptionally vivid by contrast. Even more noticeable was his smile, brilliant as a beacon, which flashed on and off.

  Piero saw a woman whose age he couldn’t guess except to put her in the mid thirties. Perhaps older, perhaps younger.

  She was tall, and her figure, dressed in serviceable jeans, sweater and jacket, was a little too slim to be ideal. Her long fair hair hung forward like a curtain, making it hard to see her properly. Perhaps she preferred it that way because she mostly let it hang. Just once she brushed it aside, revealing that suffering had left her with a weary, troubled face, large eyes, and an air of distrusting all the world.

  Her face was too lean and almost haggard. There was beauty there, but it came from a fire that burned far back behind her eyes.

  ‘Thank you for finding me,’ she said at last, speaking in a soft voice.

  ‘You’d have been dead by morning, lying in that freezing place.’

  ‘Probably.’ She didn’t sound as though this were of much interest. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘This is the Palazzo di Montese, home of the Counts di Montese for nine centuries. It’s empty because the present count can’t afford to live here.’

  ‘So you live here instead?’

  ‘That’s right. And nobody bothers me because they’re afraid of the ghost,’ he added with relish.

  ‘What ghost?’

  He reached behind the chair to where an old sheet lay on the floor. Draping it over his head, he threw up his arms and began to wail.

  ‘That ghost,’ he said, tossing the sheet away and speaking normally.

  She gave a faint smile. ‘That’s very scary,’ she said.

  He cackled like a delighted child. ‘If people didn’t believe in the ghost to start with they wouldn’t take any notice of me. But everyone around here has heard about Annina, so they tell themselves it’s her.’

  ‘Who was she really?’

  ‘She lived seven hundred years ago. She was a Venetian girl with a vast fortune but no title, which mattered a lot in those days. She fell madly in love with Count Ruggiero di Montese but he only married her for her money. When she’d borne him a son he locked her away. Eventually her body was found floating in the Grand Canal.

  ‘Some said she was murdered, others that she had escaped in a small boat, which capsized. Now she’s supposed to haunt this place. They say you can hear her voice calling up from the dungeons, begging to be released, crying to be allowed to see her child.’

  He stopped because a faint sound had broken from her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘I haven’t scared you, have I? Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?’

  ‘Not that kind of ghost,’ Julia said softly.

  He started the supper. By now the fire was burning merrily, so he fixed a grid over the burning wood, and used this to heat coffee.

  ‘There’s some sausages too,’ he said. ‘I cook them over the flames on forks. And I have rolls here. I have a friend with a restaurant, and he gives me yesterday’s bread.’

  When they were both settled and eating, she said, ‘Why did you take me in? You know nothing about me.’

  ‘I know that you needed help. What else is there to know?’

  She understood. He had welcomed her into the fellowship of the dispossessed where nothing had to be told. The past did not exist.

  So now she was officially a down-and-out. It was not such a bad thing to be. After the way she’d spent the last few years it might even be a step up.

  ‘Here,’ she said, reaching into a bag and bringing out a very small plastic bottle, containing red wine. ‘The man next to me on the plane left it behind, so I took it.’

  ‘Would it be indelicate to ask if you obtained the plane ticket in the same way?’

  She gave a real smile then.

  ‘Believe it or not, I didn’t steal it,’ she said. ‘If you go to the right airline you can get a ticket from
England to Venice for almost nothing. But when you get off the plane—’ She shrugged.

  ‘You can find winter prices in the hotels now,’ Piero pointed out.

  ‘Even so, I’m not spending a penny that I don’t have to,’ she said in a voice that was suddenly hard and stubborn. ‘But I’ll pay my way here,’ she added.

  ‘Cheaper than a hotel,’ he agreed, waving a sausage.

  ‘And the surroundings are grand. You can tell it’s the real thing.’

  ‘Know a bit about palaces, do you?’

  ‘I’ve worked in a few,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’m surprised someone hasn’t bought this to turn it into a luxury hotel.’

  ‘They keep trying,’ Piero said. ‘But the owner won’t sell. He could be a rich man, but it’s been in his family for centuries, and he won’t let it go.’

  She rose and walked over to the tall window from which came some illumination, even though it was night. She understood why when she looked out and saw that the room overlooked the Grand Canal.

  Even in late November, past midnight, this thoroughfare was busy with life. Vaporetti, the passenger boats, still plied their trade along the length of the canal, and lights shone on both banks.

  In the room where she stood, beams of dim light coming through the stained glass windows made patterns on the tiled floor. These and the glow from the stove were the only defence against the darkness.

  She didn’t mind. The gloom of this place pleased her, where bright light would have been a torment.

  ‘Do you live here all the time?’ she asked Piero, sitting down and accepting another coffee from his hands.

  ‘Yes, it’s a good place. The amenities have been turned off, of course. No heat or lighting. But the pump outside still works, so we have fresh water. Let me show you.’

  He led her down to the small stone outhouse where there was the pump and an earth closet.

  ‘We even have a bathroom,’ he declared with pride.