‘At one time he was a university professor. Elena, his daughter, was everything to him, especially after his wife died. Then she died too and everything finished for him.’
‘He lost a child?’ she murmured.
She felt something tearing at her at the thought of Piero and his lost child. There was no pain like it. How could anyone recover?
‘She was drowned while out sailing. They found her body three days later. I was on the quay when they brought her home, and I saw Piero, staring out to sea as the boat came in. But when it landed he didn’t seem to see it, just walked away. He didn’t even go to her funeral because he refused to believe she was dead.
‘He’s never accepted it. I’ve tried to make him understand. I’ve even taken him to the cemetery at San Michele, to show him her grave, but he won’t look at it.’
‘Of course not. You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Isn’t it better for him to face reality?’
‘Why?’ she asked quickly. ‘What’s so marvellous about reality?’
‘Nothing, I suppose.’
‘Let him cling to his hope. Without it he’d go crazy.’
‘But he’s already a little crazy.’
‘Then let him be crazy, if that’s the only way to stop his heart breaking,’ Julia said, almost pleading with him. ‘How can you understand?’
‘Perhaps I can,’ he said wryly. ‘Anyway, I know what you mean. Tell me—are you crazy?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, almost cheerfully. ‘I’m as mad as a hatter.’
‘Because of the ghosts inside you? That’s what you said.’
‘If I did, I was feverish. I don’t remember.’
‘I think you do. I think you remember what you want to remember.’
Her relaxed mood vanished and his probing made her nerves taut again.
‘I don’t know who you are,’ she said in a low, angry voice, ‘but I can’t see why you come here.’
‘Must there be a reason?’
‘Well, you don’t need a place to sleep, do you? And why else would you be here except to patronise us? No, I’m sorry—’ She threw up her hand. ‘I didn’t mean to say that. But just don’t start getting clever with me.’
‘Not even to stop you hurting someone?’
‘I’m not going to hurt anyone.’
‘Except yourself.’
‘That’s my problem.’
‘Mio Dio, it’s like trying to argue with a hornet. I only said you picked your memories to suit yourself.’
She gave an edgy laugh.
‘If I could do that I’d forget a lot of things. It’s the ones I can’t help remembering that are the problem. Piero’s the wise one. He’s found a way to choose what to remember.’
‘Yes, I guess he has,’ Vincenzo said wryly. ‘And I think I hear him coming, so can we delay our hostilities for another time?’
She walked over to the window, annoyed with herself. For a brief moment she had been at ease with him, regaining human feelings that she had thought lost for ever. Then he had stepped over an invisible line, actually daring to understand her. And he had become an enemy again.
The door opened and Piero appeared.
‘Not today?’ Julia asked sympathetically.
‘Not today,’ he said brightly. ‘Never mind. Maybe next time.’
Abruptly Vincenzo remembered that he had to be somewhere else, clapped Piero on the shoulder, and departed.
Chapter Three
THE next afternoon, while Piero was out, Julia spent the time looking around the great building. The sight was both melancholy and magnificent.
The grandeur was still there. The Counts di Montese had lived like kings, secure in their wealth and authority. Now it was all gone. The rooms were silent and draughts whispered down the corridors.
The walls of the grand staircase were lined with frescoes, leading to a large one at the top, that she now knew was Annina. Watching it gave her a vague sensation of disturbance that grew with every moment. She wanted to run away, but she forced herself to keep climbing until she was facing the painted woman with her wild hair and her tormented eyes. Her heart raced faster and faster; she was suffocating—
And then it stopped. As suddenly as it had started the suffocating misery and terror ceased, leaving her with a feeling of calm release, almost as though someone had laid a comforting hand on her, and said, ‘I’m here. I’ll make it all right.’
The sensation was so clear that she looked around to see who had spoken. It was almost a surprise to find herself alone, the awareness of another presence was so intense.
She moved away from the picture. The disturbing currents that had flowed from it a moment ago had vanished. Now it was just a picture again.
Walking on through the building, she explored the rooms that were almost bare of furniture. She grew more fascinated as she went from room to room. She knew and understood places like this.
She took her time, studying the frescoes on the ceilings, some of which were very fine. Unlike the pictures, they were fixed, impossible to sell without tearing down the building. They gave her an idea of how magnificent this place must have been at its height.
At last she went into the great bedroom where the Count di Montese must have lived and held court. It was empty except for the huge bed and a few chairs, but the sense of grandeur lingered. She looked up at the ceiling frescoes. Then she tensed.
Was it her imagination, or was there a patch where the colours were darker? The afternoon light was fading fast, and she could not be sure.
Hurriedly she found a chair, pulled it out and reached up. By standing on tiptoe she could just touch the patch and feel that it was damp.
And that meant it was recent, she thought. Somehow water was coming through that ceiling right now.
But where did it come from? She ran to the window and pushed it open, leaning out to look up. Just above her was a row of small windows, suggesting an attic.
She hurried out and down the corridor, urgently seeking a way of getting up to the next floor. At last she found a small, plain door that looked as if it might be the one. But it was locked.
There was no time to lose. She was assailed by a vision of water pouring down through ceilings, over walls, unstoppably ruining the beautiful building.
She rattled the door, which was old and shaky on its hinges. There was only one way to do this. Gathering all the strength she could muster, she gave a hard kick, and knew an unbelievable sense of satisfaction when the door gave way.
Oh, the blissful release of one violent action!
She sprinted up the stairs and found herself in the great attic at the top of the building.
It was long and low, and seemed to be used as a store room. There was some furniture here, and what looked like pictures, wrapped in heavy brown paper.
And there, by the wall, was a water tank, with a pipe leading from it across the floor. The pipe was old and broken, and water was pouring from it with terrible inevitability. If not stopped it would flood the floor, soaking down until the whole building was damaged.
Then she set her chin.
‘Not if I have anything to do with it!’ she breathed.
She needed something to wrap around the pipe! But what? Rags would do for now.
A frantic search around the attic revealed nothing of any use, and the water was pooling across the floor, threatening the wrapped pictures that were leaning against the wall.
Her handkerchief was too small. She would have to use her woollen sweater. Wrenching it off, she wound it frantically around the belching pipe, but already water was seeping through.
Something else! Her shirt. She managed to tear this into strips and tie them around the pipe, but the water just kept coming. Soon she would need a torch, as the light was fading every moment.
She must dash downstairs to find something more reliable, and put more clothes on, since with both her sweater and shirt gone she was freezing in her bra. She headed for the door,
but stopped to rush back to the pipe and tighten the rough bandage. Then she raced back to the door, not looking where she was going, and colliding with someone.
At once two strong arms went around her and she fell to the floor with her assailant.
With everything in her she cursed him. It was hard when she was out of breath, but she did her best. She cursed him for delaying her, she cursed him for lying on top of her so that she couldn’t escape the sensation of his big, powerful body against hers. She cursed him for his warm breath on her face and the smell of lemons and olives that came from him. Above all she cursed him for the feel of his loins against hers, and the sweet warmth that was beginning deep inside. She rejected it, she repudiated it, she wanted no part of it. But it was there, and it was all his fault.
‘Get off me,’ she snapped.
As he recognised her voice Vincenzo demanded, ‘What the devil—?’
‘Get off me.’
For a moment he didn’t move. He might have been too thunderstruck to move, lying against her, gasping.
She too was gasping, she realised in outrage. The warmth was becoming heat, spreading through her.
‘I said get off me.’
He did so, moving slowly, as if caught in a dream. In the gloom he pulled her to her feet, but didn’t release her. Looking into his eyes she saw her own sensations mirrored and, perversely, it increased her rage at him.
‘What are you doing up here?’ he asked with difficulty.
‘Trying to stop the place from being wrecked. There’s a burst water pipe up here, and it’s going to flood this building from the top down.’
He seemed dazed. ‘What—what did you say?’
She ground her teeth. Was the house going to be ruined because he couldn’t take in more than one idea at a time?
Then she saw that his gaze was riveted on her, and in the same moment she realised that her bra had become undone in the struggle, slipping down, revealing her full, generous breasts. Furiously she wrenched herself from his grasp, snapping, ‘Can I have your attention please?’
‘You’ve got that,’ he said distractedly.
‘Just you mind your manners.’
That seemed to pull him back to reality.
‘I’m sorry, it must have happened when—it was an accident—’
‘An accident that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t jumped me.’
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting to find you here in a state of undress. Mio Dio, you haven’t brought a man up here, have you?’
‘There’s going to be another accident if you don’t watch it,’ she threatened. ‘One that may leave you unable to walk. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly.’
She had been trying to hook up her bra at the back, but she was too angry to concentrate and it wasn’t working.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘No funny business.’
‘That’s a promise. I’ll count myself lucky to get out of here alive.’
She turned and stood there while he hooked up the ends, his fingers brushing softly against her skin. She braced herself against the sensation on her skin that was already overheated from something that had nothing to do with the winter temperature.
When he’d finished he said meekly, ‘Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing here without being threatened with bodily violence?’
She remembered the broken pipe. In the last few minutes it had receded into unreality.
‘You’ve got a burst pipe up here,’ she said. ‘It could soak the whole place.’
She led him across the floor to where he could see better. As he realised the danger, a violent word, sounding like a curse, burst from him.
He stripped off his scarf and wound it around the pipe. But it too was instantly soaked.
‘Hold it,’ he told her tersely. ‘I’m going to get something safer.’
He stopped just long enough to pull off his jacket and put it about her shoulders. Then he made a run for it.
Julia shrugged her arms into the jacket, which was blessedly warm. She was deeply shaken by the last few minutes.
She’d had it all sussed—or so she’d thought. No hopes, no pity, no sympathy, and above all no feelings, of any kind.
But some feelings were harder to suppress than others. They acted independently of thought and anger, and left a trail of problems.
She set her chin. Problems were made to be overcome.
In a few minutes Vincenzo was back, bearing a roll of heavy, sticky tape.
‘This will hold it for a while,’ he said, winding it around the pipe and the wadding. ‘But we need a plumber.’
He took out his cell phone and dialled. There followed a curt conversation in Venetian.
‘There’ll be someone here in about half an hour,’ he said, switching off. ‘Until then, it’s a case of hanging on and hoping for the best.’
‘Then we’d better move those pictures out of the way,’ Julia said, indicating the wall.
Together they began lifting the pictures off the floor, balancing them on chairs so that they were clear of the water. Some of them were heavy, and after a while they were both breathing hard.
‘Let’s sit down,’ he said.
As he spoke he returned to the pipe, settled beside it and began winding more tape. She went to sit on the other side.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘It’s hard work for someone who’s been ill recently.’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ve been feeling better ever since I kicked the door in.’ She laughed. ‘I think that’s what I’ve really been needing all this time.’
‘To kick a door in?’ he asked, startled.
‘Yes. It’s one of the great healing experiences of life.’ She gave a sigh of satisfaction.
‘Well, it certainly seems to have done you some good,’ he observed. ‘You look more alive than I’ve ever seen you.’
‘I feel it,’ she said.
She was about to stretch luxuriously, but then she realised that this wasn’t safe. Vincenzo was a big man and his jacket hung on her in a manner that revealed a lot, even with the darkness to help her.
And even the darkness didn’t help very much. They were sitting by the window, and enough light came in to make life difficult.
‘How did you come to be up here?’ she asked quickly.
‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ he said, taking elaborate care not to look at her.
‘You first.’
‘I saw the door hanging from one hinge down below. I thought it must have been smashed in by a tank.’
‘No, just little me,’ she quipped lightly.
‘I came up to see what was happening. If it’s not a rude question, how do you come to be here?’
‘I saw the water coming through in the room underneath. It’s ruining the ceiling fresco. Honestly, the clown who owns this place ought to be shot for not looking after it properly.’
‘Really,’ he said with a dry irony that she missed.
‘What a fool he must be,’ she said indignantly, ‘taking stupid risks with the water!’
‘The water is cut off.’
‘But nobody thought to drain that tank, did they? Or check the antiquated pipes.’
‘No, you’re right,’ he said quietly.
‘Well, there you are. He’s an idiot.’
‘Will you stop flailing your arms about like that?’ he demanded. ‘At least, if you want me to behave like a gentleman.’
‘What?’ She looked down at herself and grabbed the edges of the jacket together again. ‘Oh, that!’
‘Yes, oh, that!’ He was looking away from her. ‘Can I turn back?’
‘Sure. No problem. There’s not a lot to me, anyway,’ she declared hilariously.
His mouth twisted in mocking humour. ‘Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?’
Her answer was to pull the edges apart again and look right down, burying her head deep in the gap.
‘Nope,’ she said,
emerging and drawing the edges together again. ‘Nothing there worth looking at. Take my word for it.’
‘If you say so.’
He stared at her, startled by the change that had come into her face. Her eyes were brilliant and she seemed to be almost in a state of exaltation, tossing her long hair back from her face so that Vincenzo had one of his rare chances to see it properly.
Where had the wraith of the last week gone? he wondered. This woman had an almost demonic energy.
‘Anyway, why are you getting so worked up?’ he asked. ‘Why do you care so much?’
‘Everyone should care about great beauty,’ she said firmly. ‘It can’t defend itself. It has to be protected and cherished. It’s not just ours. It belongs to all the people who come after us.’
‘But why do you care so much?’ he persisted. ‘Are you an artist?’
‘I’m—’ The question seemed to bring her up short, like a shot from a gun.
‘That’s not important,’ she resumed quickly. ‘The Count di Montese should be ashamed of himself, and you can tell him I said so.’
‘What makes you think I know him?’
‘You know him well enough to summon a plumber to his house. Of course you might be the caretaker, in which case you’re doing a rotten job. Still,’ she added, tossing him an olive branch, ‘maybe you couldn’t be expected to know about that fresco.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘It’s a genuine Veronese, sixteenth century. I suppose the owner would have sold it off with the rest if it wasn’t painted on the ceiling.’
‘Very possibly,’ he murmured wryly. ‘By the way, the room below this is his bedroom. What shall I say if he asks why you were there?’
‘Tell him he’s lucky I was.’
Vincenzo grinned. ‘I will.’
‘I was just looking around. Snooping, I suppose you’d say.’
He grinned. ‘Yes, I expect I would. If I tell the owner he’ll kick you out.’
‘Then I’ll kick him back,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget my kicking foot has had some practice today. I hope he doesn’t dare to try to make me pay for that door.’
‘He probably will,’ Vincenzo assured her, his eyes dancing. ‘He’s a real stinge.’
A Venetian Affair Page 37