Constance saw him approaching and nudged Amelia. By the time he reached them, the whole room seemed to be watching.
Captain Westwater stood up. ‘Signor Fiscetti, allow me the honour of introducing my wife, Constance Westwater, our dear friends, Dr Bryant and his nephew Theodore, and—’
Constance couldn’t contain herself for another second. ‘This is our dear new friend, Countess Amelia Moore-Hampton, from England - our own English rose, if you will.’ She giggled like a schoolgirl.
Amelia held out her hand and Brendan brought it to his lips and kissed her lightly on the knuckles, noticing with relief that her pale wedding finger was bare. ‘May I have the first dance?’ he asked.
Amelia blushed. He was even more handsome than she had remembered. She returned his gaze as confidently as she could. ‘It would be my pleasure, Signor Fiscetti. I haven’t danced for as long as I can remember.’
He bowed deeply. ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he said, extending a hand to her.
Brendan Fiscetti was a wonderful dancer, and Amelia gradually relaxed in his arms as he steered her through the growing throng of swirling people. After a few moments, he said, ‘Countess Moore-Hampton, I hope that when I threw that rose from the stage I didn’t embarrass you - or indeed the count, if there is...’
She looked into his incredible green eyes. ‘Signor Fiscetti, my husband, Count Moore-Hampton, died almost a year ago now, and it’s been a very long time since anyone paid me that kind of spontaneous attention. I was surprised, naturally, and embarrassed, yes - but only in a good way.’
Her brow furrowed when she spoke of her dead husband, but then her smile returned and restored her beauty. With great relief, Brendan drew her closer. Amelia felt his easy strength as her tiny hand was completely enfolded in his large grip. She felt safer with every second. He was much taller than her - her head rested naturally against his broad shoulder, and they lost themselves in the spinning circles of the music. She shut her eyes and prayed it wasn’t a dream.
Alfredo was surveying the whole thing from a busy corner of the room and his heart darkened with jealousy. He had broken into the kind of cold, clammy sweat normally associated with eating something that didn’t agree with him, but he knew only too well what was wrong, and he was furious with himself for feeling the way he did.
Marla was also discreetly taking in the scene and trying not to fume as the mayor bored her half to death with a long account of his fencing prowess, but she was able to appear cool. Every now and then she stole a little look at her competition, studying the shape of her mouth, the milky sheen of her skin in the ballroom’s soft light or her extraordinary hair. In her green silk gown, Amelia looked like a mysterious queen.
An older woman recognised Alfredo and pulled him onto the dance floor before he had a chance to protest. Once in the whirlpool of dancers, they were drawn ever closer to Brendan and Amelia. Alfredo’s heart was in his mouth. His dancing partner was not a woman to miss an opportunity - she loosened her formidable grip on Alfredo and tapped Amelia on one exposed white shoulder, inquiring if she might cut in for one dance. Amelia was too polite to refuse. After a lightning introduction from Brendan, they swapped partners and she took Alfredo’s sweaty palm.
On and on the couples spun around the room. Alfredo’s aloofness was in stark contrast to Brendan’s intoxicating confidence - he was as stiff as a board and he could hardly look at her - but Amelia recognised shyness when she saw it. She broke the silence. ‘I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed your performance as Baron Scarpia - even though you scared the life out of me!’ At least that made him laugh a little. ‘Your voice reminded me of an oak tree, somehow.’
Alfredo raised an eyebrow. ‘No one has ever suggested that I was wooden before.’ Amelia began to apologise, but he had thawed just enough to reassure her. ‘No, I’m not offended. I’m flattered that you liked my tone so much.’
There was another silence. ‘How long have you known Signor Fiscetti?’ Amelia asked.
Alfredo didn’t want to discuss Brendan with her, but at the same time he could see how sweet and friendly she was, and he wanted to kick himself for being so prickly. ‘We met at the first rehearsal of Tosca, many months ago now.’
‘Is that when you both met Marla too?’ she asked cautiously.
Alfredo could see her vulnerability in all its fragile glory, but he didn’t want to give anything away. ‘Why yes, Countess. None of us knew each other before. But now we’re closer than family. It’s very strange how that can happen. It’s fate of some kind, I suppose. We three are inseparable.’
They fell silent again. The waltz came to an end and the teeming dance floor emptied as quickly as it had filled. Brendan couldn’t get back to Amelia quickly enough. Alfredo, seeing him approach, bowed solemnly to his dance partner and left the floor.
‘Shall we go for a little walk in the gardens?’ he asked. Amelia nodded.
As they descended the stairs, a constant stream of admirers kept approaching Brendan, asking him to sign their Tosca programmes. Finally they reached the stone steps to the private gardens, and Brendan offered Amelia his arm.
The evening air had grown thick with perfume from the magnolia trees. The gardens were scattered with candles set in open-topped glass jars to keep the breeze from snuffing them out. The little columns of white wax lit the way to a circular fountain. Amelia put her hand into the trickling water and touched a few drops to her forehead, and Brendan leaned forward so she could do the same to him. She let her fingers stray momentarily into his thick hair, then, suddenly shy, she turned away to look into the fountain.
‘Are you all right, Countess Amelia?’ he asked softly.
‘I’m not sure, Tenor Brendan.’ He laughed, and she went on, ‘Brendan, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you called me by my first name. I feel old when it’s eclipsed by my title.’
‘I’m sorry, Amelia. Of course I will.’
‘I’m sure you’ve heard this a million times before, and no doubt you’ll hear it again, but your voice...well, it’s just sublime.’
‘Thank you. I feel very privileged, to be honest, to do what I truly love for a living. I can hardly believe that I get invited to travel all over the world to sing - and they pay me, too!’
She laughed.
‘So,’ he asked, ‘do you live here, or are you just passing through? I can hear your English accent, but it’s not North London like mine.’
That made her laugh. ‘My goodness, wouldn’t it be nice to live here, without any cars or buses? No, I’m from Bath originally, and I’ve never been here until today. I’m taking a long cruise - alone. We’ve only just docked here, and the captain and his wife were kind enough to invite me to hear you sing.’
‘What made you decide to take the cruise?’
‘It’s a bit of a story. Do you really want to know?’
‘Of course I do, if you don’t mind telling me.’
‘After my husband was killed, I was all alone in the world. My parents died a long time ago and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I didn’t know which way to turn. For a while I was unwell with grief. When I started to recover, I decided I needed an adventure, so here I am.’
‘How long are you here for?’
‘Just for a few weeks.’
Brendan rubbed his temples. A hundred thoughts were fighting for his attention. ‘Amelia, if you’ll permit me, I would love to go sightseeing with you. We could discover Venice properly together. Could we have lunch tomorrow, and maybe take a trip on a gondola, if you’re not too tired of being afloat?’
She laughed with delight and looked straight into his eyes. ‘That sounds perfect.’
A breeze blew up around them, and as Amelia pulled her grandmother’s wrap more tightly around her shoulders, Brendan caught sight of her sweet vulnerability and his instinct took over. He put his arm gently around her shoulders and pulled her closer, warming her bare arms with long strokes of his hand. She breathed a little sigh of approval and le
aned against him, sending her other arm around the small of his back.
People began to spill onto the steps of the house, lighting cigarettes and getting ready to leave, and Amelia saw Constance and the captain. ‘I should go,’ she said reluctantly. ‘The captain and his wife must be looking for me.’
He turned and looked into her eyes. ‘Before you go, Amelia, can I be bold and ask you something?’
Her heart began to beat faster than ever. ‘Yes, anything.’
He looked around to make sure no one was near and asked softly, ‘Can I kiss you goodnight?’
Amelia’s whole face lit up and she laughed from pure excitement. She looked up at his hopeful expression and put her finger under his chin, as if to steer it down to her own. He moved his hand to the nape of her neck and stroked it gently as her silent permission answered his prayers and their lips joined for the very first time. Little images of her late husband floated in her mind, threatening the moment, but passion blocked them out. She heard the water trickling in the fountain and she felt as though the thorns of Brendan Fiscetti’s rose had pricked her cold heart and all the years of sadness were finally ebbing away.
At last they returned to the surface of the moment, gasping for air. Amelia’s curls were escaping from their clips and falling about her face. She felt as if she had drunk all the champagne in the world. They cuddled under Brendan’s coat like two giddy teenagers and she noticed how wonderful he smelled at such close quarters. They walked, as slowly as possible, back towards the main house. At the bottom of the stone steps, he held her close and whispered, ‘Sweet Amelia’ as he let his chin rest on the soft skein of red curls.
As their gondola pulled away and Brendan waved them off, Constance huddled beside Amelia. ‘Well, well, my dear! That was an evening that will go down in history, don’t you think?’
‘Oh Constance, my head is spinning! It’s like an old movie or something. I’m so grateful that you invited me to join you, or I never would have met him.’
‘I’m so happy for you. I know you two have just met, but, well, call me old-fashioned, but the instant I met my husband I knew he was the one for me. Nobody else would do.’
Amelia had no need of the water to feel like she was floating.
Back on the ship, Amelia paused at her door to look at the deep blue velvet night sky’s choice of jewellery. The highest, most faraway solitaire winked at her with approval, as if it too knew how alone and unreachable someone could feel, regardless of how much they were admired. She wanted to shout out that for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel lonely - Brendan Fiscetti had singled her out, he had asked to kiss her goodnight, and what a kiss it had been!
She winked back at the Venetian constellations and went into her cabin. As she surrendered to sleep, Brendan Fiscetti’s tender kisses still felt fresh on her lips.
Brendan travelled home with Alfredo by river taxi, in complete silence. He was oblivious to the tense atmosphere at first - he was so caught up in the reverberations of Amelia’s kiss - but when Alfredo cleared his throat pointedly, Brendan finally turned his attention to his friend.
‘You look terrible,’ he said, startled. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m exhausted,’ Alfredo answered, trying to get the right balance of neediness and huffiness. ‘I wish we’d never gone to that party. I think all that champagne has upset my stomach.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Brendan said, but his voice sounded absent. His thoughts were on Amelia Moore-Hampton, and Alfredo knew it. A little chill ran up his spine.
Marla was being chauffeured back in the mayor’s private gondola, which was a far more elaborate and luxurious affair. The seats were upholstered in the finest pale blue silk and there was even a canopy that could fold out if need be. As she watched the prow of the boat slide across the dark water, she was struck by the sheer magic of the moment. She felt as if she were travelling in a huge slipper that had belonged to a giant wizard, its curved toe never touching the water. But as she wrapped her shawl more tightly around herself, her thoughts turned to Brendan and his countess. The memory of how attentive he had been to Amelia all through the party ruined the journey for her.
The house was barely lit as she entered the hallway. Glad not to have to talk to anyone, Marla went straight to bed. The two men had done the same. Alfredo had tried to tempt Brendan with a nightcap, but he had declined and headed to his room, where, like both Alfredo and Marla, he reran the evening again and again in his mind.
Over the next week, Brendan Fiscetti and Countess Amelia Moore-Hampton were inseparable. They walked along the milky green water to St Mark’s Square, past the hundreds of little market stalls selling glass rosary beads, lace umbrellas and beautiful hand-painted masks, each one more flamboyant and feathery than the last. They heard the bells ring in the Basilica di San Marco and watched as hundreds of pigeons took to the air and every face in the square turned upwards to look at the magnificent structure. Like two and a half centuries of lovers before them, they sat in the famous Café Florian, drinking coffee and watching a black-tie ensemble play waltzes on a raised platform at the lip of the square.
They were nervous at first, but their nervousness trickled away, afternoon by afternoon, as their conversation came easily and the details of their individual lives began to unfurl. Amelia loved the way Brendan listened to her every word so intently, asking her questions about her childhood in Bath, wanting to know everything about her. She couldn’t help recalling how different her late husband had been. Although they were surrounded by some of the most beautiful architecture in the world, all they could see was each other.
Late one night, as he walked her back to the ship after dinner, she invited him on board for a nightcap. The air was cool and clean, with a stiff breeze, as they made their way along the dimly lit waterways. It was just after one o’clock and the ship’s lounge was heaving with people drinking and dancing. Brendan looked at Amelia, and she shook her head and led him by the hand towards her cabin, nervously ordering champagne as they passed a waiter.
As Amelia searched for her key in her bag, she found that she was trembling, and she knew the breeze wasn’t to blame. Her room was in darkness except for the perfect circle of moonlight coming through the porthole. The cabin was warm, and she lit some candles and put on a collection of Mozart sonatas. The waiter arrived with the champagne. They slipped their shoes off and curled together on the sofa.
He stroked her hair and fed her more champagne. The piano music filled the room. Brendan’s hands moved lower, and he bent his head and kissed his way down to Amelia’s throat. She slid her hand easily into his shirt and found his chest had a thick covering of hair. He exhaled in appreciation as she touched it. He kissed her full on the mouth, and their tongues met. His hand found her breast. ‘Yes, Brendan,’ she whispered, ‘yes, oh, yes...’
She put her hand behind her back to unhook her dress, kissing him all the while, until the hook was finally freed and the top of the dress fell away. Then she did the same to her bra, and he kissed his way down to her nakedness and slowly took one of her nipples in his mouth, playfully at first, then more passionately. Amelia had never experienced anything like it in her life; her whole body was on fire. When he kissed his way back up to her mouth, he looked into her eyes and said, ‘Would you mind if we went somewhere more comfortable?’
She closed her eyes and heard herself say, ‘Yes - yes, my darling. Take me into the bedroom.’
He picked her up easily in his arms and carried her into the barely lit bedroom. She stood up, stepping out of her dress, and Brendan marvelled at the way the moonlight fell on her back. He put his arms around her from behind, and she arched her back as he planted kisses on her neck, then down along her spine. No man had ever touched her in such a loving way, and she was close to tears. She turned around and pulled his loosened shirt over his head, revealing his broad chest. ‘You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,’ she told him. He put his considerable hands on the small of
her back and began massaging her in gentle circular strokes as she undid his belt and helped him take his trousers off. They stood in their underwear, holding each other and swaying to the music. His arousal was obvious, but it was past the time for shyness.
They moved to the bed. In one silent moment they both removed their last pieces of modesty and then lay down side by side, completely naked for the first time. She was fascinated by his hardness, and slowly but surely they began to explore each other’s body while the stars, like their inhibitions, faded one by one.
It was almost morning by the time they finally stopped making love and the best sleep of their lives enfolded them both, without warning.
Alfredo had had a terrible week. One minute he felt fine, and the next he was close to tears at the thought of Brendan and Amelia wandering the beautiful city together. It was all he could do to stop himself from donning some disguise and following them, but he knew the sight of the two lovebirds would only make him feel worse. The fact that he was unable to control his own emotions was the most upsetting thing of all, compounded by the awful fact that, for the first time ever, he dreaded seeing his friend.
Their rooms were too close for comfort now. On the nights when Brendan and Amelia stayed in the house, Alfredo heard them laugh in a muffled way that made him realise they were under the bedcovers, and he had to get up, get dressed and escape his room as quietly as he could. Anywhere was better than listening to the sound of his own heart breaking. He ended up walking the length and breadth of the city, in a daze.
Marla was luckier. She couldn’t hear anything from her top floor, even though, in desperation, she went as far as lying flat on the floor with her ear pressed to a water glass. She found she couldn’t sleep either, so she sought the distraction of her balcony and her Henry James novel, trying not to think about what Brendan and Amelia were up to and wishing she were the one pinned to his bed under the weight of his body. She had known instantly when Brendan and Amelia started having sex. Brendan had come into the theatre that evening with an unmistakable glow about him. His very skin seemed to be singing.
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