A Family For Keeps

by Lucy Gordon

  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.

&nbs
p; '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.'

  She laughed, and her hair fell over her face.

  'Oh, hang it,' she said, flicking it back over her shoulder. Looking around, she noticed a length of string lying on the floor, reached for it and used it to tie her hair back.

  'That's better,' he observed. 'It's nice to be able to see your face.'

  'Yes, people with my sort of forehead should never wear their hair long,' she agreed.

  'What's wrong with your forehead?'

  'It's low,' she said, showing him. 'Most people have foreheads that are high and curve backwards, so if they grow their hair it falls down the sides of their face. But mine's so low that long hair falls forward over my face.'

  He assumed a mock serious air, making a play of inspecting her. 'Yes, I see what you-'

  'What is it?' she asked when he fell silent abruptly.

  'Nothing-that is-I don't know.'

  Once more he'd been assailed by the odd feeling he'd had the first night, that something about her was mysteriously familiar.

  There were sounds coming from outside, voices from the stairs. The next moment Piero appeared, and with him a man carrying a bag of tools.

  'At last,' Vincenzo said, getting to his feet.

  'Mio Dio!' Piero exclaimed, looking around him.

  'Yes, it could have been a disaster but for Julia. Take her downstairs, Piero, and get her warmed up.'

  Julia let herself be led away to the place where there was warmth, and fresh clothes, and hot coffee. Piero laughed heartily at her story, especially the tale of how she'd criticised 'the owner'.

  'It's too bad of Vincenzo not to have told you the truth,' he said. 'He is the owner. His full name is Vincenzo di Montese.'

  'What? You mean he's the count? But I thought he was one of us?' she cried, almost indignant.

  'So he is. What do you think makes us as we are? Is it simply not having a roof over our heads, or is there more?'

  'There's much more,' she said, thinking of the last few years when she'd had a roof over her head, and still been poorer than she was now.

  'Exactly. Vincenzo has his ghosts and demons, just like us. In his case it's virtually everyone or everything he's ever loved. They betray him, they die, or they're taken from him in some other way. As a boy he worshipped his father. He hadn't seen the truth about him then.'

  'What truth?'

  'Sheer brute selfishness. He was a gambler who cared about nothing and nobody as long as he got his thrill at the tables, no matter how huge his losses. People say he went to pieces after his wife died, and it's true he got worse then. But it was always there.

  'The old count stripped this place of its valuables, so that now all Vincenzo owns is the shell. He lost the woman he loved. They were engaged, but the marriage fell through because her family said they didn't want to see her dowry gambled away, and who can blame them?'

  'Didn't they put up a fight if they loved each other?'

  'Vincenzo couldn't put up a fight. He felt that he had so little to offer that it wouldn't be fair. He's a Montese, which means he has the pride of the devil.'

  'But didn't she fight?'

  Piero shrugged. 'Not really. She may have loved him in her own way, but it wasn't a through-thick-and-thin kind of way.'

  'What about him?' Julia wanted to know. 'Did he love her in a through-thick-and-thin kind of way?'

  'Oh, yes. He's an all-or-nothing person. When he gives it's everything. I remember their engagement party, in this very building. Gina was incredibly beautiful and knew how to show herself off. So she climbed those stairs and posed there for everyone to admire. And he stood below, looking up at her, almost worshipping. You never saw a man so radiantly happy.

  'But that same night his father left the party and went to the casino. The amount of money he lost in an hour triggered the avalanche that followed, although I suppose it would have happened anyway.

  'The count took his own life soon after. Having created the mess, he dumped it all on Vincenzo and made his escape. The final selfish betrayal.'

  'Dear God!' she said, shocked. 'You must have known Vincenzo well if you were at the party?'

  'I was there in my capacity as Europe's greatest chef.'

  'Again?' she warned. 'You're repeating yourself.'

  'Ah, yes, I've been a chef before, haven't I? Well, whatever. If you could have seen the look on Vincenzo's face that night-the last time he was ever happy. He loved that woman as few women are ever loved. And when she turned from him something in him died. That part of his life is over.'

  'You mean he's given up women?' Julia asked with a touch of disbelief.

  'Oh, no, quite the reverse. Far too many, all meaningless. He attracts them more easily than is good for him, and forgets them the same way.'

  'Maybe he's the wise one,' Julia murmured.

  'That's what he says, but it's sad to see a man bury the best of himself beneath bitterness. And it's got worse these last few months since he lost his sister, Bianca, the one person left that he could talk to. They were twins and they'd always been very close.

  'She and her husband died in a car crash, only a few months ago, leaving him with her two children to care for. They're all the family he has left now. Everyone and everything gets taken away from him, and now he seems to feel more at home with down-and-outs.'

  They heard Vincenzo and the plumber coming down the stairs, the plumber leaving, and Vincenzo approaching. Julia was standing by the window and he went straight to her, arms wide and eager. Then she was swallowed up in a huge hug.

  'Thank you, thank you!' he said fiercely. 'You'll never know what you've done for me.'

  'Piero's just told me who you are,' she said, struggling to breathe. 'You've got a nerve, keeping a thing like that to yourself.'

  'I'm sorry,' he said unconvincingly. 'I just couldn't resist. Besides, think how much good you did me with that frank assessment of my character. Thank you for everything, Julia-or whoever.'

  It was the first time he'd openly hinted that he doubted her name, and he backed off at once, saying hastily, 'I'm taking you both to supper tonight. Be ready in an hour.'

  He vanished. Julia stood there, wondering at a tinge of embarrassment that had appeared in his manner.

  Her clothes were all six years old, but she was thinner now and could get into them easily. She found a blue dress that was simple enough to look elegant
.

  She had almost nothing in the way of make-up, a touch of pink on her lips, and no more. But it had a transforming effect.

  'That's better,' Piero said when he saw her. 'Let him see how nice you can look.'

  'For heaven's sake, Piero!' she said, suddenly self-conscious. 'I'm not going on a date. What about you? Are you dressing up in your Sunday best?'

  Top hat and tails,' he said at once. 'What else?'

  But when Vincenzo, smartly dressed in a suit, called for them Piero was still in his coat tied up with string.

  'Are we going to your own restaurant?' he asked.

  'We are.'

  'Are you sure you should be taking me there, dressed like this?'

  'Quite sure,' Vincenzo said, with the warmest smile she had ever seen from him. 'Now let's go.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vincenzo's restaurant was called Il Pappagallo, the par-rot, and stood down a street so narrow that Julia could have touched both sides at once. The lights beamed out onto the wet stones, and through the windows she could see an inviting scene.

  It was a small place with perhaps a dozen tables, lit by coloured lamps. A glance at the diners showed Julia why Piero had been reluctant to come here among those well-dressed people. But Vincenzo had overruled him for friendship's sake, and she liked him for it.

  He led them inside and right through the restaurant to the rear door, which he opened, revealing more tables outside.

  'Normally we couldn't eat outside at this time of year,' he said, 'but it's a mild night, and I think you'll enjoy the view of the Grand Canal.'

  She had partly seen it before through the palazzo windows, but now she saw the whole wide expanse, busy with traffic. Behind the vaporetti and the gondolas rose the Rialto Bridge, floodlit blue against the night sky.

  'Let me take your order,' Vincenzo said. 'I think we'll start with champagne because this is a celebration.'

  She'd forgotten what champagne tasted like. She'd forgotten what a celebration was.

  'We serve the finest food in Venice,' Vincenzo declared, and a glance at the menu proved it.