Czytaj książkę: «A Venetian Affair»

A Venetian Affair
Catherine George
Susan Stephens
Lucy Gordon

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A Venetian Passion

by

Catherine George

Catherine George was born in Wales, and early on developed a passion for reading which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the UK. and instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera and browse in antiques shops.

Chapter One

THE flight from Heathrow was punctual. For this at least he was thankful. His eyes smouldered. If any other man—or woman—had asked him to meet the plane in person he would have refused. With impatience he scanned the new arrivals streaming through the Marco Polo concourse. Many of them were young women with fair hair, but none seemed to be travelling alone. At last he saw a solitary female figure hurrying in his direction, dragging a small suitcase on wheels. His eyes narrowed. It could be. A white cotton sunhat was pulled low over a face hidden by enormous sunglasses, but she was young, small, and the rope of hair hanging down her back was most definitely blonde.

‘Miss Green?’ he said, moving to intercept her.

She turned warily. ‘Yes?’

‘Welcome to Venice.’ He bowed slightly. ‘I am Domenico Chiesa, from the Forli Group. Signor Lorenzo Forli, the Presidente, asked me to meet you.’

She smiled in surprise. ‘Really? How very kind of him.’

It is even kinder of me, he thought irritably. ‘Come. You need a ticket for the vaporetto.’ He hurried her to the office near the exit. ‘The No.1 Aligaluna waterbus leaves almost at once.’ He bought a ticket and handed it over with a diagram showing the route from the Piazza San Marco to her hotel. ‘This will help you find the Locanda Verona, Miss Green.’

She smiled politely as she accepted it. ‘Thank you. Goodbye.’

‘I regret—’ he began, but she was already hurrying away to the quayside. He stared after her, lips compressed. He had been about to say he was too busy to make the journey with her, but the lady, it seemed, had not expected—or desired—him to do that. His eyes darkened as he boarded a water taxi. He had been forced to leave a very difficult situation to come to Marco Polo, but he had dutifully guided the lady to the right vaporetto and given her directions to the hotel he had personally arranged for her. Yet her gratitude had been all for Lorenzo Forli, who had merely given orders from group headquarters in Florence. Here in Venice Miss Laura Green had virtually ignored the man who had taken time he could not spare to meet her.

Unaware that she’d given offence, Laura managed to find a space at the rail of the vaporetto to get the best view, deeply grateful to Lorenzo Forli for arranging her trip to Venice. She knew from the guidebook that this particular boat travelled down the Grand Canal slowly enough for passengers to gaze at the architecture, and she settled down to enjoy every second of the journey as each ancient, fragile building and palazzo succeeded another, some seeming almost to lean together for support. Amazing! It was her first visit to Venice, yet everything seemed so extraordinarily familiar, as though she’d been here before. The media was responsible for the déjà vu feeling, of course. Venice was the most filmed and photographed city on the planet.

Laura’s excitement mounted as she saw the famous bell tower soaring high above Piazza San Marco, and when the boat docked she was among the first of the stream of passengers to pass the lion of St Mark high on his pillar. As she reached the piazza she gazed in awe at the oriental extravagance of the Basilica as she threaded through the crowds clustered at its central entrance, and looked with longing down its great length. She couldn’t wait to explore this fabulous square, but right now the first priority was to find the Locanda Verona. Her Italian lessons at school had never actually been put into practice, so even if she managed to ask directions there would be no earthly chance of understanding a reply. Laura checked with the diagram, settled her canvas satchel across her chest, and trundled her suitcase through the tourists and pigeons to cross the vast, arcaded piazza. To her delight the pair of bronze Moors on the clock tower struck the hour as she neared the arch below them, and she stopped to watch before passing through on her way to the famous Mercerie, where she’d read that shops tempted visitors all the way to the Rialto. But not this visitor right now, she thought with regret. According to the brusque Mr Chiesa’s diagram her hotel was situated somewhere beyond in the network of narrow streets called calles, where the canals were spanned by the famous bridges of Venice. And eventually, after only a couple of wrong turnings, Laura found a bridge that led her right to the door of the hotel.

The Locanda Verona was a small guest house with ochre-coloured walls and typical Venetian windows, and, most important of all to Laura, surprisingly affordable charges for the San Marco area. The high-ceilinged reception hall was blessedly cool after the late afternoon heat and the smile of the handsome woman at the desk reassuringly friendly as she introduced herself in careful English as Maddalena Rossi, wife of the owner. Once the usual formalities were over she conducted Laura to a room on the top floor.

‘The room is small, but you have your own bathroom, Miss Green,’ Signora Rossi announced, unlocking the door. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here.’

‘I can’t fail to be!’ Laura gazed in delight at the vaulted, wood-beamed ceiling and the Botticelli print over the pristine white of the bed.

Signora Rossi moved past the bed to a pair of narrow, half-glazed doors and with a flourish opened them onto a small roof garden. ‘Here is your view.’

Laura took in a deep breath as she looked down on the picturesque buildings lining the canal below. ‘And what a wonderful view it is! Thank you very much indeed.’

Looking pleased, the signora reminded Laura that meals were not provided. ‘But there are many eating places close by. Information on these can be obtained at the reception desk.’

After a call home to her mother to report safe arrival, Laura unpacked, took a swift shower, then got to work with a hot brush until her hair was dry enough to coil up in a smooth twist. She made up her face with the speed of long practice, put on a plain black dress packed as a safe choice for eating out alone in Venice, and went downstairs to tell Signora Rossi where she was going as she left her key at the desk. At last, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, Laura went out into the warm evening and crossed the bridge over the canal to find her way back through the picturesque alleys to the Piazza San Marco. Her goal was the famous Café Florian, where she knew one could sit at a table and listen to the house orchestra, all for the price of coffee or wine. But for her first night only Laura meant to lash out on a snack of some kind as well, whatever it cost, to celebrate her arrival in Venice.

A waiter led her to a table in the open air at exactly the right distance from the orchestra in its bower of greenery, and in the careful, schoolgirl Italian she’d been practising all the way to the piazza Laura asked for mineral water and a cheese and ham sandwich. Maybe she’d go wild and have coffee later, but right now she was content just to sit here in the floodlit magnificence of the square and listen to the hum of multi-lingual conversation blending with the music. When the waiter brought her order she made her tramezzino last as long as possible while she watched the passing show of people enjoying a leisurely evening stroll through the great square. Some were couples, others entire groups who stopped to talk with friends, with much kissing of cheeks and children part of the scene. Laura gazed at it all with intense pleasure, so absorbed that at first the sound of her own name failed to register.

‘Miss Green?’ repeated a deep, husky voice. ‘Buona sera.’

Laura turned sharply to see Domenico Chiesa looking down at her, an arrested look on his face.

She smiled, surprised. ‘Good evening.’

He returned the smile with warmth and charm very different from the impatience that had radiated from him at the airport. ‘I called first at the Locanda Verona. Signora Rossi told me you would be here. I trust that everything is to your satisfaction at the hotel?’

Laura assured him that it was. And now she had attention to spare for Domenico Chiesa found he was worth looking at. Shoulders broad, hips slim, waving dark hair cut as perfectly as the superb suit he wore. And without the dark glasses his oval, heavy-lidded eyes were a striking aquamarine blue with a look in them that told her he was well aware of every last one of his physical assets.

‘I was so intent on the passing show in the piazza I didn’t see you arrive,’ she told him.

‘And I startled you. To make amends may I offer you wine, or coffee?’

Laura hesitated for a moment, then thought, Why not? ‘Thank you. I’d like a caffè macchiato, please.’

‘Your accent is most charming,’ he told her, and raised a slim hand. He gave the order to the waiter, then indicated the chair next to Laura’s and said, ‘Permesso?’

‘Of course.’ What else could she say? Besides, no woman in her right mind would turn down attractive male company in surroundings like these, with a moon overhead and music playing.

‘So, Miss Green,’ he said, after their coffee arrived, ‘what is your first impression of my city?’

Laura looked round her at the glittering, extravagantly beautiful Piazza San Marco. ‘I’ve seen it countless times in films and television programmes, but Venice for real is breathtaking.’

‘I am glad it pleases you.’

‘I would be very hard to please if it didn’t!’ She sipped her coffee with relish. ‘A friend told me to make Florian’s my first call, Signor Chiesa.’

‘A wise choice.’ He smiled at her. ‘But, please, my name is Domenico.’

‘As you know, I’m Laura,’ she said, returning the smile.

‘So, Laura, what are your plans for tomorrow?’

‘Just to wander round your amazing city.’ She put down her empty cup.

‘You wish for more coffee?’ he said at once.

She shook her head. ‘It was delicious, but no more, thank you.’

He smiled persuasively. ‘Join me in a glass of Prosecco instead.’

Once again there was no way to refuse. Besides, Laura reminded herself, he was probably just acting on instructions. Fen had said that Lorenzo would order some underling to make the holiday arrangements—though anyone less like an underling than Domenico Chiesa was hard to imagine.

‘Salute!’ he said, raising his glass to her once the Prosecco had arrived. ‘Do you know Signor Forli well?’

‘I’ve just met him at my friend’s house a couple of times. He’s married to her sister.’ She drank some of her wine. ‘Do you live here in Venice?’

He nodded. ‘All my life. Where is your home?’

‘My family’s home is in the country in Gloucestershire, but I work and live in London.’

‘And what do you do there, Laura?’ he asked, and listened with flattering attention as she gave a brief description of her work as researcher at a Docklands investment bank.

‘I am impressed,’ he told her, then with a sigh of regret finished his wine and rose to his feet. ‘Now I must return to my own duties. But first allow me to escort you back to the Locanda Verona.’

Laura shook her head, smiling. She’d said yes to him quite enough. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll stay on and listen to the orchestra a little longer. Thank you for the drinks, Signor—’

‘Domenico, per favore!’ He smiled down into her eyes. ‘Buona sera, Laura.’

‘Goodnight.’

Laura watched him walk away, amused by the touch—more than a touch—of arrogance in his bearing. She’d noticed it in all the native male population she’d seen so far, including the waiters. It was obviously a man thing, Venetian style. She watched him until he was out of sight, and after a while, no longer enjoying the evening quite so much now she was alone, looked round for her missing bill. She bent to look under the table, then signalled to a waiter.

‘Il conto, per favore?’

‘Scusa?’ he said, puzzled.

Oh, boy, thought Laura. ‘Do you speak English?’ she asked hopefully.

‘A little,’ he said with caution.

‘I’ve lost my bill, and I want to pay.’

‘Ah!’ His face cleared. ‘It is paid, signorina.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘All of it?’

‘Yes, signorina.’

Surprised, Laura gave him a tip, wished him goodnight and strolled slowly back to the Locanda Verona.

Laura woke early next morning, stared blankly for a moment at the wood-beamed ceiling, then grinned like the Cheshire cat. She was in Venice! She got out of bed and stood at the glass doors, stretching luxuriously as she gazed at the view. First on the agenda was breakfast. She hadn’t eaten much in the way of dinner last night. And what she had eaten Domenico had paid for, she thought guiltily. But whatever he did at his hotel he obviously earned a good salary by the way he dressed. Besides, she probably came under the heading of expenses claimed from Lorenzo Forli.

In jeans and white T-shirt, her hair in a loose braid down her back, Laura went downstairs to ask about the nearest source of breakfast. Armed with directions from Signora Rossi, she found the small bar recommended and ordered coffee and an almond croissant to enjoy while she consulted her guidebook. Some intensive window-shopping was first on the agenda before she actually bought any presents to take home. She finished her coffee, put on dark glasses and sunhat and went off to spend time gazing in jewellers’ windows in the arcades of the Piazza San Marco before salivating over the gorgeous clothes in the stylish shops just off it. Later, remembering to keep to the right among the crush of fellow tourists, she set out on an immensely enjoyable tour of the famous Mercerie, and did her best to look in every shop and boutique all the way to the Rialto. When she reached the famous bridge at last she wandered, fascinated, round the colourful food markets for a while before stopping at a small bar nearby. She ordered mineral water and a roll stuffed with roast ham, and ate standing up again, because her guidebook said it was cheaper than sitting at a table. But after lunch her feet began to complain, and Laura lost her zest for window-shopping. The walk to the Locanda Verona in the afternoon heat seemed so much longer on the way back that her first priority when she got to her room was a long, cool shower followed by a read on her bed, with her hair spread out on a towel over her shoulders to dry.

The read turned into a siesta and when Laura woke the afternoon was gone. She slid out of bed in a rush, annoyed at wasting so much time in it, and stooped to pick up an envelope that someone had pushed under her door while she was sleeping. Her eyebrows shot to her hair as she read the brief note inside. Domenico Chiesa requested the pleasure of her company at dinner that evening and would call for her at eight. And he was so sure she’d be delighted with the idea there was no address or contact number on the note for her reply. She whistled inelegantly. He’d changed his tune a bit since their first encounter! He’d hustled her off to the boat at the airport as though he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. Yet he’d turned up at Florian’s later, apparently just to make sure all was well with her—Lorenzo’s idea, probably. She shrugged. She was on such a tight budget that dinner with a handsome Venetian was an offer she’d be mad to refuse. But delightful though her small room might be she had no intention of staying put in it until he called for her.

Laura spent more time than usual on her face, then, mindful of Fen’s advice to dress to kill if she went somewhere special, put on the second of her three dresses, a silky sheath the colour of ripe raspberries. She piled her hair up in an artfully precarious knot that took ages to get right, clipped on gold filigree earrings and went downstairs to leave a message for Domenico Chiesa at the reception desk.

Laura strolled out into the warm evening with a smile on her face as she pictured the self-assured Domenico’s reaction when he found the bird had flown. Not that she was flying far—just to Florian’s again to watch the world go by until he came to find her. If he came at all. If his original attitude was anything to go by his male Venetian pride might well be offended because she hadn’t stayed put to wait for him. Though why he’d made the invitation in the first place was a mystery. Lorenzo’s instructions to look after her could hardly have gone that far.

Domenico Chiesa could have told her precisely why as he made for the Locanda Verona later. At the airport Miss Laura Green had been so eager to board the vaporetto she had paid no attention to him at all. Such treatment from a woman was new to him, and instead of amusing him, as it would have done any other time, her indifference had irritated him. But later that evening he’d had a drink with a friend in the San Marco area, and on impulse called at the Locanda Verona afterwards to check that all was well with the girl—and to make a better impression, he admitted, laughing at himself. But when he’d eventually found her it had taken much control to hide his surprise.

At Marco Polo her face had been hidden by the hat and glasses. But at Florian’s he’d discovered that her mouth curved delightfully as she smiled, and the dark amber shade of her eyes was unexpected below the shining coil of flaxen hair. Her face had too much character for mere beauty, possibly, but she possessed that indefinable something he found so desirable in a woman he had automatically set out to charm. Then she had given him the second surprise of the evening by refusing his escort to her hotel—another first in his experience. The cool Miss Laura Green was most definitely a challenge. Domenico’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. As first step in the warming-up process he would impress her by taking her to Harry’s Bar, the Mecca of all foreign visitors. Then later, when she was mellow with good food and wine, he would provide the finishing touch to the evening with a moonlit ride in a gondola.

Domenico strode into the modest little hotel like Caesar bent on conquering Gaul. Then stared in disbelief when he heard that the young lady had gone out.

‘Cosa?’

Signora Rossi smiled apologetically and handed him a note.

Domenico thanked her, read the brief missive, and after bidding the signora good evening strode outside again, eyes stormy, strongly tempted to leave Miss Laura Green sitting alone at Florian’s all evening. But his irritation vanished when he found her in the piazza. She sat, composed, watching the evening parade, the vibrant colour of her dress the perfect foil for her gleaming hair. Tonight she had knotted this up in a sexy, insecure arrangement that looked as though one touch of a lover’s hand would bring it tumbling down. Escaping tendrils lay on her neck in the exact place that invited the touch of a man’s lips, and to Domenico’s surprise he found he strongly objected to the admiring male glances she was attracting as she sipped from a long glass.

Unknown to him Laura had spotted Domenico the moment he appeared in the piazza. She’d monitored his progress from the corner of her eye, admiring the perfection of his pale linen suit and beautiful shoes. But she waited until he reached her table before looking up with a cool little smile to say hello.

‘Buona sera.’ He returned the smile reproachfully. ‘You did not wait for me.’

She shrugged in apology. ‘I left a message for you with Signora Rossi. My stay in Venice is too short to waste it in my room.’

‘Your room is not satisfactory?’ he demanded.

‘Quite the reverse; it’s charming. But when your note arrived I’d already spent the entire afternoon there. In bed.’ Laura smiled into the spectacular blue eyes. ‘After a morning of relentless window-shopping I slept far longer than I intended.’

He took the chair beside her. ‘You will drink Prosecco, yes?’

The man took a lot for granted! Laura eyed him in amusement as he gave the order. Domenico Chiesa was too sure of himself by half.

‘So, Laura,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘You looked in shop windows. Did you buy anything?’

‘Not today. My plan was to look first and buy later, but I saw so many things I lusted after I can’t remember where I saw what. If you see what I mean,’ she said, smiling.

‘You do not think my English sufficient to understand?’ he demanded.

‘I think your English is wonderful,’ she said hastily. ‘I just wish I could speak Italian a fraction as well.’

The blue eyes gleamed. ‘I could teach you.’

I bet you could, thought Laura, and not just syntax, either. She smiled regretfully. ‘I’m not staying long enough for that.’

The waiter arrived with the wine, and Domenico sat back in his chair, contemplating her over the rim of his glass in silence for a moment or two. ‘Tell me, Laura Green,’ he said at last, ‘is there someone in London waiting with impatience for your return?’

‘You mean a man?’

‘Naturalmente.’ He looked at her small, capable left hand. ‘I see no ring, but you must have a lover. How could you not?’ he added matter-of-factly.

She looked him in the eye. ‘Are you always this direct with someone you’ve just met?’

‘No,’ he said, and smiled disarmingly. ‘But you interest me, Laura. If you do not wish to answer, I understand,’ he added.

She hesitated, reluctant to discuss something so personal. But after skipping off earlier instead of waiting for Domenico it seemed best not to offend again. ‘There’s no one right now,’ she said at last. ‘There was someone until quite recently, a doctor in the training stage in a hospital, but not a lover the way you mean.’

‘Ah!’ He nodded, satisfied. ‘You did not love him with passion.’

The outrageously personal statement was so accurate Laura nodded wryly. ‘Romance just isn’t my thing. I’m the strictly practical type.’

‘You will meet someone one day who will change all that,’ he assured her, and got to his feet. ‘Come. It is time to eat.’

Laura felt a pang of remorse as he paid for the wine. ‘Domenico, I do apologise. I haven’t thanked you yet for paying my bill last night. You shouldn’t have done that, but it was very kind of you.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ he said casually, and glanced down at her feet. ‘You can walk in those delightful shoes?’

‘How far?’

‘Only to Harry’s Bar. It is quite near.’

‘No problem, then,’ she said, impressed. Her holiday budget wouldn’t stretch to meals in such exalted places.

Domenico Chiesa did not, it was obvious, suffer from the same problem. When he ushered Laura through a surprisingly unimpressive door and took her upstairs, the head waiter in Harry’s Bar greeted him by name. The dining room was plain by Venetian standards, with half-panelled walls and large black and white photographs of American landmarks, but it was full except for the table reserved for Signor Chiesa.

‘The restaurant is a little austere, and there is no terrace, but it never lacks for patrons,’ Domenico told her.

‘I can see that,’ said Laura, eyeing the crowded room. ‘I know that Hemingway and Churchill used to come here, but are there any celebrities around tonight?’

‘None that I know,’ he said dismissively.

Her eyes danced. ‘You mean that if Domenico Chiesa doesn’t know them they’re not celebrities?’

‘You are mocking me,’ he accused, laughing. ‘And now,’ he added as a waiter set glasses in front of them, ‘you must taste the cocktail first created here.’

‘A Bellini?’ said Laura, eyeing the drink with respect.

Domenico raised his glass. ‘Enjoy.’

Enjoy was the right word, she thought as she tasted the famous mix of fresh white peach juice and sparkling Prosecco. ‘Mmm, fabulous!’

‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Now, tell me what you like to eat.’

Choosing their meal was a serious business. When Laura firmly refused a first course Domenico described the main dishes in detail, teasing her because she wasn’t brave enough to try carpaccio, the raw, marinated beef of his own choice. Eventually, after much discussion, she settled for pasta baked with prosciutto, and enjoyed it enormously, but shook her head regretfully when Domenico suggested the house speciality of rich chocolate cake for dessert afterwards.

‘Thank you, but I couldn’t eat another thing.’

‘Then we shall drink coffee while you tell me your plans for tomorrow.’

‘I thought I’d go shopping for presents before I make a start on the local culture. I want something special for my mother, my sister, and my closest friend,’ she said, ticking off her fingers, ‘and inexpensive things—if there are such things in Venice—for friends at the bank.’ She smiled at him. ‘Any advice for the tourist would be welcome.’

Domenico gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled back. ‘I can do more than that. Tomorrow I shall show you the best places to find your souvenirs of Venezia.’

Laura looked at him in silence for so long he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

‘Domenico,’ she said at last, ‘why are you doing this?’

‘This?’ he repeated innocently.

She nodded. ‘I can’t believe that Lorenzo Forli asked you to go to such lengths to look after me!’

‘This is true,’ he admitted. ‘He asked me to arrange a hotel, meet you at the airport and escort you to the vaporetto, and afterwards check to see that you were happy with your hotel.’ The spectacular eyes locked with hers. ‘I did as he wanted. But now, Laura, I am doing what I want.’

She held the gaze steadily. ‘In that case I need to ask you the question you asked me.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Is there someone in your life?’

‘No.’ He shrugged an expressive shoulder. ‘There was. Now there is not.’

‘Snap,’ she said, sighing.

‘Snap? What is this?’

‘It means the same thing. I recently had someone in my life, too, but not any more.’

Domenico’s eyes softened. ‘This makes you sad, Laura?’

She shook her head. ‘Relieved, not sad. I’d known Edward for years, but not as well as I thought. I had no idea he was into embarrassing romantic gestures.’

There was a pause while coffee was served.

‘I am very curious,’ said Domenico, leaning nearer when they were alone. ‘What did this romantic man do?’

‘He took me out to dinner one night. But when the waiter took the lid off a serving dish there was a diamond ring sitting there instead of the salmon I’d asked for.’ Laura shuddered. ‘And right there in front of all the other diners Edward went down on one knee and asked me to marry him.’

‘Dio! What did you do?’

‘There was no way I could possibly humiliate him in public so I let him put the ring on my finger and kiss me, and everyone applauded.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘When I handed the ring back in the taxi afterwards Edward rejected my offer of friendship pretty violently. So we don’t see each other any more.’

‘This does not surprise me. When a man is in love it is not friendship he desires from his woman.’ Domenico got up suddenly. ‘Mi scusi, Laura, I must leave you for a moment.’

Laura watched him cross the room to speak to a waiter, who nodded quickly, pocketed the money he was given, and left the dining room. When Domenico rejoined her he pressed her to more coffee, but she shook her head.

‘Nothing else, thank you. It was such a wonderful meal. Thank you for bringing me here.’

‘Thank you for the pleasure of your company.’

Laura had expected to walk back to her hotel the way she came, via the floodlit Piazza San Marco, but Domenico took her back along silent, dimly lit alleys punctuated by bridges. He pointed out landmarks and gave her the names of the different calles as they strolled, and eventually, when they were on territory that was beginning to feel familiar, he paused on a bridge to point out the moon’s reflection in the water.

‘By day it is best not to linger on our bridges, but at night when it is quiet we may do so for a moment. In the past there were no railings,’ he informed her. ‘This meant taking much care at night.’

She gave a sudden chuckle, and he took her hand and looked down into her face.

‘What amuses you, Laura?’

‘I was just thinking that to a practical soul like me your city is too romantic for words, Domenico.’

‘Ah, but Venezia is not always kind to us as she is tonight,’ he assured her. ‘We have fog and rain and floods in winter.’

‘I can’t imagine it right now.’

‘Then you must come back again to Venice and see for yourself,’ he said, and drew her nearer.

‘I must get back to the hotel right now,’ she said hastily.

‘Let us say goodnight here first.’ He took her gently by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks, looked down into her eyes for a moment, then bent his head to capture her mouth in a kiss of unexpected tenderness.

‘I was told that I’d have no problem with the average Italian male,’ she said breathlessly when he raised his head. Not that there was anything average about Domenico Chiesa.

He smiled and took her hand to resume walking. ‘One kiss is a problem?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘It will be a problem for me if you now refuse my assistance with your shopping.’

‘I won’t.’ Laura grinned at him and he laughed, his hand tightening on hers. ‘Find me bargains and I forget the kiss.’

‘But I shall not,’ he said, with such a theatrical sigh she laughed at him.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘It is the truth,’ he assured her. ‘I shall lie awake all night thinking of the touch of your lips against mine.’

She chuckled. ‘And where will you spend this sleepless night? At the hotel you work in?’

He shook his head. ‘I have a small apartment right here in San Marco. Tonight I shall sleep—or not sleep—only a short distance away from you, Miss Laura Green.’ He smiled down at her and raised her hand to his lips. ‘I have enjoyed this evening very much. I shall call for you at nine tomorrow and we shall eat breakfast together. Sleep well.’

Chapter Two

LAURA found it hard to sleep at all for a while. The long afternoon nap was partly to blame, but Domenico’s kiss had rather more to do with it. She frowned in the darkness. If this was the effect Venice was having on her it was a good thing she wasn’t staying long.

After her restless night Laura woke late next morning and rushed through a shower, slapped on moisturiser and lipstick, wove her hair into a loose braid, pulled on a mint-green T-shirt and white cotton trousers and raced down to the reception hall to find Domenico, in jeans with a shirt that matched his eyes, talking to Signora Rossi.

‘Buon giorno, Laura,’ he said, smiling, and took away what breath she had left by kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a baby,’ she lied.

‘Then let us begin.’

During breakfast, which she enjoyed all the more for sitting down to eat it, Laura told Domenico what she had in mind.

‘I’ve been reading up about shopping in my guidebook, so I’ve made a list. First priority is a pair of the velvet slippers worn here for Carnival for my mother.’

‘And for your father?’

Her eyes fell. ‘My father’s dead.’

‘Mi dispiace!’ said Domenico swiftly, and laid his hand on hers.

‘You didn’t know. Now,’ she added briskly, ‘where do we start?’

Shopping with Domenico Chiesa was a very pleasant experience. He took Laura to places she would have had no hope of finding on her own, and seemed to enjoy it all as much as she did. He hunted down an authentic gold carnival mask, helped Laura choose pretty, inexpensive Venetian glass earrings and T-shirts in vivid colours printed with the Venezia logo, and at last took her to the stalls at the foot of the Ponte delle Guglie on Strada Nuova for crimson velvet slippers for her mother.

‘And now,’ said Domenico firmly, just when Laura felt ready to drop rather than shop any more, ‘we must eat.’

She gave him a pleading look. ‘Domenico, please let me pay for lunch.’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘It is already arranged. And you are tired so we shall go by water taxi.’

A journey in a sleek white motorboat was such a different experience from one by vaporetto the journey was over far too soon for Laura.

‘Thank you, that was fun,’ she said as Domenico helped her off the boat. ‘But I know it was also expensive so I hope we’re eating in a cheaper place than Harry’s Bar.’

‘I can assure you that we are. With your permission I shall give you lunch in my private retreat.’

Domenico’s retreat was an apartment in a converted palazzo, with a view of the Grand Canal and the Santa Maria della Salute church. When he ushered her into a compact sitting room with tall windows and apricot walls Laura felt a stab of envy as she took in the gleaming wood floors and white-covered sofas, the shelves with books and the mirrors everywhere.

‘This is just lovely.’

‘I am glad you like it.’ He laid her shopping bags on one of the sofas. ‘I thought you might prefer a quiet meal here in peace after your shopping.’

Domenico’s dining room was small, but opened onto a balcony with a view of the Grand Canal. He set a meal on the table with speed and efficiency, which impressed Laura as she sat down to Fontina cheese and San Daniele ham served with ripe red tomatoes and salad leaves.

‘This is perfect. Exactly what I need. Shopping is tiring, even here in Venice.’ She smiled at him gratefully as she buttered a roll. ‘I’m so grateful for your help, Domenico. You took me to places I wouldn’t have found on my own.’ And because of it she had spent far less money than expected.

‘I was happy to help,’ he assured her. ‘Would you like wine?’

‘Water, please. If I drink wine at this hour I’ll need another sleep, and it’s a sin to waste too much time in Venice in bed!’

‘Alone, certainly,’ he agreed, and laughed at her look. ‘Laura, per favore! Is that one small, sweet kiss to blame for such dark suspicion? I intend you no harm, I swear.’

‘Oh, I know that!’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘If you did the boss wouldn’t like it.’

He looked blank. ‘The boss?’

‘Lorenzo Forli!’

‘Ah, yes.’ He got up to take her plate. ‘Now, then, Miss Laura Green, I shall make coffee while you rest in the salotto.’

‘I could help wash the dishes,’ she offered, but he shook his head.

‘My machine will do that. I shall not be long.’

Laura was standing at one of the tall windows, looking down on the busy waterway, when Domenico came in with a tray. She turned to him with a smile. ‘What a priceless view!’

‘I am often told I would make much money if I rented my apartment to visitors.’

‘You don’t like the idea?’

He shook his head as he poured coffee. ‘I am constantly surrounded by people at the hotel, therefore I have much need of my private retreat when time allows. Which is not often enough, alas.’

Laura sat down and took the cup he offered her. ‘Domenico?’

‘Sì?’

‘Tell me to mind my own business, if you like, but I can’t help feeling curious. When we were discussing my love life—or lack of it—you kept pretty quiet about your own.’

‘Because it is embarrassing.’ He shrugged, and sat down beside her. ‘It is no secret. I was engaged to be married while still young, but my fidanzata changed her mind.’

‘How did you feel about that?’

‘Angry.’

Laura looked at him curiously. ‘Only angry?’

His face hardened. ‘A week before our wedding day Alessa ran away with my oldest friend.’

‘Oh, bad luck,’ she said with sympathy, and to her relief Domenico let out a crow of laughter.

‘That is so British!’ He shook his head. ‘My fidanzata deserts me for another man and all you can say is bad luck?’

‘What would you like me to say?’

‘You say, ‘‘Domenico, my heart bleeds for you’’,’ he said promptly. ‘Then you comfort me with many kisses.’

‘Oh, right—that’s going to happen!’

He smiled at her soulfully. ‘I wish so much that it would!’

‘When was this, by the way?’

‘Ten years ago.’

‘Then your heart can’t still be bleeding! Have you seen the lady since?’

‘Many times. Since her marriage Alessa has gained three children and several kilos in weight.’ Domenico gave her a wicked grin. ‘And I have received a little comfort from other ladies over the years to assuage my sorrow.’

‘I bet! Anyway, I thought you were angry, not sorrowful.’

He was suddenly serious. ‘Mario was my friend. He should have faced me with the truth instead of running away with Alessa like a criminal.’

‘Probably they both felt like criminals for hurting you.’

He shrugged. ‘Those hurt most were Alessa’s parents. They wanted the marriage very much.’

‘Because you were a good catch for their daughter?’

‘They know my family,’ he said simply, as though that explained it. ‘Alessa comes from a long line of aristocrats with very little money, and she has two younger sisters. As soon as Alessa left school she was pushed into marriage with someone suitable able to provide for her.’

‘Did you know she was being pushed?’

His mouth twisted. ‘Of course not. In my arrogance I believed she was madly in love with me. She was very sweet, very pretty. Not long after our first meeting we became engaged, and her parents arranged the wedding.’

‘Couldn’t they have gone through with it with a different bridegroom?’ asked Laura.

Domenico looked amused. ‘A practical idea, but not possible. Alessa and Mario were already married by the time they returned to Venice. Their first son was born seven months later,’ he added, shrugging.

‘Ah. But in that case surely you must have wondered if the child—’ She stopped dead. ‘Sorry! Forget I said that.’

His lashes came down like shutters. ‘The child could not have been mine. Alessa had insisted that we must be married before we made love.’

Laura’s eyes widened. ‘And you went along with that?’

He shrugged. ‘She was so young and shy and—I believed—inexperienced, that I respected her wish.’

‘Yet all the time she was sleeping with your best friend. No wonder you were angry.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘But this was a long time ago. And there must have been other women in your life since then.’

‘Of course. I am wary of marriage, not women.’ He waved a hand at the room. ‘I have this apartment, I enjoy my work, I travel, and in winter I indulge my passion for skiing. My life suits me very well.’

‘So does mine now,’ she told him. ‘Since the fiasco with Edward I’m keeping men out of my social life for a while. I get quite enough of them during the day. Part of my job involves collating reports to pass on to the likely lads on the trading floor at the bank, and to a man they believe they’re irresistible to women!’

Domenico smiled. ‘But not to you?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘You dislike them all?’

Laura shook her head. ‘Actually, I like some of them well enough. But if I said yes to so much as sharing a pizza with any one of them I’d be asking for trouble.’

He frowned. ‘You mean they would also expect to share your bed?’

‘From the way they talk, yes. So I say no. Behind my back,’ she added tartly, ‘they call me the Ice Maiden.’

Domenico nodded sagely. ‘And all of them burn to melt the ice!’

She gave a scornful sniff. ‘No chance of that.’

‘The proposal in the restaurant—this was recent?’

‘Very recent. I should have been on holiday in Tuscany with Edward this week, in a villa with some of his college friends and their partners. He sent my share of the cost back to me the day after the quarrel, so because I’d already arranged the time off my mother asked Fen to sort something out for me in Venice. If you work for the Forlis,’ she added, ‘maybe you know her. Lorenzo Forli is married to her sister Jess.’

‘I have met Fenella, yes,’ said Domenico. ‘What time shall we meet this evening, Laura?’

She looked at him steadily. ‘Are we doing something this evening?’

‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘I shall take you to a favourite restaurant of mine.’

Secretly delighted with the idea, Laura gave him a militant look. ‘I’d like that very much, but on one condition.’

‘That I do not kiss you,’ he said, resigned.

‘That I pay for the meal!’

Domenico held up his hands in laughing surrender, and gave her his phone number. ‘Now give me yours.’ And although Laura assured him she could find her way back alone, he insisted on walking back with her to the Locanda Verona. ‘Sleep for a while,’ he advised. ‘I shall call for you at seven-thirty.’ He speared her with a look of glittering blue command as he left her at the familiar bridge. ‘And this time I insist that you wait for me!’

Laura turned suddenly when she was halfway across. ‘Domenico! I forgot my shopping.’

He smiled indulgently. ‘Non importa. I shall bring it this evening. Ciao!’

Laura smiled her thanks and went into the hotel, her spirits high at the prospect of another evening with Domenico—her third in his company if she added the brief encounter at Florian’s. Her eyes narrowed as she went up to her room. Perhaps she was enjoying his company rather more than was sensible in the circumstances. Holiday romances rarely translated well into everyday life. Not that she could call this a romance, exactly, nor would this man ever be part of her life. Once she left Venice she would never see him again.

With this in mind Laura took longer to get ready than usual. While she was eyeing the limited choice in the wardrobe a flash of lightning preceded a clap of thunder, and she ran to close the open doors on the rain hammering down outside. Choice made, she thought irritably. It had to be the black dress again, but at least she could wear it with the white cotton trench coat packed for just this kind of emergency—very Audrey Hepburn, according to Fen.

Laura had been ready and waiting for several minutes before Domenico rang to say he was in the foyer. When she hurried down to meet him he gave her the now familiar double kiss of greeting and brandished a tall black umbrella.

‘You see, Laura? It is not always moonlight in Venice!’

‘And when it rains it certainly rains,’ she agreed.

In the doorway Domenico put up the umbrella, then with his usual ‘Permesso’ slid an arm round her waist. ‘If you wish to stay dry we must walk close together. Which makes me very happy,’ he added in her ear.

Laura chuckled, feeling quite happy about it herself. ‘Do we walk very far?’

‘No. The restaurant is so near I thought you would not mind a walk in the rain.’

Held close against Domenico, she didn’t mind at all. All too soon for Laura they entered an alley so narrow they had to keep very close together indeed before he ushered her into the large, luxurious interior of a restaurant divided into two parts, one very sleek and cosmopolitan, the other more rustic, with a stone fireplace and windows looking out onto a courtyard.

‘I thought you would prefer the room with the true Italian atmosphere,’ said Domenico as a waiter hurried to relieve him of Laura’s raincoat.

‘You were right, I do,’ she assured him, thanking her lucky stars as she took in her surroundings that she could rely on her credit card to pay the bill. Because whatever it cost she was going to pay for their meal.

‘It is not crowded yet as early as this,’ he told her, and looked at her in silence for a moment, something new in his eyes as they moved over her face.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘You glow tonight, Laura.’

‘You look pretty good yourself,’ she said, smiling.

‘Grazie!’ Domenico pushed the menus aside. ‘Allora, tonight the choice is simple if you like fish.’

‘I love it.’

‘Good. This restaurant is famous for its frittura mista dipesce, a platter of many varieties of fish,’ he added. ‘You will like it.’

He was right. But though the meal was delicious, and the surroundings elegant, Laura knew very well that most of her pleasure was down to the man who made it so flatteringly plain he delighted in her company.

‘It is hard to believe,’ he said, when they were drinking coffee, ‘that we have known each other so short a time. I wish that you could stay longer, Laura.’

‘So do I,’ she said regretfully, ‘but in three days I fly back to London, and so far I haven’t been inside the Basilica, visited the Guggenheim, taken a trip to Murano, or any of the things I was told were a must on holiday in Venice.’

‘We shall do that tomorrow.’

Laura’s eyes widened. ‘But what about your job?’

‘I have arranged a little holiday. Until your flight home my time is yours. But now,’ he added, a glint of steel in his eyes, ‘we come to the difficult moment. Laura, I am known here in Venice. I cannot allow a lady to pay for dinner. So I will settle the bill, per favore. If you must,’ he added as she opened her mouth to protest, ‘you can pay me in private later.’

‘Oh, very well,’ she said, resigned. ‘But just make sure you keep the bill for me.’

‘Of course I will,’ he said, looking injured. ‘Why do you not trust me, Laura?’

She smiled in sudden remorse. ‘I do trust you. I just can’t let you spend so much money on me.’

‘But it is customary for a man to do this when he asks a woman to dine with him. I cannot believe that this is different in London.’ Comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘But of course! I am a fool. You think I will expect—’

‘No! I most certainly do not,’ she retorted, colouring.

‘You say it is the problem with the men who work in your bank,’ he pointed out.

‘You’re different.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘In what way? I am a man.’

‘I know that,’ she said, exasperated. ‘But it never occurred to me that you’d want—expect—’

‘I do not expect to make love to you,’ Domenico said very quietly, leaning nearer. ‘But I would lie if I said I did not want to.’ He signalled to the waiter for the bill, paid it, received Laura’s raincoat and held it for her, then escorted her outside into the narrow alley.

Nothing was said other than a ‘Permesso’ from Domenico as he put his arm round her under the umbrella, but once they left the narrow alley he halted, looking down into her face as the rain teemed down around them.

‘We dined early tonight, Laura.’

She was well aware of that. Yet now there seemed no alternative to a return to the Locanda, where there was no bar, or visitors’ lounge. ‘I need to settle up for dinner,’ she reminded him with sudden inspiration.

‘That would be difficult here in such rain. And I still have your shopping,’ he reminded her. ‘I would ask you back to my apartment to collect it, but after our conversation in the restaurant you will suspect my motives, yes?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘No, I won’t, Domenico. I’d love to go back to your place.’

After the drenching rain of the not-quite-dark of the lagoon night Domenico’s salotto glowed with welcome from lamps that threw light on the high white cornices and sparked muted gleams from a collection of mirrors in different sizes, all of them old with carved, gilded frames, some of them in need of restoration.

‘I noticed yesterday that there were mirrors instead of pictures,’ said Laura as he took her raincoat.

‘I am not so very vain,’ he said, grinning. ‘The glass is original in my entire collection; which means it is almost too dim to give a reflection.’

‘They’re beautiful.’

He held out his hand. ‘Come. Sit down, Laura, and let me give you a drink.’

‘I don’t suppose you have any tea?’ she said without hope.

Domenico smiled in smug triumph. ‘I bought some today, but I do not drink tea, so it is best you make it yourself.’

‘Wonderful!’

In the small kitchen he handed her a packet of teabags labelled ‘English Breakfast’. ‘It is a little late for breakfast, but I thought you would like this.’

‘I’ll love it,’ she assured him as he filled the kettle. ‘Do you have any milk?’

‘Of course! I knew that tea would be no use to my charming English guest without it. But there is lemon, if you prefer,’ he added.

‘You’ve thought of everything. Thank you.’ She gave him a radiant smile.

‘Such a smile will gain you anything you wish,’ he told her, watching as she poured boiling water on the teabag.

‘At this moment all I want in life is a cup of tea,’ she said, and savaged the teabag with a spoon. ‘What are you having?’

‘A glass of wine. Perhaps you would like one later, also.’

Domenico took a tray into the salotto and set it down in front of her, watching indulgently as she sipped her tea with a sigh of bliss.

‘I’ve been suffering withdrawal symptoms.’ She laughed at his blank look and explained that three days without tea was a personal best for her.

‘But why did you not say?’ he demanded, sitting beside her. ‘We can provide you with tea in any café in Venice.’

‘I love the coffee here so much I never thought to ask for tea.’ She gave an admiring glance at the gros point embroidery on the cushions. ‘I envy you these, Domenico.’

He smiled, pleased. ‘They are my mother’s work.’

‘She’s very clever. I’m not at all talented when it comes to sewing.’

‘Can you cook?’

‘It all depends,’ she said guardedly.

He looked amused. ‘On what, exactly?’

‘Your idea of a good meal. Can you cook?’

‘Of course,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘I thought all Italian males were spoilt rotten by their mammas!’

‘Often this is true,’ he admitted. ‘But when I am here in the apartment I sometimes like to make a meal. It is a change for me.’

‘And in the hotel?’

‘I eat hotel meals,’ he said, shrugging.

She eyed him curiously. ‘What exactly do you do in this hotel of yours?’

‘I work very hard!’ He smiled. ‘Allora, would you like more tea, or shall I give you a glass of wine?’

Laura shook her head. ‘Nothing more, thanks. But if you’d be kind enough to hand over those bags I left behind I’d love to gloat over my purchases.’

Domenico deposited her shopping at her feet, smiling at her pleasure as she examined her trophies.

‘With your help I spent a lot less and bought far more than I expected,’ she told him with satisfaction. ‘But I also need a proper wedding present for Fen Dysart. I’d like to buy her some Venetian glass—something special.’

‘Then we shall go to Murano tomorrow. A reproduction of something old would be good, yes?’

‘Perfect.’ Laura hesitated. ‘As long as they accept credit cards.’

‘Of course. They will also ship anything you wish to England.’

‘That would be marvellous.’ She turned to look him in the eye. ‘Allora, as you Italians say, give me the bill for the meal, please.’

‘I hoped you had forgotten.’ Domenico sighed heavily. ‘I do not like this.’

‘Tough. I insist.’

‘You are a hard woman.’

‘You’d better believe it!’ She smiled at him to soften her words, and managed not to wince at the total when he produced the bill from his wallet.

‘But remember this, Laura,’ he said very deliberately. ‘You may pay this one time since it matters so much to you, but that is all. It is understood?’

She nodded meekly, and counted out a pile of euros, relieved to discover she had enough to cover it.

‘Do you feel better now?’ he demanded.

‘Much better,’ she assured him, and smiled. ‘I think I would like a glass of wine after all.’

‘Do you insist on paying when you dine with men in London?’ he asked, handing a glass to her.

‘That’s different,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve not only paid for meals, you’ve taken time off from your job to help me.’

‘Let us talk no more of money.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Instead, I will make a confession which will amuse you very much.’

‘Confession? That sounds serious.’

‘It is comical, not serious,’ he assured her. ‘I will start from the beginning. Last night I was not pleased to find you gone when I went to your hotel.’

‘I was afraid of that,’ she admitted. ‘But, Domenico, you didn’t put a phone number on your note, and I couldn’t sit for hours twiddling my thumbs in my room when Venice was out there, luring to me to come out and play, now could I?’

‘No, of course not.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘But when Signora Rossi gave me your message—’

‘You were pretty ticked off,’ she teased.

‘E vero, if that means annoyed,’ he agreed. ‘I had planned the evening so carefully, you understand, and it was not part of the plan to find you gone when I came for you. But when I saw you sitting there at Florian’s I was angry no longer. You looked so beautiful—and I was not the only man who thought so,’ he added darkly.

She brushed that aside. ‘So tell me about this plan.’

‘To explain I must go back to our first meeting, when you did not notice me at all!’

She shook her head. ‘I did, you know—mainly because you were in such a hurry to get rid of me. But also because you looked respectable and had been sent by Lorenzo Forli—’

‘Respectable? Dio!’ He shook his head in mock despair. ‘Women usually have more flattering things to say of me than that, Laura.’

‘I bet they do!’

‘I met a friend in the San Marco sestiere later that day,’ he went on, ‘and on impulse afterwards I decided to make sure all was well with you. Signora Rossi told me you had gone to Florian’s, but when I looked for you there I did not recognise you at first.’

‘I clean up well,’ she agreed, and Domenico gave a delighted laugh.

‘Very well indeed.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Until that moment my plan was merely to ask if the hotel was satisfactory—’

‘And bowl me over with your charm!’ she accused.

‘Esattamente.’ He nodded, unrepentant. ‘But after meeting with you it was I who was bowled over, Laura. I enjoyed our time together very much—until you refused my escort back to the hotel.’

‘That offended you?’

‘I was hurt!’ he said, hand on heart. ‘I wanted very much to see you again. But to avoid another rejection I sent a note.’

‘Very clever,’ said Laura, grinning.

‘I think so,’ he said smugly. ‘Allora, the next part of my plan was to impress you with dinner at Harry’s Bar.’

‘Excellent move.’

‘But during the meal I learned of your dislike of romantic gestures,’ he said with a heavy sigh, ‘so I abandoned my plan and gave money to one of the waiters to pay off the gondoliere. Instead of taking you on a moonlit gondola ride I walked with you back to your hotel.’

Laura stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh helplessly. ‘My story about the proposal lost me a trip in a gondola?’

Domenico nodded, grinning. ‘But if you wish for one some other time this can be arranged.’

‘No, thanks. Besides—’ She hesitated.

‘Besides?’ he prompted.

‘Our walk back by moonlight was more to my taste.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘You include the kiss?’

She nodded, smiling. ‘Short but sweet.’

‘I used much self-control,’ he said virtuously.

‘I was impressed. Your plan worked like a charm without the gondola, Domenico.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘Today there was no plan.’

‘And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.’

‘Even the walk in the rain?’

Laura smiled. ‘Especially that.’ She leaned nearer and held up her face. ‘It’s still raining out there so you’d better kiss me goodnight right here.’

To her astonishment Domenico jumped up, shaking his head. ‘No.’

Laura stared blankly. ‘No?’

‘I did not bring you here for that.’

‘For what?’ She jumped to her feet, eyes cold. ‘A kiss is the only thing on offer!’

‘I know this,’ he said roughly. ‘Come. I will take you back.’ He strode out of the room, leaving her to stow her shopping away in the bags, all her pleasure in the evening gone. Domenico returned, wearing a black leather jacket, and in silence she thrust her arms into the sleeves of the raincoat he held out.

‘It is too wet to take your presents tonight,’ he informed her. ‘I shall bring them in the morning when I come for you.’

‘Are you still going to do that?’ she demanded, tying her belt viciously tight.

He frowned. ‘Of course. Unless,’ he added with sudden hauteur, ‘you no longer want me to spend the day with you.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘You know very well that I do.’ He took her by the shoulders, the blue eyes darkening as they bored down into hers. ‘Try to understand. My instructions were to take care of you. So I am taking you back to your hotel.’

‘Message received, loud and clear.’ She marched out of the room and down the smooth, worn stone stairs, and at the entrance waited, face averted, while Domenico put up the umbrella. He stood looking down into her set face for a moment then slid his arm round her and held her very firmly.

‘It is necessary to share the umbrella,’ he informed her.

Still smarting from his rejection, Laura controlled a childish urge to shove him away but held herself poker-stiff, wishing she’d brought her own umbrella as they walked in silence Domenico was the first to break.

‘You are very angry with me?’ he demanded at last, his accent more noticeable than usual.

‘Hurt as well as angry,’ she informed him. ‘The one time I actually offer to kiss a man he turns me down.’

‘I wanted the kiss so much I dared not take it,’ he said tightly. ‘I am not made of stone, Laura.’ He halted in the deserted calle as they came in sight of the hotel, holding her closer in the shadows between the lights. ‘Here it is different,’ he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.

Laura breathed in the scent of leather and cologne and man as the rain teemed down around them, enclosing them in a private world under the umbrella. His arm tightened and she held up her face as he bent his head to kiss her. Their lips met in a gentle, exploratory caress, which quickly flared into something so different that in some corner of her brain Laura marvelled at Domenico’s skill at keeping the umbrella upright as he kissed her with a mounting passion she responded to helplessly, her hands tunnelling under his jacket to hold him closer. At last he gave a smothered groan and raised his head a fraction, his breath hot against her cheek as he held her hard against him.

‘Now you see?’ he said, in a voice husky with emotion.

‘Yes,’ she whispered shakily.

Outside the closed door of the hotel Domenico kissed her again, then released her with reluctance.

‘Buona notte, Laura. Until tomorrow.’

Chapter Three

LAURA woke with the memory of the kisses still warm on her lips. A tendency to gaze into space held her up so much as she got ready that Domenico had already arrived when she ran downstairs. He gave her his usual double kiss of greeting and exchanged a few words with Signora Rossi before sweeping Laura out into the steamy, sunlit warmth of the Venice morning.

‘How are you today, cara?’ he enquired as they went in search of breakfast. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘Did you?’

He shook his head, sighing. ‘I lay awake listening to the rain and thinking of our kisses.’

‘Snap!’

He laughed and took her hand. ‘I know this now. I am glad you felt the same.’

After a leisurely breakfast Laura insisted they caught a vaporetto instead of an expensive water taxi for the short journey to Murano and stood at the rail within Domenico’s sheltering arm watching the island come nearer, its outline softened and blurred by the saline lagoon climate.

As they drew up alongside he pointed out the island’s ancient canalside porticoes. ‘Some of these have survived from mediaeval times, when Murano was the principal glassmaking centre of Europe and its citizens were the only craftsmen in the world able to produce a mirror.’

‘A pretty vital invention from a woman’s point of view!’

He smiled and smoothed a lock of hair back from her forehead as they left the boat. ‘Allora, before making your choice do you wish to watch our celebrated glass-blowers at work?’

‘I certainly do,’ she assured him.

‘But afterwards, if you see something you like, leave all bargaining to me,’ he advised.

When they reached a door with a ‘fornace’ sign they went inside to watch a demonstration of the ancient craft that had made Murano famous. Laura watched, fascinated, as the glass blower took a blob of molten paste on the end of an iron rod, and with a skilled, dangerous-looking process of twisting, turning and blowing transformed it into a perfect wine goblet.

‘Amazing, Domenico,’ she said as they began a tour of the showroom afterwards. ‘It’s probably all in a day’s work to that man, and nothing new to you, but it looked like pure magic to me.’

‘With you at my side, Laura, everything in Venice is new to me also,’ he said, smiling down at her as she looked at the dazzling array of glass artefacts. ‘Have you something in mind for your friend’s bride gift? What type of house will she live in?’

‘Her fiancé originally bought a flat in a beautiful Georgian house in Pennington, but he now owns the entire property.’ She gestured at some extravagantly modern pieces. ‘Those are wonderful from a technical point of view, but I want something more traditional, to suit their house.’

Laura would have found it hard to resist the pressure from some of the sales staff on her own, but with Domenico on hand they were left in peace to browse.

‘Would she like these?’ he asked, pointing at a display of candlesticks and candelabra. ‘Millefiori is not everyone’s taste, but perhaps she would like the aventurine, which uses gold.’

Laura nodded enthusiastically. ‘Exactly Fen’s sort of thing.’

After lengthy deliberation on style and cost, she eventually chose a pair of tall candlesticks with hair-fine strands of gold twined through their serpentine, tactile curves. Domenico did some efficient haggling, which brought the price down considerably, but in the end Laura decided against having them shipped.

‘Just in case they don’t arrive in time for the wedding,’ she told him. ‘I must have my present ready for the big day. Thanks a lot for the expert bargaining.’

He smiled, and took charge of the gift as they went to catch the vaporetto back to San Marco. ‘So. I have my uses!’

‘Oh, very definitely,’ she assured him, ‘one of which is to tell me who is on the other pillar.’

‘Cosa?’ he said blankly.

‘At the entrance to San Marco. The lion of Venice is on one pillar, but who stands on the other one?’

‘Ah! That is San Teodoro,’ he said, enlightened. ‘Saint Theodore to you. And be warned: superstitious Venetians never walk between the pillars because in the past executions took place there. And now,’ he added, ‘I have a confession to make.’

‘Another one?’ she said, laughing.

‘I went early to the market this morning, and in my hurry afterwards I forgot your shopping again.’

‘Never mind, I can pick it up on my way back to the hotel.’

‘And we shall eat lunch at the apartment. Or we can go out, of course,’ he added quickly.

‘I prefer your apartment.’ She smiled at him as they left the boat. ‘I like it very much, Domenico.’

‘Do you like me very much, also?’ he asked, so utterly serious Laura gave him a startled look.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction, and took her hand. ‘Do not worry. I shall not drop the candeliere.’

Laura volunteered to make an omelette to accompany the bread and salad Domenico had bought fresh that morning, and after sizing up the cooker and the pan he gave her she uttered a silent prayer and got to work with butter, eggs and herbs. Domenico watched in approval as for the final touch she gave the pan a brisk shake, folded the omelette in half, and slid two crisp, soft-centred portions onto the plates he had ready.

‘Perfetto,’ he assured her as they began eating.

‘You’re being kind,’ she told him, delighted that her effort had turned out so well.

‘No, I am truthful.’ He smiled as he helped her to salad. ‘The frittata is delicious and so is the chef. This is a very special occasion for me. Except for my mother no woman has ever offered to make lunch for me here.’

Laura didn’t want to hear about other women in Domenico’s apartment. ‘You can make me some tea as my reward,’ she told him.

‘Of course,’ he said, and laid a peeled peach on her plate. ‘But afterwards you must do as we Venetians do and rest for a while before we go on with the day. So this afternoon is it to be the Guggenheim or the Basilica? I do not advise both.’

‘The Basilica. Let’s do ancient today and modern tomorrow—if you still have time to spare for tomorrow?’ she added, flushing.

‘My time is yours until you leave,’ he reminded her as he got up to make her tea. ‘Which is not long now. You must come back again soon, Laura.’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid. I won’t be able to afford another trip to Venice for quite a while,’ she said with regret.

He frowned as he put a teabag in a cup. ‘If cost is a problem I could—’

‘No, you couldn’t, Domenico,’ she said gently.

Instead of arguing, as she’d half expected, he made her tea, added milk, and gave her the cup. ‘First you drink this tea, then you rest in the salotto.’

‘I want to help clear up,’ she objected.

‘No, cara—you did the cooking,’ he said firmly. ‘Is the tea to your taste?’

It was too weak and milky by far, but Laura assured him it was delicious and drank every drop. Afterwards she spent a few minutes on repairs in the bathroom, then made for the window in the sitting room to look down at the water traffic on the sunlit water below, amused as she contrasted it with her daily commute in London.

‘You smile like the Mona Lisa,’ said Domenico behind her.

She turned to him. ‘I was looking at all these people travelling about on the water in the sunshine—a bit different from my daily trips on the Docklands Light Railway.’

‘This train is convenient for your apartment?’

She nodded. ‘I live in a part of London called Bow, so the DLR, as we locals call it, is almost door to door from my flat to the bank.’

He took her hand in his and drew her down to sit beside him. ‘Tell me about your flat, Laura.’

‘It’s very small, with only one bedroom, and very different from this. But on the plus side it’s in a building with a gym and a pool. I’ve been very grateful for both assets since the downward turn in my social life.’ She yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry. It must be the Venice air.’

‘Come, it is early yet. Put your head on that cushion and enjoy a short siesta. Then later we shall tour the Basilica.’

Laura found it all too easy to do as he said. She curled up in her corner of his sofa, so utterly at ease now in Domenico’s company that she was soon asleep.

He sat back, resisting the urge to stroke the gleaming braid trailing over Laura’s shoulder. He looked at her flushed, sleeping face, the desire he could not ignore mixed with a protective feeling new to him in his dealings with women. When Lorenzo Forli had requested—no, ordered him to take care of Fenella’s friend he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that she would appeal to him so strongly.

He sat very still as she stirred, but she merely turned her face deeper into the cushion, and he let out a deep breath and relaxed. In the years since Alessa’s desertion, which had cut deeper and hurt for much longer than he had allowed anyone to know, his dealings with women had been lighthearted, casual affairs conducted discreetly, with no involvement of the heart, and in some cases, he thought wryly, of the brain, either. But Laura was different. He desired her as a lover, as was only natural, but he also liked and respected her as a person. Unlike this idiot Edward of hers, he would not reject friendship if she offered it. But it took self-control he had not known he possessed to keep from touching her.

Laura woke slowly, and found a pair of intent blue eyes watching her. ‘Hello,’ she said sleepily. ‘Did I snore?’

Domenico shook his head, smiling. Ignoring an urge to devour her flushed face with kisses, he got up, holding out his hand. ‘Come, I shall take you back to the hotel.’

Laura would have preferred to stay right where she was for the foreseeable future, but with a sigh she took the hand and let him pull her to her feet. ‘I need a shower and a change of clothes.’

‘This is a good idea,’ he said with approval. ‘Then you will have no need to return to your hotel after the Basilica. We shall go to Florian’s instead, and while you drink tea there you shall tell me where you would like to dine this evening.’

‘Perfect.’ She hesitated. ‘But I’m going back to the hotel on my own, right now, Domenico. I’ll meet you in an hour outside the central doorway of the Basilica.’

He dropped her hand. ‘Very well, if that is what you wish.’

‘I just need to do a little shopping on my own—personal things,’ she explained, her colour rising.

‘Ah. I see. Of course.’ He opened the door for her and accompanied her down to the foyer, where he kissed her cheeks and tapped her watch. ‘One hour. I shall be waiting.’

Laura went straight to a shop she’d seen the day before. She picked out a silk tie with discreet aquamarine dots printed on a midnight-blue background, handed over her credit card and hurried with her gift-wrapped purchase through the now-familiar alleys to the Locanda Verona.

She rushed through a shower with her head wrapped in a towel, did her face, and took a look through her limited wardrobe for something suitable for both a visit to the Basilica and to a restaurant somewhere afterwards. The only dress still unworn was brand-new, a chain-store bargain bought for Tuscany, with drifts of tawny butterflies printed on double layers of cream chiffon. Definitely not for church, Laura decided with regret, and put on a fluted cream linen skirt and a thin, lace-edged black cardigan she was buttoning up to the low V-neck when her phone rang.

‘I am here, with your parcels at last,’ said Domenico. ‘Are you ready?’

Oh, yes, she was ready. ‘I’ll be right down.’

Laura ran down the stairs, smiling, her heart lifting at the sight of Domenico leaning against the reception desk in pale linen trousers and one of his blue shirts.

‘Here is your shopping, signorina,’ he said, and gave her the bags first and then the box containing the candlesticks. ‘Go up more slowly than you came down,’ he advised, ‘or you will endanger the candeliere.’

Laura meekly went back up the stairs at a slower rate, which was an effort when she wanted nothing more than to race up and down to get back to Domenico as fast as she could; a disturbing thought when all too soon she would be waving him a permanent goodbye.

‘I thought we were meeting outside the Basilica,’ she said, when she rejoined him.

‘I finally remembered your presents. Also,’ he added, giving her a head-to-toe survey, ‘I did not think it wise to leave you waiting in the piazza alone, and I was right. You look more beautiful each time I see you.’

Laura knew perfectly well she wasn’t beautiful, but had a feeling she might start believing it herself if she spent much more time in Domenico’s company. ‘You look rather nice, too,’ she said as they left the hotel.

‘I did my best just for you,’ he said suavely, and grinned at the look she gave him.

‘How do you manage to find shirts the exact shade of your eyes?’ she asked as they strolled along the calle.

‘There are many blue shirts sold in Venice, Laura. I was not aware of trying to match my eyes,’ he protested.

‘I don’t believe you! You know to a scintilla the effect your eyes have on a woman.’

‘Do they affect you?’ he demanded, stopping to look down at her.

‘Oh, yes—but I’m working on it,’ she said, laughing.

‘If it is any satisfaction to you, Laura, your eyes have a much greater effect on me. So does your mouth,’ he said conversationally as they resumed walking. ‘And your hair. Also I have great affection for your pretty ears and your—’

‘Stop it!’ she ordered sternly. ‘We’re visiting a place of worship, remember.’

‘And we must hurry.’ Domenico looked at his watch as they dived into the tide of tourists. ‘The Basilica will be fully lit only until four o’clock.’

Laura had read up a little about the Basilica beforehand, but when they passed through the carved central doorway to mount the steps into the cathedral itself she was unprepared for the sheer impact of gleaming golden mosaics on every inch of the huge interior: domes, walls and floor, from the vestibule right through the nave. The effect was so stunning that in some ways she was glad there were the usual crowds. They made progress slow, but lessened her feeling of personal insignificance in the overwhelming golden vastness.

‘I had no idea,’ she said to Domenico as she looked down at the floor mosaics, which undulated beneath her feet like an exotic Eastern carpet.

‘I had forgotten, too, it is years since I was here,’ he said quietly, holding her firmly by the hand as they moved on through the crowd. ‘Look up.’

Laura obeyed, gazing up into the gleaming Pentecost dome at the sight of the Apostles touched by tongues of flame. But under the enormous central dome of the Ascension she was rendered utterly silent by the glittering gold mosaic of Christ in Glory high above.

‘Come,’ said Domenico. ‘We must buy tickets to view the Pala d’Oro.’

By the time Laura had admired the tomb of St Mark and the Pala d’Oro, the bejewelled gold altarpiece behind the high altar, she had the beginnings of a headache. Domenico looked at her with concern when she took refuge behind her enormous sunglasses.

‘Come, tesoro. Enough for now, yes?’

Laura nodded silently as they made their way back through the crowds in the Basilica to emerge into the thronged, sunlit piazza. ‘It’s an amazing building, but a bit of it at a time is more than enough. It needs a few visits to take it all in.’

‘When you come back we shall see it again, but early in the morning, before the crowds arrive,’ he promised. ‘And there is the Doge’s Palace to see, also.’

At that moment the very thought of it made her tired. ‘Domenico, could we just have tea at your place instead of Florian’s?’ said Laura. ‘I have a bit of a headache. I don’t think I could face an orchestra right now.’

‘But of course.’ He looked down into her colourless face. ‘Shall we call at a farmacia for some medication?’

‘I’ve got some painkillers with me.’ She smiled at him gratefully. ‘I just need lots of water and lots of tea, and peaceful surroundings without tourists or a single gold mosaic.’

‘Then my apartment is the perfect place!’

Laura was in full agreement later as she sank into one of the sofas in the cool, high-ceilinged salotto to sip the tea Domenico had made stronger and darker than before.

‘I did not think you enjoyed my former effort,’ he said, sitting beside her. ‘But you were too polite to say so.’

‘This time it’s perfect,’ she assured him, and with a little grin, said ‘Permesso?’ and toed her sandals off so she could curl up in her corner of the sofa.

Domenico gave her a look that made her heart skip a beat. ‘For me, Laura, this is much, much better than Florian’s.’

‘For me, too,’ she said, taking refuge in her tea. ‘After the pills and all that mineral water you made me wash them down with, my headache is better already.’

‘That is because you are here with me,’ he said, with such smug certainty she laughed.

‘You’re outrageous.’

He looked wounded. ‘Not at all. I meant that here where it is quiet and cool and there are no tourists—and where you are served with such wonderful tea—you naturally feel better.’

Laura smiled warmly. ‘Of course I do. Thank you, Domenico.’

‘Prego. Now, let us decide where to dine tonight.’

‘We could go to your hotel,’ she said slyly.

‘No!’ he said, with such emphasis her eyebrows rose.

‘Why not?’

He threw out a hand. ‘This is a holiday for me, also, Laura, and I do not wish to dine in the place where I spend most of my working life. Also I would have to introduce you to many people and waste much time that could be spent alone with you. When you come back I shall take you there. But not this time.’

‘I can’t manage another trip to Venice for quite a while, you know,’ she said with a sigh.

He shot her a searching look. ‘I know cost has been mentioned before, but if it is a matter of money—’

‘Of course it is. I earn quite a good salary, but a lot of it goes on rent.’ She looked away. ‘I also help my mother out a bit—a very little bit—with my sister Abby’s college fund.’

‘Because you have no father?’ he said with sympathy, and put her cup on the table so he could hold her hand.

‘Right. My mother teaches in the local primary school, and Abby works in a café at weekends to add her bit to the fund, but I want her to have a reasonable nest egg in the bank by the time she goes to college. This holiday of mine was pure extravagance right now. I would never have made it here if you hadn’t found such a cheap place for me to stay.’ Laura turned to look at him. ‘It was you who arranged it?’

He nodded, and raised her hand to his lips. ‘And because his request led to our meeting, Laura, I shall be grateful to Signor Forli for the rest of my life.’

Chapter Four

‘THAT’S a very extravagant thing to say,’ said Laura, after a pause.

‘It is true. If it had not been for him I would have sent someone else to the airport to meet you.’ Domenico gave her a wry smile. ‘It is not usually my—my job to do such things.’

‘Is that why you were in such a strop at the airport?’

‘Strop?’

‘Temper.’

He shrugged. ‘I had problems at the hotel that day, and was forced to leave them unresolved to meet you at Marco Polo. I apologise for my bad manners.’

She grinned. ‘I took no notice.’

‘I know it. You were so entranced with Venice you took no notice of me at all,’ he said darkly, his hand tightening on hers. ‘My self-esteem suffered a crushing blow.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘You are glad?’

‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have come after me to make sure I did notice you,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘And we wouldn’t be here right now, enjoying each other’s company.’

He smiled. ‘E vero. For once in my life I rejoice that I was ignored by a woman!’

She looked at him searchingly. ‘Domenico, is your effect on women really so important to you?’

He shrugged, the smile suddenly bitter. ‘If I say yes will you understand?’

Laura noted the pulse throbbing at the corner of his mouth and chose her words with care. ‘It dates from the day Alessa left you for your friend?’

His eyes lit up. ‘You do understand!’

‘I know how the bottom can fall out of one’s world.’

‘Did some man do this to you, Laura?’ he demanded, frowning.

‘Not in the way you mean. The only man I’ve ever adored was my father. He died suddenly of a heart attack when I was ten.’

‘Poor little one! That must have been very hard for you.’

She nodded sadly. ‘But much harder for my mother. I realise now how wonderfully she coped with it all. She had to bury her own grief to comfort Abby and me, move us into a smaller house, and go back to work to support us.’

‘She must be a very special lady. Life changed very much for her, and for you,’ he said with sympathy.

Laura shrugged. ‘Children are adaptable. I was inconsolable at first, but in time I realised that as long as I had my mother and Abby I could cope, too. The other constant in my life was Fen, of course. I’ve always been treated like one of the family by the Dysarts.’ She smiled to lighten the atmosphere. ‘I’m chief bridesmaid at the wedding.’

‘Are there many such bridesmaids?’

‘Three besides me. Fen’s teenage nieces, you probably know one of them—Francesca Forli.’

‘I do, yes, but at this moment I am interested only in you,’ said Domenico firmly. ‘Tell me what you will wear, Laura, so I can picture you in my mind.’

‘Better still, I’ll send you a photograph—if you like.’

‘I would like that very much.’ He eyed her closely. ‘And now that you look better, Laura, let us talk of where you would like to dine tonight.’

She hesitated. ‘Domenico—could we possibly stay in and eat something here?’

‘You may do anything you wish,’ he assured her.

‘Do they do takeaways in Venice? If not, a sandwich will do.’

‘I can give you something better than a tramezzino!’

‘You’re going to cook?’

‘You cannot imagine such a thing?’ he teased, and brandished his mobile phone. ‘I shall persuade one of the chefs at the hotel to send us a cold meal of some kind.’

‘Wonderful!’

‘Can you eat shellfish?’

‘Any kind you like.’

‘Then I shall ring Sandro to see what he can do.’ Domenico looked down at her as he got up. ‘You feel better now, cara?’

‘Much better. But, Domenico, if you prefer to go out—’

‘I do not,’ he said with emphasis. ‘We shall sit on the little balcony outside the dining room while we wait for our dinner, and watch the boats on the Canalazzo.’

‘Canalazzo?’ Laura queried.

‘You foreigners call it the Grand Canal!’ he said, laughing.

The minute the door closed behind him Laura went to the window to gaze at the baroque splendour of the Salute church across the lagoon. She heaved a sigh. She had been here only a short time, yet she would miss Venice when she was back in London. She would miss Domenico a whole lot more—but she wasn’t going to think about that.

It was some time before he rejoined her. ‘You should be resting,’ he accused.

‘My headache has vanished completely,’ she assured him, and smiled. ‘You know I can’t resist this view.’

He smiled indulgently. ‘Then let us go outside to see more of it.’

Domenico’s balcony was narrow, with only room for a table and four chairs, but the view from it was spectacular. Laura leaned against the rail, watching the assorted water traffic, and wished she could paint as she watched a gondola trail a glittering wake on the water below.

‘The passengers are tourists, of course,’ said Domenico, leaning beside her. ‘The only time Venetians travel by gondola is on their wedding day.’

‘So you were going to make an exception for me the other night, then!’

He slanted a smile at her. ‘I was determined to impress you.’

‘You would have succeeded!’ She leaned farther to watch the gondola out of sight. ‘I’m disappointed, Domenico. I hoped he would serenade his passengers.’

He laughed. ‘This does not happen. The only melodies uttered by gondoliere are the warning calls heard on our canals for centuries.’

‘Another illusion shattered!’

‘Let me console you with wine.’

‘I’d better stick to water just yet, please.’

Left alone again, Laura gazed in concentration at the view from the balcony, so she would remember every detail of it when life resumed normal service back in London. She turned with a smile as Domenico came back with a loaded tray.

‘Allora, we have wine, San Pellegrino, fresh fruit juice and ice,’ he announced. ‘I thought you might like a taste of peach and orange in your mineral water, Laura.’

‘I would indeed,’ she agreed. ‘You’re very good to me, Domenico.’

He shot a narrowed, gleaming look at her. ‘When you smile at me like so it is not easy to be very good.’

‘Then I won’t.’

‘Which would be a pity.’

Their eyes held for a moment, then Domenico turned away to toss ice in a glass. He added a mixture of fruit juice and mineral water, topped it off with lemon slices and handed the drink to her with a bow. ‘Perhaps the signorina will give me her verdict.’

Laura eyed him in admiration. ‘You speak such wonderful English, Domenico.’

‘Grazie. I learned in school, of course, and then later I—I did a more intensive language course and became more fluent. It is necessary in my line of work.’ He gestured towards her glass. ‘Taste, cara.’

Laura took a sip and smiled at him. ‘Delicious.’

He poured a glass of wine and took the chair beside her. ‘Salute.’

She raised her glass to him. ‘To you, Domenico, for making my holiday so special.’

‘It is not so hard a thing to do,’ he assured her, and leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed.

Laura’s eyes were thoughtful as she studied the clear-cut profile etched against the fiery light.

‘That is a strange look, Laura,’ he said, intercepting it.

She shrugged, smiling. ‘It suddenly occurred to me that this time last week we didn’t know each other existed.’

‘It is hard to believe,’ he agreed soberly. ‘There is so much I wish to learn about you, cara. Tell me more about your family; describe them to me.’

‘My mother is small and fair like me, and very attractive—’

‘Also like you!’

‘Thank you, kind sir. Abby is tall, with dark hair like my father. She’s the brains of the family, but no slouch in the looks department, either. She’s off to Trinity, Cambridge, in the autumn.’

‘That is very impressive.’ Domenico shot a look at her. ‘It will also be expensive, which is why you help her and why you cannot return soon.’ He turned to her, his eyes brilliant with sudden inspiration. ‘But I have a solution for this.’

Laura eyed him warily. ‘What?’

‘You will refuse to let me pay your air fare, I know, but instead of a hotel you could stay here in my apartment as my guest. I will not impose my company on you. You are most welcome to stay here alone, or with your mother and sister, perhaps, any time you wish.’

She smiled at him, deeply touched. ‘Domenico, that’s such a lovely thought, but I couldn’t possibly take advantage of your kindness like that.’

The light vanished from his eyes. ‘Why not?’ he demanded with sudden hauteur. ‘Do not confuse me with these ragazzi at your bank. I would ask nothing in return.’

‘I know that. Don’t go all arrogant and Venetian on me!’ She heaved a sigh. ‘It’s a lovely idea, but just not possible for me right now.’

‘As you wish,’ he said coolly, and got up at the sound of the doorbell. ‘Our dinner.’

Laura bit her lip as she watched him go. She drained her glass and went into the dining room, and with a pang saw that Domenico had made the table festive with candles and crystal and a beautiful linen cloth and napkins. She waited until the outer door closed, then went into the hall to confront him.

‘Domenico, I didn’t mean to offend you. I would like nothing better than to take you up on your offer, but I just can’t make it back to Venice for a while. Please try to understand.’

‘Mi dispiace,’ he said with instant remorse. ‘Of course I understand. Let us talk no more of things which distress you, cara.’ He took Laura’s hand and led her back to the balcony to watch the sun sinking into the lagoon in a blaze of crimson fire.

‘It’s so lovely here.’ She sighed. ‘I shall think of this a lot when it’s raining back in London.’

‘It rains here too. This had great advantages for me last night,’ he reminded her, eyes gleaming.

‘For me, too,’ said Laura, seeing no point in beating about the bush.

‘But you were angry with me!’

‘Only because you didn’t want to kiss me.’

‘Laura,’ he said impatiently, ‘I wanted to kiss you far too much. You have forgotten what happened when I did?’

‘No.’ She took in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Va bene. Neither have I,’ he said with feeling. ‘So let us turn our attention to dinner.’

‘What are we having?’ she asked, wrenching her mind away from the interlude in the rain.

‘A special dinner for a special guest. I hope you will enjoy it.’

‘I’m sure I will. I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve eaten here, right down to the ham panino in a bar near the Rialto.’

‘I trust that you ate this standing up! Otherwise the cost is doubled.’

‘I knew that.’ She chuckled. ‘I can’t tell you what a relief it was to sit down when we had breakfast together.’

He laughed. ‘I enjoyed this also in your company. Normally I breakfast alone.’

‘In London I don’t have any at all.’

‘That is not good for one who works hard, cara,’ he said, frowning.

‘I know, but I get up early and just can’t face anything at that hour.’ She turned to smile up at him. ‘But I can face dinner tonight any time you like.’

‘Then we shall eat at once.’

Revelling in the domesticity in the situation, Laura followed behind with bread and salad while Domenico transferred an enormous platter of seafood from his refrigerator to the dining room table.