Irresistible You (3 page)

Elena wheeled her suitcase along the waterfront, groaning when she reached the Ponte Panada.

‘Turn right after the bridge,’ Rosanna had told her and it was lucky she remembered because she’d lost the directions she’d jotted down. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her suitcase and struggled to the top before almost falling down the other side under the weight of her entire wardrobe.

Turning right down a wide alley, she noticed lines of washing stretching overhead: vibrant displays of knickers, T-shirts and dusters. She turned into a narrower, darker alley where she could no longer hear the sound of the water taxis speeding across the lagoon. Everything felt hushed and sleepy.

Her suitcase dragged behind on its insufficient wheels but it wasn’t long before she found the turning she was looking for: an anorexic alley with a tall building on one side which had been turned into
apartments, and a two-storey building on the other side. This was the one she wanted and she soon spied a big brass bell and the name
S Constantini
engraved above it. Elena pressed the bell and waited, stepping back to look at the building. From the outside, it looked more like a derelict warehouse than a luxurious artist’s apartment: the plaster on the walls was crumbling away to reveal the brick below. Most of the buildings in Venice were like that, she knew, but at least they were painted in sunny ambers or rosy reds; this building was a dull grey and the only window she could see was obliterated by iron railings making it look more like a prison than a home. She grimaced. What was Rosanna doing in a place like this?

She pressed the bell again and looked down the tiny alley to the canal. You had to be careful in Venice. If you were walking home drunk and took a couple of steps too many, you could easily end up in the water.

At last, she heard a key scraping on the other side of the heavy wooden door, followed by a bolt being drawn. This really was like a prison, she thought, as the door finally opened.

‘Rosanna!’ she yelled, seeing her sleepy-faced sister for the first time in nearly a year.

‘Elena! Are you early? I was just having a little siesta.’

‘So I can see,’ she said, flinging her arms around her and kissing her cheek. ‘Are you working too hard?’ she asked with a touch of sarcasm.

‘I think I must be,’ she said in all seriousness. ‘Come in,’ she said, making no attempt to help her with her suitcase. She obviously remembered the time she’d once offered to lend her a hand and had almost dislocated her shoulder in the process.

Elena entered a cool stone lobby and turned right, following Rosanna up a small flight of stairs. ‘I hope
it’s better inside than the outside,’ she said.

‘You must know Venice by now,’ she said, and she was right. The most opulent of palaces could lie behind walls which often resembled nothing more than a public convenience, and this artist’s studio was no exception. Reaching the top of the stairs, Elena took in a long, low gasp of wonder.

‘My goodness! Look at this!’

Rosanna turned around and smiled. It was a smile which said,
I told you so
.

Elena nodded. ‘You’ve landed on your feet here, haven’t you?’

‘For a while,’ she assented. ‘It’s better than Mestre.’

Elena laughed, remembering her one visit to Rosanna’s appalling apartment on the mainland, with fleas the size of rodents and rodents the size of dogs. ‘This is
enormous!
’

Rosanna beckoned her to follow with an excited flap of hands. ‘This part is open- planned. That’s the studio,’ she motioned to the left where two easels stretched up to the ceiling and an enormous wooden workbench sprawled its way towards the opposite wall.
‘Living room here,’ Rosanna said, her hand gliding along the back of an enormous cream sofa - one of two. ‘Dining room,’ she said, ‘and kitchen there.’

Elena shook her head. ‘It’s amazing!’

‘Through here,’ Rosanna continued, ‘is the bathroom.’

Elena followed her through and her mouth fell open at the sight of a sunken bath you could wash a small army vehicle in. ‘It’s a jacuzzi!’

Rosanna nodded, a twinkle in her dark eyes. ‘There’s a shower too and a sauna.’

‘Where does that door go?’

‘There’s a small bedroom and some stairs leading to the basement. Sandro keeps all his old canvasses down there.’

‘So where do I sleep?’ she asked, suddenly remembering how tired she was.

‘This way,’ Rosanna said, getting into her stride as a tour guide. They walked back through to the main room and there was an open stairwell she hadn’t noticed before which led up to a bedroom. ‘I thought we could share. There’s plenty of room.’

Elena nodded. ‘It will be like being back at home when we used to stay up all night gossiping.’

Rosanna giggled. ‘And I can keep an eye on you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know you!’ she said, turning around and narrowing her eyes at Elena. ‘I know what you’re like, but you’re not bringing any of your boyfriends back here. Sandro trusts me and I don’t want to upset him.’

‘But I came here to see
you!
’ Elena protested. ‘What makes you think-’

‘Then you
are
on your own?’

‘Of course I am! I said I would be.’

‘There aren’t going to be any unexpected guests showing up?’

‘
No!
’

‘So, why are you here?’ she asked.

‘Gosh! Rosanna! I’ve just got off a plane! We haven’t seen each other for almost a year. I’m parched. I’m tired. Can you at least offer me a cup of coffee before you start attacking me with questions?’

Rosanna’s face softened with a smile and Elena smiled back. She had missed her so much. Walking across the room, she hugged her again, breathing in the musky perfume she wore and feeling her thick curls tickling her nose.

‘I promise I’ll tell you everything,’ she whispered. ‘I need your advice on one or two things.’

Rosanna pulled away from her and examined her with curious eyes. ‘I thought you might.’

‘But first,
please
can I have a coffee?’

*

Elena managed about two sips of coffee before Rosanna started twitching for information but Elena was able to divert her with a few questions of her own first.

‘So where’s this Sandro, then?’

‘New York.’

‘And he didn’t take his muse with him?’ Elena teased.

Rosanna tutted. ‘Somebody has to stay and look after cat-child.’ She nodded to a space in front of her.

‘Good heavens!’ Elena said, turning around and noticing the cat for the first time. ‘It’s enormous!’

And it was. Four times the size of the ferals which stalked the alleys of Venice, she looked as if he dined out on pizza every night.

As if reading her mind, Rosanna said, ‘She’s going on a diet whilst I’m in charge.’ Rosanna pushed the toffee-coloured cat away from her before it had a chance to wind around her legs. ‘She makes me sneeze,’ she said. ‘Anyway, how’s the teaching going?’

*

Rosanna was just like mama, Elena thought, always asking about work, as if a person could only be defined by the job they did.

‘It’s okay. It pays the bills - just. But it’s nice to get away for a while.’

‘And your students are good?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘They all work hard.’

‘So, this Mark you mentioned the other day - is he someone you work with?’ Rosanna asked.

Elena stifled a sigh. She really didn’t want to launch into her extra-curricular activities just yet. She’d already taken off Mark’s diamond ring and placed it in her velvet pouch to avoid questioning.

‘He teaches at the school, yes,’ she said. ‘You’d like him. He’s very clever and he goes to church.’

‘What’s that meant to mean?’

‘Nothing!’

‘You’re making fun of me again?’ she accused.

‘No! I’m not!’

‘You could do with a few Sundays in church yourself, you know.’ Rosanna stood up and took Elena’s half-drunk coffee away from her and marched into the kitchen.

Elena puffed out her cheeks and sighed. What had she let herself in for? She’d thought she could turn to her sister in times of need but she’d forgotten that her answer to everything was rooted in Catholicism and Elena hadn’t been to church since she was a teenager.

‘Rosanna!’ she called after her across the expanse of studio. ‘Be nice to me. I’ve had a horrible journey.’

She could hear her clattering cups in the sink as if she meant to break them up for a mosaic. She could be so Italian when she wanted to.

‘Rosaaaaaanna!’ she called, waiting patiently for her to emerge.

‘What?’

Elena widened her eyes and put on the softest, most helpless of smiles hoping that, like most of the men in her life, Rosanna would relent and be sweet with her.

‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.

For a moment, Rosanna stood fixed to the spot as if she were carved from marble but then a wave of sisterly emotion flooded her and she ran over to the sofa, pulling Elena into a suffocating embrace.

‘I’ve missed you too!’ she sobbed, her curls poking Elena in the eyes and tickling her nose again. But Elena didn’t mind. At least, for now, she’d got out of saying prayers under her sister’s supervision.

Mark clearly remembered the first time he met Elena. He’d taken one look at her and thought
, she’s not the sort of girl who’d ever look at me. And then she’d looked at him, and he’d been blown away.

She’d been wearing a pale red dress and was perusing the notice board. The man who ran the English school for foreign students, Tomi, the very thin Finn who lived entirely on a diet of coffee and cigarettes - never made a habit of introducing new members of staff to each other, so this was Mark’s chance to introduce himself. He made sure his shirt was tucked in and ran a hand through his hair. After quickly examining his hands for whiteboard pen, he was ready for action.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘can I help you? You’re new, right? I’m Mark Theodore - Upper Intermediate and Advanced.’

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Elena Montella.
Elementary and Pre-intermediate.’

He nodded and smiled. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and that was saying something because there were some stunners at the school. Most of them were Finnish or Swedish with platinum blonde hair and summer-sky eyes but this raven-haired contessa arrested him immediately with her hypnotic dark looks.

His ear, trained to detect any form of accent, told him that she was Italian.

‘Which room are you teaching in?’ he asked.

‘Room six,’ she said. ‘I haven’t found it yet, though.’

He nodded. ‘That’s Geraldine’s old room. She was the teacher before you.’

She nodded. ‘I hope the students won’t be disappointed at having me instead.’

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, nobody could be disappointed at having you, but he bit it back and merely grinned. ‘Trust me - they will be delighted! Just follow me and I’ll show you where it is.’

He led the way up the rickety staircase. There was an old banister rail lying on the first landing from the previous term, and paint flaked off the walls as if it were making a bid for freedom.

‘It’s a bit of a tip, I’m afraid. The refurbishment is always “Next term”,’ he said, quoting Tomi who didn’t like spending the school’s profit on fripperies such as décor. ‘But it’s a nice room,’ he said, ducking his head to avoid a low beam and opening the door for her.

She nodded and smiled and Mark smiled too because he noticed a pile of photocopied sheets on the table at the front of the classroom. Elena had already found the room on her own.

‘It’s very nice,’ she said, tucking a long, dark strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the most slender neck.

‘I’m in room three so I’m right underneath you,’ he said, and then felt his face heat up as he realised what he’d said. ‘If you need anything,’ he stumbled. ‘I’m usually around. If not in the classroom, then in the staff room.’

She raised a dark eyebrow; it was the sexiest, most suggestive eyebrow he had ever seen and it made him wonder why he hadn’t noticed women’s eyebrows before.

‘Then, I’ll see you around,’ she said and, almost banging his head on a low beam, he backed out of the room, feeling himself grinning like an idiot.

Seven weeks later, they were engaged. Mark still couldn’t believe it. He’d never had a girlfriend for more than a couple of months at a time and yet here he was, an engaged man, planning a mortgage and a honeymoon. He felt the luckiest guy in the world.

So, when she told him she was going to Venice for the Easter holidays, he was a bit surprised. He’d tried not to show his disappointment, of course; Elena didn’t like disappointment, and he knew that she had to go away and do some sister stuff. So, he shrugged. ‘Okay. Send me a postcard,’ he’d told her.

The thing with Elena was that she was a free spirit; she didn’t like to be pinned down and he had no intention of doing that. She was as elusive as a butterfly: just when you thought she’d settled long enough for you to get a proper look at her, she’d flit away to another, more distant flower. But she’d never flitted as far as Venice before.

Sitting on the sofa of a thousand stains in his flat, the thought of two weeks without Elena was unbearable. He walked over to the window, looking out on a wet afternoon in Harrow. It wasn’t very inspiring. He thought about Elena and what she’d be doing in Venice. Was it raining there? He picked up the piece of paper that had fallen out of her pocket as she’d run for her plane. It was the address of the studio her sister was staying in.

Mark had never been to Venice.
When he came to think of it, he’d never been anywhere much. His parents were very much into holidaying in the UK.

‘There’s nothing in the south of France that you can’t find in Cromer,’ his mother would insist. So, they’d inevitably spend the whole of their week’s holiday locked away in a caravan on the Norfolk coast sheltering from the rain.

Elena had told him lots of stories about Italy: of her holidays in Rome, Umbria and Capri. It all sounded so exotic when you compared it to East Anglia. What puzzled him, though, was that she’d never mentioned any boyfriends. Now, in his experience, there were two reasons for not mentioning your past love-life: either you’d had more than your fair share of relationships or you’d had none at all, and Elena wasn’t the sort of girl to be in the latter category. Which made him worry about what would be happening in Venice. Wasn’t it meant to rival Paris when it came to romance? Would Elena be swept away by a gondolier?

He looked at the grey street outside. People rushed by, hiding under umbrellas and dodging the splashes from a never-ending stream of traffic. It was a grim scene and he grimaced at it. And then a crazy thought entered his head - the sort of crazy thought that was also brilliant and might just work.

Picking up his wallet and keys, Mark left the flat, shrugging into his jacket and running through the rain to the cash point in the next street. Pushing his card into the machine, he waited for his balance to flash up. Four hundred and seventeen pounds, ninety-two pence. Well, that put paid to his brilliant, crazy idea. April’s pay cheque from the skint Finn hadn’t yet cleared and he couldn’t risk making a withdrawal when his rent was due in the next couple of days, and he didn’t have any other source of cash. Unless …

He pulled up his collar up against the rain and
legged it down the street. It was a five-minute run to the flat he was going to visit - a flat which, believe it or not, was in a street even grimmer than his one. Buzzing the intercom, he waited. It was gone three in the afternoon so was probably the best time to catch Barney Malone at home. Barney worked evenings in one of the local clubs and, when he wasn’t doing that, he was out with his band,
No Name
. He was allergic to mornings but you could usually catch him around in the afternoon when he’d be wandering about his flat in his slippers and housecoat with a mug of tea and a bacon butty dripping ketchup down his front.

Mark buzzed again but the intercom didn’t seem to be working so he stepped back into the street and peered up at the window through the rain.

‘BarNEY!’ he yelled. ‘BARNEY!’ Rain had just begun to find its way down his collar when a window from the second floor opened and a pale, unshaven face poked out.

‘Hey, man! Come on up, man!’ Barney shouted down to him.

Mark was buzzed in and he legged it up the stairs to his friend’s flat.

‘Come on through,’ Barney said, ushering him in.

Trying not to trip over the drum kit in the hallway, Mark asked, ‘How’s it going, Barney?’

‘You know what it’s like, man,’ he said, his pale legs sticking out of a holey housecoat. ‘Do you want a cup of tea, man?’

Mark shook his head. Barney’s cups were a regular penicillin culture. ‘No, thanks. I can’t stop long. I’ve actually come to ask a favour.’

‘You have? Well, anything to help - ask away.’

‘It’s about that three hundred pounds.’

‘Shit, man!
Do he still owe you that money?’

‘Yes.’

‘God! I’m sorry.’

‘So, you’ve got it then?’

‘Er - no!’

‘Barney - I really need that money.’

Barney ran a hand through his lanky hair and sighed, shaking his head and looking around his living room as if the money might magically appear from somewhere. ‘I don’t know what to say, man. I don’t have it. If I did, it would be yours - right now - I promise you. But it ain’t that simple.’

Mark could feel one of Barney’s protracted stories about to materialise. ‘It’s been seven months,’ he began.

‘I know, man, but things are difficult. In fact, you couldn’t have picked a worse time,’ he said, falling backwards onto the sofa. ‘Linda’s going to have a baby.’

‘What?’

Barney nodded. ‘It’s due in July.’

‘Shit!’

‘There’ll be plenty of that,’ he joked but his face was grim.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve been applying for jobs.’

‘What -
regular
jobs?’

‘Yeah.’

For a moment, Mark tried to picture Barney Malone wearing a suit and working in an office but it was absurd. ‘What about the band?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s dead, man.’

It was Mark’s turn to shake his head. If he were perfectly honest, he’d never really expected
No Name
to reach the top of the charts but it would be sad if it were just to die out. It was Barney’s life-force. Mark had never known him talk about anything else since they’d met at high school.

‘Then you haven’t got the money?’ he said, aware that his voice was an ugly mix of despair and blame.

‘What did you want it for, man? Was it something important?’

Mark nodded. ‘You could say that. I need to get to Venice to see Elena.’

‘Elena?’

‘My fiancé.’

‘Wow, man! You’re engaged? That’s like – mega!’

Mark couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm.

‘This is serious, then?’

‘Yeah.
I’m worried about her. I don’t know – I’ve just got a bad feeling. I know I have to see her straightaway and that bloody skint Finn at the school hasn’t paid me yet this month. And I still owe my credit card for that hideously expensive diamond I bought Elena. I’m stony broke.’

Barney shook his head, managing to look an even whiter shade of pale than normal.

‘Here!’ he said suddenly. ‘I feel real bad about owing you, man. Have you got a mobile?’

Mark reached into his pocket and handed it to him wondering why he didn’t use the phone on the table next to him.

‘Got cut off last week,’ he said as if following Mark’s train of thought. ‘Hello? Linda, it’s Barney. I’ve got Mark here with me. Yeah. I know I do. That’s why I’m ringing you. Listen, babe, I want you to lend me that three hundred quid. I’ll pay you back - I’ve got an interview next week and the job’s practically in the bag.’

Mark stood up and walked across to the window.

‘Okay,’ Barney said a few seconds later. ‘That’s sorted. She’ll meet you by the cash point on the corner in ten minutes.’

‘Yeah?
Are you sure that’s okay?’

Barney smiled. ‘Hey, man - it’s your cash and we’re grateful for you helping us out.’

Mark grinned at him. He felt just terrible about hassling Barney at a time when he was down on his luck but what could he do? He needed that money. His future, he thought, might very well depend on it.