The Echoes of Love (3 page)

After a brief moment, she heard him whisper again. ‘Life ought to hold that once for everyone.'

‘And sometimes it does,' she breathed, without turning round. The evening had taken on a vivid and surreal magic that she did not want to let go of. She did not need to speak to him to know that he was feeling it too, and this connection between them that needed no words intrigued and scared her in equal measure.

The guests were crowding back into the ballroom. Paolo silently took Venetia's arm and guided her away from the crush towards the balustrade that overlooked the canal. Leaning his back against the stone, he took out of his pocket a packet of cigarettes and offered her one. She declined.

‘May I?'

‘Yes, of course, go ahead.'

He lit the cigarette, drew on it deeply and shook his head. ‘Quite a spectacle, don't you think? The last moments of joy before the imminent penance of Lent!' He gave a deep throaty laugh that somehow made her join in.

‘It really was a magnificent show. I've never seen anything like it!'

‘Only the Venetians know how to celebrate in such an extravagant way, and the dawning of a new millennium just adds to the wildness. It's all part of a long history of revelry and decadence in this city, where prince and subject, rich and poor joined in the festivities, and could move around in complete safety and freedom in the secure knowledge that their identity remained incognito. Carnival fulfils a deep human need for subterfuge, don't you think?' He gazed at her again, his expression unreadable.

She glanced at him sideways. ‘I suppose it's an occasion for people to hide beneath a mask and to change a role they have in ordinary life.'

Despite the cold, they remained outside for a while, silently savouring Venice in moonlight. All the lights of the great city were reflected and broken up into countless points of fire, like diamond dust, in the ripples of the Grand Canal; and a velvet canopy of sky, powdered with stars above, sparkled over the distant roofs.

Paolo had turned away to stare at the dazzling view that lay in front of them. ‘None of the works of art of man equal the sight of Venice by the Grand Canal when the moon is up,' he murmured, as though to himself, his attention riveted on the endless line of
palazzi
, the ghostly whiteness of their marble fronts rejuvenated by night. ‘For a few hours the moon hides the city's frightful rotting façades behind a transparent silver mask, giving her some fairylike quality, a sort of innocence. Looking like this, one would never guess at the decay which gnaws at her core.' And then, facing her again, he added, ‘A rude awakening for the unsuspecting tourist when daylight comes, don't you agree?' His voice was passionate, a touch melancholy, and the deep timbre of it once again drew her to him in that curious way she found difficult to fathom.

His words echoed Venetia's thoughts, but not quite. Ever since she could remember, Venice in moonlight had held a strange magical power over her. She didn't see the decay, only the enchantment. The whiteness of Paolo's collar threw the darkness of his tan into relief. She remained silent but was aware of him like never before. For once she held his smoky-blue gaze, fascinated by the changeable colour of his eyes but
disturbed by its sad expression and the bitterness in his voice. They stared at each other, a curious feeling quivering inside her, like the vibration of a violin string after it has been played. It was no more than a moment, but it seemed so much longer to Venetia and it left her uneasy.

She glanced at her watch. ‘I really must be going.'

‘There'll be no
vaporetti
running at this hour,' Paolo remarked, his gaze still intent on her face, ‘and even if there are a few, they would not be safe – too many drunken people out tonight looking for a good time. Let me give you a lift. My launch is not far off.'

‘I'm sure I'll find a water-taxi without difficulty.'

And then abruptly, his eyes darkened. ‘What is a pretty woman like you doing out on the town on her own, on a night like this? I can't believe you have no
fidanzato,
Venetia. Is the man away? Do you have no father? No mother? No brother to care for you?' His outburst was almost angry as he threw down his cigarette, crushing it vigorously beneath his heel.

Venetia bridled with irritation, though it was mixed with an odd thrill at the sound of his using her name for the first time. The questions were rather forward, she thought, choosing to focus on her sense of outrage. The fact that he had rescued her from a robber's assault did not give him the right to be personal. The added vehemence of his reaction was too territorial for her liking. Venetia abhorred a macho stance in men. After all, it was to get away from a domineering father that, when her mother died, she had decided to make her life in Venice.

She forced a stiff smile to her lips. ‘Really, I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern.'

Paolo sighed. ‘As you wish,
signorina
, but at least let me walk with you until you find a taxi. I don't think you realise what the town will be like on this Carnival Night. Don't forget, it's the first carnival of the new millennium. I dare say the people of Venice will be celebrating tonight with even more enthusiasm than in previous years. The Piazza San Marco, which you must inevitably cross, will be the scene of Babylonian events one can hardly imagine.'

Venetia hesitated. He was probably right; she had already found the journey a little hazardous on her way to the ball. Still, she was uncertain. Sometimes the power of his presence frightened her; she sensed a possessiveness she felt smothered by, even though he sounded really concerned and she knew perfectly well that his suggestions were sensible.

Paolo frowned and his mouth narrowed a little. ‘What are you afraid of? You risk much more going through the town on your own than if you ride alone with me in my launch.' His face softened as he tried to suppress a smile. ‘I promise you I'm harmless.'

They laughed. He had a point. ‘All right, I agree that it would be rather risky for me to walk through the crowds on a night like this,' she admitted meekly. ‘I will still insist that you only accompany me until I find a taxi, though, and then we'll part company.'

‘Very well then,' he shrugged, but his eyes held amusement. ‘You're an exasperatingly stubborn young woman.'

After gathering their cloaks, they went in search of their host to say goodbye and thank him for his hospitality. Venetia sensed that Umberto was slightly put out that they were leaving together; he gave them an acid look but refrained from comment.

The chilly breeze with its tang of salt was invigorating after the smoky atmosphere of Palazzo Palermi. Venice tonight was a city of rapture. It was late, but the carnival was still in full swing. The crowds were surging through the security barriers to sport with each other in mock battles, playfully throwing flowers, and dancing in the streets. The
poliziotti
were good-humouredly trying to keep them back, but it was a gesture doomed to failure as the scrum continued to hurl itself across the streets.

Like a diamond, this magnificent city, Queen of the Adriatic – dubbed
La Serenissima –
seemed to offer a thousand facets. There were stars in the sky and glitter everywhere else: the arcade in Piazza San Marco was brilliantly lit, the shops and rows of alcoves a shimmering crystal grotto, secular and ecclesiastical buildings transformed by lights into something still more glorious. But that was only the stage on which figures seemed to move. They were caricatures of life, on the verge of the unreal, amusing as well as sinister and disturbing. The music was loud and noisy, with blares of sound shooting out from every corner. Vivaldi poured forth through loudspeakers and pre-Lenten celebrants danced by the thousand through the floodlit
piazze
, their faces hidden by expressionless masks with slit eyeholes.

Paolo was right. Everywhere Venetia looked was crowded with masked people singing, embracing without restraint, in a vast, sprawling
commedia.
Hidden behind their disguise, it was as though they were indeed free to act as they wished, uninhibited by custom or convention. She was grateful to have accepted Paolo's invitation to accompany her, at least until she found a taxi. Legions of revellers stood roaring with enjoyment on the quayside of the Punta della Dogana and the Punta della Salute; and in a mass of highly decorated boats, some more spectators waited for the ladies' regatta on the Grand Canal, an unusual and clearly welcome spectacle for many of the male Venetians leaning over the sides and whooping out lusty encouragements.

Paolo walked briskly, holding Venetia's arm protectively, subtly proprietorial, shielding her with his stalwart body against any possible chance contact with those revellers thronging the squares and the bridges. For just a moment she forgot her misgivings, thinking only that this man, who seemed so steady, so self-assured, was different from the usual men she had dated over the last ten years. An intriguing mixture of sophistication and macho maleness, she felt strongly attracted to him.

They had been walking through the crowds for almost half an hour. Venetia had to face facts: there were no taxis for hire; everybody was celebrating.

‘Allora, signorina,
how do you feel? Will you now accept a lift in my launch, or would you prefer us to spend the rest of the night wandering aimlessly in Venice?'

They had reached a quay where a number of luxurious launches were moored. The smile he gave her as she met his piratical gaze lit up his face with a sudden boyishness, lifting from it the lines of bitterness that she had perceived earlier on the veranda.

‘To tell the truth, I feel rather irresponsible.' She looked down a little sheepishly.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.
‘Non ti preoccupare
, don't worry, no harm done. My launch is here.' He signalled towards an elegant boat in beautiful polished mahogany, with her name,
La Serenissima
, written in dark-red letters on the side.
‘
It'll be no trouble to drop you off at your apartment in Dorsoduro
.
As I've told you before, it's on my way.'

‘Thank you, I really don't know what I would have done without you.'

‘We say in Italian,
“la necessità è la madre dell'invenzione”
,
necessity is the mother of invention.'

‘As we do in England, as well as “Don't look a gift horse in the mouth”!' replied Venetia, laughing nervously.

He held out a hand to help her aboard and, as she prepared to step down into the launch, Venetia let go of the big black-and-white striped mooring pole. The boat rocked and she faltered, losing her balance. She would have been sent reeling down into the slimy water had not Paolo, with remarkable deftness, caught her, and she fell against his chest, the breath smashed from her breast.

The hands on her upper arms were iron-hard; the length of his body so close to hers that she was unable to stop her own body's response as once again a heat darted down inside her. Paolo murmured something into her hair that she did not grasp, and she looked up, what seemed an infinite distance, into blue irises so bright that they appeared almost like sapphires. Her mind emptied.

For a long moment they stared at each other, oblivious of everything else. Paolo pulled Venetia a little tighter against him and her hand slipped down to his chest. She could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her fingers and sensed the warmth of his skin radiating through his clothes. His muscular body was lean and hard, and the spicy fragrance of his aftershave tinged with tobacco went straight to her head. His face was so close now that she could see the deep creases at the side of his eyes and his mouth, and other faint lines, a little lighter, which stood out on his parchment-tanned skin. Up this close, he looked older, with a few stray threads of grey in his thick black hair. Despite the noise and the pandemonium surrounding them, they stood clasped as though alone in the world.

Flames ran through Venetia, and suddenly she wanted quite desperately to move even nearer to him, for his arms to hold her snugly in his embrace, to feel his mouth close over hers, to… She shut her eyes as she felt her need intensifying – the painful yearning for his caresses… This was not only madness, it was dangerous; but it had been a long time since she had felt this stirring inside her, since she had been aroused by the heat of a man's body, since an emotion had possessed her with such violence. She knew what this was and she hated it, but still could not help herself.

‘You're tired; you can hardly stand up. Come inside and sit down, you're shivering.' Paolo's voice came to her through the reluctant fog of her desire, as he guided her to one of the soft leather seats inside the cabin. He sat her down, brought her a thimble-size glass of
grappa
and settled himself beside her, after having poured one for himself. ‘Here, drink this, it will warm you.'

‘Grazie. Ancora una volta sei venuto in mio soccorso,
once more you've come to my rescue,' she said, a new elation in her voice as she took the glass from Paolo's hand and tried to calm herself. She was thankful that he had been ignorant of the insanity she had been prey to for a few moments, and hoped he had not noticed the deeper colour that throbbed in her cheeks.

The cabin was large with seats upholstered in
Napa
, a soft Italian leather. It was surrounded by windows adorned with royal blue curtains held back with cords. All the fittings were in plated chrome brass. Venetia noted that it was luxurious without being ostentatious and garish, unlike many of the launches. Somehow, she wasn't surprised; Paolo did not seem to be a show-off.

‘This
grappa
is quite different to the one I've normally been served,' she told him, as she took a sip of the warm amber liquid. ‘Isn't
grappa
supposed to be crystal-clear with a distinctive herbal aroma? This is almost golden in colour, and spicy with…' Venetia hesitated and took another sip, ‘… hints of liquorice and vanilla, is that right?'