The Echoes of Love (4 page)

Paolo whistled with admiration. ‘You have a very sensitive palate,
signorina.
You're right. This is a
Reserve Grappa
from a vineyard not far from my home in Tuscany. They only produce a thousand bottles a year, for the personal use of the family and local consumption. Do you like it, then?'

‘It's got an interesting taste which I admit could become addictive, but I'm afraid it's more potent than I'm used to.'

Paolo flashed her a charming smile. ‘I see you're feeling better. Your cheeks have regained some colour. It was a long walk in the cold.' He downed his
grappa
in one go. ‘Would you like a little more?'

Now that Venetia had actually accepted the invitation he had pressed on her to ride in his launch, he seemed oddly ill at ease, she thought. Was he perhaps embarrassed by their accidental collision earlier? Had she misread his apparent attentiveness as something more?

‘No, thank you – I think we can be on our way now,' she said, her guard back up again. ‘I have taken up enough of your time.'

‘
Non dirlo neanche per scherzo
, don't give it a thought.' He poured himself another glass, which to Venetia's surprise he drained with equal velocity. ‘Would you like to sit outside or stay in the warmth?'

‘I'm definitely an outdoor person, so I think I'll sit
alfresco
.'

‘You said the other day that the way into your home is on the Canal in Dorsoduro. I know Dorsoduro well and there aren't many buildings with their entrance on the waterfront.'

‘My apartment is in Palazzo Mendicoli, a couple of streets away from the church of San Nicolò Dei Mendicoli.'

‘
Sì, sì, so bene dov'è il palazzo Mendicoli é
,
yes, I know well where that is
.
I spend a lot of time in Dorsoduro. It's a place of artists, designers and writers, and is one of the most beautiful and charming of Venice's
sestieri
,' he said, his voice soft as he stood looking at her intently again, motioning for her to go up on deck ahead of him. For some inexplicable reason, she found herself blushing, and she hastily climbed the steps, keen to cool her flushed cheeks.

They went back into the open air and Venetia sat on the U-shaped bench, upholstered in blue and white canvas, in the stern of the boat. Silently she watched Paolo's hard, firmly corded figure move around the boat untying the ropes, preparing to exit the mooring basin. Her eyes slid down to his narrow hips as he stood at the helm, tall and relaxed, every contour of his sculped, muscled thighs outlined in his tight Harlequin costume. Once more she was struck by the leanness and power of his body, by his shoulders that were imposing without being heavy. Paolo had a build very similar to that of Judd's, she noticed, and she found herself wondering how it would feel to make love with him.

The waters were still alive with the laughter of masqueraders in gondolas, gliding to and fro, the ripples from their oars making dancing swirls of light as they went by. Still, Paolo was able to skilfully negotiate his launch through the narrow channel. As he came out into the Grand Canal he accelerated suddenly, bringing the beautiful craft to life. Lifting its nose out of the water, it surged forward with a roar.

The moonlight glistened down on the lagoon that surrounded the city, so bright and clear in the velvety blue night, and music came floating over the sea from every corner. The heart of Venice was still throbbing with merriment. The revelry promised to go on until dawn, which was still some time away.

There is magic in the air tonight
, Venetia told herself as she watched the rows of stately marble
palazzi
pass by before her eyes, their almost Moorish façades bathed in floods of silver light. She had never found the scenery so enchanting, even though she had been taking this journey twice a day for the past three years. Her gaze fell again on the man at the wheel, his hands guiding the great bulk of teak and mahogany with controlled tension. Paolo stood legs apart to brace himself as they hurried along, creating white waves of foam on either side of the rocking motorboat. He had taken off his cap and his black hair, strewn with its occasional grey, appeared longer than she had at first thought, as it stirred about his face, ruffled by the breeze. His mouth in his well-defined, jagged profile looked severe and hard. He gave the impression of being totally self-sufficient, and yet he carried an aura of loneliness that intrigued her. Paolo was a mass of contradictions and Venetia was suddenly struck that this stranger, to whom she felt so curiously attracted, like Venice itself, might not be all he seemed. She shivered.

Afraid that if she went on staring at him he might turn round and think that she was anxious to make conversation, Venetia concentrated on the scenery. The motorboat had gathered speed and moved swiftly on the waves with a loud swishing sound. The cold light wind blew sea spray against the young woman's skin and tugged gentle fingers at her hair, lifting stray tendrils from her forehead.

Soon the imposing Byzantine
campanile
and elegant fifteenth-century porch of the church of San Nicolò dei Mendicoli came into view. Venetia got up and came to stand next to Paolo. ‘There it is,' she said, pointing at the dazzling building.

The engine slowed and the craft nosed its way smoothly towards the Baroque doorway of Palazzo Mendicoli. Its ornate marble façade was lit on either side by elegant electric lamps. The boat stopped within an inch of the tall wooden posts that stood out of the water like giant bulrushes next to the steps of the palace, and Paolo turned off the motor.

‘I hope you didn't get wet,' he said with an impish smile. ‘When I'm at the wheel I tend to forget myself, and I've been told that I drive rather recklessly.'

‘Not at all, I enjoyed the drive as much as I enjoyed the evening. Thank you, you have been very kind.'

Paolo's blue irises gleamed with hidden laughter. Reaching out casually, he caught hold of her wrist and gently drew her towards him. ‘So you will have dinner with me tonight.' The phrase was said as if a
fait accompli
, and there was an intensity beneath his playfulness that hit Venetia like a speeding train.

Again, she was aware of that curious pull of the senses that had transfixed her earlier that night when she had fallen against Paolo, a physical magnetism she had thought herself immune to. Her instinct for self-preservation – as well as her irritation at his boldness – made her stiffen. ‘It's usual to ask, not command. Anyhow, I'm busy.'

His dark features assumed a wolfish grin. ‘Would it help if I got down on my knees?'

Venetia felt unusually nettled. ‘No,' she replied coolly, edging away from him.

His mouth twitched with barely concealed amusement. ‘And so it will be tomorrow.'

He was pressing her, and she was having none of it. ‘No, not today, not tomorrow, nor the day after,' she retorted, allowing herself to be piqued.

‘So you are attached, you do have a boyfriend in your life, or maybe he is already your
fidanzato
,' he chided.

Now he was giving her every reason to get angry. How dare he be so personal? He seemed up until now far more restrained and collected. What had happened? The man must be drunk. Come to think of it, she had seen him all evening with a glass in his hand, and then of course there were those shots of
grappa
he'd downed as if drinking water. What if he suddenly decided to drive off with her? And though he gave no sign of the thoughts she ascribed to him, Venetia was quite willingly working herself up. She had the feeling that something was happening to her over which she had no control, and a shiver of apprehension slid down her spine.

Her eyes sparked with anger. ‘That's actually none of your business.'

Her indignation seemed to sober Paolo up. He drew in his lower lip, catching it between his teeth, and visibly tensed. ‘I apologise,
signorina
, if I have appeared forward. I think I must have been carried away by the exuberance of the Carnival spirit. Please forgive me.'

Extending her hand she forced herself to smile. ‘
Addio
,
signore
, and thank you again for all your kindness.'

The planes of his face seemed to harden, the armour so exactly like her own slipping back into place. His voice was clipped. ‘So it will be
addio
for us rather than
arrivederci
.'

‘I'm afraid so,' Venetia whispered, turning away and heading over to the platform. The boat rocked, and Paolo was immediately beside her, his ardent eyes mutely questioning, as if trying to read her mind while he helped her regain her balance and then on to the quay.

Curiously enough, she was less eager to leave now, but she had burned her bridges and it was probably all for the best. As Venetia walked into the
palazzo
without turning, and heard the sound of the motorboat's engine starting up again, she couldn't resist a glance over her shoulder. She felt a moment's regret as she saw
La Serenissima
and her captain move off in a cloud of white foam, but then she regained her senses. Love had already made a painful fool of her.
I have no intention of going through that again
, she repeated to herself as she took the lift up to the third floor.

* * *

Palazzo Mendicoli was situated in the western half of the Dorsoduro
sestiere
, the southern peninsula of Venice, on the curve of a small canal. It was a sixteenth-century, three-storey marble façade palace that had been restored in the early nineties and turned into flats, Venetia's being on the top floor. As Dorsoduro was on higher ground than the rest of Venice, one side of the building had the fortune of overlooking the lagoon to the south, and the other faced north-east, with a view over the rest of Venice towards the Grand Canal. Most of the interior's architecture, as well as the paintings and frescos in the rooms, was still intact. Only the part-end of the building, destroyed by fire over the three floors in the nineteenth century, had been totally restructured to create an elegant, old-fashioned lift.

Venetia's apartment was large, with high ceilings carved with lecherous little cherubs pursuing strange-looking winged animals, and plaster borders embellished within borders. It had been her godmother's home for the five years that followed Giovanna's widowhood, until her marriage to Ugo Lombardi. After this, Giovanna had moved to her new husband's penthouse at the top of the Bella Vista building in the centre of Venice. It had been the site of an old decaying
palazzo
that Ugo had bought, on which he had erected a very modern block of luxury flats where the couple lived during the week. At weekends, they escaped to the Lido, the long sandbar south of Venice, where Ugo Lombardi had bought his bride the most fabulous old palace with beautiful views across the lagoon to the city's medieval towers and ochre rooftops.

The walls of Venetia's apartment were covered in pastel silks, and the heavy brocade curtains that hung from the tall windows were in deeper but matching tones, held back by thick cords of the same colour. Each room had a marble fireplace that was elegantly decorated with scenes of mythological fauna and flora. The massive pieces of furniture were a mixture of Baroque and Rococo styles, comfortable and curvy, and also embellished with motifs such as shells, flowers, and the stars of the firmament.

Venetia lay back on her cloud of pillows in the sumptuous four-poster baldachin bed and watched the dance of lights reflected from the canal below as they chased each other on the stucco-decorated expanse of white ceiling. The centre of the plafond was graced with an amber Murano glass
lampadario
, which hung from a chain of plump, clear glass globules. Lilies and daisies, their flimsy petals blown in tones of honey-coloured opaque glass, peered through their delicate green leaves near the top of the chandelier; and friezes depicting chromatic birds and butterflies adorned each corner of the room, enlivening the pale walls.

The bedposts were draped in vanilla-coloured brocade curtains that matched the bedspread. At the foot of it stood a magnificent
cassone
, an opulent gilded and painted chest dating from the sixteenth century, which had been in Giovanna's family since then, and on which were represented winged
amorini
, the infant cupids pulled in chariots by mythical animals representing the Roman gods. It was customary in those days to place these ornate trunks in the bridal suite as a trophy furnishing of Italian aristocrats. A Carrara fireplace jutted forward into the room from between the two tall, narrow windows, topped by an imposing, gilded Rococo mirror. Immediately opposite was a painting by Francesco Zuccarelli of a river landscape with travellers; and underneath it stood a sofa and two gondola-shaped mahogany
bergère
armchairs, upholstered in gold silk fabric with laurel and bee motifs. Facing the bed, beautiful panelling, decorated with
ton-sur-ton
garlands, created a whole wall of built-in cupboards with a secret door into the bathroom, which gave a modern touch to the sumptuous room.

Venetia was unable to sleep. For the first time since she had come to Venice, she found the loneliness and the silence of her room oppressive. Ghosts of the past were crowding in on her. Memories that she thought she had finally banished from her mind, which she had spent years trying to erase, began to drift back. Judd's handsome, smoothly chiselled face swam before her eyes… Judd Carter, the man who had abandoned her just when she had needed him most.

She had been only eighteen when he swept into her life. They had met at a Christmas Snow Ball in London over ten years ago. Venetia was just starting her architecture degree course at Cambridge. Judd was twenty-eight, and though he came from a modest background, he had managed to make his way through scholarships into The Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, and had become an officer in the Parachute Regiment. Theirs was a case of love at first sight, and a year later Judd had proposed.