A Venetian Affair. Lucy Gordon

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