A Venetian Affair. Lucy Gordon

say a cautious, hopeful hello.

      ‘Laura?’

      Her heart leapt at the sound of the voice she’d never expected to hear again.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Domenico. I have just received your gift. Many, many thanks. I did not expect this.’

      ‘No, I don’t suppose you did. I bought it before we went to the Basilica yesterday.’

      ‘Where are you now?’

      ‘In the square where we found the gold mask.’

      ‘Ah. Campo Santo Stefano.’

      ‘So my guidebook says.’

      ‘Laura, ascolta—listen. I know you fly back tomorrow.’

      ‘I leave after breakfast.’

      ‘It is a very bad thing to part in such a way. I was angry last night—’

      ‘You had every right to be. I regretted the words the moment I said them. I apologise.’

      ‘I said certain words that I do not regret,’ he said, his voice a tone lower.

      Not sure what answer he expected in answer to that, Laura played safe. ‘I’m very glad you rang.’

      ‘Bene. I am glad also. Laura, let us dine together one last time tonight, yes?’

      Oh, yes, please! ‘Thank you,’ she said, deliberately polite to mask the joy bubbling up inside her. ‘I’d like that very much.’

      ‘Then I will call for you at seven.’

      Laura put the phone away and sat utterly still for a long time, savouring the blissful feeling of relief. Campo Santo Stefano was suddenly the most beautiful place on earth. She no longer felt tired, and tomorrow she would fly home in far happier frame of mind now the parting with Domenico seemed likely to be at least amicable. She rang her mother to confirm that she’d go straight to Stavely for the weekend for Fen’s hen party, and then strolled back to the hotel to get ready for the evening. She was in such tearing spirits during the process she was ready and waiting in the airy chiffon dress when the phone rang dead on the minute at seven o’clock.

      ‘I am here,’ said Domenico.

      ‘Give me a moment and I’ll be right down.’

      Laura sprayed a cloud of perfume into the air, walked through it on her way to the door, and then made herself go downstairs at a sedate pace. Her heart missed a beat at the sight of Domenico in the reception hall, which was deserted for once. He wore a formal dark suit with a gleaming white shirt and the tie she’d bought, and it was all she could do not to run the rest of the way and throw herself into his arms.

      ‘Buona sera, Laura,’ he said, smiling as he came forward. ‘What an enchanting dress. You look more beautiful each time I see you.’

      So do you, she thought fervently. ‘Thank you. I’ll just leave my key.’ She pressed the bell and gave the key to Signora Rossi, who wished them both a pleasant evening.

      Outside in the sunset light Domenico eyed her intently as they crossed the familiar bridge. ‘What did you do today, Laura?’

      ‘After I delivered the package to your hotel I walked to the Guggenheim,’ she said in a tone that won her a wry look.

      ‘You did not care for this?’

      ‘It was interesting,’ she said neutrally.

      ‘Interesting,’ he repeated, smiling a little as they strolled along the familiar route to the Piazza San Marco.

      Laura described her tour of modern art and the switch to Renaissance architecture in the afternoon, but as they turned into the piazza she paused to look him in the eye. ‘I didn’t enjoy any of it, Domenico. After our disagreement last night I was miserable all day. I did those things just to kill time, which is a totally barbarous thing to do in a place like Venice.’

      He seized her hand. ‘I also was miserable—until this afternoon, when I received your gift.’

      ‘I left it at the hotel fairly early this morning,’ she informed him huskily.

      ‘I did not return there until just before I rang you.’ Domenico waved in acknowledgement to someone passing by, then began to walk faster. ‘Come. We shall take a water taxi from the Molo.’

      ‘Where are we going?’

      ‘Before we dine I thought you might like a walk in the Giardini Pubblici. They are gardens in the quiet part of Castello.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Or are you worn out with so much walking today?’

      ‘Not in the least,’ she assured him, and returned the smile with such radiance his grasp on her hand tightened painfully.

      The journey by water taxi was so brief Laura laughed at Domenico as he helped her out. ‘We should have walked.’

      ‘You must not return to your family exhausted, Laura!’

      Far from tired, she felt like dancing along as she strolled with Domenico in tranquil, leafy gardens she had never expected to find in Venice.

      ‘The pavilions here exhibit contemporary art at the Biennale, but this happens only on odd-numbered years,’ he said, and grinned. ‘So you are spared more modern art this evening, Laura.’

      ‘Thank heavens for that. Though with you for company I would have enjoyed it—probably the Guggenheim and the churches as well,’ she said honestly. ‘But today nothing pleased me because I was alone and miserable.’

      ‘Ah, Laura!’ Domenico looked round swiftly, then bent to give her an urgent kiss. ‘Even if I embarrass you in public I need this.’

      Her eyes sparkled. ‘Did I cause you any embarrassment by turning up at your hotel this morning?’

      He shook his head, smiling. ‘It was a great surprise to find that a Miss Laura Green had left a package for me, but I was delighted, not embarrassed.’

      She slanted a look at him. ‘I thought you might have been teased by the others on the staff, and brought me here by boat to avoid walking past the Forli Palace.’

      He gave her a look of mock affront. ‘My concern was for you alone.’

      She laughed at him, and he stroked a caressing finger down her cheek. But as they resumed their leisurely stroll Laura’s curiosity intensified as to what exactly Domenico did at his hotel. She longed to assure him that however menial his job she would still feel the same about him. But her relief at their reconciliation was so intense she kept quiet on the subject rather than risk spoiling their last evening together, and a few minutes later they were seated at a table on the canalside terrace of a restaurant renowned, Domenico told her, for its seafood.

      ‘I hope you are not tired of fish?’

      ‘Not in the least,’ Laura assured him. ‘Tell me what to choose.’

      ‘They do a very good spaghetti dish here—alla busana, with scampi, tomato and chilli.’

      ‘Sounds wonderful.’

      Everything about the evening was so wonderful to Laura after the unhappiness of the day that the only shadow came when Domenico gave her a sombre look as they left.

      ‘I wish so much that you were not leaving tomorrow, Laura.’

      ‘So do I. But at least,’ she added, determinedly cheerful, ‘I shall have the memory of this evening to look back on when I’m slaving away in London.’

      ‘Our evening has not ended yet, cara.’

      ‘True. We have the walk back yet—’

      ‘We shall return by boat,’ he said promptly.

      She shook her head. ‘It’s much too expensive to keep