A Venetian Affair. Lucy Gordon

hoped. She frowned, still undecided whether to send the money to him or not. She’d thought about it endlessly, not sure whether he would take this as further insult to his pride, or whether it was appeasing her own. But the man had said ‘send me the money’, so he could hardly complain if she did.

      Laura rang her mother to report in, assured her she was fine and promised to make herself some supper. She had tried hard to enjoy the roast Sunday lunch Isabel had prepared, but it had been an uphill struggle, which had not gone unnoticed. She smiled bleakly. Breaking up with Domenico was likely to be very good for her figure. She made some coffee, but instead of eating she ironed a white shirt, ready for next day, and when her phone rang felt shattered because her caller was Fen, not Domenico.

      ‘Are you OK, Laura? You looked tired at the party last night.’

      ‘Jet lag.’

      ‘After a flight from Venice? Come off it. Anyway, in all the excitement I forgot to mention the wedding rehearsal. Can you make it back here for about six on Friday?’

      ‘I’ll take my stuff to work with me and leave early.’

      ‘Great. You were such a star, doing the chauffeuring through all that rain last night. Thanks again, Laurie.’

      ‘I take my role of chief bridesmaid very seriously!’

      ‘And very well you do it. I couldn’t make it on the big day without you.’

      ‘Of course you could. All you really need is Joe waiting at the altar.’

      ‘I know.’ Fen cleared her throat. ‘I’m so lucky. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but I love him so much it hurts.’

      Laura wouldn’t have understood the hurt part before meeting Domenico, but she did now. ‘Maybe you should tell Joe, too.’

      ‘I have. I meant anyone other than you, Laura. Nothing horrible happened in Venice, did it?’ asked Fen abruptly. ‘You’ve been a bit fey since you got back.’

      ‘It was a wonderful holiday.’

      ‘Good. I was worried that Giando—sorry, Domenico—might have started you off on the wrong foot.’

      ‘Not at all.’ Laura paused, then shrugged and thought, Why not? ‘Actually he called to see me to make sure I liked the hotel; even took me out to dinner.’

      ‘Now you tell me?’ Fen exploded. ‘How did you get on together?’

      ‘Very well, though he didn’t mention at the time that he’s related to Lorenzo, and runs the Venice end of the operation.’

      ‘Why on earth not?’

      ‘He wanted to be liked for himself, and not for his money and family connections.’

      ‘With his looks? You’ve got to be kidding!’

      ‘I think it’s a hangover from the past—the lady who left him for his friend.’

      ‘But that’s years ago. And he must be over Alessa by now because Jess told me there’s a new lady in his life.’

      Laura stood very still. ‘Really? Who is she?’

      ‘Jess didn’t have the details. But knowing Gian Domenico she’ll be a knockout in the looks department, and decked out down to her knickers in Versace. You can ask him about her yourself on Saturday. He’s coming to the wedding!’

      Chapter Seven

      JEALOUSY hit Laura like a tsunami. She spent the night cursing the day she’d met Domenico and bought the euros next morning. But just posting them wasn’t enough. She wanted the satisfaction of handing them over in person—whether he had the new lady in tow at the wedding or not.

      Having made the decision, Laura gave the souvenir earrings to her colleagues, Claire and Ellie, made them envious with tales of her holiday, and did her best to put Venice—and Domenico—from her mind. She was successful during the day because her work at a Docklands investment bank demanded her full attention. The job combined her regularly updated secretarial skills with her love of research, and Laura enjoyed gathering information from the Internet and institutions like Reuters, and the subsequent collation of reports; even the sorties into the frenzy of the trading floor afterwards to deliver them.

      Evenings were occupied with friends from the bank for a drink and a snack after work, or with a swim in her building’s pool and a workout in the gym. The infuriatingly restless nights were the worst problem. Laura ground her teeth as she tossed and turned into the small hours. If insomnia was a side effect of having a lover, she was glad she’d never had one before. Not that she’d ever had Domenico in the first place, of course. He probably used the same routine with every woman he sweet-talked into bed.

      When Abby rang to say goodbye before she went off to France, Isabel took over the phone to announce that she’d booked a fortnight’s holiday in the Lake District with her colleague and friend, Janet Fenton.

      ‘Picturesque hotel, good food, and lots of walking to burn it off,’ said Isabel. ‘By the way, Fen tells me that your Domenico’s coming to the wedding.’

      ‘He’s not mine, Mother.’

      ‘He hasn’t rung, then?’

      ‘No. So you and Janet take care in the Lakes, Mother. Steer clear of holiday romances.’

      ‘Chance would be a fine thing!’

      Sleep caught up with Laura when she least wanted it, and to her fury she slept late on the Thursday morning. She shot out of bed, threw on her clothes, and with no time for coffee raced to the station, trod on a loose paving stone and fell flat on her face with such a smack she saw stars when she finally managed to sit upright. Shaken and hideously embarrassed, she sat very still on the kerb for a moment, checking that her teeth were intact. When her head stopped spinning she staggered up to collect the scattered contents of her handbag and almost fell again as pain shot through her ankle. Breathing heavily, she put her weight on her good foot as she leaned against a lamp post to rummage for tissues to mop up the blood pouring down her face.

      ‘I say, are you all right?’ said a voice, and Laura looked round to see a young man in a City suit peering at her. ‘I saw you fall. Hellish tumble. Can I help?’

      ‘That’s very kind of you. If you can see my phone anywhere I’ll call a taxi and get myself to a hospital,’ said Laura shakily.

      Her good Samaritan found the phone in the gutter and broke the bad news that it was broken. He used his own to ring for a taxi, then handed it over so Laura could contact her work, and afterwards, to her surprise, even insisted on waiting with her until it arrived. Laura thanked him warmly as he helped her into the cab, grateful for his help.

      The A & E department was packed. Laura hobbled to Reception to check in, then took a seat to wait until she was assessed by a triage nurse who warned of a three-hour wait to see a doctor. By the time Laura was finally examined she had a pounding headache, her ankle was throbbing violently and she could barely see over the swelling below her left eye. But to her relief no fractures showed up on the X-rays the doctor ordered. Her skull and face were intact, her ankle was neither broken nor sprained, only badly wrenched, and when it was bound up she was given painkillers and pronounced free to go. Laura rang for a taxi from the public telephone and, desperate for fresh air, went outside, shoeless, to sink down on a bench to wait, then stiffened in dismay when she saw a familiar white-coated figure approaching, fair hair ruffled, boyish face frowning in concern.

      ‘Laura?’ said Dr Edward Lassiter. ‘Good God! What the hell happened to you? Were you mugged? Has someone seen you?’

      ‘Hello, Edward,’ she said coolly. ‘I had a fall on my way to work. I’ve just been X-rayed, but I didn’t break anything. I didn’t know you’d transferred.’ Or she would have gone to another hospital.

      ‘Started here last week.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’m on duty, otherwise I’d drive