Not Just a Convenient Marriage (2 page)

‘No!’ the child screamed, tightening his arms around the
animal. ‘He’s not bad.’

‘Of course he’s bad,’ the woman said.
‘Signor, mi appello a voi.’

The man she appealed to seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
Looking up, Sally thought she recognised him as the man she’d seen at the hotel
the night before. But it had been so dark that she found it hard to be sure.

‘Papa!’ the little boy screamed.

So this grim, scowling creature was the father of the boy. Only
a swift response would help now. She confronted him.

‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ she said, praying that he spoke
English. ‘I don’t know how much you saw—’

‘I saw the dog hurl himself at you and cover you with mud,’ he
said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.

‘He’s just affectionate. It was my fault for calling out to
him. He was being friendly.’

To her relief he nodded. ‘That’s generous of you. Thank you.
Are you hurt?’

‘Not at all. It’s not his fault that it’s been raining.’ She
patted the furry head. ‘You can’t help it raining, can you?’

‘Wuff!’

‘There, you see. He agrees with me.’

The boy gave a chuckle. The man’s face relaxed and he laid his
hand on the child’s shoulder. The only person not pleased was the woman. The man
spoke a few words to her in Italian. She glared and walked off.

‘She hates Toby,’ the boy complained.

‘How could anybody hate him?’ Sally said. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

‘He makes a mess of the house,’ the man said. ‘Usually in a
place she’s just cleaned. Pietro, I think you have an apology to make.’

The child nodded, took a deep breath and faced her, with his
arm protectively around Toby. ‘We’re sorry for what happened,
signorina
.’

‘It’s all right. Sometimes accidents just happen, one after
another.’ She leaned down to the dog. ‘As long as Toby isn’t hurt.’

As if to answer Toby licked her face. In response, she bumped
her nose against his. Pietro giggled in delight. Toby promptly licked her again,
then turned to Charlie, who received his attention with pleasure.

‘While they’re occupied, allow me to buy you a coffee,’ the man
said. ‘Then I will escort you back to your hotel. And of course I will pay for
your clothes to be cleaned.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘At the Billioni Hotel.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Actually I think I saw you there last night. You were calling
someone an idiot. Are you the manager?’

‘I’m the owner.’

‘Oh—er—well, it’s a very nice hotel.’

‘But it still needs some work. You don’t have to be tactful.’
He offered his hand. ‘My name is Damiano Ferrone.’

‘I’m Sally Franklin.’ They shook hands cordially.

‘And the young man with you? Your husband?’

‘Goodness no. He’s barely grown up. That’s Charlie, my
brother.’

‘And you are here on holiday together?’

‘Yes, we decided to explore the world a little. I know most
people don’t take holidays in January—’

‘But Venice is beautiful all the year round. We get many
visitors in winter. But perhaps you regret the rain.’

His glance indicated the damp paw marks on her jacket.

‘I don’t regret anything that lets me meet such a gorgeous
dog,’ she said. ‘I just love them.’

‘So I saw. You immediately became my son’s favourite
person.’

They laughed together. It was remarkable, she thought, how his
face, though formed in stern lines, softened when he spoke of the child.

‘Does his mother mind the muddy paw marks?’ she asked.

‘He has no mother. My first wife died giving birth to him nine
years ago. He used to have a stepmother but she left us.’

‘Doesn’t she ever come back to see him?’

‘Never.’

‘Does he mind? I mean—were they close?’

‘Not really, but she was the only mother he’d ever known, so he
clung to her. But when our marriage ended—’

A shriek of laughter interrupted them and made them turn to
where the others were playing.

‘I remember when I had a dog just like that,’ she mused. ‘Full
of vim and wanting to be the centre of attention all the time.’

‘He belonged to Pietro’s real mother. He’s the only legacy he
has of her.’

‘So of course he treasures him.
Yes, over
here!’
She raised her voice as Toby raced back towards her, hurling
himself once more into her arms while Pietro jumped up and down with delight.
Damiano smiled fondly at the sight of his child’s happiness.

‘I think Toby is trying to tell you something,’ he
observed.

‘Well, he certainly seems to like me,’ she ventured.

‘Enough to invite you to our house this evening for dinner—as a
way of apologising for ruining your clothes. Please say you’ll come.’

Pietro looked up into her face, nodding eagerly, and she
guessed he was the one Damiano was trying to please.

‘We’d love to come,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t we, Charlie?’

‘Sure, fine.’

‘I’ll just go back to the hotel and change,’ she said.

‘There’s no need,’ Damiano declared.

‘But look at the mess Toby’s left me in,’ she said, comically
indicating the paw marks. She put her face close to the dog’s. ‘This is all your
fault.’

‘He’s very sorry,’ Pietro said, ‘and he’ll make it up to you at
dinner. But you must come with us now.’ He nudged Toby. ‘Tell her she’s got to
come now.’

‘Wuff!’

‘Well, if Toby commands, I can’t refuse.’ She laughed.

It was the right answer. Both Pietro and his father beamed. And
Sally found herself overtaken by a sense of exhilaration, caused by the sheer
unexpectedness of the situation. For someone who spent her life analysing
figures and making careful plans there was strange delight in being swept away
without warning. When Damiano offered her his arm she took it with pleasure.

From St Mark’s Piazza it was a short journey to the water,
where they found a taxi that took them along the Grand Canal.

‘Is your home far?’ she asked.

‘You can see it now.’

She gaped at the sight of the building that they were nearing.
Knowing he was rich enough to own a hotel, she’d expected a substantial home,
but this was huge and elaborate.

‘There?’ She gasped. ‘But it looks like a palace.’

‘It’s a hotel.’

‘Another one of yours?’

‘Yes, I own it. I live in the building next door.’

His home was smaller than the hotel but still impressive, with
a broad stairway leading up from the great hall to the upper floors, where tall,
decorative windows let in the light.

Bustling towards them was the woman who’d been in St
Mark’s.

‘You’ve met Nora,’ he said. ‘She runs the house and she’ll show
you around.’

Sally thought she detected a puzzled look in the housekeeper’s
eyes, after the way they had met. But she greeted her cordially and showed her
to a room on the ground floor.

‘You can be comfortable here until dinner is served,’ she said.
‘There is a bathroom next door.’

The room was magnificent, with furniture that looked antique
and expensive. On one wall was a large picture of a woman luxuriously dressed in
eighteenth-century clothing. Gold hung around her neck, and much care had
clearly been lavished on her appearance.

Probably to impress the man who had paid for it, Sally
thought.

‘Who is that?’ she asked Nora.

‘That was the Duchess Araminta Leonese, three hundred years
ago,’ Nora said with a smile. ‘She was a very notable woman. The duke married
her in the face of much opposition. His family wanted him to marry an
aristocrat, but he said it had to be her and nobody else.’

‘Wasn’t she an actress?’ Charlie said.

‘She was a lady of the stage. And in those days—’

‘In those days that was a big scandal,’ Sally mused.

‘Oh, yes. Very big,’ Nora agreed.

As she turned to leave Charlie murmured to her, ‘I could murder
a drink.’

‘Follow me,
signore.
’

They departed together.

On the wall was a mirror where Sally could study her
appearance. Her jacket was a mess. The clothes beneath it were undamaged but
they were plain and frugal, and she felt self-conscious at how they would look
in these wealthy surroundings. But then she thrust the thought aside. Everything
was happening out of her control, and it was pointless to worry about it.

She went to the window, which had a small balcony overlooking a
narrow canal where she could see a gondola making its way along the water.
Smiling, she turned back into the room.

Then she froze at the sight that met her eyes.

The figure standing there was small but alarming. It had a
monstrous head. Horns reared up from the forehead, the eyes were huge and
threatening, and the great nose was more like a beak. This terrifying creature
had crept into the room unnoticed, and now stood there in a silent, deadly
challenge.

At last it spoke.

‘It’s only me,’ said Pietro.

CHAPTER TWO

F
OR
A
MOMENT
Sally couldn’t take it in. Her head was spinning too fast to think.

Then the creature removed the alarming mask, revealing Pietro’s face.

‘It really is you.’ She gasped, sitting down suddenly.

She guessed she should have thought of the child when she saw the apparition was so short, but the stunning effect of the face had driven everything else out of her mind.

‘Did I make you jump?’ he asked.

‘Just a little.’

He came close, smiling in a cheeky, friendly way that dispelled the last of her alarm.

‘I just wanted to show you my mask,’ he said.

‘It’s—very effective,’ she said with feeling.

‘Yes, I’m going to wear it for the carnival. Everyone dresses up. I’ve got several masks but I think this is the best.’

He put it back on, turning the monstrous face towards her with an air of triumph.

‘Aaaaaargh!’
she cried, throwing up her hands in a theatrical pretence of terror that made him laugh with delight.

‘What’s going on?’ Damiano demanded from the door. ‘Pietro, what are you up to? You should know better than to scare our guest twice in one day.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’m strong enough for anything,’ Sally declared.

‘You may need to be if he’s going to get up to his tricks.’

‘But that’s what boys are for, getting up to tricks,’ she protested. ‘If they behave too well it’s no fun.’

‘Then I can promise you plenty of fun,’ Damiano said with an ironic glance at his son. He pointed to the door. ‘Out! And behave yourself, if you know how.’

When Pietro had vanished Sally said, ‘If he does know how I bet he’d never admit it to you.’

‘That’s hitting the nail on the head. I must leave you for a moment to make an urgent phone call, but when you’re ready the dining room is just across the hall. They’re already laying the table.’

He departed, and a few minutes later Charlie entered, rubbing his hands.

‘We’ve really fallen on our feet,’ he said gleefully.

‘Yes, they’re lovely people,’ she agreed.

‘That’s not what I meant. This guy has money. We can have a great time here!’

She regarded him wryly. It was clear Charlie’s acquisitive side was rearing its head.

‘Charlie, I know your idea of a great time,’ she said tersely. ‘Just try to behave yourself.’ A sudden impulse made her add, ‘If you know how.’

‘But I don’t,’ he said with an air of innocence. ‘I never have, according to you. And now we’re in Venice, you don’t expect me to behave myself here, do you?’

‘Whatever I was thinking of to bring you to the great pleasure city I can’t imagine.’

‘You wanted me to have fun, and I’m going to show my appreciation by having the best fun ever.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Now push off while I make myself ready for the evening.’

‘But you haven’t brought any extra clothes with you.’

‘No, but I can try a little make-up.’

If it would make any difference, she thought, self-mockingly. In this beautiful place she was more than ever aware that her looks were commonplace.

Many women would have envied her slim figure but she regarded it askance.

A bit too slim? she thought. Thin? Perhaps. Frank used to say he liked me that way, but the creature I saw in his arms had luscious curves and they were all on display. Ah, well! What does it matter now?

She made up as elegantly as possible but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that the Duchess Araminta on the wall regarded her with disapproval. Nora had hinted that she was a courtesan, a woman who’d spent her life enticing men, and the message she seemed to send out to Sally was,
Is that the best you can do?

‘Yes, it is,’ she replied defiantly. ‘We can’t all be great beauties.’

Soon there was a knock at her door and Pietro presented himself in another mask. This one wasn’t alarming, but cheeky, leaving his mouth free. He took her hand and they went to the dining room together, followed by Charlie and Toby.

Supper was a collection of fine Venetian dishes. Damiano was attentive, asking her several times if he could get her anything. She revelled in it, unable to remember when she had last been so spoilt, and determined to enjoy it to the full. She guessed the treat would not last long.

Charlie too was having the time of his life, plaguing Damiano with questions about things to enjoy in Venice.

‘There’s plenty to see,’ Damiano told him. ‘The palaces, the monuments—’

‘I meant something a bit livelier than that,’ Charlie said. ‘Places where things happen and you have fun.’

‘There’s La Fenice,’ Damiano mused. ‘I’ve been there many times myself and always enjoyed it.’

‘Do plenty of people go there?’ Charlie asked.

‘About a thousand every night.’

‘Oh, boy, what a place! What do they do when they get there?’

‘They sit quietly and watch the performance,’ Sally intervened before Charlie could make an even bigger ninny of himself. ‘It’s an opera house.’

‘Opera—? You mean—
serious stuff
?’ His tone revealed exactly what he thought of serious stuff.

‘Not necessarily,’ Damiano said. ‘Sometimes they perform comic operas. We might go to see one. I’ll arrange it if you like.’

Charlie gulped. ‘No need to go to any trouble for me,’ he said hastily.

Sally caught Damiano’s eye and smothered a laugh. It was clear that he had understood Charlie perfectly, and was enjoying teasing him. His quizzical look asked her if he’d got the situation right. She gave him a brief nod.

‘This food’s terrific,’ Charlie said, with the air of someone changing the subject at all costs.

‘I’ll tell the cook you said so,’ Damiano said. And the moment passed.

Pietro made the evening delightful. He’d taken a shine to Sally after the way she’d defended him and Toby. Especially Toby, who was allowed to stay curled up under the table, from where he could be fed titbits.

‘Can you really eat in that mask?’ she asked the boy. ‘I know it doesn’t exactly cover your mouth but it doesn’t look comfortable.’

His reply was to bite a sausage, which he only just managed.

‘All right,’ she laughed. ‘I guess I don’t understand masks. What does this one make you?’

‘A monkey,’ Pietro said ‘But I’ve got another one that makes me a mouse.’

‘I’d like to see that. But not now,’ she added quickly. ‘Finish your supper first.’

Giving a quick glance at his father, Pietro replied with a studied air of obedience that didn’t fool her for a moment.

‘Yes,
signorina
.’

‘Oh, please, not
signorina
. My name is Sally, and that’s what I like my friends to call me.’ She added anxiously, ‘We are friends, aren’t we?’

Pietro nodded eagerly, and returned to eating. But before long he began chatting again, so that it was hard for anybody else to get a word in edgeways. Occasionally there was a mild protest from his father, but on the whole Damiano seemed inclined to be indulgent. Once he mentioned bedtime, but Pietro’s cry of, ‘Please, Papa,’ was enough to make him retreat. Yet at last even Pietro was unable to hide the fact that he was falling asleep.

‘Go along,’ said his father. ‘Say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Papa.’ Pietro turned to Sally. ‘Goodnight, Sally.’

‘Goodnight, Pietro. Goodnight, Toby.’

‘Will you be coming back to see us again?’

‘Yes,’ Damiano said at once. ‘She will.’

But Pietro’s clasp on her hand tightened as though he was still uncertain.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘why don’t I come up with you and we’ll say goodnight up there?’

He nodded.

‘Go on,’ Damiano said gently.

He gave his father a brief hug, then seized Sally’s hand again. Together they went upstairs.

As soon as she went into Pietro’s room she saw two large photographs on the sideboard. Both were of women. One had a beautiful, gentle face. The other was reasonably good-looking, but with a face that was intelligent rather than charming. She guessed these were Damiano’s two wives.

When Pietro was in bed she opened her arms. He hugged her enthusiastically before snuggling down.

‘You really will come and see us again, won’t you?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

She stayed with him until his eyes closed. Then she kissed his cheek and crept quietly away.

She found the dining room empty. At the far end was an open door that seemed to lure her on. She went to explore and found herself in a room with many windows overlooking the canal. Damiano was there, sitting near a floor-length window that led out onto a small balcony. He made a gesture indicating the chair beside him.

‘I hoped you would join me,’ he said, raising his wine glass. ‘So I came prepared.’

He pointed to a second glass on the table, and began to fill it with
rosé wine.

‘Later in the year we could sit out there on the balcony,’ he said. ‘But the forecast is more rain.’

‘What’s happened to Charlie?’ she asked.

‘He’s in the next room, watching television. There’s a good soccer match on. It’ll keep him happy for a while.’

Thus leaving them in peace to talk without him. That was the unspoken message, and she was glad of it.

‘You really caught him off-guard, talking about opera,’ she said.

‘Yes, whatever he came to Venice for, it wasn’t that.’

‘However did you guess?’ She chuckled, and he joined in.

‘But why did he come here? He strikes me as a bouncy young man who doesn’t go in for sightseeing.’

‘True,’ she sighed. ‘He was getting a bit too bouncy. He’s only eighteen and—well—’

‘I understand. I’ve got a younger brother who often makes me tear my hair out. And I wasn’t a saint at eighteen either.’

‘And now?’ she couldn’t resist teasing.

‘Certainly not! Go on telling me about Charlie.’

‘He went a bit too far so I seized him by the scruff of the neck and told him to obey me.’

‘Obey you? I thought you said you were his sister, not his mother.’

‘That’s right, our parents died years ago. In some ways you could say I
am
his mother. He’s been in my care since he was eleven.’

‘Don’t you have any family to help? Uncles, aunts, grandparents—?’

‘None. Charlie’s the only family I have.’

He frowned.

‘Does that mean
caring for him has denied you any existence of your own?’ he asked. ‘No career, nothing?’

‘Oh, no, I have a career as an accountant, and now that he’s older I can give it more time. At the moment I work freelance, so I can make my own hours, but soon I think I’ll have a very good job with a big firm. My interview went well, and I’m crossing my fingers.’

‘But is that all you have? You’re not married?’

‘No.’

‘And there’s no—forgive me, I don’t mean to pry, but surely there’s a man at home in England, waiting for you to have the time to marry him?’

‘No,’ she said wryly, thinking briefly of Frank before consigning him to nothing.

‘No emotional life at all?’ Damiano mused in a tone that gave nothing away.

‘I’ve had moments, but they didn’t amount to anything,’ she said, trying to sound casual.

‘The men didn’t meet your high standards?’

‘Or I didn’t meet theirs. That’s just as likely.’

‘So now all the hopes of your life are concentrated on the job?’

‘
Signore
—’

‘Wait. Enough of that. You told my son that you didn’t like formality. Your friends call you Sally. My friends call me Damiano.’

‘Damiano,’ she mused. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.’

‘My enemies would tell you it suits me. It comes from the Latin word Damianus, which means to conquer and subdue. It can even mean to kill.’

‘Your enemies? Do you have many?’

‘A respectable number.’

‘Respectable?’

‘I’m a businessman. If you don’t annoy a few people along the way you’re not doing it properly.’

‘So you’ve annoyed enough people to feel proud. You face each other, you conquer and subdue them, and they go off saying, “I’ll make Damiano sorry. Damn him!”’

He grinned. ‘I see you know how it’s done.’

‘Do they ever actually manage to make you sorry?’

‘Would I admit it if they did?’

‘I’m learning all the time. I must remember what you’ve taught me. It could be useful in my own business life.’

‘Here’s to you.’

He raised his glass. She raised hers and they clinked.

From below came the sound of singing. Damiano opened the door to the balcony and ushered her out. Now they could see a gondola gliding along the narrow canal below them. A young man and woman sat holding each other, lost in the delight of their love, their surroundings, and the gondolier singing behind them while propelling the boat.

As the song ended he looked up, saw them and called out, ‘The world belongs to lovers.’

‘Yes,’ cried the loving couple. ‘Yes, yes.’

They waved upwards, saluting the two on the balcony.

‘Oh, dear,’ Sally said. ‘They think—’

‘It happens all the time in this city, especially in winter when lovers come here for the magical peace and quiet. Please don’t be offended.’

‘I’m not offended,’ she said quickly.

There could be no offence, she thought, in being thought the lover of this handsome man. Luckily she was armoured, or she might have been in danger.

‘But why did the gondolier say it in English, not Italian?’ she asked.

‘His passengers must be English. It’s intriguing how many tourists come from your country. They seem so cool and restrained on the outside, but Venice brings out another side of them—one they usually prefer to hide, or even didn’t know they had.’

As if to prove him right the couple in the gondola were sharing a passionate kiss as they drifted away. Further ahead the little canal broadened out into the Grand Canal, from which came the noise of music and cries of delight. As they watched a
vaporetto
went past, crowded with excited passengers, some of them singing, some cheering.