Lucy Gordon - A Venetian Affair

‘I was just wishing I could stay here like this and not move until tomorrow morning,’ she said frankly, and smiled sleepily as his arms tightened.

‘I also,’ he said, and kissed her gently. ‘But Signora Rossi will expect me to bring you back by midnight, Cenerentola . I will come back for you early in the morning, and we shall have one last breakfast together before I take you to the airport.’

‘But won’t you be needed at your hotel?’ she said anxiously.

‘Not until I have taken you to Marco Polo.’

‘You have a very accommodating job, Domenico!’

‘I will tell you all about it in the morning,’ he promised, and smiled down at her. ‘Tomorrow we talk; tonight is for love.’

It was well past midnight when they reached the Locanda Verona, but Signora Rossi merely smiled indulgently when Domenico apologised for keeping her guest out a little later on her last night in Venice. He wished the signora goodnight, then turned to Laura and raised her hand very formally to his lips.

‘Sleep well. I shall come for you in the morning.’

She gave him a demure smile and said, ‘Grazie, e stata una magnifica serata.’

The blue eyes narrowed wickedly. ‘It was a wonderful evening for me, also.’

‘Goodnight, Domenico.’

‘Goodnight, Laura.’

When the door closed behind him Laura felt suddenly so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She received her key, asked for her bill to be made ready for the morning, wished the signora goodnight, and drifted up to her room in a happy daze. She managed to set her alarm before she fell into bed, and then slept like the dead until she woke to the ring tone of her phone next morning.

‘Hello,’ she said groggily, then shot upright at the sound of Domenico’s voice.

‘Laura! Are you awake?’

‘I am now. Is something wrong?’

‘Unfortunately, yes, carissima . There is a problem at the hotel. I have been called in to help with it—’

‘And you can’t come with me to the airport. Don’t worry, Domenico. I’m sorry you can’t make it, but I’ll be fine.’

‘I am more than just sorry,’ he said urgently. ‘There is so much I wish to say to you. Please ring me tonight.’

‘I will,’ she promised, keeping her voice steady by sheer force of will. ‘Goodbye, Domenico.’

‘ Arrivederci, tesoro. Take great care, yes?’

‘You too!’

Laura disconnected and dragged herself out of bed, so disappointed she wanted to howl. She’d so looked forward to travelling to Marco Polo with Domenico, greedy for every possible minute with him after the magic of their night. She sighed heavily, then pulled herself together and got on with her preparations for leaving. When she was showered, dressed, her suitcase packed and the room tidy, Laura went downstairs to pay the bill, which surprised her by being less than expected because, Signora Rossi explained, the room was on the attic floor, much smaller than the others and less popular due to the absence of an elevator, therefore there was a discount on the usual tariff. Laura thanked her warmly, received her passport, and after goodbyes set off for San Marco to catch the No. 1 Aligaluna boat to take the slow journey back along the Grand Canal to say her last, lingering goodbyes to Venice on her way to Marco Polo airport.

THE weather worsened over France. The descent into Heathrow was bumpy, and a very queasy Laura caught the train to Reading to get the next Intercity train to South Wales. Before she boarded it she rang her mother, who promptly volunteered to drive across the Severn Bridge to meet her. The train was packed and Laura escaped from it thankfully at Bristol Parkway, smiling broadly as she pulled her suitcase along the platform through the rain towards a small, hurrying figure in a dripping cagoule.

‘Darling,’ said Isabel Green, hugging her. ‘Welcome home. How was Venice?’

‘Fabulous. And a lot warmer than this. What a horrible day!’ Laura kissed her mother warmly. ‘You’re a star for braving the bridge in this wind.’

‘I thought you’d be glad to knock a bit off the journey and get home.’

They hurried through the rain to the car park and once Laura had stowed her belongings safely she sat back in the passenger seat with a sigh of relief. ‘How’s Abby?’

Isabel gave her daughter a triumphant little smile as they left the station. ‘Working right now, but only to the end of the week, then she’s off to France with Rachel Kent and her family. And after that she’ll be able to play like all the other girls until she goes up to Cambridge.’

‘How come?’ Laura eyed her mother in astonishment. ‘Have you won the lottery or something?’

‘You’re not far off. My Premium Bonds turned up trumps at long last. I won fifty thousand pounds!’

‘ Really? How absolutely wonderful!’

‘When I got the cheque Abby and I did a war dance round the room!’

‘I’m not surprised. Congratulations, you lucky old thing,’ said Laura, laughing.

‘Not so much of the old! What’s in the parcel?’

‘Candlesticks from Murano for Fen. I hope she likes them.’

‘You can find out tonight. She’ll be down later with your dress, and, I quote, demands to know every last thing you did in Venice.’

Laura flushed, glad her mother was concentrating too much on the road to notice. ‘Trust Fen! Though she’s entitled to a few details. Her brother-in-law sent someone to meet me from the airport. His name is Domenico and he took me out and about a bit while I was there.’

Isabel shot an amused glance at her daughter. ‘Holiday romance?’

‘He was just looking after me because Lorenzo Forli told him to.’

‘Then you certainly got value for money. Was the hotel all right?’

‘It was more boarding house than hotel, but spotlessly clean. My bedroom was tiny, but it had its own little bathroom and a fabulous view.’ Laura chuckled. ‘Now you’re a lady of means you should try it yourself.’

‘I may well do that some time.’

‘You should. I helped myself to a brochure from the Locanda Verona as I left. Take Abby with you and overdose on culture together before she flies the nest.’

There was no more conversation for a while as they crossed the Severn Bridge. The speed limit was down to the minimum in the strengthening wind, which meant dogged concentration for Isabel as gusts buffeted the small car. She smiled at Laura in relief as she turned off for Chepstow.

‘Thank heavens for that. Now, talk. Tell me more.’

Laura managed to keep Domenico out of it as much as possible as she gave her mother a swift account of her stay in Venice, and then changed the subject. ‘How are things coming along for the wedding of the year?’

Isabel smiled affectionately. ‘Fenny’s very calm about the whole thing. As long as she marries Joe Tregenna on the day she’s not worried about anything else. But from a personal point of view I hope the weather relents by then. The label on my hat says, ‘‘do not wear in rain’’!’

When they turned off the main road up into Springfield Lane there was a pause in the proceedings. A herd of cows crossed from one field to another on the Morgan farm before Isabel could drive on through the narrow lane to Briar Cottage, which stood by itself half a mile from its nearest neighbour. When Isabel had first moved her daughters into it twelve years before the splendid view over the river had been no compensation to Laura for small rooms and a garden overgrown with brambles. It had been a painful contrast to the big Edwardian rectory she’d lived in all her short life until then. But because Isabel had crammed as many of their possessions as possible into it the three of them had soon come to look on Briar Cottage as home, and now, even with the rain lashing down like winter instead of summer, the rosy tint of the bricks glowed in welcome as they dashed up the path to the front door.