Lucy Gordon - A Venetian Affair

‘Thank goodness,’ gasped Laura as she came to a halt in the kitchen with her suitcase. ‘I’ll take this into the scullery and unpack my stuff straight into the washing machine, if that’s OK. I need some of it to go back on Sunday night.’

‘I’ll make tea,’ said Isabel, divesting herself of her cagoule. ‘I bet you didn’t have a decent cup all the time you were in Venice.’

Wrong, thought Laura, smiling at the memory of English Breakfast. ‘After I’ve had a shower I’ll drive into town to fetch Abby when she finishes, if you like.’

‘No need. She’s going straight from work to Rachel Kent’s party tonight and she’s staying the night there afterwards. I said you wouldn’t mind if she didn’t dash home in between to see you.’

‘Of course not. She deserves some fun. Fen will be down later, anyway.’

During the evening the conversation centred on Isabel’s windfall and her plans for it, but when asked for more news of the holiday Laura changed the subject to the souvenirs she’d brought back. She wasn’t ready, yet, to tell her mother more about Domenico. She needed to hear his voice first.

Isabel was delighted with her gifts, and put the crimson slippers on right away. ‘They’re much too good to wear round the house, but I’m going to, just the same. Thank you, darling. Tomorrow we’ll find exactly the right place to hang this gorgeous mask. By the way,’ she added, ‘take Fenny up to your room when she comes. I shall be glued to my favourite murder serial.’

‘Can’t have you missing that,’ agreed Laura, smiling.

A familiar screeching of tyres outside later heralded the arrival of Fenella Dysart. She shot up the path into the house, laid a sleeping bag on the kitchen table and hugged them both.

‘Don’t worry, Mrs G, I haven’t come for a sleepover. The sleeping bag is keeping Laura’s dress dry. Do you mind if I drag her upstairs to try it on?’

Isabel smiled affectionately. ‘I was hoping you would, Fenny—my programme’s about to start.’

‘If it’s the murder serial, Mother’s glued to it as well!’

‘Come on, then, Fen,’ said Laura. ‘Do you want coffee or a drink first?’

‘Later, please. Let’s take your ravishing creation up to your room and pray I haven’t got any rain on it.’

Upstairs Laura hung the dress on her wardrobe door and eyed it closely. ‘Looks good to me.’

‘Get your kit off, then.’

Laura stripped off jeans and sweater, and held her arms up so Fen could lower the dress into place. Laura slid her feet into the satin shoes dyed to match and looked in the cheval mirror tucked into a corner. ‘Nice!’

‘Nice? It’s perfect—and about as near the colour of your eyes as mere fabric can possibly be. Am I a genius, or what?’

The amber crêpe sheath fitted closely down to the knees, where three finely pleated, satin-bound tiers hung to just above the ankles. ‘I had doubts,’ admitted Laura, ‘but it actually looks rather good. I could wear it with boots later on, maybe.’

‘It’s perfect,’ said Fen with satisfaction. ‘Let’s go down and show your mother, then come back up here so you can tell me what Laura did in Venice.’

Once the dress was safely hung away, they both curled up with mugs of coffee at either end of the bedroom window-seat, which had been a favourite perch for both of them from the first day Laura had moved to Briar Cottage. All the way home on the plane Laura had been dying to tell her friend about the man who’d met her at the airport, but the moment she mentioned him Fen held up a hand.

‘Didn’t Giando meet you off the plane, then?’ she said, frowning. ‘I suppose he pushed the job onto someone else! I know Lorenzo told him to meet you, because Jess reported back to me.’

‘A man called Domenico Chiesa came to meet me,’ said Laura slowly.

‘That’s the one. I forgot he goes by Domenico these days. He’s still Giando to the family, though.’

Laura eyed her with dawning suspicion. ‘Is this the Giando I think it is?’

‘You bet.’ Fen thrust her dark hair behind her ears. ‘He came to that language college in Cheltenham for a while when we were in school, but I don’t think you actually met him. Gian Domenico Chiesa is Lorenzo’s cousin. His mother’s a Forli. His father used to run the Venice hotels, but he’s retired now, so Giando—sorry, Domenico—is in charge. He’s a busy bloke these days, so I’m glad he kept his promise and went to meet you.’

‘He wasn’t very happy about it,’ said Laura, after a pause. ‘He hustled me off to the vaporetto so quickly I felt like an utter nuisance.’

‘Not his usual style,’ said Fen, surprised. ‘He’s normally a wow with the girls. Anyway, was the hotel all right? Apparently Lorenzo emphasised that you were on a tight budget, and very prickly on the subject of favours.’

Laura’s chin lifted. ‘I prefer to call it independent. Anyway, the hotel was lovely, and only a short stroll from the Piazza San Marco. No food, though. I had to eat out.’

‘So what did you do altogether?’

Once again Laura gave a list of restaurants and places visited as she took two parcels from the wardrobe. ‘Here you are. The small one’s a souvenir, so look at that first. The other one is your wedding present. I bought it in Murano. Not antique, but I hope you like it.’

Fen grinned as she took out a bright gold T-shirt with the Venezia logo. ‘Been there, bought the T-shirt, I see. Thanks, Laurie—great colour. Now, what have we here?’ Her eyes widened in delight as she took the candlesticks from their box. ‘Oh, my goodness. They’re absolutely beautiful!’ She sniffed hard and hugged Laura tightly. ‘Thanks a million. They’ll be perfect on our new dining table—well, old table, really. I can’t wait to show Joe.’

Laura smiled brightly. ‘And where is Mr Tregenna right now?’

‘In the bosom of his family in Cornwall this weekend.’ Fen heaved a sigh. ‘I’ve moved back home until the wedding, and it’s going to be a long, long week. I miss Joe already.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘I know Miss Ice Maiden doesn’t understand such things, but one day you’ll meet someone you can’t live without, too.’

With a sinking feeling that she’d done that already, Laura shrugged, smiling, and collected their coffee mugs. ‘Mother’s programme must be over now. She’s dying to see the candlesticks—or candeliere as they say in Venice.’

‘Show-off!’ Fen looked at her watch. ‘I’ll just pop in to see Mrs G, then I must fly. I’ll see you tomorrow night for the hen party—don’t be late. Seven sharp up at the house before we paint Pennington red!’

After Fen left Laura went out to the kitchen—officially to check on her laundry, but in reality to seethe in silence over Domenico’s silence about his relationship to the Forlis. Had Domenico been afraid she’d presume on it? No wonder he’d refused to take her to the Forli Palace to eat. The staff might have thought she was someone who mattered instead of just a holiday fling! Thank God she’d found out who he was before prattling on to Fen about shopping expeditions and candlelit dinners.

When Laura took two mugs of tea into the sitting room her mother looked up from the brochure of the Locanda Verona. ‘Nice little place,’ she commented.

‘Very affordable, too. I was given a discount because my room was small and I had to climb four flights of stairs to get to it.’

Isabel frowned. ‘It says here that there’s a supplement on single rooms, no mention of a discount.’

Laura looked at the price tariff long and hard, then sprang to her feet, snatched her phone from her bag and punched a couple of buttons. ‘Fenella Dysart, I want a word with you!’