Carol Marinelli - Rumours - The One-Night Heirs

Now, as the wheels hit the runway, Lydia came down to earth as her spirit soared high.

And as they stood to leave he told her.

‘You look amazing.’

‘Is it too much?’

‘Too much?’ Raul frowned. ‘It’s still summer.’

‘No, I meant…’ She wasn’t talking about the amount of skin on show, but she gave up trying to explain what she meant.

But Raul hadn’t been lost in translation—he had deliberately played vague.

He had heard Maurice’s reprimand yesterday morning and knew colour was not a feature in her life.

Till today.

And so he had played it down.

He had told her to sit, as if blonde beauties in sexy red dresses wearing red high heels regularly walked out of the bedroom of his plane.

Actually, they did.

But they had never had him reaching for his phone and calling in a favour from Silvio, a friend.

Raul had been toying with the idea all afternoon…wondering if it would be too much.

But then he had seen her. Stunning in red. Shy but brave. And if Lydia had let loose for tonight, then so too would he.

‘Where are we going?’ Lydia asked.

‘Just leave all that to me.’

Last time she’d been in Venice there had been strict itineraries and meeting points, but this time around there was no water taxi to board. Instead their luggage was loaded onto a waiting speedboat, and while Raul spoke with the driver Lydia took a seat and drank in the gorgeous view.

Then she became impatient to know more, because the island they were approaching looked familiar.

‘Tell me where we’re going.’

‘To Murano.’

‘Oh.’ Just for a second her smile faltered. Last time Lydia had been there she had felt so wretched.

‘Sometimes it is good to go back.’

‘You don’t, though,’ Lydia pointed out, because from everything she knew about Raul he did all he could not to revisit the past.

‘No, I don’t.’

She should leave it, Lydia knew, and for the moment she did.

There was barely a breeze as their boat sliced through the lagoon. Venice could never disappoint. Raul had been right. It heightened the emotions, and today Lydia’s happiness was turning to elation.

In a place of which she had only dark memories suddenly everything was bright, and so she looked over to him and offered a suggestion.

‘Maybe you should go back, Raul.’

He did not respond.

They docked in Murano, the Island of Bridges, and Raul took her hand to help Lydia off the boat. The same way as he had last night in Rome, he didn’t let her hand go.

And in a sea of shorts and summer tops and dresses Lydia was overdressed.

For once she cared not.

They walked past all the showrooms and turned down a small cobbled street. Away from the tourists there was space to slow down and just revel in the feel of the sun on her shoulders.

‘I know someone who has a studio here,’ Raul said.

He did not explain that often in the mornings Silvio was at Raul’s favourite café, and they would speak a little at times. And neither did he explain that he had taken Silvio up on a long-standing offer—‘If you ever want to bring a friend…’

Raul had never envisaged that he might.

Oh, he admired Silvio’s work—in fact his work had been one of the features that had drawn Raul to buy his home.

He had never thought he might bring someone, though, and yet she was so thrilled to be here, so lacking in being spoilt…

‘Silvio is a master glassmaker,’ Raul explained. ‘He comes from a long line of them. His work is commissioned years in advance and it’s exquisite. There will be no three-legged ponies to tempt you.’

And Lydia had never thought she could smile at that memory, yet she did today.

‘In fact there is nothing to buy—there is a waiting list so long that he could never complete it in his lifetime. People say that to see him work is to watch the sun being painted in the sky. All we have to do this evening is enjoy.’

‘You’ve never seen him work?’

‘No.’

But that changed today.

It was the great man himself who opened a large wooden door and let them in. The place was rather nondescript, with high ceilings and a stained cement floor, and in the middle was a large furnace.

Silvio wore filthy old jeans and a creased shirt and he was unshaven, yet there was an air of magnificence about him.

‘This is Lydia,’ Raul introduced her.

‘Welcome to Murano.’

‘She has been here before,’ Raul said. ‘Though the last time it was on a school trip.’

The old man smiled. ‘And did you bring home a souvenir?’

‘A vase.’ Lydia nodded. ‘It was for my mother.’

‘Did she like it?’

Lydia was about to give her usual smile and nod, but then she stood there remembering her mother’s air of disdain as she had opened the present.

‘She didn’t seem to appreciate it,’ Lydia admitted.

It had hurt a lot at the time.

All her savings and so much pain had gone into the purchase, and yet Valerie had turned up her nose.

But Silvio was looking out of the windows.

‘I had better get started. The light is getting low,’ he explained.

‘Too low to work?’ Lydia asked.

‘No, no…’ He smiled. ‘I do very few pieces in a fading light. They are my best, though. I will get some coffee.’

Silvio headed to a small kitchenette and Lydia wandered, her heels noisy on the concrete floor.

There was nothing to see, really, nor to indicate brilliance—nothing to pull her focus back from the past.

‘My mother hated that vase,’ Lydia told Raul as she wandered. ‘She ended up giving it to one of the staff as a gift.’ God, that had hurt at the time, but rather than bring down the mood Lydia shrugged. ‘At least it went to practical use rather than gathering dust.’

The coffee Silvio had made was not for his guests, Lydia quickly found out. He returned and placed a huge mug on the floor beside a large glass of water, and then she and Raul had the privilege of watching him work.

Molten glass was stretched and shaped and, with a combination of the most basic of tools and impossible skill, a human form emerged.

And then another.

It was mesmerising to watch—as if the rather drab surroundings had turned into a cathedral. The sun streamed in from the westerly windows and caught the thick ribbons of glass. And Lydia watched the alchemy as somehow Silvio formed two bodies, and then limbs emerged.

It was like witnessing creation.

Over and over Silvio twisted and drew out tiny slivers of glass—spinning hair, eyes, and shaping a slender waist. It was erotic too, watching as Silvio formed breasts and then shaped the curve of a buttock.

Nothing was held back. The male form was made with nothing left to the imagination, and the heat in her cheeks had little to do with the furnace that Silvio used to fire his tools and keep the statue fluid.

It was sensual, creative and simply art at its best. Faces formed and pliable heads were carefully moved, and the kiss that emerged was open-mouthed and so erotic that Lydia found her own tongue running over her lips as she remembered the blistering kisses she and Raul had shared.

It was like tasting Raul all over again and feeling the weight of his mouth on hers.

Lydia fought not to step closer, because she didn’t want to get in the way or distract Silvio, yet every minuscule detail that he drew from the liquid glass deserved attention. She watched the male form place a hand on the female form’s buttock and flushed as if Raul had just touched her there.

Raul was trying not to touch her.

It was such an intimate piece, and personal too, for it felt as if the energy that hummed between them had somehow been tapped.