Lucy Gordon - Not Just a Convenient Marriage

‘All these twists and turns,’ he enthused. ‘If you were following someone in secret they’d never know you were there. Or if you were trying to avoid them you could dart out of sight often, then dart back again.’

‘You’re just a naturally tricky character.’ She laughed.

‘Well, it can come in handy,’ he agreed, not at all offended by being called tricky.

They found where to board the vaporetto for a trip along the Grand Canal, which was followed by a visit to the Rialto Bridge. Finally they took a water taxi down a narrow canal.

‘I will set you down just there, where the canal ends,’ the driver said, ‘and from there it’s just a short walk to St Mark’s.’

At last they reached the Piazza St Marco. One end was dominated by a huge, decorative cathedral, while around the sides were dozen of shops and cafés with tables outside.

‘Let’s sit out here,’ she said.

‘Wouldn’t it be warmer inside?’ Charlie protested.

‘It’s not too cold and I like sitting outside and watching the world go by, especially in a place like this—so many people, so much happening. But you can go inside.’

‘And look like a sissy while my sister sits out here?’ he asked with a grin. ‘No, thank you.’

They found a table and ordered coffee, glancing around them as they sipped it.

‘Oh, look,’ Sally said suddenly. ‘That lovely dog.’

She’d fixed her eyes on a brown and white springer spaniel bouncing around, enjoying the puddles.

‘It’s so nice to see them having fun,’ she said.

‘You’re a sucker for dogs,’ Charlie observed. ‘If you love them so much I can’t think why you don’t have one.’

‘Because I’d have to leave him alone so much. It wouldn’t be kind. You never knew Jacko, did you?’

‘The dog you had before I was born?’

‘That’s right. I adored him. He had a terrific personality, just like that one over there. Bouncing everywhere, demanding attention.’ She struck a dramatic attitude. ‘Wuff! Look at me! That’s what he’s saying.’ She turned to the dog, who had come close enough to hear her. ‘Yes, all right, I’m looking at you. You’re beautiful.’

His ears perked, his face lit up, and the next moment he was flying towards her, bouncing into her lap, sending her coffee flying over her clothes.

‘Hey, look at your jacket!’ Charlie exclaimed.

‘Oh, heavens! Well, never mind. It’s only a jacket. It was my fault for calling him.’

‘And he’s covered you with wet paw prints.’

Suddenly a scream tore the air. ‘Toby! Toby!’

A young boy was dashing across the piazza towards them, waving his arms and screeching. Just behind him was a middle-aged woman, also running, her face dark with thunder.

‘Toby!’ the child shrieked. ‘Vieni qui!’

He reached Sally and flung his arms around the dog so fiercely that she was knocked off balance and would have crashed to the ground if Charlie hadn’t seized her just in time.

The woman began a tirade in Italian. Without understanding the words Sally gathered that she was furious and her manner towards the animal was alarming.

‘It’s all right,’ Sally said firmly. ‘It was an accident, not his fault.’

Hearing her speak English, the woman responded in the same language.

‘He’s a bad dog,’ she said. ‘He’s never been disciplined properly and it’s time something was done about him.’

‘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.’