Lucy Gordon - Not Just a Convenient Marriage

Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was whispering that it might be intriguing to follow that path, seeking the man he really was, perhaps finding him, and then—

Abruptly she closed off the thought, wondering what possessed her to give it even a moment. Soon they would say goodbye and he would cease to exist. Which would surely be a good thing.

Her next words seemed to come of their own accord, without any conscious decision.

‘You think you know me,’ she said, ‘but I don’t even know myself. I often believe I do, but then I discover I was wrong.’

He smiled.

‘Most of us could say the same. I’m convinced you’ve come to the right place. I promised Pietro that you would visit us again, which was rather impolite of me without asking you first—’

‘I forgive you,’ she said with a smile. ‘You couldn’t have asked me first, in front of him.’

‘Thank you. You’re a lady of great understanding. So when you come for your next visit we’ll spend a little time together and—who knows? I may manage to introduce you to yourself.’

There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but also a hint of temptation, leaving her free to choose which one to follow.

But it was an impossible choice; one she didn’t feel ready to make.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of bells from the clock tower in St Mark’s.

‘Goodness, is that the time?’ she said, checking her watch. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’

‘Yes, time can slip past when you’re thinking of other things,’ Damiano agreed quietly.

Suddenly there was a noise overhead. They both tensed with surprise, and looked up to find Pietro looking down at them from an upstairs window.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘You should be in bed,’ Damiano told him in an unsteady voice.

‘I wanted to see Sally,’ he said cheekily. ‘Are you all right, Sally? Is Papa looking after you properly?’

‘He’s doing his best,’ she said in a voice that was also a little unsteady. ‘But it’s time I was going home.’

‘I’ll call my driver,’ Damiano said. ‘We’ll take you back to your hotel.’ He took out his cell phone and said a few words in Italian.

‘He’ll be here in a couple of minutes,’ he said when he’d hung up.

Sally raised her head, meaning to say goodbye to Pietro, but to her surprise he’d vanished and his window was closed.

They collected Charlie and the three of them headed for the door, where a surprise awaited them. Pietro stood there, fully dressed.

So that was why he’d backed away from his window so quickly, Sally thought.

‘What are you doing here?’ Damiano demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be in bed.’

‘But we’re going to take Sally home,’ Pietro said. ‘We’re her friends. We should all go with her.’

‘Very well,’ Damiano conceded, opening the door. As Sally passed him he murmured, ‘At least my son has manners. He likes you so much he wants to be the perfect host.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she chuckled. ‘When you were his age, didn’t you seize any chance to stay up late?’

‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. All right, let’s get going.’

He helped her into the motor boat. Charlie and Pietro got in, and they began the journey down the narrow waterway into the Grand Canal. At this time of night it was still brilliantly lit, and music floated towards them from a distance. It felt like drifting through another world.

Part of her regretted leaving at this moment. Part of her was glad. It had been a relief to avoid facing the question that was teasing her. Damiano had spoken of introducing her to her real self. If she’d had to answer him—what would she have said?

She had no idea.

CHAPTER THREE

AT LAST THE Billioni appeared. The boat came to a halt and Damiano helped her out. As they entered the hotel the receptionist became alert and respectful, responding to his gesture indicating that he wanted her complete attention.

So he really is the owner, Sally thought.

Suddenly she heard Charlie mutter, ‘Oh, heavens! How did that happen?’

‘How did what happen?’ she asked, looking around.

Then she saw what had alarmed him. Through an open door she could just see into a room where there was a man whose face she recognised with alarm. He was in his thirties, sloppily dressed, unshaven, with dark hair that looked as though he didn’t bother to comb it. She didn’t know his name but she’d seen him lurking around their home in England, and knew that he was bad news.

‘Charlie, who is he? Charlie? Charlie, where are you?’

But he’d slipped away. Damiano was still engaged in conversation, so she headed for the door to confront the man.

‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said. ‘In England.’

‘Yes, I’m Ken Wilton and I’m looking for that brother of yours. Where is he?’

‘Why do you want him?’

‘Why do you think? He ran off owing me a lot of money, and I want it now.’

Her worst fears were realised, but she set her chin and faced him.

‘Charlie paid all his debts. I know that.’

‘You think that,’ he sneered. ‘I guess you gave him some money, huh?’

‘Yes. More than enough to pay what he owed.’

‘Is that what he told you? Well, I’m telling you that there’s a much bigger debt come to light, and I’m here to collect. Otherwise there’ll be trouble. So you’d better go and get him. He knows who I am.’

‘I’ll do no such thing. I don’t believe he owes you anything.’

He moved closer to her.

‘Really?’ he sneered. ‘I wonder just how sure you are of that, and how long it might take to change your mind.’

Sally tried to turn away from him, but he took her arm in a ruthless grip. ‘Where’s your brother?’ he said.

With a great effort she managed to wriggle free but he came after her and struck her, causing her to fall. A sharp pain went through her head as it hit the wall.

She heard a voice screaming, ‘Sally! Sally!’

Suddenly Pietro was on his knees beside her, trying to take her into his arms. Then a man’s voice cried out her name again and Damiano appeared in the doorway. The next moment her attacker had rushed to the window and dived out. They heard a splash as he landed in the water outside.

Damiano dashed to the window, glanced out, then looked back at Sally on the floor. A porter had followed them in, lured by the noise. Damiano barked some orders at him, then came to kneel beside Sally, drawing her up so that his arms supported her.

‘What did he do to you?’ he groaned.

‘He knocked her down,’ Pietro wailed. ‘I heard him yelling and then he hit her. Oh, Sally, please don’t die.’

Tears were pouring down his face. Through her pain and confusion one thing stood out for Sally—Pietro must be protected from the horror of what he’d seen...

‘I’m all right, Pietro,’ she said. ‘Truly. Just a little bump.’

‘We’ll see what the doctor has to say about that,’ Damiano said. ‘I’m taking you home with me. You can’t stay here in case that ruffian returns.’

‘It’s Charlie he’s after,’ she murmured. ‘Charlie—’

‘I’m here,’ he said, appearing. ‘He’s got away. They couldn’t catch him.’

‘Then the sooner we leave, the better,’ Damiano said.

He rose, drawing Sally gently to her feet, then lifting her in his arms.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’re coming with me and you’re going to be safe.’

‘He’s after Charlie—’ she whispered.

‘He’ll be safe too. You have my word on it. Trust me.’

All her instincts agreed, and she found herself relaxing in his arms as he carried her out, pausing only to bark some more orders at the receptionist.