A Venetian Affair: A Venetian Passion / In the Venetian's Bed / A Family For Keeps

She shook her head, smiling. ‘No, I won’t, Domenico. I’d love to go back to your place.’

After the drenching rain of the not-quite-dark of the lagoon night Domenico’s salotto glowed with welcome from lamps that threw light on the high white cornices and sparked muted gleams from a collection of mirrors in different sizes, all of them old with carved, gilded frames, some of them in need of restoration.

‘I noticed yesterday that there were mirrors instead of pictures,’ said Laura as he took her raincoat.

‘I am not so very vain,’ he said, grinning. ‘The glass is original in my entire collection; which means it is almost too dim to give a reflection.’

‘They’re beautiful.’

He held out his hand. ‘Come. Sit down, Laura, and let me give you a drink.’

‘I don’t suppose you have any tea?’ she said without hope.

Domenico smiled in smug triumph. ‘I bought some today, but I do not drink tea, so it is best you make it yourself.’

‘Wonderful!’

In the small kitchen he handed her a packet of teabags labelled ‘English Breakfast’. ‘It is a little late for breakfast, but I thought you would like this.’

‘I’ll love it,’ she assured him as he filled the kettle. ‘Do you have any milk?’

‘Of course! I knew that tea would be no use to my charming English guest without it. But there is lemon, if you prefer,’ he added.

‘You’ve thought of everything. Thank you.’ She gave him a radiant smile.

‘Such a smile will gain you anything you wish,’ he told her, watching as she poured boiling water on the teabag.

‘At this moment all I want in life is a cup of tea,’ she said, and savaged the teabag with a spoon. ‘What are you having?’

‘A glass of wine. Perhaps you would like one later, also.’

Domenico took a tray into the salotto and set it down in front of her, watching indulgently as she sipped her tea with a sigh of bliss.

‘I’ve been suffering withdrawal symptoms.’ She laughed at his blank look and explained that three days without tea was a personal best for her.

‘But why did you not say?’ he demanded, sitting beside her. ‘We can provide you with tea in any café in Venice.’

‘I love the coffee here so much I never thought to ask for tea.’ She gave an admiring glance at the gros point embroidery on the cushions. ‘I envy you these, Domenico.’

He smiled, pleased. ‘They are my mother’s work.’

‘She’s very clever. I’m not at all talented when it comes to sewing.’

‘Can you cook?’

‘It all depends,’ she said guardedly.

He looked amused. ‘On what, exactly?’

‘Your idea of a good meal. Can you cook?’

‘Of course,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘I thought all Italian males were spoilt rotten by their mammas!’

‘Often this is true,’ he admitted. ‘But when I am here in the apartment I sometimes like to make a meal. It is a change for me.’

‘And in the hotel?’

‘I eat hotel meals,’ he said, shrugging.

She eyed him curiously. ‘What exactly do you do in this hotel of yours?’

‘I work very hard!’ He smiled. ‘Allora, would you like more tea, or shall I give you a glass of wine?’

Laura shook her head. ‘Nothing more, thanks. But if you’d be kind enough to hand over those bags I left behind I’d love to gloat over my purchases.’

Domenico deposited her shopping at her feet, smiling at her pleasure as she examined her trophies.

‘With your help I spent a lot less and bought far more than I expected,’ she told him with satisfaction. ‘But I also need a proper wedding present for Fen Dysart. I’d like to buy her some Venetian glass—something special.’

‘Then we shall go to Murano tomorrow. A reproduction of something old would be good, yes?’

‘Perfect.’ Laura hesitated. ‘As long as they accept credit cards.’

‘Of course. They will also ship anything you wish to England.’

‘That would be marvellous.’ She turned to look him in the eye. ‘Allora, as you Italians say, give me the bill for the meal, please.’

‘I hoped you had forgotten.’ Domenico sighed heavily. ‘I do not like this.’

‘Tough. I insist.’

‘You are a hard woman.’

‘You’d better believe it!’ She smiled at him to soften her words, and managed not to wince at the total when he produced the bill from his wallet.

‘But remember this, Laura,’ he said very deliberately. ‘You may pay this one time since it matters so much to you, but that is all. It is understood?’

She nodded meekly, and counted out a pile of euros, relieved to discover she had enough to cover it.

‘Do you feel better now?’ he demanded.

‘Much better,’ she assured him, and smiled. ‘I think I would like a glass of wine after all.’

‘Do you insist on paying when you dine with men in London?’ he asked, handing a glass to her.

‘That’s different,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve not only paid for meals, you’ve taken time off from your job to help me.’

‘Let us talk no more of money.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Instead, I will make a confession which will amuse you very much.’

‘Confession? That sounds serious.’

‘It is comical, not serious,’ he assured her. ‘I will start from the beginning. Last night I was not pleased to find you gone when I went to your hotel.’

‘I was afraid of that,’ she admitted. ‘But, Domenico, you didn’t put a phone number on your note, and I couldn’t sit for hours twiddling my thumbs in my room when Venice was out there, luring to me to come out and play, now could I?’

‘No, of course not.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘But when Signora Rossi gave me your message—’

‘You were pretty ticked off,’ she teased.

‘E vero, if that means annoyed,’ he agreed. ‘I had planned the evening so carefully, you understand, and it was not part of the plan to find you gone when I came for you. But when I saw you sitting there at Florian’s I was angry no longer. You looked so beautiful—and I was not the only man who thought so,’ he added darkly.

She brushed that aside. ‘So tell me about this plan.’

‘To explain I must go back to our first meeting, when you did not notice me at all!’

She shook her head. ‘I did, you know—mainly because you were in such a hurry to get rid of me. But also because you looked respectable and had been sent by Lorenzo Forli—’

‘Respectable? Dio!’ He shook his head in mock despair. ‘Women usually have more flattering things to say of me than that, Laura.’

‘I bet they do!’

‘I met a friend in the San Marco sestiere later that day,’ he went on, ‘and on impulse afterwards I decided to make sure all was well with you. Signora Rossi told me you had gone to Florian’s, but when I looked for you there I did not recognise you at first.’

‘I clean up well,’ she agreed, and Domenico gave a delighted laugh.

‘Very well indeed.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Until that moment my plan was merely to ask if the hotel was satisfactory—’

‘And bowl me over with your charm!’ she accused.

‘Esattamente.’ He nodded, unrepentant. ‘But after meeting with you it was I who was bowled over, Laura. I enjoyed our time together very much—until you refused my escort back to the hotel.’

‘That offended you?’

‘I was hurt!’ he said, hand on heart. ‘I wanted very much to see you again. But to avoid another rejection I sent a note.’

‘Very clever,’ said Laura, grinning.

‘I think so,’ he said smugly. ‘Allora, the next part of my plan was to impress you with dinner at Harry’s Bar.’

‘Excellent move.’

‘But during the meal I learned of your dislike of romantic gestures,’ he said with a heavy sigh, ‘so I abandoned my plan and gave money to one of the waiters to pay off the gondoliere. Instead of taking you on a moonlit gondola ride I walked with you back to your hotel.’

Laura stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh helplessly. ‘My story about the proposal lost me a trip in a gondola?’

Domenico nodded, grinning. ‘But if you wish for one some other time this can be arranged.’

‘No, thanks. Besides—’ She hesitated.

‘Besides?’ he prompted.

‘Our walk back by moonlight was more to my taste.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘You include the kiss?’

She nodded, smiling. ‘Short but sweet.’

‘I used much self-control,’ he said virtuously.

‘I was impressed. Your plan worked like a charm without the gondola, Domenico.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘Today there was no plan.’

‘And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.’

‘Even the walk in the rain?’

Laura smiled. ‘Especially that.’ She leaned nearer and held up her face. ‘It’s still raining out there so you’d better kiss me goodnight right here.’

To her astonishment Domenico jumped up, shaking his head. ‘No.’

Laura stared blankly. ‘No?’

‘I did not bring you here for that.’

‘For what?’ She jumped to her feet, eyes cold. ‘A kiss is the only thing on offer!’

‘I know this,’ he said roughly. ‘Come. I will take you back.’ He strode out of the room, leaving her to stow her shopping away in the bags, all her pleasure in the evening gone. Domenico returned, wearing a black leather jacket, and in silence she thrust her arms into the sleeves of the raincoat he held out.

‘It is too wet to take your presents tonight,’ he informed her. ‘I shall bring them in the morning when I come for you.’

‘Are you still going to do that?’ she demanded, tying her belt viciously tight.

He frowned. ‘Of course. Unless,’ he added with sudden hauteur, ‘you no longer want me to spend the day with you.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘You know very well that I do.’ He took her by the shoulders, the blue eyes darkening as they bored down into hers. ‘Try to understand. My instructions were to take care of you. So I am taking you back to your hotel.’

‘Message received, loud and clear.’ She marched out of the room and down the smooth, worn stone stairs, and at the entrance waited, face averted, while Domenico put up the umbrella. He stood looking down into her set face for a moment then slid his arm round her and held her very firmly.

‘It is necessary to share the umbrella,’ he informed her.

Still smarting from his rejection, Laura controlled a childish urge to shove him away but held herself poker-stiff, wishing she’d brought her own umbrella as they walked in silence Domenico was the first to break.

‘You are very angry with me?’ he demanded at last, his accent more noticeable than usual.

‘Hurt as well as angry,’ she informed him. ‘The one time I actually offer to kiss a man he turns me down.’

‘I wanted the kiss so much I dared not take it,’ he said tightly. ‘I am not made of stone, Laura.’ He halted in the deserted calle as they came in sight of the hotel, holding her closer in the shadows between the lights. ‘Here it is different,’ he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.

Laura breathed in the scent of leather and cologne and man as the rain teemed down around them, enclosing them in a private world under the umbrella. His arm tightened and she held up her face as he bent his head to kiss her. Their lips met in a gentle, exploratory caress, which quickly flared into something so different that in some corner of her brain Laura marvelled at Domenico’s skill at keeping the umbrella upright as he kissed her with a mounting passion she responded to helplessly, her hands tunnelling under his jacket to hold him closer. At last he gave a smothered groan and raised his head a fraction, his breath hot against her cheek as he held her hard against him.

‘Now you see?’ he said, in a voice husky with emotion.

‘Yes,’ she whispered shakily.

Outside the closed door of the hotel Domenico kissed her again, then released her with reluctance.

‘Buona notte, Laura. Until tomorrow.’

Chapter Three

LAURA woke with the memory of the kisses still warm on her lips. A tendency to gaze into space held her up so much as she got ready that Domenico had already arrived when she ran downstairs. He gave her his usual double kiss of greeting and exchanged a few words with Signora Rossi before sweeping Laura out into the steamy, sunlit warmth of the Venice morning.

‘How are you today, cara?’ he enquired as they went in search of breakfast. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘Did you?’

He shook his head, sighing. ‘I lay awake listening to the rain and thinking of our kisses.’

‘Snap!’

He laughed and took her hand. ‘I know this now. I am glad you felt the same.’

After a leisurely breakfast Laura insisted they caught a vaporetto instead of an expensive water taxi for the short journey to Murano and stood at the rail within Domenico’s sheltering arm watching the island come nearer, its outline softened and blurred by the saline lagoon climate.

As they drew up alongside he pointed out the island’s ancient canalside porticoes. ‘Some of these have survived from mediaeval times, when Murano was the principal glassmaking centre of Europe and its citizens were the only craftsmen in the world able to produce a mirror.’

‘A pretty vital invention from a woman’s point of view!’

He smiled and smoothed a lock of hair back from her forehead as they left the boat. ‘Allora, before making your choice do you wish to watch our celebrated glass-blowers at work?’

‘I certainly do,’ she assured him.

‘But afterwards, if you see something you like, leave all bargaining to me,’ he advised.

When they reached a door with a ‘fornace’ sign they went inside to watch a demonstration of the ancient craft that had made Murano famous. Laura watched, fascinated, as the glass blower took a blob of molten paste on the end of an iron rod, and with a skilled, dangerous-looking process of twisting, turning and blowing transformed it into a perfect wine goblet.

‘Amazing, Domenico,’ she said as they began a tour of the showroom afterwards. ‘It’s probably all in a day’s work to that man, and nothing new to you, but it looked like pure magic to me.’

‘With you at my side, Laura, everything in Venice is new to me also,’ he said, smiling down at her as she looked at the dazzling array of glass artefacts. ‘Have you something in mind for your friend’s bride gift? What type of house will she live in?’

‘Her fiancé originally bought a flat in a beautiful Georgian house in Pennington, but he now owns the entire property.’ She gestured at some extravagantly modern pieces. ‘Those are wonderful from a technical point of view, but I want something more traditional, to suit their house.’

Laura would have found it hard to resist the pressure from some of the sales staff on her own, but with Domenico on hand they were left in peace to browse.

‘Would she like these?’ he asked, pointing at a display of candlesticks and candelabra. ‘Millefiori is not everyone’s taste, but perhaps she would like the aventurine, which uses gold.’

Laura nodded enthusiastically. ‘Exactly Fen’s sort of thing.’

After lengthy deliberation on style and cost, she eventually chose a pair of tall candlesticks with hair-fine strands of gold twined through their serpentine, tactile curves. Domenico did some efficient haggling, which brought the price down considerably, but in the end Laura decided against having them shipped.

‘Just in case they don’t arrive in time for the wedding,’ she told him. ‘I must have my present ready for the big day. Thanks a lot for the expert bargaining.’

He smiled, and took charge of the gift as they went to catch the vaporetto back to San Marco. ‘So. I have my uses!’

‘Oh, very definitely,’ she assured him, ‘one of which is to tell me who is on the other pillar.’

‘Cosa?’ he said blankly.

‘At the entrance to San Marco. The lion of Venice is on one pillar, but who stands on the other one?’

‘Ah! That is San Teodoro,’ he said, enlightened. ‘Saint Theodore to you. And be warned: superstitious Venetians never walk between the pillars because in the past executions took place there. And now,’ he added, ‘I have a confession to make.’

‘Another one?’ she said, laughing.

‘I went early to the market this morning, and in my hurry afterwards I forgot your shopping again.’

‘Never mind, I can pick it up on my way back to the hotel.’

‘And we shall eat lunch at the apartment. Or we can go out, of course,’ he added quickly.

‘I prefer your apartment.’ She smiled at him as they left the boat. ‘I like it very much, Domenico.’

‘Do you like me very much, also?’ he asked, so utterly serious Laura gave him a startled look.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction, and took her hand. ‘Do not worry. I shall not drop the candeliere.’

Laura volunteered to make an omelette to accompany the bread and salad Domenico had bought fresh that morning, and after sizing up the cooker and the pan he gave her she uttered a silent prayer and got to work with butter, eggs and herbs. Domenico watched in approval as for the final touch she gave the pan a brisk shake, folded the omelette in half, and slid two crisp, soft-centred portions onto the plates he had ready.

‘Perfetto,’ he assured her as they began eating.

‘You’re being kind,’ she told him, delighted that her effort had turned out so well.

‘No, I am truthful.’ He smiled as he helped her to salad. ‘The frittata is delicious and so is the chef. This is a very special occasion for me. Except for my mother no woman has ever offered to make lunch for me here.’

Laura didn’t want to hear about other women in Domenico’s apartment. ‘You can make me some tea as my reward,’ she told him.

‘Of course,’ he said, and laid a peeled peach on her plate. ‘But afterwards you must do as we Venetians do and rest for a while before we go on with the day. So this afternoon is it to be the Guggenheim or the Basilica? I do not advise both.’

‘The Basilica. Let’s do ancient today and modern tomorrow—if you still have time to spare for tomorrow?’ she added, flushing.

‘My time is yours until you leave,’ he reminded her as he got up to make her tea. ‘Which is not long now. You must come back again soon, Laura.’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid. I won’t be able to afford another trip to Venice for quite a while,’ she said with regret.

He frowned as he put a teabag in a cup. ‘If cost is a problem I could—’

‘No, you couldn’t, Domenico,’ she said gently.

Instead of arguing, as she’d half expected, he made her tea, added milk, and gave her the cup. ‘First you drink this tea, then you rest in the salotto.’

‘I want to help clear up,’ she objected.

‘No, cara—you did the cooking,’ he said firmly. ‘Is the tea to your taste?’

It was too weak and milky by far, but Laura assured him it was delicious and drank every drop. Afterwards she spent a few minutes on repairs in the bathroom, then made for the window in the sitting room to look down at the water traffic on the sunlit water below, amused as she contrasted it with her daily commute in London.

‘You smile like the Mona Lisa,’ said Domenico behind her.

She turned to him. ‘I was looking at all these people travelling about on the water in the sunshine—a bit different from my daily trips on the Docklands Light Railway.’

‘This train is convenient for your apartment?’

She nodded. ‘I live in a part of London called Bow, so the DLR, as we locals call it, is almost door to door from my flat to the bank.’

He took her hand in his and drew her down to sit beside him. ‘Tell me about your flat, Laura.’

‘It’s very small, with only one bedroom, and very different from this. But on the plus side it’s in a building with a gym and a pool. I’ve been very grateful for both assets since the downward turn in my social life.’ She yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry. It must be the Venice air.’

‘Come, it is early yet. Put your head on that cushion and enjoy a short siesta. Then later we shall tour the Basilica.’

Laura found it all too easy to do as he said. She curled up in her corner of his sofa, so utterly at ease now in Domenico’s company that she was soon asleep.

He sat back, resisting the urge to stroke the gleaming braid trailing over Laura’s shoulder. He looked at her flushed, sleeping face, the desire he could not ignore mixed with a protective feeling new to him in his dealings with women. When Lorenzo Forli had requested—no, ordered him to take care of Fenella’s friend he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that she would appeal to him so strongly.

He sat very still as she stirred, but she merely turned her face deeper into the cushion, and he let out a deep breath and relaxed. In the years since Alessa’s desertion, which had cut deeper and hurt for much longer than he had allowed anyone to know, his dealings with women had been lighthearted, casual affairs conducted discreetly, with no involvement of the heart, and in some cases, he thought wryly, of the brain, either. But Laura was different. He desired her as a lover, as was only natural, but he also liked and respected her as a person. Unlike this idiot Edward of hers, he would not reject friendship if she offered it. But it took self-control he had not known he possessed to keep from touching her.

Laura woke slowly, and found a pair of intent blue eyes watching her. ‘Hello,’ she said sleepily. ‘Did I snore?’

Domenico shook his head, smiling. Ignoring an urge to devour her flushed face with kisses, he got up, holding out his hand. ‘Come, I shall take you back to the hotel.’

Laura would have preferred to stay right where she was for the foreseeable future, but with a sigh she took the hand and let him pull her to her feet. ‘I need a shower and a change of clothes.’

‘This is a good idea,’ he said with approval. ‘Then you will have no need to return to your hotel after the Basilica. We shall go to Florian’s instead, and while you drink tea there you shall tell me where you would like to dine this evening.’

‘Perfect.’ She hesitated. ‘But I’m going back to the hotel on my own, right now, Domenico. I’ll meet you in an hour outside the central doorway of the Basilica.’

He dropped her hand. ‘Very well, if that is what you wish.’

‘I just need to do a little shopping on my own—personal things,’ she explained, her colour rising.

‘Ah. I see. Of course.’ He opened the door for her and accompanied her down to the foyer, where he kissed her cheeks and tapped her watch. ‘One hour. I shall be waiting.’

Laura went straight to a shop she’d seen the day before. She picked out a silk tie with discreet aquamarine dots printed on a midnight-blue background, handed over her credit card and hurried with her gift-wrapped purchase through the now-familiar alleys to the Locanda Verona.

She rushed through a shower with her head wrapped in a towel, did her face, and took a look through her limited wardrobe for something suitable for both a visit to the Basilica and to a restaurant somewhere afterwards. The only dress still unworn was brand-new, a chain-store bargain bought for Tuscany, with drifts of tawny butterflies printed on double layers of cream chiffon. Definitely not for church, Laura decided with regret, and put on a fluted cream linen skirt and a thin, lace-edged black cardigan she was buttoning up to the low V-neck when her phone rang.

‘I am here, with your parcels at last,’ said Domenico. ‘Are you ready?’

Oh, yes, she was ready. ‘I’ll be right down.’

Laura ran down the stairs, smiling, her heart lifting at the sight of Domenico leaning against the reception desk in pale linen trousers and one of his blue shirts.

‘Here is your shopping, signorina,’ he said, and gave her the bags first and then the box containing the candlesticks. ‘Go up more slowly than you came down,’ he advised, ‘or you will endanger the candeliere.’