‘Someone who merely worked in a hotel—not owned the damn thing! It was obvious he wasn’t short of money from his apartment and the way he dresses, but I assumed he had some management job, or whatever. If I’d known the truth I’d have kept my stupid mouth shut.’

‘About what?’

‘Domenico was so insistent that I go back to Venice soon, I had to explain why I couldn’t. I gave him chapter and verse about keeping to a tight budget.’

‘Did you include the bit about helping with Abby’s college fund?’

‘Oh, yes. The complete sob story.’ Laura’s mouth twisted in disgust. ‘When I found he’d paid some of my bill I felt as though I’d been hinting for a handout.’

‘Is he in love with you?’

‘He said he was. But I doubt that he is any more. He’s a typical Venetian male—proud as the devil, and takes offence easily.’

‘You two have a lot in common, then,’ said Isabel, lips twitching.

Laura stared at her mother, incensed, for a moment, but at last smiled reluctantly. ‘Am I so bad, then?’

‘Not bad—independent. You’ve had this bee in your bonnet about being the man of the house since you were ten years old.’ Isabel patted her hand. ‘Relax, darling. Things are different now. You don’t need to help with Abby any more. Apart from my windfall, I’m still only forty-seven, remember. I can carry on teaching for quite a while yet.’

‘I just wish you didn’t have to.’

‘But, darling, I love my job. What would I do with myself all day in this doll’s house if I didn’t work?’

Laura stared at her mother, taken aback. ‘I never thought of it like that. I assumed you went back to teaching because you had to.’

‘I did. But I’m fortunate, because it’s a vocation for me, not just a job. It helped me through that terrible time after your father died, and because I was lucky enough to get a place at the village school I was always there for you and Abby—with a little help in the babysitting department from Grandma.’

The mention of her much-mourned grandmother was the last straw. Laura laid her head down on the bed, sobbing her heart out, and Isabel stroked her hair in silence until the storm had run its course.

‘Sorry about that,’ Laura said hoarsely as she got up at last.

Isabel looked troubled. ‘If you really care for this man, can’t you mend things between you?’

‘I might have tried if he’d just been a hotel employee, but not now. Gian Domenico Chiesa is right out of my league. Don’t worry. I’ll just write off the experience as a holiday romance and forget about him.’

‘Can you do that?’ said her mother gently.

Laura shrugged. ‘I’ll have to. And in the meantime there’s Fen’s hen party to get through tomorrow night. That should chase the blues away!’

Abby backed into the room with a tray early next morning. ‘Room service! Hi, sis. Welcome home. Sorry to wake you up, but I just dashed home for a clean apron. I’m off to work again in an hour.’

Laura heaved herself up, smiling at her sibling as she received the tray. In spite of working the day before and partying well into the night Abby looked as fresh as a daisy. ‘Hello, love! Good party last night?’

‘Brilliant! Ma’s made your favourite scrambled eggs and soldiers, and orders you to eat it or else.’

‘You shouldn’t be waiting on me, Abby. You’ll get enough of that the rest of the day.’

Abby grinned as she fastened her gleaming dark hair back with an outsize barrette. ‘I gave in my notice yesterday. You heard about our amazing parent’s stroke of luck? It means I can use my café money to go to France with the Kents, and Ma can go off on that holiday to the Lakes she fancies. And you can spend your spare cash on orgies instead of on me.’

‘That’ll be the day. By the way, I brought you something. Over there on the dressing table.’

Abby gave a squeal of delight and jumped up in a flurry of long, denim-clad legs. ‘Was Venice as fabulous as it’s supposed to be?’ she demanded as she tore at wrappings.

‘Even more so.’

Abby crowed as she pulled on a bright vermilion T-shirt emblazoned with ‘Venezia’ across the chest. ‘I love it,’ she said, eyeing herself in the mirror. ‘Thanks a lot, Laurie. I’ll wear it tonight.’

‘Another party?’

‘No, a sort of date.’ Abby took out the coloured glass earrings and tried them on. ‘How do I look?’

‘Great. That colour’s good on you. Who’s the lucky man?’

‘Just Marcus.’

‘Rachel’s brother?’ Laura downed some of her tea to avoid mentioning that Marcus was a trainee barrister, and way out of her baby sister’s league. ‘Is he joining the family party in France?’

‘No. But tonight he’s got tickets for an open-air concert at Millwood House—picnic in the park, kind of thing. Mrs Kent’s too busy getting ready for the hols, and Rachel can’t stand classical music, so he asked me if I’d like to go along.’

‘Then take a groundsheet and wear wellies. It was very wet last night.’

Abby turned a searching look on her sister. ‘You look a bit peaky. Headache?’

‘A bit,’ admitted Laura, and grinned ruefully. ‘I need to get rid of it, fast. Hen-party tonight.’

Laura caught the train back to Paddington the following afternoon, changed to the underground for Bow, and trudged up the stairs to her first-floor flat in a building that had been a match factory in a previous life. Her phone had remained obdurately silent all the way. Not that she had really expected to hear from Domenico, but she’d hoped. She frowned, still undecided whether to send the money to him or not. She’d thought about it endlessly, not sure whether he would take this as further insult to his pride, or whether it was appeasing her own. But the man had said ‘send me the money’, so he could hardly complain if she did.

Laura rang her mother to report in, assured her she was fine and promised to make herself some supper. She had tried hard to enjoy the roast Sunday lunch Isabel had prepared, but it had been an uphill struggle, which had not gone unnoticed. She smiled bleakly. Breaking up with Domenico was likely to be very good for her figure. She made some coffee, but instead of eating she ironed a white shirt, ready for next day, and when her phone rang felt shattered because her caller was Fen, not Domenico.

‘Are you OK, Laura? You looked tired at the party last night.’

‘Jet lag.’

‘After a flight from Venice? Come off it. Anyway, in all the excitement I forgot to mention the wedding rehearsal. Can you make it back here for about six on Friday?’

‘I’ll take my stuff to work with me and leave early.’

‘Great. You were such a star, doing the chauffeuring through all that rain last night. Thanks again, Laurie.’

‘I take my role of chief bridesmaid very seriously!’

‘And very well you do it. I couldn’t make it on the big day without you.’

‘Of course you could. All you really need is Joe waiting at the altar.’

‘I know.’ Fen cleared her throat. ‘I’m so lucky. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but I love him so much it hurts.’

Laura wouldn’t have understood the hurt part before meeting Domenico, but she did now. ‘Maybe you should tell Joe, too.’

‘I have. I meant anyone other than you, Laura. Nothing horrible happened in Venice, did it?’ asked Fen abruptly. ‘You’ve been a bit fey since you got back.’

‘It was a wonderful holiday.’

‘Good. I was worried that Giando—sorry, Domenico—might have started you off on the wrong foot.’

‘Not at all.’ Laura paused, then shrugged and thought, Why not? ‘Actually he called to see me to make sure I liked the hotel; even took me out to dinner.’

‘Now you tell me?’ Fen exploded. ‘How did you get on together?’

‘Very well, though he didn’t mention at the time that he’s related to Lorenzo, and runs the Venice end of the operation.’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘He wanted to be liked for himself, and not for his money and family connections.’

‘With his looks? You’ve got to be kidding!’

‘I think it’s a hangover from the past—the lady who left him for his friend.’

‘But that’s years ago. And he must be over Alessa by now because Jess told me there’s a new lady in his life.’

Laura stood very still. ‘Really? Who is she?’

‘Jess didn’t have the details. But knowing Gian Domenico she’ll be a knockout in the looks department, and decked out down to her knickers in Versace. You can ask him about her yourself on Saturday. He’s coming to the wedding!’

Chapter Seven

JEALOUSY hit Laura like a tsunami. She spent the night cursing the day she’d met Domenico and bought the euros next morning. But just posting them wasn’t enough. She wanted the satisfaction of handing them over in person—whether he had the new lady in tow at the wedding or not.

Having made the decision, Laura gave the souvenir earrings to her colleagues, Claire and Ellie, made them envious with tales of her holiday, and did her best to put Venice—and Domenico—from her mind. She was successful during the day because her work at a Docklands investment bank demanded her full attention. The job combined her regularly updated secretarial skills with her love of research, and Laura enjoyed gathering information from the Internet and institutions like Reuters, and the subsequent collation of reports; even the sorties into the frenzy of the trading floor afterwards to deliver them.

Evenings were occupied with friends from the bank for a drink and a snack after work, or with a swim in her building’s pool and a workout in the gym. The infuriatingly restless nights were the worst problem. Laura ground her teeth as she tossed and turned into the small hours. If insomnia was a side effect of having a lover, she was glad she’d never had one before. Not that she’d ever had Domenico in the first place, of course. He probably used the same routine with every woman he sweet-talked into bed.

When Abby rang to say goodbye before she went off to France, Isabel took over the phone to announce that she’d booked a fortnight’s holiday in the Lake District with her colleague and friend, Janet Fenton.

‘Picturesque hotel, good food, and lots of walking to burn it off,’ said Isabel. ‘By the way, Fen tells me that your Domenico’s coming to the wedding.’

‘He’s not mine, Mother.’

‘He hasn’t rung, then?’

‘No. So you and Janet take care in the Lakes, Mother. Steer clear of holiday romances.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing!’

Sleep caught up with Laura when she least wanted it, and to her fury she slept late on the Thursday morning. She shot out of bed, threw on her clothes, and with no time for coffee raced to the station, trod on a loose paving stone and fell flat on her face with such a smack she saw stars when she finally managed to sit upright. Shaken and hideously embarrassed, she sat very still on the kerb for a moment, checking that her teeth were intact. When her head stopped spinning she staggered up to collect the scattered contents of her handbag and almost fell again as pain shot through her ankle. Breathing heavily, she put her weight on her good foot as she leaned against a lamp post to rummage for tissues to mop up the blood pouring down her face.

‘I say, are you all right?’ said a voice, and Laura looked round to see a young man in a City suit peering at her. ‘I saw you fall. Hellish tumble. Can I help?’

‘That’s very kind of you. If you can see my phone anywhere I’ll call a taxi and get myself to a hospital,’ said Laura shakily.

Her good Samaritan found the phone in the gutter and broke the bad news that it was broken. He used his own to ring for a taxi, then handed it over so Laura could contact her work, and afterwards, to her surprise, even insisted on waiting with her until it arrived. Laura thanked him warmly as he helped her into the cab, grateful for his help.

The A & E department was packed. Laura hobbled to Reception to check in, then took a seat to wait until she was assessed by a triage nurse who warned of a three-hour wait to see a doctor. By the time Laura was finally examined she had a pounding headache, her ankle was throbbing violently and she could barely see over the swelling below her left eye. But to her relief no fractures showed up on the X-rays the doctor ordered. Her skull and face were intact, her ankle was neither broken nor sprained, only badly wrenched, and when it was bound up she was given painkillers and pronounced free to go. Laura rang for a taxi from the public telephone and, desperate for fresh air, went outside, shoeless, to sink down on a bench to wait, then stiffened in dismay when she saw a familiar white-coated figure approaching, fair hair ruffled, boyish face frowning in concern.

‘Laura?’ said Dr Edward Lassiter. ‘Good God! What the hell happened to you? Were you mugged? Has someone seen you?’

‘Hello, Edward,’ she said coolly. ‘I had a fall on my way to work. I’ve just been X-rayed, but I didn’t break anything. I didn’t know you’d transferred.’ Or she would have gone to another hospital.

‘Started here last week.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’m on duty, otherwise I’d drive you home.’

‘No need. I’ve rung for a taxi. It should be here any minute.’

He took her hand. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call round to see you later—’

‘Thank you, but I won’t be there. I’m going home to Stavely.’ Laura detached her hand as a taxi drew up and with a feeling of escape let him help her into it, knowing from the look on his face that she’d offended Edward again, but feeling too ill to worry about it.

When she got in she took a long look in the bathroom mirror and faced facts. She was a total mess. An ugly scab bisected her eyebrow, one side of her swollen face was grazed from half-shut eye to sore chin, and due to the ankle and various other contact points on her body she ached all over. But none of it mattered. The major tragedy was not only missing her best friend’s wedding, but the chance of seeing Domenico again. Tears poured down her face at the thought, but they stung her grazed cheek so badly she mopped them up, took several deep breaths and left a message on her mother’s phone to ask for a lift from the station a day sooner than planned, and warned that her mobile was broken.

Laura packed her bag, made some tea, took some painkillers, and, after an interval with her foot up and a bag of frozen peas clamped to her face, put on dark glasses and a pair of elderly flat shoes, tied a scarf over her head to hide as much of her face as possible and went out to catch a train on the first leg of her journey home. And on the slow, painful way to the Bow Road station she steeled herself to ring Fen to report the fall.

In response to a frantic fusillade of questions Laura gave Fen the details, and eventually, after much argument, managed to convince her she would be one bridesmaid short. ‘I’m so sorry, Fen,’ she said miserably. ‘I could kick myself.’

‘For heaven’s sake, don’t! You’re in enough trouble without that, by the sound of it. I’ll pop down tonight to see you.’

Hours later Laura gave a sigh of relief when she saw her mother waiting for her on the platform at Bristol Parkway.

‘Thank goodness you got my message,’ she said gratefully, and took off the scarf and glasses. ‘I had a fall this morning. Don’t faint. It’s not as bad as it looks.’

After frantic questions, and Laura’s assurances that the requisite medical care had been taken, Isabel drove her daughter home. ‘Bed,’ she said firmly when they arrived. ‘I’ll bring your things in. Just get yourself upstairs and undress, darling.’

‘Thank you,’ said Laura gratefully. She crawled up the steep stairs and sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling too wretched to undress. ‘I feel a bit shaky,’ she admitted when her mother came in with her holdall.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Isabel as she piled pillows. ‘You should have let me drive to the flat to fetch you.’

‘I couldn’t subject you to a journey to London and back on top of your working day!’

‘I would have managed, and it would have been a lot better for you than hobbling around on the underground in that state. Why on earth didn’t you get a taxi to Paddington?’

‘Low on cash. Don’t scold!’

Isabel put an arm round her contritely. ‘Sorry, darling. Now, totter to the bathroom for a wash while I make some tea.’

In bed later, leaning back against cool pillows, her ankle propped up on another, Laura felt a little better by the time her mother arrived with a steaming beaker and a bag of ice.

‘Are you sure you’re not concussed?’ Isabel demanded.

‘Quite sure. They told me what to watch out for at the hospital.’ Laura smiled ruefully. ‘And to make my day I ran into Edward. He’s just transferred there.’

‘No! How did that go?’

‘He wanted to come round to the flat tonight to check on me. I said no and offended him again.’

‘Never mind Edward. Drink the tea, then lie back with that ice on your face.’

Fen came rushing up the stairs a few minutes later. She exclaimed in horror when she saw Laura’s face, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Just look at you!’ she said, appalled. ‘Are you sure you haven’t broken any bones?’

‘The X-rays said not.’

‘Thank heavens for that, at least.’ Fen let out an explosive sigh. ‘I was hoping that a few layers of slap would do the trick, Laurie.’

‘I wish! You know I’d give anything to be at your wedding, but I’ll just have to be there in spirit. The face would freak out the guests even without the limp.’ Laura tried hard for flippancy, but Fen wasn’t deceived.

‘You feel rotten, poor love, don’t you?’

‘I’ll live. Is everything going smoothly up at Friars Wood?’

‘Now the family’s started arriving it’s a madhouse up there! I’m thinking of camping out in the marquee.’ Fen leaned down and very carefully kissed Laura’s uninjured cheek. ‘I’ll ring in the morning, but I’ll go now before your mother comes to throw me out. Put the ice back on that eye and concentrate on getting better.’

Laura shrugged. ‘No choice—back to work on Monday.’

‘Stuff that!’ snorted Fen.

Isabel brought up a tray later, and settled on the window-seat to make sure Laura ate the poached egg she’d agreed to.

‘Term finishes at twelve tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’ll come home to see how you are, then go back to finish up with the rest of the staff.’

‘No need for that. I’ll be fine on my own. It’s my face that’s hurt—the rest is in reasonable working order.’

Isabel looked unconvinced. ‘You need rest, my girl. I don’t suppose you can read with that eye, and television’s out right now, but I’ve got a new audio book from the library. It’s a really gruesome thriller—you’ll like it.’

Next morning Laura sat up in bed gingerly, decided she felt halfway human again, and limped downstairs before her mother could toil upstairs with her breakfast.

‘What on earth are you doing up at this hour?’ demanded Isabel.

‘Making sure you don’t run about waiting on me before you take off to school.’ Laura pulled a face. ‘I had a look in the mirror. The bruises are right down my neck now.’

‘You took quite a crack on your chin, too,’ said her mother, getting up to examine it. ‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Bearable. A couple of painkillers and a few more cups of tea will help.’

Fen rang during the morning with anxious enquiries and messages of sympathy from every member of the Dysart family.

‘Thank them for me,’ said Laura, touched. ‘Now go! Get on with being a bride, Fenella Dysart. Tomorrow is your big day, so concentrate on it and be happy.’

‘I’ll see you when we come back from Italy—we’ll have a little party!’

Time hung so heavy Laura was very glad of company by the time her mother came home from school that afternoon. But it took effort to be cheerful during the evening, knowing that both of them should have been at the pre-wedding family dinner up at Friars Wood.

‘There’s no reason why you couldn’t have gone, Mother,’ said Laura, but Isabel shook her head firmly.

‘Not without you, darling.’

Laura groaned in frustration. ‘It’s not fair that you should have to miss the fun, too.’

The wedding day dawned hot and sunny, but after an early call to the bride to wish her joy the morning was hard for Laura. It hurt to know she should have been up at Friars Wood in the thick of the Dysarts, having her face and hair done and helping with the trio of teenage bridesmaids, but, most important of all, just being there for Fen on her big day.

When Isabel came downstairs after lunch, the perfect wedding guest in a slim fawn linen dress and dashing bronze hat, she struck an exaggerated pose.

‘How do I look?’

‘Absolutely gorgeous! Off you go, or you won’t find a place to park. Take lots of photographs, and give Fen a big kiss for me.’ Laura hurried her mother to the door before either of them could get emotional, waved her out of sight, then with a sigh limped back inside to get through the long afternoon as best she could.

To kill time she washed her hair for the first time since the accident, but with a hair-dryer ruled out styling had to be restricted to gentle towelling and a very careful brush through. Afterwards Laura smoothed moisturiser into her skin, pleased that repeated applications of ice had at least reduced the swelling on the eye surrounded with arresting shades of maroon and plum. Making a face at it, she took wings of hair back from her ears, secured them on the crown of her head with a giant clip and let the rest hang down the back of her pink vest top to dry in the sun.

The garden went back a long way behind the house. In the years since the move Isabel had gradually transformed the bramble-choked wilderness into a haven of green lawn surrounded by flowering shrubs, which softened the outlines of the high laurel boundary hedges. A shallow rockery planted with alpines separated the lawn from the small, paved area outside the sitting room window, and during the morning Isabel had unfolded two director’s chairs, and put up the parasol over the picnic table there for an early salad lunch.

All morning Laura had maintained such a determinedly cheerful mood it was a relief to relax now she was alone. She found an extension lead to attach to her tape-player, filled a jug with orange juice and ice cubes, collected a glass and went outside to sit under the parasol. She propped her feet up on a stool, and, eyes closed, listened to the church bells welcoming the guests arriving to see the youngest Dysart daughter married. Her mouth tightened as she wondered if one wedding guest in particular had arrived—and if he’d come with company. Laura thrust the thought away, and when the bells stopped sent a silent message of love to the bride, switched on the tape, and concentrated fiercely until the plot absorbed her again.

She leaned back, bare legs outstretched, removed the barrette and combed her fingers through her damp hair, and then sat utterly still other than to change the tape at intervals and refill her glass. She grew so drowsy in the afternoon warmth as the hours passed that when the current tape ended she couldn’t be bothered to put in a new one.

Laura woke with a start from a restless doze and shot upright with a gasp of fright, her heart thumping madly at the sight of Domenico gazing down at her. Shaken and breathless, she shook the hair back from her incredulous face to meet blue eyes blazing with such horror she shut her own in self-defence. When she opened them again his familiar smile was firmly in place. A white gardenia adorned the lapel of a suit with the superb fit of all Domenico’s clothes, and Laura was immediately, resentfully conscious of her battered face and untidy hair, her short denim skirt long past its shelf-life, and the crowning touch of scruffy old trainers loose enough for her swollen foot.

‘Come esta, Laura,’ Domenico said gently.

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