The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

CHAPTER TEN

AS THEY left the restaurant Pietro asked, ‘Do you know where you are?’

‘No,’ Ruth said softly. ‘I have no idea where I am. I’m completely lost.’

But being lost didn’t seem so very terrible just now.

‘Let’s walk home,’ she said. ‘I don’t care how far it is.’

‘But it’s no distance. A few corners and we’re there.’

Even as he spoke she saw the top of the Rialto Bridge appear over the roofs.

‘Oh,’ she said, disappointed, for she had looked forward to the walk.

‘We just have to cross the bridge and we’re home.’

Shops lined the bridge on both sides and by day it was a hive of activity. Now the shops were shut, the lights were dimmed and couples huddled in the doorways. Some of them looked up to inspect the newcomers, and offered a murmured greeting, for they all knew him.

‘You should be ashamed,’ he told them. ‘Carnival hasn’t started yet.’

The voices floated back. ‘Just getting a little practice-We want to be ready-The honour of Venice-’

Ruth reached up and slid an arm about his neck.

‘Just doing my bit for the honour of Venice,’ she murmured as she drew his mouth down to hers.

Now she was taking charge, telling him that they would do it her way because she’d been patient long enough. But how long was that? All her life, surely. It was strange how all the mystifying questions answered themselves when you were with the right man. Or perhaps it wasn’t strange at all.

She was consumed with a sense of having come to the right place, standing here in the heart of Venice. She’d always been headed for this bridge, with this man. And wherever the road led afterwards, that too was her true destination.

Neither knew who made the first move, but in the next moment they were moving slowly over the bridge and into the little side street where he had first seen her.

They made almost no noise as they slipped into the building and up the stairs. Toni looked up as they came in, then settled back to sleep, so there was nobody to watch them as they went again into each other’s arms, or to see his sudden moment of doubt.

‘Ruth…Ruth…I don’t know-’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t try to think.’

As she spoke she drew her fingers gently down his face, looking up at him with eyes that loved everything she saw. She wondered if it could be the same for him, but for the moment it was enough that he held her, raining kisses on her lips, her eyes, her throat.

She had never experienced such feelings in her life before. Even with gaps in her memory she knew that. Instinct, stronger than reason, more powerful than memory, took over, telling her this man was unique, his effect on her was once in a lifetime, and she was going to open her heart to it, or live bereft for ever.

‘Perhaps I ought to think,’ he murmured. ‘I’m looking after you. How can you be safe if I-?’

‘Who says I want to be safe? Do you want that?’

He made an inarticulate sound that might have been a groan at his own helplessness. He tried to speak but, whatever he wanted to say, his hands had their own message, touching her feverishly, seeking her response despite the doubts that troubled him.

‘Isn’t this better than safety?’ she murmured against his mouth.

‘Yes!’

If she’d wanted to escape him then she couldn’t have done. His arms suddenly became like chains, forbidding her to leave him, his hands were possessive, now holding her, now releasing her so that he could pull off her coat, tossing it away, then seeking her buttons, working on them, discovering the soft skin beneath.

Her bedroom door was just close enough for her to reach behind and turn the knob. A small step back and they were gliding through almost without realising.

Pietro guided her so that she was sitting, then lying on the bed, and he could rest his face against her exposed breasts. What was happening to him now shook him to the core. Not just desire, not just emotion, but the mystic combination of the two that was worth any sacrifice. If it had been in his power he would have made it last for ever, and counted the world well lost.

But the world wouldn’t let itself be lost. It clung on to the edge of his consciousness, reminding him of the last time he’d come to the bed and felt her arms around him and her whisper of ‘Te voja ben,’ in his ears.

He tensed as the unwelcome knowledge invaded him. That had been on the first night, when she’d been half-unconscious, and she’d kissed him, thinking he was Gino. She had awoken directly afterwards and hadn’t seemed to react. He’d sworn then never to let her know the truth, and until now he’d kept his vow.

But now-

‘What is it?’ Ruth asked, distressed as he gave a sudden heave. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘How can you ask?’ he choked, pulling away from her, ‘Am I mad to be doing this?’

He got to his feet, almost staggering with the violence of his revulsion for himself.

‘How can it be mad if it’s what you want?’ Ruth asked. ‘What we both want?’

‘Is that all that matters? What we want at this moment? What about later, the regrets?’

‘Will you regret?’ she asked quietly.

He had himself under control now, and said, ‘I’ll regret anything I do that hurts you.’

‘I’m not worried about that-’

‘But I have to be. You’re not well, that’s why you’re here. You came to me for help and I-’

‘Pietro, I’m not an invalid.’

‘But neither are you completely well. It was only a few hours ago that you set off for the railway station to meet Gino, thinking of nothing but him. If he’d been there-what would you have felt?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Exactly. Maybe you love him, maybe not, but you don’t know. And until you’ve had a chance to find out the answer to that, I have no right to-’ He shuddered. ‘What was I thinking of?’

‘Perhaps you wanted me,’ she said with a quick spurt of anger, doing up her buttons quickly. She knew now that he wouldn’t return to her.

‘Of course I want you. If there was nothing else standing between us I could go back to my bad old ways and take-’

‘Don’t you dare say it,’ she interrupted him. ‘Don’t you dare say “take advantage of me” like I was a wimp who couldn’t speak for herself.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I think it is,’ she said fiercely.

‘I meant only that you’re vulnerable. We both know why. For me to take-take what you have to give,’ he amended hastily, seeing murder in her eyes, ‘would be unforgivable.’ He added in a low voice, ‘And I’ve done enough unforgivable things in my life.’

She wanted to say, ‘Would it be unforgivable to love me?’ but she wouldn’t let herself do that. Love was the word she didn’t dare to use, although the conviction of it was growing in her own heart. He wasn’t ready to love her. He might never be ready. But she could wait.

‘I don’t believe you’ve ever done anything unforgivable,’ she said.

‘What the hell do you know about it?’

Ruth jumped at the sound of his voice, not merely the sudden volume but at the note of ferocity. It cut through her like a razor and gave her a terrifying sensation, as though he’d turned on her the same look he’d turned on Franco.

‘What do you know?’ he repeated in a voice that was less harsh but still biting. ‘Do you know about my life, what my experience has been? Do you know me?’

‘I thought I did,’ she said softly.

‘You know no more of me than I do of you. We play this little game in which you’re three people, but it’s not a game. There’s a tragic reality beneath it, and what would you think of me if I betrayed your trust? Do you know how vulnerable you are here, with me?’

‘I never feel that way. I trust you-’

‘Why? What reason have I ever given you to trust me?’

‘All this time you’ve cared for me, and never harmed me-’

He gave a crack of mirthless laughter.

‘I was biding my time, waiting to pounce at the right moment. Can you be sure that’s not the truth?’

Dumbly she shook her head. The pain that was rising in her was too great for words.

‘No, you can’t because you know nothing of me.’ He leaned towards her and his eyes were cold. ‘I could treat you any way I liked and you’d have no comeback. In this city who’d listen to you against me?’

Something in his bleak hostility caused her own temper to rise.

‘Of course, I should have realised,’ she snapped. ‘They’d think you were reverting to type. Casanova reborn, that’s what they used to say about you, isn’t it?’

‘You’ve heard the stories? Good! Maybe you’ll see sense.’

‘Yes. I’ve heard the stories of your flaming youth. And how! You probably made half of them up.’

‘I promise I didn’t need to. I behaved every bit as badly as they say, and a few more things nobody ever got to hear of, luckily.’

‘So, of course nobody would listen to me. They’d say I was lucky you even looked at me. Only you’re not Casanova anymore.’

‘You don’t know what I am,’ he said roughly. ‘If you know that much, you ought to have more sense than to be here with me now.’

‘I’m not a fool. You can say what you like. I think you can be trusted.’

‘And how would you know? Has your experience been so extensive? Did Gino teach you about trust? I don’t think so. What about before him?’

It was cruel, it was appallingly brutal, and she reeled with shock, closing her eyes against the agony that he’d inflicted deliberately. She had no doubt of that. He saw the movement and reached out a hand to her, only to snatch it back before she could see it. When she opened her eyes it was to find him staring at her from eyes that gave nothing away.

‘Nothing like this will ever happen again,’ he said in a dead voice. ‘You have my word on that. Goodnight.’

Pietro walked out, closing the door firmly behind him. A moment later Ruth heard his own door being locked.

She clenched and unclenched her hands, filled with bitter rage at that final insult. He’d locked her out like some floozy who didn’t come up to standard. She wanted to scream and throw something against the wall.

There was no point in even lying down, so she sat in the darkness, looking out of the window at the Grand Canal, numb with despair.

She didn’t recognise the man who’d attacked her so coldly tonight, but she could guess what he was thinking and feeling; scorn for her lack of control in throwing herself at him, contempt at her arrogance in thinking she had the power to charm him.

She’d once made a joke about Serafina treating her like Cinderella, but how could Cinderella be so foolish as to think she could really charm the Prince, except for five minutes? That was a fairy tale.

She must leave, of course. As soon as she could will herself to move she would begin to pack. Anything would be better than facing him again.

But then a water bus passed under the Rialto Bridge, its lights gleaming across the canal, briefly illuminating the windows of Pietro’s room where they jutted out slightly from the rest of the building. It was only a moment, but it was enough for Ruth to see the man standing there, his face a frozen mask of misery that mirrored her own.

She stepped back at once, but she knew he hadn’t seen her. He had no eyes for the outside world, only for some earthquake that was taking place inside him.

Ruth groaned as she realised her blunder. Wrapped in her own feelings, she had been blind to the effect on him. In her relief at breaking free of Gino she’d forgotten that Pietro was far from free of Lisetta.

Now she saw the whole conversation differently. Pietro had tried to be kind, speaking of his duty to care for her, but the truth was that he didn’t want her. Not really. Not beyond one night’s basic pleasure. He still yearned for his dead wife, and no other woman would be allowed to come between them. So he’d crushed his desire, treating it as something unworthy of notice, until tonight, when she’d forced everything out into the open.

Not forced it out, she thought, cringing at her own stupidity. More like kicked it out with hobnailed boots.

Tonight he’d had to abandon kindness and turn on her to make her get the point. And she had only herself to blame.

I’ve got to get out, she thought frantically. I mustn’t be here tomorrow. I can’t look him in the eye.

Packing was a problem. The small suitcase she’d had when she arrived was useless for all her new clothes.

‘Plastic bags,’ she muttered. ‘In the kitchen.’

She was out there in a moment scrabbling around in the drawers.

‘What are you doing?’

Pietro was standing in the doorway, frowning.

‘I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘I just need to finish packing, and I’ll be gone. You don’t have to see me again. Now if you’ll just stand aside-’

He didn’t move.

‘Put them back and go to bed,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re not leaving this house.’

‘Hey, who are you giving orders?’

His mouth quirked slightly at the corner.

‘It comes from being a count, from the oldest family in Venice,’ he said lightly, ‘surrounded by wealth and privilege. You tend to get used to people doing as they’re told. Reprehensible, but there it is.’

‘And if don’t do as I’m told?’ she challenged.

‘Well, I did tell you once I had this fantasy about tossing you into the Grand Canal.’

He was a semblance of his old self again, armoured in ironic defensiveness, even smiling. It was a relief, and yet she knew a strange sense of loss. Once more she was shut out.

‘I can’t stay,’ she repeated.

‘Why? Because I behaved badly? I give you my word it’ll never happen again.’

He was so clever, she thought bitterly, taking it all on himself, while they both knew the truth: that she had fallen in love with him, a man who could never love her.

‘You once accused me of being too ready to protect everyone,’ he said.

‘I didn’t exactly-’

‘Well, you’re right. That’s how I am, and sometimes I get a bit carried away. I convince myself that nothing can be done right unless it’s done my way, not an amiable characteristic. In fact it can verge on bullying if it’s not controlled, but it’s how I’m made. And when I’ve taken a job on I see it through to the end. Tonight-’

He stopped and she held her breath.

‘I decided to care for you until you were well, but tonight I nearly forgot that promise and drove you away by my clumsiness. Blame Venice. It has that effect on people. Even me. It’s like setting out in a gondola and finding yourself in another universe.’

‘Yes,’ she said, for that was how it had been.

They had been carried to an alternative existence where they laughed with each other, opened their hearts, rejoiced together. And she should have seen that, in the end, the gondola would reach the unfriendly shore.

‘You won’t be ready to go until you’ve seen Gino,’ Pietro was saying. ‘And I’d commit a crime if I let you go out into a hostile world before you’re ready to cope. Don’t do that to me, Ruth. I have quite enough on my conscience as it is. If you stay, I promise not to embarrass you again. You’ll be quite safe.’

And there it was, the whole disaster neatly repackaged into a shape they could live with, life and emotion stripped from it. All love quenched. Polite. Dead.

‘Come,’ he said, taking the plastic bags from her and putting them back in the drawer. ‘Let’s say it didn’t happen.’

‘It didn’t happen,’ she echoed in a voice as empty as his own.

‘Good. Now, we’ve got a busy few days in front of us, so get some sleep.’

That would be impossible, she thought. But she did manage to drop off eventually and awoke late. Pietro had already left when she went out, and Minna told her that he’d called home to ask her to take some papers to the shop.

She took the papers but found that he wasn’t at work either, although he’d left a pile of messages with Mario about things he wanted her to do. She appreciated the subtlety with which he left her alone while keeping her busy.

Halfway through the morning the boatmen came in for the money Pietro had promised them the night before. Mario was ready with the full envelopes Pietro had left in his care, and the young men opened them with whistles of appreciation that changed to significant looks as they recognised Ruth. Now she was glad Pietro wasn’t there.

She went home alone and ate supper without expecting him.

‘He’s always so busy at this time of the year,’ Minna observed. ‘He says Carnival is big business, except, of course, last year when he got out of the city for the sake of his wife.’

‘Didn’t she like Carnival?’ Ruth asked.

‘Oh, yes, but she was coming close to her time and he wanted her to be away from all the noise and bustle. They went out to the estate to let her rest, and this place was almost empty, so many of the servants were given time off to visit their families. They returned in March, and that was when she gave birth and died.’

Minna gave a big sigh. Then she added, ‘Did he say what time he’d be home tonight?’

‘I haven’t spoken to him, but Mario thought he would be late.’

She finished the evening in her room, working at her translation, trying to be oblivious to all else. If Pietro came home now he mustn’t find her waiting up for him, which would be awkward for both of them. Besides, she assured herself that she was too involved in her work to listen for his key in the door.

But that sound had not come when she put away her books, went to bed and turned out the lamp.

In the calle below a man patiently watched the light in the window. When it went out he stood a while longer before walking away and vanishing into the dark streets.

It was two days before Ruth saw Pietro again, and it was less traumatic than she’d feared because it happened in the middle of one of Serafina’s tantrums. Having transformed the palazzo as much as she could, the Baronessa set her heart on moving into it at the very start of Carnival, instead of waiting for the ball, near the end of the festivities. Shrewdly choosing a moment when Pietro was away, she arrived unannounced with a mountain of luggage, which she ordered to be taken upstairs.

Ruth immediately got on the phone to Pietro in the shop and explained what had happened.

‘I’m on my way,’ he said. ‘Try to stop them murdering each other until I get there.’

Serafina was livid to find the count and countess’s private suite locked, refusing to accept Minna’s explanation that this was according to Pietro’s orders. Another set of rooms was being prepared, and would be available in a few days. Serafina proceeded to have a hissy fit that passed in legend, Minna stoutly refused to be intimidated and Ruth tried vainly to keep the non-existent peace. It ended with Serafina being spitefully rude to her at the precise moment that Pietro appeared.

What followed was entertaining. Serafina used all her wiles on Pietro, to no effect. Politely but implacably he repeated that she would be welcome in a few days but not today, and the suite of rooms she wanted was off limits.

Franco arrived and joined in the fray. Pietro repeated himself again until Franco understood that he meant it. Although stupid, he wasn’t quite as stupid as his wife, and he finally swept her off, in high dudgeon, to Venice’s most expensive hotel where Pietro had taken the precaution of booking them a suite in advance.

The servants, who had gathered to watch, roared and applauded Pietro, who gave them an ironic bow. The spat seemed to have cheered him. Having checked that Minna wasn’t upset, he turned his attention to Ruth.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him cheerfully. ‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for ages. Did you see her face?’

That set everyone off laughing again, and Ruth found that the atmosphere between herself and Pietro had calmed down to normal. There were too many other things to worry about now. The other night might never have happened.

A few days later Serafina and Franco took over the rooms allocated to them, where their costumes had been installed in readiness. Serafina had been largely thwarted in her bid to turn the palazzo into a Hollywood mansion, but she’d hung enough glittering decoration to make Pietro shudder.

They were to be dressed in the eighteenth-century style, as was normal for Carnival. Franco would wear knee breeches and a flare coat, neither of which did any favours to his overfed body. Serafina’s dress was of scarlet satin, lavishly embroidered with glittering gold thread, and cut low in the bosom. She insisted on parading before the household, accompanied by Franco, bursting with pride.

‘Don’t worry,’ Pietro told Ruth when they had escaped. ‘You’ll take the shine out of her.’

‘Me? I’m not going to be there.’

‘You don’t think I’m going to endure it alone, do you? You’ll be there, and you’ll wear the costume I’m having sent over for you.’ He caught her looking at him and added hastily, ‘I mean, please will you wear the costume?’

‘It’s all right. I guess being il conte is a hard habit to break.’

‘I’m doing my best.’

‘What’s my costume like?’

‘Ivory brocade.’

‘You mean I don’t get scarlet satin?’ she asked wickedly. ‘Shame!’

‘You’ll drive me too far.’

All was well, she told herself. They were cracking jokes again, and that was surely the best possible thing.

Even a subdued Serafina was someone to avoid, and after she moved in Ruth began spending more time in the palazzo library, which, she rightly guessed, was the last place the Baronessa would want to visit. It was a useful chance to practise her improving Italian, especially as she found one book both in the original language and an English translation.

It was a historical record of the great families of Venice, including the Bagnellis and also the Alluccis. After an initial hesitation Ruth delved into the story of generations of the Allucci family. It stopped before the birth of Lisetta Allucci who had married Pietro Bagnelli, but Ruth found something else that intrigued her, and sat considering it for a long time.

She was still thoughtful when she went to bed which was, perhaps, why her dreams took a strange turn that night.

There was Lisetta, arrayed in her bridal finery. But that picture vanished, to be replaced by the earlier one, taken when she was thirteen, playing dice, staking everything on one throw.

Ruth opened her eyes and sat up.

That’s just what I did the other night, she thought. Everything staked on one all-or-nothing throw. That was the chance I took, and the answer was nothing. So, shut up complaining Ruth Three. You’re beginning to sound like Ruth Two, and you know what I think of her.

After a moment she even managed to say ironically, ‘I guess I’m just not a very good gambler, but how was I to know that? I’m still getting used to myself.’

She wished she could have shared that joke with Pietro, but there were things they couldn’t say now.

Carnival had arrived, the time of masks and masques, of jollity, eating, drinking and merry sin. The merrier and more sinful, the better.

It began at precisely midday with the Volo dell’ Angelo, in which a woman dressed as an angel scattered flowers over the crowd in St Mark’s Piazza.

Minna had secured a small revenge against Serafina by suggesting that her talents were underused in the Carnival, and she should have insisted that this role had gone to her. Serafina had promptly demanded that Franco secure it for her, which Franco was determined to do, until Pietro hastily explained that the angel reached the piazza by gliding down a rope hung from the top of St Mark’s bell tower, over three hundred feet up.

After that Serafina’s enthusiasm waned, and she looked at Minna with glowering eyes. Minna didn’t look at her at all.

Day after day St Mark’s piazza was filled with musicians, acrobats, clowns and people who just enjoyed wearing fancy dress. They performed or watched others perform, laughed, sang, kissed, then went wandering off along the calles, their cheerful sounds floating back behind them.

Officially this was the celebration of winter giving way to spring, but it was February and, to the last minute, Ruth feared a cold snap, but Mario assured her that nature always obliged, and so it proved. There was even the odd burst of sun.

For such a great tourist attraction Pietro was kept busy. In addition to his other interests he had shares in a couple of hotels, both of which were packed with visitors, and hosting galas of their own. Being kind-hearted, he briefed Mario to join in these events and report back to him. Naturally this entailed dressing up and Mario selected the ‘devil’ costume Ruth had seen him wear the mask of on the first day, and which had mysteriously failed to appeal to anyone else.

‘Probably because the two of you have been keeping it out of sight,’ Pietro murmured. ‘Go on, Mario, and be sure to take notes.’ ‘Eh?’

‘About the party,’ Ruth reminded him gently.

‘Oh-yes. The party.’

They managed to keep straight faces as he swaggered off, looking sophisticated and devil-may-care. His note-taking was sketchy to say the least, but from the odd remark they later judged that he’d enjoyed himself in ways that left no time for note-taking.

Pietro took part in very few events. Ruth knew that he attended a concert of classical Venetian music one evening and made brief appearances at other, fairly sedate events. But apart from that he meant to keep aloof, except for the gala ball in his own home.

Ruth’s costume, when it arrived, was a dream of elegance and luxury, made of lavishly embroidered ivory satin. Now she was glad of her height, which made it easier to carry off the wide hoops that supported the skirt. The front was heavily decorated with lace and ribbons, cunningly interspersed with little jewels that had been sewn in and which glistened tantalisingly.

They might almost have been diamonds, Ruth thought, inspecting them closely. But that was impossible. They must simply be very well-cut glass.

At first she was relieved that the bosom wasn’t cut as low as Serafina’s, being conscious that she had less to show off. But when she tried on the gown she had to admit that this part of her was unimpressive.

Minna came to her rescue on the night of the ball, showing her a trick learned in her youth by which her breasts could be manoeuvred together and upwards, resulting in a display that was impressive while still managing to be decent, even if only just.

There was also a white wig that fitted her head snugly, with one curl drooping elegantly down onto her shoulder. Ruth was undecided whether to wear this, but finally decided that she would. It gave her a new look, and she wondered if there would be a Ruth Four before the night was out.

Then came the mask of ivory satin, covering most of her face except her mouth.

‘The pleasure of a mask is the sins it can hide,’ Gino had told her. ‘At one time the Venetian Republic passed a decree forbidding masks except at Carnival and during official banquets. The penalty for disobeying could be two years in gaol.’

‘Two years?’ she’d echoed, aghast.

He’d laughed, standing before her in knee breeches and flared coat of black brocade, with the Bagnelli crest on the sleeves. Surely, she’d thought, he must be the most handsome young man on earth.

‘The city fathers were very determined to stamp out immorality,’ Gino had informed her solemnly. ‘It didn’t work, of course. Most of the fun of life comes from immorality-’ he slipped on a black satin mask, leaning down to touch his mouth against hers, whispering ‘-and if there’s one thing Venetians know about, it’s enjoying life.’

That had been this time last year, when they had spent a few days of Carnival together before she had had to leave. He’d seen her off at the station, the same station where he’d left her standing recently, and they had parted with vows of eternal love.

Where was he now? Did it matter?

There was a knock at the door, and Minna’s voice called, ‘Pietro says are you ready?’

‘I’m just coming.’

Slowly she got to her feet, checking her appearance in the mirror.

‘You look wonderful,’ Minna said. Dropping her voice, she added, ‘He will lose his heart to you.’

‘No, Minna, it’s not like that,’ Ruth said hastily. ‘I’m just helping him out as part of my job.’

‘Of course you are.’

She helped Ruth ease the magnificent skirt out of the door. From down below came the sound of the orchestra tuning up as Ruth made her way slowly down the corridor.

Then she froze.

Gino was walking towards her.