The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

CHAPTER THREE

‘THE trouble with you,’ Pietro said at last, ‘is that you’re not organised. You need to do this properly, with someone who knows Venice and who can keep an eye on you to stop you doing something daft.’

‘Well, I’m interviewing applicants for the position,’ Ruth said promptly. ‘There’s no salary, unpredictable hours and it needs to be someone who can put up with me.’

‘I’ll consider myself hired.’

‘I haven’t offered you the job yet,’ she protested in mock indignation.

‘Fine. Shall I wait at the end of the queue? If you’re wise you’ll snap me up while I’m on offer.’

‘Now which one of us is mad?’ she chided him.

‘Fifty-fifty, I’d say. It’s best that way. We may be the only people in the world who can cope with each other.’

‘But haven’t you got your firm to run?’

‘I have a good manager, and January isn’t busy.’

They left the restaurant and wandered back to the path by the water just as a vaporetto approached the landing stage.

‘That’ll take us down the Grand Canal as far as we need to go,’ Pietro said, seizing her hand and beginning to run.

They made it onto the great water-bus just in time, and laughed, holding themselves against the rails until a wave made the boat lurch, sending her stumbling against him. He steadied her, reminded again how insubstantial she was.

But then she gave him a cheerful smile and he realised that it was only her body that was frail. Tonight he’d glimpsed her cheeky fighting spirit, and he liked it.

‘Shall we sit down for safety?’ he asked.

‘No, thanks, I’m fine.’

Ruth fixed one hand onto the upright rail and leaned slightly over the side, gazing down into the water rushing by. With a sigh of resignation Pietro wound an arm about her waist, holding her safe. It was simpler than remonstrating with her.

But it was a mistake, bringing back the previous night when she’d put her arms about his neck, kissing him again and again in the joy of eager young love. It had been so long since a woman had kissed him that he’d tensed, holding himself still, not responding to the shock, then waking her gently.

To his relief she hadn’t seemed to know what had happened, and he’d managed to block it out of his mind. But it was there again now, her lips on his mouth, her body pressed against his, sweet and vulnerable. He tried to banish the memory, knowing that he had no right to it. It belonged to Gino, to a man who hadn’t cared enough to claim it.

As soon as they got home he bid her goodnight and hurried to his own room to check his cell phone, but there was no message. Annoyed, he dialled, and, to his relief, Gino answered.

‘Sorry, sorry, I know you said it was urgent,’ came his cheery voice. ‘But I’m a bit tied up.’

‘Then get untied and talk to me about Ruth Denver.’

There was a silence.

‘What about her?’ Gino asked in a thin voice.

‘She’s here.’

‘What? How?’

There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, Pietro thought grimly. Gino was aghast.

‘She came to find you. She needs your help to recover from her injuries. Gino, you said she dumped you. You never mentioned an attack.’

‘Look-it’s not-The attack has nothing to do with it. She did dump me.’

‘That’s not what she says.’

‘What-exactly does she say?’

Through the ultra-cautious words Pietro could sense the cogs and wheels of the lad’s mind turning, and it filled him with dismay.

‘She says you spent a loving evening together at the restaurant, then you were attacked by thugs. After that she lost her memory. When she saw you again she didn’t recognise you.’

‘Oh, she recognised me all right. We didn’t have a loving evening. She told me it was over. I haunted the hospital until I knew she was better, but when she saw me she told me to go. Why do you think I never got in touch with her again? Because that was what she wanted.’

Pietro groaned, not knowing what to believe.

‘What did she mean about me helping her with her injuries?’ Gino asked.

‘She has gaps in her memory and she wants you to help fill them.’

‘That explains a lot. Pietro, this is one very troubled lady. She doesn’t know what really happened and what didn’t.’

‘All the more reason for you to come back and help clear her mind.’

‘But surely I’ll just confuse her more? What’s that?’ Gino’s voice sounded as though he’d turned his head to reply to someone. Then it became stronger again. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. There’s someone at the door.’

The line went dead.

Pietro cursed, knowing that Gino had made an excuse to escape.

He was more worried than he wanted to admit. It was just possible that Gino’s version was correct, and Ruth was so disturbed that she didn’t know what had really happened. She’d even partially admitted that.

But then he recalled her smiling as she said, ‘You have to forgive Gino his funny little ways.’

There had been a kindly tolerance in her voice that simply didn’t fit with the picture Gino was trying to paint. That was surely the real Ruth, forgiving and generous?

For some reason he wanted to believe this of her. But how could he tell when even she didn’t know the full truth about herself? For the first time he fully understood the implications of her confusion, and how it might prove to be a nightmare, not only for her, but also perhaps for him.

Over breakfast next morning Pietro said, ‘I have a few things to check, then I’m ready to take up my new position as your right-hand man.’

‘Look, that was only a joke,’ Ruth said hastily. ‘I don’t really expect you to give up your time to me.’

‘You may have been joking. I wasn’t. You should try to relax. The more you worry, the less clear your mind will become.’

The rain had gone and it was a fine morning as they set out to walk to St Mark’s Piazza. Along the way the shops were opening, the owners arranging goods outside, smiling as they saw Pietro. Most of them hailed him, and some eyed Ruth with a look that said, ‘Ah, you found her, then?’

She smiled back, relishing the feeling of being enveloped in kindness.

Through squares, along calles so narrow that she could touch both sides at once, and over tiny bridges, they finally reached the huge piazza. At one end was the glorious cathedral. On the other three sides were elegant arches, behind which were commercial establishments. One of these was Pietro’s headquarters, a place where trips and hotels could be booked and various necessities hired.

‘I’ll introduce you to Mario,’ Pietro said. ‘He’s a brilliant manager, although a little too meek for this violent city.’

‘Violent?’ Ruth queried. ‘But surely it’s a gentle, peaceful place. That’s why they call it La Serenissima?’

‘La Serenissima is only serene on the surface. Underneath it’s another story, sometimes a cruel one.’

She had a partial demonstration as soon as they entered, and she saw Mario, a young man with a plump, amiable face and an air of innocence. He was trying to cope with a middle-aged woman who was talking loudly and furiously.

‘It’s no excuse to say that they’re booked up-’

‘But, signora,’ Mario pleaded, ‘if that trip has no spaces left for that date, what can I do? Perhaps the next day-’

‘I want that day!’ she snapped.

Mario looked frazzled.

‘Excuse me,’ Pietro murmured.

In seconds he had the matter under control, convincing the lady politely but firmly that tantrums would get her nowhere. He even managed to persuade her to book for the following day. Mario watched, almost with tears in his eyes.

When the woman had gone, Pietro introduced the two of them.

‘Padrone, I’m so sorry,’ Mario started to say.

‘Forget it,’ Pietro said kindly. ‘Nature just didn’t design you to be a forceful man.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Mario said, crestfallen.

‘But in every other way you’re an excellent manager, so let this matter go. How’s business apart from ill-tempered ladies?’

‘Doing well,’ Mario hastened to tell him. ‘There’s hardly a hotel room left.’

‘I thought everything was empty in January,’ Ruth said.

‘It’s empty now, but in four weeks we start Carnival,’ Pietro told her. ‘And nobody wants to miss that. For eleven days the city will be packed. Everyone will eat too much, drink too much, and enjoy themselves in any way they please-also too much. But that’s all right, they wear masks, so they get away with it.’

The rear of the shop was taken up with the hire department. There were printed catalogues, and large screens on which costumes could be projected.

But the real thing was also there, masks and outrageous costumes, all glowing with life and colour; brilliant reds and blues, vibrant greens and yellows, glittering with sequins and tinsel.

Mario, who had followed her while Pietro glanced through the books, began to show them off.

‘These will be hired for the street parties,’ he explained. ‘For the big indoor occasions everyone will be much grander.’

He held one of the masks before his face. It was fierce and sexy in a slightly satanic way, and it transformed him into a man many women would find intriguing. Then he removed it and became gentle, sweet-natured Mario again.

‘Ah, well,’ he sighed. ‘I can dream, can’t I? That’s what Carnival is for.’

‘Perhaps your dream will come true,’ she said, liking him.

‘No, signorina. I dream of the lady who won’t be disappointed when she sees the real me. If only I could keep this mask on for ever.’

‘You might not like that as much as you think,’ she mused. ‘In the long run it’s best to be yourself-whoever that is.’

‘But to be a stranger, even to yourself, can be such a pleasure, especially when you can choose which stranger to be.’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ she murmured, looking through some of the female masks. ‘Being able to choose would make all the difference.’

She began to try them on, starting with one that was made like a cat, and that covered her face completely.

‘This might be a good one to hide behind,’ she mused.

‘But a mask isn’t always to hide behind,’ Pietro said, coming to join them. ‘Sometimes it can reveal what you never knew before about yourself.’

‘That would be the time to beware,’ Ruth said. ‘You wouldn’t know what you were also revealing to other people. They might see you in a way you never dreamed of, and then where would you be?’

‘Among friends,’ Pietro told her softly. ‘And it might be their insight that sets you free.’

Poor Mario looked blankly from one to the other, until rescue came in the form of a customer. Mario hastened to his assistance, but found himself in trouble again. The newcomer was German, speaking no Italian and very little English. Soon there was chaos. Pietro groaned.

‘Don’t worry,’ Ruth told him. ‘This is your lucky day.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you have me,’ she said, and walked away before he could reply.

It took her only a few minutes to sort things out, translating the visitor’s enquiry, then Mario’s response, to the desperate relief of both.

When the satisfied customer had departed, her two companions were loud in their praise.

‘My lucky day indeed!’ Pietro said. ‘Now I remember you said you were a language teacher. And you sold him our most expensive package.’

‘Mario did that. I was just the conduit.’

‘Thank heavens for conduits,’ Mario said fervently, and they all laughed.

‘We do have an assistant who speaks German,’ Mario added, ‘but she’s only part-time, and not here yet.’

‘I think that’s worth a coffee and cream cake,’ Pietro said. ‘Come on.’

They went along the covered passage to the Café Florian, its elegant interior still reflecting the style of the eighteenth century, when it had first opened.

‘Did Gino ever bring you here?’ Pietro asked.

‘Oh, yes, he told me about Casanova coming here.’

Pietro suppressed the wry comment that this was just what he would have expected. Casanova, the infamous eighteenth-century lover of a thousand women, a man who’d flirted with the church as a career but also flirted with witchcraft. Imprisoned for debt and devil worship, he’d escaped and travelled Europe, pursued by scandal, finally ending his days as a respectable librarian in an obscure castle in Bohemia.

Like many other young men Gino had passed over the respectable part, and used the rest to his advantage.

‘He said Casanova came to Florian’s because it was the only café in Venice that allowed women inside,’ Ruth remembered now.

‘Did he say anything else?’

She nodded. ‘Lots of things. Some of them were just to make me laugh. Some of them-’ She shrugged, with a little sad smile. Then she tensed suddenly. ‘No! No!’

‘What is it?’ he asked urgently.

She was pressing her hands to her forehead, whispering desperately, ‘No!’ while Pietro watched her in concern.

Suddenly she gave an exasperated sigh, and dropped her hands.

‘It’s no good. It’s gone. That happens all the time.’

‘But it doesn’t mean anything. Nobody remembers every detail.’

‘I know. I try to tell myself that everyone goes blank sometimes, even normal people.’

‘Ruth, you’re perfectly normal.’

‘No, I’m not. Normal people don’t go do-lally in the middle of a conversation.’

‘I forbid you to talk like that,’ he said in a tight voice.

‘All right, not another word, I promise.’

But her easy compliance made him rightly suspicious.

‘And I forbid you to think it either,’ he snapped. ‘That’s an order.’

‘Hey, you’re really used to being obeyed, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, and I expect to be obeyed this time. Don’t you ever dare call yourself abnormal again.’

Ruth suddenly understood that he was really angry, not just with the exasperated indignation of the day before, but in a mysterious, inexplicable rage.

‘Don’t you understand why you mustn’t think in such a way?’ he demanded in a calmer voice.

‘I suppose so. But after a while it’s natural.’

‘Then you’ve got to stop. I’m going to make you stop.’

‘Pietro, it’s not the same as ordinary forgetfulness. One minute the memories are running through my head, the next-darkness descends. If only I-’ She made a helpless gesture.

‘Don’t try to force it,’ he advised her.

‘But I’m so close-if I can just-’

‘No,’ he said, taking her hands in his. ‘Let it go. If you fight, it’ll fight back. Think of something else-anything else. Find something good and hang on to it.’

There was only him to hang on to, she thought, feeling the warmth of his hands clasping hers. She closed her eyes, willing him to keep her safe, as he was doing now.

‘All right?’ he asked when she finally looked up.

‘Yes, I’m all right now.’

‘Did you find something?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, I found just what I needed.’

Suddenly her face brightened and she cried, ‘Giovanni Soranzo!’ in such a voice of triumph that people stared at her.

‘Excuse me?’ Pietro said.

‘You must have heard of him-Doge of Venice, early fourteenth century.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. I’m descended from him.’

‘And so is Gino. He told me all about it. That’s what I was trying to remember. You were right. When I stopped thinking about it, it came back.’

‘Then we’ve made progress already. Can you remember anything else he said?’

‘The Doges ruled Venice for twelve centuries, and were immensely powerful. Gino was so proud of being descended from one of them. He showed me the portrait you keep in the palazzo.’

‘We’ll have another look at it some time.’

‘When we’ve finished lunch I’d like to wander around a bit on my own.’

‘No,’ he said at once.

‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘I’m not going to run away again, I promise.’

‘You might get lost.’

‘You can’t get lost in Venice. If you take a wrong turn you just come to the edge and fall into the water. You climb out, soaking wet and cursing horribly, and retrace your steps. You must teach me some of those fine Venetian curses. Gino said they’re the best in the world.’

He was forced to laugh at her determined humour.

‘I’m safe now, honestly,’ she continued. ‘I’ll come back to the shop later, and if you’re not there I’ll make my own way home.’

He agreed but reluctantly, and when they left Florian’s his eyes followed her across St Mark’s Piazza until she vanished.

It was as well that he returned to the shop, for his part-time assistant didn’t show up, and it was a busy afternoon. Late in the day Ruth slipped quietly inside. To his relief she looked calm and cheerful.

He called the palazzo, giving Minna the night off preparing his meal, and on the way home he stopped in several food shops buying fresh meat and vegetables.

‘Tonight I do the cooking,’ he told Ruth. ‘And if that doesn’t scare you, nothing will.’

‘But Gino said you were a wonderful cook.’

‘Compared to him, I was. I enjoy it. And I enjoy surprising people who don’t expect me to be able to do it.’

Toni came to meet them as soon as they entered, paying particular attention to Ruth, whom he seemed to consider his particular concern after having guarded her on the first night.

There was a note from Minna on the table, to say that she had taken Toni for a walk and seen him settled before going out for the evening.

‘I’d better give him his medication before I start cooking,’ Pietro said. ‘Can you hand me the little brown bottle on that shelf behind you?’

Ruth glanced at the label before handing over the bottle, and without thinking, she said, ‘Good stuff.’

‘You’ve come across these pills before?’ Pietro said quickly. ‘When?’

‘I-don’t know. I just know them. You give them to a dog who has petit mal, mild epilepsy.’

‘That’s right. Perhaps you had a dog of your own?’

‘No, I don’t think so. My aunt didn’t like animals. How often does he have these?’

‘Just one a day. Perhaps you can give it to him while I start the food.’

He retreated to the kitchen, but lingered in the doorway, watching as Toni nestled against her, clearly content to trust her. In a few seconds the pill was down.

Her offer to help with the meal was met with lofty dismissal. Women, Pietro gave her to understand, did not belong in the kitchen. While she was still trying to puzzle this out he indicated the china and gave her permission to lay the table.

‘Cheek!’ she said amiably, and got to work.

Ruth had to admit that he served up a fabulous meal, starting with risi e bisi, rice with peas, assuring her that it had been a big favourite with Giovanni Soranzo.

‘Oh, yeah!’ she said sceptically.

‘Listen, you’re not talking to Gino now. If I say it, it’s true. Well, sort of. Traditionally it was the starter on the Doge’s lunch menu every year, during the feast of St Mark.’

‘Ah,’ Ruth said cunningly, ‘but is there any evidence that he actually liked it?’

‘He ate it, and it never killed him,’ Pietro hedged. ‘Why don’t you open the wine?’

Although she’d known him such a short time Ruth was coming to treasure these moments of bantering, which took her mind away from problems. She wondered if it did the same for him.

The meal continued with pasta in olive oil, followed by cream cod mousse and sweet biscuits, washed down with light, delicious wines.

Suddenly she said, ‘I was going to ask if you’ve been in touch with Gino since I arrived. But you must have been, and, since you haven’t mentioned it, I guess he doesn’t want to know.’

Pietro was taken by surprise, but realised that he shouldn’t have been. He was getting used to her sharp wits.

‘It’s not quite like that,’ he said cautiously.

‘Which means it’s exactly like that.’

‘He doesn’t remember the last evening exactly as you do. He thought you wanted to break up.’

‘But how could he?’

‘I don’t know, but he says you broke up with him.’

She stared, clearly thunderstruck.

‘But-but I didn’t,’ she stammered. ‘We had a lovely evening-he said he loved me.’ But then her shoulders sagged. ‘At least, that’s what I remember. But maybe I’m wrong.’

‘Maybe you’d had enough of his silly face and wanted something better,’ Pietro said kindly, trying to make light of it.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she said firmly. ‘If I’d changed my mind about him why didn’t I tell him on the phone before he ever came to England? Why wait until then?’

‘Perhaps you needed to see him to be sure?’ Pietro suggested.

‘And when I saw him in the restaurant that night I decided against him? But instead I remember how close we were. So I’m imagining that? I’m delusional? Well, there you are. I must be madder than I thought.’

‘I told you not to call yourself mad.’

‘Well, don’t tell me! If I want to abuse myself, I will. Who has a better right?’

He didn’t make the mistake of answering, but looked at her wryly until she calmed down and gave a little laugh, aimed at herself.

‘I warned you it would be tough,’ she said.

‘I can take it,’ he assured her.

‘Which version do you believe?’ she challenged. ‘His or mine?’

‘We both know he didn’t always stick to the truth. Look at this.’

He took out the photo albums and went through pages until he found the picture he wanted her to see. It showed Gino with a middle-aged woman. She was wearing an apron, and was busy in a kitchen.

‘That was his mother,’ Pietro said.

Ruth said nothing for a moment, then, ‘Did she work here?’

‘Yes, she was our cook for several years. That’s how it happened that he grew up here.’

‘So he’s not your cousin, not a Bagnelli?’

‘No, I’m afraid that was one of his fantasies.’

‘But I don’t understand. I thought you were both descended from the same Doge.’

‘That’s true, but Doges were elected. It wasn’t a hereditary position. There were over a hundred of them, from different families. Almost every true Venetian is descended from one Doge or another.’

‘But being a Bagnelli was another of his “fantasies”. Or shall we call them lies? When was he going to tell me the truth-if ever? Perhaps Gino himself was an illusion.’ She gave a laugh that was almost bitter. ‘Maybe he was just a hologram, and if I stretched out my hand it might have gone right through him.’

‘I think you’ve summed him up fairly well,’ Pietro said grimly. ‘Perhaps it’s useful that you’re beginning to see him more clearly.’

‘But it doesn’t change anything. I still need his help, even if I don’t-’

‘Don’t what?’ he asked. When she didn’t reply he said tensely, ‘Do you still love him? Ruth, try to tell me.’