The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

CHAPTER SIX

FOR the next few days Pietro was mostly silent, and then one afternoon he paused in the shop doorway and said, ‘I’ve just got to run an errand across town.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Ruth said. ‘I need a walk.’

‘Not this time,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m leaving right now.’

‘I’m ready now.’

‘I said no. I’ll see you later.’

He left quickly, before she could reply, and it took a moment for her to realise that she had been snubbed.

‘Don’t mind too much,’ Mario said. ‘I think he must be going to San Michele. That’s a little island in the lagoon, and it’s the Venetian cemetery. His wife and child are buried there. He goes over every month. He never says anything but I always know because he’s very quiet on those days.’

‘Oh, goodness!’ Ruth groaned. ‘I’m so clumsy.’

‘No, how could you have known?’

‘You started to tell me about his wife once, but we were interrupted. Did you ever meet her?’

‘Oh, yes, several times. Her name was Lisetta Allucci. She and Pietro had grown up together, She used to come in here a lot, a very nice lady. Everyone was happy for them when they got engaged, and then she became pregnant at once, which was wonderful because he would have an heir.’

‘Do people still think like that nowadays?’

‘They do if they have a title. The count must have an heir. They were married in St Mark’s, and all Venice was there. You never saw such a happy couple, how proudly they walked down the aisle. But they hardly had any time together, just two years. She lost the baby, but soon she was pregnant again. This time the child was born, but she died the same day, and the baby died within a few hours. They were buried together, the child lying in his mother’s arms.’

Horror held Ruth silent. She had known that Pietro was a man haunted by tragedy, but it was a shock to hear the cruel details spelt out. She saw him, living almost alone in that great echoing palazzo, shunning human company to be alone with his memories.

‘And I barged in,’ she murmured. ‘Just like I tried to barge in just now. How does he put up with me?’

Now she remembered how grimly he reacted to any mention of those he’d lost, walking away as though unable to bear the reminder.

She was ready for him to be in a bad mood when he reached home that evening, but the hours passed with no sign of him.

‘I suppose I ought to go to bed,’ she mused to Toni, who eyed her without comment.

‘But I expect you’d like a walk, wouldn’t you?’ she suggested. ‘Come on, we’ll take a little stroll.’

They would just drift quietly around the local calles, she told herself. There was no need to go far, in case she got lost. And if she happened to see Pietro along the way, that would just be a coincidence.

But he was nowhere to be seen, and at last the two of them wandered back to the empty house, and let themselves quietly in. Pietro still wasn’t home, so she put some fresh water down for Toni and went to bed.

Where had he gone when he’d left his wife’s grave? Had he walked around the city, revisiting the places they had been together, just as she did with her memories of Gino? Only in his case the impressions would be more vivid because the reality had been fulfilment, even though it had ended in tragedy.

Lying there, listening to the echoing silence, Ruth knew that Lisetta’s real tomb was this house. Its very emptiness was a shrine to her memory, an outward symbol of the desolation within, his way of telling the world that she had been the love of his life, and there would never be another.

She listened long and hard, but never hearing the sound of his key, until at last she slept, and awoke next morning to find him still missing. Nor did he appear at the shop all day. He was there when she went home, but he only nodded briefly and shut himself into his room, from where she heard the click of his computer.

She thought of knocking on his door later to ask if he wanted some coffee, but backed off, lacking the courage.

The next day he was back to his usual self. He never mentioned his dark mood, and nor did she.

A few afternoons later, when darkness had fallen early, as it did in January, she found Mario gazing up into the sky where the moon glimmered. Interpreting this as romantic yearning, she said kindly, ‘It’s a beautiful moon, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he sighed. ‘And it will be a full moon any day now, unfortunately.’

‘Unfortunately? Isn’t a full moon beautiful?’

‘Not when it brings aqua alta,’ Mario said promptly.

‘That’s high water, isn’t it? Flooding.’

‘That’s right. Venice is flooded about four times a year, and sometimes it happens at full moon, because of the tides. We might be in for it soon.’ He shivered.

‘Not nice?’ she hazarded.

‘Everywhere you go you have to walk on planks over the water, and it’s always crowded, so that you fall off and get your feet wet. Brr!’

So much for romantic yearning, she thought, with wry amusement. That would teach her to jump to conclusions. But then Mario added wistfully, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t get pushed off. Everyone will make way for you.’

Since her transformation he’d made no effort to hide his admiration. Nor did other men. Wherever she went she received the homage of lingering looks, except from Pietro. True, he studied her appearance, but only to tell her gruffly to keep warm.

The incident sharpened her eyes, and as she walked home that night she realised that the city was full of people studying the sky. Pietro too halted as they were crossing a tiny bridge over a narrow ‘backstreet’ canal, and looked up.

‘Do you think we’re going to have aqua alta?’ she asked him.

‘So you’re learning to be a Venetian?’

‘Mario was telling me about how it’s connected to full moon.’

‘Or new moon. It can be either. This one was new about ten days ago. The water didn’t rise then, but there’s been a lot of rain recently. It’ll be a relief when full moon is over.’

‘Does it worry you very much?’ she asked as they walked on. ‘I suppose it damages the buildings?’

‘It can if they’re not properly cared for. I’ve had all the floors at ground level inside the palazzo raised, and we’re well supplied with sandbags, but some people are surprisingly careless.’

‘But do you have time to put in sandbags?’

‘Yes, because sirens start blaring out a few hours before, so we get some warning.’

When they reached home he showed her the raised floors and she realised that she’d always been vaguely puzzled at having to step up from the street.

‘I had all the marble and mosaic taken up,’ he explained, ‘then three layers of brick laid down, and the floor relaid on top of them. It protects us against many of the floods, which usually aren’t more than a couple of inches. But nothing could have protected us against this.’

He pointed to a line on the wall, about six feet up.

‘That’s how high the water came in nineteen sixty-six,’ he said. ‘My father always refused to clean that mark off. He said it must be a warning to us never to be complacent about what the sea could do.’

‘You mean it could be that bad again?’

‘I doubt it. Such a flood will happen only once in a hundred years. But my father was right about not being always on our guard.’

‘The water came up that high?’ she murmured, running her finger along the line.

‘All through the house. Come and see.’

He began to lead her the length of the building. Although these walls had been cleaned they all bore the faint line with its warning for those who could understand.

‘Did Gino show you this?’ Pietro asked.

‘We walked through it quickly, but it was the rooms upstairs he wanted to show me.’

‘Ah, yes. It’s a lot finer up there,’ he said lightly.

Instead of the back stairs that they usually used he led her to the main staircase, a marble edifice wide enough for four people abreast, and from there into the great ballroom, where he switched on the lights.

This was truly the centre of a palace. The ceiling soared, here and there were exquisite carvings, and although most pictures had been put into storage there were still one or two portraits on the walls.

‘My ancestors,’ Pietro said. ‘That one over there is Giovanni Soranzo.’

‘I don’t like the look of him much,’ she said, regarding the man with the scowling face and magnificent robes, who looked down on them in haughty disapproval.

‘Not a nice character,’ he agreed. ‘He locked his daughter up so securely that she didn’t get out until seven years after his death.’

‘Charming.’

She continued her wandering. One wall was lined with tall windows, each with a little balcony, looking out over the Grand Canal.

Then something in her mind clicked, but silently, and she was back in another time.

‘This is where we’ll have our wedding reception, cara.’

‘But it’s much too grand for me.’

‘Nothing is too good for you. I shall show you off with such pride.’

And she had believed him.

‘Are you all right?’ Pietro asked, watching her face.

‘Yes, just remembering. Gino talked about having our reception here.’

‘You would have done. It was going to be my wedding gift.’

‘He told me.’

She went to one of the tall windows, which Pietro unlocked so that she could stand outside on the balcony.

‘The bride and groom would have come to stand here together,’ Pietro told her, ‘and everyone in the gondolas going past would have hailed them. Did he tell you that?’

‘Probably. He said so many things. I suppose he believed them when he said them. But I don’t think that wedding was ever going to happen. More and more the whole thing feels like a book I read about someone else.’

‘How much do you mind?’

‘I’ll tell you that when I know how it ends-if it ever ends.’

‘Do you often think that way?’ he asked.

‘I think it more and more. Have you heard anything from Gino?’

‘No. I can’t contact him.’

‘Which means he doesn’t want to talk to you. Or rather, he doesn’t want to talk to me. Ah well.’

She stood looking up at the full moon, covering the scene with silver.

‘I wonder if it’s going to rain,’ she said.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said as a drop fell on him. ‘I think the storm is approaching with a vengeance. Let’s get inside.’

He locked the window and they left the ballroom, climbing the stairs to his apartment. Toni was there, lying on the floor, and he came towards them as he always did. But he didn’t stay long tonight, seeming anxious to get back to his shabby sofa and curl up again.

Ruth wasn’t sure what made her kneel down beside him, suddenly disturbed.

‘What is it, old boy?’ she whispered. ‘Are you all right?’

But he wasn’t, and the next minute Toni made a convulsive movement, gave a huge gasp, as if choking, and began to shake violently.

‘Poor old boy,’ Ruth said at once. ‘You’re having a seizure, aren’t you? Here, come on.’

She reached out and tried to put her arms about the big body that was thrashing madly in a way that might have been alarming if she hadn’t seen this before. She murmured soothingly, knowing the poor creature could hear very little, but trying to get through to him with a wordless message of comfort.

‘It won’t last long,’ Pietro said. ‘Just a few minutes. Shall I take him? When he starts thrashing around he gets a bit violent.’

‘No, leave him with me,’ Ruth said. ‘I don’t mind what he does.’

Even as she spoke Toni’s teeth sank into her wrist. She winced and pulled herself free.

‘He didn’t mean that,’ Pietro said quickly. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing.’

‘Of course he doesn’t,’ she said, taking the dog in her arms again. ‘It’s not his fault. Is there anything special that you normally do for him when he has fits?’

‘No, just hold him and wait for it to pass.’

‘Then he just needs to know that he’s loved and protected, and he’ll come through it.’ She turned back to Toni. ‘Come on, my love. Hold on to me, and we’ll see it through together. There, then-it’s all right-it’s going to be all right, my darling.’

At first he didn’t seem to hear, but gradually the thrashing quietened, and Toni lay in her arms, still shaking, but calmer as Ruth stroked his head and kissed his shaggy fur.

‘There, my love,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here-I’m here. There’s nothing to worry about.’

She continued to soothe him, unaware that Pietro was watching her with a startled look in his eyes. A man who’d stumbled on buried treasure and feared to believe what he’d discovered might have looked like that. But Ruth didn’t see it.

‘Has he hurt you?’ Pietro asked at last, sounding oddly husky.

‘No, he didn’t break the skin,’ she said, looking at her wrist. ‘He didn’t mean it, did you, darling?’

‘He’s an Italian dog,’ Pietro reminded her. ‘If you talk in English he doesn’t understand.’

‘Of course he understands. It’s not the words, it’s the tone of voice. He knows I’m on his side, and I love him.’ She kissed Toni’s head again, murmuring, ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

‘Then I guess if he knows that-he knows everything,’ Pietro said slowly.

He rose and backed away, his eyes fixed on the two on the sofa, enfolded together, content to be so. Toni’s eyes were closed and his breathing became more regular as he relaxed, trusting Ruth completely. Pietro waited for her to look up, but all her attention was for the vulnerable creature in her arms.

It was a novel experience for Pietro to be ignored, and he gave a wry smile at himself as he made the supper. Ruth left the sleeping Toni, while she went to the table for the shortest possible time, and ate without taking her eyes from the dog. Afterwards she returned to the sofa and sat beside the dog, stroking his head.

‘Don’t you want to go to bed?’ Pietro asked.

‘No, I’m staying with him. He needs to feel safe. And we’re special friends.’

‘He certainly seems to think so. He isn’t usually so peaceful after a seizure. I’m afraid, after this, he’s not going to be satisfied with just me.’

‘Yes, he will. In his world you’re “the one”. I’m just passing through. When I’m gone, you’ll still be his rock.’

‘When you’re gone,’ he murmured.

They were quiet for a while.

‘Listen to that noise,’ she said, turning her head to the window. ‘It must be raining in torrents.’

‘Well, you know plenty about storms in Venice.’

She smiled suddenly and said in a teasing voice, ‘I wonder if there’s anyone standing out there, looking like a drowned rat.’

‘Want me to take a look?’

‘No, if she’s there, best leave her. She’ll only be trouble, and you know about that.’

‘The last one wasn’t so bad,’ Pietro said lightly.

‘Really? I heard she was grumpy and awkward.’

‘Definitely. Sharp-tongued, difficult and just plain contrary.’

‘The sort you could well do without?’ she urged.

‘I thought so at first, but she grew on me. Plus my dog likes her, and that goes a long way with me.’

They laughed together. Toni stirred, grunting, and she soothed him. After a while she leaned back and closed her eyes, still holding him protectively. She dozed on and off for the rest of the night, and whenever she opened her eyes Pietro was there, watching her with an expression she didn’t understand.

At dawn they were awoken by a nightmarish sound that lasted for ten seconds, stopped for ten, then blared again for ten.

‘That’s the sirens,’ Pietro said. ‘High tide’s on its way, and it’s going to be a big one.’

Within seconds Minna and Celia were with them, running down the back stairs to start putting sandbags against the doors, to the accompaniment of the hideous squalling.

‘I know,’ Pietro said as Ruth put her hands over her ears. ‘But it’ll wake everyone in Venice, and that’s the idea.’

Before they left home he told Minna what had happened to Toni, and she promised to watch him carefully.

‘He won’t have another fit because he never has them two days in succession,’ he told Ruth as they walked away. ‘But he’ll be happier if they look in and talk to him.’

Aqua alta was clearly coming in, although it had only just begun to inch over the stone banks of the Grand Canal. When they reached St Mark’s the water had risen to eight inches and the boards were in place so that they could walk over it.

Ruth was struck by the calm cheerfulness of the Venetians. To them this was a normal, if unwelcome, part of life. The shops around the piazza were built several steps up from the ground and, for the moment, the water had not reached them.

‘But it soon will,’ Pietro predicted.

‘Do we put sandbags against the shop door?’ she asked.

‘Certainly not. If we blocked the door how would our customers get in?’

‘Of course,’ she mused. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

Mario was already at work, bringing out boards that he set up just above the water so that customers could come in and shop as normal. Now Ruth began to understand that the place had been designed with this in mind. Display cabinets were on high stilts, electric plugs were set halfway up the walls. For Venetians this was just how things were.

Trade was down that day, but not as much as she would have expected. When she expressed surprise her two companions laughed at her.

‘That’s the English for you, Mario,’ Pietro said. ‘One little drop of rain and they collapse.’

‘One little-?’ Ruth began to say, aghast. But then she joined in their laughter.

To her relief Pietro closed early and they splashed their way home. As Mario had warned her, it was hard to keep balance on the boards.

‘The trouble is, everyone’s going home at the same time,’ Pietro said. ‘Hold on to me.’

But he was too late. Somebody cannoned into her from behind, and the next moment she was in the water, lying flat on her back. Pietro was immediately beside her, hauling her to her feet, leaving them both soaked to the skin.

‘The sooner we’re home, the better,’ he said, putting an arm firmly around her waist.

‘I don’t think we can get back on that board,’ she said. ‘It’s too crowded.’

‘Then we’ll wade home. It’s not far. Come on. Hold on to me.’

Clinging to each other, they splashed through the foot-high water until they reached the Riva del Ferro, which ran alongside the Grand Canal, and finally the side door of the palazzo.

‘How are we going to get inside?’ she cried. ‘As soon as we open the door the water will pour in.’

‘We’re not going to open the door,’ he said. ‘I told you, we’re prepared.’

Taking a key from his pocket, he reached up and opened a window on the ground floor, about four feet from the ground.

‘You first,’ he said, lifting her in his arms so that she could climb in, but she fell clumsily, landing on one knee and crying, ‘Ouch!’

He followed at once, locking the window behind him, and shivering.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I just banged my knee. You go on up ahead.’ She limped to the bottom of the stairs.

‘There’s no time for that,’ he said, lifting her bodily. ‘Just let’s get in the warm.’

Holding her high against his chest, he made the stairs in double quick time.

‘How come I keep getting soaked?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve barely been here three weeks and this is the second time.’

‘Maybe Fate’s trying to tell you something,’ he suggested.

‘Like “grow fins”?’

‘You can have the first shower,’ he said, setting her down in the apartment and fending off the dog, who tried to trip them up in his eagerness.

‘Thanks. Hallo, Toni, have you been all right? Oh, yes, you look better.’

‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes, it was just a little knock. I’ll be fine when I’m warm.’

It was bliss to get under the hot water. She would have lingered except that she didn’t want him to freeze waiting for her. In a few minutes she was out, wrapped in a bath robe.

‘It’s all yours,’ she told him.

But instead of dashing straight in he frowned, looking at her knee, where a mark showed clearly.

‘You’re going to have a nasty bruise there,’ he said. ‘Let me look.’

Sitting her down on the sofa, he dropped down before her, and examined the injury, which was turning an ugly red.

‘I should have climbed in the window first and helped you in,’ he groaned.

‘Will you stop blaming yourself? It was an accident. Nobody’s fault. Go into the bathroom and get dry.’

‘No, let me-’

‘Pietro, please go,’ she said in a suddenly strained voice. ‘I don’t want your pneumonia on my conscience.’

‘But that should be looked at-’

‘Go,’ she said fiercely. ‘I have to get dry.’

He rose quickly, almost snatching his hands from her skin. When he’d gone Ruth crossed her arms over her chest, trying to blank out the awareness of him that had gone through her like lightning, taking her totally by surprise. It had been the briefest possible moment, but it had been enough to show her the intimacy of their life in a new light.

Friends. Brother and sister. She’d asked for no more. But his touch had reminded her that she was naked beneath the towel robe. There had been a flash of excitement, an insidious sweetness that threatened her before she could control it.

But she was in control now, she assured herself. And life had enough complications without adding another.

Suddenly she didn’t want to talk to Pietro again that evening. She wasn’t sure why, but it had something to do with the memory that had nearly come to her a few days ago when she’d been talking to Mario.

‘Venetian dialect,’ she murmured now. ‘We were saying-something about-what was it? And why does it trouble me now, even though I don’t know what it is? Why can’t I remember?’

Because you’re afraid to remember, warned a voice in her head. Because once you’ve remembered nothing will ever be the same again. And you’re not sure you’re ready for that.