The Venetian Playboy’s Bride

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE opened her eyes on total darkness. Her headache was gone and she felt light. Easing her way out of bed she discovered that she hadn’t yet recovered. It took all her strength to walk to the window and undo the shutters.

Outside was a world of calm shadows. It was dark, the only light coming from the moon seeking to penetrate the narrow canals below. This little apartment seemed to be in a backwater, with a narrow canal, or rio running beneath. She couldn’t tell where she was, except that this wasn’t the glamorous part of the city. It was the homely part, where the Venetians lived. A young couple wandered along the opposite bank, dressed almost alike in jeans and sweaters. They looked up, saw her watching them and vanished into the shadows.

Switching on the bedside light she saw that the bathrobe was now lying on the bed, although it hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep. When had he done that? She had no idea, but there was no doubt he’d entered the room and left it without disturbing her.

She realised that she was still more overheated than she’d thought, because the fire that had consumed her body earlier hadn’t quite died down. Either that or it was the knowledge that he’d looked at her while she was oblivious.

She slipped the cotton robe on and quietly opened the bedroom door. It led straight into a large living room, also in darkness except for moonlight. By its light she managed to identify the bathroom, and crept in, closing the door silently behind her.

The first thing she saw was her sodden clothes hanging over the bath, perfectly arranged, as if by an artist.

The sight of herself in the mirror was a shock. Her normal pale colour had given way to a pink that she didn’t find becoming. Under the bathrobe her shoulders felt tender, and a glimpse beneath it showed her the worst. The sun had burned her wherever it had touched.

‘So much for the temptress,’ she thought wryly. ‘Turning into a lobster wasn’t part of the plan.’

She splashed cold water on her face, but it didn’t do much for her. She’d used up a lot of strength just getting this far, and the journey back looked like a marathon.

Emerging from the bathroom she had a clear view of someone sleeping on the sofa. Since he was a tall man and it was a short sofa his discomfort was evident, even under the duvet that half covered him. Her face softened as she viewed him, wondering how long he’d been there, and what state he would be in when he awoke.

She began to make her way back to the bedroom, but it was hard because her remaining strength was seeping away fast. After a few steps she stopped, clinging onto a chair, breathing hard, her forehead damp. The next chair was three feet away. She began to plan how she would make it, short steps, sliding her feet along an inch at a time, then a quick dash.

She managed the first bit all right, but she miscalculated the dash, fell short by several inches and collided hard with the sofa, making its occupant slide to the floor and awaken, tangled in the duvet and cursing vividly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, clinging onto the back of the sofa.

He was on his feet in a moment, a lithe, smooth-chested figure in shorts and nothing else. ‘It’s all right,’ he said quickly. ‘Here. Hold onto me.’

She did so, thankfully. ‘I thought I was better,’ she murmured, ‘but when I got up-I just don’t know-’

‘You don’t get over this sort of thing in five minutes. It’ll take a day or two. How’s your headache?’

‘It had gone, but it’s coming back.’

‘Let’s get you into bed then, and I’ll make you some tea and you can have two more of those pills. The doctor left me complete instructions.’

They had reached the bed but he put her into a chair and held up a finger to tell her to stay there. Then he descended on the bed in a whirl of activity, finding fresh pillowcases, smoothing the undersheet and shaking the duvet out until it was fluffy.

‘You’re very domesticated,’ she said admiringly.

‘My father taught me. He said you should never depend on women for these things because they weren’t reliable.’ He spoke with a straight face, but his eyes twinkled. ‘Back to bed.’

She made a move as if to undo the robe, but then remembered that she had nothing on underneath. He pointed to some drawers. ‘You’ll find some vests in there.’ He left.

She chose one of his vests and had slipped back into bed by the time he returned with tea. She drank it thankfully and took more pills for the headache which had returned with a vengeance.

‘There’s a little bell by the bed,’ he said, removing the cup and settling her. ‘Ring it if you need me.’

‘You’re a wonderful nurse,’ she murmured, sliding down contentedly.

‘Go to sleep.’

This time she slept long and awoke feeling refreshed. Throwing open the shutters she found a brilliant morning and took some long, deep breaths. Her head was better, although she still felt wobbly.

Donning the robe, she peered around the bedroom door, but found no sign of her host. In a small, single-floor apartment, with all rooms leading off the main one, it took no time to ascertain that he’d gone out.

It was a peaceful, pleasant place, with white walls, a cool terrazzo floor, and furniture that was sparse and functional. The only sign of flamboyance was the profusion of masks that hung on the walls. Some were simple, some fantastic with long noses and sinister slits for the eyes. They seemed to cover every wall, and Dulcie surveyed them with interest.

Looking at the tiny sofa she winced with sympathy for him. It seemed so unfair for him to sleep in that cramped place while she had his whole double bed at her disposal.

But of one thing there was no further possible doubt. This was a man who had very little money.

An inspection of her dress in the bathroom showed that it was unwearable after its drenching. An inspection of herself showed that the pink of her skin had faded, but still wasn’t a colour she’d have chosen. She was considering how matters stood when she heard the front door open, and went out to see him enter, loaded down with shopping. She hastened to rescue some bags that were slipping from his fingers.

‘Dump them in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘No, just these. I’ll take those.’ He whisked a couple of items away from her, dropped them on the sofa and guided her into the kitchen. ‘You’re looking better.’

‘I feel it. I just wish I looked it.’

‘Good healthy colour.’

‘T’isn’t! It just tells the world I’m an idiot.’

‘I’m not answering that. Let me sit down. I’ve been staggering under this lot for too long.’

‘Shall I make you some coffee?’

‘No thank you,’ he said with more speed than gallantry.

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re English,’ he said, not mincing matters.

‘Meaning we don’t know how to make coffee?’

He just grinned and rose to his feet. ‘I’ll make the coffee for both of us, then I’ll get your breakfast. Something light I think. Soup, and then-yes, that would be it.’

He refused to say any more, watching her with a glint of mischief as she helped him unpack the food. He seemed to have shopped for an army.

‘I’ve been having a look at my dress,’ she said.

‘Did the shower leave it in a state? Sorry about that. I suppose I should have ripped it off you first.’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not complaining, you did the right thing. It’s just that I’m having visions of me going back to the Vittorio looking a fright.’

‘You don’t have to do that. Go and have a look at the bags in the other room.’

Puzzled, she did so, and her eyes widened at the contents.

‘I knew you’d be needing some fresh clothes,’ he said, standing in the kitchen doorway and watching her. ‘It’s just cheap stuff from market stalls, and not what you’re used to.’

That made her feel bad because it was exactly what she was used to. He’d bought her a pair of white jeans and two coloured tops to go with them. And he’d assessed her size perfectly, as she realised when she considered the other items.

‘You had the cheek to buy me-?’

‘You need underwear,’ he said defensively. ‘Excuse me, the coffee’s perking.’

He vanished into the kitchen and closed the door, leaving Dulcie examining the bras and panties that he’d chosen for her. They were lacy, delicate confections, designed to be seen. A woman would choose such things if she planned to undress in front of a man. And a man would choose them if he wanted to see them on a woman, or wanted to see the woman remove them, or wanted to think about her wearing and/or removing them.

Dulcie hastily silenced her thoughts. But what she couldn’t shut out was the way he’d hurried away and put a door between them. It was almost as though he was shy as well as shameless.

Further investigation revealed a nightgown. Unlike the underwear it was fiercely sexless, unadorned cotton, with a front that buttoned up to the neck. She sat for a while, contemplating the prosaic nightgown on the one hand and the sexy underwear on the other. There was no understanding him. Which was strange, considering how simple she’d expected him to be.

She glanced up as the kitchen door opened again, and one eye appeared. It looked nervous.

‘Oh, come on,’ she said, chuckling.

The other eye appeared. ‘The coffee’s ready. Am I forgiven?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, joining him in the kitchen, where he set coffee before her. ‘You had a cheek buying me panties that look like that.’

‘But I like them,’ he said innocently.

‘And you had an even bigger cheek buying me a nightie that my grandmother could wear.’

His hint of mischief disappeared. ‘I think I was right,’ he said simply. ‘While you are ill it’s better that you look…’ he hesitated ‘…like a grandmother. At least, not a grandmother exactly because you could never look like that but-safe. You must feel safe.’ He tore his hair. ‘I’m not saying this very well-but perhaps you understand-’

‘Yes,’ she said, touched. ‘I do understand you. It’s very kind of you to think of my safety.’

‘Somebody has to think of it. You’re shut up here alone with a man of bad character, enfeebled by illness, nobody to protect you if you shout for help.’

‘Perhaps he isn’t a man of bad character.’

‘But he is. Definitely. You should dress in sensible clothes to prevent him indulging in disgraceful thoughts about-’ he caught her enquiring eyes on him ‘-about what you would look like if you weren’t wearing sensible clothes, or even if you weren’t wearing-I’ll start the soup,’ he finished hurriedly.

Dulcie’s lips twitched. She wasn’t fooled by this apparent boyish confusion, but she appreciated the way he’d paid her a compliment without getting heavy about it.

‘But I shan’t be here long,’ she said. ‘I can go back to the hotel when I’ve eaten.’

‘I don’t think so. You’re not well yet, and the doctor is coming for you again today. You feel strong now, but it won’t last.’

In fact her strength was already fading, and when he set soup before her she took it gladly. This was followed by a bowl of rice and peas, cooked to perfection. A few more hours’ rest would set her up, she told herself as she headed back to bed, to find that it had been freshly made. She slipped on the ‘grannie’ nightgown and got thankfully back under the duvet.

This time, when she awoke, it was to find Dr Valletti just entering the room.

‘Yes, you seem better,’ she agreed when she’d checked Dulcie over. ‘But take it easy for another day. Tomorrow you can go out, but only for short periods, and keep covered up against the sun.’

‘I’m really well enough to go back to the hotel,’ she said guiltily when the doctor had departed.

‘No,’ he said at once. ‘You must stay here where I can look after you. In the hotel there are only servants. What do they care for you?’

She made a face. ‘If I tip them well enough, they’ll care.’

‘Oh, yes. Is that kind of caring enough?’

She shook her head.

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I don’t trust you.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘You’ll do something stupid if I’m not there. So you stay here where I can watch over you. And I don’t want a tip.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll leave it for now. I’ll go tomorrow.’

‘You’ll go when I say.’

‘Yes sir! Is it all right if I get up now and take a shower?’

While he cooked supper she showered and donned some of the lacy underwear, thinking it was a pity that her complexion wasn’t more becoming. She selected the pale-yellow top to go with the white jeans. Now her appearance was simple and elegant, and much more to her own taste than the elaborate confections she had hanging up in the hotel.

‘What are you cooking?’ she asked, sauntering into the kitchen and standing where he could see her.

‘To start with, mushroom risotto.’ He paused from chopping parsley and stood back to regard her. ‘Bene! Very nice!’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes, I got the size exactly right. I was wondering about that. Can you hand me that onion?’

She nearly threw it at him.

At his instruction she laid the little table for two by the open window. It was evening and a soft, bluey light lay over the scene outside. Lamps were coming on, reflected in the water, and from somewhere in the distance came the echoing warnings of the gondoliers, sounding like melancholy music.

He opened a bottle of prosecco, a sparkling white wine.

‘It’s very light,’ he explained, ‘so it won’t upset your stomach.’

They chinked glasses.

‘In fact, I’ve arranged the whole meal to be light,’ he explained. ‘The next course is pasta and beans, then a shrimp omelette. And to finish-fried cream.’

‘Fried-? You’re kidding me.’

‘No, I promise. You shall watch.’

And she did watch as he blended flour, sugar, eggs and milk into a thick cream, that he proceeded to fry. It was delicious.

Afterwards he washed while she dried, wondering at a certain embarrassment in his manner.

‘Is something the matter?’ she asked.

‘Well-Dulcie would you mind if-when we’ve finished this?-only if you want to, of course-’

‘What is it?’ she asked with a little pang of dismay. Here it came, the amorous advance that would make him cheap in her eyes. It was what she’d come here for, and suddenly she would have given anything to put him off.

But duty came first, so she merely looked at him expectantly while her heart beat with apprehension.

He took a deep breath and went on with the air of a man plunging off the deep end. ‘There’s a really important soccer match on television tonight-’

‘A soccer match?’

‘It’s Juventus playing Lazio, or I wouldn’t ask,’ he pleaded. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘No,’ she said, dazed. ‘I don’t mind.’

They spent the rest of the evening sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands, until he declared that it was time for her to go to bed. But he had to say it twice because she’d fallen asleep against his shoulder.

Next morning he let her sleep late, and she awoke knowing that the last of her illness had gone. While dressing she noticed with delight that she was no longer red. The colour had softened into a light tan that looked marvellous against her fair hair and green eyes, and even better against the soft-pink top that she matched with the white jeans.

‘Who won the match?’ she asked, appearing in the kitchen.

‘I forget. You look great. How do you feel?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she felt splendid, but she amended it to, ‘Better than I did, but not quite my normal self.’

That was true, she told her conscience. She would never feel like her normal self again.

‘Then we’ll take it easy today. A light breakfast, then a gentle walk.’

His solicitude made Dulcie feel a little guilty because she’d allowed him to think her more frail than she actually was. But, to someone who’d lived such a practical life, there was a sweet pleasure in being cosseted, and she reminded herself that her mission was to discover the truth about him. If the truth turned out to be that he was a marvellous man, kind, gentle, affectionate, considerate and chivalrous, then she would report this truth and be happy for Jenny.

Over rolls and coffee he said, ‘I have to buy food this morning, so we can take a stroll.’

‘You mean I’ve eaten you out of house and home?’

‘You’ve hardly touched anything.’

She was about to mention the clothes he’d bought her, then hesitated, remembering the first night, the intensity in his voice as he’d said, ‘Please don’t insult me with money.’

Suddenly inspired she said, ‘Let me cook something for you today. An English meal.’

He regarded her quizzically. ‘Her Ladyship can cook?’

‘Her Ladyship spent lots of time with the cook because she was the most interesting person in the house,’ Dulcie said truthfully. ‘And the kindest. She was almost a mother to me after my own died. And she made me learn everything she knew. She thought it might come in handy one day.’

‘You mean when the revolution happened and the tumbrels came for you?’ he teased.

‘Well-’ she considered, also teasing ‘-if I was being carried off to the guillotine I’m not sure that cooking would help me much, but you’ve got the general idea. I’m sure Sarah pictured little old ladies sitting at the foot of the guillotine, knitting the Maddox family crest into a shroud. What’s the matter?’ she asked quickly, for he’d dropped a dish on the floor, where it shattered.

‘Nothing,’ he said hastily, dropping down to clear the pieces.

‘You jumped. Was it something I said?’

‘Just a feeling of having been here before. Let’s go out and get food.’

He took her to the market by the Rialto Bridge where the food stalls stretched in profusion, and he pointed out fruit, vegetables, meat and fish. But he kept himself at a slight distance, and then slid out of sight while she did the buying, which puzzled her even while she appreciated that it gave her the chance to pay for the food without upsetting him.

Afterwards he took the bags from her, refusing to let her carry even one, and they strolled hand in hand.

‘This isn’t the way we came,’ she said, looking around. ‘At least, I don’t think so, but the streets all look the same.’

‘No, we’re going a different way. I thought we’d take a detour through St Mark’s Square. You haven’t seen it yet.’

In St Mark’s he took her to an outside table at one of the many cafés and they sat drinking coffee and listening to the music from a four-piece orchestra. Dulcie crumbled up a small cake and fed it to some of the thousands of pigeons that thronged the visitors. The sun hadn’t reached its height, making it no more than pleasantly warm, and she leaned back, eyes closed, overwhelmed by a blissful content that she could never remember feeling before.

She opened her eyes at last, turning to him, smiling, and caught an unguarded expression on his face. His feelings were there, open and defenceless. It was a look not merely of love but almost of adoration, with nothing held back, and it took her breath away. Beneath his smiles and jokes there was this?

Then a sound disturbed the pigeons and they rose up with a wild beating of wings, thousands of them, darkening the sky, making the air swirl. Her head spun, though whether it was the pigeons or what she had just seen Dulcie was too confused to know.

And when the flight was over and she could see him again she found that he was rising, gathering bags and saying things about leaving. She managed to take a bag in the teeth of his protests, and they wandered away along the waterfront until it was time to turn inland where some of the calles were so narrow that she had to walk behind him, but still with her hand clasped in his.

In her mind she could still see his face, transported with joy yet with a strange look of peace, like a man who’d come home and found it a blissful place. She wanted to close her eyes against that look, and she wanted to see it all her life.

‘What is it?’ he asked, looking back at her. ‘You’re lagging behind. Are you tired?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘I’ve kept you out too long.’ He slipped an arm about her shoulders. The smile he gave her was almost like those she’d seen before, just friendly. But behind it she could see the shadow of the other look. She slipped an arm about his waist and let him guide her home through streets of gold.