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‘I wanted the kiss so much I dared not take it,’ he said tightly. ‘I am not made of stone, Laura.’ He halted in the deserted calle as they came in sight of the hotel, holding her closer in the shadows between the lights. ‘Here it is different,’ he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.
Laura breathed in the scent of leather and cologne and man as the rain teemed down around them, enclosing them in a private world under the umbrella. His arm tightened and she held up her face as he bent his head to kiss her. Their lips met in a gentle, exploratory caress, which quickly flared into something so different that in some corner of her brain Laura marvelled at Domenico’s skill at keeping the umbrella upright as he kissed her with a mounting passion she responded to helplessly, her hands tunnelling under his jacket to hold him closer. At last he gave a smothered groan and raised his head a fraction, his breath hot against her cheek as he held her hard against him.
‘Now you see?’ he said, in a voice husky with emotion.
‘Yes,’ she whispered shakily.
Outside the closed door of the hotel Domenico kissed her again, then released her with reluctance.
‘Buona notte, Laura. Until tomorrow.’
Chapter Three
LAURA woke with the memory of the kisses still warm on her lips. A tendency to gaze into space held her up so much as she got ready that Domenico had already arrived when she ran downstairs. He gave her his usual double kiss of greeting and exchanged a few words with Signora Rossi before sweeping Laura out into the steamy, sunlit warmth of the Venice morning.
‘How are you today, cara?’ he enquired as they went in search of breakfast. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘Did you?’
He shook his head, sighing. ‘I lay awake listening to the rain and thinking of our kisses.’
‘Snap!’
He laughed and took her hand. ‘I know this now. I am glad you felt the same.’
After a leisurely breakfast Laura insisted they caught a vaporetto instead of an expensive water taxi for the short journey to Murano and stood at the rail within Domenico’s sheltering arm watching the island come nearer, its outline softened and blurred by the saline lagoon climate.
As they drew up alongside he pointed out the island’s ancient canalside porticoes. ‘Some of these have survived from mediaeval times, when Murano was the principal glassmaking centre of Europe and its citizens were the only craftsmen in the world able to produce a mirror.’
‘A pretty vital invention from a woman’s point of view!’
He smiled and smoothed a lock of hair back from her forehead as they left the boat. ‘Allora, before making your choice do you wish to watch our celebrated glass-blowers at work?’
‘I certainly do,’ she assured him.
‘But afterwards, if you see something you like, leave all bargaining to me,’ he advised.
When they reached a door with a ‘fornace’ sign they went inside to watch a demonstration of the ancient craft that had made Murano famous. Laura watched, fascinated, as the glass blower took a blob of molten paste on the end of an iron rod, and with a skilled, dangerous-looking process of twisting, turning and blowing transformed it into a perfect wine goblet.
‘Amazing, Domenico,’ she said as they began a tour of the showroom afterwards. ‘It’s probably all in a day’s work to that man, and nothing new to you, but it looked like pure magic to me.’
‘With you at my side, Laura, everything in Venice is new to me also,’ he said, smiling down at her as she looked at the dazzling array of glass artefacts. ‘Have you something in mind for your friend’s bride gift? What type of house will she live in?’
‘Her fiancé originally bought a flat in a beautiful Georgian house in Pennington, but he now owns the entire property.’ She gestured at some extravagantly modern pieces. ‘Those are wonderful from a technical point of view, but I want something more traditional, to suit their house.’
Laura would have found it hard to resist the pressure from some of the sales staff on her own, but with Domenico on hand they were left in peace to browse.
‘Would she like these?’ he asked, pointing at a display of candlesticks and candelabra. ‘Millefiori is not everyone’s taste, but perhaps she would like the aventurine, which uses gold.’
Laura nodded enthusiastically. ‘Exactly Fen’s sort of thing.’
After lengthy deliberation on style and cost, she eventually chose a pair of tall candlesticks with hair-fine strands of gold twined through their serpentine, tactile curves. Domenico did some efficient haggling, which brought the price down considerably, but in the end Laura decided against having them shipped.
‘Just in case they don’t arrive in time for the wedding,’ she told him. ‘I must have my present ready for the big day. Thanks a lot for the expert bargaining.’
He smiled, and took charge of the gift as they went to catch the vaporetto back to San Marco. ‘So. I have my uses!’
‘Oh, very definitely,’ she assured him, ‘one of which is to tell me who is on the other pillar.’
‘Cosa?’ he said blankly.
‘At the entrance to San Marco. The lion of Venice is on one pillar, but who stands on the other one?’
‘Ah! That is San Teodoro,’ he said, enlightened. ‘Saint Theodore to you. And be warned: superstitious Venetians never walk between the pillars because in the past executions took place there. And now,’ he added, ‘I have a confession to make.’
‘Another one?’ she said, laughing.
‘I went early to the market this morning, and in my hurry afterwards I forgot your shopping again.’
‘Never mind, I can pick it up on my way back to the hotel.’
‘And we shall eat lunch at the apartment. Or we can go out, of course,’ he added quickly.
‘I prefer your apartment.’ She smiled at him as they left the boat. ‘I like it very much, Domenico.’
‘Do you like me very much, also?’ he asked, so utterly serious Laura gave him a startled look.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction, and took her hand. ‘Do not worry. I shall not drop the candeliere.’
Laura volunteered to make an omelette to accompany the bread and salad Domenico had bought fresh that morning, and after sizing up the cooker and the pan he gave her she uttered a silent prayer and got to work with butter, eggs and herbs. Domenico watched in approval as for the final touch she gave the pan a brisk shake, folded the omelette in half, and slid two crisp, soft-centred portions onto the plates he had ready.
‘Perfetto,’ he assured her as they began eating.
‘You’re being kind,’ she told him, delighted that her effort had turned out so well.
‘No, I am truthful.’ He smiled as he helped her to salad. ‘The frittata is delicious and so is the chef. This is a very special occasion for me. Except for my mother no woman has ever offered to make lunch for me here.’
Laura didn’t want to hear about other women in Domenico’s apartment. ‘You can make me some tea as my reward,’ she told him.
‘Of course,’ he said, and laid a peeled peach on her plate. ‘But afterwards you must do as we Venetians do and rest for a while before we go on with the day. So this afternoon is it to be the Guggenheim or the Basilica? I do not advise both.’
‘The Basilica. Let’s do ancient today and modern tomorrow—if you still have time to spare for tomorrow?’ she added, flushing.
‘My time is yours until you leave,’ he reminded her as he got up to make her tea. ‘Which is not long now. You must come back again soon, Laura.’
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. I won’t be able to afford another trip to Venice for quite a while,’ she said with regret.
He frowned as he put a teabag in a cup. ‘If cost is a problem I could—’
‘No, you couldn’t, Domenico,’ she said gently.
Instead of arguing, as she’d half expected, he made her tea, added milk, and gave her the cup. ‘First you drink this tea, then you rest in the salotto.’
‘I want to help clear up,’ she objected.
‘No, cara—you did the cooking,’ he said firmly. ‘Is the tea to your taste?’
It was too weak and milky by far, but Laura assured him it was delicious and drank every drop. Afterwards she spent a few minutes on repairs in the bathroom, then made for the window in the sitting room to look down at the water traffic on the sunlit water below, amused as she contrasted it with her daily commute in London.
‘You smile like the Mona Lisa,’ said Domenico behind her.
She turned to him. ‘I was looking at all these people travelling about on the water in the sunshine—a bit different from my daily trips on the Docklands Light Railway.’
‘This train is convenient for your apartment?’
She nodded. ‘I live in a part of London called Bow, so the DLR, as we locals call it, is almost door to door from my flat to the bank.’
He took her hand in his and drew her down to sit beside him. ‘Tell me about your flat, Laura.’
‘It’s very small, with only one bedroom, and very different from this. But on the plus side it’s in a building with a gym and a pool. I’ve been very grateful for both assets since the downward turn in my social life.’ She yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry. It must be the Venice air.’
‘Come, it is early yet. Put your head on that cushion and enjoy a short siesta. Then later we shall tour the Basilica.’
Laura found it all too easy to do as he said. She curled up in her corner of his sofa, so utterly at ease now in Domenico’s company that she was soon asleep.
He sat back, resisting the urge to stroke the gleaming braid trailing over Laura’s shoulder. He looked at her flushed, sleeping face, the desire he could not ignore mixed with a protective feeling new to him in his dealings with women. When Lorenzo Forli had requested—no, ordered him to take care of Fenella’s friend he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that she would appeal to him so strongly.
He sat very still as she stirred, but she merely turned her face deeper into the cushion, and he let out a deep breath and relaxed. In the years since Alessa’s desertion, which had cut deeper and hurt for much longer than he had allowed anyone to know, his dealings with women had been lighthearted, casual affairs conducted discreetly, with no involvement of the heart, and in some cases, he thought wryly, of the brain, either. But Laura was different. He desired her as a lover, as was only natural, but he also liked and respected her as a person. Unlike this idiot Edward of hers, he would not reject friendship if she offered it. But it took self-control he had not known he possessed to keep from touching her.
Laura woke slowly, and found a pair of intent blue eyes watching her. ‘Hello,’ she said sleepily. ‘Did I snore?’
Domenico shook his head, smiling. Ignoring an urge to devour her flushed face with kisses, he got up, holding out his hand. ‘Come, I shall take you back to the hotel.’
Laura would have preferred to stay right where she was for the foreseeable future, but with a sigh she took the hand and let him pull her to her feet. ‘I need a shower and a change of clothes.’
‘This is a good idea,’ he said with approval. ‘Then you will have no need to return to your hotel after the Basilica. We shall go to Florian’s instead, and while you drink tea there you shall tell me where you would like to dine this evening.’
‘Perfect.’ She hesitated. ‘But I’m going back to the hotel on my own, right now, Domenico. I’ll meet you in an hour outside the central doorway of the Basilica.’
He dropped her hand. ‘Very well, if that is what you wish.’
‘I just need to do a little shopping on my own—personal things,’ she explained, her colour rising.
‘Ah. I see. Of course.’ He opened the door for her and accompanied her down to the foyer, where he kissed her cheeks and tapped her watch. ‘One hour. I shall be waiting.’
Laura went straight to a shop she’d seen the day before. She picked out a silk tie with discreet aquamarine dots printed on a midnight-blue background, handed over her credit card and hurried with her gift-wrapped purchase through the now-familiar alleys to the Locanda Verona.
She rushed through a shower with her head wrapped in a towel, did her face, and took a look through her limited wardrobe for something suitable for both a visit to the Basilica and to a restaurant somewhere afterwards. The only dress still unworn was brand-new, a chain-store bargain bought for Tuscany, with drifts of tawny butterflies printed on double layers of cream chiffon. Definitely not for church, Laura decided with regret, and put on a fluted cream linen skirt and a thin, lace-edged black cardigan she was buttoning up to the low V-neck when her phone rang.
‘I am here, with your parcels at last,’ said Domenico. ‘Are you ready?’
Oh, yes, she was ready. ‘I’ll be right down.’
Laura ran down the stairs, smiling, her heart lifting at the sight of Domenico leaning against the reception desk in pale linen trousers and one of his blue shirts.
‘Here is your shopping, signorina,’ he said, and gave her the bags first and then the box containing the candlesticks. ‘Go up more slowly than you came down,’ he advised, ‘or you will endanger the candeliere.’
Laura meekly went back up the stairs at a slower rate, which was an effort when she wanted nothing more than to race up and down to get back to Domenico as fast as she could; a disturbing thought when all too soon she would be waving him a permanent goodbye.
‘I thought we were meeting outside the Basilica,’ she said, when she rejoined him.
‘I finally remembered your presents. Also,’ he added, giving her a head-to-toe survey, ‘I did not think it wise to leave you waiting in the piazza alone, and I was right. You look more beautiful each time I see you.’
Laura knew perfectly well she wasn’t beautiful, but had a feeling she might start believing it herself if she spent much more time in Domenico’s company. ‘You look rather nice, too,’ she said as they left the hotel.
‘I did my best just for you,’ he said suavely, and grinned at the look she gave him.
‘How do you manage to find shirts the exact shade of your eyes?’ she asked as they strolled along the calle.
‘There are many blue shirts sold in Venice, Laura. I was not aware of trying to match my eyes,’ he protested.
‘I don’t believe you! You know to a scintilla the effect your eyes have on a woman.’
‘Do they affect you?’ he demanded, stopping to look down at her.
‘Oh, yes—but I’m working on it,’ she said, laughing.
‘If it is any satisfaction to you, Laura, your eyes have a much greater effect on me. So does your mouth,’ he said conversationally as they resumed walking. ‘And your hair. Also I have great affection for your pretty ears and your—’
‘Stop it!’ she ordered sternly. ‘We’re visiting a place of worship, remember.’
‘And we must hurry.’ Domenico looked at his watch as they dived into the tide of tourists. ‘The Basilica will be fully lit only until four o’clock.’
Laura had read up a little about the Basilica beforehand, but when they passed through the carved central doorway to mount the steps into the cathedral itself she was unprepared for the sheer impact of gleaming golden mosaics on every inch of the huge interior: domes, walls and floor, from the vestibule right through the nave. The effect was so stunning that in some ways she was glad there were the usual crowds. They made progress slow, but lessened her feeling of personal insignificance in the overwhelming golden vastness.
‘I had no idea,’ she said to Domenico as she looked down at the floor mosaics, which undulated beneath her feet like an exotic Eastern carpet.
‘I had forgotten, too, it is years since I was here,’ he said quietly, holding her firmly by the hand as they moved on through the crowd. ‘Look up.’
Laura obeyed, gazing up into the gleaming Pentecost dome at the sight of the Apostles touched by tongues of flame. But under the enormous central dome of the Ascension she was rendered utterly silent by the glittering gold mosaic of Christ in Glory high above.
‘Come,’ said Domenico. ‘We must buy tickets to view the Pala d’Oro.’
By the time Laura had admired the tomb of St Mark and the Pala d’Oro, the bejewelled gold altarpiece behind the high altar, she had the beginnings of a headache. Domenico looked at her with concern when she took refuge behind her enormous sunglasses.
‘Come, tesoro. Enough for now, yes?’
