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‘How do they get that wonderful ruby-red?’ she marvelled.
‘They use a gold solution as a colouring agent,’ he told her.
Another marvel was the row of furnaces, three of them. The first contained the molten glass into which the tip of the blowpipe was dipped. When the glass had been worked on and cooled a little it was reheated in the second furnace through a hole in the door, known as the Glory Hole. This happened again and again, keeping the glass up to the ideal temperature for moulding. When the perfect shape had been achieved it went into the third furnace to be cooled slowly.
‘I’m afraid you may find it uncomfortably hot in here,’ Salvatore observed.
But she shook her head. True, the heat was fierce, but far from being uncomfortable it seemed to bathe her in its glow. She stood as close as she dared to the red-white light streaming from the Glory Hole, feeling as though her whole self was opening up to its fierce radiance.
‘Get back,’ Salvatore said, taking hold of her.
Reluctantly she let him draw her away. The heat was making her blood pound through her veins and she felt mysteriously exalted.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, keeping his hands on her shoulders and looking down into her flushed face.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she murmured.
He gave her a little shake. ‘Wake up.’
‘I don’t want to.’
He nodded. ‘I know the feeling. This place is hypnotic, but you have to be careful. Come over here.’
He led her to where a man was blowing glass through a pipe, turning it slowly so that it didn’t sag and lose shape. Watching him, she felt reality return.
‘It’s incredible that it’s still done that way,’ she marvelled. ‘You’d think it would be easier to use a machine.’
‘It is,’ he said. ‘There are machines that will do some kind of job, and if “some kind of job” is what you want, that’s fine. But if you want a perfect job, lovingly sculpted by a glass worker who’s put his soul into his art, then come to Murano.’
Something in his voice made her look at him quickly. Until now their conversation had been a light-hearted dance, but his sudden fervour made the music pause.
‘There’s nothing like it,’ he said simply. ‘In a world where things are increasingly mechanised, there’s still one place that’s fighting off the machines.’
Then he gave a brief, self-conscious laugh.
‘We Venetians are always a little crazy about Venice. To the outside world most of what we say sounds like nonsense.’
‘I don’t think it’s—’
‘There’s something else that might interest you,’ he said as though he hadn’t heard her. ‘Shall we go this way?’
She followed him, intrigued, not by whatever he had to show her, but by the brief glimpse behind his eyes that he discouraged so swiftly.
‘The glass isn’t all blown,’ he said, leading into the next room. ‘Figurines and jewellery take just as much art of a different kind.’
One piece held her attention, a pendant in the shape of a heart. The glass seemed to be dark blue, but with every movement it changed through mauve and green. She held it in her hand, thinking of one just like it, except for the colour, safely tucked away in her jewel box in the hotel. It had been Antonio’s first gift to her.
‘From my heart to yours,’ he’d said, smiling in a way that had moved her, because he seemed almost shy.
She’d worn it for their wedding, and again as he lay dying, just to please him.
‘Do you like it?’ Salvatore asked.
‘It’s really beautiful.’
He took it from her. ‘Turn around.’
She did so, and felt him pull her long hair aside, put the chain around her neck and clasp it. His fingers barely brushed her skin but suddenly she wanted to clench her hands and take deep breaths. She wanted to take flight and run as far away from him as possible. She wanted to press closer and feel his hands on the rest of her body. She didn’t know what she wanted.
Then it was over. His touch vanished. She returned to earth.
‘It looks good on you,’ he said. ‘Keep it.’
‘But this belongs to the firm. You can’t give it to me, unless—oh, my goodness, you’re the manager.’ She put her hand over her mouth in simulated dismay. ‘You are the manager, and I never realised. I’ve been taking up your time—’
‘No, I’m not the manager.’
‘Then you’re the owner?’
The question seemed to disconcert him. He didn’t reply and she pushed her advantage.
‘You do own this place, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘At least, I will soon, when some trivial formalities are cleared up.’
Helena stared at him. This was arrogance on a grand scale.
‘Trivial formalities,’ she echoed. ‘Oh, I see. You mean the sale is agreed and you’ll take over in a few days. How wonderful!’
He made a wry face.
‘Not quite as fast as that. Sometimes things take a little negotiating.’
‘Aw, c’mon, you’re kidding me. I bet you’re one of those—what do they call them?—speculators. You see, you want, you’re sure to get. But someone’s being awkward about it, right?’
To her surprise he grinned.
‘Maybe a little,’ he conceded. ‘But nothing I can’t cope with.’
It was marvellous, she thought, how amusement transformed his face, giving it a touch of charm.
‘What about the poor owner?’ she teased. ‘Does he know it’s “in hand,” or is that delightful surprise waiting for him as he steps around a dark corner?’
This time he laughed outright.
‘I’m not a monster, whatever you may think. No dark corners, I swear it. And the owner is a woman who probably has a few tricks of her own.’
‘Which, of course, you’ll know how to deal with.’
‘Let’s just say that I’ve never been bested yet.’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘You think so?’
Helena regarded him with her head on one side, her eyes challenging and provoking.
‘I know your kind,’ she said. ‘You think you can “cope with” anything because you’ve never learned different. You’re the sort of man who makes other people long to sock you on the jaw, just to give you a new experience.’
‘I’m always open to new experiences,’ he said. ‘Would you like to sock me on the jaw?’
‘One day I’m sure I will,’ she said in a considering voice. ‘Just now it would be too much effort.’
He laughed again, a disconcertingly pleasant sound, with a rich vibrancy that went through her almost physically.
‘Shall we store it up for the future?’ he asked.
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ she said, meaning it.
‘Do you challenge every man you meet?’
‘Only the ones I think need it.’
‘I could make the obvious answer to that, but let’s have a truce instead.’
‘As long as it’s armed,’ she reminded him.
‘My truces are always armed.’
He stopped a passing young woman and spoke to her in Venetian. When she’d departed he said,
‘I asked her to bring us some refreshment outside, where we can sit down.’
Outside was a wooden seat on a terrace that overlooked a small canal with shops along the bank. It was pleasant to sit there drinking coffee.
‘Is this your first visit to Venice?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’ve thought about it for years but never got around to it before.’
‘Do you travel alone?’
‘Quite alone.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘I wonder why.’
‘Let us not play games. You don’t need me to say that a woman as beautiful as you need never lack company.’
‘But perhaps you need to hear that a woman may prefer to be alone. It isn’t always the man’s choice, you know. Sometimes she consults her own preferences and consigns men to the devil.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Touché! I suppose I asked for that.’
‘You certainly did.’
‘And have you consigned us all to the devil?’
‘Some of you. There are men who are fit for nothing else.’
He nodded. ‘You must have met quite a few of them.’
‘A fair number. The virtues of solitude can be very appealing.’
‘And so you travel alone,’ he said slowly.
‘Alone—but not lonely.’
That seemed to disconcert him. After a moment he said quietly, ‘Then you must be the only person who isn’t.’
‘To be enough for yourself,’ she answered, ‘safe from the onslaughts of other people, and happy to be so—it isn’t really very hard.’
‘That’s not true, and you know it,’ he replied, looking at her intently. ‘If you’ve achieved it, you’re one in a million. But I don’t believe that you have achieved it. It’s your way of fooling the world—or yourself.’
She felt as if a hand had been laid on her shoulder, halting her in her tracks. It was a moment before she drew a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t know if you’re right. Perhaps I never will.’
‘But I would like to know,’ he said in the same quiet tone. ‘I’d like to see behind that mask you keep so firmly in place.’
‘If I removed it for everyone, there would be no point in having it,’ she pointed out.
‘Not everyone. Just me.’
Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. It was as though a cloud had crossed the sun, throwing the world into shadow, making complex things that had seemed simple only a moment before.
‘Why should I tell you what I tell nobody else?’ she managed to say at last.
‘Only you can decide that.’
‘That’s true. And my decision is…’ She hesitated. Something in his eyes was trying to make her say what he wanted to hear, but it had to be resisted. ‘My decision is that I’ve kept my secrets safe so far, and I’ll go on doing just that.’
‘You think your secrets are safe, do you?’
Something in his voice filled her with the conviction that nothing in the world was safe, her secrets, her heart, herself—nothing.
‘I think—I think I shall work hard to keep them safe.’
‘And woe betide intruders?’
‘Exactly.’
