Lucy Gordon - Wedding in Venice

With Neil she'd taken the risk, and it had been a mistake. Luckily they'd both seen the light in time. They'd had a nice, civilized divorce, and in future she would stick to adventures.

Riccardo should have been an adventure. But he wouldn't stay in his right place. A few moments of alarming insight had turned him into a threat.

For dinner she put on a figure-hugging cream dress cunningly contrived to be demure and enticing at once. Around her neck she wore a chain of solid gold. With her dramatic red hair, the effect was striking.

"You'll have them all at your feet," Dulcie had predicted earlier, chuckling.

But the first one at her feet was Riccardo, literally. He was waiting at the foot of the grand staircase as she descended. He was more formally dressed now, in black trousers, snowy shirt and black tie.

As she neared, she waited for his grin of lusty appreciation, but tonight his demeanor was grave and gentle.

"I won't keep you a moment," he said quietly. "I had to tell you that I'm sorry for having distressed you yesterday."

"You're very kind, but I wasn't distressed," she said, trying to sound cool and indifferent.

"Forgive me, but I know that you were, otherwise you would not have run away."

"I did not run away," she said, her temper rising as she began to feel threatened again. "I had work to do. End of story."

"Do you know how often you use that expression?" he asked softly. "Always you try to bring the story to an end at the moment of your choosing. But nobody can do that. The story ends when it ends."

"And do you know how often you lecture me?" she asked, speaking in a furious whisper.

"I'm sorry. Yes, that is a fault of mine."

"Why do you think you have the right?"

"Because you matter," he said simply.

"No, I do not matter to you, and you do not matter to me. Please let me pass."

He stood back and inclined his head politely.

"As the signora pleases."

She stared, shocked. He'd reminded her that tonight he was here as a servant. Perhaps he thought she was a snob who'd cold-shouldered him on that account. But before she could tell him he was wrong, Dulcie called back from the door, "Justine, come and meet somebody."

She smiled, hurried across to where boats were drawing up at the palazzo's landing stage, and was engulfed in cheerful greetings.

When she next looked, Riccardo had gone.

A party in the Palazzo Calvani was a step back into an age of elegance. Thirty people dined at the long rosewood table, eating off Sèvres porcelain and drinking from crystal etched with the Calvani crest.

Riccardo had prepared a banquet fit for a king. It was served by the palazzo servants, but under his eagle eyes. As he had told Justine, tonight he was the headwaiter.

It was Justine's first experience of Venetian cuisine, and she promised herself it wouldn't be the last. A dish of sardines in onions, pine seeds and sultanas was only the start. After that there was squid in tomato sauce, pork loins with Swiss cheese and shallots, with pears in hot chocolate to follow.

Clearly, whatever else he was economizing on, Riccardo had hired a superlative chef. There was more to him, she realized, than a lusty charmer. There was also a serious businessman who knew exactly what he was doing.

She tried to smile at him to show her appreciation, but discovered that it was impossible. He never came near her or met her eyes.

Obviously he'd blanked her out because of his absorption in his work. In which case she could hardly complain, she thought wryly, because it was exactly what she had done to him.

And she would be glad to believe that was the only reason. She didn't like to think of what the other one might be.

After dinner there were toasts, then everyone drifted into the garden to drink coffee under trees hung with colored lights.

There were more toasts to the two brides. Justine watched Liza and Dulcie standing together against the background of the canal. They were the two happiest women she had ever seen, because they loved their men and were loved by them.

Justine's eyes blurred. Just for a moment, it was hard to remember that love was only an illusion.

The evening was breaking up. The guests who were staying in the palazzo began to yawn. Those who had to travel were making movements to leave.

Justine went out to the hall, meaning to go, with everyone else, to the landing stage on the Grand Canal, where the glossy motor boats were waiting. From here she could see the other landing stage, round the side of the building, where Riccardo was preparing to leave, packing his things into the barge. He was alone, having sent his staff on ahead to the hotel.

She knew she must talk to him before he left. As he came inside to collect more boxes she approached him.

"That meal was a masterpiece," she ventured.

"The signora is too kind."

"Don't talk to me like that," she begged. "What I said before – I didn't mean it the way I think you took it. You were right. I was upset with you, and I ran away. Then I was even more upset because you noticed."

The gentle look was back in his face. For a moment she thought he was about to say something, but then -

"Riccardo!" Liza was calling him, hurrying toward him with her arms outstretched. "You did a wonderful job," she said warmly.

"Dear Liza!" He embraced her back. "I couldn't have done it without your help."

Liza laughed and indicated Justine.

"Here's the one you should really thank. She told Guido to give you the job."

Riccardo turned puzzled eyes on her.

"I suggested a hotel to help Liza," she said hastily, "and the Busoni was the only name I knew at the time. I had no idea that it was yours."

"Nonetheless, I am in your debt, Signora. Good night. Good night, Liza."

He turned away and jumped down into the barge. He was going, and she knew that if he left like this she would not see him again.

And she must.

The barge engine was starting up. She had only a split second to decide.

The next moment Liza gave a little shriek as Justine went running out onto the landing stage and leapt.

This time there were no comfortable cabbages to break her fall, but Justine managed to land on her feet at the bottom of the barge, steadying herself by seizing hold of Riccardo. He swiftly put his arms about her.

"Signora," he protested, "you cannot go on hurling yourself into my boat whenever the mood takes you. People will talk."

"If you'd waited I wouldn't have had to throw myself at you," she pointed out with impeccable logic. She was feeling light-headed and in good spirits. The crazy impulse had improved her mood.

The barge swerved and with one hand he hastily seized the tiller, which he'd abandoned to clasp her. But he kept his other arm about her.

He did not ask why she had done such a thing, nor did she explain. She would have found it hard to do that, even to herself.

Although it was late, there were still lights on the banks of the Grand Canal. Their reflections glowed in the black water, shivering and dancing as the last boats went home.

"Are you cold?" he asked, looking down at her bare shoulders.

"Not at all."

The night air was growing cool, but she was pervaded by warmth.

Down the long curve from the Rialto Bridge to St. Mark's Square they glided until at last Riccardo pointed upward to a building with an ornate front, and the words Hotel Busoni in neon.

"Mine," he said proudly. "At least, it will be when I've paid off the bank."

"Shouldn't it be the Hotel Gardini?" she asked.

I'll change the name when I feel a little more confident of success."

That touch of diffidence surprised her. Riccardo had seemed confident enough for anything.

He swung left into a tiny canal and tied the boat up at the landing stage. When he had climbed out with one box, she lifted the next one up to him.

"You can't help me with this," he protested.

"Yes, I can," she said firmly, hoisting up another box.

There was a trolley by the landing stage. He piled the boxes onto it and led her down a narrow corridor to the hotel's rear entrance.

It was late and only a few staff were about. The kitchen was empty. By now it was no surprise to Justine when he put on a large white apron and began unpacking the boxes.

"This is something else that you do yourself?" she asked.

"Night staff is expensive. When the last shift has gone home I finish up whatever there is to do."

"You have to work late here every night, all alone?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't have it any other way. This is my best time, when I feel this place is most completely mine."

She found another large apron and put it over her dress. He did not protest this time, but gave her a smile that was different from any smile he had given her before. It was no longer the "come-on" look of the pirate, but the secret signal of a conspirator.

It welcomed her into his world. And she was beginning to feel as if that was where she wanted to be.

While he emptied the washing-up machine of the load that had finished, she scraped plates and handed them to him to fill it up again.

"There's still plenty left to do," she said, "so we'd better do them by hand."

She got busy at the sink, working vigorously, until she looked up and found him regarding her strangely; not with a smile this time, but with a look that was half rueful, half wistful.

"What?" she asked.

"This is not how I planned our first evening alone together to be," he said.

"But you told me yourself, you plan too much," she reminded him. "Sometimes it's better when things just happen."