The Devil's Advocate

by Vanessa James

  'What are you thinking of?'

  She started; he was looking at her curiously.

  Of you, she wanted to say. Of the person you used to be. But the colour rushed to her cheeks, and she shook her head.

  'Of nothing.'

  His eyes narrowed slightly, but he merely glanced at his watch.

  'We'll be there in half an hour.' He paused. 'It's about an hour from the airport to the Danieli. Shall you want dinner when we arrive?'

  She felt the panic start up again.

  'No,' she said quickly. 'I'm not hungry. I'm very tired, I…'

  He shrugged. 'As you like. I'll get them to send something up to our rooms in case you change your mind…'

  By night. Our rooms. The two phrases coupled in her mind, and she felt her heart lurch; her eyes widened in anxiety, but he had turned away from her already, he was signalling to the stewardess to bring them a drink. Silently she stared at him, this man she had once known so well—or thought she had known; this stranger; this man who was now her husband. He was wearing a black suit, one more suited to a funeral than a wedding day; his long, finely shaped hands lay in his lap, perfectly composed. Surely, after what he had said, that night at his house, he could not intend… Luisa drew in her breath and forced herself to be calm. She was being ridiculous, she thought bitterly. He had made his sexual tastes only too plain; and at the memory of his rejection she felt again a deep shame. She felt bloodless, awkward, gawky, unattractive, and for a second ached to be the kind of woman who could wrap herself so elegantly in furs, who, when she wanted to kiss a man—-this man, would just reach up casually, and draw his mouth down to hers, certain of his response, assured of his arousal. But as swiftly as that thought came to her she put it from her mind. It was mad to think like that; in her unattractiveness to him was her only surety, perhaps almost her only sanity. She could bear all this, she thought coldly, just; so long as Julius never touched her.

  The landing was smooth. There were few other passengers and they passed through Customs and Immigration swiftly. A car picked them up, travelling fast through dark streets in the direction of the lagoon. Then, when it pulled in beside the small landing-stage and they climbed aboard the motorboat that was waiting for them, Luisa saw what Julius had meant. Suddenly, out of darkness and mean streets, they had come to a magic city, a city of silence and lights. Beyond the soft purr of their boat's engine, the city lay silent under the stars; water lapped against other boats, against old jetties, against the old stone of houses dyed gold and iridescent green by the tides of the lagoon. Their wake arced white behind them over the dark water, and ahead of them the wide canal reflected gold. The houses, the palaces that lined the canal were lit up, rich, various and stately under the darkness of the sky. The way ahead was wide, clear, a long triumphal curve round to what she knew must be the square and basilica of St Mark's, the great dome of Santa Maria della Salute, that, shadowy now, seemed to float without support except from stone angels under the clear sky.

  Luisa stood up in the boat, letting the breeze from the sea beyond blow against her face, and felt her heart suddenly break free of all its fears, and lift with a wild exhilaration.

  'Julius! It's so beautiful!'

  He smiled, warmly enough, as if amused at her response. She felt him take her elbow, half turning her, gesturing to her to look not just ahead, but also to the sides, to the tiny canals as they sped past. And she did so, noticing them for the first time, tiny snaking necks of black water, unlit, disappearing between the high walls of the houses, mysterious slightly sinister.

  But even they had no power to affect her mood now. She turned to him impulsively.

  'Oh, Julius, I'm so excited! I want to see all of it— everything, the whole city. I can't believe… May we? Will you take me?'

  He laughed, and for the first time she felt no fear of him. His eyes seemed warmer in their expression than she had seen them all that day, and she touched his sleeve, without thinking, excitement and happiness ridding her of all wariness. Instantly she felt the warmth of his hand over hers; the little boat gave a sudden lurch and a swerve as they rounded the last bend of the canal, and for a second the movement threw her sharply against him. He caught her and steadied her, and she turned her face up gratefully to his. They were closer than she had realised; as their eyes met and his hands tightened around her she felt suddenly a wave of extraordinary feeling pass like a shock through her whole body. She caught her breath at the force of it, so sudden, so unexpected, a demand that came straight from her body that her mind had no time to fend. It was as if her blood, her womb, thought. She felt herself sag against the hard lines of his body; his breath was against her skin, his mouth close, but not close enough, to her own.

  Then the moon, full, high in the sky, passed behind a cloud. His face fell into shadow, and instantly she tensed. Formally, embarrassed, she drew back, and equally formally, as if nothing had happened, he released her. She could not see his eyes; they were in shadow. He spoke quite levelly.

  'We're almost there.'

  Confusedly Luisa looked ahead to where he indicated. The square of St Mark's opened up on their left. From the cafes the music of violins drifted across the water. Beyond, over the masts of larger ships, and the black hulls of the gondolas she saw the fretted walls of the Danieli.

  It faced out to the sea; plain, not immediately beautiful, unless you knew its past perhaps. She stared at it, thinking of all the people who had stayed there once, in its long history. Henry James, George Eliot, Ruskin, Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, beginning the long years of Italian exile there together.

  'Browning spent his honeymoon here,' she said, then cursed herself for sounding so stupid, so gauche.

  But Julius seemed not to mind. He smiled.

  'There could be worse omens,' he said lightly, and helped her down on to the landing-stage.

  CHAPTER SIX

  As they arrived in the quiet lobby of the hotel, there was a sudden flurry of activity. Luisa blinked in the bright warm lights from the chandeliers, so vivid after the soft darkness outside; porters appeared as from nowhere, and a small man, dressed in a tail-coated suit with striped trousers, hurried towards them, both his hands outstretched in welcome.

  'Signor Morrell, e la signora! Bienvenuto a Venezia… many congratulations, signore, and the beautiful signora. This is an honour, Signor Morrell…'

  Julius replied in fluent idiomatic Italian, and Luisa tried to follow the rapid-fire phrases. She had spoken a little of the language once—picked up from her mother, from a short visit once to her father when he had been living in Milan. But that had been so long ago: now, she realised, she remembered almost nothing. The manager was gesticulating, his tiny hands moving in the air like a conjuror's, his face bright with pleasure; he seemed to know Julius well, she realised, and to be talking about their rooms, for she caught the word camera. Then Julius interrupted the flow with a sharp question, and she saw the manager's face fall. He paused, looking doubtful.

  'Questo? Ma no! Non è possibile… we received a telegram—yes, yesterday.'

  He turned back to the reception desk, and produced a piece of paper. Julius looked at it, and Luisa saw his mouth set in a tight line. There was more rapid conversation, none of which she could follow, except that obviously the manager was suffering from a million regrets, but it was impossible, impossible.

  Julius turned back to her, taking her elbow and leading her a little aside.

  'Luisa?' His voice was tense.

  'What's happened?' She stared at him in sudden concern. 'Haven't they received the booking…'

  'The booking has been changed.' He spoke grimly, then glanced quickly back over his shoulder to where the manager hovered, looking nervous and upset. He moved so his tall body blocked Luisa's face from the manager's view and lowered his voice. 'Luisa—please. You must trust me and believe me. I didn't arrange this.' He hesitated, and she saw a dark flush stain his cheekbones. 'I reserved two rooms for us.' He paused, and
lowered his eyes. 'Somehow that booking has been changed. The hotel received a telegram, yesterday. They've put us in the honeymoon suite…'

  Luisa stared at him in dismay, and incomprehension.

  'A telegram? I don't understand…'

  'Someone's idea of a joke, I think.' His mouth set in a hard line.

  'But who?' She broke off, gazing at him pleadingly. 'Can't they change us?'

  He shook his head.

  'Apparently it's impossible. Half the hotel is closed off until April. A large party booked in this morning. The original rooms won't be available for three days. The hotel is full.'

  His distress and his anger were so clear that she doubted him only for a second. Quickly she drew in her breath, and touched his sleeve lightly.

  'Please, Julius. It… it doesn't matter. Tell him it's all right. We… we can manage. Please.' She smiled at him more bravely than she felt. 'He must think we're mad… I'm sure the room is very beautiful…'

  Julius hesitated, and she saw his eyes darken.

  'You don't think that I…' He spoke stiffly and left the sentence unfinished.

  'No,' she said firmly, 'I don't. Of course not. Now, tell him I'm delighted. Go on.'

  For a second she saw something like admiration in his eyes, then he turned back to the manager.

  'Va bene…' she heard. 'My wife is delighted…'

  Instantly the manager's face cleared, and his pale features spread wide in a delighted smile. Quickly he turned to the porters, gesturing them to the lifts, picked up a key and made an odd, theatrical bow in Luisa's direction. Julius took her arm lightly, and they all set off up the great staircase, in a solemn procession.

  In the room Luisa stood quietly to one side as the porters left the bags, the manager effusively opened doors, spread wide the shutters, and had a brief conversation with Julius. She stared around her in wonder. The room was one of the most beautiful she had ever seen, panelled and painted, its great arched ceiling a triumph of gilded rococo. At the far end were tall windows opening on to a balcony that looked out across the lagoon to the sea. There was a huge marble-topped carved chest, a wardrobe almost as big as a room, with tall rosewood doors inset with mirrors. The carpet was old, pale rose, wreathed with flowers, and the room was bathed in soft light. Off it was an enormous bathroom with a cool marble floor, and a huge bath with claw feet; through another door was a small sitting room, with a table laid with a white cloth, food laid out, champagne cooling in an ice-bucket. Everywhere she looked there were flowers, as if there were no such thing as winter. Gardenias and tuberoses, iris and freesias; the air was soft with their scent. Then, at the far end of the room… she looked, turned away, and then looked again. There was the bed, It dominated the room, and she felt colour rise to her cheeks as she looked at it, and the nervousness start up again, constricting her chest. It was wide, covered with an embroidered white linen coverlet, piled high with great square pillows decorated with lace. Its headboard was old, carved wood; two cherubim, holding swathes of cunningly carved wood in tiny pudgy hands peeped coyly from its corners. It was tented, and two curtains of white brocade were looped and draped over its head. A marriage bed; a bed for lovemaking, not sleeping. Miserably Luisa turned away her eyes and stationed herself by the windows, waiting impatiently for the manager, the porters, to leave, yet also willing them to stay.

  They had gone. After the flood of Italian the room was suddenly silent, and she heard the door close softly. She stiffened; she could see Julius's reflection in the glass of the windows, and he had paused, irresolute, gazing in her direction.

  She turned and their eyes met. For a second he hesitated, then he gave her an odd, ironic smile.

  'I had planned something altogether more discreet. I'm sorry, Luisa.'

  'Please. It doesn't matter.' Her mouth felt dry, and she held his gaze with difficulty. 'It's just that I don't understand— how it could have happened. Was there some mistake with the telegram—could it have meant someone else's room?'

  He shook his head, his face set once more.

  'Oh no, there was no mistake. I know who's responsible for this.'

  Something in his face, the tone of his voice, told her. She stared at him.

  'Kit?' She stared at him, her eyes wide. 'But how could he have… why would he…?'

  'Innumerable reasons.' He cut her off. 'I'd rather not talk about it.'

  'But…'

  'Please, Luisa. Kit likes to cause trouble. Shall we leave it at that?' The tone of his voice was final, and the anger banked like fire in his eyes made her bite back any further questions, although they started up instantly in her mind. She dropped her eyes, and Julius crossed to her. He took her hand gently, and raised it to his lips, his eyes searching her face. When he spoke his voice was quite different, softened, more gentle than she had yet heard it.

  'Was it so very bad, today, Luisa?'

  She looked up at him, and again, as she had on the boat, she felt a dart of something like pain, a weakening, shoot through her body.

  'No. No, it wasn't…' she said hesitantly, trying to read the expression in his eyes. 'The church and… it was very beautiful.' She broke off. 'You'd gone to so much trouble…' she finished stiffly.

  He smiled. 'I told you, I like ritual.'

  Even empty ritual? she wanted to say. Ritual without any underlying truth, ritual that was there to disguise lies? But she bit the words back. There was no point in reproaches now; she had agreed to all this. Bitterness, argument, could only make it worse. Besides she could feel something else rising up in her heart, a desire to explain to him, to tell him at least something of what she had felt in the church, of the memories it had brought back, of the past which every second he was near her seemed to grow stronger, asserting its hold and its presence. She was about to speak, when she saw his face change.

  'Your hand.' He stared at it. 'What's happened to your hand?'

  'It's all right.' She tried to withdraw it quickly, but he held it tight.

  'How did it happen? It's covered with bruises…'

  The sudden concern in his voice, so uncharacteristic and so unexpected, touched her. Something of the happiness, the gaiety she had felt on the canal, came back to her. She smiled at him teasingly.

  'You did that.'

  'I did?'

  'When we were holding the knife… for the cake. At the reception… It's fine, really. It doesn't hurt…'

  Her voice trailed away. Their eyes had met, his dark and questioning, and in that second something arced between them like a current, a knowledge beyond words, a fierceness of need and want so forceful it seemed to pulse in the air between them, extinguishing distance.

  Memory of his quick easy strength caught at her heart, and their mutual knowledge of it, of his power, her frailty, beat in on them both, opening something up between them, a great dark cavern of space into which she felt herself sinking, sinking. Yet he was vulnerable too; she could sense it, see it in his eyes, in the sudden gentleness and uncertainty that darkened them.

  'Luisa, I…'

  With a low sigh he lifted her hand again to his lips, covering it with kisses. She half moved, was hardly conscious of taking a step, but the next moment she was in his arms. They tightened around her, and in that instant the want, and the need, exploded inside her. It was so violent, so sudden that it blotted out all thought, the need to feel his warmth, his skin against hers. Urgently his lips sought hers and she arched her face up to him. As his mouth touched hers and her lips parted, she heard herself give a low moan, and his hold on her, as she trembled in his arms, tightened. Her eyes closed. She knew nothing, saw nothing, was conscious of nothing but the warm pressure of his mouth on hers, the hard pressure of his thighs against hers. All her senses seemed to bond in one, so she heard through her body the pounding of his heart, tasted his want with her lips, saw him, this man who was her husband, saw him though her eyes were shut, and saw down to his very soul, to a place in which they were at one, beyond questioning, beyond uncertai
nty.

  Julius kissed her gently, deeply, as if they could never break apart, his hands running through the long strands of her hair, clasping her against the hardening of his body, so she could feel the urgency of his want, his hunger for her naked, terrifying in its force, willing her, as if she were the only one who could assuage it.

  When they broke apart at last, they stood close, their eyes locked together, that want and their knowledge of it palpable between them, knotting them together into a communication deep beyond words. Their breath came quickly; Luisa was shaking. She could not speak; her mouth felt dry, her lips were bruised from his kisses, her breasts burned for the touch of his hands.

  He would touch her, take her. He must. But he did not. He stood very still, his eyes shadowed, still holding her hand tightly. Then at last, very slowly, he raised the hand with her wedding ring to his lips, and kissed the gold band lightly. Luisa felt tears start to her eyes and a flood of conflicting thoughts and feelings rush through her. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to explain. But he let her hand fall, and stepped back a little from her, as if deliberately cutting them off from what had just taken place.

  When he spoke at last his voice sounded uneven and harsh, as if he were controlling it with difficulty.

  'I didn't plan this, Luisa. You must think…' He gestured to the room, and then shrugged. Once again he seemed completely in control of himself. 'I'm very sorry.'

  She looked down at her hands, lowering her face from his eyes.

  'I… I am your wife.'

  Silently she cursed herself. It was not what she wanted to say, and the words came out flatly, without apparent feeling, with a tone of resignation she had not intended.

  There was a brief silence.

  'Yes. Well—' He paused, but she did not look up. He turned away suddenly, brusquely, and she felt her heart cry out in silent pain. 'Up to a point. As we agreed and you carefully stipulated. I have no wish to coerce you into anything more than that. Particularly in the present circumstances.' He laughed bitterly. 'I'm sure you imagine I set all this up.