Domenico Chiesa could have told her precisely why as he made for the Locanda Verona later. At the airport Miss Laura Green had been so eager to board the vaporetto she had paid no attention to him at all. Such treatment from a woman was new to him, and instead of amusing him, as it would have done any other time, her indifference had irritated him. But later that evening he’d had a drink with a friend in the San Marco area, and on impulse called at the Locanda Verona afterwards to check that all was well with the girl—and to make a better impression, he admitted, laughing at himself. But when he’d eventually found her it had taken much control to hide his surprise.
At Marco Polo her face had been hidden by the hat and glasses. But at Florian’s he’d discovered that her mouth curved delightfully as she smiled, and the dark amber shade of her eyes was unexpected below the shining coil of flaxen hair. Her face had too much character for mere beauty, possibly, but she possessed that indefinable something he found so desirable in a woman he had automatically set out to charm. Then she had given him the second surprise of the evening by refusing his escort to her hotel—another first in his experience. The cool Miss Laura Green was most definitely a challenge. Domenico’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. As first step in the warming-up process he would impress her by taking her to Harry’s Bar, the Mecca of all foreign visitors. Then later, when she was mellow with good food and wine, he would provide the finishing touch to the evening with a moonlit ride in a gondola.
Domenico strode into the modest little hotel like Caesar bent on conquering Gaul. Then stared in disbelief when he heard that the young lady had gone out.
‘Cosa?’
Signora Rossi smiled apologetically and handed him a note.
Domenico thanked her, read the brief missive, and after bidding the signora good evening strode outside again, eyes stormy, strongly tempted to leave Miss Laura Green sitting alone at Florian’s all evening. But his irritation vanished when he found her in the piazza. She sat, composed, watching the evening parade, the vibrant colour of her dress the perfect foil for her gleaming hair. Tonight she had knotted this up in a sexy, insecure arrangement that looked as though one touch of a lover’s hand would bring it tumbling down. Escaping tendrils lay on her neck in the exact place that invited the touch of a man’s lips, and to Domenico’s surprise he found he strongly objected to the admiring male glances she was attracting as she sipped from a long glass.
Unknown to him Laura had spotted Domenico the moment he appeared in the piazza. She’d monitored his progress from the corner of her eye, admiring the perfection of his pale linen suit and beautiful shoes. But she waited until he reached her table before looking up with a cool little smile to say hello.
‘Buona sera.’ He returned the smile reproachfully. ‘You did not wait for me.’
She shrugged in apology. ‘I left a message for you with Signora Rossi. My stay in Venice is too short to waste it in my room.’
‘Your room is not satisfactory?’ he demanded.
‘Quite the reverse; it’s charming. But when your note arrived I’d already spent the entire afternoon there. In bed.’ Laura smiled into the spectacular blue eyes. ‘After a morning of relentless window-shopping I slept far longer than I intended.’
He took the chair beside her. ‘You will drink Prosecco, yes?’
The man took a lot for granted! Laura eyed him in amusement as he gave the order. Domenico Chiesa was too sure of himself by half.
‘So, Laura,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘You looked in shop windows. Did you buy anything?’
‘Not today. My plan was to look first and buy later, but I saw so many things I lusted after I can’t remember where I saw what. If you see what I mean,’ she said, smiling.
‘You do not think my English sufficient to understand?’ he demanded.
‘I think your English is wonderful,’ she said hastily. ‘I just wish I could speak Italian a fraction as well.’
The blue eyes gleamed. ‘I could teach you.’
I bet you could, thought Laura, and not just syntax, either. She smiled regretfully. ‘I’m not staying long enough for that.’
The waiter arrived with the wine, and Domenico sat back in his chair, contemplating her over the rim of his glass in silence for a moment or two. ‘Tell me, Laura Green,’ he said at last, ‘is there someone in London waiting with impatience for your return?’
‘You mean a man?’
‘Naturalmente.’ He looked at her small, capable left hand. ‘I see no ring, but you must have a lover. How could you not?’ he added matter-of-factly.
She looked him in the eye. ‘Are you always this direct with someone you’ve just met?’
‘No,’ he said, and smiled disarmingly. ‘But you interest me, Laura. If you do not wish to answer, I understand,’ he added.
She hesitated, reluctant to discuss something so personal. But after skipping off earlier instead of waiting for Domenico it seemed best not to offend again. ‘There’s no one right now,’ she said at last. ‘There was someone until quite recently, a doctor in the training stage in a hospital, but not a lover the way you mean.’
‘Ah!’ He nodded, satisfied. ‘You did not love him with passion.’
The outrageously personal statement was so accurate Laura nodded wryly. ‘Romance just isn’t my thing. I’m the strictly practical type.’
‘You will meet someone one day who will change all that,’ he assured her, and got to his feet. ‘Come. It is time to eat.’
Laura felt a pang of remorse as he paid for the wine. ‘Domenico, I do apologise. I haven’t thanked you yet for paying my bill last night. You shouldn’t have done that, but it was very kind of you.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said casually, and glanced down at her feet. ‘You can walk in those delightful shoes?’
‘How far?’
‘Only to Harry’s Bar. It is quite near.’
‘No problem, then,’ she said, impressed. Her holiday budget wouldn’t stretch to meals in such exalted places.
Domenico Chiesa did not, it was obvious, suffer from the same problem. When he ushered Laura through a surprisingly unimpressive door and took her upstairs, the head waiter in Harry’s Bar greeted him by name. The dining room was plain by Venetian standards, with half-panelled walls and large black and white photographs of American landmarks, but it was full except for the table reserved for Signor Chiesa.
‘The restaurant is a little austere, and there is no terrace, but it never lacks for patrons,’ Domenico told her.
‘I can see that,’ said Laura, eyeing the crowded room. ‘I know that Hemingway and Churchill used to come here, but are there any celebrities around tonight?’
‘None that I know,’ he said dismissively.
Her eyes danced. ‘You mean that if Domenico Chiesa doesn’t know them they’re not celebrities?’
‘You are mocking me,’ he accused, laughing. ‘And now,’ he added as a waiter set glasses in front of them, ‘you must taste the cocktail first created here.’
‘A Bellini?’ said Laura, eyeing the drink with respect.
Domenico raised his glass. ‘Enjoy.’
Enjoy was the right word, she thought as she tasted the famous mix of fresh white peach juice and sparkling Prosecco. ‘Mmm, fabulous!’
‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Now, tell me what you like to eat.’
Choosing their meal was a serious business. When Laura firmly refused a first course Domenico described the main dishes in detail, teasing her because she wasn’t brave enough to try carpaccio, the raw, marinated beef of his own choice. Eventually, after much discussion, she settled for pasta baked with prosciutto, and enjoyed it enormously, but shook her head regretfully when Domenico suggested the house speciality of rich chocolate cake for dessert afterwards.
‘Thank you, but I couldn’t eat another thing.’
‘Then we shall drink coffee while you tell me your plans for tomorrow.’
‘I thought I’d go shopping for presents be
fore I make a start on the local culture. I want something special for my mother, my sister, and my closest friend,’ she said, ticking off her fingers, ‘and inexpensive things—if there are such things in Venice—for friends at the bank.’ She smiled at him. ‘Any advice for the tourist would be welcome.’
Domenico gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled back. ‘I can do more than that. Tomorrow I shall show you the best places to find your souvenirs of Venezia.’
Laura looked at him in silence for so long he raised an eyebrow in silent question.
‘Domenico,’ she said at last, ‘why are you doing this?’
‘This?’ he repeated innocently.
She nodded. ‘I can’t believe that Lorenzo Forli asked you to go to such lengths to look after me!’
‘This is true,’ he admitted. ‘He asked me to arrange a hotel, meet you at the airport and escort you to the vaporetto, and afterwards check to see that you were happy with your hotel.’ The spectacular eyes locked with hers. ‘I did as he wanted. But now, Laura, I am doing what I want.’
She held the gaze steadily. ‘In that case I need to ask you the question you asked me.’
‘And what is that?’
‘Is there someone in your life?’
‘No.’ He shrugged an expressive shoulder. ‘There was. Now there is not.’
‘Snap,’ she said, sighing.
‘Snap? What is this?’
‘It means the same thing. I recently had someone in my life, too, but not any more.’
Domenico’s eyes softened. ‘This makes you sad, Laura?’
She shook her head. ‘Relieved, not sad. I’d known Edward for years, but not as well as I thought. I had no idea he was into embarrassing romantic gestures.’
There was a pause while coffee was served.
‘I am very curious,’ said Domenico, leaning nearer when they were alone. ‘What did this romantic man do?’
‘He took me out to dinner one night. But when the waiter took the lid off a serving dish there was a diamond ring sitting there instead of the salmon I’d asked for.’ Laura shuddered. ‘And right there in front of all the other diners Edward went down on one knee and asked me to marry him.’
‘Dio! What did you do?’
‘There was no way I could possibly humiliate him in public so I let him put the ring on my finger and kiss me, and everyone applauded.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘When I handed the ring back in the taxi afterwards Edward rejected my offer of friendship pretty violently. So we don’t see each other any more.’
‘This does not surprise me. When a man is in love it is not friendship he desires from his woman.’ Domenico got up suddenly. ‘Mi scusi, Laura, I must leave you for a moment.’
Laura watched him cross the room to speak to a waiter, who nodded quickly, pocketed the money he was given, and left the dining room. When Domenico rejoined her he pressed her to more coffee, but she shook her head.
‘Nothing else, thank you. It was such a wonderful meal. Thank you for bringing me here.’
‘Thank you for the pleasure of your company.’
Laura had expected to walk back to her hotel the way she came, via the floodlit Piazza San Marco, but Domenico took her back along silent, dimly lit alleys punctuated by bridges. He pointed out landmarks and gave her the names of the different calles as they strolled, and eventually, when they were on territory that was beginning to feel familiar, he paused on a bridge to point out the moon’s reflection in the water.
‘By day it is best not to linger on our bridges, but at night when it is quiet we may do so for a moment. In the past there were no railings,’ he informed her. ‘This meant taking much care at night.’
She gave a sudden chuckle, and he took her hand and looked down into her face.
‘What amuses you, Laura?’
‘I was just thinking that to a practical soul like me your city is too romantic for words, Domenico.’
‘Ah, but Venezia is not always kind to us as she is tonight,’ he assured her. ‘We have fog and rain and floods in winter.’
‘I can’t imagine it right now.’
‘Then you must come back again to Venice and see for yourself,’ he said, and drew her nearer.
‘I must get back to the hotel right now,’ she said hastily.
‘Let us say goodnight here first.’ He took her gently by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks, looked down into her eyes for a moment, then bent his head to capture her mouth in a kiss of unexpected tenderness.
‘I was told that I’d have no problem with the average Italian male,’ she said breathlessly when he raised his head. Not that there was anything average about Domenico Chiesa.
He smiled and took her hand to resume walking. ‘One kiss is a problem?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘It will be a problem for me if you now refuse my assistance with your shopping.’
‘I won’t.’ Laura grinned at him and he laughed, his hand tightening on hers. ‘Find me bargains and I forget the kiss.’
‘But I shall not,’ he said, with such a theatrical sigh she laughed at him.
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘It is the truth,’ he assured her. ‘I shall lie awake all night thinking of the touch of your lips against mine.’
She chuckled. ‘And where will you spend this sleepless night? At the hotel you work in?’
He shook his head. ‘I have a small apartment right here in San Marco. Tonight I shall sleep—or not sleep—only a short distance away from you, Miss Laura Green.’ He smiled down at her and raised her hand to his lips. ‘I have enjoyed this evening very much. I shall call for you at nine tomorrow and we shall eat breakfast together. Sleep well.’
CHAPTER TWO
LAURA found it hard to sleep at all for a while. The long afternoon nap was partly to blame, but Domenico’s kiss had rather more to do with it. She frowned in the darkness. If this was the effect Venice was having on her it was a good thing she wasn’t staying long.
After her restless night Laura woke late next morning and rushed through a shower, slapped on moisturiser and lipstick, wove her hair into a loose braid, pulled on a mint-green T-shirt and white cotton trousers and raced down to the reception hall to find Domenico, in jeans with a shirt that matched his eyes, talking to Signora Rossi.
‘Buon giorno, Laura,’ he said, smiling, and took away what breath she had left by kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Like a baby,’ she lied.
‘Then let us begin.’
During breakfast, which she enjoyed all the more for sitting down to eat it, Laura told Domenico what she had in mind.
‘I’ve been reading up about shopping in my guidebook, so I’ve made a list. First priority is a pair of the velvet slippers worn here for Carnival for my mother.’
‘And for your father?’
Her eyes fell. ‘My father’s dead.’
‘Mi dispiace!’ said Domenico swiftly, and laid his hand on hers.
‘You didn’t know. Now,’ she added briskly, ‘where do we start?’
Shopping with Domenico Chiesa was a very pleasant experience. He took Laura to places she would have had no hope of finding on her own, and seemed to enjoy it all as much as she did. He hunted down an authentic gold carnival mask, helped Laura choose pretty, inexpensive Venetian glass earrings and T-shirts in vivid colours printed with the Venezia logo, and at last took her to the stalls at the foot of the Ponte delle Guglie on Strada Nuova for crimson velvet slippers for her mother.
‘And now,’ said Domenico firmly, just when Laura felt ready to drop rather than shop any more, ‘we must eat.’
She gave him a pleading look. ‘Domenico, please let me pay for lunch.’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘It is already arranged. And you are tired so we shall go by water taxi.’
A journey in a sleek white motorboat was such a different experience from one by vaporetto the journey was over far too soon for Laur
a.
‘Thank you, that was fun,’ she said as Domenico helped her off the boat. ‘But I know it was also expensive so I hope we’re eating in a cheaper place than Harry’s Bar.’
‘I can assure you that we are. With your permission I shall give you lunch in my private retreat.’
Domenico’s retreat was an apartment in a converted palazzo, with a view of the Grand Canal and the Santa Maria della Salute church. When he ushered her into a compact sitting room with tall windows and apricot walls Laura felt a stab of envy as she took in the gleaming wood floors and white-covered sofas, the shelves with books and the mirrors everywhere.
‘This is just lovely.’
‘I am glad you like it.’ He laid her shopping bags on one of the sofas. ‘I thought you might prefer a quiet meal here in peace after your shopping.’
Domenico’s dining room was small, but opened onto a balcony with a view of the Grand Canal. He set a meal on the table with speed and efficiency, which impressed Laura as she sat down to Fontina cheese and San Daniele ham served with ripe red tomatoes and salad leaves.
‘This is perfect. Exactly what I need. Shopping is tiring, even here in Venice.’ She smiled at him gratefully as she buttered a roll. ‘I’m so grateful for your help, Domenico. You took me to places I wouldn’t have found on my own.’ And because of it she had spent far less money than expected.
‘I was happy to help,’ he assured her. ‘Would you like wine?’
‘Water, please. If I drink wine at this hour I’ll need another sleep, and it’s a sin to waste too much time in Venice in bed!’
‘Alone, certainly,’ he agreed, and laughed at her look. ‘Laura, per favore! Is that one small, sweet kiss to blame for such dark suspicion? I intend you no harm, I swear.’
‘Oh, I know that!’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘If you did the boss wouldn’t like it.’
He looked blank. ‘The boss?’
‘Lorenzo Forli!’
‘Ah, yes.’ He got up to take her plate. ‘Now, then, Miss Laura Green, I shall make coffee while you rest in the salotto.’
A Venetian Passion Page 2
