by Lucy Gordon
‘Ruth, I’m so sorry. If there was something I could do…’
‘There is,’ she said, going into his arms again. ‘This is as good as a tonic.’
‘Anytime you want.’
He drew her close in a bear hug and hid his face against her hair.
From nearby there was a shout. A cheerful man’s voice yelled, ‘There you are, folks! Wherever you look, there are lovers. That’s Venice for you!’
They ignored this, not realising that it related to them. But suddenly a crowd of young people was streaming around them, giving good-natured whistles.
‘Oh, no!’ Pietro groaned.
There were six youngsters, all in their late teens, wearing funny hats and out for a good time. One young man, just a little older and wearing a jester’s cap, positioned himself to give a lecture, speaking English.
‘A classic example of the species, ladies and gentlemen. He’s come to meet her train, the train is late, they fly into each other’s arms. Love triumphs, as always.’
‘Beat it!’ Pietro told him.
The jester was shocked.
‘Sir, we are here in the spirit of Carnival. In fact, we are spirits of Carnival-’
‘And I’ll bet “spirits” is the right word,’ Ruth declared, trying not to laugh.
‘A small libation to while away the train journey,’ the jester conceded. ‘All right, two small libations, which have merely sharpened our intellect. Now we require only to see the completion of the process-’
‘What completion?’ Pietro demanded.
‘A true love scene ends with a kiss. Only then can we be on our way, seeking new examples of amore.’
‘Have them on me,’ Pietro said, producing a wad of notes and tossing them into the air where they were eagerly seized. ‘Now be off.’
‘But you haven’t kissed the lady,’ cried the jester, aghast.
The others took up the refrain, dancing around them, crying, ‘Kiss, kiss!’
Pietro looked daggers, but Ruth could no longer contain her mirth. Watching her explode with laughter, feeling the vibration of her whole body against his, he felt her smile invade him, take him over, join him to her. The next moment he was joined to her in body as well as in spirit, his arm beneath her neck, his mouth on hers.
Ruth closed her eyes, not sure that this was happening, and only now understanding how much she’d wanted it to happen. The kiss she’d given him on the first night was still with her, reawakened now, a thousand times more intense.
She would have known his mouth of all others, no matter where or when. It was wide and firm, and it moved against hers with a combination of subtlety and power that was devastating. When she’d forced the first embrace on him he’d accepted it reluctantly, waiting until she was finished. But this was his kiss, coming fiercely from him to her, defying her not to return it.
It would have been beyond her power to resist the challenge, even if she’d wanted to. As it was, she was no longer stranded in a desert. Something within her was being set free, ready to soar.
Now she could submerge herself, knowing truly who was the man in her arms, wanting him there, trying to tell him so without words. When she felt his arms loosening about her she agreed, reluctantly, wanting to cling to him but knowing this wasn’t the moment. But later, she promised herself.
Drawing away slightly, she saw his face as she’d never seen it before, full of a joy that matched her own, momentarily obliterating the world and all its problems. But there was something else too, a confusion that made him struggle and speak awkwardly.
‘Well, we found a way to silence them,’ he said.
‘I hope so.’ She looked around, ready to challenge their well-meaning tormentors.
They were alone.
‘Where have they gone?’ she said, baffled. ‘Even the train’s left.’
‘I guess we took a little longer than we thought,’ he said slowly.
‘Ruth-’
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Everything’s all right.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Everything’s all right.’
As they began the walk back along the platform to the exit he pondered, ‘Ruth, did they really exist, or did we imagine them?’
A fantasy conjured out of the depths of their mutual need? It was a delightful thought, but she had to say, ‘I think they were a crowd of English tourists who came for Carnival. And they’re determined to see Carnival everywhere they look.’
‘Well, at least we got rid of them.’
He spoke too soon. As they emerged from the great exit fronting the Grand Canal the tourists were waiting for them in a state of high glee.
‘I said beat it,’ Pietro groaned.
‘But you haven’t gone on to the next stage,’ the jester said imploringly.
‘The next stage?’
‘The gondola ride, of course-gliding through the little darkened canals to the sound of a mandolin and a gondolier singing his heart out.’
‘Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll try to find one.’
‘No need, we’ve hired everything necessary.’
Everyone gave elaborate bows, pointing the way to the water, where a gondola was waiting. On the rear platform stood a gondolier, and beside him stood a man with a mandolin, ready to serenade them. Also ready was a large motor boat, into which the tourists were already climbing.
‘Oh, by the way,’ the jester said placatingly, ‘I said you’d be paying.’
By now the boatmen had recognised Pietro and were urgent in their apologies.
‘All right, all right,’ he growled. ‘It’s not your fault. I’ll pay you, and we’ll see this through to the end, otherwise they’ll only have a bigger laugh.’
‘And they say romance is dead!’ the jester declared to his companions, who all cheered.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ he murmured to Ruth.
‘Don’t be. I’m enjoying it.’
In truth she was exhilarated. It was like being carried off by a runaway horse, not knowing where the horse was going, but sure she was going to be glad of it. She might have said a runaway gondola, but that couldn’t describe the helter-skelter glee that was sweeping her up.
She wanted to cry up to the stars that she was ready to go on for ever.
Pietro climbed into the gondola first, and handed her in beside him. Before sitting he exchanged a few words in Venetian with the gondolier, who passed them on to the man driving the motor boat.
‘What did you say?’ Ruth demanded suspiciously.
‘What do you think I said?’
‘You probably told them to drown everyone.’
‘No, I’m not as quick-witted as you. I didn’t think of it in time.’
‘So what did you say?’
‘Stop nagging me, you little harpy.’
‘I’m not little,’ she said at once. ‘I’m nearly as tall as you are. I’ll show you.’
‘Don’t stand up in a gondola!’
‘They’re standing up.’
‘They’re used to it. You’ll just capsize us.’
Since he had to seize her in his arms to restrain her this provoked more cheers from their audience.
‘What did you say to them?’ she repeated through her laughter.
‘I’m not going to tell you,’ he said defiantly. ‘You’ll just have to try to trust me.’
‘Well, I don’t trust you. You’re hatching some terrible plan.’
He was in the spirit of it now, his eyes gleaming, partly with humour and partly with something else that made her catch her breath in joyous anticipation.
‘You think you know me that well?’ he challenged. ‘I’m terrible?’
‘Yes, you are. Absolutely terrible.’
The gondola rocked as they set out on their journey.
‘So tell me what you said,’ Ruth insisted.
‘I forget.’ He was teasing her now. She nudged him a little further.
‘Tell me,’ she urged.
‘No. It�
�s a secret.’
From behind them came a burst of laughter and the gondolier called, ‘All is well, signorina. He only said that he has no money left, so we must call in the shop tomorrow to be paid.’
‘Thanks for nothing,’ Pietro growled. Glancing over his shoulder, he added, ‘Remind me to double your rent.’
‘Sì, signore.’
But the young man grinned as he said it. Evidently the idea of Pietro taking revenge was amusing.
‘Rent?’ Ruth queried.
‘I own a few small places,’ he conceded grudgingly.
Having glided a small distance down the Grand Canal, the little procession drifted into a turning, the gondola leading the way, the motor boat bringing up the rear, its occupants agog with interest.
The singer was strumming his mandolin, then bursting into song, not a romantic Italian song but a modern pop song currently in the charts.
‘I warned him to be careful what he sang,’ Pietro murmured.
But when the musician had finished there were cries for him to improve the performance. He looked uncertainly at Pietro, who glowered back.
‘There’s a limit to how much entertainment I’m prepared to provide for tourists,’ he growled.
Ruth looked back at the motor boat.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, for the sake of friendly conversation.
‘Don’t know yet,’ the jester replied. ‘We just jumped on the train and came out here for a good time. Now we need a cheap hotel.’
‘All the hotels are full,’ Pietro called. ‘You’d best go back.’
‘But isn’t there a travel agency that could help us?’
‘No, there isn’t.’
‘Yes, there is,’ Ruth urged. ‘I know of one-’
‘No, you don’t,’ Pietro said firmly.
‘Yes, I do. It’s in St Mark’s Piazza-’
The rest of her words were lost as he grasped hold of her, hauled her close and silenced her mouth with his own.
It she hadn’t been otherwise occupied Ruth could have laughed out loud. How to get him to kiss her again had been preoccupying her mind, and now she’d solved the problem very neatly. Just a little provocation had been enough to do it. She made a mental note to remember that.
Then all thought was blotted out in the pleasure of being in his arms, feeling his lips on hers, sensing the agonies of self-restraint that were torturing him as much as her. He wanted to kiss her but not like this, before an audience. He wanted to yield to the feelings that were driving him, evoking hers in return. Except that hers needed no prompting. She was as full of passion as he, yearning to respond to him fully, in a way that could only be done when they were alone.
She did her fervent best to let him know how she felt, but this wasn’t the time or the place. The best could come later.
She sighed as he released her, caring for nothing except for the moment.
‘I suppose that gave them something to talk about,’ she said hazily.
‘They’re gone,’ said the gondolier behind them.
It was true. The motor boat had turned away down another canal, leaving their gondola the only boat in sight. The singer was strumming away and beginning another song.
‘He’s singing Venetian, isn’t he?’ she asked. ‘What do the words mean?’
Pietro began to translate,
‘“We have all the beauty in the world. Secrets that no one else knows, Will be ours for ever. But do I mean Venice, Or our love?”’
‘What a lovely song,’ she murmured, her head leaning against him.
‘Have you ever heard it before?’
‘No,’ she said, understanding his true meaning. ‘Not from Gino or anyone.’
‘I don’t care about anyone else-just Gino.’
Ruth waited for him to kiss her again, but now he was looking at the water ahead, and she realised that he was suddenly uneasy. It was the men standing behind them, she realised. It would be different when they were really alone. For the moment it was enough to nestle against him in perfect contentment, and let things happen as they would.
Time no longer existed, if it had ever existed. Little canals came into view, leading away into darkness, then passing into other canals. From the distance came music and laughter, yet here they were almost alone.
‘When did you last eat?’ Pietro asked suddenly.
‘I can’t remember. I skipped breakfast and today was so busy, and then I went to the station and I forgot everything else.’
‘Me too, and I’m hungry.’
‘I’m ravenous.’
At his signal the gondolier rowed over to the bank and let them land on a small piazza, where lights dazzled from a few modest buildings. As he drifted off Pietro put his arm around her shoulders and led her to a tiny place, ‘run by a friend of mine’.
As she’d expected and hoped the restaurant was neither expensive nor fashionable, being little more than a pizza parlour, with many dishes being cooked in plain sight. One chef was doing a stunt, tossing a ‘pancake’ higher and higher, to loud applause. When he’d finished he hailed the newcomers with a roar.
‘Pietro-’ The rest of his words were indistinguishable.
‘Ciao, Sandro.’
Pietro turned out his pockets, indicating that he had no money, and the man made a gesture that clearly meant, ‘So what?’ The next moment they were being led to a table in the tiny garden at the back. Luckily the weather was warm for January, and they sat there in comfort while Sandro bustled out with a menu that contained fifty different pizzas.
‘You pick what you want and Sandro makes each one up individually,’ Pietro explained. ‘He’s a genius and these are his masterpieces.’
He was right. When the food arrived it was so delicious that neither spoke for several minutes. Then Pietro groaned.
‘What’s the matter? It’s lovely,’ Ruth protested.
‘The food’s fine. I was thinking of the day I’ve had.’
‘Has the Baronessa been giving you a hard time?’
He gave her a speaking look.
‘She spent most of the day lecturing me about the meaning of Carnival.’
‘But doesn’t she know you’ve lived here all your life?’
‘If she does, she gives it less significance than her “feelings”. She’s aiming to take part in the opening procession, although the arrangements were settled ages ago. She’s relying on me to speak to the organisers. She says she’s sure that I can do anything I set my mind to.’
‘Compete with sighs and fluttering eyelashes?’
‘Complete with everything. She keeps trying to get me alone so that she can exercise her “charms”.’ He closed his eyes.
‘But surely a man of the world like you can cope with her easily?’ she teased.
Pietro gave her a baleful look. ‘It isn’t funny.’
‘It is,’ she choked. ‘It’s terribly funny.’
He gave a reluctant grin. ‘All right, it’s funny. But being rude to women is an art I never quite mastered, and it’s too late to start now. Besides, Franco is my friend.’
‘I suppose you could just give her that deadly stare you once gave him.’
‘It would just ricochet off her, and she’d give me one back. I’d back her against myself anyday.’
He began to laugh, the kind of full-hearted sound she’d never expected to hear from him. It was good to watch him covering his eyes with one hand and shaking with mirth.
‘Anyway, it’s your fault,’ he said at last. ‘You should have stayed there to protect me.’
The thought of this strong, attractive man needing her protection made her chuckle again. She felt light-headed, finding amusement in everything, flying up to the stars.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said meekly. ‘I didn’t mean to desert you in the face of the enemy, but I never thought of it.’
‘I’m surprised, given your low opinion of men.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I remember heari
ng you talk about Salvatore Ramirez after that evening you spent with him and his wife. You said he was mostly window dressing-like most men.’
‘Did I really say that?’
‘You know you did. Your voice had a scathing note that made me curious.’
‘I wasn’t scathing,’ she protested.
‘You certainly didn’t sound as though the male sex had greatly impressed you.’
‘I can’t think why.’
‘Is that a real lapse of memory or a diplomatic one?’
‘I think I must have been going more by my instincts than my experience,’ she said, recalling his words of another time.
‘So it’s your instincts that tell you not to bother with men because we’re all hopeless?’
‘Mmm!’ She considered. ‘The idea occasionally strolls through my mind.’
‘Shall I tell you what strolls through my mind?’ he asked satirically. ‘That when I found you in the rain that night I should have left you out there.’
‘You wouldn’t have done that. If I’d knocked on your door full of self-confidence and dressed in expensive clothes, you’d have sent me away with a flea in my ear, rain or no rain.’
He glared. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m a soft-hearted do-gooder who actually prefers creatures who need protecting.’
‘Of course not,’ she said, sounding shocked. ‘I wouldn’t dream of insulting you like that.’
‘Because, to my mind, that’s just another sort of arrogance.’
‘Perhaps you are arrogant, in your own way,’ she mused. ‘Maybe I will insult you, just a little. Admit it. You took me in for the same reason you took Toni in.’
‘Sure, you’re just another lost dog. I look at you and Toni and I can hardly tell the difference.’
‘That’s easy. I’m hairier,’ she said at once.
‘Don’t make me laugh while I’m eating,’ he begged.
Not for the first time with Pietro, she discovered that the roads to a serious truth could lead through laughter. It was in his big, generous nature to reach out to the weak and vulnerable, and then be grumpy about it afterwards.
It was only recently that she had fully understood that she was made the same way. Where others saw his money and status, she saw his need, and longed to care for him as he cared for her. But this too had to be half concealed behind amusement. He was touchy.
