by Lucy Gordon
She flinched, watching him. She no longer knew how this man would react to anything.
For the moment there was no reaction at all. Then abruptly he broke into laughter, that filled her with relief, until she heard the disturbing edge to the sound, not like real amusement at all.
‘That’s hilarious,’ he said at last. ‘You calculated the whole thing, down to the last detail, and the poor sap fell for it, hook, line and sinker. He even burbled something stupid about it being Fate. Or did he? Remind me. No, on second thoughts, don’t remind me. There are some mistakes a man should be able to forget in peace.’
‘But it wasn’t just me, was it?’ she said indignantly. ‘When I saw the name on your shirt you could have said, “I’m not Fede, just a rich playboy, fooling about in a boat”. Why didn’t you?’
‘I forget,’ he said stonily.
‘I don’t think that’s a truthful answer. You could have stopped everything right there and then. Why didn’t you?’
‘I’ve forgotten,’ he repeated. ‘All right, maybe I’ve only forgotten because I want to. Believe what you like, but most of all believe that it’s best if you go away from here and never come back.’
‘I’m not ready to give up and go yet.’
‘That’s a pity because I don’t think Venice is big enough to hold both of us.’
The door was thrown open abruptly by a middle-aged woman, full of excitement, who gabbled something Dulcie didn’t understand. Guido gave her a brief smile and replied tersely. The next moment she surged into the room, followed by two young girls, their arms filled with masks.
‘No,’ Guido started to say, but his protest was lost in the hubbub. He shrugged and gave up. ‘Our new line,’ he said to Dulcie, sounding harassed. ‘We’ve been waiting for them, but this isn’t the moment-oh, be damned to it!’
The masks were magnificent, not merely painted cardboard like the ones on his walls, but covered in satin and sequins, many with gorgeous feathers.
Guido admired them and spoke kindly to his employees, but managed to shoo them out of the room fairly quickly.
‘Harlequin,’ Dulcie said, holding up a creation in scarlet satin with multi-coloured feathers on top. ‘And this one-’ she lifted a long-nosed mask in purple satin, ‘Pantalone, the merchant. I remember what you told me.’
‘But there were other things I didn’t have time to tell you,’ Guido mused. ‘About Columbine, for instance.’
‘You said she was sensible, but sharp and witty, and could see the funny side of life.’
‘I also said she’s a deceiver. She teases and beguiles Harlequin, leads him into her traps, while all the while laughing up her sleeve because he’s fool enough to believe in her. He, poor clown, ends up wondering what’s hit him.’
He spoke lightly but she had a sensation of his pain that was almost tangible. She guessed that he wasn’t used to unhappiness, his life had contained so little of it. Now he was floundering. She longed to reach out to him, but didn’t dare.
‘You told me I wasn’t like Columbine,’ she reminded him.
He smiled sadly. ‘I was wrong. You think I’m unfair because we both deceived each other, but your deception was planned before you ever came here. That’s what I can’t get past. Mine was an impulse that I yielded to-stupidly perhaps, but on the spur of the moment because-well, no matter.’
‘Tell me,’ she begged. It was suddenly terribly important.
But he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make any difference now. I wish it did. Go away, Dulcie. There’s nothing so dead as a dead love.’ His face contracted suddenly. ‘For pity’s sake, go,’ he said harshly.
If she could have thought of any way of moving him she would have tried, even then, but there was about him a kind of wintry stubbornness that she couldn’t fight. He’d grown older since yesterday.
His phone shrilled and he made a grab for it with a mutter of impatience. Dulcie turned to go, wondering if the end could really come like this. But she turned as Guido barked, ‘Fede!’
‘What is it?’ she asked with a feeling of foreboding.
He was talking in Venetian. Dulcie caught the word ‘Jenny,’ then Fede’s name repeated several times as though Guido was trying to calm him down. Dulcie could just make out the tinny sound of a voice from the phone, and it sounded as though Fede was in a rare panic.
‘What is it?’ she said as Guido hung up.
He was snatching his jacket down from a hook. ‘Come on,’ he said, grasping her arm. ‘We’ve got to hurry.’
They were out of the factory and by the waterside before she had breath enough to ask, ‘What’s happened?’
A motor boat was waiting with a man at the wheel. Guido helped her down into it and then they were roaring away across the lagoon, feeling the spray in their faces. He had to shout above the noise of the engine.
‘Your employer has arrived.’
‘My-you mean Roscoe?’
‘Right. Jenny’s Poppa. She managed to call Fede and he called me. We have to do something fast to stop him taking her back to England.’
‘You promised Fede you’d think up a plan.’
‘I’m thinking of one now. First we have to walk into the hotel together.’
‘And say what?’
‘I’m trying to work that out,’ he said tensely. ‘We must put this man straight about the facts, and for that I need you there.’
‘So sometimes Harlequin needs Columbine’s help?’
‘Sometimes he can’t do without her, even if he doesn’t like it. It’s time to make up your mind whose side you’re on.’
‘I’m on Jenny’s side. You heard me tell them I’ll help.’
Instead of answering he yelled something to the boatman, and their speed increased, so that further talk became impossible. Soon they’d reached the Grand Canal, and had to slow down dramatically.
‘Can’t we go any faster?’ Dulcie asked.
‘No, it’s the law. There’s the hotel.’ As he handed her out of the boat he said, ‘We’re going to have to put on a rare performance.’
‘But what’s the script?’ she asked frantically.
‘Play it by ear.’ He was sweeping her through the lobby to the lift.
‘But suppose we’re using different ears?’ she demanded as they reached the top floor.
‘You’re the one that’s good at this.’
‘Don’t give me that. I’m an amateur. You could give me lessons.’
‘All right, how’s this? You know this man and I don’t. You lead, I’ll follow. Do it for Jenny. Do it for Fede whose life you tried to ruin.’
There was no time to answer. The lift door was opening. Ahead were the double doors of the suite, and from behind them came the sound of voices, Jenny’s distraught, Fede’s frantic.
Guido was looking at her expectantly.
‘Here we go,’ she said, throwing open the doors.
As entrances went, it was splendid. The three inside stared at them. Then Jenny rushed to her in appeal, Fede rushed to shake Guido’s hand, babbling in Venetian. Dulcie fixed her eyes on Roscoe, who was red-faced and shouting, ‘I don’t know who this man is-’ jabbing a finger at Fede.
‘It’s Fede,’ Jenny protested.
‘The hell he is!’ Roscoe snapped.
‘The hell he isn’t!’ This, from Guido.
‘You-’ Roscoe swung around to him ‘-you’re the one who’s caused all this trouble.’
For the first minute Dulcie’s mind had been a blank, but now suddenly the clouds parted. She pulled herself together and spoke with apparent confidence.
‘Mr Harrison,’ she said, ‘allow me to introduce Signor Guido Calvani, nephew of Count Calvani, a family that I’ve now discovered was once well acquainted with my own.’
The mention of Dulcie’s family made Roscoe pause, as she’d hoped. It gave her time to rush on, ‘It was only after I arrived here that I realised the significance of the name Calvani. It turns out that my great-aunt, Lady Harriet, knew
Guido’s uncle very well, if you know what I mean,’ she managed a coy simper, ‘and the count welcomed me most warmly when I visited his palazzo yesterday.’
She was laying it on with a trowel, stressing the words that would send signals to Roscoe’s snobbery, and every one of them was hitting the bull’s eye, she was glad to see.
True to his promise to follow her lead Guido wrung Roscoe’s hand and said all the right things at length. Then he said them again at even greater length. Roscoe managed a reasonably civilised reply, but then became himself again.
‘But you’re in that picture making up to my daughter.’
‘But only under the eye of her true love,’ Guido said quickly, drawing Fede forward. ‘I gather you’ve already met my friend, Federico Lucci, who’s been fortunate enough to win Jenny’s affection.’
‘Now wait,’ Roscoe blustered, ‘what were you doing in that outfit? That’s why I thought you were Fede-’
‘He’s Fede,’ Guido said. ‘I’m Guido.’
‘Count Guido?’
‘Not while my uncle lives, which hopefully will be many years yet.’
‘But you-’ Roscoe looked from Guido to Fede and from Fede to Dulcie ‘-you-no, wait-’
Then inspiration came to Dulcie in a blinding flash.
‘Mr Harrison, pretty soon you and I need to discuss this fiasco,’ she said, sounding slightly truculent. ‘How am I supposed to do a decent job of work when your briefing to me was so inaccurate?’
He gaped. ‘I-’
‘Look at this picture.’ She produced the snapshot. ‘You assured me that the man with the mandolin was Federico Lucci. On that basis I allocated you a portion of my time which, let me remind you, doesn’t come cheap. And after a week when I’ve given you my best efforts, I discover that “Fede” was really the other man, and I’ve been on a wild-goose chase.’
‘But you said you knew him,’ Roscoe hollered.
‘I said no such thing. I said my family knew his, way back. He could have been anybody for all I knew. I’ve been glad to make contact with the count, who once knew Lady Harriet, but apart from that the whole thing has been a waste of time, for which I hold you entirely to blame.’
‘OK, OK, maybe I got it a bit wrong,’ Roscoe said in a placating voice, ‘but it hasn’t been a total waste of time. We’ve established that he-’ indicating Fede ‘-is no aristo.’
‘Since he never claimed to be, that’s hardly surprising,’ Dulcie said briskly. ‘Can we drop this nonsense now? I’ve established that the man your daughter loves isn’t trying to beguile her with false claims, which is surely what really matters.’
Roscoe was uncharacteristically hesitant. His slow-moving wits had taken in that Guido was a real ‘aristo’ and therefore to be cultivated, and that Fede was his friend. To have repeated his suspicions of Fede without offending Guido would have taken social skills Roscoe didn’t possess. He fell silent, fuming. Guido divined what was going through his mind, and stepped into the breach, all charm.
‘I know that my uncle would be anxious to extend to you his hospitality,’ he said smoothly. ‘He’s giving a fancy-dress masked ball next week, and your presence, with your daughter, would make it complete.’
Roscoe’s snobbery warred with his desire to hasten Jenny back to England. Snobbery won.
‘That’s generous of you,’ he bawled. ‘We’d like that, wouldn’t we, pet? That’s very-well, I must say-’
Under cover of his noisy pleasure, Guido murmured to Dulcie, ‘Brava! Columbine has worked her magic. You knew just how to deal with him.’
‘He was getting on my wick,’ Dulcie said crisply.
Roscoe had recovered himself and was wringing Guido’s hand. ‘Tell your uncle I’ll come to see him right away. Men of substance should stick together-’
‘My uncle is away just now,’ Guido improvised hastily, ‘but he will have the pleasure of your acquaintance at the ball.’ He turned swiftly to Dulcie before Roscoe could think of any more tortures for him. ‘I understand that you will be there, signorina. It will be delightful to see you. Fede, let us leave.’
‘But I-’ the hapless Fede started to say.
‘Not now,’ Guido said through gritted teeth, urging him out with more vigour than gentleness. ‘For pity’s sake, my friend, quit while you’re ahead.’
CHAPTER TEN
G UIDO had prevented Roscoe taking Jenny away, thus buying the lovers some time, but the strain of the ensuing days nearly turned Dulcie’s hair white.
He moved into the suite, taking over the second bedroom so that Jenny and Dulcie had to share the first. He spent his time exploring the city, dragging his daughter along, and proud to bursting point of having Lady Dulcie as his guide.
He demanded a full account of her dinner at the palazzo, with diversions regarding the social niceties to be observed at a count’s residence.
‘Just because I’m a self-made man it doesn’t follow that I’m an ignoramus,’ he declared belligerently. ‘And I don’t want any mistakes in that direction.’
Dulcie assured him that nobody could possibly make any mistakes.
Guido telephoned her once, explaining coolly that the best masquerade outfits were to be found at a shop in the Calle Morento. She should take Jenny there and make sure she chose a Columbine costume.
‘Shouldn’t that be me?’ she asked wryly.
‘On no account. They have a wide choice and I’m sure you’ll find something suitable, but definitely not Columbine. But please tell Jenny that if all goes well she’ll be with Fede from then on.’
‘You’re planning for them to run away that night?’
‘I’m planning a little more than that, but everything has to be done just right.’
‘Do I have any part to play?’
‘Yes, and I’m sure you’ll play it superbly when the time comes.’
But you don’t trust me enough to tell me now, she thought.
‘A lot depends on your following my instructions exactly,’ Guido continued. ‘Put yourself in the assistant’s hands, she knows your requirements.’
‘I suppose you have a connection with the shop?’
‘I own it,’ he said with some surprise.
‘Of course.’
That was her only contact with him. There wasn’t another word, and she was too proud to seek him out again. Although he wanted her to stay, he hadn’t relented. She would be useful in his plan to help Jenny and Fede. That was all.
It was hard to believe that the magical web that had been spun between them during those few precious days could have been wrecked so easily: harder still to realise that the gentle jester who’d nursed and protected her was also the austere man who judged her harshly.
And unreasonably, she reminded herself. Her deception might have been greater than his, but he could have sorted it all out in a moment. Instead he’d let her mistake pass because-because of what? Something he couldn’t bear to tell her. She might guess, but it was better not to, because then the ache of ‘might-have-been’ started all over again.
She’d thought that Simon had left her unhappy, but now she could see that misery in proportion. He’d been a skunk all the time and she was well rid of him. She’d known that even while she suffered. But Guido was different. She’d fallen deeply in love with him during those few precious days alone, and now that he’d changed towards her she couldn’t dismiss it as a lucky escape. He was the one. Unlikely as it seemed there had been truth between them, concealed, perhaps, by masks, but he himself had said, ‘when people’s faces are hidden they are free to become their true selves.’
If only things had been different, how they could have enjoyed discovering their own and each other’s true selves. It could have been the work of a lifetime.
Now there was nothing, and a fearful blank facing her. She couldn’t persuade this man because she didn’t know him. And the new Guido, curt, withdrawn, unreachable, was an alarming man.
As he wanted she took Jenny to the hire shop. R
oscoe insisted on accompanying them, and chose a lavishly bejewelled Henry VIII costume for himself. Dulcie beat off his efforts to dress her as Anne Boleyn, but then he insisted on Cleopatra, which she felt was almost as bad.
Jenny went through this in a dream, following Guido’s instructions as relayed by Dulcie, but without conviction. With her father’s arrival her confidence seemed to have drained away. Despite her brave words about being of age and pleasing herself she reacted to Roscoe like a rabbit trapped in headlamps. Sometimes she managed to telephone Fede, but the conversations were always hurried affairs and she usually had to hang up quickly.
‘Stand up to your father,’ Dulcie insisted one evening. ‘Tell him you’re going to marry Fede and that’s it. Or just walk out.’
‘You make it sound so easy,’ Jenny sighed.
‘It is easy.’
‘It would be for you. You’re not afraid of anyone or anything.’
I’m afraid of my future, Dulcie thought. It’s looking bleak and lonely right now.
‘Dulcie, what am I going to do? You say Guido’s going to make everything right, but how? If it doesn’t work, Dad’s going to haul me off home. I can’t see Fede, I can only call him for a minute at a time. Dad watches me like a hawk.’
‘Write Fede a letter,’ Dulcie said at once. ‘I’ll take it to him.’
‘You’d do that for me? Oh, thank you.’
‘Write it now. Will Fede be rowing tonight?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jenny said, scribbling hurriedly. ‘But I’ll give you his family’s address.’
In a couple of minutes the letter was being sealed in an envelope, and Dulcie was hurrying out, hoping to avoid Roscoe, but failing.
‘Where are you going?’ he boomed. ‘It’s time to go out to dinner.’
‘I’ll join you later. I’ve got something to do first.’
‘Don’t be late.’
She had to consult a map to find the tiny Calle Marcello, well away from the tourist haunts. Darkness was falling, lights blazed from the grocery shops that were still open, and from the rooms overhead.
