The Padova Perals

by Wilkinson, Lee

‘Gina’s home. I’m sure she would be happy to accommodate you.’

  Like hell she would! Sophia thought and, an instant later, dazzled by the realization, blurted out, ‘Then the Marquise doesn’t live at the Palazzo?’

  Knowing the relief she felt must have been only too evident in her voice, she felt herself blushing.

  His amused glance taking in her heightening colour, Stephen asked, ‘What made you think she did?’

  Reluctant to admit what she’d overheard, Sophia began weakly, ‘She…she seemed to…’

  ‘Regard it as her home?’ he suggested, when she left the sentence hanging in mid air.

  ‘Well, yes…’

  ‘I suppose in a way that’s understandable. You see, the Palazzo del Fortuna was Gina’s home before she married the Marquis d’Orsini.’

  ‘Oh…’

  Sophia longed to know more but, as she hesitated, wondering how to frame her next question, Stephen went on crisply, ‘So now we’ve got that sorted out, shall we head for the Palazzo?’

  His voice sardonic, he added, ‘Or do you still have reservations about staying there?’

  Knowing she’d asked for it, but wanting to justify her stand, Sophia apologized. ‘I’m sorry, but I…’

  ‘Overheard what Gina said?’ Stephen finished for her.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted unwillingly.

  Frowning, he asked, ‘How much did you overhear?’

  ‘Not a great deal.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me exactly?’

  Feeling uncomfortable, she told him, ending, ‘Then, just as the door was closing, I heard her say, “It will be playing clean into the girl’s hands if she has any…”’

  ‘That’s all you heard?’

  ‘That’s all…’ Sophia nodded. ‘I don’t know what she meant.’

  ‘Then I believe I can enlighten you,’ he said silkily. ‘The sentence ended, “if she has any designs on you…” But of course you haven’t, have you?’ he added, tongue-in-cheek.

  Feeling herself start to blush once more, she said, ‘No, I haven’t. Certainly not!’

  Then, realizing she’d spoken much too vehemently and wishing she’d ignored his teasing, she blushed even harder.

  His dark grey eyes on her face, he remarked mockingly, ‘Just the bare idea seems to have made you go all hot and bothered.’

  Well aware that he was laughing at her, and certain now that the Marquise and he were lovers, Sophia gathered herself and said as coolly as possible, ‘I’m afraid I’ve already wasted too much of your time, but I’d be grateful if you could just take me to the Venice Tourist Bureau…’

  ‘Why are you still determined not to stay at the Palazzo? Surely you’re not allowing Gina’s animosity to upset you?’

  ‘No, no…not really…I’d just feel more comfortable in a hotel.’

  ‘Rubbish. You’re attaching far too much importance to what was merely a jealous outburst.’

  ‘Whatever you call it, it’s plain she doesn’t want me there.’

  Her conclusion that he and the Marquise were lovers was shaken when he reminded her with a touch of arrogance, ‘As I own Ca’ Fortuna, what Gina wants or doesn’t want is quite irrelevant.’

  Grey eyes holding green, he added, ‘I decide whom to invite…’

  His handsome face was only inches away and his effect on her was overwhelming.

  ‘I-I’m sorry,’ Sophia stammered, her eyes falling beneath his.

  ‘I’ve asked you to be my guest, and I’m hoping very much that you’ll accept my invitation.’

  She took a deep breath and nerved herself to look up. ‘Thank you. I’d really like to stay.’

  ‘Good. Though it almost took thumbscrews to get the right response.’

  He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth, before getting to his feet and moving to sit behind the wheel.

  Chapter 4

  While Sophia remained transfixed, still feeling the touch of his lips against hers, the engine coughed and spluttered into life.

  A moment later they were threading their way down the canal, the water green and opaque where the low evening sun slanted across it, almost black in the deep shadows.

  Her entire being, her very soul, had responded to the touch of his lips and, though his kiss had been brief, almost experimental, nothing she had ever experienced had moved her more. She would never be the same again.

  She could only hope and pray Stephen hadn’t noticed her reaction to what he no doubt regarded as a casual caress, while she recognized it as a catalyst that would change her life for ever.

  That recognition, coupled with what had gone before, threw her into a state of emotional turmoil.

  Face to face with her own vulnerability, she wondered if she had done the right thing by agreeing to stay at the Palazzo.

  Even though the Marquise no longer lived there, the woman’s obvious jealousy seemed to indicate that she and Stephen were lovers.

  But, if they were, why had he been so keen to have her there? Surely he wouldn’t have risked upsetting the Marquise if he cared about her?

  Or did he want to make her jealous? Some men liked the feeling of power it gave them, enjoyed having the upper hand in a relationship, especially a clandestine one.

  Sophia sighed. Although she was certain she was falling in love with him, she didn’t really know him, know what kind of man he was, what he was capable of…

  As they threaded their way through a series of narrow canals, she struggled with a jumble of disturbing thoughts and feelings.

  She had only been with him for a short time, but already she felt as if she’d been put through an emotional wringer.

  Though it was her own fault, she acknowledged wryly. One way or another she had made a complete fool of herself. Firstly over the hotel booking, and then over her reluctance to accept his invitation to stay at the Palazzo.

  She had as good as laid bare her feelings and exposed her weaknesses. It was no wonder he had laughed at her…

  If only she had taken David’s advice and ignored the Marquise, things might well have been different.

  Though if they had been different, Stephen wouldn’t have kissed her, and that kiss was infinitely precious to her.

  But why had he kissed her? Had it been premeditated or a spur-of-the-moment impulse? A genuine attraction or merely a light flirtation?

  Impossible to tell.

  She could only hope and pray it was genuine attraction…

  They were on the point of rejoining the Grand Canal by the time she had managed to push aside the confusion of thoughts and start to enjoy the sights and sounds of Venice once more.

  ‘That’s better,’ Stephen commented, making it clear that he’d been keeping an eye on her. ‘You were looking quite fraught. I was beginning to wonder if my kissing you had seriously upset you.’

  She glanced at him. He was looking straight ahead now, his profile clear-cut and handsome, the breeze of their passing ruffling his fair hair and flicking a lock across his forehead.

  ‘No, it wasn’t that,’ she denied.

  ‘Then what was it?’

  With a sigh, she admitted, ‘I realized I’d been behaving like a fool…I mean with regard to staying at the Palazzo.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Wonder of wonders! An honest woman.’

  ‘That’s a very chauvinistic remark,’ she said with some severity.

  ‘But a true one, don’t you think?’

  ‘Why should women be any less honest than men?’

  ‘That’s a good question. But most of the women I’ve known have been anything but honest.’

  ‘Then you must have been associating with the wrong kind of women.’ The retort was out before she could prevent it.

  He grimaced. ‘And my mother warned me against that very thing!’

  She laughed in spite of herself. ‘Wonder of wonders! A man with a sense of humour.’

  As soon as the words were spoken, she wished them unsaid. She had caused
him enough aggravation without deliberately rubbing him up the wrong way.

  But with an appreciative grin, he made the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a hit. ‘Touché.’

  After perhaps another hundred yards, he slowed their speed and pointed. ‘We’re just coming up to the Palazzo del Fortuna.’

  The Palazzo, its ornate Gothic façade fronting on to the Grand Canal, stood at a junction, a narrower canal running at right angles along one side.

  With its intricate lace-like balconies and delicate marble arches supported by pillars, it was one of the most beautiful buildings Sophia had ever set eyes on.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he queried.

  ‘I think it’s absolutely wonderful,’ she said sincerely. ‘How old is it?’

  He looked pleased and, a note of pride in his voice, told her, ‘It was built for Giovanni Fortuna in the early fourteen hundreds by Milanese craftsmen and stonemasons.

  ‘Though there have been quite a few additions and alterations over the years, the façade is pure fifteenth century and one of the finest in Venice.’

  ‘I can quite believe it.’

  ‘The main entrance is especially fine…’

  As they drew level, Sophia could see what he meant.

  Beyond the stone landing stage, a short flight of elegant marble steps led up to an imposing recessed portal flanked by pale marble pillars.

  ‘Unfortunately it’s little used these days,’ Stephen went on, ‘though I have plans to open it up for special occasions.’

  Over the doorway was what appeared to be a family coat of arms. Against a blue background was a golden lion and a white unicorn divided by a curved red shield. Above the shield ran a single word—Fortuna.

  Sophia was seized by an unaccountable conviction that she had seen it before.

  As she stared, a tremor of excitement running through her, his eyes fixed on her face, Stephen asked, ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘No…No…Nothing’s wrong…It’s just that the coat of arms over the doorway looks familiar. I feel as if I’ve seen it before, as if I recognize it.’

  For a moment he stared at her, his eyes narrowed against the low sun, before suggesting, ‘You might well have seen it in a photograph or a painting, or even in a magazine. A few years ago Past and Present did a feature on the Palazzo.’

  ‘That’s probably it.’

  But somehow she couldn’t believe that was the right answer and after a moment she identified what was wrong with it.

  What she felt was not merely recognition. A half buried memory insisted that she had seen the coat of arms from a boat in similar circumstances—that she had been here before.

  But of course she couldn’t have been.

  It had to be déjà vu.

  When she said no more, Stephen revved the boat’s engine and they turned into the side canal.

  Set in the Palazzo’s ornate wall, about four feet above the water, was a series of long arched windows and, on the floor above them, a recessed balcony with thin pillars and intricate stonework.

  ‘Further down there—’ Stephen pointed ‘—where the fondamenta starts, is the south entrance.’

  ‘How many entrances are there?’ she asked as they passed between huge wooden doors into the boathouse. Sunlight didn’t penetrate its depths and the wash from passing traffic made the dark water heave and slop a little, like a cup of black coffee in an unsteady hand.

  ‘Five if you include the garden,’ he answered, ‘but, because we usually travel by water, this is the one most used.’

  He secured the boat to one of the mooring rings and vaulting lightly on to the stone landing stage, offered a hand to help her out.

  As always, his touch sent a quiver running through her and made her heart beat faster.

  From the landing stage several wide but shallow stone steps led up to a pair of black studded doors with a large ornate-metal lock and an old-fashioned iron bell-pull.

  On the right, with a modern Yale-type lock, was a smaller door. It opened at their approach and a short sturdy-looking man wearing dark trousers and an open-necked shirt appeared.

  A nice-looking man with thick white hair and heavy black brows, he put her in mind of the visitor old Mrs Caldwell had described.

  ‘Ciao, Roberto,’ Stephen said easily. ‘This is Signorina Jordan…’

  In answer to Sophia’s smile, Roberto gave her a respectful nod.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll get one of the men to bring her luggage in?’

  As Roberto moved to do his bidding, Stephen ushered Sophia into a large flagged hall with a massive stone fireplace at either end. It was furnished with a long table and benches and heavy old-fashioned sideboards and settles.

  ‘As you may have gathered, this is the servants’ wing,’ he told her. ‘At one time a small army of family retainers lived here, but these days there’s scarcely more than a dozen.’

  Having crossed the hall, they reached an area where on one side a stone staircase climbed to the next storey and, on the other, several arched passageways branched off.

  Sophia was just wondering where they all led when Stephen told her, ‘The archway we’re passing now leads to the south entrance, and through here is the main hall.’

  The hall was frankly magnificent. Made all of pale polished marble, its main portal was guarded by ranks of fluted columns. Crystal chandeliers hung on gold chains from the ornate ceiling and, in the centre, a graceful sweep of staircase curved upwards, while long gilt-framed mirrors lined the walls, reflecting back its splendour.

  Once again Sophia got the eerie feeling that it was familiar to her, that she had seen it before. Had been here before.

  ‘And this is the ballroom.’

  The adjoining ballroom was equally magnificent.

  ‘I hadn’t expected anything quite this grand,’ she remarked in awe.

  ‘You should really see it at night when there’s a ball in progress.’

  ‘You’ve seen it like that?’ she asked as they returned to the hall.

  ‘Yes, a couple of times. Once when I was a child and I crept out of my room to sneak a look, and again on my twenty-first birthday, when Aunt Fran gave a ball in my honour.

  ‘Then the Palazzo was full of light and colour, voices and music and movement. The whole place came to life, and it was easy to appreciate what Venetian society must have been like in its heyday.’

  ‘It sounds magical. I’d love to see it like that.’

  ‘Then you shall. It’s my aunt’s birthday at the beginning of March, so at Carnevale I’m hoping to give a ball in her memory.’

  ‘When exactly is carnival time?’

  ‘On the run up to Lent…’

  Surely he wasn’t expecting her to still be in Venice at Lent?

  ‘It lasts about ten days, and everyone wears a costume of some kind and carries a mask. The celebrations culminate on Shrove Tuesday with a masked ball, a procession of boats going down the candlelit Grand Canal and a massive firework display over San Marco harbour…’

  He broke off as a short, neatly dressed woman with bright black eyes and thick iron-grey hair taken back into a bun came hurrying up and gave them a smile of welcome

  Speaking in Italian, he said, ‘Sophia, my dear, may I introduce my housekeeper, Rosa Ponti? She and her husband Roberto practically run the Palazzo between them, and have done for more than thirty years.

  ‘Rosa, this is Signorina Jordan…’

  Rosa beamed and said, ‘Welcome to Ca’ Fortuna, Signorina Jordan. Your suite is all ready for you. If you would like to follow me?’

  ‘That’s all right, Rosa,’ Stephen broke in crisply. ‘I’ll show the signorina round first.’

  ‘Very well, Signor Stefano. Will you want dinner at the usual time?’

  Addressing Sophia, Stephen queried, ‘Would you prefer to eat out?’

  ‘Well, I…’A little thrown by being deferred to, and uncertain what he would prefer, she hesitated.

  ‘As it’s your first visit I thought you
might be keen to see something of Venice by night.’

  Her face eager, she admitted, ‘Yes, I am…If it won’t upset the household arrangements?’

  Turning to Rosa, Stephen said, ‘Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to let Angelo know that we’ll be eating out this evening?’

  ‘Of course, Signor Stefano.’

  ‘Angelo is Rosa’s son,’ Stephen explained. ‘A strapping lad of nearly six foot, he’s the best chef in Venice.’

  Rosa looked pleased. Then to Sophia, she said, ‘If you would care for any help with your unpacking, please let me know and I’ll send a maid along.’

  ‘Grazie, Rosa.’ Sophia thanked her with a smile.

  Returning the smile, the small upright figure hurried away.

  A hand at Sophia’s waist, Stephen suggested, ‘Before we go, would you like just a brief tour of Ca’ Fortuna to get you orientated?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please…’

  ‘We’ll start with the grand bits, shall we?’

  As he escorted her up the elegant sweep of staircase to a wide marble landing, she voiced the query that had lodged in her mind. ‘How did your housekeeper know I was staying at the Palazzo?’

  The hesitation was barely noticeable before he answered easily, ‘I asked her to get a room ready just in case there were any problems.’

  Before she could ask any further questions, he changed the subject by remarking, ‘This is the original staircase, and one of the finest still in existence.

  ‘Once the Ca’ d’Oro had finer, but in the nineteenth century the world famous ballet dancer Maria Taglioni, who had been given the palace by the Russian Prince Alexander Troubetskoy, had them ripped out along with the street portal and much of the beautiful marblework.

  ‘Luckily the Fortuna family who lived here over the centuries valued what they had, so very little was altered.

  ‘These are the main staterooms…’ As they proceeded down a wide corridor, he opened several doors to show a series of handsome rooms with lofty ceilings and elaborate furniture.

  ‘To the left is the long gallery, where the family portraits are hung, but I think it would be best to leave that until tomorrow.’

  He escorted her through an impressive archway to a kind of inner lobby, with several doors leading off.