He grinned. 'I can just hear her saying it.'
'Will you be in for supper tonight?'
'I'm afraid not. The tourists are already beginning to arrive for Carnival, and the restaurant is busy. We'll have to move fast if this place is going to be ready for the big evening.'
An army of cleaners moved in the following day. Julia took Rosa along to see them at work, and to keep a jealous eye on the frescoes.
'I'm going to set up work just here, behind the staircase,' she told her. 'I might even give a demonstration at the party.'
'Aren't you going to wear a beautiful dress?'
'If I'm going to paint, I'm probably better in jeans. But you can wear a beautiful dress. What about the one you told me about, the one your mother bought for you?'
'But aren't-you my mother?'
'Yes, darling, but she was too.'
Suddenly Julia remembered that Rosa had never wept for Bianca's death, and, perhaps, now she might feel that she never could. She hurried to say, 'You don't have to choose between us. It's all right to love us both.'
Rosa's eyes were wide with relief. 'Is it really?'
'Of course. You've got two mothers. She's Mamma and I'm Mummy. It's all very simple.'
She hugged the little girl and Rosa seemed happier, but Julia still had the feeling that something was being held back. Patience, she told herself.
The next moment Rosa startled her.
'When are you and Uncle Vincenzo going to get married?'
'I-what makes you think that we'll get married?'
'But you must. It would make everything perfect. He can't keep living in a hotel.'
How like a child, Julia thought, to see the matter in a sensible light. It was true that there were many realistic reasons for their marriage. And just as many reasons why it could never happen.
'It takes a little more than that,' she said carefully. 'People have to love each other as well.'
'But of course he loves you. Do you want me to ask him?'
'No!' Julia exploded before she could stop herself.
'All right,' Rosa said plaintively. 'I only thought-'
'Darling, do me a favour,' Julia begged. 'Stop thinking. Put it right out of your head.'
She thought she'd gained her point, but a moment later Rosa said, 'Is it Gina?'
'Who?'
'Gina, that he was going to marry. Everyone says he was dotty about her, but that was ages ago.'
'And everyone still talks about how she swept down that staircase and he looked at her adoringly,' Julia couldn't help saying. 'Even now, so long after.'
Rosa looked at her wisely.
'Perhaps you should make them talk about you,' she said.
For years afterwards, Julia wondered if she'd known, even then, what her daughter was planning. She denied it to herself, but sometimes even her own secrets were hidden from her.
Carnival started on February tenth, the first day of a two-and-a-half-week-long feast of gaiety and indulgence.
'Aaaa-aaah!' Julia greeted the day with a luxurious sigh up to the deep blue sky. 'This is gorgeous. I can't believe it's still so early in the year. Look at this weather.'
'The sun always comes out for Carnival,' Vincenzo told her, 'even if it goes in again afterwards.'
The festivities were everywhere. Outrageous costumes, topped by mysterious masks, could be seen whirling through the
Harlequin and Columbine, Pantalone, Pulcinello, Pierrot, Pierrette: they all danced through the music-haunted streets, celebrating the wild liberty that came with anonymity.
Rosa seemed to have forgotten her resolve to play no part in the jollity, except that Julia sensed it was not so much forgotten as put aside for the moment. She now seemed determined to make Julia take her responsibilities as hostess seriously.
The party was to be in eighteenth century dress, and brilliant costumes began to appear in Julia's room, to be pored over, then returned to the hire shop. Rosa was ruthless about discarding any that did not appeal to her.
'But I rather like that gold one,' Julia said.
'The white one is better,' Rosa said firmly.
It was truly a glorious dress, satin and brocade, with a tiny waist. In a few minutes Julia was surveying herself in the mirror, adding yet one more persona to the long list she'd acquired recently.
She wasn't quite certain who this mysterious creature might be, with her sequinned gown and mask. But she felt it might be fun to be her for a while.
When the cleaners had finished work at the palazzo they were able to move into a few rooms temporarily, and oversee the arrangements. Over five hundred people would be there. Some were press, others had bought costly tickets. Venice was alive with rumours and nobody wanted to miss this event.
Even baby Carlo was brought to sleep there for a couple of nights, for no Venetian was ever too young for Carnival.
Acting on Rosa's instructions, Julia had not mentioned her costume to Vincenzo, who, as far as she knew, had made no plans to dress up.
'Shame on you,' she teased. 'You're the host of this party and you should be wearing satin knee breeches and lace.'
But she'd misjudged him. He was a Venetian, and satin and lace held no terrors for him. On the night he appeared before her in all his glory. Eighteenth-century garb suited him. The brocade of the black and gold coat and the lace at the neck had the strange effect of underlining his masculinity.
'Dressed like this,' he said, 'a rake could go out on the town and-' He broke off with a wistful, reminiscent sigh.
'Fine,' she told him. 'We'll go out on the town-but together.'
He might have answered, but Gemma looked in to say, 'Rosa has a surprise for you.' She vanished, leaving the door open.
After a moment Rosa appeared. She was wearing a pink satin carnival dress. It was grand and glorious, sweeping the floor, with sleeves like wings. On her head she wore a bonnet of pink satin and lace, and in her hand she held a pink, full-face mask on a stick.
Slowly she advanced towards them, the mask held up over her face, and sank down in an elegant curtsey. They all smiled and applauded, and she rose.
But she did not remove the mask, just stood there, her shoulders seeming to sag. It was Julia who reached out to draw the mask away, revealing that behind it the child was in tears.
She didn't try to hide them now, just stood there with them sliding down her cheeks.
'This is the dress you told me about?' she said.
Rosa nodded.
'Mamma bought it for me, for Carnival,' she said huskily. 'But I wouldn't wear it because I was angry with her for going away. Now-' a sob shook her '-now I want to tell her that I'm sorry, and it's too late.'
At last she could hold back no longer, and when Julia opened her arms she went into them, weeping.
Julia held her close, torn between pain for her child and happiness that Rosa had opened her heart to her.
'It's not too late,' she said. 'There's still a couple of days of Carnival to go. Tomorrow we'll go to San Michele together.'
'Can we really?' Rosa was transformed.
'Tonight everyone can see how lovely you look. And tomorrow you can tell her all about it.'
'Can I wear my dress to San Michele, for Mamma?'
'Of course you can.' She dried the child's tears.
When Rosa had gone Julia glanced at Vincenzo who had remained silent and very still, watching them. She wished she could read the expression in his eyes, but his jewelled mask concealed them.
'Aren't you going to get dressed?' he asked. 'I don't even know what you're wearing yet.'
