returning it with every skill at her command, but giving nothing else. Her heart was still safely hoarded in her own control.
She remembered the scene in the kitchen that morning. He'd been tender and affectionate, seeking to evoke the same in her. She'd disappointed him because she was unable to do anything else.
Blurting out that she'd been in prison had been an impulse, instantly regretted. After that she hadn't been able to get away from him fast enough, and he'd sensed it, and let her go, saying little.
She returned to the pictures, trying to concentrate on them and forget Vincenzo.
After the wedding snap came a selection of photographs taken over the next four years, during which the man put on a little weight, but continued to be good-looking and pleased with himself.
'Whatever did I see in you?' she asked the grinning head. 'Well, I paid a heavy price for it.'
He filled the first half of the book. In the second half there was a different set of pictures.
They showed a baby, stalling with the day it was born. Then the child became gradually larger and prettier, with curly blonde hair and shining eyes. And always she was laughing.
Julia slammed the album shut, closing her eyes and fighting back the tears. For a moment she sat there, rigid, aching, while heartbreak tore her apart.
At last the storm passed, and she forced herself to return to reality and behave normally.
'Not much longer,' she promised herself. 'Not much longer.'
The weak moment was behind her.
Her second visit to the house was equally fruitless. It was dark before she returned a third time.
As she turned into the canal-side street she could see the lights in the windows. The door was opened by a pretty young girl.
'Signora Montressi?' Julia asked.
'Oh, no, she and her husband have gone until after Christmas. They're taking a Caribbean cruise. They left three days ago. I'm afraid that's all I know. I only come in to feed the cat. They'll be back in January.'
She almost ran away, needing to be alone to absorb the shock. To have got so close and then have the prize snatched out of reach.
She walked about aimlessly for a long time before catching the boat back across the lagoon. It was late but there were still plenty of travellers, and she stood looking over the rail at the black water. It would be a relief to get home.
Home. How strange that she should think of the palazzo as home. Yet there would be a warm welcome for her there, and what else was home but that?
'Scusi-scusi-'
She moved as someone squeezed past her. At the same moment the boat ploughed into an extra high wave, causing it to lurch. As she grabbed the rail the strap of her bag began to slide down her arm. She twisted, trying to save it, and lost her grip.
As she watched the bag went sailing down into the water, carrying with it her precious album of pictures.
Vincenzo would have liked to get out of the dinner party at the Danieli Hotel, but he had promised and must keep his word. So he did his duty, sat next to an heiress who'd plainly heard of his circumstances, smiled, behaved with charm, concealed his boredom, and forgot her the moment the party was over.
From the hotel it was a short walk home, past San Zaccaria, and across St Mark's. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he'd actually walked past the landing stage before he realised what he'd seen. He turned sharply back.
'Piero,' he said. 'What are you doing here?'
'Waiting for her boat,' the old man said.
Vincenzo's heart sank. It was usually in the afternoons that Piero came here on his fruitless mission. If he'd started coming so late at night, he must be getting worse.
'I don't think there are any more boats tonight,' he said, laying his hand on Piero's shoulder.
'There's one more,' Piero said calmly. 'She'll be on that.'
'Piero, please-' It tore him apart to see the frail old man standing in the cold wind, clinging onto futile hope.
'There it is,' Piero said suddenly.
In the distance they could see lights moving towards them. Sick at heart, Vincenzo watched as it made its slow journey.
'She went to Murano,' Piero said. 'I put her on the boat here this morning.'
'Her? You mean Julia?'
'Of course. Who did you think I meant?'
'Well-I was a bit confused. I probably had too much to drink. What's this about Murano?'
'She went there looking for someone called Bruce Haydon.'
After a moment they both saw her standing by the rail. As the boat drew nearer she seemed to notice them suddenly. A smile broke over her face and she waved.
The two men waved back, and Vincenzo saw that Piero's face wore a look of total happiness. He wondered who the old man was seeing on the approaching boat.
At last it reached the landing stage and passengers came streaming off. Piero went forward, his arms outstretched, and Julia hugged him eagerly.
'You're back,' he said. 'You came home.'
'Home,' she said. 'Yes, that's what I was thinking.'
'Thank goodness you got back safely,' Vincenzo said. 'We were a bit concerned.'
She seemed to see him for the first time.
'There was no need,' she replied. 'I wasn't lost.'
'We didn't know that. Well, it doesn't matter. You're safe now.'
The three of them began to walk back across St Mark's Piazza and into the labyrinth of canals and little alleys that led home. Vincenzo kept firm hold of her arm, until she firmly disengaged herself.
She was angry with him again for knowing her secret-that she'd been in prison-even though she herself had disclosed it. And she was angry with herself for doing so.
'I'm all right,' she said. 'I don't need help.'
'Yes, you do. Even prickly, awkward you. And don't walk away from me when I'm trying to talk to you.'
'Don't talk to me when I'm trying to walk away.'
'If you aren't the most-'
'It's no use trying to reason with her,' Piero said. 'I've tried, but it's pointless.' He added in a deliberately provocative tone, 'After all, she's a woman.'
Julia turned and walked backwards, her eyes fixed on him.
'I'd stamp on your feet if I had the energy,' she teased,
Piero's answer to this was a little dance. 'You couldn't do it,' he asserted. 'I used to dance leading roles with the Royal Ballet in London.'
She began to imitate him, and they hopped back and forth while passers-by gave them a wide berth, and Vincenzo watched them, grinning.
Later, as the three of them sat by the stove Vincenzo said, 'Did things go well?'
'No,' she said robustly, 'things went just about as badly as they could. The people I went to see are on a cruise. I missed them by three days, and they won't be back until January. I had an album of pictures of the man I'm seeking, and on the way home it fell overboard. So now I don't even have that.'
Vincenzo frowned. 'For someone who's just lost everything you're astonishingly cheerful.'
'I'm not cheerful, just mad. Mad-angry, not mad-crazy I've been acting like a wimp, but now I'm done with weakness. When the pictures went overboard I was devastated for a whole minute, but then something inside me said, 'That's it! Time to fight back.''
'The man you're looking for,' Vincenzo said carefully, 'is he anything to do with-what you told me last night?
'Anything to do with my being in prison? Yes, he put me there. He cheated and lied and managed to get me locked up for his crime.' She surveyed them both. 'He's my husband.'
Piero turned his head slowly. Vincenzo stirred.
