her eyes down the length of the building, until they fixed on a portion that jutted out slightly with windows on three sides.
She blinked, wondering if she had only imagined the man standing there. But no, it was Pietro.
Why did he go to that part of the house? What had happened to draw him to that room at night, and what made him stand there, so deadly still?
She thought of the night when he had rescued her, and her heart went out to him, looking so much in need of rescue himself. Putting on a loose robe, she slipped out into the corridor and turned in the direction that she guessed he was.
There were no lights here, just the reflection of the canal coming through the windows at the end of the corridor. Dimly she could make out the great marble staircase leading down, and she began to descend, her bare feet making no noise.
When she was nearly at the bottom she saw that a large double door was open, and turned towards the room beyond, which she could just make out was a nursery, with an elaborate cradle in the corner. This was where his child would have slept, if it had lived.
Pietro was there, standing by the window, so still that he might have turned to stone. This was the second time today that she had watched him unaware, she realised. But how different from this morning when she’d seen him at his handsome, athletic best. Now he looked like the loneliest man on earth, and she longed to go in and speak to him, but lacked the courage. When he turned she stepped back, keeping out of sight.
He walked out, moving heavily, and she retreated farther into the darkness, knowing that she must not invade his solitude, and there was nothing that she, or anyone else, could say to him. He passed on without noticing her.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT HAD been agreed between them that Ruth would not go to the shop next day, but remain at home studying papers. Pietro left early and she ate breakfast alone, still brooding over what she had seen the night before.
He was the strong one, needing and wanting nothing from her, except perhaps that her company was less demanding than anyone else’s. He’d encouraged her to lean on him, because that was the kind of man he was.
But always he kept her at a slight distance, ready to be offended if she offered him warmth or help. He preferred to give comfort rather than receive it. He felt safer that way. In many ways it was an attractive trait, making him a generous friend, but it was also a subtle way of protecting his isolation.
It was that instinctive understanding that had made her keep back in the shadows the night before, leaving him to the solitude he preferred and from which she was excluded. It was a rejection and, mysteriously, it hurt.
Remembering what Mario and Jessica had told her, she became curious about the great building that surrounded her. Last year Gino had shown her around, but it had been a hurried visit to the most grandiose parts, always avoiding the servants.
‘We don’t want prying eyes,’ he’d whispered.
Of course not, she thought now. He didn’t want them revealing his deception.
There was still much to be seen, and when she was sure that Minna and Celia were out she went exploring.
What she discovered was awesome. This was a palace in fact as well as in name, a glorious edifice in the grand manner, with vast rooms and flowing staircases, the high vaulted ceilings carved with an intricacy that was surely impossible.
Yet there was another story being told as well. Often she could see where pictures had been hung on the wall and then removed, leaving pale spaces. Presumably they were in storage.
Down one long upstairs corridor she found salon after salon, which must once have been the waiting rooms of those waiting to see the great man. All, now, were bleak and anonymous.
She meant not to intrude on the lord’s bedroom, even though Pietro wasn’t occupying it now. But she came upon it by accident, opening a small door in the last salon, which looked as though it led only to a cupboard. Then she stood on the threshold, dumbfounded.
Certainly here was no hint of privacy, only a gigantic bed, hung with curtains that swept up to a coronet. It wasn’t a bed for lovers, but an arena where the count and countess would perform their duty to ensure the succession. Duty done, they could then turn away and sleep six feet apart.
There were no bedclothes, only the bare mattress, looking hard and uncomfortable. Every surface in the room was clear. Nowhere could she see photographs or anything personal. Ruth understood that no man would choose to live here if he could escape, but the absence of all human trace suggested something more disturbing.
Pietro wasn’t just grieving for his dead wife. He was so devastated that he’d withdrawn from the luxury he’d taken for granted all his life, to exist like a monk in a cell. He could barely be said to be living in the palazzo at all, since she was sure their little apartment actually formed part of the servants’ quarters. Her brief glimpses of the little room where he slept had revealed that it was severely functional and far less comfortable than her own.
Wandering slowly around, she passed a long mirror and caught a glimpse of herself. Shocked, she stared at herself, forgetting everything else.
‘Son of a pig!’ she muttered, using one of Pietro’s favourite curses. ‘I look
It was a sight she must have seen before, but it had never made the impact of today. Her dress had been bought before she lost weight, and hung on her awkwardly, doing nothing to make her attractive. Her hair was nondescript, worn short because that was easiest. For a year she hadn’t bothered with make-up.
Moving slowly, she went to stand before the mirror, facing the dismal truth head on.
‘Hmm!’ she thought. ‘So much for new woman.’
Then energy returned and she was out of the door, running the length of the building until she reached her room, where she checked her purse, found her bank card and fled outside. A few minutes at the cash machine showed that the money Jack owed her for the first book was safely deposited. Since he wasn’t known for swift payment she concluded, with a little smile, that she mattered more to him than even he had admitted.
By now she was beginning to be familiar with the narrow streets and was able to find her way easily to a dress shop she’d noticed before. One glance at her slender figure and the assistants fell on her with delight. When she left she bore with her four dresses, two pairs of fashionable jeans, three sweaters, a variety of dainty underwear and the address of ‘the best hairdresser in town’.
‘It’s actually so short that I don’t think there’s much you can do with it,’ she told the hairdresser apologetically.
She was wrong. After two hours her blunt, prosaic hair was transformed into an elegant confection with just enough curve and bounce to give it life.
She could have walked straight back home, but some impulse made her turn her steps in the direction of St Mark’s, and then into the shop.
‘Just one moment, signorina,’ Mario said, scribbling something. At last he looked up. ‘Now, what can I-?’ His voice faded as he looked at her.
At last he managed to stammer, ‘You-you-’ and left it there, his jaw dropping.
Laughing, she reached out and raised it again with her fingers. Neither of them saw Pietro appear from the back of the shop and stand watching, his eyes fixed on Ruth.
‘Is something wrong?’ she teased Mario, charmed by his innocent reaction.
‘No, it’s just-Ruth? You’re Ruth?’
‘You mustn’t ask her that question, Mario,’ came a voice from the shadows. ‘It’s dangerous.’
They both turned and saw Pietro, who came forward slowly.
‘I don’t understand,’ Mario said.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ruth said. ‘We just talk in riddles. I’m delighted you didn’t recognise me.’
‘Of course I know girls like to change their appearance,’ Mario said, trying to sound worldly-wise, ‘but this- you’re transformed.’
