puzzled at having to step up from the street.
‘I had all the marble and mosaic taken up,’ he explained, ‘then three layers of brick laid down, and the floor relaid on top of them. It protects us against many of the floods, which usually aren’t more than a couple of inches. But nothing could have protected us against this.’
He pointed to a line on the wall, about six feet up.
‘That’s how high the water came in nineteen sixty-six,’ he said. ‘My father always refused to clean that mark off. He said it must be a warning to us never to be complacent about what the sea could do.’
‘You mean it could be that bad again?’
‘I doubt it. Such a flood will happen only once in a hundred years. But my father was right about not being always on our guard.’
‘The water came up that high?’ she murmured, running her finger along the line.
‘All through the house. Come and see.’
He began to lead her the length of the building. Although these walls had been cleaned they all bore the faint line with its warning for those who could understand.
‘Did Gino show you this?’ Pietro asked.
‘We walked through it quickly, but it was the rooms upstairs he wanted to show me.’
‘Ah, yes. It’s a lot finer up there,’ he said lightly.
Instead of the back stairs that they usually used he led her to the main staircase, a marble edifice wide enough for four people abreast, and from there into the great ballroom, where he switched on the lights.
This was truly the centre of a palace. The ceiling soared, here and there were exquisite carvings, and although most pictures had been put into storage there were still one or two portraits on the walls.
‘My ancestors,’ Pietro said. ‘That one over there is Giovanni Soranzo.’
‘I don’t like the look of him much,’ she said, regarding the man with the scowling face and magnificent robes, who looked down on them in haughty disapproval.
‘Not a nice character,’ he agreed. ‘He locked his daughter up so securely that she didn’t get out until seven years after his death.’
‘Charming.’
She continued her wandering. One wall was lined with tall windows, each with a little balcony, looking out over the Grand Canal.
Then something in her mind clicked, but silently, and she was back in another time.
And she had believed him.
‘Are you all right?’ Pietro asked, watching her face.
‘Yes, just remembering. Gino talked about having our reception here.’
‘You would have done. It was going to be my wedding gift.’
‘He told me.’
She went to one of the tall windows, which Pietro unlocked so that she could stand outside on the balcony.
‘The bride and groom would have come to stand here together,’ Pietro told her, ‘and everyone in the gondolas going past would have hailed them. Did he tell you that?’
‘Probably. He said so many things. I suppose he believed them when he said them. But I don’t think that wedding was ever going to happen. More and more the whole thing feels like a book I read about someone else.’
‘How much do you mind?’
‘I’ll tell you that when I know how it ends-if it ever ends.’
‘Do you often think that way?’ he asked.
‘I think it more and more. Have you heard anything from Gino?’
‘No. I can’t contact him.’
‘Which means he doesn’t want to talk to you. Or rather, he doesn’t want to talk to me. Ah well.’
She stood looking up at the full moon, covering the scene with silver.
‘I wonder if it’s going to rain,’ she said.
‘Yes, it is,’ he said as a drop fell on him. ‘I think the storm is approaching with a vengeance. Let’s get inside.’
He locked the window and they left the ballroom, climbing the stairs to his apartment. Toni was there, lying on the floor, and he came towards them as he always did. But he didn’t stay long tonight, seeming anxious to get back to his shabby sofa and curl up again.
Ruth wasn’t sure what made her kneel down beside him, suddenly disturbed.
‘What is it, old boy?’ she whispered. ‘Are you all right?’
But he wasn’t, and the next minute Toni made a convulsive movement, gave a huge gasp, as if choking, and began to shake violently.
‘Poor old boy,’ Ruth said at once. ‘You’re having a seizure, aren’t you? Here, come on.’
She reached out and tried to put her arms about the big body that was thrashing madly in a way that might have been alarming if she hadn’t seen this before. She murmured soothingly, knowing the poor creature could hear very little, but trying to get through to him with a wordless message of comfort.
‘It won’t last long,’ Pietro said. ‘Just a few minutes. Shall I take him? When he starts thrashing around he gets a bit violent.’
‘No, leave him with me,’ Ruth said. ‘I don’t mind what he does.’
Even as she spoke Toni’s teeth sank into her wrist. She winced and pulled herself free.
‘He didn’t mean that,’ Pietro said quickly. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing.’
‘Of course he doesn’t,’ she said, taking the dog in her arms again. ‘It’s not his fault. Is there anything special that you normally do for him when he has fits?’
‘No, just hold him and wait for it to pass.’
‘Then he just needs to know that he’s loved and protected, and he’ll come through it.’ She turned back to Toni. ‘Come on, my love. Hold on to me, and we’ll see it through together. There, then-it’s all right-it’s going to be all right, my darling.’
At first he didn’t seem to hear, but gradually the thrashing quietened, and Toni lay in her arms, still shaking, but calmer as Ruth stroked his head and kissed his shaggy fur.
‘There, my love,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here-I’m here. There’s nothing to worry about.’
She continued to soothe him, unaware that Pietro was watching her with a startled look in his eyes. A man who’d stumbled on buried treasure and feared to believe what he’d discovered might have looked like that. But Ruth didn’t see it.
‘Has he hurt you?’ Pietro asked at last, sounding oddly husky.
‘No, he didn’t break the skin,’ she said, looking at her wrist. ‘He didn’t mean it, did you, darling?’
‘He’s an Italian dog,’ Pietro reminded her. ‘If you talk in English he doesn’t understand.’
‘Of course he understands. It’s not the words, it’s the tone of voice. He knows I’m on his side, and I love him.’ She kissed Toni’s head again, murmuring, ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’
‘Then I guess if he knows that-he knows everything,’ Pietro said slowly.
He rose and backed away, his eyes fixed on the two on the sofa, enfolded together, content to be so. Toni’s eyes were closed and his breathing became more regular as he relaxed, trusting Ruth completely. Pietro waited for her to look up, but all her attention was for the vulnerable creature in her arms.
It was a novel experience for Pietro to be ignored, and he gave a wry smile at himself as he made the supper. Ruth left the sleeping Toni, while she went to the table for the shortest possible time, and ate without taking her eyes from the dog. Afterwards she returned to the sofa and sat beside the dog, stroking his head.
‘Don’t you want to go to bed?’ Pietro asked.
‘No, I’m staying with him. He needs to feel safe. And we’re special friends.’
‘He certainly seems to think so. He isn’t usually so peaceful after a seizure. I’m afraid, after this, he’s not going to be satisfied with just me.’
