The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

‘Yes, he will. In his world you’re “the one”. I’m just passing through. When I’m gone, you’ll still be his rock.’

‘When you’re gone,’ he murmured.

They were quiet for a while.

‘Listen to that noise,’ she said, turning her head to the window. ‘It must be raining in torrents.’

‘Well, you know plenty about storms in Venice.’

She smiled suddenly and said in a teasing voice, ‘I wonder if there’s anyone standing out there, looking like a drowned rat.’

‘Want me to take a look?’

‘No, if she’s there, best leave her. She’ll only be trouble, and you know about that.’

‘The last one wasn’t so bad,’ Pietro said lightly.

‘Really? I heard she was grumpy and awkward.’

‘Definitely. Sharp-tongued, difficult and just plain contrary.’

‘The sort you could well do without?’ she urged.

‘I thought so at first, but she grew on me. Plus my dog likes her, and that goes a long way with me.’

They laughed together. Toni stirred, grunting, and she soothed him. After a while she leaned back and closed her eyes, still holding him protectively. She dozed on and off for the rest of the night, and whenever she opened her eyes Pietro was there, watching her with an expression she didn’t understand.

At dawn they were awoken by a nightmarish sound that lasted for ten seconds, stopped for ten, then blared again for ten.

‘That’s the sirens,’ Pietro said. ‘High tide’s on its way, and it’s going to be a big one.’

Within seconds Minna and Celia were with them, running down the back stairs to start putting sandbags against the doors, to the accompaniment of the hideous squalling.

‘I know,’ Pietro said as Ruth put her hands over her ears. ‘But it’ll wake everyone in Venice, and that’s the idea.’

Before they left home he told Minna what had happened to Toni, and she promised to watch him carefully.

‘He won’t have another fit because he never has them two days in succession,’ he told Ruth as they walked away. ‘But he’ll be happier if they look in and talk to him.’

Aqua alta was clearly coming in, although it had only just begun to inch over the stone banks of the Grand Canal. When they reached St Mark’s the water had risen to eight inches and the boards were in place so that they could walk over it.

Ruth was struck by the calm cheerfulness of the Venetians. To them this was a normal, if unwelcome, part of life. The shops around the piazza were built several steps up from the ground and, for the moment, the water had not reached them.

‘But it soon will,’ Pietro predicted.

‘Do we put sandbags against the shop door?’ she asked.

‘Certainly not. If we blocked the door how would our customers get in?’

‘Of course,’ she mused. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

Mario was already at work, bringing out boards that he set up just above the water so that customers could come in and shop as normal. Now Ruth began to understand that the place had been designed with this in mind. Display cabinets were on high stilts, electric plugs were set halfway up the walls. For Venetians this was just how things were.

Trade was down that day, but not as much as she would have expected. When she expressed surprise her two companions laughed at her.

‘That’s the English for you, Mario,’ Pietro said. ‘One little drop of rain and they collapse.’

‘One little-?’ Ruth began to say, aghast. But then she joined in their laughter.

To her relief Pietro closed early and they splashed their way home. As Mario had warned her, it was hard to keep balance on the boards.

‘The trouble is, everyone’s going home at the same time,’ Pietro said. ‘Hold on to me.’

But he was too late. Somebody cannoned into her from behind, and the next moment she was in the water, lying flat on her back. Pietro was immediately beside her, hauling her to her feet, leaving them both soaked to the skin.

‘The sooner we’re home, the better,’ he said, putting an arm firmly around her waist.

‘I don’t think we can get back on that board,’ she said. ‘It’s too crowded.’

‘Then we’ll wade home. It’s not far. Come on. Hold on to me.’

Clinging to each other, they splashed through the foot-high water until they reached the Riva del Ferro, which ran alongside the Grand Canal, and finally the side door of the palazzo.

‘How are we going to get inside?’ she cried. ‘As soon as we open the door the water will pour in.’

‘We’re not going to open the door,’ he said. ‘I told you, we’re prepared.’

Taking a key from his pocket, he reached up and opened a window on the ground floor, about four feet from the ground.

‘You first,’ he said, lifting her in his arms so that she could climb in, but she fell clumsily, landing on one knee and crying, ‘Ouch!’

He followed at once, locking the window behind him, and shivering.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I just banged my knee. You go on up ahead.’ She limped to the bottom of the stairs.

‘There’s no time for that,’ he said, lifting her bodily. ‘Just let’s get in the warm.’

Holding her high against his chest, he made the stairs in double quick time.

‘How come I keep getting soaked?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve barely been here three weeks and this is the second time.’

‘Maybe Fate’s trying to tell you something,’ he suggested.

‘Like “grow fins”?’

‘You can have the first shower,’ he said, setting her down in the apartment and fending off the dog, who tried to trip them up in his eagerness.

‘Thanks. Hallo, Toni, have you been all right? Oh, yes, you look better.’

‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes, it was just a little knock. I’ll be fine when I’m warm.’

It was bliss to get under the hot water. She would have lingered except that she didn’t want him to freeze waiting for her. In a few minutes she was out, wrapped in a bath robe.

‘It’s all yours,’ she told him.

But instead of dashing straight in he frowned, looking at her knee, where a mark showed clearly.

‘You’re going to have a nasty bruise there,’ he said. ‘Let me look.’

Sitting her down on the sofa, he dropped down before her, and examined the injury, which was turning an ugly red.

‘I should have climbed in the window first and helped you in,’ he groaned.

‘Will you stop blaming yourself? It was an accident. Nobody’s fault. Go into the bathroom and get dry.’

‘No, let me-’

‘Pietro, please go,’ she said in a suddenly strained voice. ‘I don’t want your pneumonia on my conscience.’

‘But that should be looked at-’

‘Go,’ she said fiercely. ‘I have to get dry.’

He rose quickly, almost snatching his hands from her skin. When he’d gone Ruth crossed her arms over her chest, trying to blank out the awareness of him that had gone through her like lightning, taking her totally by surprise. It had been the briefest possible moment, but it had been enough to show her the intimacy of their life in a new light.

Friends. Brother and sister. She’d asked for no more. But his touch had reminded her that she was naked beneath the towel robe. There had been a flash of excitement, an insidious sweetness that threatened her before she could control it.

But she was in control now, she assured herself. And life had enough complications without adding