the sleeves. Surely, she’d thought, he must be the most handsome young man on earth.
‘The city fathers were very determined to stamp out immorality,’ Gino had informed her solemnly. ‘It didn’t work, of course. Most of the fun of life comes from immorality-’ he slipped on a black satin mask, leaning down to touch his mouth against hers, whispering ‘-and if there’s one thing Venetians know about, it’s enjoying life.’
That had been this time last year, when they had spent a few days of Carnival together before she had had to leave. He’d seen her off at the station, the same station where he’d left her standing recently, and they had parted with vows of eternal love.
Where was he now? Did it matter?
There was a knock at the door, and Minna’s voice called, ‘Pietro says are you ready?’
‘I’m just coming.’
Slowly she got to her feet, checking her appearance in the mirror.
‘You look wonderful,’ Minna said. Dropping her voice, she added, ‘He will lose his heart to you.’
‘No, Minna, it’s not like that,’ Ruth said hastily. ‘I’m just helping him out as part of my job.’
‘Of course you are.’
She helped Ruth ease the magnificent skirt out of the door. From down below came the sound of the orchestra tuning up as Ruth made her way slowly down the corridor.
Then she froze.
Gino was walking towards her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SUDDENLY Ruth’s heart was thundering, although with what feeling she couldn’t be sure. It should have been delight, but it felt more like dread.
Gino had returned. He was here, advancing on her.
He looked just as he had last year, the black brocade costume, the mask that concealed most of his face, and she froze as he grew nearer. Then he spoke.
‘Ruth, what’s the matter?’
It was Pietro’s voice. She let out a long gasp and steadied herself against the wall.
‘You!’ she exclaimed.
‘Of course it’s me.’ He looked closely at her face. ‘Who did you think it was?’
‘Gino. I saw him in that costume last year. For a moment I thought-’
‘So that’s it. I guess he borrowed it because of this.’ Pietro indicated the Bagnelli crest on the sleeves. ‘Part of his impersonation. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘No, I’m just being silly. It’s only that I was thinking of him just before-something he told me, about masks, and people not being allowed to wear them except at Carnival.’
‘Because you can get away with so much behind a mask,’ Pietro supplied. ‘That about sums up the Venetian attitude-get away with what you can, and worry about the consequences when you’re caught, which you probably won’t be as long as you keep your mask on.’
His light tone had its effect, and she relaxed.
‘So while I’m masked I can have the time of my life,’ she riposted.
‘That’s the spirit.’
She twirled around so that her magnificent skirts flared out.
‘Will I do?’
‘You’ll be the belle of the ball.’
‘Don’t let Serafina hear you say that.’
He laughed, but inwardly he was cursing Gino. He wished he hadn’t witnessed her face when she first caught sight of himself down the corridor, but he had, plus a lot of things that had dismayed him. He’d seen her shock, the way she’d stood still, holding on to the wall, shattered by the sight of the man who still dominated her thoughts and feelings.
She’d recovered, laughing, putting a brave face on it as she always did. But from now on everytime she looked at him she would see Gino as well, or perhaps only Gino.
Tonight was going to be a test of endurance.
But there was no time to brood over this. Down below the guests were beginning to arrive, ushered in by Franco’s stewards who carried away their gorgeous cloaks. From the far end of the corridor Serafina appeared on Franco’s arm, simpering at the sight of Pietro, then leaving Franco behind to hurry forward and give a deep curtsey that displayed her advantages to the full.
‘Are you going to take me in to the ball?’ she wittered.
Franco, realising that he was going to be deserted, bowed low to Ruth and offered her his arm.
‘Dear lady, I don’t know who you are, but I know you are beautiful,’ he declaimed.
Realising that he hadn’t recognised her, Ruth curtseyed and took his arm. Pietro, forestalled in his attempt to escape Serafina, yielded to the inevitable and offered her his own arm.
In this way the four of them proceeded down the grand staircase into the glittering ballroom, now filled with guests in various styles of costume. There were a few clowns, but most of them had spent a fortune on eighteenth-century garb, glittering with jewels. The men were in knee breeches, the women in crinolines, and many wore powdered wigs.
Ruth was glad that Pietro had decided not to wear a wig, hiding his dark hair. It would have spoilt him somehow, whereas now, among all these pretty creatures, his masculinity was emphasised.
There were some flashes of light as they left the last step, and Ruth realised that Serafina had invited photographers. No wonder she wanted to be seen in Pietro’s company.
The music swelled, Pietro bowed and led her into the waltz. Franco and Ruth followed, then all the others.
She discovered that she’d been right about enjoying a new identity. After Franco came more men, flirting, admiring, and she danced with them all, in the spirit of Carnival.
Some of the dancing was eighteenth-century style, which alarmed her until she realised how simple it was. The man and woman stood side by side, arms outstretched, hand in hand, advancing, retreating, circling each other in stately fashion. When her partners realised that she was new to this they guided her, and she soon relaxed. After that she danced every dance.
‘When will it be my turn?’ Pietro demanded when their paths happened to cross.
‘When
‘You’re supposed to be chaperoning me, saving me from Serafina and her sisters under the skin.’
‘Don’t be such a spoilsport. Surely Cinderella is allowed to enjoy the ball too?’
‘As long as it’s understood that when you leave, I leave.’
‘But I’m enjoying myself far too much to leave.’
She glided away, taking a hand that was held out to her, with only the vaguest idea whose it was.
‘Be careful-’ Pietro started to say, but found himself talking to empty air.
Supper was lavishly served on long tables with fine china and crystal glasses. At the head of the table Pietro played the perfect host, seeming to give the guests all his attention while managing to search for Ruth at the same time. She didn’t eat at the table but drifted around among other guests who were wandering through the palazzo, and Pietro’s glimpses of her were infrequent.
But then he caught a glimpse of something that drove everything else out of his head.
He could have sworn he saw Toni’s face peering through a doorway. Someone immediately passed in front and when they had gone there was no sign of Toni, but a moment later he saw the dog again.
Evidently he’d slipped out while Minna wasn’t looking. Pietro decided he should be rounded up and sent back without delay, and he rose from the table, excusing himself to his guests.
But when he went out into the corridor there was no sign of Toni. Nor was anyone else around.
Then, from somewhere he heard the whispered words, ‘Come with me, my darling. I’m waiting for you.’
Entranced, he followed the voice, so full of beauty and mystery that he felt it could lead him anywhere. It came again.
