‘I was planning to go to bed,’ Pietro informed the awkward hound.
Toni looked at him.
‘He’s entitled to his walk,’ Ruth insisted. ‘We couldn’t take him out before because of the fireworks.’
‘Come on, then.’
They went towards the Rialto Bridge, and stood there a moment, watching as a convoy of gondolas approached, on their way home. As they neared the bridge the lead gondolier called out, congratulating them on their coming marriage.
‘How does he know?’ Ruth asked.
‘He’s Minna’s nephew. And the one behind him is Minna’s godson and the one behind him-well, you get the picture.’
‘You mean all Venice knows?’
‘Certain to.’
Toni put his paws on the stone balustrade and wuffed, and the gondoliers hailed him too, before gliding on under the bridge, and home.
‘The whole of Venice is planning our wedding,’ he said. ‘And the rest of our lives probably, how we’re going to open up the palazzo and return it to its glory days.’
‘Do we have to?’ she asked quickly. ‘Cinderella isn’t used to living a grand life.’
‘I’m afraid the Contessa Bagnelli will have to put up with a bit of grandeur, some of the time.’
‘I suppose so,’ she sighed. ‘It’s just that I love those little rooms. They’re like a nest. I’d like to stay right there, but I suppose that’s unrealistic of me.’
‘We could still keep it. When you get mad at me, you can take refuge in the nest. Just leave me a note saying that you never want to see me again, and I’ll know where to bring the red roses.’
They laughed in fond understanding.
‘In any case,’ she mused as they left the Rialto and strolled on under a narrow archway and over a tiny bridge, ‘the nest is very tiny. It won’t be big enough for three of us-or four-’
He stopped abruptly.
‘I thought you wanted children.’
‘Not like-I mean, it’s up to you. I’ll never pressure you, or even ask you.’
For a moment his voice was tense as his ghosts walked again and she hastened to ease his mind.
‘You won’t have to ask,’ she promised. ‘It’ll just happen. Stop worrying.’ She put her hands on either side of his head and repeated, ‘Stop worrying. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of everything.’
He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘You don’t know how good that sounds.’
‘From now on you’ll have me to look after you.’
‘Then I have nothing else to worry about-’ his face clouded again ‘-as long as all is well with you. I saw you when you were waiting for Gino, and you were afraid, I could tell. Suppose you did love him, after we-?’
‘No, it wasn’t like that,’ she assured him. ‘I was only afraid of what I might remember, that maybe I’d done something stupid, something that would cast a blight over you and me, or even send my mind back into the shadows. That was the only fear.’
‘And instead, Gino turns out to be a cowardly little swine whom no woman should look at twice,’ Pietro said with a touch of anger.
‘Hush, it doesn’t matter.’
‘How can you say that what he did to you doesn’t matter?’
‘All right, it matters, but only because it sent me to you. If he’d behaved well I might have married him, and then you and I would have met too late.’
He nodded. ‘That’s a terrifying thought, because I couldn’t have met you without loving you, and if it was too late-’
He tightened his arm about her.
‘That would have been truly a life lived in the shadows,’ he said. ‘With nothing but pain and regret.’
‘Do you remember the first night we met?’ she asked. ‘We talked then about shadows, about how they never ended.’
‘I remember.’
‘But they have ended now. Gino has gone from my mind as thoroughly as he’s gone from my heart. Now there’s only you, always.’
Pietro replied, not in words, but with a kiss that was long and gentle.
They walked on for a while, listening to the night. Venice was quiet except for the distant sound of laughter, the fading music that meant the gondoliers were going home, the soft cry of seagulls.
‘Contessa Bagnelli,’ she mused, trying the name for size. ‘I just can’t quite see myself living up to all the pomp. Life in a London suburb doesn’t exactly fit you for it.’
‘But you’ll do it wonderfully, with the help of your friends-all seventy thousand of them.’
She understood at once. The people who lived here all the time, the true Venetians who stood out from all other people in the world by their courage, their readiness to face any trouble, and, above all, their generosity.
Her very first day here they had kept protective eyes on her as she blundered around, then guided Pietro to her rescue. Her friends were there again now, opening windows overhead, looking down at the two of them, smiling with delight, whispering their good wishes, welcoming her into the family.
From all sides the words floated down around them. ‘Is it true? Please say that it’s true-we will be so glad.’
He laughed up at them. ‘Wait and see,’ he teased.
But they had already seen what they cared about. Their friend was laughing again. All was well.
‘You’re one of us already,’ Pietro told her. ‘And we’ll never let you go.’
Overhead, a hundred eyes watched them drifting contentedly on their way, with Toni padding softly behind them, until the friendly darkness swallowed them up.
Lucy Gordon
Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Sir Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness, and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days.
You can visit her website at www. lucy-gordon. com and look out for
