The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

either-I mean your wife. Gino told me about her, and the baby you were expecting. I hope I haven’t disturbed either of them.’

‘No, you haven’t disturbed them,’ Pietro said abruptly. ‘They’re both dead. Goodnight.’

He left quickly.

Back in his own room he tried to sleep, but now it was impossible. The trouble with letting a ghost into his home was that she had brought other ghosts with her. He spent his life trying to avoid those gentle phantoms, and now they were here, making him feel their sadness.

Not that Lisetta had ever reproached him. She’d loved him too well for that. More than life, she’d often said. And proved it. And the baby, dead after only a few hours, now sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms, a reminder of what might have been.

‘Go away,’ he cried desperately. ‘Haven’t I been punished enough?’

It was an hour before he fell into an exhausted sleep, and when he awoke it was broad daylight, and he could hear Minna, his housekeeper, moving about outside. He wondered if the two women had met. But when he went out there was only Minna, large, middle-aged, the epitome of solid reassurance.

‘About that lady,’ he said when they had greeted each other.

‘What lady, signore?’

‘Haven’t you seen her? She stayed the night here because of the storm. Perhaps she’s still in her room.’

But the room was empty. The bed had been stripped and the bedclothes folded neatly. Ruth’s suitcase was gone.

‘There’s a letter for you on the table,’ Minna said.

With a sense of foreboding he snatched it up and found his worst fears realised.

‘I’m really sorry to have bothered you,’ it said. ‘I had no idea about your wife. Please forgive me. Thank you for all you did. Ruth.’

‘Stupid woman!’ he growled, crushing the letter.

‘Signore?’

‘Not you, Minna. Her. What does she think she’s playing at? You didn’t catch a glimpse of her leaving?’

‘No, signore. There was nobody here when I came in. Just the letter on the table. What has this woman done?’

What had she done? he wondered. Only invaded his life, destroyed his peace, turned everything upside down, made him feel responsible for her welfare and then vanished into thin air. Nothing, really.

‘I’m sorry, signore.’

‘What for? It’s not your fault. It’s just that when I find her I’m going to strangle her.’

‘Have some breakfast first.’

‘No time. I don’t know how long she’s been gone.’

He vanished out of the door as he spoke, hurrying down the narrow calle that ran alongside the palazzo. It ended in a small square where there were a few shops, at one of which a man was arranging groceries outside.

‘Enrico, have you seen a young woman come out of here?’ Pietro described her.

‘Yes, about an hour ago. She went down that turning.’

‘Thank you,’ he called over his shoulder.

Luck was with him. It was January and Venice was almost free of tourists, plus, in that tiny city, he knew almost every other resident, so he was able to consult many kindly friends, and managed to build up a picture of Ruth’s movements, even down to half an hour she spent drinking coffee in a small cafe.

In no other city but Venice could he have done this. The word began to spread ahead of him. People telephoned each other to ask if Ruth had passed that way, then they began waiting for him in the squares and alleyways, and one was even able to describe the new coat she’d just bought. It was dark red wool, very stylish, he assured Pietro, and a great improvement on the light coat she’d been wearing, which was damp.

It was a help. Now he was able to look for the coat, and finally he spotted her in the Garibaldi Gardens, at the extreme end of Venice, where the land tailed off into the lagoon.

He almost didn’t see her at first. By now, it was late afternoon, the light was fading fast and she was sitting quite still on a stone bench. Her elbows were resting on her knees and her arms were crossed as if to protect herself, but she didn’t, as he’d feared, have the look of despair he’d seen last night. She merely seemed calm and collected.

After the frazzled day he’d had, the sight had an unfortunate effect on his temper. He planted himself in front of her.

‘I’ve spent all day looking for you,’ were his first cross words.

‘But didn’t you get my letter?’

‘Yes, I got it, for what good you thought it did. The state you were in-Just running off-Of all the daft-’ He exploded into a stream of Venetian curses while she waited for him to be finished.

‘But can’t you see that I had to do it?’ Ruth asked when she could get a word in.

‘No, I can’t,’ he snapped.

‘I just felt so embarrassed about dumping myself on you like that.’

‘You didn’t. I hauled you in. That was my first mistake.’

‘You wish you’d left me there?’

‘I wish I’d chucked you in the Grand Canal. But I didn’t. I invited you into my home, where you collapsed.’

‘But if I’d known about your wife-’

‘Why should you? Leave that.’

There was a silence, then she said awkwardly, ‘And now you’re angry with me.’

Remembering her frail condition, he knew he should utter comforting words, designed to make her feel better. But something had got hold of him and the words poured out in a stream of ill temper.

‘Why should you think that? I only dashed out without any breakfast and spent the day wandering the streets looking for the most awkward, difficult woman I’ve ever met. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m cold, and it was all completely unnecessary. Why the devil should I be angry with you?’

Instead of bursting into tears she regarded him thoughtfully before saying, ‘I expect you feel a lot better now you’ve lost your temper.’

‘Yes!’

It was true. All his life he’d been even-tempered. That had changed in the last year, when rage would sometimes overcome him without warning, but he’d put his mind to controlling these outbursts, and succeeded up to a point. But these days self-control had a heavy price, and now the relief of allowing himself an explosion was considerable.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’ she asked.

‘You can buy me two,’ he growled. ‘Come on, let’s go, it’s getting dark.’

Pietro grasped her hand firmly, so as not to lose her again, and reached for her suitcase. But she tried to hold on to it, protesting, ‘I’m quite capable of-’

‘Quit arguing and let go!’

He took her to a small cafe overlooking the lagoon, and they sat at the window, watching lights on the water. She bought him a large brandy, which he drained in one gulp, at which she ordered another.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘So you ought to be. Of all the stupid, stupid-’

‘OK, I get the point. I’m stupid.’

‘Yes, no! I didn’t mean it like that.’ With horror he realised how his careless words might sound after what she’d been through. ‘I don’t want you to think-just because your head was injured-’

Then he saw that she was giving him a quizzical half-smile.

‘It’s all right,’ she said kindly. ‘You don’t have to tread on eggshells. Let’s leave it that I’m crazy but I’m not stupid.’

‘Stop that talk! You’re not crazy.’

‘How do you know?’ she demanded indignantly.

‘Why are you suddenly different? Last night you were half out of it, and today you’re ready to fight the world.’