In fact her strength was already fading, and when he set soup before her she took it gladly. This was followed by a bowl of rice and peas, cooked to perfection. A few more hours’ rest would set her up, she told herself as she headed back to bed, to find that it had been freshly made. She slipped on the ‘grannie’ nightgown and got thankfully back under the duvet.
This time, when she awoke, it was to find Dr Valletti just entering the room.
‘Yes, you seem better,’ she agreed when she’d checked Dulcie over. ‘But take it easy for another day. Tomorrow you can go out, but only for short periods, and keep covered up against the sun.’
‘I’m really well enough to go back to the hotel,’ she said guiltily when the doctor had departed.
‘No,’ he said at once. ‘You must stay here where I can look after you. In the hotel there are only servants. What do they care for you?’
She made a face. ‘If I tip them well enough, they’ll care.’
‘Oh, yes. Is that kind of caring enough?’
She shook her head.
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I don’t trust you.’
‘I beg your pardon!’
‘You’ll do something stupid if I’m not there. So you stay here where I can watch over you. And I don’t want a tip.’
‘Well, maybe I’ll leave it for now. I’ll go tomorrow.’
‘You’ll go when I say.’
‘Yes
While he cooked supper she showered and donned some of the lacy underwear, thinking it was a pity that her complexion wasn’t more becoming. She selected the pale-yellow top to go with the white jeans. Now her appearance was simple and elegant, and much more to her own taste than the elaborate confections she had hanging up in the hotel.
‘What are you cooking?’ she asked, sauntering into the kitchen and standing where he could see her.
‘To start with, mushroom risotto.’ He paused from chopping parsley and stood back to regard her. ‘
‘You think so?’
‘Yes, I got the size exactly right. I was wondering about that. Can you hand me that onion?’
She nearly threw it at him.
At his instruction she laid the little table for two by the open window. It was evening and a soft, bluey light lay over the scene outside. Lamps were coming on, reflected in the water, and from somewhere in the distance came the echoing warnings of the gondoliers, sounding like melancholy music.
He opened a bottle of
‘It’s very light,’ he explained, ‘so it won’t upset your stomach.’
They chinked glasses.
‘In fact, I’ve arranged the whole meal to be light,’ he explained. ‘The next course is pasta and beans, then a shrimp omelette. And to finish-fried cream.’
‘Fried-? You’re kidding me.’
‘No, I promise. You shall watch.’
And she did watch as he blended flour, sugar, eggs and milk into a thick cream, that he proceeded to fry. It was delicious.
Afterwards he washed while she dried, wondering at a certain embarrassment in his manner.
‘Is something the matter?’ she asked.
‘Well-Dulcie would you mind if-when we’ve finished this?-only if you want to, of course-’
‘What is it?’ she asked with a little pang of dismay. Here it came, the amorous advance that would make him cheap in her eyes. It was what she’d come here for, and suddenly she would have given anything to put him off.
But duty came first, so she merely looked at him expectantly while her heart beat with apprehension.
He took a deep breath and went on with the air of a man plunging off the deep end. ‘There’s a really important soccer match on television tonight-’
‘It’s Juventus playing Lazio, or I wouldn’t ask,’ he pleaded. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘No,’ she said, dazed. ‘I don’t mind.’
They spent the rest of the evening sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands, until he declared that it was time for her to go to bed. But he had to say it twice because she’d fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Next morning he let her sleep late, and she awoke knowing that the last of her illness had gone. While dressing she noticed with delight that she was no longer red. The colour had softened into a light tan that looked marvellous against her fair hair and green eyes, and even better against the soft-pink top that she matched with the white jeans.
‘Who won the match?’ she asked, appearing in the kitchen.
‘I forget. You look great. How do you feel?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she felt splendid, but she amended it to, ‘Better than I did, but not quite my normal self.’
That was true, she told her conscience. She would never feel like her normal self again.
‘Then we’ll take it easy today. A light breakfast, then a gentle walk.’
His solicitude made Dulcie feel a little guilty because she’d allowed him to think her more frail than she actually was. But, to someone who’d lived such a practical life, there was a sweet pleasure in being cosseted, and she reminded herself that her mission was to discover the truth about him. If the truth turned out to be that he was a marvellous man, kind, gentle, affectionate, considerate and chivalrous, then she would report this truth and be happy for Jenny.
Over rolls and coffee he said, ‘I have to buy food this morning, so we can take a stroll.’
‘You mean I’ve eaten you out of house and home?’
‘You’ve hardly touched anything.’
She was about to mention the clothes he’d bought her, then hesitated, remembering the first night, the intensity in his voice as he’d said, ‘Please don’t insult me with money.’
Suddenly inspired she said, ‘Let me cook something for you today. An English meal.’
He regarded her quizzically. ‘Her Ladyship can cook?’
‘Her Ladyship spent lots of time with the cook because she was the most interesting person in the house,’ Dulcie said truthfully. ‘And the kindest. She was almost a mother to me after my own died. And she made me learn everything she knew. She thought it might come in handy one day.’
‘You mean when the revolution happened and the tumbrels came for you?’ he teased.
‘Well-’ she considered, also teasing ‘-if I was being carried off to the guillotine I’m not sure that cooking would help me much, but you’ve got the general idea. I’m sure Sarah pictured little old ladies sitting at the foot of the guillotine, knitting the Maddox family crest into a shroud. What’s the matter?’ she asked quickly, for he’d dropped a dish on the floor, where it shattered.
‘Nothing,’ he said hastily, dropping down to clear the pieces.
‘You jumped. Was it something I said?’
‘Just a feeling of having been here before. Let’s go out and get food.’
He took her to the market by the Rialto Bridge where the food stalls stretched in profusion, and he pointed out fruit, vegetables, meat and fish. But he kept himself at a slight distance, and then slid out of sight while she did the buying, which puzzled her even while she appreciated that it gave her the chance to pay for the food without upsetting him.
Afterwards he took the bags from her, refusing to let her carry even one, and they strolled hand in hand.
‘This isn’t the way we came,’ she said, looking around. ‘At least, I don’t think so, but the streets all look the same.’
‘No, we’re going a different way. I thought we’d take a detour through St Mark’s Square. You haven’t seen it yet.’
In St Mark’s he took her to an outside table at one of the many cafes and they sat drinking coffee and listening
