was planned before you ever came here. That’s what I can’t get past. Mine was an impulse that I yielded to- stupidly perhaps, but on the spur of the moment because-well, no matter.’
‘Tell me,’ she begged. It was suddenly terribly important.
But he shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make any difference now. I wish it did. Go away, Dulcie. There’s nothing so dead as a dead love.’ His face contracted suddenly. ‘For pity’s sake, go,’ he said harshly.
If she could have thought of any way of moving him she would have tried, even then, but there was about him a kind of wintry stubbornness that she couldn’t fight. He’d grown older since yesterday.
His phone shrilled and he made a grab for it with a mutter of impatience. Dulcie turned to go, wondering if the end could really come like this. But she turned as Guido barked, ‘
‘What is it?’ she asked with a feeling of foreboding.
He was talking in Venetian. Dulcie caught the word ‘Jenny,’ then Fede’s name repeated several times as though Guido was trying to calm him down. Dulcie could just make out the tinny sound of a voice from the phone, and it sounded as though Fede was in a rare panic.
‘What is it?’ she said as Guido hung up.
He was snatching his jacket down from a hook. ‘Come on,’ he said, grasping her arm. ‘We’ve got to hurry.’
They were out of the factory and by the waterside before she had breath enough to ask, ‘What’s happened?’
A motor boat was waiting with a man at the wheel. Guido helped her down into it and then they were roaring away across the lagoon, feeling the spray in their faces. He had to shout above the noise of the engine.
‘Your employer has arrived.’
‘My-you mean Roscoe?’
‘Right. Jenny’s Poppa. She managed to call Fede and he called me. We have to do something fast to stop him taking her back to England.’
‘You promised Fede you’d think up a plan.’
‘I’m thinking of one now. First we have to walk into the hotel together.’
‘And say what?’
‘I’m trying to work that out,’ he said tensely. ‘We must put this man straight about the facts, and for that I need you there.’
‘So sometimes Harlequin needs Columbine’s help?’
‘Sometimes he can’t do without her, even if he doesn’t like it. It’s time to make up your mind whose side you’re on.’
‘I’m on Jenny’s side. You heard me tell them I’ll help.’
Instead of answering he yelled something to the boatman, and their speed increased, so that further talk became impossible. Soon they’d reached the Grand Canal, and had to slow down dramatically.
‘Can’t we go any faster?’ Dulcie asked.
‘No, it’s the law. There’s the hotel.’ As he handed her out of the boat he said, ‘We’re going to have to put on a rare performance.’
‘But what’s the script?’ she asked frantically.
‘Play it by ear.’ He was sweeping her through the lobby to the lift.
‘But suppose we’re using different ears?’ she demanded as they reached the top floor.
‘You’re the one that’s good at this.’
‘Don’t give me that. I’m an amateur. You could give me lessons.’
‘All right, how’s this? You know this man and I don’t. You lead, I’ll follow. Do it for Jenny. Do it for Fede whose life you tried to ruin.’
There was no time to answer. The lift door was opening. Ahead were the double doors of the suite, and from behind them came the sound of voices, Jenny’s distraught, Fede’s frantic.
Guido was looking at her expectantly.
‘Here we go,’ she said, throwing open the doors.
As entrances went, it was splendid. The three inside stared at them. Then Jenny rushed to her in appeal, Fede rushed to shake Guido’s hand, babbling in Venetian. Dulcie fixed her eyes on Roscoe, who was red-faced and shouting, ‘I don’t know who this man is-’ jabbing a finger at Fede.
‘It’s Fede,’ Jenny protested.
‘The hell he is!’ Roscoe snapped.
‘The hell he isn’t!’ This, from Guido.
‘You-’ Roscoe swung around to him ‘-you’re the one who’s caused all this trouble.’
For the first minute Dulcie’s mind had been a blank, but now suddenly the clouds parted. She pulled herself together and spoke with apparent confidence.
‘Mr Harrison,’ she said, ‘allow me to introduce Signor Guido Calvani, nephew of Count Calvani, a family that I’ve now discovered was once well acquainted with my own.’
The mention of Dulcie’s family made Roscoe pause, as she’d hoped. It gave her time to rush on, ‘It was only after I arrived here that I realised the significance of the name Calvani. It turns out that my great-aunt,
She was laying it on with a trowel, stressing the words that would send signals to Roscoe’s snobbery, and every one of them was hitting the bull’s eye, she was glad to see.
True to his promise to follow her lead Guido wrung Roscoe’s hand and said all the right things at length. Then he said them again at even greater length. Roscoe managed a reasonably civilised reply, but then became himself again.
‘But you’re in that picture making up to my daughter.’
‘But only under the eye of her true love,’ Guido said quickly, drawing Fede forward. ‘I gather you’ve already met my friend, Federico Lucci, who’s been fortunate enough to win Jenny’s affection.’
‘Now wait,’ Roscoe blustered, ‘what were you doing in that outfit? That’s why I thought you were Fede-’
‘He’s Fede,’ Guido said. ‘I’m Guido.’
‘
‘Not while my uncle lives, which hopefully will be many years yet.’
‘But you-’ Roscoe looked from Guido to Fede and from Fede to Dulcie ‘-you-no, wait-’
Then inspiration came to Dulcie in a blinding flash.
‘Mr Harrison, pretty soon you and I need to discuss this fiasco,’ she said, sounding slightly truculent. ‘How am I supposed to do a decent job of work when your briefing to me was so inaccurate?’
He gaped. ‘I-’
‘Look at this picture.’ She produced the snapshot. ‘You assured me that the man with the mandolin was Federico Lucci. On that basis I allocated you a portion of my time which, let me remind you, doesn’t come cheap. And after a week when I’ve given you my best efforts, I discover that “Fede” was really the other man, and I’ve been on a wild-goose chase.’
‘But you said you knew him,’ Roscoe hollered.
‘I said no such thing. I said my family knew his, way back. He could have been anybody for all I knew. I’ve been glad to make contact with the count, who once knew Lady Harriet, but apart from that the whole thing has been a waste of time, for which I hold you entirely to blame.’
‘OK, OK, maybe I got it a bit wrong,’ Roscoe said in a placating voice, ‘but it hasn’t been a
‘Since he never claimed to be, that’s hardly surprising,’ Dulcie said briskly. ‘Can we drop this nonsense now? I’ve established that the man your daughter loves isn’t trying to beguile her with false claims, which is surely what really matters.’
Roscoe was uncharacteristically hesitant. His slow-moving wits had taken in that Guido was a real ‘aristo’ and therefore to be cultivated, and that Fede was his friend. To have repeated his suspicions of Fede without offending Guido would have taken social skills Roscoe didn’t possess. He fell silent, fuming. Guido divined what was going through his mind, and stepped into the breach, all charm.
