life, wondering how he could ever have been so blind.
‘Say my name,’ he begged. ‘Mine, not Fede’s.’
‘Guido,’ she said softly.
In response he spoke her own name, over and over, making it music.
‘How could I have misunderstood you?’ he asked. ‘I knew from the start that there was only truth and honour in you. The rest was an illusion.’
‘Darling, it wasn’t,’ she began to protest.
‘Yes it was,’ he said quickly. ‘I saw it clearly today. You were so unhappy that you weren’t yourself. It coloured everything you did, as though someone else was doing it. Now the real you has come back, the woman I couldn’t help loving.’
‘You’re saying dangerous things,’ she said, swiftly laying her fingertips across his mouth. ‘I can’t live on a pedestal. I’m human. I’ll disappoint you and fall off.’
‘Ah, but you can’t,’ he said eagerly. ‘Because I’m going to make sure you’re never, ever unhappy again. So that solves the problem, don’t you see? It’s easy.’
She made one last effort. ‘Don’t think me better than I am.’
‘I shall think of you what I please,’ he said, smiling and stubborn.
He was incorrigible, she thought. And he always would be.
She had told him that she was as she was, but the same was true of him. It was buried deep in his nature, this need, not merely to love but to idolise. He’d tried being angry with her, and hated the feeling so much that in future, if disillusion threatened, he would tap-dance his way around awkward facts, so that his precious image of her would remain undisturbed. And so, throughout all their years together, she would be incapable of doing wrong in his eyes.
It was wonderful, but it was an awesome responsibility. For a moment she almost quailed under it, but his eyes were upon her, full of warmth and passionate adoration. He’d laid a heavy burden of trust on her, but his love would always be there to bear her up.
He drew her close and kissed her. It was nothing like the tormenting kisses they’d given each other last night, after the dinner with the Luccis: nor the exuberant embrace of the ballroom. This one was quiet and full of many promises. One journey had brought them safely home into each other’s arms. Another journey was about to begin.
‘Now you’re mine,’ he said quietly. ‘And I shall never, never let you go.’
Three months later there were two weddings at St Mark’s Basilica. It wasn’t a double wedding because Liza dreaded being the centre of a large crowd and Francesco, after loving her so long, would do anything she wanted.
So they married quietly in a small chapel, with only the Calvani family present, and as soon as the wedding was over the new countess insisted on busying herself with the final preparations for the second wedding next day, to which most of Italian and English society had been invited.
At the reception and dance afterwards the two bridal couples took the floor, amid applause. And there was another couple, drawing curious eyes as they danced in each other’s arms.
‘Marco and his fiancee seem very happy,’ Guido observed as they paused for champagne.
‘You sound surprised,’ Dulcie said. ‘I thought you liked Harriet when we went to their party in Rome a few weeks ago.’
‘I did. I do. It’s just that there’s something about that engagement that I don’t understand.’
‘Well, it certainly came about very suddenly,’ Dulcie agreed. ‘Harriet just appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly they were engaged.’
‘Are they in love, do you think?’
Dulcie regarded Marco and his fiancee, Harriet d’Estino, gliding gracefully by. ‘I don’t know,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But you’ve got to admit that what happened at that engagement party was very strange.’
‘Strangest thing I ever saw,’ Leo observed over her shoulder. ‘Marco was a lot more upset than he allowed to appear. You know how he keeps his feelings to himself. And he wouldn’t tell the world he was in love, either.’
‘More fool Marco,’ Guido said, his loving eyes on his bride.
The wedding was a lavish extravaganza, which neither of them had wanted, but also which neither of them noticed. Today they were the centre of a performance, wearing the glamorous masks that the world expected, playing their parts to perfection. Tonight all masks would fall away, and so now they could be patient, waiting for their moment.
Nobody knew the honeymoon destination. Several were mentioned-New York, the Bahamas, the south of France-but never confirmed. Only Liza knew that when, late in the evening, they slipped away from the reception, they headed, not to the airport, but to the landing stage where a gondola awaited, with a familiar gondolier keeping it safe.
‘Fede!’ Guido shook his friend’s hand warmly, and Dulcie kissed him.
‘Here it is,’ Fede said, indicating his gondola. ‘Jenny asked me to say sorry she left the reception early. She was feeling a bit queasy, and Roscoe got rather over-protective.’
‘How is the future grandfather?’ Dulcie asked.
‘Trying to take over, but we’re resisting. He’s almost as hard-going now as when he was hostile, but Jenny’s happy, and that’s all that matters.’
He helped to settle Dulcie in the boat, handed the oar to Guido, and retreated, waving.
Dulcie sat facing Guido, her bridal veil billowing around her. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said. ‘Our real home.’
He began to ply the oar. ‘You’re sure you want to have our honeymoon there? We could still fly away if you like. Anywhere in the world.’
‘But we have the world waiting for us,’ she said softly.
He headed out into the Grand Canal, then turned the gondola into the small canals for the short journey home.
The palace and its turmoil slid away from them. The glitter faded into the distance. Music floated faintly across the water. Under the stars Harlequin and Columbine drifted in an endless dream.
Lucy Gordon
