The Venetian Playboy’s Bride

‘Were you coming to Venice for your honeymoon?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed.

‘And now you come here alone-to think of what might have been?’

That did it.

‘Rubbish!’ she said trenchantly. ‘Absolute codswallop! How dare you suggest that I’m some sort of-of-I don’t know, some sort of forlorn maiden trailing in the shadow of a dead love. Of all the sentimental drivel I ever heard- I’ve a good mind to-’

How he laughed. ‘Brava! Brava! I knew you were stronger than that. Whatever he did to you, you won’t be crushed. Don’t get mad, get even! Shall we follow and tip him into the water?’

‘Don’t be idiotic,’ she said, joining in his laughter unwillingly. ‘I don’t even know that it’s him.’

‘Let’s tip him in the water anyway,’ he suggested hopefully.

‘You clown. Whatever for?’

‘As a warning to all men to be careful how they treat women in future.’

‘Let’s forget him,’ she said hastily. She didn’t know what wicked imp had made him voice the very idea that had brought her here, but it was something she couldn’t afford to think of just now.

‘Yes, let’s forget him and plan what we shall do tomorrow. There’s so much I want to show you-’

‘What about your gondola? It’s your living.’

‘Not tomorrow. Tomorrow I forget work and think only of you.’

‘Oh, really,’ she teased. ‘Suppose I have other ideas?’

He looked crestfallen. ‘There’s another man you’d rather spend the day with?’

‘No, I-’ she bit back the rest, realising that she’d walked into a trap.

‘You’d rather spend the day with me than any other man?’ he said at once. ‘Bene! That’s what I hoped.’

‘You’re twisting my words. Maybe I want to spend the day alone.’

‘Do you?’

He wasn’t teasing any more, and neither was she.

‘No,’ she said quietly.

‘We could go to the seaside, if you like?’

‘Does it have a really sandy beach?’ she asked longingly.

‘I promise you a really sandy beach. Venice doesn’t just have the best cooking in the world, it also has the best beach in the world.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The best swimming, and the best company. Me.’

He was laughing again, playing the jester, inviting her to mock him. Then suddenly he drew her into his arms, holding her close, but not kissing her, content just to embrace. He drew back a little and touched her face with his hands, brushing back stray tendrils of hair, and studying her intently.

‘Dulcie,’ he whispered. ‘There’s so much-but not now-this isn’t the right time.’

A tremor of alarm went through her. This was too sweet, too delightful. What was she thinking of?

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I can’t see you tomorrow.’

‘Then the next day-’

‘No, I can’t see you again,’ she said desperately. ‘I’m going home. I should never have come here. Please let me go.’

He made no attempt to hold onto her as she broke free and began to run down the nearest calle. She simply had to get away from what was happening here. It shocked and confused her. Nothing was going according to plan.

Her footsteps slowed, then halted. It looked the same in all directions, and she had no idea where she was. By the one lamp she groped in her bag for a map and tried to work out which way up it went. It was hopeless.

‘Now I’m totally lost,’ she groaned.

‘Not while I’m here,’ he said, appearing from nowhere. ‘I’ll take you to the hotel. It isn’t very far.’

It seemed to her that they had come for miles, but when he’d led her through calle after calle, all looking the same, she found herself near the hotel, and realised that they’d only been walking for ten minutes.

‘There it is, just ahead,’ he told her. ‘You don’t need my help any more.’ He was keeping back in the shadows.

‘Then I’ll say goodbye,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening. I’m sorry it all ended so abruptly-’

‘Has it “all ended”?’

‘Yes, it has to. Because you see-I can’t seem to get my head straight.’

‘Nor mine. But my response would be the opposite of yours.’

‘I’m going home tomorrow,’ she said quickly. ‘I really must-I can’t explain but I shouldn’t have come here- goodbye.’

The last word came out in a rush. Then she walked away fast, and hurried into the hotel without looking back at him.

As she opened the door of the Empress Suite her mind was functioning like an investigator’s again. Cool. Calm. Collected. She was a rational thinking machine.

And the sooner she was out of here the better.

The phone rang. She knew who it would be.

‘Please don’t leave,’ came his voice.

‘I-ought to.’

‘You should never do what you ought. It’s a big mistake.’

‘Why?’ she asked, knowing that she was crazy to ask.

‘Because you really ought to be doing something else.’

‘That’s just clever words.’

‘Now you’re indulging in common sense,’ he reproved her. ‘You must stop that.’

‘More clever words.’

‘You’re right. Actions are better. I’ll be waiting for you at ten tomorrow morning, at the vaporetto landing stage near the hotel. Come prepared for swimming.’

‘But-’

‘Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.’

He hung up.

She couldn’t think what was happening here. She should be in control, but suddenly everything was out of her hands. To help collect her thoughts she went out onto her balcony and looked down the Grand Canal. It was quiet now and just a few lamps glowed in the darkness. Now and then a gondola, empty but for the silent oarsman, drifted across the water like a ghost, gliding home.

She had called the evening magic, a word which troubled her practical mind. And staying practical was essential she thought, beginning to argue with him in her mind. Let him say what he liked. She wasn’t to be tricked by pretty words.

But out here, in the shadows and the cool night air, the magic couldn’t be denied. Awed, she watched as one by one the cafe lights went out, and the water lay at peace under the moon. Still she stayed, not wanting this night to be over.

The shrill of the telephone blasted her gentle dream. It was Roscoe.

‘How are you doing?’ he demanded without preamble. ‘Have you got anywhere yet?’

‘I only arrived today,’ she protested.

‘You mean you haven’t managed to meet him?’

‘Yes, I have-’

‘Great! And he’s a real creep, right?’

She answered cautiously. ‘Mr Harrison, if this man was an obvious creep he’d never have impressed Jenny as he has. He’s subtle, and clever.’