early and was shown in at once. Signor Donati was effusive with compliments about her ‘businesslike punctuality’, but she wasn’t fooled. This man had made up his mind and would not budge.
‘Do I understand,
‘I knew about the loan, but Antonio said that since all repayments had been made strictly on time…’
It was true. There was nothing in the loan to raise alarm, and she had no doubt that the bank had simply seized on an excuse.
‘How long do I have?’ she asked.
‘I would need to know something within a couple of weeks; either that you had raised the money or made some arrangement to sell the factory.’
A suspicion was growing in her mind.
‘Thank you,’ she said, rising to go. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
She walked slowly back to the hotel, sunk in thought. She’d been very firmly backed into a corner. If she couldn’t raise the money she could sell to Salvatore.
‘Am I going crazy?’ she asked herself. ‘Why should I think he has anything to do with this? Can he tell a bank what to do? Surely not.’
But somehow it was just too neat.
‘What will you do?’ Emilio asked when she recounted the interview.
‘I don’t know. I could just give in and sell to Salvatore. You might all prefer that.’
‘But you’re one of us now,’ he said reproachfully. ‘We thought you were going to stay.’
One of us. The words resonated with her. They were a family, and they had invited her in. She couldn’t let them down.
Besides which, the chance to annoy Salvatore wasn’t one to be missed.
She made some calls to her bank manager in England and he sent her some files online, showing the precise state of her finances. She was mulling these over in the hotel lounge one morning when a voice overhead said,
‘You don’t mind if I sit down, do you?’
Looking up, Helena saw a very pretty woman in her forties, elegantly dressed and with an attractive twinkle in her eye. She introduced herself as the Contessa Pallone.
‘But you must call me Clara. I’ve so much wanted to meet the woman all Venice is talking about.’
‘Really? But I’ve only been here five minutes.’
‘But everyone knows who you are.’
‘Antonio’s widow.’
‘And the woman who’s holding out against Salvatore. Believe me, there aren’t many who can do that. He’s a powerful man and he likes everyone to know it. We’re all agog to see what’s going to happen.’
Helena laughed. ‘I’m glad I’m providing the entertainment.’
She ordered coffee and they settled down for a chat. Clara had a light-hearted personality but beneath the exterior Helena discerned a shrewd brain, and she felt drawn to her.
‘I’ll admit I had an ulterior motive in approaching you,’ Clara admitted.
‘Of course,’ Helena chuckled. ‘They’re always the most interesting. What can I do for you?’
‘I run a charity. It supports a children’s hospital, and we’re going to have a fund-raising evening in this hotel tomorrow night. It would be wonderful if you could be there, and perhaps donate a piece of Larezzo glass.’
‘I’d love to. I’m just going over to the factory now. I’ll find the loveliest piece I can.’
She took the boat over to Murano an hour later and, under Emilio’s direction, chose a large horse, made of clear glass, its tail streaming out behind.
‘It’s the most expensive piece we make,’ Emilio said. ‘We don’t want to be outdone by Perroni.’
‘So Perroni makes a donation too?’
‘Every year. Signor Valetti always offers the best piece he has. He gives a great deal of money to charity.’
Helena thought wryly that was what she would have expected of Salvatore. He gave money, he gave things, and so acquired a reputation for generosity with the least trouble to himself.
‘He’ll probably be there,’ she mused. ‘And Clara must have known that when she invited me. Well, there’s more than one battlefield.’
‘Excuse me?’ Emilio asked, frowning.
‘Nothing. Please have this packed up and I’ll take it with me when I return to the hotel.’
Next day she handed the horse to Clara, asking that it should be listed as a gift from Antonio.
She’d said that she approached this as a battle, and that evening she surveyed her wardrobe like a general choosing the appropriate uniform. White, she decided; pure silk, modest and elegant. The neck was comparatively high, the sleeves were long, the hem swept the floor. In short, it was the opposite of what she guessed Salvatore would expect. Tiny diamond studs in her ears completed the effect.
The reception was held in the huge downstairs lounge of the Illyria. Clara sent her son up to collect Helena and escort her. He was an extremely handsome young man in his early twenties, and they made a splendid entrance. Clara introduced her to the assembled company, who applauded. Helena smiled and nodded to them, while secretly looking for Salvatore. After the way they had parted, how would they confront each other now?
Then she saw him, looking polished and assured in evening dress and black bow tie. Despite her scorn for his character Helena allowed herself a moment to admire his appearance. Wherever he went, whatever he was doing, Salvatore would always be the most impressive man in the room, with his tall body that combined athleticism and negligent grace, and his handsome face. But more than these was his air of assurance, his assumption that he was a lion among jackals.
And the winged lion was the symbol of Venice. They were everywhere. From her hotel window Helena could see one atop a tall pillar staring out over the water, proudly announcing that this was his city, under his protection, and under his command.
There was no mistaking that look, she realised, either in the stone animal, or here in this apparently civilised gathering. The meaning was the same both times.
Salvatore had seen her. He gave her a brief bow of recognition and took the first chance to come to her.
‘I’m glad you’re here. Clara showed me your gift, and I wanted to thank you for putting it in Antonio’s name.’
‘Of course I did. After all, he was my husband, even though you don’t see it that way-’
‘Please.’ He held up his hand. ‘Surely we can put that aside for tonight? Let me just tell you that you look beautiful without you reading anything hostile into it.’
He was charming, yet there was also something unreal about this conversation. At their last meeting he’d incited her then refused to make love to her with a cool assurance that was almost an insult. Now he was behaving as though that had never happened and, as before, he was making her veer between opposing moods with alarming speed. One moment it would have been a pleasure to slap his over-confident face. The next, she found herself responding to him.
He leaned close to murmur, ‘You know we’re being watched, don’t you? The whole of Venice knows about us.’
‘But just exactly what do they know?’ she said. ‘Or-more to the point-what do they think they know?’
Salvatore smiled faintly. ‘A nice distinction. I guess you could make them believe anything you wanted. It’s an art you might teach me.’
‘Oh, I think you know a few tricks of your own,’ she teased. ‘And I’m always willing to learn new ones.’
‘Now you’re not being fair,’ he protested. ‘If I said you were up to every trick you’d insist that I’d insulted you.’
‘Of course. And the annoying thing is that if I said it about you it would be a compliment, no matter how insulting I tried to make it.’
‘And you’d try very hard.’
‘Without a doubt.’
They laughed together. In the surrounding crowd heads turned. Knowing looks were exchanged.
‘Clara tells me that you always donate one of the best pieces,’ she said. ‘I’m longing to see it.’
‘Let me show you.’
She gasped when she saw his gift, a large eagle, seemingly coming in to land with wings swept back. It was
