‘Are you cold?’ Salvatore asked softly.
‘Yes, I’m not sure why, but suddenly-’
‘Let’s go.’
He walked back to the hotel with her, and as they reached the entrance they saw Clara, who hailed them with delight.
‘Dear Helena, I was hoping to see you-’
‘I’ll say goodbye, then,’ Salvatore said hastily. ‘I’ll be in touch again about the arrangements. Nice to see you, Contessa.’
He vanished, leaving Clara regarding his retreating figure with a wry smile that made Helena wonder what their previous relationship might have been.
Then Clara turned the smile on her and it became dazzling. Helena invited her up to her room but Clara insisted on staying downstairs in the hotel bar, thus suggesting that her aim was to be seen with the local celebrity. Helena shrugged and went along with this, amused and curious. She had the feeling that Clara had something particular she wanted to say.
The talk drifted to charity fund-raising.
‘I still can’t get over what Salvatore did at the auction,’ Helena said. ‘Tricking all those people into giving more than they meant to, then giving so much himself.’
‘I’ll say this for Salvatore,’ Carla agreed, ‘you can always count on him to give plenty of money, even if nothing else.’
A slight ironic edge on her voice made Helena regard her curiously.
‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked. ‘If he gives generously, isn’t that what really counts?’
‘Oh, certainly. And he gives plenty, not just to my charity, but also to many others. But he’s never visited the hospital, not even on an open day. Handing over cash is the easy way for him. He gets a reputation for generosity without having to give anything from inside himself.’
Since she had once entertained these very thoughts, Helena might have been expected to agree wholeheartedly. Instead she knew a surge of anger.
‘But surely money’s what you really need, and generosity is giving people what does them the most good,’ she pointed out. ‘If he funds a machine that saves a child’s life, ask the mother if she’d swap that for a personal visit.’
‘Well, you’re certainly very hot in his defence,’ Carla observed. ‘I hope he appreciates it.’
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t tell him,’ Helena said quickly. ‘He’d hate it.’
‘Yes, he would,’ Carla said, laughing. ‘And you’re very wise to keep it to yourself. We’ve all been a little in love with Salvatore, but one gets over it.’
‘I have nothing to get over,’ Helena said firmly. ‘The mere thought of falling in love with him is amusing.’
‘That’s what they all say, but very few end up laughing. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.’
‘There is no secret,’ Helena said. ‘And stop trying to make me say things that’ll give you something to gossip about.’
Clara chuckled good-naturedly. ‘Well, don’t blame a girl for trying. I just can’t believe I’ve met the one woman who’s immune to his charms.’
‘Well, believe it.’
‘All right, I will.’
Clara drained her glass and stood up.
‘Now I must be going. It’s been lovely talking to you.’
She kissed Helena on the cheek and departed.
Upstairs in her room Helena threw herself on the bed and stared up at the brightly painted ceiling with its feverish depictions of passion.
What Clara had said was nonsense, of course. She was far too well-armed against Salvatore to succumb to emotion. The blazing passion he evoked in her so easily was another matter. It had nothing to do with love and she was content to keep them separate.
Then she recalled how annoyed she’d been at hearing him traduced, enough to make her speak without thinking. The feeling that had swept her had been-she could hardly believe it-protective.
Was she mad?
Perhaps.
Once out of the hotel Clara walked a safe distance before taking out her cell-phone and dialling the friend who was waiting for her call. The friend, in turn, would dial other friends, and in ten minutes her news would be all over Venice.
‘I’ve just been talking to her,’ Clara said, ‘and it’s very obvious that she knows nothing about it-no, really, she still thinks he’s a man of honour-poor innocent. No, I didn’t spill the beans-we’ll just wait until she finds out what he’s done-oh, goodness, what a day that will be! Watch out for fireworks!’
CHAPTER NINE
NOW the demand for Helen of Troy’s services was building up. She made a flying visit to England for a photo shoot that offered too much money to be turned down. On her return she gave every worker a generous bonus, with an especially generous one for Emilio, whose loyalty had brought the factory through to its present strength.
The only flaw in her pleasure was that Salvatore had been called away on business, and couldn’t celebrate with her. She’d planned that celebration all the way home, relishing every imagined detail. To be deprived of it had a souring effect on her mood.
She wondered if Salvatore too had become grumpy, and hoped that he had. But in their one phone call since his return it was hard to be sure of anything except that he was feeling tense.
‘I look forward to seeing you at the
Helena was waiting in the lobby next day.
‘I’ve been looking out of my window watching the boats congregate,’ she told Alicia. ‘That big, elaborate one is glorious.’
It was a huge wooden craft, painted gold, the bow built high to accommodate honoured guests. Further back and lower were the rowers in medieval costume, and behind them the stern was also built high for visitors.
‘It’s called the Bucintoro,’ Alicia told her, ‘and it’s where the mayor and the patriarch will travel.
‘What are all the others?’ Helena asked, for the waters next to St Mark’s Piazza were alive with more colourful boats.
‘Some are historical, some belong to Venetian sporting associations, plus a few military craft. Everybody wants to be seen at the
Salvatore was waiting for her by his boat, which was almost as fine as the Bucintoro, also gold-painted with rowers in historical dress. It was already loaded with people that she took to be his family, and who regarded Helena with interest, especially the younger ones. One of the young men whistled softly.
‘Manners!’ Salvatore reproved him.
‘But I meant no disrespect,’ the boy protested. ‘Only a great compliment.’
Helena laughed. ‘I’m not offended.’
Salvatore did not seem to be placated by her easy acceptance. If anything he scowled more.
‘This lady is our guest and you will treat her with honour,’ he declared. ‘There’ll be time for introductions later.’
He handed her aboard and led her to a seat near the front of the boat. He seemed tense, almost angry, and she was puzzled. She wondered if he was sorry he’d invited her, and was sure of it a moment later when a photographer appeared on the quay and started snapping.
