The waltz seemed to go on forever. She was dying for the music to stop; she ached to escape. She couldn’t bear Patrick watching her with those enemy eyes.
At last the tape ended and everyone clamoured to have some modern music back. Laughing, Alex capitulated. Cy released Antonia, looked at his watch, and made a big thing of yawning.
‘I’ve got jet-lag, a very bad headache,’ he said. ‘I think I should be going. Are you coming back to the palazzo, or will you stay for the rest of the party?’
Susan-Jane overheard the question and came over to them, putting an arm around Antonia. ‘Oh, don’t go yet, darling. We won’t see you again for ages. Stay on for the rest of the party; you can see Cy tomorrow, after all!’
Cy nodded, and smiled at Susan-Jane. ‘Of course she can. Yes, do stay on, Antonia. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast, then.’ He made a few polite remarks to Alex and his wife. ‘Have a safe journey to Monte Carlo; I’m sure we’ll be meeting again very soon.’
‘No wedding date set yet?’ asked Alex blithely, and Antonia stiffened, her face pale under the feather mask, conscious of Cy’s well-disguised embarrassment.
‘We’re talking about it,’ Cy said coolly, and she had to admire his ability to hide his true feelings.
He bent, and lightly kissed Antonia’s cheek. ‘Enjoy your party,’ he said and walked away through the noisy throng. Antonia stared after him, feeling odd. Had she ever really believed she would marry him? She found it hard to remember. Cy had come into her life and was going out again as suddenly, leaving almost no real impression on her. He was as unreal as the palazzo he would one day inherit—priceless, mysterious, remote. She had never felt at home there. She was sure she never would have done.
‘Missing him already?’ Susan-Jane asked, watching her wistful face. ‘Do you want to change your mind and run after him? He did come all this way to see you; maybe we shouldn’t be so selfish, asking you to stay.’
Antonia turned, shaking her head. ‘He’s very tired—he’s got jet-lag. He just wants to sleep for hours; there’s no point in going with him anyway.’
‘How long is he going to stay in Venice?’ asked Alex, and behind him she saw Patrick loom up, dark as a winter storm, his face rigid.
Confused, she stammered, ‘I d...don’t know; not l...long...’
‘Maybe he wants you to go back to the States with him?’ Alex suggested. ‘Being so far apart isn’t much fun for an engaged couple! Or does he want to get married sooner?’
Patrick watched her, his eyes icy with a cruelty that made her wince.
‘No, it isn’t that,’ she said helplessly, trying to think of some excuse they would accept. ‘H...he came to see Patsy, not me, to talk about important family business.’ The lie made her blush, but she hoped they wouldn’t see that under her mask.
‘Oh, is that it?’ Alex asked, making a face. ‘Well, if you will marry an accountant, darling, that’s what you get!’
One of his friends, a Venice restaurateur, came up at that moment and smiled at Antonia. ‘Dance with me, little bird?’
She was grateful for the escape route and thankfully smiled back, nodding. ‘Love to, Giorgio.’
He was in his fifties, plump, cheerful and married with six children, but was a notorious flirt. His wife indulgently watched them; she knew Giorgio’s flirting meant nothing, and so did Antonia, who laughed at everything he said in her ear.
‘I mean it; you’re the loveliest girl here,’ he said reproachfully, and she grinned up at him.
‘How many times have you said that this evening?’
‘Girls are so suspicious these days! When I was young girls believed everything a man said to them,’ he sighed nostalgically.
‘I bet they didn’t! They just let you think they did!’
They were dancing in the garden under fairy-lights rigged up by Alex. The silken lining of her dress made it slide smoothly against her skin, the black and silver feathers glittered in the coloured lights, and people kept looking at her with fascination. It should have been romantic, glamorous, exciting. But Antonia had to work hard to keep smiling; her heart was as heavy as lead inside her.
She was intensely aware of Patrick on the other side of the garden, watching her dance with Giorgio, his icy blue eyes missing nothing. He hadn’t danced with anyone. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He just leaned against the fig tree, arms folded, his body tense, never moving his eyes from her, and his expression made her shiver.
One of the older generation began clamouring for more waltzing, and Alex put that tape back on, to the disgust of the younger people.
Giorgio smiled down at her happily. ‘This is better!’
She wasn’t so sure, but smiled back politely, then her heart gave a wild leap as Patrick loomed up behind them and tapped Giorgio on the shoulder.
‘Mind if I steal your partner?’ he curtly asked.
Giorgio looked round, began, ‘Yes, I do...’ then met Patrick’s dangerous stare and stopped speaking, looked alarmed, moved instinctively away from her, dropping her hand.
‘Is that OK with you, Antonia?’ he asked, though, as if having his doubts about leaving her alone with a man who looked like Patrick.
Patrick’s eyes burnt into her, silently compelling her to agree.
She swallowed, nodded, speechless.
She wanted to turn and run, but with all those people around how could she, without making a scene? Patrick slid a hand around her waist. She quivered in response to his touch, and her treacherous body responded by swaying close to him, irresistibly drawn to what it wanted.
They began to dance, her head level with his shoulder; she was bitterly tempted to shut her eyes and let her head fall against him, but she couldn’t do that, so she gazed fixedly over his shoulder instead, her feet stumbling.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, and he stopped, looked down at her with those hard, angry eyes.
‘You’re still going to marry him, aren’t
