Not Just a Convenient Marriage. Lucy Gordon
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I had a friend who’d booked a trip here and had to cancel at the last minute,’ she said. ‘I managed to get her hotel rooms, and air tickets.’
She had seized the offer as a chance to get away fast and cheaply. Otherwise she wouldn’t have chosen to make this trip in January.
A voice on the loudspeaker announced that the descent was about to start. Soon they could see Marco Polo Airport near the boundary of the mainland. Close by was the sea, with the two-mile causeway stretching out over the water to the multitude of little islands that made up the city of Venice.
‘Hang on,’ said Charlie. ‘It says here that there are no cars in Venice. Does that mean we have to walk along that causeway?’
‘No, there’s a car park called Piazzale Roma on the very edge of the city,’ she said. ‘A taxi can take us as far as that, then we get out and do the rest of the journey by boat through the canals.’
As they descended she gazed out of the window, enchanted by the glittering sea stretching out to where Venice could just be glimpsed on the horizon. When they landed there was the relief of finding a plentiful supply of taxis, and soon they were on their way across the causeway.
Now the city was just ahead, looming up in all its legendary beauty. The taxi turned into Piazzale Roma, and stopped near the water. Here there was a crowd of motor boats, the Venetian version of taxi. Sally gave their destination, the Hotel Billioni, and soon they were moving out into the Grand Canal, the huge elegant highway that sliced through the centre of Venice. At last the boat turned into a tiny side canal and halted where a flight of steps came down to the water. The boatman took their bags and led them the few yards to the hotel.
After checking in they were shown upstairs to the two rooms where they were to stay. Sally went straight to the window and threw it open.
Below her the little canal was quiet and mysterious. Darkness was falling and the only light on the water came in soft gleams from the windows above.
The little she had seen of Venice so far was enough to confirm its reputation for romance and mystery. It would attract lovers, perhaps for their honeymoon.
The word ‘honeymoon’ directed her thoughts to Frank, despite her efforts to prevent it. These days she didn’t often let herself think of him, not since she’d resolved to put him out of her life.
He’d attracted her. His kisses had pleased her, yet for some reason she’d resisted his urging to take them further.
‘C’mon, Sally,’ he’d said, sounding irritated. ‘This is the twenty-first century. Kisses aren’t enough any more.’
He was right. If she’d wanted to go to bed with him she was free to do so. But something held her back. When she found him with another girl it was hurtful but not really a surprise.
He accused me of being cold, she thought, and maybe he was right. Will I ever want a man so much that I can’t control myself? Probably not. If it was going to happen I guess I’d know by now.
She gave a little self-mocking laugh.
I’ve come to the city of Casanova, but somehow I don’t think even he could make me passionate. I’m too sensible. But then, I’ve always needed to be.
The sound of Charlie moving in the next room reminded her why good sense was necessary. She had made many sacrifices for him. Even being here was a sacrifice, as it might have cost her the chance of a wonderful job. She was an accountant, working independently with reasonable success, but suddenly a job with a major firm beckoned. If she’d stayed at home it might have been hers. But they were unlikely to keep it open for her, at least, not for more than a week.
She could hope, but she knew hope could be destructive if it was all you had.
Charlie’s head appeared round the door.
‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and have some supper.’
The restaurant downstairs was humming with life. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen and they spent a merry few minutes choosing food.
‘And this is just the start,’ Charlie said. ‘We’re going to have a great time.’
‘You might. My time will be taken up watching you to stop you going crazy.’
‘Hah! So you say. But this is the city of Casanova, the great lover. You’ll be fighting the men off.’
A chuckle overhead revealed that one of the waitresses had heard and understood.
‘It is true,’ she said. ‘This was the home of Casanova.’
‘Never mind him,’ Sally said. ‘He can wait. I want some supper.’
‘Fish,’ Charlie enthused. ‘Did you ever see so much fish?’
‘We have everything you want, signore,’ the waitress declared.
‘It’s lucky you all seem to understand English so well,’ Sally observed. ‘We’d be really lost otherwise.’
‘But people come to Venice from all over the world. We must be able to talk with them. Now, what can I get you?’
‘I’ll have the codfish prepared with olive oil, garlic and parsley.’
‘Me too,’ Charlie announced.
‘Duo baccala mantecata,’ she announced triumphantly, and bustled away.
‘Is that what we ordered?’ Charlie asked.
‘I guess it must have been.’
‘It sounds great. I’m beginning to think you did the right thing in hauling me out here.’
‘I didn’t haul you.’
‘Come on. You practically chucked me into your suitcase.’
‘Well, all right. I was getting a bit worried by those phone calls that kept coming from people who wouldn’t give their name. One called himself Wilton but the others wouldn’t tell.’
‘Wilton—well—yes.’
‘You mentioned him once, made him sound like a nasty piece of work.’
‘Was that the only reason? Didn’t you want to get shot of Frank?’
‘Frank doesn’t exist any more. Don’t ever mention him again.’
Charlie gave her a hilarious look.
‘First you kick Casanova into the long grass. Then Frank. Perhaps the entire male sex should be nervous about you.’
But he laid a hand on her shoulder in a friendly clasp. Young and self-centred as he was, Charlie could still be sympathetic.
They spent the meal planning the next day’s sightseeing.
‘We’ll get on a vaporetto,’ she said. ‘That’s the water equivalent of a bus. That way we’ll see the Grand Canal and the great bridges across it. Then we can go and see St Mark’s Square.’
‘Only it’s not a square,’ he said, studying a leaflet. ‘It’s a huge rectangle full of shops and restaurants.’
‘It sounds lovely.’
Finally they drifted back upstairs.
‘Goodnight,’ he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘Sleep tight, and be ready to take Venice by storm tomorrow.’
She gave him a gentle thump and left him. Before going to bed she went to the window to enjoy the view over the little canal. Below, she could just make out a small pavement with steps leading down into the water. A man’s voice seemed to be coming from inside. He sounded angry.
Suddenly a door was flung open and the man came out. From a little way above Sally could just see that he was tall, dark, in his mid-thirties, with a face that might have been handsome but for the fierce, uncompromising look it bore. He was speaking