The Venetian's Proposal. Lee Wilkinson
Читать онлайн книгу.
neck and a letter.
While Sandy examined the keys, Nicola unfolded the letter and read in John’s small, neat writing:
Nicola, my dear, though we’ve known each other just a short time, you’ve been like the daughter I always wanted, and your warmth and kindness have meant a lot to me.
In the pouch you’ll find Sophia’s ring. Since she died I’ve been wearing it on a chain around my neck, but now I sense that I haven’t got much longer I’m lodging it with Mr Harthill.
It’s a singular ring. My darling always wore it. She was wearing it the day I met her. She once remarked that if any ring possessed the power to bring its wearer happiness, this one did. For that reason I would like you to have it, and I truly believe Sophia would approve.
Though we had both been married before, she was the love of my life as, I hope and believe, I was hers. We were very happy together for five wonderful years. Not long enough. But perhaps it never is.
In your case, I know your time with your husband was very brief. You’re desperately young to have known so much grief and pain, and I’m only too aware that anyone who loses a loved one needs time to mourn. But remember, my dear, no one should mourn for ever. It’s time you moved on. Be happy.
John
Blinking away her tears, Nicola passed the letter to Sandy, and, while the other girl read it quickly, picked up the chamois pouch and unfastened the drawstring. Tilting the pouch, she gave it a slight shake, and a ring slid into her palm.
Both women caught their breath.
It was exquisitely wrought, with twin ovals of glittering green stone sunk at an angle in the softly glowing gold setting.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Sandy’s face held awe. ‘What’s it meant to be?’
Her voice unsteady, Nicola said, ‘It looks like a gold mask, with emeralds for eyes.’
‘Try it on,’ Sandy urged.
With a strange feeling of doing something portentous, Nicola slid it on to her finger.
After Jeff’s death she had lost weight to the point of becoming gaunt, and it was just a fraction too large.
‘Even if it’s only costume jewellery it looks fantastic!’ Sandy enthused. ‘Though it may be a little too spectacular to wear to the local supermarket.’
‘You’re right,’ Nicola agreed. ‘It would look more at home in Piazza San Marco.’
‘Are you going to wear it?’
‘At the moment I’d be scared of losing it. But I’ll certainly keep it with me.’
‘You speak Italian, don’t you? Have you ever been to Venice?’
‘No.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to go?’
‘Yes, I would,’ Nicola said slowly. ‘I was thinking about it on the way home. I’ve time owing to me, so I might take a holiday. Stay there for a while.’
‘Glory be!’ Sandy exclaimed. ‘A sign of life at last. I’d about given up hope. You haven’t had a holiday since Jeff was killed.’
‘There didn’t seem much point. It’s no fun staying in a hotel full of strangers. In any case, it’s too much like work.’
‘But you won’t need to stay in a hotel when you have your very own palazzo.’
Nicola half shook her head. ‘I can still hardly believe it.’
Her smooth forehead wrinkling into a frown, Sandy remarked curiously, ‘I wonder why John Turner never mentioned having a house in Venice?’
‘Talking about it might have conjured up too many ghosts. He absolutely adored his wife, and couldn’t get over her death. It’s one of the reasons he worked so hard and travelled so much…’
Nicola had done the same, only to find that pain and grief couldn’t be left behind. They had travelled with her, constant companions she had been unable to outstrip.
Though she’d never found it particularly easy to make friends, she and John Turner had met and, drawn together by circumstances and their mutual loss, become firm friends—overnight, almost. The immediacy of their friendship had never been discussed or questioned, just accepted.
‘Though there was an age difference of over thirty years, John and I had a lot in common. I was very fond of him. I’ll miss him.’ With a lump in her throat, she added, ‘I’d like to see the house where he and his wife were so happy.’
‘Well, now’s your chance.’ Sandy’s tone was practical.
‘Why don’t you come with me?’
‘I can’t say I’m not tempted, but I’ve too much work on. Besides, Brent would hate me to go to Venice without him. Apart from believing that English women find all Italian men fascinating, he thinks Italian men tend to stare at English women… And while he might not mind them looking, if it came to bottom-pinching…’
‘I rather hope it won’t.’
‘You should be so lucky!’ Sandy said with a grin. ‘So how will you travel? Fly, as usual?’
‘I’m tired of flying, seeing nothing but airports…’ With a sudden determination to lay her own ghosts, Nicola decided, ‘I think I’ll drive down…’
Jeff, who had been the elder by six months or so, had passed his own driving test and taught her to drive in a small family saloon when she was just seventeen. But since his death she hadn’t driven.
‘In early June the weather should be good, so I think I’ll plan a scenic route and take a leisurely trip, stopping three or four nights on the way. I’d love to see Innsbruck.’
Hiding her surprise, Sandy observed, ‘While not wishing to spoil your fun, I must point out that you don’t have a car.’
‘I can always hire one.’
‘And I’ve heard the price of parking in Venice is astronomical. But I don’t suppose you need to worry about it now. By the way, now you’ve money to burn I expect you’ll want to live somewhere a bit more up-market?’
Before Nicola could answer, she added, ‘Don’t think I’m trying to push you off, but Brent is itching to move in. I’ve kept the poor lamb waiting because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about having an extra flatmate, and a man to boot.’
‘So you’ve decided to live together?’
‘For a trial period. If it works out we may get married. Brent would like to.’
‘Well, let me know if you want to spend your honeymoon in a palazzo…’
Without envy, Sandy said cheerfully, ‘I do like having rich friends.’
Signor Mancini, when notified of Nicola’s intentions, had proved almost embarrassingly eager to be of assistance. Though she had assured him that it wasn’t necessary, he had advised her where to stay, and gallantly insisted on making all the hotel bookings.
For some reason, and without ever hearing his voice, Sandy had taken a dislike to the man. She now called him ‘the slimy git’. But, unwilling to hurt his feelings, Nicola had thanked him and, abandoning her busman’s holiday, accepted his well-meant help.
The only thing she had vetoed was that he should meet her on her arrival in Venice and personally conduct her to the hotel.
There was really no need to take up his valuable time, she had insisted politely, and it would tie her to being there at a certain hour.
Her last planned stop before Venice was Innsbruck, and she arrived in the picturesque Austrian city in the early afternoon.
Signor Mancini had arranged for her