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next part of the meal elsewhere. But he did it without taking his attention from her, or interrupting the flow, and when she found herself crossing a bridge a few minutes later she wasn’t quite sure how she’d arrived there.
He found another restaurant and ordered without asking her. That was how she discovered ‘Venetian oysters’, the shells stuffed with caviar with pepper and lemon juice, served on ice with brown bread and butter. It was ten times as good as the splendid meal served in Roscoe’s house, prepared by his expensive chef. Her companion read her face, and grinned.
‘We do the best cooking in the world,’ he asserted without a trace of modesty.
‘I believe you, I believe you,’ she said fervently. ‘This is pure heaven.’
‘You don’t mind my ordering for you?’
She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know what to ask for anyway.’
‘Then you place yourself totally in my hands. Bene!’
‘I didn’t exactly say that,’ she protested. ‘I said you could choose the food.’
‘Since we’re eating, that’s the same thing.’
‘Well, I’m on my guard. I’ve heard about gondoliers,’ she teased.
‘And what exactly have you heard?’ he was teasing her back.
‘That you’re a bunch of Romeos—’
‘Not Romeos, Casanovas,’ he corrected her seriously.
‘Does it make a difference?’ she asked, wondering if it was ever possible to disconcert this madman.
‘Of course. This is Casanova’s city. In the Piazza San Marco you can still see Florian’s, the coffee-house where he used to go. Also he was imprisoned in Venice. So, you were saying—’
‘You mean I can finish now?’
He placed a finger over his mouth. ‘Not another word.’
‘I don’t believe you. Where was I?’
‘We’re all Casanovas—’
‘Who count the girls as they come off the planes.’
‘But of course we do,’ he agreed shamelessly. ‘Because we’re always looking for the one perfect one.’
‘Phooey! Who cares about perfection if it’s only for a few days?’
‘I always care about perfection. It matters.’
He wasn’t joking any more and she was impelled to reply seriously. ‘But everything can’t be perfect. The world is full of imperfection.’
‘Of course. That’s why perfection matters. But you must know how to seek it in the little things as well as the great. Look out there.’
He pointed through the window to where the sun was setting exactly between two high buildings, looking like a stream of gold descending into the earth.
‘Do you think the architect knew he was achieving exactly that perfect effect when he created those buildings?’ he asked her. ‘It seems fantastic, but I like to believe that he did. Perfection is where you find it.’
‘Or where you think you’ve found it. Sometimes you must discover that you’re wrong.’
‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘And then nothing looks quite the same again.’ Then his laughter broke out again. ‘Why are we being so serious? That comes later.’
‘Oh, really? You’ve got our conversation all mapped out then?’
‘I think we’re travelling a well-worn path, you and I.’
‘I’m not going to ask you which path. It might mean getting too serious again, and I’m here for fun.’
He regarded her quizzically. ‘Are you saying that’s why you came to Venice—looking for a holiday romance?’
‘No, I—’ Absurdly, the question caught her off-guard. ‘No, that’s not why.’
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked at once. ‘Have I said something to hurt you?
‘No, of course not.’
It was hard because this man was shrewder and subtler than she had allowed for. His eyes were warm and concerned, studying her anxiously, but she needed to evade them, lest they looked too deep.
‘That was lovely,’ she said, indicating her empty plate. ‘What have you decided on now?’
‘Polastri Pini e Boni,’ he declared at once.
‘And that is—?’ She was searching the menu for enlightenment. ‘I can’t find it.’
‘It’s chicken, stuffed with herbs, cheese and almonds. You won’t find it on the menu. They don’t do it here.’
‘Then—?’
‘I’m going to take you to a place where they do serve it.’
‘Are we going to have every course in a different place?’ she asked, slightly giddy at the thought.
‘Of course. It’s the ideal way to eat. Come on.’
As soon as they were outside she became completely lost. Now they were far off the tourist track, plunging into narrow, flagstoned streets that she knew were called calle. High overhead the last of the daylight was almost blocked out by washing strung between buildings, across the street.
‘I thought all the streets were water,’ she observed as they strolled along, not hurrying.
‘No, there are plenty of places where it’s possible to walk, but sooner or later one always comes to water.’
‘But why build it like this in the first place?’
‘Many centuries ago, my ancestors were running from their enemies. They fled the mainland, out into the lagoon where there were a mass of tiny islands, and they settled there. They drove stakes deep into the water to create foundations, built bridges between the islands, and so created a unity that became a city.’
‘You mean this canal beneath us—’ they were crossing a small bridge ‘—was the seaway between two separate islands? It’s only about twelve feet wide.’
‘They were miracle workers. And a miracle is what they created.’
‘But how? It just—just defies all the laws of architecture, of science, of common sense—’
‘Oh, common sense—’ he said dismissively.
‘I believe in it,’ she said defiantly.
‘Then heaven help you! It means nothing. It creates nothing, it’s the opposite of a miracle. Look about you. As you say, Venice defies common sense, and yet it exists.’
‘I can’t deny that.’
‘So much for common sense! Never resort to it again. It’s the root of all the troubles in the world.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help it,’ she confessed. ‘I grew up sensible, reliable, practical—’
He put his hands over his ears. ‘Stop, stop!’ he begged. ‘I can’t bear any more of these dreadful words. I must feed you quickly and make you well again.’
He hustled her down some steps and into a door that was almost hidden in shadows. Behind it was a tiny restaurant which was almost full despite the fact that it seemed to be in hiding. One taste of the chicken was enough to explain this contradiction. If the last course had brought her to the gates of heaven, this one ushered her through.
Guido watched her with pleasure, intent on weaving a spell around her. He wanted her securely in his magic net before he was ready to reveal certain things about himself. He was an honest man,