The Venetian Playboy's Bride. Lucy Gordon
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employee, who managed his glass factory, more than slightly tipsy, full of good cheer, and about to blow his cover.
Guido tensed and his glance flew to Dulcie who was mercifully absorbed in feeding a kitten that had appeared under their table. She hadn’t heard Alberto call him Guido but disaster was approaching fast. The one ray of hope was that Alberto was speaking in Venetian. Grabbing his friend’s wrist Guido muttered in the same language.
‘Hello, old friend. Do me a favour. Get lost.’
‘That’s not very friendly Gui—’
‘I’m not feeling friendly. Now be a good fellow and take yourself off.’
Alberto stared, then he caught sight of Dulcie and his expression cleared. ‘Aha! A beautiful lady. You devil. Let me make her acquaintance.’
‘You’ll make the acquaintance of the canal in a minute.’ Guido’s smile never wavered as he uttered this half-serious threat.
‘Hey, all right!’ Alberto became placating, backing off. ‘If it’s like that—’
‘I’m warning you—another word—’
‘Fine, I’m going.’
Guido watched him depart, feeling as if he’d aged ten years. He should have taken Dulcie to some place where nobody knew him, but where, in Venice, was he to find such a place?
Problems crowded in on him. Soon he must tell her of his innocent deception, but how to do it needed a lot of thought. Never mind. He would ‘tap-dance’ his way out of that problem when the time came. He was good at that because to a warm-hearted man with a tangled personal life tap-dancing was a necessary skill.
‘If you’ve finished, let’s walk again,’ he said. ‘Venice will have changed.’
She saw what he meant as they stepped outside. Night had created a different city. Little alleys that had led to mysterious corners now vanished into total darkness, and lights glittered like jewels reflected in the black water. He led her onto a small bridge and stood back, letting her drink in the beauty in her own way, in peace.
Already there were a thousand things he wanted to say to her, but he held back, fearful of breaking the spell by going too fast. He could wait, and let Venice do its work for him.
Dulcie watched and listened, entranced. Faintly, in the distance, she could hear the sound of mandolins, and occasionally a strange, soft, eerie yodel.
‘Whatever is that sound?’
‘It’s the cry a gondolier gives as he approaches a corner,’ he said. ‘With twenty-two feet of boat in front of him he has to warn any traffic crossing his path, otherwise they’d be colliding all the time.’
As he spoke there was another yodel close by, and the prow of a gondola appeared around the corner, turning into the canal and heading for them. Dulcie leaned over the bridge, watching the boat with its young lovers clasped in an embrace. Slowly they drew apart, their faces illuminated by the lights from the bridge.
Dulcie felt a cold hand clutch her stomach. The man—it couldn’t be—she was imagining things. As the gondola glided beneath she rushed to the other side of the bridge in a vain attempt to see better. But that was worse. There was only the back of his head. Perversely this only increased her conviction that she’d seen Simon.
A rich bride, a honeymoon in Venice, these were the things he’d wanted. But it was only four months since they’d parted. Could he have replaced one bride with another so fast? Suddenly she’d moved back in time to a turmoil of pain, disillusion, rejection, mistrust.
‘Dulcie, what is it?’
She felt strong hands seize her, turn her. His face was dark.
‘Tell me what’s the matter.’
‘Nothing.’
‘That man—you knew him—’
‘No—I thought I did, but it couldn’t have been him, not so soon—not here of all places—I don’t know, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s like that.’
‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ she cried angrily. ‘You don’t know anything.’
‘You loved him, and you thought you would be here with him. That much is obvious. And it wasn’t so very long ago. So perhaps you love him still?’
‘It wasn’t him,’ she said, trying to sound firm. ‘Just someone else who looked a bit like him.’
‘But you’re avoiding my question. Do you still love him? Or don’t you know?’
‘Yes—no—I don’t know. I don’t know anything.’
‘Were you coming to Venice for your honeymoon?’
‘Yes,’ she sighed.
‘And now you come here alone—to think of what might have been?’
That did it.
‘Rubbish!’ she said trenchantly. ‘Absolute codswallop! How dare you suggest that I’m some sort of—of—I don’t know, some sort of forlorn maiden trailing in the shadow of a dead love. Of all the sentimental drivel I ever heard—I’ve a good mind to—’
How he laughed. ‘Brava! Brava! I knew you were stronger than that. Whatever he did to you, you won’t be crushed. Don’t get mad, get even! Shall we follow and tip him into the water?’
‘Don’t be idiotic,’ she said, joining in his laughter unwillingly. ‘I don’t even know that it’s him.’
‘Let’s tip him in the water anyway,’ he suggested hopefully.
‘You clown. Whatever for?’
‘As a warning to all men to be careful how they treat women in future.’
‘Let’s forget him,’ she said hastily. She didn’t know what wicked imp had made him voice the very idea that had brought her here, but it was something she couldn’t afford to think of just now.
‘Yes, let’s forget him and plan what we shall do tomorrow. There’s so much I want to show you—’
‘What about your gondola? It’s your living.’
‘Not tomorrow. Tomorrow I forget work and think only of you.’
‘Oh, really,’ she teased. ‘Suppose I have other ideas?’
He looked crestfallen. ‘There’s another man you’d rather spend the day with?’
‘No, I—’ she bit back the rest, realising that she’d walked into a trap.
‘You’d rather spend the day with me than any other man?’ he said at once. ‘Bene! That’s what I hoped.’
‘You’re twisting my words. Maybe I want to spend the day alone.’
‘Do you?’
He wasn’t teasing any more, and neither was she.
‘No,’ she said quietly.
‘We could go to the seaside, if you like?’
‘Does it have a really sandy beach?’ she asked longingly.
‘I promise you a really sandy beach. Venice doesn’t just have the best cooking in the world, it also has the best beach in the world.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The best swimming, and the best company. Me.’
He was laughing again, playing the jester, inviting her to mock him. Then suddenly he drew her into his arms, holding her close, but not kissing her, content just to embrace. He drew back a little and touched her face with his hands, brushing back stray tendrils of hair, and