Not Just a Convenient Marriage. Lucy Gordon
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She gasped, sitting down suddenly.
She guessed she should have thought of the child when she saw the apparition was so short, but the stunning effect of the face had driven everything else out of her mind.
‘Did I make you jump?’ he asked.
‘Just a little.’
He came close, smiling in a cheeky, friendly way that dispelled the last of her alarm.
‘I just wanted to show you my mask,’ he said.
‘It’s—very effective,’ she said with feeling.
‘Yes, I’m going to wear it for the carnival. Everyone dresses up. I’ve got several masks but I think this is the best.’
He put it back on, turning the monstrous face towards her with an air of triumph.
‘Aaaaaargh!’ she cried, throwing up her hands in a theatrical pretence of terror that made him laugh with delight.
‘What’s going on?’ Damiano demanded from the door. ‘Pietro, what are you up to? You should know better than to scare our guest twice in one day.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m strong enough for anything,’ Sally declared.
‘You may need to be if he’s going to get up to his tricks.’
‘But that’s what boys are for, getting up to tricks,’ she protested. ‘If they behave too well it’s no fun.’
‘Then I can promise you plenty of fun,’ Damiano said with an ironic glance at his son. He pointed to the door. ‘Out! And behave yourself, if you know how.’
When Pietro had vanished Sally said, ‘If he does know how I bet he’d never admit it to you.’
‘That’s hitting the nail on the head. I must leave you for a moment to make an urgent phone call, but when you’re ready the dining room is just across the hall. They’re already laying the table.’
He departed, and a few minutes later Charlie entered, rubbing his hands.
‘We’ve really fallen on our feet,’ he said gleefully.
‘Yes, they’re lovely people,’ she agreed.
‘That’s not what I meant. This guy has money. We can have a great time here!’
She regarded him wryly. It was clear Charlie’s acquisitive side was rearing its head.
‘Charlie, I know your idea of a great time,’ she said tersely. ‘Just try to behave yourself.’ A sudden impulse made her add, ‘If you know how.’
‘But I don’t,’ he said with an air of innocence. ‘I never have, according to you. And now we’re in Venice, you don’t expect me to behave myself here, do you?’
‘Whatever I was thinking of to bring you to the great pleasure city I can’t imagine.’
‘You wanted me to have fun, and I’m going to show my appreciation by having the best fun ever.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Now push off while I make myself ready for the evening.’
‘But you haven’t brought any extra clothes with you.’
‘No, but I can try a little make-up.’
If it would make any difference, she thought, self-mockingly. In this beautiful place she was more than ever aware that her looks were commonplace.
Many women would have envied her slim figure but she regarded it askance.
A bit too slim? she thought. Thin? Perhaps. Frank used to say he liked me that way, but the creature I saw in his arms had luscious curves and they were all on display. Ah, well! What does it matter now?
She made up as elegantly as possible but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that the Duchess Araminta on the wall regarded her with disapproval. Nora had hinted that she was a courtesan, a woman who’d spent her life enticing men, and the message she seemed to send out to Sally was, Is that the best you can do?
‘Yes, it is,’ she replied defiantly. ‘We can’t all be great beauties.’
Soon there was a knock at her door and Pietro presented himself in another mask. This one wasn’t alarming, but cheeky, leaving his mouth free. He took her hand and they went to the dining room together, followed by Charlie and Toby.
Supper was a collection of fine Venetian dishes. Damiano was attentive, asking her several times if he could get her anything. She revelled in it, unable to remember when she had last been so spoilt, and determined to enjoy it to the full. She guessed the treat would not last long.
Charlie too was having the time of his life, plaguing Damiano with questions about things to enjoy in Venice.
‘There’s plenty to see,’ Damiano told him. ‘The palaces, the monuments—’
‘I meant something a bit livelier than that,’ Charlie said. ‘Places where things happen and you have fun.’
‘There’s La Fenice,’ Damiano mused. ‘I’ve been there many times myself and always enjoyed it.’
‘Do plenty of people go there?’ Charlie asked.
‘About a thousand every night.’
‘Oh, boy, what a place! What do they do when they get there?’
‘They sit quietly and watch the performance,’ Sally intervened before Charlie could make an even bigger ninny of himself. ‘It’s an opera house.’
‘Opera—? You mean—serious stuff?’ His tone revealed exactly what he thought of serious stuff.
‘Not necessarily,’ Damiano said. ‘Sometimes they perform comic operas. We might go to see one. I’ll arrange it if you like.’
Charlie gulped. ‘No need to go to any trouble for me,’ he said hastily.
Sally caught Damiano’s eye and smothered a laugh. It was clear that he had understood Charlie perfectly, and was enjoying teasing him. His quizzical look asked her if he’d got the situation right. She gave him a brief nod.
‘This food’s terrific,’ Charlie said, with the air of someone changing the subject at all costs.
‘I’ll tell the cook you said so,’ Damiano said. And the moment passed.
Pietro made the evening delightful. He’d taken a shine to Sally after the way she’d defended him and Toby. Especially Toby, who was allowed to stay curled up under the table, from where he could be fed titbits.
‘Can you really eat in that mask?’ she asked the boy. ‘I know it doesn’t exactly cover your mouth but it doesn’t look comfortable.’
His reply was to bite a sausage, which he only just managed.
‘All right,’ she laughed. ‘I guess I don’t understand masks. What does this one make you?’
‘A monkey,’ Pietro said ‘But I’ve got another one that makes me a mouse.’
‘I’d like to see that. But not now,’ she added quickly. ‘Finish your supper first.’
Giving a quick glance at his father, Pietro replied with a studied air of obedience that didn’t fool her for a moment.
‘Yes, signorina.’
‘Oh, please, not signorina. My name is Sally, and that’s what I like my friends to call me.’ She added anxiously, ‘We are friends, aren’t we?’
Pietro nodded eagerly, and returned to eating. But before long he began chatting again, so that it was hard for anybody else to get a word in edgeways. Occasionally there was a mild protest from his father, but on the whole Damiano seemed inclined to be indulgent. Once he mentioned bedtime, but Pietro’s cry of, ‘Please, Papa,’ was