Irresistible You (15 page)

‘Then why won’t you put it on?’

‘Because-’

‘What?’

‘Because it’s weird! It’s kinky! And I’m not into that,’ she said, her heart hammering loudly.

Reuben tutted.
‘It was only for a bit of fun,’ he said defensively.

‘Well, it’s not the kind of fun I’m into.’

He handed the mask back to her and she placed it in the pocket inside her jacket before taking the jacket off and throwing it over a chair.

‘Well, that’s certainly killed the mood, hasn’t it?’ Reuben groaned, flopping back on the bed in a world-weary fashion.

‘I’m sorry,’ Elena said.

‘I don’t understand why you bought a mask if you don’t want to wear it. I mean, what’s the point?’

‘Can we stop talking about the mask, please?’

Reuben sat up. ‘What do you want to talk about then?’

‘I don’t want to talk at all,’ she said, her voice softening as the fear of her magical mask being discovered drifted away.

Reuben cocked a dark eyebrow at her and they began to kiss.

*

Prof hadn’t been able to find a single restaurant open before seven o’clock and his stomach was rumbling like an angry volcano by the time he finally sat down to dinner.

It had been a very pleasant first day in Venice, he thought, tucking into a mountain of ravioli. How strange to have met an artist from London. He’d have to make sure he saw him again before he went home. Maybe he would commission something - a portrait perhaps. But did he really want a portrait of his myopic face staring down from his wall? Maybe he’d commission one of Elena. Or maybe not. If he sent Elena round to Mr Reuben Lord, he’d probably seduce her before he lifted a single paintbrush.

But where
was
Elena? The island was much bigger than he’d first thought. When people talked of Venice, they made it sound so small but it was a large labyrinth of streets and squares. A person could hide away for years and not be discovered and Prof had only a few days in which to find Elena.

*

Elena stretched back on the bed and picked up Reuben’s sketchbook. ‘You’ve been busy,’ she said, flicking through the pages, a sated smile filling her face. ‘Oh my God! You’ve drawn Rosanna!’

Reuben looked up from the pillow and snatched the pad from her with fingers faster than bolts of lightning.

‘Reuben! Let me look! They’re really good.’

‘You know I draw everyone I meet,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Elena said, the pad back in her hands. ‘You should show her. She’d like them.’

Elena flipped through the pad. There were endless bridges and canals, a gorgeously detailed study of San Marco complete with a posse of pigeons, and a couple of sketches of Santa Maria Della Salute. And then her eyes halted on one page. There was a sketch of a man wearing a bow tie and little round glasses.

‘When did you do this?’ she asked, her voice sounding hollow.

‘What?’

Elena showed him the page she’d found.

‘This afternoon.
In the lobby bar.’

‘Here?’

‘Yes. He’s a guest. English. Quite a nice bloke, actually.’

Elena felt the colour drain away from her face. It couldn’t be, could it? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Prof had a double. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

‘Are you okay?’ Reuben asked.

‘I’m - er - fine.’

‘What is it? Do you know this guy or something?’

‘No!’ Elena said, trying to laugh it off. ‘He just reminds me of someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh, someone I knew years ago at school.’

Reuben took the sketchbook from her and closed it, seeming to believe her lie.

‘Look, Reuben, it’s late. I’d better be off,’ she said, getting up and feeling her legs quaking beneath her.

‘Why don’t you stay here, Elena? I don’t understand!’

‘Because I’m staying with Rosanna.
I’ve told you.’

‘But I’m paying for this amazing room! I can’t believe you’d turn down a room like this. And it’s so late now. I don’t want you walking about in the dark.’

Elena looked at her watch. It was late, wasn’t it? Mark would be waiting for her at the apartment by now.

‘I’ve got to go, Reuben. Don’t worry. I know my way around.’

‘And just when am I going to see you next? We haven’t had a chance to talk properly yet.’

Elena smiled at him. He was right. Every time they met, they seemed to do nothing but make love. ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow? When? I might be out.’

But Elena was out of the room before he had time to protest further.

Doing her coat up in the lift, she looked at her watch nervously. She hadn’t actually set a time to see Mark, had she? He’d wait for her, wouldn’t he? As long as Rosanna didn’t get all heated up and angry at her absence and start divulging information which Mark shouldn’t know, everything would be fine.

The lift door opened and Elena stepped out, walking into the hotel foyer. And that’s where she saw him. It was Prof. Sigmund Algernon Mortimer really was in Venice. It hadn’t been his double - he really was here - in this very hotel. He really had spoken to Reuben! And he really was staring at her - right now.

‘Elena?’

Elena froze for a vital, stupid moment and then darted, like an arrow from a bow, to the ladies. The mask! She had to get the mask on. There was nobody in the ladies and she reached for the mask and tied it on. She couldn’t take a chance on becoming trapped in the cubicle - invisible or not. She had to risk it here.

‘Elena?’ Prof’s voice was outside the door.

Her heart drummed madly as she tied the black ribbons around her head with shaking fingers and waited for the tingling to begin. She counted silently to herself as the warmth flooded her body and she watched in astonishment as her solid self began to fade away.

‘El? Are you in there? Open up? It’s me -
Prof!
’

Elena bit her lip.
Just a few more seconds.

‘If you’re not coming out then I’m coming in,’ he said in a sing-song sort of way as if she might be playing games with him.

Elena screamed silently. There was still the faintest outline of her body - like a strange mirage.

‘Okay,’ Prof yelled from outside and, sure enough, the door opened and he was there, staring right at her -
through
her.

The mask had worked its magic but she didn’t know what to do next.

‘Elena? Are you in here?’ Prof’s expression was one of extreme puzzlement, like the one he wore when doing The Times crossword. ‘I know you’re in here,’ he said but he didn’t sound at all sure of himself as he approached the cubicle door. ‘El?’

Of course, there was nobody there and he frowned at his mistake as he stood right next to her. Elena didn’t dare breathe in case he heard her, and she didn’t dare move in case he became aware of her presence. They stood, inches apart, only a tiny channel of air separating them. She could see the pores of his skin and the tiniest of shaving cuts. She could smell the deep sandalwood of his aftershave and, if she stretched out a finger, she’d feel the wild scratchiness of his tweed jacket.

Her dearest Prof had come all this way to see her but he didn’t know where she was staying. How did he propose to find her, she wondered? Was he just going to wander around Venice in the hope of running into her? But wasn’t that exactly what had happened?

Elena wondered what had made him stay at the Danieli. She knew he had plenty of money tucked away but to spend so much in the hope of finding her was rather silly. And what was he to think now? Would he believe the evidence of his own eyes? Or would he think he’d merely imagined seeing her?

Elena watched as he sighed and shook his head just as a woman entered the room, unleashing a torrent of Italian which, luckily, he couldn’t understand but which made Elena smile in intense relief as he backed out of the toilets and disappeared down the hall.

Rosanna was ready to pounce on Elena as soon as she got back to the apartment.

‘You’ve missed him,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘Mark! Who else? You knew he was going to be coming over this evening. Where have you been all this time?’

‘He could at least have waited for me,’ Elena said, tired and confused.

‘He did - for nearly two hours! But the poor guy got the feeling you were avoiding him.’

‘Well, did he say where he was staying?’

Rosanna shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Then how am I meant to meet up with him?’

‘I guess he’ll come here again.’

Elena sighed. She had three fiancés in Venice who might turn up, unannounced, at any time. This was absolute madness.

‘I’m going to bed,’ Rosanna announced. ‘I’ve had enough of today.’

Elena mirrored her sister’s yawn and suddenly realised how tired she was. It had been the longest, strangest of days. She felt inside her coat for the mask and brought it out for one last look. Stefano had told her to have fun with it and she’d certainly done that today, but it was also becoming obvious that the mask was a necessary tool for coping with the over-zealous men in her life.

*

The Umbrian hills rolled gently into the midday heat haze in pale shades of emerald and amber. The only road visible was a tiny track up to the farmhouse which had been bleached a pale peach by hundreds of years of sunshine.

Shutters were flung wide open into a garden which rambled over rough ground. Great terracotta pots, stuffed full of herbs, jostled for space on a tiny but perfect terrace complete with wooden chairs and a table on which dishes for lunch were laid. It all looked so glorious, so picture-perfect.
Until …

A dark-haired girl’s head popped out of an upstairs window.

‘MAMA!’ she shouted. ‘Mirella’s pulling my hair!
MAMA!
’

‘Now, you just stop that, Mirella! Leave Leda alone,’ Rosanna called.

‘It wasn’t me, Mama. It was Chiara!’ Mirella cried.

‘Chiara!
Get down here.’

A few minutes later, a tiny doll-like girl appeared on the terrace.

‘What do you have to say for yourself, Chiara?’

‘It wasn’t my fault. Fabio started it.’

‘Where’s Fabio?’

‘He’s hiding. He’s had a fight with Fabrizio.’

Rosanna rolled her eyes. Those twins would be the death of her. As if she didn’t have enough to cope with with the three girls, and another baby due in the autumn.

‘Go and get them both - NOW!’

Her head felt ready to split down the middle with pain. She sat down for a moment, her swollen hand resting on her engorged belly. Judging by the size of her, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was twins again. That would be all she needed.

She looked down into the valley and wished she could take off and fly right into it…

‘Rosanna?’ a male voice called.

‘I’m out here.’

‘What are you doing?’ Corrado asked, walking out onto the terrace in a foul mood.

‘I’m trying to get away from everyone.’

‘What?’

‘I’m just having five minutes’ peace and quiet.’

‘Well, you’ve had all you’re having. Now, get back in the kitchen or lunch will be ruined.’

Wearily, and without a helping hand from her husband, Rosanna got up and shuffled back into the kitchen.

‘Just look at the state of the place!’ Corrado complained.

Rosanna looked around the room in despair. There was an avalanche of dishes in the sink and the work surfaces were covered in cooking experiments that had gone wrong.

‘It looks like Pompeii after the eruption of Vesuvius! And just look at that crostata! It looks like diarrhoea,’ Corrado snarled. ‘It’s not like how Mama used to make it.’

Rosanna didn’t dare say that it was like that because nobody ever leant a hand -
that it was like that because she and she alone had to run the house and look after everybody.

‘My house never looked like this, did it?’ Irma complained, hobbling into the kitchen and staring accusingly at her with raisin eyes.

‘No, it certainly didn’t, Mama. But this one doesn’t care as much as you!’

‘Doesn’t care?’ Rosanna said, aghast, finding a little courage at last. ‘Doesn’t CARE? I’ll have you know, your bloody mother only had one child to look after - not five, with another on the way, and a husband who does nothing but grow a few vegetables and complain of backache, and a mother-in-law with a whip for a tongue!’

‘What did you say?’ Corrado demanded.

‘What did she say?’ Irma screeched.

A sudden sound of crying came from upstairs followed by the thunder of footsteps on the stairs as five children burst into the kitchen - each one crying as if they’d lost a limb.

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Irma shouted.
‘Stupid, selfish girl! And what do you think you’re doing wearing such a dress for cooking? Scarlet! Pah! It’s the colour of a whore!’ Irma’s eyes glinted with malice.

The first photo frame hit Rosanna square on the nose. She was too stunned to react. Suddenly, Irma was throwing one after the other until Rosanna was suffocating beneath a mountain of silver. The onslaught didn’t stop. Still, there were more, flying through the air, affording her a brief glimpse of Corrado at varying stages of childhood before they hit Rosanna in the face. Where were
all these photo frames coming from? There seemed to be an endless supply. She was drowning.

‘MAMA!’ the children wailed.

‘Help me!’ Rosanna wailed back.

‘Rosanna!’

‘Help me!’

‘Rosaaaaaaaaaaana!’

‘Here I am! I’m here!’

‘I know you are! Wake up!’ Elena called.

And she did.

‘Elena?’

‘Rosanna! Are you okay?’

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Elena had put a bedside lamp on and Rosanna slowly allowed her eyes to adjust to the light. ‘I think so.’

‘You were waving your arms around like a windmill.’

‘I was suffocating.’

‘Were you?’

‘In photo frames.’

‘What?’

Rosanna cradled her head in her hands in despair. ‘It was horrible! It was like tea today but much,
much
worse.’

‘Irma? You’re dreaming about Irma Taccani?’

Rosanna nodded. ‘I was trapped in this isolated farm house with Corrado and Irma and hundreds of kids. And I was fat and pregnant! It was horrible!’

‘God!
You’ve really got to do something about this, haven’t you?’

Rosanna closed her eyes and let out the deepest, most grievous of sighs. ‘I suppose so.’

‘There’s no supposing about it,’ Elena said, swinging her legs out of bed and grabbing her dressing gown from a nearby chair. She winced as she saw the time on the alarm clock. It was only three in the morning. ‘How about some hot milk?’

‘
Merda
!’

‘Hot chocolate?’

Rosanna nodded. ‘That might be nice.’

Elena went downstairs, turning on lights and finding
herself more awake than she thought she could be at that time of the morning. Rosanna followed her and curled up on a sofa, hugging a cushion to her as if it were a life belt.

‘I don’t think I want to marry Corrado,’ she said a few minutes later when they sat warming their middle-of-the-night hands around their mugs of hot chocolate.

‘I know you don’t,’ Elena agreed. ‘You’d have to be certifiable to choose Irma Taccani as your mother-in-law.’

Rosanna sighed. ‘That phrase
mother-in-law
shakes me to the core. The word
mother
is scary enough on its own without linking it to the word
law
.’

‘Well, I’m glad we’ve finally established that.’

‘But what do I do now?’ Rosanna asked.

Elena had never seen her sister looking so fragile and she put her arm around her shoulders and kissed her on her cheek. ‘You have to tell Corrado.’

The wide eyes closed in realisation. ‘
Mio Dio
! Do I?’

‘How else can you end all this?’

‘It’s just-’

‘What?’

‘So scary!’

‘Tell me about it. Remember, I’ve got to break off two - I mean - one of my engagements,’ Elena stumbled but Rosanna didn’t seem to hear her blunder; she was too bound up in her own problems. ‘At least you’re not engaged.’

‘But Irma will flail me. I know she will! She’ll probably break into the apartment when I’m asleep and drag me out and drown me in the lagoon!’

‘Rosanna!
She’ll do no such thing!’ Elena sighed, trying not to look over her shoulder into the dark shadows of the apartment. ‘She has nothing to do with this. It’s between you and Corrado, okay?’

‘I know I shouldn’t let her get to me but I can’t tell you how much that woman terrifies me,’ she confessed.

Elena bit her lip. That Irma Taccani, like the overbearing woman in the Danieli, needed taking down a peg or two.

‘Don’t you worry about Irma,’ Elena said, giving Rosanna’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘I have a feeling she won’t be causing you any more problems.’