The Echoes of Love (19 page)

Venetia left her godmother's office and made her way up to the workshop.
Six hours is a long drive
, she thought. Should she be gracious and accept his invitation to fly? Or maybe she should take the train and rent a car when she got to the other end? No, she would drive down and show this man that she could not be bossed around, and was quite capable of managing a journey of six hours on her own.

Francesca was waiting for Venetia in her office. ‘It's almost time for lunch, where have you been all morning?'

‘Don't ask. It's been one of those days already.'

‘You look really frazzled. Let's go and have a spot of lunch and you can tell me about it.'

So over a tomato and mozzarella salad, Venetia told her friend all that had happened that morning, including her unpleasant encounter with the Count. Francesca dropped her fork, her eyes wide.

‘You're not going to let that bastard Umberto get away with his outrageous behaviour, are you? You must report him!'

‘The man is poison and it would be his word against mine, Francesca. I'm sure he's got half the police force of Venice eating out of his hand. And, anyhow, I'm going away, which after all may not be such a bad thing,' she admitted, a small part of her secretly relieved that the decision had been forced on her. Perhaps this was Fate pushing her in the direction she needed to go.

‘I find the thought of that animal getting away with it really galling. He'll just try this sort of thing again with someone else.'

‘He'll try it anyway.'

Francesca sighed. ‘I suppose you're right.'

The two young women sipped their coffee in silence.

‘Shouldn't you tell
Signora
Lombardi the truth about why you're reluctant to take on this job?'

‘No, please, let's leave my godmother out of all this. You know that I'm a very private person and don't like talking about my affairs, even to her. She's like a mother to me and would only try and meddle. You're my friend. It's different.'

‘What are you going to do about Paolo? Are you going to confront him with what you've found out about him?'

‘No, I'll confine our relationship to business, and there'll be nothing intimate or personal between us. It's the only way I might be able to handle the situation.'

‘I mean, face it, Venetia, less than twenty-four hours ago you were in the man's arms – you even admit to having had a magical evening. Don't you think that you'll find it difficult to work with him after what's happened between you? Attraction doesn't evaporate just like that,' Francesca snapped her fingers.

‘Yes, yes, I know, I'm all confused. To be honest, I'm really appalled at the effect Paolo has on me. I thought I'd become stronger than this. When Judd left me, and even more when I lost the baby, I thought my heart would snap in two, and that nothing in the world was going to be right again.' Venetia paused and gazed off into the distance before looking back at her friend. ‘As you know, for the past ten years I haven't really looked at another man. I just dated them to pass the time.' Her mouth quirked up in a wry smile: ‘I don't know what it is about Paolo… what it is that makes me melt inside whenever he looks at me.'

Francesca nudged her hand and gave her a sideways glance. ‘He's an expert lover, that's what it is –
l'Amante delle Quattro Stagioni,
as his friend told you.'

Venetia's pain ran deep, but pride made her dredge up enough poise to shrug. ‘Yes, you're probably right. They're all the same, these men. As I told you, I had turned down Paolo's assignment anyway, even before hearing about the complicated details of his life.' She sighed. ‘But Giovanna is adamant, the firm needs the work. Look, don't worry about me, Francesca. I'm quite capable of dealing with this crisis. God only knows I've been through worse and come out the other side. I'm just furious that I haven't been given the choice.'

At Umberto's revelations, Venetia had felt as if a chill wind was blowing over her and a dark cloud had blotted out the sunlight pouring into the Count's office. However, she had the profound feeling that a piece of the puzzle surrounding Paolo was still missing. Something did not ring true about all this. It hardly seemed possible that the man who had almost declared his love for her the night before might have been feigning, and merely playing a cruel game of seduction. Yet, hadn't Judd sworn his undying love to her too, then at the first real obstacle deserted her without even a word? No, she had to face reality. Men couldn't be trusted, full stop.

Although Venetia would have preferred not to be faced with Paolo again for some time, she was aware that deep down she couldn't help but feel a strange excitement at the idea of working close to him for the next few months, and her heart beat faster in anticipation. She would try very hard to be her usual self in his company and not give the slightest inkling of what she knew about him; she only hoped to succeed in fooling everyone… but was she such a good actress? And could she conceal her feelings from him, which she reluctantly accepted now had nothing to do with either friendship or business, knowing she must stifle them, if only for her own sake? Of course she could, she told herself: she was an adult, mentally and emotionally. The young woman resolved instantly that, whatever it cost her in self-restraint, she would not make a fool of herself.

Back at the office, Venetia went straight to Karina, who was in charge of all travel arrangements at
Bianchi e Lombardi
,
and dictated an email for Paolo, telling him of her decision to drive down to Porto Santo Stefano. After his arrogant manipulation to get her appointed to the job, she wasn't about to give him even more access to her by including her mobile phone number, that would be playing far too easily into his hands; so with a small degree of satisfaction, she told Karina that
Signor
Barone could contact the office if he had any questions. Venetia also asked the secretary to buy a couple of maps that would help her on the journey, especially given that Fabrizio told her that although the route from Venice to the west coast was pretty straightforward, as it was mostly motorway, the last hundred kilometres or so across country were more complicated to negotiate. He had also suggested driving Venetia there, with a hopeful expression on his face, but she turned down his offer as kindly as she could, saying that she would take it slowly and would enjoy the drive.

During the coming days, Venetia worked furiously in an effort to damp down the excitement that kept surfacing. Yet, she was conscious all the time that she was merely trying to escape thinking too closely about Paolo and what the future might bring. He had rung the office a few times to speak to her, but she had always either been in a meeting or out, and deliberately did not return his calls. Finally he had resorted to sending her an email, simply saying he was delighted that she had decided to take on the assignment and he would be at
Miraggio to welcome her when she arrived.

As much as she tried, and no matter how busy she was, Venetia couldn't keep Paolo out of her mind. The more she fought against it, the more thoughts of him haunted her, especially at night in the most erotic dreams she never knew her imagination could conjure.

After a while, she had to admit that one part of her mind – the wounded, self-protecting, cynical part – remained aloof from all other considerations, and occupied itself in turning the new situation round and round, examining it from every angle. There seemed to be an unreality about everything in her world now, as if her romantic ‘real self' was sitting away somewhere up high, at an altitude, looking down upon the poised and controlled Venetia, restorer of mosaics, as she went about her normal routine: walking along the crowded streets of Venice, entering the equally crowded restaurants, choosing and eating lunch with Francesca as usual, and afterwards walking back to the office. Then, having waded doggedly through the great bulk of the day's work, Venetia would return to her flat to join that other remote self in silent battle, concentrating entirely upon the dreams that might come true, balancing all the delights they would offer against the embarrassments, and even the temporary unhappiness they might bring as their penalty.

Nonetheless, at the end of each deliberation, she remained appalled at how she could have surrendered her stronghold, knowing how much pain it promised.
You don't fall in love with someone you hardly know, almost a stranger, whose heart is already given elsewhere,
she repeated to herself, endlessly. How could Paolo have become so firmly entrenched in her heart that, despite what she now knew about him, not only could she hardly bear the prospect of not seeing him again, she couldn't wait to be with him once more?

* * *

On Monday, Venetia went to pick up her car at the garage, where she had taken it to be checked over before her journey. It wasn't ready and she was forced to wait around for almost an hour, so it wasn't until noon before she set off.

The trip down to Tuscany was not exactly a pleasure. The weather changed with dramatic abruptness; the false early spring disappeared and was replaced by rain. The first four hours on the motorway were grim, but Venetia was used to driving long distances on motorways. She had always preferred to travel by car than plane or train, and she cruised along steadily, listening to the radio, unfazed by the fog and drizzle. She hadn't had much breakfast that morning so she stopped for a snack and a cup of coffee at one of the ubiquitous Autogrill SpA restaurants on the Italian
autostrade
.

It was almost five o'clock when she got off the highway and began zigzagging her way down to Porto Santo Stefano, the small seaport town on the north-western promontory of Monte Argentario. Grey wisps of storm clouds, heavy and soft, trailed about the hills, and, as she drove along the wet, tortuous country lanes of Tuscany under the dripping, bowered trees, nothing could be seen of the countryside.

The weather forecast on the radio had threatened a storm, and now a gusty wind began to blow. The first ear-splitting crack was followed by a barrage of rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning from the west, the rain adding its fury to the storm concerto as it hit the aluminium bonnet of her Porsche sports car. There were no other vehicles on the road as she sped through the downpour; the whole region seemed empty in the darkening day.

Venetia felt strangely alone, her only company the monotonous swish of the windscreen wipers and the merry chatter of the radio. Maybe she should have accepted Paolo's offer and taken the plane instead of stubbornly insisting on driving down. She was tired and was not enjoying this part of her journey one bit. She had been to Florence, Pisa, and the more touristy cities of Tuscany, but had never explored the Tyrrhenian coast and its surroundings. She had thought that travelling this way would be fun and that she would see a little of the Tuscan countryside, but she hadn't reckoned on the storm.

Venetia sighed and changed the station to pop music. The radio show was streaming out back-to-back hits for the new millennium. The recognisable tumbling strings of Robbie Williams' ‘Millennium' played out and for a while she lost herself in the lush harmonies and insistent rhythm. The next song came on, the Italian hit ‘
la Fine del Millennio
' by Vasco Rossi, jolting her out of her reverie, its fast, hard rhythms such a coarse contrast. She wondered why the Italians had chosen a rasping, unmelodic song to represent the millennium when they were such a deeply romantic nation. Frowning, she quickly retuned again, landing on a nostalgia radio station. Demis Roussos was singing his achingly romantic seventies hit,
‘
Forever and Ever', and of how his destiny followed his love eternally. At that moment, inexplicably, the words caught at her heart. Overwhelmed by that deepening of emotion which solitude bestows, Venetia's throat constricted and for a brief moment her eyes welled up with tears of self-pity. They trembled at the edge of her lids, but she was quick to restrain them, chastising herself for being so weak and spineless.

A couple of hours later, she had passed Grosseto. The land around was undulating; it now ran up from sea level and down over the main range of hills. Up and down she went for miles, between the hills that branched from the main ridge, down towards the Tyrrhenian Sea.
In better weather the view must be breathtaking
, she thought as she came to a junction and followed the signs for Orbetello, an important Natural Reserve along the coast only five miles away from Porto Santo Stefano, where the coast of Tuscany connected to the promontory by three fingers of land. As she drove across to Monte Argentario, with the distant shadow of the sea on both sides and the wind whipping up keenly, in Venetia's mind it was as if she was crossing into a kind of mysterious isolation from the life she had left behind. This was Paolo's domain now.

She was nearly there, and for a charged moment Venetia forgot her weariness and her heart beat a little faster in anticipation of seeing Paolo. She could feel swelling up inside her again that languorous weakness edged with excitement that flowed through her every time she thought of him, but she grimly clung to her self-respect, fighting off this unwelcome rush of desire that reminded her she was not yet indifferent to him. She smiled to herself as an Italian proverb Francesca often used crossed her mind: ‘
quando ci si priva di cioccolato, se ne ricorda sempre il sapore dolce,
when you deprive yourself of chocolate, you always remember the sweet taste'. Would she perhaps lose her craving for Paolo if she mixed with him day in, day out, not only as a friend, but also as a lover, she wondered. Was giving in to him the cure for this strange, feverish addiction?

The directions that Paolo had sent the office to reach Miraggio from Cala Piccola, a tiny village outside Porto Santo Stefano, were clear and detailed. Venetia had no difficulty finding the unlit narrow lane that led uphill to the property. The storm seemed to have stopped as abruptly as it had come on, and although the view was still nebulous in the fading twilight, the wild wind had scattered the clouds, and the sky was faintly luminous. As the Porsche wound its way upwards, she was aware that she was climbing a mighty cliff overlooking an endless expanse of sea on one side and a wide scene of undulating countryside on the other. In front of her, despite the approaching night, she could just make out a magnificent, walled building in the distance.