‘He wasn’t very happy about it,’ said Laura, after a pause. ‘He hustled me off to the vaporetto so quickly I felt like an utter nuisance.’
‘Not his usual style,’ said Fen, surprised. ‘He’s normally a wow with the girls. Anyway, was the hotel all right? Apparently Lorenzo emphasised that you were on a tight budget, and very prickly on the subject of favours.’
Laura’s chin lifted. ‘I prefer to call it independent. Anyway, the hotel was lovely, and only a short stroll from the Piazza San Marco. No food, though. I had to eat out.’
‘So what did you do altogether?’
Once again Laura gave a list of restaurants and places visited as she took two parcels from the wardrobe. ‘Here you are. The small one’s a souvenir, so look at that first. The other one is your wedding present. I bought it in Murano. Not antique, but I hope you like it.’
Fen grinned as she took out a bright gold T-shirt with the Venezia logo. ‘Been there, bought the T-shirt, I see. Thanks, Laurie—great colour. Now, what have we here?’ Her eyes widened in delight as she took the candlesticks from their box. ‘Oh, my goodness. They’re absolutely beautiful!’ She sniffed hard and hugged Laura tightly. ‘Thanks a million. They’ll be perfect on our new dining table—well, old table, really. I can’t wait to show Joe.’
Laura smiled brightly. ‘And where is Mr Tregenna right now?’
‘In the bosom of his family in Cornwall this weekend.’ Fen heaved a sigh. ‘I’ve moved back home until the wedding, and it’s going to be a long, long week. I miss Joe already.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘I know Miss Ice Maiden doesn’t understand such things, but one day you’ll meet someone you can’t live without, too.’
With a sinking feeling that she’d done that already, Laura shrugged, smiling, and collected their coffee mugs. ‘Mother’s programme must be over now. She’s dying to see the candlesticks—or candeliere as they say in Venice.’
‘Show-off!’ Fen looked at her watch. ‘I’ll just pop in to see Mrs G, then I must fly. I’ll see you tomorrow night for the hen party—don’t be late. Seven sharp up at the house before we paint Pennington red!’
After Fen left Laura went out to the kitchen—officially to check on her laundry, but in reality to seethe in silence over Domenico’s silence about his relationship to the Forlis. Had Domenico been afraid she’d presume on it? No wonder he’d refused to take her to the Forli Palace to eat. The staff might have thought she was someone who mattered instead of just a holiday fling! Thank God she’d found out who he was before prattling on to Fen about shopping expeditions and candlelit dinners.
When Laura took two mugs of tea into the sitting room her mother looked up from the brochure of the Locanda Verona. ‘Nice little place,’ she commented.
‘Very affordable, too. I was given a discount because my room was small and I had to climb four flights of stairs to get to it.’
Isabel frowned. ‘It says here that there’s a supplement on single rooms, no mention of a discount.’
Laura looked at the price tariff long and hard, then sprang to her feet, snatched her phone from her bag and punched a couple of buttons. ‘Fenella Dysart, I want a word with you!’
‘You just had one, bridesmaid. What’s up?’
‘Did you do some number-crunching regarding my hotel in Venice, by any chance?’
‘I most certainly did not!’ said Fen indignantly. ‘Did they overcharge, or something?’
‘Or something,’ said Laura grimly. ‘It was under, not over. I was given a hefty discount on my room—in summer, in Venice. And in San Marco at that.’
‘Well, it’s nothing to do with me, honest. I just asked Lorenzo to organise a nice place you could afford. Do you want to ring him in Florence and give him hell?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then look on the discount as a windfall—’
‘Charity, you mean!’
‘No, I don’t, touchy! See you tomorrow.’
Isabel Green looked at her daughter’s set face with foreboding. ‘You think Lorenzo or maybe Jess paid the difference?’
‘I’ll ring Signora Rossi at the hotel before I make any wild accusations.’
‘Take it easy, darling. You were charged less, not more.’
Laura took her phone upstairs to her room and eventually got through to the Locando Verona.
After the pleasantries were over Laura came straight to the point. ‘Regarding my bill, Signora Rossi, I’ve just been looking at your hotel brochure, and there’s a supplement on single rooms, but no mention of a discount. I’m sure I owe you money.’
There was a pause followed by an audible sigh. ‘You owe me nothing, Miss Green. The difference in price has been paid.’
Laura stiffened. ‘In that case, Signora Rossi, it’s very important that you tell me who paid it, so I can thank them for such kindness. Was it Signor Lorenzo Forli, by any chance?’
‘No, Miss Green, it was Signor Chiesa,’ said the woman with reluctance.
‘Ah. I see. Thank you so much for telling me. Arrivederci.’
Laura ground her teeth as she disconnected. Other people booked their holidays over the Internet, or went to travel agents, but her hotel reservation had come via Fen’s brother-in-law, so it had never occurred to her to query it, even when she got a non-existent discount. But Domenico/Giando probably didn’t think of it as charity. Her eyes narrowed ominously. Maybe he considered it fair exchange for their session in bed.
Laura went downstairs to reassure her mother that she didn’t owe anything for her holiday after all. ‘Lorenzo told one of his minions to sort it. I’ll thank him at the wedding.’
Isabel smiled, relieved. ‘How kind of him. Now, go to bed, darling, you look tired.’
Laura went upstairs, but not to bed. Instead she curled up on the window-seat, watching the rain stream down the glass. When her phone rang a long time later, as she’d known it would some time, she pressed the button and said a toneless hello.
‘Laura, where have you been?’ demanded Domenico frantically. ‘You are safe? You did not ring—’
‘Good evening, Giando!’
‘Ah,’ he said with a sigh, ‘you have already spoken with Fenella.’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve spoken with Signora Rossi, too. I asked her to explain the discount on my bill, and she told me you paid the difference.’
‘So? I paid some of the charge. Is this so great a crime?’
‘No, it’s something I like far less—charity.’
‘Cosa?’
‘Carita,’ she snapped, then let silence fall for a moment. ‘Or maybe you just intended it as reimbursement.’
‘Dio, this is so difficult on the telephone,’ he said heatedly. ‘What do you mean by reimbursement?’
‘We made love, remember.’
‘You think I have forgotten—?’ He paused. ‘Are you saying,’ he demanded in sudden fury, ‘that I paid this money in return for that? Grazie!’
‘I’m the one who should be angry, Domenico. You were so forthcoming