‘Will you be coming back to see us again?’
‘Yes,’ Damiano said at once. ‘She will.’
But Pietro’s clasp on her hand tightened as though he was still uncertain.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘why don’t I come up with you and we’ll say goodnight up there?’
He nodded.
‘Go on,’ Damiano said gently.
He gave his father a brief hug, then seized Sally’s hand again. Together they went upstairs.
As soon as she went into Pietro’s room she saw two large photographs on the sideboard. Both were of women. One had a beautiful, gentle face. The other was reasonably good-looking, but with a face that was intelligent rather than charming. She guessed these were Damiano’s two wives.
When Pietro was in bed she opened her arms. He hugged her enthusiastically before snuggling down.
‘You really will come and see us again, won’t you?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
She stayed with him until his eyes closed. Then she kissed his cheek and crept quietly away.
She found the dining room empty. At the far end was an open door that seemed to lure her on. She went to explore and found herself in a room with many windows overlooking the canal. Damiano was there, sitting near a floor-length window that led out onto a small balcony. He made a gesture indicating the chair beside him.
‘I hoped you would join me,’ he said, raising his wine glass. ‘So I came prepared.’
He pointed to a second glass on the table, and began to fill it with rosé wine.
‘Later in the year we could sit out there on the balcony,’ he said. ‘But the forecast is more rain.’
‘What’s happened to Charlie?’ she asked.
‘He’s in the next room, watching television. There’s a good soccer match on. It’ll keep him happy for a while.’
Thus leaving them in peace to talk without him. That was the unspoken message, and she was glad of it.
‘You really caught him off-guard, talking about opera,’ she said.
‘Yes, whatever he came to Venice for, it wasn’t that.’
‘However did you guess?’ She chuckled, and he joined in.
‘But why did he come here? He strikes me as a bouncy young man who doesn’t go in for sightseeing.’
‘True,’ she sighed. ‘He was getting a bit too bouncy. He’s only eighteen and—well—’
‘I understand. I’ve got a younger brother who often makes me tear my hair out. And I wasn’t a saint at eighteen either.’
‘And now?’ she couldn’t resist teasing.
‘Certainly not! Go on telling me about Charlie.’
‘He went a bit too far so I seized him by the scruff of the neck and told him to obey me.’
‘Obey you? I thought you said you were his sister, not his mother.’
‘That’s right, our parents died years ago. In some ways you could say I am his mother. He’s been in my care since he was eleven.’
‘Don’t you have any family to help? Uncles, aunts, grandparents—?’
‘None. Charlie’s the only family I have.’
He frowned.
‘Does that mean caring for him has denied you any existence of your own?’ he asked. ‘No career, nothing?’
‘Oh, no, I have a career as an accountant, and now that he’s older I can give it more time. At the moment I work freelance, so I can make my own hours, but soon I think I’ll have a very good job with a big firm. My interview went well, and I’m crossing my fingers.’
‘But is that all you have? You’re not married?’
‘No.’
‘And there’s no—forgive me, I don’t mean to pry, but surely there’s a man at home in England, waiting for you to have the time to marry him?’
‘No,’ she said wryly, thinking briefly of Frank before consigning him to nothing.
‘No emotional life at all?’ Damiano mused in a tone that gave nothing away.
‘I’ve had moments, but they didn’t amount to anything,’ she said, trying to sound casual.
‘The men didn’t meet your high standards?’
‘Or I didn’t meet theirs. That’s just as likely.’
‘So now all the hopes of your life are concentrated on the job?’
‘Signore—’
‘Wait. Enough of that. You told my son that you didn’t like formality. Your friends call you Sally. My friends call me Damiano.’
‘Damiano,’ she mused. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.’
‘My enemies would tell you it suits me. It comes from the Latin word Damianus, which means to conquer and subdue. It can even mean to kill.’
‘Your enemies? Do you have many?’
‘A respectable number.’
‘Respectable?’
‘I’m a businessman. If you don’t annoy a few people along the way you’re not doing it properly.’
‘So you’ve annoyed enough people to feel proud. You face each other, you conquer and subdue them, and they go off saying, “I’ll make Damiano sorry. Damn him!”’
He grinned. ‘I see you know how it’s done.’
‘Do they ever actually manage to make you sorry?’
‘Would I admit it if they did?’
‘I’m learning all the time. I must remember what you’ve taught me. It could be useful in my own business life.’
‘Here’s to you.’
He raised his glass. She raised hers and they clinked.
From below came the sound of singing. Damiano opened the door to the balcony and ushered her out. Now they could see a gondola gliding along the narrow canal below them. A young man and woman sat holding each other, lost in the delight of their love, their surroundings, and the gondolier singing behind them while propelling the boat.
As the song ended he looked up, saw them and called out, ‘The world belongs to lovers.’
‘Yes,’ cried the loving couple. ‘Yes, yes.’
They waved upwards, saluting the two on the balcony.
‘Oh, dear,’ Sally said. ‘They think—’
‘It happens all the time in this city, especially in winter when lovers come here for the magical peace and quiet. Please don’t be offended.’
‘I’m not offended,’ she said quickly.
There could be no offence, she thought, in being thought the lover of this handsome man. Luckily she was armoured, or she might have been in danger.
‘But why did the gondolier say it in English, not Italian?’ she asked.
‘His passengers must be English. It’s intriguing how many tourists come from your country. They seem so cool and restrained on the outside, but Venice brings out another side of them—one