To his relief she hadn’t seemed to know what had happened, and he’d managed to block it out of his mind. But it was there again now, her lips on his mouth, her body pressed against his, sweet and vulnerable. He tried to banish the memory, knowing that he had no right to it. It belonged to Gino, to a man who hadn’t cared enough to claim it.
As soon as they got home he bid her goodnight and hurried to his own room to check his cell phone, but there was no message. Annoyed, he dialled, and, to his relief, Gino answered.
‘Sorry, sorry, I know you said it was urgent,’ came his cheery voice. ‘But I’m a bit tied up.’
‘Then get untied and talk to me about Ruth Denver.’
There was a silence.
‘What about her?’ Gino asked in a thin voice.
‘She’s here.’
‘What? How?’
There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, Pietro thought grimly. Gino was aghast.
‘She came to find you. She needs your help to recover from her injuries. Gino, you said she dumped you. You never mentioned an attack.’
‘Look-it’s not-The attack has nothing to do with it. She did dump me.’
‘That’s not what she says.’
‘What-exactly does she say?’
Through the ultra-cautious words Pietro could sense the cogs and wheels of the lad’s mind turning, and it filled him with dismay.
‘She says you spent a loving evening together at the restaurant, then you were attacked by thugs. After that she lost her memory. When she saw you again she didn’t recognise you.’
‘Oh, she recognised me all right. We didn’t have a loving evening. She told me it was over. I haunted the hospital until I knew she was better, but when she saw me she told me to go. Why do you think I never got in touch with her again? Because that was what she wanted.’
Pietro groaned, not knowing what to believe.
‘What did she mean about me helping her with her injuries?’ Gino asked.
‘She has gaps in her memory and she wants you to help fill them.’
‘That explains a lot. Pietro, this is one very troubled lady. She doesn’t know what really happened and what didn’t.’
‘All the more reason for you to come back and help clear her mind.’
‘But surely I’ll just confuse her more? What’s that?’ Gino’s voice sounded as though he’d turned his head to reply to someone. Then it became stronger again. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. There’s someone at the door.’
The line went dead.
Pietro cursed, knowing that Gino had made an excuse to escape.
He was more worried than he wanted to admit. It was just possible that Gino’s version was correct, and Ruth was so disturbed that she didn’t know what had really happened. She’d even partially admitted that.
But then he recalled her smiling as she said, ‘You have to forgive Gino his funny little ways.’
There had been a kindly tolerance in her voice that simply didn’t fit with the picture Gino was trying to paint. That was surely the real Ruth, forgiving and generous?
For some reason he wanted to believe this of her. But how could he tell when even she didn’t know the full truth about herself? For the first time he fully understood the implications of her confusion, and how it might prove to be a nightmare, not only for her, but also perhaps for him.
Over breakfast next morning Pietro said, ‘I have a few things to check, then I’m ready to take up my new position as your right-hand man.’
‘Look, that was only a joke,’ Ruth said hastily. ‘I don’t really expect you to give up your time to me.’
‘You may have been joking. I wasn’t. You should try to relax. The more you worry, the less clear your mind will become.’
The rain had gone and it was a fine morning as they set out to walk to St Mark’s Piazza. Along the way the shops were opening, the owners arranging goods outside, smiling as they saw Pietro. Most of them hailed him, and some eyed Ruth with a look that said, ‘Ah, you found her, then?’
She smiled back, relishing the feeling of being enveloped in kindness.
Through squares, along calles so narrow that she could touch both sides at once, and over tiny bridges, they finally reached the huge piazza. At one end was the glorious cathedral. On the other three sides were elegant arches, behind which were commercial establishments. One of these was Pietro’s headquarters, a place where trips and hotels could be booked and various necessities hired.
‘I’ll introduce you to Mario,’ Pietro said. ‘He’s a brilliant manager, although a little too meek for this violent city.’
‘Violent?’ Ruth queried. ‘But surely it’s a gentle, peaceful place. That’s why they call it La Serenissima?’
‘La Serenissima is only serene on the surface. Underneath it’s another story, sometimes a cruel one.’
She had a partial demonstration as soon as they entered, and she saw Mario, a young man with a plump, amiable face and an air of innocence. He was trying to cope with a middle-aged woman who was talking loudly and furiously.
‘It’s no excuse to say that they’re booked up-’
‘But, signora,’ Mario pleaded, ‘if that trip has no spaces left for that date, what can I do? Perhaps the next day-’
‘I want that day!’ she snapped.
Mario looked frazzled.
‘Excuse me,’ Pietro murmured.
In seconds he had the matter under control, convincing the lady politely but firmly that tantrums would get her nowhere. He even managed to persuade her to book for the following day. Mario watched, almost with tears in his eyes.
When the woman had gone, Pietro introduced the two of them.
‘Padrone, I’m so sorry,’ Mario started to say.
‘Forget it,’ Pietro said kindly. ‘Nature just didn’t design you to be a forceful man.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Mario said, crestfallen.
‘But in every other way you’re an excellent manager, so let this matter go. How’s business apart from ill-tempered ladies?’
‘Doing well,’ Mario hastened to tell him. ‘There’s hardly a hotel room left.’
‘I thought everything was empty in January,’ Ruth said.
‘It’s empty now, but in four weeks we start Carnival,’ Pietro told her. ‘And nobody wants to miss that. For eleven days the city will be packed. Everyone will eat too much, drink too much, and enjoy themselves in any way they please-also too much. But that’s all right, they wear masks, so they get away with it.’
The rear of the shop was taken up with the hire department. There were printed catalogues, and large screens on which costumes could be projected.
But the real thing was also there, masks and outrageous costumes, all glowing with life and colour; brilliant reds and blues, vibrant greens and yellows, glittering with sequins and tinsel.
Mario, who had followed her while Pietro glanced through the books, began to show them off.
‘These will be hired for the street parties,’ he explained. ‘For the big indoor occasions everyone will be much grander.’
He held one of the masks before his face. It was fierce and sexy in a slightly satanic way, and it transformed him into a man many women would find intriguing. Then he removed it and became gentle, sweet-natured Mario again.
‘Ah, well,’ he sighed. ‘I can dream, can’t I? That’s what Carnival is for.’
‘Perhaps your dream will come true,’ she said, liking him.
‘No, signorina. I dream of the lady who won’t be disappointed when she sees the real me. If only I could keep this mask on for ever.’
‘You might not like that as much as you think,’ she mused. ‘In the long run it’s best to be yourself-whoever that is.’
‘But to be a stranger, even to yourself, can be such a pleasure, especially when you can choose which stranger to be.’