should catch up with them; they’ll wonder where I’ve got to.’
Domenico’s hand shot out, gripped her arm. ‘You don’t imagine I’m going to let you walk off again, now that I’ve found you?’ His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it had a harsh vibration that made her tremble.
She saw the two bodyguards tense, move closer, watching. Angrily she muttered, ‘Let go, Domenico! Do I have to scream the place down?’
A couple moved behind them to stare at a mediaeval fresco, standing far too close for Domenico to risk a public struggle. He had to let her go but his eyes were a threat; she couldn’t look away from the darkness in them.
‘Who is he?’ he muttered through almost closed lips and she tensed, jumping.
‘What?’ She was playing for time, knowing who he meant and wondering what she should tell him about Jamie.
‘I’ll find out so you might as well tell me! He’s here in the gallery, I suppose? If you won’t tell me, I can always ask him. Does he know about me?’ He watched her eyes, smiled coldly. ‘No, I had a shrewd idea he didn’t! What does he know about you? You must have told him something, and from that look on your face I suppose you invented a new past for yourself. He’s going to get a shock, then, isn’t he, when he is told?’
‘Stop it!’ she whispered, on the verge of tears. He was right, of course. Ever since she’d seen him in the theatre the night before she had known she was going to have to tell Jamie the truth about herself, and she knew it would be a shock to him to discover how much she had lied.
Domenico’s mouth curled like a whip; punitive, unrelenting. ‘Are you living with him? Have you been with him ever since you left me?’
Each question was like a blow across the face, his voice was so bitter and hostile. Saskia couldn’t bear it.
‘No, I’m not living with him, I just work for him!’ Her voice shook and the tears threatened to erupt at any minute. ‘We’re friends, that’s all!’
‘Friends?’ he repeated and laughed shortly. ‘You expect me to believe that? When you’re here on holiday with him?’
‘It’s...a sort of working holiday...’ she desperately insisted. ‘He’s my boss; he has a garden centre and I work there. He belongs to a professional association which arranges tours of famous gardens, sometimes in England, sometimes abroad. He knew I hadn’t had a proper holiday since I started working for him, so, as he was coming on this trip, he suggested I come along as well. He’s very friendly; he likes having company.’
Domenico’s eyes glittered like black ice. ‘And he hoped to get you into bed while you were in a holiday mood!’ he sneered.
Tensely she shook her head at him, willing him to believe her. She was afraid of what he might say or do to Jamie; she had to make him accept that Jamie was not her lover.
‘Please believe me, Domenico, Jamie isn’t interested in me that way.’
He did not look convinced. ‘That isn’t the impression I got, and it isn’t the impression the people at the hotel had. They seemed convinced that he was your lover.’
Appalled, she asked, ‘You questioned the people at the hotel? What did you say to them?’ Anything he had said to the receptionist would be sure to get back to the tour guide, who might well repeat it to the other members of the group. People always talked. They all knew she was with Jamie; if Domenico had told the hotel that he was her husband that fact would certainly be passed on, and someone might say something to Jamie before she had a chance to explain everything.
Domenico gave her a dry, cynical glance. ‘You’re worried about what he may think, aren’t you?’ She kept forgetting that he somehow seemed able to pick up on her thoughts, and started, her blue eyes flying wide again. Before she could answer his question, Domenico coldly added, ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them anything. I simply checked that you were staying at the hotel, which was when they told me you were there with your boyfriend on a touring holiday. I asked where I could find you, and was told the Garden Tours group were already out, and wouldn’t be back until later in the day. Late afternoon, probably, they said.’
Relieved, she let out a sighing breath and nodded. ‘Yes, after we have spent the morning in this gallery, we’re having lunch at a local trattoria.’
‘What about dinner? Have they also made arrangements for this evening, or are you free?’ His eyes were hard, intent. ‘We’re going to talk, Saskia, sooner or later; you might as well get it over with.’
She had faced that now. There was no escape, unless she ran again, and she couldn’t bear the prospect of living the rest of her life as a fugitive. The last two years had been full of such tension and nagging dread; she didn’t want to live like that for ever. She would have to talk to him. She must make him see that their marriage was over.
Flatly, she said, ‘Very well—but not at the hotel. I’ll meet you somewhere...tomorrow morning? We have the morning free. I could get away, meet you for coffee at Florian’s?’
Florian’s was a tourist institution, the most famous café in Venice, with cloudy mirrors and unhurried waiters, on the opposite side of the Piazzo San Marco; it would be crowded with people, with young lovers whispering to each other, with friends, laughing, arguing, flirting, with tourists staring wide-eyed at the cheerful life of the loveliest city in the world, and nobody would notice two apparent strangers sharing a table and talking in low voices. It would be far less conspicuous than meeting somewhere more private, where someone would be bound to notice them together.
Domenico watched her, frowning. ‘Very well,’ he clipped out. ‘Ten-thirty? How much longer are you going to be in Venice?’
‘Another two days.’ She looked over her shoulder, hearing hurried footsteps approaching, recognising them. Jamie was coming to look for her. ‘I’ve got to go—I’ll see you at Florian’s at ten-thirty.’
She almost ran, praying that Domenico would not follow her. She and Jamie collided just inside the next room.
‘Oh, there you are!’ he said. ‘I was coming to look for you. What on earth have you been doing? Your tooth isn’t playing up again, is it?’
‘No, I was looking at the pictures, daydreaming.’ She tensed as Domenico strolled past them; she felt his lightning glance as he skimmed a look over Jamie. Saskia couldn’t breathe. What if he stopped and said something? She was terrified he would; she felt his anger like a physical blow, brooding, heavy with threat; but he walked away without a word and vanished towards the exit.
Weak at the knees, Saskia said to Jamie, ‘I want to get out of here, I’ve seen enough paintings to last me for a year.’
He laughed. ‘I know how you feel. My calf muscles ache—all this walking and standing about looking at paintings is getting a bit much. Why don’t we sneak off and have a coffee and sit at a café table out in the sun for half an hour, then take a stroll to the trattoria, to meet the rest of them for lunch?’
‘We ought to tell them we’re going, or they’ll be anxious about us.’
‘OK, make your way out of here and wait for me, while I run and tell them what we’re doing.’
Saskia wandered out into the sunshine. She looked around warily, but Domenico
