I do know that.” She had a girlfriend whose parents had brought her back a beautiful necklace and earrings set from Murano.
He nodded. “For centuries they were the only craftsmen in the whole of Europe who knew the secret of making mirrors. They held on to the technique for all that time.”
“I’m not surprised.” She laughed. “It would have brought in a great deal of money as well as prestige.”
“Exactly. There’s a very fine museum on the island called Palazzo Guistinian. Thousands of pieces cover the entire history of glassmaking from the ancient Egyptians to the present day.”
“Wasn’t there some Bond movie when they sent a cabinet toppling?” She frowned, trying to remember. Was it an older movie, with a marvellously handsome Roger Moore?
“Wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” he said wryly. “They sent a palazzo toppling into the Grand Canal for the first one featuring the new James Bond, Daniel Craig. If you like I can arrange a water taxi so we can go over on our own. Only a short trip.”
“That would be wonderful, Corin. But I must admit I’m a bit worried about how much money you must be spending.” A fortune already, in her reckoning.
“Don’t feel guilty. I’ve got it. One of the perks of being a Rylance.”
She watched him closely. He had only been standing in the sun a short time, but she could have sworn his golden tan had deepened. “It’s sad and strange, isn’t it, that you and Zara, brought up with such wealth, haven’t had a happy life?”
“And you all of twenty-one!” He gave her a smile.
“Okay, okay!” She drew in a quick breath. “But please let me tell you I’ll never forget this birthday if I live another eighty years.” It came out with enormous gratitude and a tiny quiver of sob.
Instantly, he enfolded her in a brief hug, as if she was his favourite cousin. “So why do you think I brought you?” he said.
Her suite overlooked a great breadth of the luminous waterscape, looking towards the island of San Giorgio. She could see its magnificent church, San Giorgio Maggiore with its Renaissance façade, gleaming white in the sun, and the imposing campanile—the bell tower. The bedroom’s décor was like no other she had ever seen. Sumptuous, seductive, otherworldly in its way, with antique furniture, fine art, fragrances on the air—and she thought a delicious touch of spookiness. But then she did have a great deal of imagination.
As she stood there, marvelling, Corin turned to face her for a moment, with amused and indulgent dark eyes. “I don’t like to drag you away, but I must. A quick lunch, then as much as we can comfortably fit in of a grand tour, before dinner here. The hotel has a very fine restaurant and chef. Then we take in the city by night. Don’t forget the sun block.”
“I wish I could say in Italian your wish is my command.”
“Then let me say it for you.”
She applauded as he broke into fluent Italian. “Non parlo Italiano, I’m afraid,” she smiled. “Apart from the usual one liners. Arriverderci, addio, ciao, and the like—and what I’ve picked up from Donna Leon’s Venice-based books. I really enjoy her charming Commissario Brunetti. I studied Japanese at school, but I had to concentrate on Maths, Physics and Chemistry. Not much time available for languages, I’m sorry to say.”
“You’ve got plenty of time to learn,” he said casually. “This won’t be your last trip to Italy, Miranda. This is your first.”
She couldn’t help it. She clapped her hands. “Prophecies already? Marvellous!”
“Don’t mention it,” he said.
She knew she would be having flashbacks of this fabulous trip to Venice for the rest of her life. In a single afternoon and evening they had packed in as much as they possibly could see of what had to be the most fascinating and mysterious city on earth. The fact that Corin spoke fluent Italian and knew the city so well proved to be an enormous advantage. She was free to soak up so many dazzling sights and scenes, buildings and churches. The famous Basilica of San Marco the focal point of the great piazza, Santa Maria della Salute. She loved the art, the sculpture—it was like partaking of a glorious banquet. Corin kept up a running commentary. She listened. They took a gondola ride. When they walked it was hand in hand. She knew he was keeping her close to his side, but they might have been lovers. Except they weren’t. Nor could they be. Theirs was no conventional friendship, yet Miranda had never felt more close to anyone in her life.
When they met up for dinner he greeted her with a low, admiring, “Come sei bella, Miranda!”
Although he had adopted the lightest of tones, something in his expression made her throat tighten and tears prick at the back of her eyes. Did he find her beautiful? She had tried her hardest to be. For him. She had packed a short glittery silver dress, little more than a slip, but she was slim and petite and it did touch in all the right places and show off her legs. She well remembered the lovely day shopping with Zara, who had picked the gauzy dress out for her.
“It’s you exactly, Miri!”
Pleasures! Ecstasies! She had allowed them to enter her life. Now she began to fear their power. She realised with a degree of shock that she didn’t know herself very well. She had thought herself as a calm, contained person, well in control. A young woman with a brain perfectly designed for study: taking in reams of information and retaining it. She had a serious purpose in life. What she had to confront now was the fact that beneath the containment, her serious ambitions in life, she had a very passionate nature. And it was Corin who had unlocked it.
Dinner was absolutely brilliant; the sala da pranzo richly appointed. Wherever her eyes rested it was on something beautiful. The hotel was renowned for its collection of artwork, all on display for the pleasure of their guests. They had a table for two looking directly across the lagoon at San Giorgio Maggiori. To her delight it was all lit up for the night.
Dishes materialised as if by magic. A superb mingling of flavours, combinations and textures; the finest, fresh ingredients; the presentation a work of art. In the background soft harmonious chamber music added to the ambience. Vivaldi, most likely. His famous church the Pieta was just next door. Her choice of dessert was a bitter chocolate mousse with coffee granita and ginger cream. It simply melted in her mouth. Corin’s choice was a classic tiramisu she thought had to be carried to the highest level of perfection.
“This has been so groaningly delicious I think we’ll take a stroll before bed,” he suggested. They had finished coffee, and now he motioned to their discreetly attentive cameriere.
“Yes, of course. Good idea!”
She didn’t want the night to end. But Corin had arranged a tour of the Grand Canal in a private vaporetto in the morning, including a trip to the Guggenheim, the great heiress Peggy Guggenheim’s former home, right on the Grand Canal, now one of Europe’s premier museums devoted to modern art. This might have been Miranda’s gap year, but no gap was being left unfilled. She was having a wonderful time. Small wonder the children of the wealthy were granted their finishing year in Europe. It added a fine polish. And there was nothing in the world like first-hand experience.
Outside the door of her suite, Corin tucked a breeze-ruffled curl behind her ear. “Sleep well. Lots to do tomorrow.”
They
