a parent, and it had been bad enough in his early thirties. Ruby could have only been...what? Nine or ten?
‘Anyway,’ Ruby suddenly said, lifting her head and smiling brightly. ‘I’d like to find my perfect fit. My niche.’
His mother, who had finished her meal, put her knife and fork on her plate and nodded. ‘There’s no sense in doing something if your heart isn’t in it.’
There she went again. He’d just about forgotten about being angry with her for a moment, distracted by Ruby’s sad story, but she had to dig herself another hole, didn’t she? It just proved she would never change.
His mother must have noticed the expression on his face, because she stopped smiling at Ruby and sent him a pleading look. He carried on eating his pasta. She tried to smile, even though her eyes glistened in the light from the chandelier.
‘Well, maybe being a nanny will be your niche. You’re a natural with Sofia.’
‘Thank you, Fina.’ Ruby smiled, properly this time, and the gloom of her previous expression was chased away. How did she do that? How did she just let it all float away like that, find the joy in life again?
‘Massimo wanted to be an architect since he’d got his first set of building blocks,’ his mother said. Her face was clear of the hurt he’d seen a few moments ago, but he could hear the strain in her voice. ‘He always wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps.’ She turned to him. ‘He would have been so proud to know you’d secured the commission for the Institute of Fine—’
Max’s chair shot back as he stood to his feet. ‘Don’t you dare presume to speak for my father,’ he said through clenched teeth. His insides were on fire, yet his skin felt as cold as ice. ‘In fact, I’d rather you didn’t mention him at all in my presence.’
And then he turned and strode from the room.
MAX STARED AT SOFIA, who was currently sitting on one of his mother’s sofas, staring at him expectantly. Gone was the sunshine of the previous day, replaced by a low, drizzly fog. It would probably clear up by the afternoon, but that didn’t help him now.
There would be no walk this morning, no playing ball games in the street or a nearby square. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t many parks in Venice, so children had to make do with whatever outside space the city presented to them. He tried to rack his brains and think what he’d done as a boy on his visits here, but most of his memories were of when he was older, involving boats or other children.
Ruby walked into the room. He hadn’t seen her since last night, and had almost got used to the bright strawberry-covered dress. Her attire was once again completely different, but somehow it seemed less of a jump this morning. Today she looked like a groupie from a rock band, with skinny jeans, a black T-shirt and a multitude of necklaces and bangles. Her dark, purple-streaked hair also seemed to be standing up a little more than usual.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
Max nodded.
Ruby must have seen the panic in his eyes, because she smiled that soft little I’m-trying-not-to-make-it-look-as-if-I’m-laughing-at-you smile. He gave up any pretence of competence.
‘What do I do?’ he asked, gesturing towards the windows.
She shrugged. ‘Do something she likes to do.’
Marvellous suggestion. Great. That was the whole point. ‘But I don’t know what she likes to do.’
He searched around the room. His mother didn’t have many toys, just a few in the bottom section of an antique sideboard. He opened the door and started to rummage. When he was halfway through pulling things out, most of them puzzles and board games far too old for his niece, he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He twisted his head and found Sofia grinning at him. ‘Dat!’ she announced firmly, pointing to a cardboard box.
Max reached for it and opened the lid. It contained the brightly coloured wooden blocks that Sofia had been playing with yesterday. As he stared at them, the way they were worn, how the paint had been knocked off some of the corners and edges, he realised they’d once been his. Sofia nodded, walked over to the large rug that filled the middle of the room and sat down on it, waiting.
Well, at least he knew what to do with bricks, even if they were this small. He started arranging them into a small structure, but Sofia wasn’t happy with that. ‘Build pinsess!’ she said firmly, tugging at his shirtsleeve.
Max looked at her. ‘Huh?’
‘Build pinsess,’ she repeated, looking at him as if he should have no trouble obeying her command. He looked up at Ruby helplessly.
‘I think she’s saying “build princess”.’
He was still lost.
Ruby chuckled. ‘I think she wants you to build her a fairy-tale castle.’
Max looked down at his rather square, half-finished house. Great. Now the Institute of Fine Art weren’t the only ones who weren’t pleased with an original Martin design.
‘What does a fairy-princess castle look like?’
Ruby got down on the rug beside them and started gathering bricks. ‘The basics are there,’ she said. ‘You just need to embellish a little.’
She leaned forward to pick up another brick and Max caught the scent of her perfume. He would have expected her to wear something bold and eye-watering, like too-sweet vanilla or pungent berries, but it was a subtle mix of flowers and spices. It made him forget where he’d been about to place the next brick.
He shook himself and found somewhere, even though he was sure he’d had a different spot in mind when he’d picked the thing up.
They finished the main structure then added turrets and a drawbridge. Ruby even went and found a blue scarf from her luggage and they circled it round the castle like a moat. Sofia took a role as site manager, instructing the adults where she wanted the next tower built and letting them know in no uncertain terms when their efforts didn’t meet her expectations.
‘She’s reminding me of someone else I know,’ Ruby muttered under her breath.
Max hid a smile. Seriously, he was not that bad.
She reached for a red triangular brick at the same time he did and their hands bumped. She pulled back and rested her bottom on her heels. ‘No, you have it. You’re the expert.’
He picked it up and dropped it into her hand. ‘This isn’t a job I can accomplish on my own. I think the finishing touches require some definite feminine input to come up to our patron’s high standard.’
She grinned back at him. ‘She is a bit of a slave driver.’ And then she put the brick above the main gate, making a porch, instead of the obvious place where he would have put it on top of the central turret. When she’d finished she stood up and brushed the carpet fibres off her black jeans.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, realising he was disappointed she was leaving.
He
