for your return?’
‘You mean a man?’
‘Naturalmente.’ He looked at her small, capable left hand. ‘I see no ring, but you must have a lover. How could you not?’ he added matter-of-factly.
She looked him in the eye. ‘Are you always this direct with someone you’ve just met?’
‘No,’ he said, and smiled disarmingly. ‘But you interest me, Laura. If you do not wish to answer, I understand,’ he added.
She hesitated, reluctant to discuss something so personal. But after skipping off earlier instead of waiting for Domenico it seemed best not to offend again. ‘There’s no one right now,’ she said at last. ‘There was someone until quite recently, a doctor in the training stage in a hospital, but not a lover the way you mean.’
‘Ah!’ He nodded, satisfied. ‘You did not love him with passion.’
The outrageously personal statement was so accurate Laura nodded wryly. ‘Romance just isn’t my thing. I’m the strictly practical type.’
‘You will meet someone one day who will change all that,’ he assured her, and got to his feet. ‘Come. It is time to eat.’
Laura felt a pang of remorse as he paid for the wine. ‘Domenico, I do apologise. I haven’t thanked you yet for paying my bill last night. You shouldn’t have done that, but it was very kind of you.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said casually, and glanced down at her feet. ‘You can walk in those delightful shoes?’
‘How far?’
‘Only to Harry’s Bar. It is quite near.’
‘No problem, then,’ she said, impressed. Her holiday budget wouldn’t stretch to meals in such exalted places.
Domenico Chiesa did not, it was obvious, suffer from the same problem. When he ushered Laura through a surprisingly unimpressive door and took her upstairs, the head waiter in Harry’s Bar greeted him by name. The dining room was plain by Venetian standards, with half-panelled walls and large black and white photographs of American landmarks, but it was full except for the table reserved for Signor Chiesa.
‘The restaurant is a little austere, and there is no terrace, but it never lacks for patrons,’ Domenico told her.
‘I can see that,’ said Laura, eyeing the crowded room. ‘I know that Hemingway and Churchill used to come here, but are there any celebrities around tonight?’
‘None that I know,’ he said dismissively.
Her eyes danced. ‘You mean that if Domenico Chiesa doesn’t know them they’re not celebrities?’
‘You are mocking me,’ he accused, laughing. ‘And now,’ he added as a waiter set glasses in front of them, ‘you must taste the cocktail first created here.’
‘A Bellini?’ said Laura, eyeing the drink with respect.
Domenico raised his glass. ‘Enjoy.’
Enjoy was the right word, she thought as she tasted the famous mix of fresh white peach juice and sparkling Prosecco. ‘Mmm, fabulous!’
‘Bene!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Now, tell me what you like to eat.’
Choosing their meal was a serious business. When Laura firmly refused a first course Domenico described the main dishes in detail, teasing her because she wasn’t brave enough to try carpaccio, the raw, marinated beef of his own choice. Eventually, after much discussion, she settled for pasta baked with prosciutto, and enjoyed it enormously, but shook her head regretfully when Domenico suggested the house speciality of rich chocolate cake for dessert afterwards.
‘Thank you, but I couldn’t eat another thing.’
‘Then we shall drink coffee while you tell me your plans for tomorrow.’
‘I thought I’d go shopping for presents before I make a start on the local culture. I want something special for my mother, my sister, and my closest friend,’ she said, ticking off her fingers, ‘and inexpensive things—if there are such things in Venice—for friends at the bank.’ She smiled at him. ‘Any advice for the tourist would be welcome.’
Domenico gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled back. ‘I can do more than that. Tomorrow I shall show you the best places to find your souvenirs of Venezia.’
Laura looked at him in silence for so long he raised an eyebrow in silent question.
‘Domenico,’ she said at last, ‘why are you doing this?’
‘This?’ he repeated innocently.
She nodded. ‘I can’t believe that Lorenzo Forli asked you to go to such lengths to look after me!’
‘This is true,’ he admitted. ‘He asked me to arrange a hotel, meet you at the airport and escort you to the vaporetto, and afterwards check to see that you were happy with your hotel.’ The spectacular eyes locked with hers. ‘I did as he wanted. But now, Laura, I am doing what I want.’
She held the gaze steadily. ‘In that case I need to ask you the question you asked me.’
‘And what is that?’
‘Is there someone in your life?’
‘No.’ He shrugged an expressive shoulder. ‘There was. Now there is not.’
‘Snap,’ she said, sighing.
‘Snap? What is this?’
‘It means the same thing. I recently had someone in my life, too, but not any more.’
Domenico’s eyes softened. ‘This makes you sad, Laura?’
She shook her head. ‘Relieved, not sad. I’d known Edward for years, but not as well as I thought. I had no idea he was into embarrassing romantic gestures.’
There was a pause while coffee was served.
‘I am very curious,’ said Domenico, leaning nearer when they were alone. ‘What did this romantic man do?’
‘He took me out to dinner one night. But when the waiter took the lid off a serving dish there was a diamond ring sitting there instead of the salmon I’d asked for.’ Laura shuddered. ‘And right there in front of all the other diners Edward went down on one knee and asked me to marry him.’
‘Dio! What did you do?’
‘There was no way I could possibly humiliate him in public so I let him put the ring on my finger and kiss me, and everyone applauded.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘When I handed the ring back in the taxi afterwards Edward rejected my offer of friendship pretty violently. So we don’t see each other any more.’
‘This does not surprise me. When a man is in love it is not friendship he desires from his woman.’ Domenico got up suddenly. ‘Mi scusi, Laura, I
