"You have brought the good weather with you, signore," Pietro replied. "They say for the next week we will have sun. Unusual for November."


Out in the open water the boat sped its way across the lagoon. Ashley could see the city ahead of her. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, all gold, blue, and with terra cotta roofs. "Where are the gondolas?" she asked Pietro.

"There will be a few still out," he answered her. "Most have been put away for the winter. Not many tourists come to Venice in the winter months, signora."

As they drew closer to the city, Ashley was delighted to see a variety of boat traffic suddenly surrounding them as Pietro slowed down to keep pace with what was definitely a traffic pattern. Ryan pointed out a vaporetto which was the Venetian method of public transportation. Ashley could see it was crowded with rush-hour traffic. What a fun way to commute if you had to commute, she thought. There were other powerboats such as the one they were in. There were barges carrying all manner of goods, but the one that fascinated her was unloading fresh vegetables and fruit at what was obviously a marketplace. They stopped once to allow a boat that was marked as an ambulance to speed by. Everything seemed to use the water here. Finally their boat slowed and turned down a narrow canal. Beyond the buildings on its corner there were trees and gardens on either side of the waterway.

"Canal Viscontini," Pietro said. "It is very special. Even the great palazzos on the Grand Canal do not have this, signora. In the great days the two buildings that we have just passed served as warehouses for the di Viscontini. Like all the seigneury families, their wealth came from trade. To have such a private garden in the midst of the city is unheard-of, and the contessa could gain a great deal of money if she would sell."

"But she will not," Ryan said with a small smile.

"Ah, you know the contessa well, then," Pietro said.

"I stayed with my family in her guesthouse one summer when I was a boy," Ryan said. "She taught me Italian, and I taught her English. Look there, Ash. It's the guesthouse." He pointed to a charming mini villa in the middle of the contessa's gardens. "And look ahead of you. Here is the palazzo. God, I don't think it has changed at all."

"Very little changes in Venezia, signore," Pietro remarked as the powerboat came to a stop beside a stone quay. He tied the vessel to an iron ring in the stone and, climbing out, reached down to help Ashley, and then Ryan. "I will bring your bags," he said.

The door to the palazzo had opened, and a woman came forward to greet them. "Ryan?" She was a beautiful, small woman with flawless skin and red-blond hair cut in a short, fashionable bob. "Ryan! I cannot believe it is you! Dio mio, you are taller than Finbar himself, aren't you?" She reached up as he bent and kissed both of her cheeks. "Welcome back to Venice, cara !” Then the contessa turned and smiled. "You are Ashley, Ryan's bride. I am so glad that you have come. While Ryan fusses with my wardrobe and scolds me about dry rot, you and I shall sightsee. You have never been to Venice, have you? I recognize the look on your face. It is the look that everyone gets who comes for the first time." She kissed Ashley's cheeks. "Welcome! Now come into the house with me, and we'll get you both settled. Have you eaten?" She linked her arms in theirs.

"On the plane, yes, thank you," Ashley said. A palazzo! She was staying in a palace. It was so beautiful. As the boat had come up the little canal she had studied the elegant building ahead of her. It was of red brick that had been worn by wind and weather until it was a rich rose color. It was three stories high, with colonnades and arches. The wide stone quay that they walked across was dotted with great terra-cotta pots filled with rosebushes and ivy. It had obviously not been that cold in Venice yet, for some of the bushes were still in bloom.

They entered the house, and the contessa led them into a beautiful white-and-gold salon. A servant was immediately there, offering them tiny cups of espresso and small pastries. "You were such a boy when I last saw you, Ryan," the contessa said. She turned to Ashley. "But he was quite charming." She laughed. "He thought himself very sophisticated. He roamed all over the city by himself, investigating everything. Considering that he was an American I was very impressed. Never once did he ask me where he might obtain a hamburger."

"What did he look like at sixteen?" Ashley wanted to know.

"Not so tall, but with those same expressive brown eyes and a headful of dark hair," the contessa said. "I thought of him as a young Heathcliff. And he had beautiful manners, which I appreciated." She smiled again. "You must both call me Bianca," she said. "Do you remember that that is my name, Ryan?"

"Yes, I do," Ryan said. He turned to Ashley. "Ma was furious when she heard me address the contessa by her first name. She thought I was being fresh." He chuckled. "Tell me, Bianca, where is the wardrobe?"

"Ah, you are barely off the plane and you wish to work? You are indeed your father's son, Ryan. Old Venutti always said that Finbar Mulcahy was the best student apprentice that he ever taught. He died several years ago."

"Is that why you called me?" Ryan had suspected it.

"Your reputation is exceptional," the contessa told him. "This is a rare piece with a wonderful provenance. I want only the best man to restore it. You are that man. But I am being rude. Let me have one of the servants escort you to your room. Then come back, and I will take you to see the wardrobe. Si?"

"Si," he agreed.

Ashley and Ryan followed upstairs the serving man who answered the contessa's call, and they were shown to a large, airy bedroom. Ryan assured the servant that he could find his way back downstairs again, and then they were alone. Ashley went over to the windows of the room and pushed open and back the long shutters. There was a wrought-iron railing at each window, and to her surprise the view over the garden and the rooftops beyond was of the Grand Canal. "It's beautiful!" She gasped. "It's like being in another world, Ryan!" Turning, she hugged him. "Thank you for letting me come!"

"I'm glad you're with me, baby," he told her. Then, turning her from the windows, he said, "Look at that bed. Is that not the most baroque piece of furniture you've ever seen? It is a bed made for lovers, Ashley." He flopped down on the bed, and then he grinned. "Come here," he said.

"You've got to go to work, remember?" she admonished him.

"I know, but I want you to see something." He beckoned her over.

Ashley joined him on the big bed. "What?" she said.

"Look up," he said.

The bed had a wooden canopy, and it was painted with cupids, naked full-breasted maidens, and well-endowed gentlemen cavorting about an oval mirror that had been set in the very center of the canopy.

"Oh, my God!" Ashley exclaimed, feeling a blush rising.

"Indeed," Ryan said, chuckling.

"I cannot make love with you in this bed with that mirror hanging over us," she said. "It's… it's… it's… obscene!"

"It's fun," he replied. "You'll like it, Ash. It'll be a real turn-on seeing me fucking you, and when I watch you riding me I'm going to love it. I can't wait until tonight, baby. Just seeing us here side by side is getting me all excited."

Ashley jumped up from the bed. "Don't you dare go downstairs to look at her wardrobe with a hard-on," she scolded him.

He chuckled wickedly. "I missed you last night."

"I was sleeping right next to you," she said.

"I didn't have a chance to initiate you into the Mile-high Club," he teased her. "We'll have to do that on the way home next week."

"You're terrible! Don't you ever think of anything else but sex?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do think of other stuff, like the business, but I seem to be married to a very sexy woman, and I can't seem to get enough of her." He got up.

"Go downstairs and think dry rot," she told him.

"What will you do while I'm gone?" he asked.

"Unpack," she answered. "Now get out of here, Ryan!"

He left her with a grin, and Ashley couldn't help but grin too. She spent the next hour unpacking their two bags, carefully hanging up garments in a baroque wardrobe. Other garments she placed carefully in the drawers of the wardrobe. Then she tucked the two suitcases beneath the big bed. Their bedroom had a bathroom, and Ashley inspected it. It was all black-and-white marble and tile. There was a bidet and a commode, a sink, a shower, and an old-fashioned tub. Everything was spotless, and nothing showed any wear. Ashley laughed to herself, thinking back to the first time she had seen a bidet. It had been that Paris trip when Ben had joined them. He had her convinced it was for washing her feet until a shriek from the chambermaid, followed by her explanation of what a bidet was really for, cleared it all up. Ben and Grandfather had both laughed until they were crying at her outrage and embarrassment.

Ashley felt the tears come. She really missed her brother and her grandfather. She wished they had gotten to meet Ryan, but then, if Ben were alive there would have been no necessity to get married, and she might never have met Ryan Finbar Mulcahy. Was it a good trade? she wondered. But why couldn't she have had both, her brother and her husband? She had not brought her birth control pills with her. If she had a little boy she was going to name him after Ben. Benjamin Kimbrough Mulcahy. Then she would have both Ryan and Ben in her life again.

The manservant came to escort her back downstairs. She followed him.

"It's got some dry rot, Bianca," she heard Ryan saying to the contessa as she entered the smaller salon to which she had been escorted. "But it's in surprisingly good condition, considering its age and its travels. How the hell did it end up in Austria?"

"About three hundred years ago a di Viscontini virgin was married to some Austrian nobleman. I suppose it was part of her dowry. It had originally been made for a doge who was faintly related to the family. How it came into our possession I have no idea. One of my friends was in a small antique shop in Austria a few months ago. He found the girl's name on the inside of a drawer. Lucrezia di Viscontini was her name. It was too good a piece to have belonged to some peasant girl, so she called me. I checked the family records, and sure enough a Lucrezia di Viscontini was married to Count Otto Von Brunner back in 1653. The wardrobe was listed among her dowry possessions."

"Amazing!" Ryan, said running his hand over the door of the wardrobe. "Okay, Bianca, how much restoration do you want done? The piece is walnut, and it's filthy. Do you consider dirt antique value, or do you want it cleaned back to its original state? There are two schools on that. Some people think removing the grime takes away the antique value. Others don't."

"I want the piece to look the way it did originally, and I do not believe the filth of several centuries adds anything to it," the contessa said. "Clean it up, Ryan, and do whatever else needs to be done to bring it back to its original condition."

He nodded. "You're also missing a hinge and some hardware. I'm going to take them all off the wardrobe and see what I can match here in Venice. If I can't match the missing stuff here, then I have a man back in the States who can. He'll make molds of the originals, and then cast new hinges and hardware."

"You are very thorough," she told him.

"My father always said it wasn't worth doing if you didn't do it right," Ryan answered her. He turned at the sound of Ashley's footfall. "Here's my girl."

"And it is time for luncheon, and then siesta," the contessa said. "Come along." She led them from the room where the wardrobe stood, and into a small dining room.

A servant seated the contessa while Ryan held out Ashley's chair before seating himself. Immediately the food was brought. First small plates of bigoli, a whole-wheat pasta, were served with a light tomato sauce. This was followed by a lemon chicken with steamed zucchini. Finally a bowl of fresh fruit was brought. There were red grapes, slices of green and yellow melon, and small brown pears.

"I like to serve the bigoli with a salsa of onion, oil, and anchovies, but I did not know if you would enjoy it," the contessa said. "Americans are more used to a tomato-based sauce."

"I like fish," Ashley said, "but I will admit that anchovies are not a favorite of mine. The pasta was lovely, and your sauce wonderful."