What Clara had said was nonsense, of course. She was far too well-armed against Salvatore to succumb to emotion. The blazing passion he evoked in her so easily was another matter. It had nothing to do with love and she was content to keep them separate.

Then she recalled how annoyed she’d been at hearing him traduced, enough to make her speak without thinking. The feeling that had swept her had been-she could hardly believe it-protective.

Protective? About Salvatore, the man who was trying to ruin her, when he wasn’t trying to subdue her to passion?

Was she mad?

Perhaps.

Once out of the hotel Clara walked a safe distance before taking out her cell-phone and dialling the friend who was waiting for her call. The friend, in turn, would dial other friends, and in ten minutes her news would be all over Venice.

‘I’ve just been talking to her,’ Clara said, ‘and it’s very obvious that she knows nothing about it-no, really, she still thinks he’s a man of honour-poor innocent. No, I didn’t spill the beans-we’ll just wait until she finds out what he’s done-oh, goodness, what a day that will be! Watch out for fireworks!’

CHAPTER NINE

NOW the demand for Helen of Troy’s services was building up. She made a flying visit to England for a photo shoot that offered too much money to be turned down. On her return she gave every worker a generous bonus, with an especially generous one for Emilio, whose loyalty had brought the factory through to its present strength.

The only flaw in her pleasure was that Salvatore had been called away on business, and couldn’t celebrate with her. She’d planned that celebration all the way home, relishing every imagined detail. To be deprived of it had a souring effect on her mood.

She wondered if Salvatore too had become grumpy, and hoped that he had. But in their one phone call since his return it was hard to be sure of anything except that he was feeling tense.

‘I look forward to seeing you at the festa tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘My secretary, Alicia, will call for you in the morning.’

Helena was waiting in the lobby next day.

‘I’ve been looking out of my window watching the boats congregate,’ she told Alicia. ‘That big, elaborate one is glorious.’

It was a huge wooden craft, painted gold, the bow built high to accommodate honoured guests. Further back and lower were the rowers in medieval costume, and behind them the stern was also built high for visitors.

‘It’s called the Bucintoro,’ Alicia told her, ‘and it’s where the mayor and the patriarch will travel.

‘What are all the others?’ Helena asked, for the waters next to St Mark’s Piazza were alive with more colourful boats.

‘Some are historical, some belong to Venetian sporting associations, plus a few military craft. Everybody wants to be seen at the festa.’

Salvatore was waiting for her by his boat, which was almost as fine as the Bucintoro, also gold-painted with rowers in historical dress. It was already loaded with people that she took to be his family, and who regarded Helena with interest, especially the younger ones. One of the young men whistled softly.

‘Manners!’ Salvatore reproved him.

‘But I meant no disrespect,’ the boy protested. ‘Only a great compliment.’

Helena laughed. ‘I’m not offended.’

Salvatore did not seem to be placated by her easy acceptance. If anything he scowled more.

‘This lady is our guest and you will treat her with honour,’ he declared. ‘There’ll be time for introductions later.’

He handed her aboard and led her to a seat near the front of the boat. He seemed tense, almost angry, and she was puzzled. She wondered if he was sorry he’d invited her, and was sure of it a moment later when a photographer appeared on the quay and started snapping.

A blast of music in the distance indicated the appearance of the procession heading for the Bucintoro. Leading it were the mayor of Venice, with the patriarch walking beside him, waving blessings at the cheering crowd. The music followed them all the way to the boat. They climbed aboard and stood acknowledging the cheers for a moment. Then it was time to depart.

The rowers bent to their oars. The boat trembled, and they were away, followed by the other boats and the musicians, who had hastily scrambled aboard, and who played enthusiastically all the way across the lagoon.

Salvatore handed an elderly woman up into the bow.

‘This is my grandmother,’ he said. ‘She has been looking forward to meeting you.’

The old lady was like a bird with her sharp face and brilliant eyes. She studied Helena critically and greeted her in Venetian. When Helena responded in the same language the signora looked displeased, as though she had been trying to wrong-foot her, and failed.

There followed a procession of nephews, cousins, sons. Helena lost track. All of them wanted to take her hand, gaze at her admiringly, then return to their womenfolk and explain themselves awkwardly. The women followed, looked her wryly up and down, then rejoined their men with the air of gaolers.

Exhilarated, she stood up in the bow so that she could see ahead to the lagoon, fast slipping away beneath them, and feel the wind in her hair. She wanted to throw up her arms to the heavens like a nymph offering herself to the sun, but she guessed that would be a little too melodramatic, so she contented herself with shaking her head, luxuriating in the feeling on her hair streaming behind her in the wind.

Looking up, she saw Salvatore’s eyes fixed on her with an unguarded expression. She wondered if he was aware of it, but perhaps he was because he turned away at once, as though reluctant to reveal his thoughts.

But she knew them, she thought with a surge of pleasure. There were some things he couldn’t conceal from her.

Now he was gazing at the horizon, as though unaware of the rest of the world. How well he fitted this ceremony, with its roots in Venetian dominance. Watching his profile, she had the strange sensation of seeing every proud Venetian grandee for a thousand years, asserting his superiority over the waves, over the world, knowing that he was beyond challenge.

Except by one person, she thought with secret delight. She had challenged him, astonished him, made him doubt himself. And he knew it. Standing there in the bow, confronting the wind and waves, he seemed the master of the universe. Only the two of them knew that the master had a mistress, that in her arms he became eager and longing, even if only for those few dazzling minutes.

Suddenly there was a cry of delight from a small motor boat near-by, and the frantic click of cameras.

‘Damn them!’ Salvatore snapped. ‘What are they doing here?’

‘What they’re always doing here,’ said an elderly man beside him. ‘The local paper always follows the festa, so does the television station. And this time they have something special to focus on.’

He winked at Helena, who winked mischievously back.

‘Salvatore, introduce me to my cousin,’ the man demanded.

‘You aren’t precisely cousins-’ Salvatore began.

‘Oh, it’s a useful term, covers a good deal,’ the old man chuckled. ‘I came today to see what all the fuss was about, and I’m glad I did. Signora, since Salvatore is determined to keep you to himself, I am Lionello. Your husband was very dear to me, and I welcome you to the family.’

‘But how nice to meet you,’ she exclaimed. ‘Antonio told me about you and all the wicked things you did together.’

This delighted him. He introduced his wife and they all three sat down. Lionello flirted with her while his wife looked on with benign exasperation.

‘How kind of the family to accept me,’ Helena murmured to Salvatore.

‘One part of it at any rate,’ he said wryly. ‘Every woman here would cheerfully throttle you. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.’

‘Nonsense; what harm can come to me with you to protect me?’

She leaned back against the golden rail, smiling-no, laughing at him. In his present mood it seemed deliberately provocative. He could not have said precisely what that mood was. She had spoken of protection and that was how he’d started the day, as her defender. But had any woman ever been less in need of defence?

He wondered exactly how things had been between her and Antonio. Suddenly it mattered more than he could have found words to describe.

The Lido Island could be seen on the horizon. Soon they were going around it to the far side, the place where the ceremony would be performed. When the boats were gathered the mayor took up the ring and cast it into the sea with the words, ‘Ricevilo in pegno della sovranità che voi e i successori vostri avrete perpetuamente sul mare.’

‘Did you understand that?’ Salvatore murmured to Helena.

‘He said, “Receive this ring as a token of sovereignty over the sea that you and your successors will be everlasting.”’

But the mayor had more to add. Spreading arms wide, he cried, ‘Lo sposasse lo mare sì come l?omo sposa la dona per essere so signor.’

‘Hm!’ Helena said wryly.

‘I take it you understood that too,’ Salvatore observed.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Marry the sea as a man marries a woman and thus be her lord,’ Lionello declared with a flourish, adding gallantly, ‘But I’m sure that Antonio never lorded it over you.’

‘He never even tried,’ Helena declared, her eyes softening for a moment as she remembered the husband she’d loved in a way that most people would never understand.

‘I expect you were the one in charge,’ Lionello ventured with a wink.

‘Of course,’ she told him. ‘Those were my terms. Complete submission on his part.’

‘That’s the modern woman for you,’ Lionello stated. ‘Personally I’ve always insisted on being the lord and master in my marriage.’

‘Come away, you old fool,’ said his wife, firmly removing him.

‘Yes, dear. Coming, dear.’

When they had gone Helena looked up to find Salvatore regarding her sardonically.

‘Complete submission?’ he enquired.

‘But you’ve always known that,’ she said provocatively.

‘Perhaps I have.’

She smiled, inviting him to share the joke, but his returning smile was stiff and formal. Wryly she reminded herself that he had no sense of humour, and then she knew a flicker of annoyance. This was a lovely day. Why couldn’t he just enjoy it?

And yet she partly understood his edgy mood, it so closely reflected her own.

‘Antonio would have appreciated the humour,’ she said.

‘While he was being submissive?’ he asked ironically.

‘Don’t be silly. We took it in turns. He’d laugh and tease and I usually ended up doing what he wanted.’

‘Usually?’

‘Not always, but often enough. I loved his teasing. You know something, if more men realised how women love a good laugh-’

‘More of them would play the clown to suit you?’ he finished coolly.

She sighed and gave up. There was nothing to be done with him in this mood.

The crowds began to disembark, heading for the church. As the service began Helena looked around, remembering how Antonio had spoken of these occasions.

‘Us kids used to get bored during the service and misbehave until we were thrown out. Then we’d spend the rest of the time playing on the beach. I was always a bad lad.’

‘You haven’t changed,’ she’d told him, not once but many times. And he never had. Right to the end the perky devil in him, that she’d loved so much, had teased her.

Tears stung her eyes and she closed them, averting her head. When she opened them again Salvatore was looking at her, with a shocked expression.

As they left the church he came closer, murmuring, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I was just thinking of Antonio suddenly. You think I don’t miss him just because I laugh and fool around-but you’re wrong. If you only knew how wrong you are.’

‘Perhaps I’m beginning to understand,’ he said gently.

‘He used to talk to me about this place, the lovely beach and how we’d walk along it together some day. Would you mind if I didn’t come back in the boat with you? I’d like to stay here for a while.’

‘I don’t like leaving you alone,’ he said, frowning.

‘I’ll be fine. I’ll join you at the palazzo tonight.’

‘All right.’ She could tell he was unhappy about it, but he had to yield.

She bid everyone goodbye, promised to see them again that evening, and let Lionello kiss her hand. Then she stood watching as the boats drew away.

Although she’d never been there with Antonio she found that the beach was a wonderful place to remember him. Here she could be alone, walking along the golden sand that seemed to stretch for miles, listening to the tiny waves, carrying him in her heart.