A Family For Keeps

'Goodnight, my darling,' she whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek. Suddenly she couldn't resist adding the words she had always said, all those years ago. 'Angels keep you.'

'What did you say?' Rosa asked quickly. 'It sounded like English.'

'Yes, it was English. I don't suppose you understand that, do you?'

'Not very well, but I've started English lessons at school. The teacher says I'm the best in the class.'

Of course you are, she thought, because English was your first language. At two and a half you knew three hundred words, and the last words you cried out to me were in English.

Rosa hopped into bed and held out her arms. Julia hugged her fiercely.

'Say it to me too,' Rosa begged as she lay down to be tucked in.

'Buonanotte, mia cara. Speroche gli angeli ti custo-discano.'

'No, like you did before, in English.'

'Goodnight, my darling. May the angels keep you.' She kissed her child, and sat there holding her hand until Rosa went to sleep. Even then she sat there, brooding, full of joy and sadness.

At last she backed quietly out of the room, and closed the door.

As she returned to the main room she could hear the phone ringing again, and then Vincenzo speaking in an angry, impatient voice.

'Look, don't call me at home, and especially during Epiphany. Don't you people have any families? I've told you before, the answer's no, and it's going to stay no. Goodbye!'

He hung up firmly.

'Well, that's telling them,' Julia said, going in and settling herself comfortably on the sofa.

'Someone wanting to buy the palazzo for a hotel,' he growled. 'It's like trying to swat flies. Kill one and there's a dozen others.'

'Piero once told me that you were dead set against it.'

'That's putting it very mildly indeed.'

'It's a pity. It would make a wonderful hotel.'

'Are you out of your mind? Sell my home?'

'Of course not. You turn it into a hotel.'

'Using what for money?'

'You get investors. Why not? Look at the Danieli. It started its life as a palazzo, in the fourteenth century.'

'That's true.'

'Put yours to use. Bring it back to life. Isn't that better than letting it fall into ruin?'

'It's already doing that.'

'So put a stop to it now. There's still time to restore it before things get worse.'

'Ah, now I see. You're touting for business. Mind you-it's an idea.'

'I don't know why you've never thought of it before.'

'Because I'm the world's worst businessman. All I saw was fending off the sharks who thought I was desperate enough to sell at a knock-down price. I just wanted to make enough money from the restaurant to keep my head above water, but that's not enough, long term.'

'No, and the best way to beat the sharks is to steal their ideas. You'll have your home back, not as it was, but more than you have now.'

'People don't live like that any more,' he mused. 'Not in the modern world. They either go into business, or the place goes under.' He smiled. 'Maybe it floods when there's nobody there to protect it.'

She nodded, smiling back at him.

'I'm getting dangerously light-headed,' he mused. 'You're filling me with crazy ideas and they're beginning to sound sensible.'

'Of course. I'll be your first backer.'

'Have you got any money to invest?'

'Not money. These.' She held up her hands. 'I'll renovate the frescoes for nothing, and that will be my stake. You'll have to do the place up and get some suitable furniture. It might be best to open it a wing at a time, and move the restaurant in there almost at once.'

'And what about the pictures that were sold?' he demanded. 'Even with investment I couldn't buy them back. Or do we open with bare patches on the walls?'

'Of course not. You put up copies, which is what you'd have to do even if you had the originals. The insurance company would insist.'

'And you're going to knock me out some copies, are you?'

'Certainly. I do a mean Veronese, and my Rembrandt is even better, although I must admit my Michelangelo isn't so hot.'

'Your-?'

'But we can put those in a dark corner and people won't notice. And don't forget you still own some pictures, stored upstairs. You can either hang them or use them to raise more cash.'

The words were pouring out now as the excitement of the idea gripped her. For a moment she was all artist and planner. Vincenzo regarded her with wry admiration.

'You've got everything worked out, haven't you?'

'Not at all. It came to me this minute, because of that phone call, but now it's all becoming clear.'

'Wait, I can't keep up with you.'

'You don't have to. Just say yes to anything I say, and leave the rest to me.' She added unnecessarily, 'I'm a very organised person.'

'So tell me what we're going to do.'

'We're probably not going to do anything,' she said regretfully, 'but if we were I'd say you ought to start making plans. It'll be Carnival soon-'

'In a few weeks. It'll take a year before we could open-'

'I know that, but you could have a big party there during this Carnival, and make a press announcement.'

'A party,' he mused. 'We used to have great Carnival parties there when I was a boy. Such costumes, such outrageous masks!' He gave a sudden grin, full of sensual reminiscence. 'If you only knew the things we did!'

'I think I can imagine. All behind the safety of the masks, of course.'

'Of course. That's what masks are for. When it all started, hundreds of years ago, masks were forbidden the rest of the year. But in the last few weeks before Carnival anyone could hide their face, become someone else, and do as they pleased. Then you had all of Lent to fast and be good, and generally make up for it. The tradition lasted.'

'And did you usually have much to make up for?' she teased.

'Well-' he said in a considering tone. 'A moderate amount.'

'Hmm!'

'Perhaps a bit more than that. When you're a young man-' He stopped with the air of someone choosing his words carefully.

'Go on,' she encouraged.

'Let's just say that self-restraint wasn't considered a virtue.'

'I suppose being a Montese helped.'

'Nonsense. With the mask on, nobody knew who I was.'

'Oh, yeah?' she said with hilarious cynicism.

'Well-maybe.' Again there was the grin, recalling days of delight, before the crushing burdens descended.

'I'll bet the girls were queuing up halfway across St Mark's Square.'

He looked offended. 'What do you mean, halfway across?' He stared into his glass of red wine, seeing it all there, the whirling colours and wild faces, the dangerous freedom and the dangerous use he'd sometimes made of it.

He'd loved that sense of wonderful things about to happen, but it had gone from his life, fading away down the winding alleys, like his outrageous youth.

Only once, recently, had he recaptured that feeling: in the darkness of a hot, sweet night with a woman in his arms who had maddened and intrigued him from the first moment. She had made love to him with a fervour and abandon that had startled even while it had thrilled him.

Afterwards he had told himself that she was his, and it was the biggest mistake he had ever made. But for those few riotous hours he'd known that she belonged in Carnival, beautiful, secret, unpredictable.

'Your face gives you away,' Julia said, watching him.

That startled him. 'What am I thinking?'

'You're remembering your wild youth.'

'Well-yes, but there was a bit more to it than that.' He looked at her leaning back against the cushions, her eyes bright.

'I wish I'd known you then.'

'You might not have liked me. I was a bit of a hooligan, the way young men tend to be when they have too much money and are too much indulged. You know what happened to my family. The fact is that when the crash came I wasn't very well equipped to cope. Too spoiled. Too used to my own way.'

'What happened to your fiancee?' Julia asked, trying to sound less interested than she was.