He concentrated on practical business, contacting the firm she'd mentioned. A posse of dark-suited men descended from their offices in Milan, looked the palazzo over and expressed enthusiasm. There were discussions with Julia. How much could she invest? What value did she put on her restoration work? Finally they declared that they already had investors on their books eager for just such an opportunity.
They agreed to the idea of a Carnival party to make the press announcement, after which serious work would begin, to have everything ready for the following year.
When they'd gone Vincenzo walked around the empty building, trying to come to terms with the way his life had been turned upside down yet again, but this time in a manner that offered him new hope.
'To come back,' he murmured. 'To see it come alive again.'
'It'll be wonderful,' Julia said. She had been keeping a little behind him, in the shadows.
He looked at her, thinking that here was something else to unsettle him. He was just about growing used to her changed appearance.
She might have stepped out of the pages of Vogue. She was elegant, groomed to perfection, wearing a white silk shirt and the very latest fashionable trouser suit in dark blue. The perfume that reached him was as clear and subtle as a spring flower.
She belonged in a palace, he realised. The lost soul he'd first met had been an aberration. Now she was mistress of the situation, mistress of her own life at last. She exuded confidence from every pore, every sleekly groomed line. He could almost feel her being carried away from him by an irresistible current.
'I'm going to start work down here,' she said, indicating the great hall.
'I thought this was where we were having the press party.'
'It is. This will give us a point of interest to show people.'
'I see. Good idea.'
Would they ever, he wondered, have anything else to talk about but business?
Julia watched him standing at the foot of the great staircase; looking up.
What did he see? Perhaps it was his fiancee, the woman he had loved more than all the world, slowly descending, receiving the tribute of his radiant expression? Was this why he had suddenly become unable to draw closer to her?
'I'd better be going,' she said. 'Rosa knows something's up, and she wants to be told everything.'
He grinned. 'I can just hear her saying it.'
'Will you be in for supper tonight?'
'I'm afraid not. The tourists are already beginning to arrive for Carnival, and the restaurant is busy. We'll have to move fast if this place is going to be ready for the big evening.'
An army of cleaners moved in the following day. Julia took Rosa along to see them at work, and to keep a jealous eye on the frescoes.
'I'm going to set up work just here, behind the staircase,' she told her. 'I might even give a demonstration at the party.'
'Aren't you going to wear a beautiful dress?'
'If I'm going to paint, I'm probably better in jeans. But you can wear a beautiful dress. What about the one you told me about, the one your mother bought for you?'
'But aren't-you my mother?'
'Yes, darling, but she was too.'
Suddenly Julia remembered that Rosa had never wept for Bianca's death, and, perhaps, now she might feel that she never could. She hurried to say, 'You don't have to choose between us. It's all right to love us both.'
Rosa's eyes were wide with relief. 'Is it really?'
'Of course. You've got two mothers. She's Mamma and I'm Mummy. It's all very simple.'
She hugged the little girl and Rosa seemed happier, but Julia still had the feeling that something was being held back. Patience, she told herself.
The next moment Rosa startled her.
'When are you and Uncle Vincenzo going to get married?'
'I-what makes you think that we'll get married?'
'But you must. It would make everything perfect. He can't keep living in a hotel.'
How like a child, Julia thought, to see the matter in a sensible light. It was true that there were many realistic reasons for their marriage. And just as many reasons why it could never happen.
'It takes a little more than that,' she said carefully. 'People have to love each other as well.'
'But of course he loves you. Do you want me to ask him?'
'No!' Julia exploded before she could stop herself.
'All right,' Rosa said plaintively. 'I only thought-'
'Darling, do me a favour,' Julia begged. 'Stop thinking. Put it right out of your head.'
She thought she'd gained her point, but a moment later Rosa said, 'Is it Gina?'
'Who?'
'Gina, that he was going to marry. Everyone says he was dotty about her, but that was ages ago.'
'And everyone still talks about how she swept down that staircase and he looked at her adoringly,' Julia couldn't help saying. 'Even now, so long after.'
Rosa looked at her wisely.
'Perhaps you should make them talk about you,' she said.
For years afterwards, Julia wondered if she'd known, even then, what her daughter was planning. She denied it to herself, but sometimes even her own secrets were hidden from her.
Carnival started on February tenth, the first day of a two-and-a-half-week-long feast of gaiety and indulgence.
'Aaaa-aaah!' Julia greeted the day with a luxurious sigh up to the deep blue sky. 'This is gorgeous. I can't believe it's still so early in the year. Look at this weather.'
'The sun always comes out for Carnival,' Vincenzo told her, 'even if it goes in again afterwards.'
The festivities were everywhere. Outrageous costumes, topped by mysterious masks, could be seen whirling through the piazzas and peering around corners.
Harlequin and Columbine, Pantalone, Pulcinello, Pierrot, Pierrette: they all danced through the music-haunted streets, celebrating the wild liberty that came with anonymity.
Rosa seemed to have forgotten her resolve to play no part in the jollity, except that Julia sensed it was not so much forgotten as put aside for the moment. She now seemed determined to make Julia take her responsibilities as hostess seriously.
The party was to be in eighteenth century dress, and brilliant costumes began to appear in Julia's room, to be pored over, then returned to the hire shop. Rosa was ruthless about discarding any that did not appeal to her.
'But I rather like that gold one,' Julia said.
'The white one is better,' Rosa said firmly.
It was truly a glorious dress, satin and brocade, with a tiny waist. In a few minutes Julia was surveying herself in the mirror, adding yet one more persona to the long list she'd acquired recently.
She wasn't quite certain who this mysterious creature might be, with her sequinned gown and mask. But she felt it might be fun to be her for a while.
When the cleaners had finished work at the palazzo they were able to move into a few rooms temporarily, and oversee the arrangements. Over five hundred people would be there. Some were press, others had bought costly tickets. Venice was alive with rumours and nobody wanted to miss this event.
Even baby Carlo was brought to sleep there for a couple of nights, for no Venetian was ever too young for Carnival.
Acting on Rosa's instructions, Julia had not mentioned her costume to Vincenzo, who, as far as she knew, had made no plans to dress up.
'Shame on you,' she teased. 'You're the host of this party and you should be wearing satin knee breeches and lace.'
But she'd misjudged him. He was a Venetian, and satin and lace held no terrors for him. On the night he appeared before her in all his glory. Eighteenth-century garb suited him. The brocade of the black and gold coat and the lace at the neck had the strange effect of underlining his masculinity.
'Dressed like this,' he said, 'a rake could go out on the town and-' He broke off with a wistful, reminiscent sigh.
'Fine,' she told him. 'We'll go out on the town-but together.'