A Family For Keeps

'Can I help you?' he asked. 'No funny business.'

'That's a promise. I'll count myself lucky to get out of here alive.'

She turned and stood there while he hooked up the ends, his fingers brushing softly against her skin. She braced herself against the sensation on her skin that was already overheated from something that had nothing to do with the winter temperature.

When he'd finished he said meekly, 'Am I allowed to ask what you're doing here without being threatened with bodily violence?'

She remembered the broken pipe. In the last few minutes it had receded into unreality.

'You've got a burst pipe up here,' she said. 'It could soak the whole place.'

She led him across the floor to where he could see better. As he realised the danger, a violent word, sounding like a curse, burst from him.

He stripped off his scarf and wound it around the pipe. But it too was instantly soaked.

'Hold it,' he told her tersely. 'I'm going to get something safer.'

He stopped just long enough to pull off his jacket and put it about her shoulders. Then he made a run for it.

Julia shrugged her arms into the jacket, which was blessedly warm. She was deeply shaken by the last few minutes.

She'd had it all sussed-or so she'd thought. No hopes, no pity, no sympathy, and above all no feelings, of any kind.

But some feelings were harder to suppress than others. They acted independently of thought and anger, and left a trail of problems.

She set her chin. Problems were made to be overcome.

In a few minutes Vincenzo was back, bearing a roll of heavy, sticky tape.

'This will hold it for a while,' he said, winding it around the pipe and the wadding. 'But we need a plumber.'

He took out his cell phone and dialled. There followed a curt conversation in Venetian.

'There'll be someone here in about half an hour,' he said, switching off. 'Until then, it's a case of hanging on and hoping for the best.'

'Then we'd better move those pictures out of the way, Julia said, indicating the wall.

Together they began lifting the pictures off the floor, balancing them on chairs so that they were clear of the water. Some of them were heavy, and after a while they were both breathing hard.

'Let's sit down,' he said.

As he spoke he returned to the pipe, settled beside it and began winding more tape. She went to sit on the other side.

'Are you all right?' he asked. 'It's hard work for someone who's been ill recently.'

'Yes, I'm fine. I've been feeling better ever since I kicked the door in.' She laughed. 'I think that's what I've really been needing all this time.'

'To kick a door in?' he asked, startled.

'Yes. It's one of the great healing experiences of life.' She gave a sigh of satisfaction.

'Well, it certainly seems to have done you some good,' he observed. 'You look more alive than I've ever seen you.'

'I feel it,' she said.

She was about to stretch luxuriously, but then she realised that this wasn't safe. Vincenzo was a big man and his jacket hung on her in a manner that revealed a lot, even with the darkness to help her.

And even the darkness didn't help very much. They were sitting by the window, and enough light came in to make life difficult.

'How did you come to be up here?' she asked quickly.

'I was going to ask you the same question,' he said, taking elaborate care not to look at her.

'You first.'

'I saw the door hanging from one hinge down below. I thought it must have been smashed in by a tank.'

'No, just little me,' she quipped lightly.

'I came up to see what was happening. If it's not a rude question, how do you come to be here?'

'I saw the water coming through in the room underneath. It's ruining the ceiling fresco. Honestly, the clown who owns this place ought to be shot for not looking after it properly.'

'Really,' he said with a dry irony that she missed.

'What a fool he must be,' she said indignantly, 'taking stupid risks with the water!' 'The water is cut off.'

'But nobody thought to drain that tank, did they? Or check the antiquated pipes.'

'No, you're right,' he said quietly.

'Well, there you are. He's an idiot.'

'Will you stop flailing your arms about like that?' he demanded. 'At least, if you want me to behave like a gentleman.'

'What?' She looked down at herself and grabbed the edges of the jacket together again. 'Oh, that!'

'Yes, oh, that!' He was looking away from her. 'Can I turn back?'

'Sure. No problem. There's not a lot to me, anyway,' she declared hilariously.

His mouth twisted in mocking humour. 'Shouldn't I be the judge of that?'

Her answer was to pull the edges apart again and look right down, burying her head deep in the gap.

'Nope,' she said, emerging and drawing the edges together again. 'Nothing there worth looking at. Take my word for it.'

'If you say so.'

He stared at her, startled by the change that had come into her face. Her eyes were brilliant and she seemed to be almost in a state of exaltation, tossing her long hair back from her face so that Vincenzo had one of his rare chances to see it properly.

Where had the wraith of the last week gone? he wondered. This woman had an almost demonic energy.

'Anyway, why are you getting so worked up?' he asked. 'Why do you care so much?'

'Everyone should care about great beauty,' she said firmly. 'It can't defend itself. It has to be protected and cherished. It's not just ours. It belongs to all the people who come after us.'

'But why do you care so much?' he persisted. 'Are you an artist?'

'I'm-' The question seemed to bring her up short, like a shot from a gun.

'That's not important,' she resumed quickly. 'The Count di Montese should be ashamed of himself, and you can tell him I said so.'

'What makes you think I know him?'

'You know him well enough to summon a plumber to his house. Of course you might be the caretaker, in which case you're doing a rotten job. Still,' she added, tossing him an olive branch, 'maybe you couldn't be expected to know about that fresco.'

'Tell me about it.'

'It's a genuine Veronese, sixteenth century. I suppose the owner would have sold it off with the rest if it wasn't painted on the ceiling.'

'Very possibly,' he murmured wryly. 'By the way, the room below this is his bedroom. What shall I say if he asks why you were there?'

'Tell him he's lucky I was.'

Vincenzo grinned. 'I will.'

'I was just looking around. Snooping, I suppose you'd say.'

He grinned. 'Yes, I expect I would. If I tell the owner he'll kick you out.'

'Then I'll kick him back,' she said. 'Don't forget my kicking foot has had some practice today. I hope he doesn't dare to try to make me pay for that door.'

'He probably will,' Vincenzo assured her, his eyes dancing. 'He's a real stinge.'

She laughed, and her hair fell over her face.

'Oh, hang it,' she said, flicking it back over her shoulder. Looking around, she noticed a length of string lying on the floor, reached for it and used it to tie her hair back.

'That's better,' he observed. 'It's nice to be able to see your face.'

'Yes, people with my sort of forehead should never wear their hair long,' she agreed.

'What's wrong with your forehead?'

'It's low,' she said, showing him. 'Most people have foreheads that are high and curve backwards, so if they grow their hair it falls down the sides of their face. But mine's so low that long hair falls forward over my face.'

He assumed a mock serious air, making a play of inspecting her. 'Yes, I see what you-'

'What is it?' she asked when he fell silent abruptly.

'Nothing-that is-I don't know.'

Once more he'd been assailed by the odd feeling he'd had the first night, that something about her was mysteriously familiar.

There were sounds coming from outside, voices from the stairs. The next moment Piero appeared, and with him a man carrying a bag of tools.