Before starting the journey Helena went to the cemetery, to lay a final offering of flowers on her husband’s grave.
‘I guess this is goodbye,’ she said when she’d arranged them carefully. ‘I’ll come back and see you again, but I don’t know exactly when. It depends what I find when I get to Venice.’
A step on the path behind her made her turn far enough to see a group of people walking past, slowing so that they could see her better. She gave a faint smile.
‘It’s happening again,’ she whispered to Antonio. ‘Do you remember how we used to laugh when they stared at me?’
Her beauty had always drawn eyes, first in her years as a model then, after her retirement, the attention had continued. Her long hair was a luscious honey-colour, and her figure had remained perfect; five feet ten inches, slender but rounded.
Her face was remarkable, with large eyes and full lips that commanded attention. Those generous lips were her chief beauty for they made her smile impossible to ignore, and when held softly together they seemed to be on the verge of a kiss.
That, at least, was what one of her admirers had said. Helena had thanked him graciously, then turned away to hide her chuckles. She could never quite take her own achievements seriously, which was part of her charm. Photographers wanting to convey ‘voluptuous’ had always asked for her, and she was soon known in the trade as ‘Helen of Troy’, which made her laugh even more.
Antonio had enjoyed every moment of it.
‘They look at us and say, “What a lucky fellow to have won the heart of that beautiful woman!”’ he’d said with relish. ‘They think what a wonderful time we must have in bed, and they envy me.’
Then he’d sighed, for the wonderful time in bed had been an illusion. His heart had been too weak to risk physical exertion, and in their two years together they had never once made love. But he’d derived much innocent pleasure from the world’s speculation.
‘I’m going to miss you terribly,’ she told him now. ‘You were wonderful to me, always so kind, giving much and taking little. With most men it’s the other way around. For the first time in my life I felt loved and protected, and now suddenly I’m alone again.’
Tears streamed down her face as she touched the marble headstone.
‘Why did you have to die? We always knew it was going to happen but we thought, if we were careful, we could prolong your life. And we did. You had all those extra months and things were looking good, but then suddenly…’
She could still see him as he’d been then, laughing, then stopping suddenly, his face becoming strained, laughter turning to choking as he was enveloped by his final heart attack. And it was all over.
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll always be in my heart.’
They had been so close in spirit that she felt he was still with her as the cab conveyed her to Miami Airport and she boarded the flight. In the long dark hours crossing the ocean he was there again, reminding her how their strange marriage had come about.
She’d abandoned modelling at the height of her career, tired of the life, meaning to become a businesswoman. She’d built up a healthy fortune, and only needed a way to invest it.
She’d thought herself knowledgeable, but soon discovered her mistake when a con man persuaded her to invest in a dud company. Before she’d actually signed any cheques Antonio had come to her rescue, warning her of a friend who’d been tricked in just such a way. That was how they’d met, when he saved her from disaster.
They’d become close friends. He had been in his sixties and already knew that his life could not be long. When he’d asked her to stay with him until the end she agreed without hesitation, feeling that he would ease her loneliness for whatever time they had together, as she would ease his. Their marriage ceremony had been as quiet as they could arrange and she’d tended him lovingly until the day he died in her arms.
He’d talked quite frankly about the time to come, and the provision he’d made for her, excessive provision in her opinion. She’d known he owned a glass factory on the Venetian island of Murano.
‘When I’m no longer here Larezzo Glass will be yours,’ he said. ‘And you will go to Venice to claim it.’
‘But what would I do with a glass factory?’ she’d protested.
‘Sell it. My relative, Salvatore, will make you a good offer.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I know how badly he wants it. He wasn’t pleased when it was left to me instead of him.’
‘But didn’t you tell me that he already has one of his own?’
‘Yes, Perroni Glass is his, and they’re the two best. When he owns Larezzo as well he’ll dominate the whole industry. Nobody will be able to challenge him, which is just how he likes it. You can demand a high price. There’s a bank loan to be paid off but there’ll be enough money left after that to keep you safe. Don’t refuse me, cara. Let me have the pleasure of knowing that I’ve looked after you, as you have looked after me.’
‘But I don’t need money,’ she reminded him. ‘I have plenty of my own, which you saved for me. You looked after me very effectively then.’
‘Then let me look after you some more, to thank you for your care of me.’
‘But we cared for each other,’ she thought now. ‘He showed me that all men aren’t grasping and rapacious. Now he’s gone and I can’t see the way ahead.’
It was a long journey, first across the Atlantic to Paris, then a three-hour wait for the connecting flight to Venice. By the time she reached her destination she was nodding off. When she finally emerged from Customs she was met by an escort from the hotel. It was bliss to leave everything to him.
She had a vague awareness of the motor-boat trip across the lagoon and down the Grand Canal to the Illyria Hotel, where hands assisted her from the boat. Once in her room she nibbled at the meal that was sent up, before climbing into bed and sinking into a heavy, jet-lagged sleep.
As the hours passed her sleep became lighter and she found that Antonio was there again in her dreams, cheerful, jokey, despite his impending death, because it was his way to ignore the future as long as he could enjoy the present.
Because he flourished in hot weather they had gone to live in Miami, where they spent long, lazy days together, in contented mutual devotion. To please him she’d learned to speak Italian, and then also learned the Venetian dialect because he’d bet her she couldn’t do it.
He’d tricked her about that. She’d thought it would be easy, imagining a dialect was little more than a change in pronunciation. Too late she’d discovered that Venetian was a whole different language.
Antonio had enjoyed the joke, laughing until he brought on a coughing fit and had to use his inhaler.
‘Fooled you!’ he gasped. ‘Bet you can’t do it.’
After that she had to try, and surprised herself and him by becoming good at both languages.
Antonio showed her pictures of his family, especially Salvatore, his cousin once removed, he told her, carefully stressing the ‘removed’, because he admired Salvatore only in a distant way, and tended to avoid him. He hadn’t invited him to the wedding, or even told him about it.
‘He’s a hard man,’ he said. ‘I was always the black sheep of the family, and he disapproved of me.’
‘But you’re more than twenty years older than he is,’ she pointed out. ‘Shouldn’t it be you disapproving of him?’
‘I wish!’ Antonio said ruefully. ‘I preferred to leave running the factory to my manager, so that I could enjoy myself.’
‘And Salvatore doesn’t enjoy himself?’
‘Well-it depends what you mean by enjoyment. Ever since he grew up he could have any woman he wanted, but they always came second to ruling the roost. He’s a bit of a puritan, which is odd in a Venetian. We tend to think more about relishing life today and letting tomorrow take care of itself. But not Salvatore.