It was Riccardo's fault, of course. If he hadn't kept her talking she would have been back to work in moments.
I hope his vegetables rot, she thought grumpily.
As soon as they reached the palazzo, Dulcie changed out of the wedding dress and settled it on its stand to await the big day. Then she went to Justine's room, and found her downloading the morning's work.
"Guido's gone to collect Uncle Francesco and Liza from the airport," she said. "I'm longing for you to meet them."
"They're getting married the day before you, right?"
"Right. It's such a romantic story. They've been in love for fifty years, but Liza wouldn't marry him because he was a count and she was his housekeeper. After all this time, she's finally agreed. It's so sweet to see how much they love each other. Guido and I are going to be exactly the same when we're old."
Justine gave a brief, wry smile that made Dulcie cry out, "What's that for? I know you pretend not to believe in love, but even you have to agree that it's a beautiful story."
"I do believe in love," Justine said. "Love is real. It's the 'eternal' bit that I can't swallow."
"Fifty years sounds pretty eternal to me."
"Sure, a fifty-year courtship!" Justine chuckled. "I believe in that. But you know as well as I do that it's when people get married that things start to go wrong."
"Let's be glad the rest of the world doesn't know it," Dulcie observed, "or the human race would die out. Three cheers for men and women getting together."
"Ah, getting together. That's different," Justine said, her eyes twinkling. "I believe in that."
"That's them," Dulcie said, at a sound from below.
She vanished. Justine waited, giving her friend time to greet her new family. Just when she was thinking she should go down and be introduced, Dulcie came flying back.
"You could be right," she said, sounding agitated. "Maybe love doesn't last. Uncle Francesco and Liza have had the most terrible quarrel."
"After all this time? What about?"
"I don't know, but from the way they're glaring at each other there's big trouble. Maybe there'll only be one wedding after all."
Chapter Five
Count Calvani was a tall, handsome man in his early seventies. Liza, too, was tall, thin and frail-looking, but with an indomitable face. Just now, as Dulcie had warned, both faces were glowering.
They both greeted Justine warmly, and Liza summoned wine and cakes from the kitchen. But she and the count carried on the battle in low voices.
"They're talking Venetian dialect, which I don't understand," Dulcie said. "Guido, whatever's happened?"
He grinned. "Uncle was thinking of having a last-minute party the day after tomorrow, then he changed his mind, thinking it would be too much work for Liza, with the wedding feasts as well. He was being considerate but she's mad at him for 'not having faith in her.'"
"But can't a hotel do the catering?" Justine asked. "What about -" inspiration seemed to strike her from the blue "- what about the Hotel Busoni?"
Guido's eyes lit up and he immediately spoke to his uncle in rapid Venetian. Dulcie smiled and gave her the thumbs-up sign.
"What an inspiration," she told Justine. "The owner is a friend of Guido's. The hotel hasn't been open long, and he needs all the work he can get."
Justine was amused when Guido turned his charm on Liza, putting his hands together imploringly. At last the old woman smiled and gave him a light slap, clearly telling him to stop his nonsense. Guido grinned and leapt for the telephone.
A swift conversation in Venetian ensued, after which Guido said, "He's coming over after dinner, before Liza changes her mind. Hey, Justine, fancy you thinking of the Busoni!"
"It's the only Venice hotel I know," she said quickly.
Over dinner she had the chance to observe the count and Liza when they weren't squabbling and had to admit that they made a charming couple. The handsome man was so dotingly in love with the plain woman that Justine's cynicism took a knock.
But she settled it back into place, reminding herself that she didn't believe in eternal love. She couldn't afford to believe in it.
They had coffee in the garden overlooking the Grand Canal, with a clear view of the floodlit Rialto Bridge. Justine fixed her eyes on it, concentrating on the beauty so that she didn't have to think too closely about what she had just done.
What had possessed her to suggest the Busoni? Who said that Riccardo would be making the hotel's deliveries anyway? And what did she care whether he did or not?
"He's here," Guido said, jumping up and heading toward the building, from which a figure was just emerging.
"Riccardo!" Guido yelled.
"Justine," Dulcie said excitedly, "isn't that the same man who -?"
"Yes," Justine murmured. "It is."
The light and shadow contrasts of the moonlit garden emphasized everything about him that had made an impact on her. He was just as she remembered, but more so.
"Justine," Guido said eagerly, "do you remember this guy from the journey yesterday?"
"Oh, we've met since then," she said, extending her hand to Riccardo. "I fell into his barge this morning, and I can promise you, his cabbages are the best."
"I'm saving money on staff by doing some of the donkey work myself," Riccardo said.
He was talking to Guido but his eyes were on Justine, and his hand held on to hers longer than necessary.
"I would have told you the truth this morning," he said, "but you ran away without giving me the chance."
"Plus you enjoyed having a joke at my expense."
"Well – yes," he admitted.
"To think I was worried about getting you in trouble with your boss!"
"I did tell you that I could handle anything he threw at me," he reminded her.
"Hmm, so you did!"
He grinned.
"You don't trust me?"
"Where would you get an idea like that?" she asked ironically.
"From your voice, your eyes, your face. It's an interesting question for the two of us to explore. Unfortunately, it must wait until my work is finished."
It was reasonable for him to put work first, but his lordly assumption that she would wait like a doll on a shelf riled her.
"That's sounds fascinating," she said, "but it's been a long day. I'm sure everyone will forgive me if I go to bed."
Riccardo's eyes gleamed, acknowledging a round to her.
"You are wrong," he murmured. "I will not forgive you. But I can bide my time."
Chapter Six
Justine slipped away alone the next morning. This was a working trip, and as well as photographing the wedding, she wanted to explore Venice.
She called Dulcie to say she wouldn't be home for lunch.
"I'm in St. Mark's Square. I'll get something to eat here."
"You should go to Florian's," Dulcie told her. "It's a genuine eighteenth-century café, and Casanova used to go there because it was the only one in Venice where women were allowed."
Justine found Florian's and sat in the window drinking a sinfully delicious concoction of coffee, chocolate and cream, and listening to the four-piece orchestra playing just outside. The surroundings were still as they must have been two hundred years ago.
If she closed her eyes she could see Casanova, a tall, elegant man in powdered wig and knee breeches. In her vivid imagination, he paused a moment, smiling before he spoke.
"Can we talk for more than two minutes this time?"
His voice was familiar. Justine opened her eyes to find "Casanova" pulling up a chair beside her – in the form of Riccardo.
No wig or knee breeches. Just black jeans and a black shirt that showed tanned, muscular arms. In these sedate surroundings, his look of having just stepped off the brig of a pirate ship made him riotously out of place.
He hailed a waiter and ordered something for himself and a repeat of her order.