The Echoes of Love (13 page)

‘I don't understand. What does it mean?'

‘The grief a person goes through causes a change in his perception of himself or his lifestyle, and some sort of adjustment is required to avoid being haunted by the pain. You must choose what to remember from the past, cherish the joys of the present, and prepare for a future – you must look forward, my child. That is the only way.'

Again, Venetia found his placid, dispassionate voice, and his black eyes filled with the unworldly kindliness that had so struck her at first, brought her a sense of calm reassurance. ‘I see, I understand. Thank you. Thank you so much.' As if by magic her weariness had left her; her heart brimmed with a new anticipation, half scared, half exultant.

Ping Lü rose and crossed to a small cabinet in the far corner of the room. He opened a drawer and came back with a small red silk bag, which he gave to her. ‘This is for you. Open it.'

Venetia pulled apart the two delicate strings ending in tassels and took out a pendant. It was an intricately carved green and white talisman of the part-human, part-serpent goddess, Nüwa.

‘The stone is Jade. In China, we call it Ming Jadeite. There is an ancient Chinese proverb that says,
“gold is estimable, but jade is priceless,”
and that is because we believe that this stone protects the wearer, and is a status symbol indicating the dignity, grace and morality of the owner.'

‘I will never take it off,' Venetia promised, clasping the jewel about her neck.

As Ping Lü walked her to the door, Venetia turned to him. ‘At the risk of being indiscreet, may I ask you a question?'

The gentle, scholarly old man smiled. ‘Of course you can.'

‘How come you speak such perfect English?'

‘I left China as a young man. I was lucky enough to win a scholarship to Oxford. I lived for many years in your beautiful country.' His black, enigmatic eyes dwelled on Venetia's face and he smiled again. ‘And to answer the second question which you did not dare formulate, I came to Italy after marrying my lovely Venetian wife. We have been blessed with forty years of happiness.'

‘I'm not surprised – there is something very…' she paused, searching for the word, ‘restful… yes, there is something very restful and serene about you. I can see that, unlike the rest of us, you're at peace with the world.'

‘My bible is Confucius's Analects, a series of books put together by his followers which contain his sayings and teachings. He was a great philosopher.'

‘It has been an honour meeting you. You have done me the world of good. Thank you.' Venetia gave a half smile. ‘I admit, I was almost in despair.'

‘Confucius says: “
By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection which is the noblest; second, by imitation, which is the easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest
.”'

At the door, Venetia thanked Ping Lü again and shook hands with him. As she stepped out into the night she turned and waved.

‘Remember, my dear child, to follow your heart in all things.'

Venetia smiled at him and nodded. The wind had died down, the mist had dispersed and the night was clear and calm. She glanced at her watch; it was already nine o'clock. She hurried towards the
vaporetto
station, her heart full of dreams and the most wildly impossible schemes. Ping Lü had given her hope; nothing seemed impossible any more. Sober common sense and consideration had just ceased to count, when suddenly it seemed as though mountains could be removed and stars snatched from the sky.

You're building magic castles in the air,
a little voice at the back of her mind whispered,
and there are mortgages on castles in the air
.
You've already been bruised by life,
the voice continued to nag,
do you really want to go there again?

She must not listen to her fears. Fate would see fit to arrange it otherwise – that
‘long arm of Fate' of which Paolo had spoken when they had met so unexpectedly in Torcello. Ping Lü also talked about Fate. Yes, Fate would arrange everything in the end; her heart told her so. She had converted to its power; the only thing she needed to do now was to believe in her lucky star.

Chapter 4

F
ate did not wait long. It happened two days later, on one of those strange ethereal afternoons which sometimes arrive at the end of winter, sunny and windless with a breath of spring in the air, to be grasped and cherished because tomorrow will bring back the bitter winds and cutting sleet. Venetia was sitting in her studio at Bianchi e Lombardi, struggling with a particularly intricate piece of mosaic. Her mind was still cogitating on Ping Lü's words, as she tried to conjure up some indirect way of finding out Paolo's whereabouts, when Francesca breezed into the room.

The redhead seemed excited, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘You won't believe who's in the building!'

‘Who?' Venetia asked, without looking up.

‘I'll give you three guesses.'

Venetia stifled a sigh of irritation. ‘Spare me the suspense, Francesca. I've got enough of it in my life at the moment without you adding to it.' She was battling with a set of tweezers, trying to take out a minute piece of corroded mother-of-pearl, deeply embedded in the
tessera
that had been brought in that morning.

‘That piece you've been fiddling with for hours belongs to
il tuo dagli occhi blue,
your blue-eyed one. It seems we have a new client.'

Venetia frowned and lifted her face. He was here? For some reason she didn't want to process what her friend was saying. ‘Who do you mean?'

Francesca waved her hand in exasperation. ‘I can't believe it's been out of sight, out of mind. You haven't mentioned his name since our talk, but I'm sure you've been thinking about him.'

Venetia paled, her nerves jangling. ‘Do you mean Paolo?' she said, putting down her work.

‘In the flesh, my dear, and looking as dashing as ever.' One hand on her hip, Francesca arched an eyebrow, adding: ‘I have to admit, he's even more striking-looking in daylight than he is under sultry nightclub lighting. He's with Giovanna and they're waiting for you in meeting room number five.'

Venetia's hands flew to her hair ‘Oh dear, how do I look?'

‘You look your usual beautiful self,
cara
. A little pale perhaps – but we could put that down to the filthy weather we've been having the last few days.' Francesca paused and then flicked up her hand with a defeated gesture, smiling wryly at her friend. ‘Anyhow, I'd better leave you. Giovanna's ordered coffee, so I think he means business – very welcome at the moment, I must say, as we're looking for this year's next big project.' And with that, Francesca hurried out of the room with a backward wave.

Venetia had been listening to her friend with half an ear, having taken her make-up case from her bag and busily applied some gloss to her lips, before tidying her hair into a ponytail. After Francesca had left the room, she took off the jumpsuit she wore whenever she was doing restoration work and was putting it away when she was aware of a shadow darkening the open doorway. Lifting her head, she drew in a sharp breath.

‘Have you missed me?' Paolo enquired in his deep, faintly musical voice, a slight smile hovering on his lips. Propping his shoulder against the door jamb, his eyes skimmed Venetia's exposed slender neck, before moving up to her diamond-shaped face and then down again to her mouth, his black lashes half shading their sparkling depths. He seemed perfectly at ease, as if it was totally acceptable to reappear in her life after weeks of silence, providing no explanation.

Venetia's heart raced. She was torn between a desire to hit him or throw herself into his arms. Warmth stole into her skin and she realised that she was blushing.

‘
Buonasera,
Signor Barone
.' Her greeting was a little stiff.

Paolo raised dark eyebrows. ‘What, we are no more on first name terms?'

He pushed away from the door and stepped into the room, his sombre and powerful figure suddenly crowding the space around Venetia, invading her privacy.
This man has real gall
, she thought, as she looked away from his demanding gaze.

‘I'll join you in the meeting room in a few minutes, if you just let me prepare myself.'

Ignoring her words, Paolo sauntered across to her and, capturing one of her quivering hands, smoothed a thumb across the back of it. His eyes were now serious.

‘You're cross with me,
cara
, yes?'

Venetia attempted to pull away, but the touch of the firm brown fingers, so dark against her skin, had an absurdly sensuous penetrating warmth. She had dreamt so often of those strong, masculine hands upon her that she couldn't help a suppressed excitement that began to simmer.

‘We mustn't keep
Signora
Lombardi waiting,' she argued, turning her head a little to evade his Mephisto stare.

‘I've already had my meeting with
Signora
Lombardi.'

‘I was told I had a meeting in room number five.'

‘Yes, that's so, but I asked the permission of
Signora
Lombardi to have the meeting with you outside the office over a cup of… hot chocolate?'

‘I see,' Venetia said coolly. ‘And, as always with you, I suppose I have no say in the matter.'

Paolo ignored the jab. ‘You seemed surprised to see me.'

‘I was amazed,' she answered stiffly.

He stepped closer. His half smile returned, though his eyes searched hers. ‘Are you going to send me away?'

‘I should,' she retorted shortly, pulling her hand from his grasp.

With the tips of his finger and thumb, Paolo lightly took hold of Venetia's chin and turned her face towards him. ‘I'm sorry,
cara
. I know I behaved badly.' His voice was low and husky, its rich timbre overlaid with a hint of sadness, but sexy nonetheless. ‘
Mi sei mancato
, I've missed you. You see,
tesoro mio
, I tried, but I couldn't stay away. You've bewitched me with those expressive, fiery eyes of yours,' he murmured, his gaze challenging her before briefly sweeping downwards, ‘… and your eloquent body has already said so much more than words can tell me.'

They were so close now. He was looking at her with a brooding expression and although Venetia stood as still as a statue, tiny nerves seemed to chase each other over the pit of her stomach. Silence hung between them. Her heart thundered as his brilliant, feverish gaze travelled to her mouth. She felt her stomach clench, sending an urgent heat inside her.
Kiss me, Paolo
, she thought,
kiss me now.
She felt him go tense.

Still holding her chin, staring at her mouth, his other arm closed around her like a vice, and her body was crushed close to masculine muscles and impulses. One hand moved back to cradle her head, while the other held her mercilessly to him. His eyes were now burning into hers, searching her depths, silently provoking her. She leaned back a little and lifted her face, offering her mouth wantonly to him. The all-consuming blue irises held hers a moment longer, and then his raven-black head bent towards her.

Venetia felt the rush of his warm breath across her skin and a cry of relieved surrender escaped her lips as Paolo took them with desperate voracity. A raging thrill coursed through her veins and through her bones like quicksilver as the wild searching caress of his mouth, the raw passion in his wandering hands, ignited flame after flame through every part of her starved body. Venetia's arms moved upwards, encircling his neck. Her lips clung to his as though she would die if he stopped those deep, heated kisses; her breasts, now hard and painful, pressed against the wall of his chest, yearning for his caress. A long-denied hunger was driving her, all her senses aroused; she needed to touch him. From the muscled strength of his nape, her fingers moved over his back, down his ribcage and were then dexterously unbuttoning his shirt, craving the feel of him.

He was murmuring loving words into her ear, his lips moving over her eyelids, her cheeks, and her throat with erotic featheriness. The room was reeling and the nerves beneath Venetia's skin were alive as never before. Her legs felt weak, her flesh dissolving against him with molten languor, her soul trembling inside her burning body like an autumn leaf in the wind, a prisoner of the passion she saw smouldering in his eyes and could feel radiating from his powerful body.

From some dim recess of her mind she was remembering, recognising similar earth-shattering sensations and feelings that now resurfaced and invaded her – the echoes of an old passion once driven to a peak of expectancy, before leaving, shuddering in despair; a love that she had wrenched from her heart and buried in a deep well of oblivion.

‘Oh, I'm sorry…! I didn't realise that you were still here. The door was open…' Francesca breathed, before scurrying away.

The redhead's apologetic exclamation jerked the lovers apart. As Paolo released her, Venetia swayed a little on unsteady legs and she automatically put out a hand to grasp the edge of his jacket. Paolo covered it with his, turned it over and gazed at the palm before bringing it to his lips.

‘La mia cara piccola strega
, my treasured little witch. You have breathed life into a body that has been dead for a long time,' he murmured without looking at her, a wistful smile touching the fine outline of his mouth. His eyes, so dark and inscrutable, now vacantly fixed on some point beyond the walls of the room, like a night without hope of stars. Venetia stared at him in astonishment; his words mirrored her own feelings, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Tidying herself up, Venetia silently watched the back of Paolo's imposing figure. As he moved away from her and across to the window, while doing up his shirt and then adjusting his tie, he appeared to be a million miles away. Once more she was struck by the disconcerting resemblance of his bearing to Judd's. She wondered at the sadness that seemed to dwell so deep in this man – an imposing body with a vulnerable soul. A twinge of jealousy pinched her heart as the image of the beautiful young girl who had accompanied him to the restaurant swam before her, and she recalled the gossip Francesca had related. Still, Paolo had kissed her with a kind of banked-down passionate hunger, as though the obscure tide of feeling that had run like a resurrected, fluid fire through her own veins had touched him too. She pulled on her jacket, suddenly remembering something he said:
I tried, but I couldn't stay away.
So he
had
been avoiding her since Torcello, but why? That strange look in his eyes when they parted had been unmistakeable. What was Paolo about? Why did she feel as if she had known him forever, and yet he was shrouded with so many unanswered questions? Perhaps this was her chance to find out. Once more, he had woven his magic over her, and she felt her anger slip away into curiosity and the dark pull of her attraction.

Paolo turned abruptly and beamed at her. ‘
Andiamo
, shall we go and find that hot chocolate? Or maybe you'd prefer a glass of wine or a shot of
grappa
? We have some business to discuss.' Gone was the sadness from his eyes, gone were the shadows across his face; the enigmatic, slightly sardonic mask was back, as though those poignant emotions in his distant gaze had been a figment of Venetia's imagination.

They made their way through the deserted office block, and Paolo took her hand in his. Venetia thrilled to the feeling of his strong palm pressed against hers, and ignored the quizzical look the night porter gave them as they left the block. In the three years she had been working at Bianchi e Lombardi, she had made it a rule never to leave the premises after working hours with a man. Venice was a comparatively small place and rumours, true or false, made the rounds of the city in no time.

As they strolled along the waterfront towards Piazza San Marco, hardly a ripple moved the reflections of the
palazzi
, the street lamps and the moon; they hung, drowned and immobile, in the middle of the dark canal. The city's historical buildings seemed to rise to a greater and nobler span, their elegant lines highlighted against the curtain of the purple night. The stars shone like golden pendant balls, so close in appearance that it occurred to Venetia that an outstretched hand could almost pluck them down. Suddenly she was shy and confused, not knowing how to react to the intimacy between them.

‘Where are we going?'

Paolo glanced at her as they walked, as if wondering how to take her question, then gave a sideways, wistful smile. ‘If I had it my way, I would take you to my palace in the moon, where the stars shine always bright, and the angels sing all night a beautiful lover's hymn.'

She shot him back a playful smile of her own. ‘What about the sun? Do the angels also sing there in daytime?'

‘Alas,
cara
, my palace in the moon knows only night. Sunshine would be too dazzling and would eclipse the ethereal magic and poetry of the moonlight.'

So why did Venetia get the impression that there was a double entendre of real melancholy behind his words? ‘Your palace must be very cold without the rays of the sun.'

‘That's why,
amore mio
, I need a passionate queen to warm the shadows and disperse the clouds with the flames of her love.'

He stopped and leaned over suddenly, lifting her face to his, and then his lips were on hers. It was not a demanding kiss, rather a kiss with all his heart in it, she thought; a kiss with a message that she only partly understood.

Paolo released her and Venetia took a breath, half in amazement and half in disbelief. A storm of feelings rioted inside her. This was no game; it wasn't just pretence. With that kiss, Paolo had added another unspoken dimension to his words to bring home his intentions. The imploring intensity of it made her head spin. She couldn't let this go any further… or could she?

As though sensing her troubled thoughts, he put an arm around her shoulders almost in a brotherly fashion, and pulled her gently back into a walk, laughing. ‘Come now,
cara
, don't look so serious, it's nice to dream from time to time, to make up stories, no?'