LITMIR.BIZ

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might well repeat it to the other members of the group. People always talked. They all knew she was with Jamie; if Domenico had told the hotel that he was her husband that fact would certainly be passed on, and someone might say something to Jamie before she had a chance to explain everything.

      Domenico gave her a dry, cynical glance. ‘You’re worried about what he may think, aren’t you?’ She kept forgetting that he somehow seemed able to pick up on her thoughts, and started, her blue eyes flying wide again. Before she could answer his question, Domenico coldly added, ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them anything. I simply checked that you were staying at the hotel, which was when they told me you were there with your boyfriend on a touring holiday. I asked where I could find you, and was told the Garden Tours group were already out, and wouldn’t be back until later in the day. Late afternoon, probably, they said.’

      Relieved, she let out a sighing breath and nodded. ‘Yes, after we have spent the morning in this gallery, we’re having lunch at a local trattoria.’

      ‘What about dinner? Have they also made arrangements for this evening, or are you free?’ His eyes were hard, intent. ‘We’re going to talk, Saskia, sooner or later; you might as well get it over with.’

      She had faced that now. There was no escape, unless she ran again, and she couldn’t bear the prospect of living the rest of her life as a fugitive. The last two years had been full of such tension and nagging dread; she didn’t want to live like that for ever. She would have to talk to him. She must make him see that their marriage was over.

      Flatly, she said, ‘Very well—but not at the hotel. I’ll meet you somewhere...tomorrow morning? We have the morning free. I could get away, meet you for coffee at Florian’s?’

      Florian’s was a tourist institution, the most famous café in Venice, with cloudy mirrors and unhurried waiters, on the opposite side of the Piazzo San Marco; it would be crowded with people, with young lovers whispering to each other, with friends, laughing, arguing, flirting, with tourists staring wide-eyed at the cheerful life of the loveliest city in the world, and nobody would notice two apparent strangers sharing a table and talking in low voices. It would be far less conspicuous than meeting somewhere more private, where someone would be bound to notice them together.

      Domenico watched her, frowning. ‘Very well,’ he clipped out. ‘Ten-thirty? How much longer are you going to be in Venice?’

      ‘Another two days.’ She looked over her shoulder, hearing hurried footsteps approaching, recognising them. Jamie was coming to look for her. ‘I’ve got to go—I’ll see you at Florian’s at ten-thirty.’

      She almost ran, praying that Domenico would not follow her. She and Jamie collided just inside the next room.

      ‘Oh, there you are!’ he said. ‘I was coming to look for you. What on earth have you been doing? Your tooth isn’t playing up again, is it?’

      ‘No, I was looking at the pictures, daydreaming.’ She tensed as Domenico strolled past them; she felt his lightning glance as he skimmed a look over Jamie. Saskia couldn’t breathe. What if he stopped and said something? She was terrified he would; she felt his anger like a physical blow, brooding, heavy with threat; but he walked away without a word and vanished towards the exit.

      Weak at the knees, Saskia said to Jamie, ‘I want to get out of here, I’ve seen enough paintings to last me for a year.’

      He laughed. ‘I know how you feel. My calf muscles ache—all this walking and standing about looking at paintings is getting a bit much. Why don’t we sneak off and have a coffee and sit at a café table out in the sun for half an hour, then take a stroll to the trattoria, to meet the rest of them for lunch?’

      ‘We ought to tell them we’re going, or they’ll be anxious about us.’

      ‘OK, make your way out of here and wait for me, while I run and tell them what we’re doing.’

      Saskia wandered out into the sunshine. She looked around warily, but Domenico wasn’t in sight, and a few moments later Jamie ran out of the Accademia. They made for a café they had visited before, bought postcards and sat out in the sun, writing messages for friends back in England. Jamie sent one to his parents, another to his sister. Saskia had no family now; her mother had died three years ago, her father some time before that, and she had been an only child. Her closest relative was an aunt in Scotland but they had been out of touch for years. Saskia sent cards to the others working at the garden centre, a friend she played squash with once a week, a struggling young actress who lived in the flat next to hers.

      At twelve-thirty they met the others in the trattoria, on a pleasant, sunny side canal leading into the Grand Canal eventually. The meal had been arranged in advance by the tour company. She suspected it was the same one every tour was offered here, but it was very good. They began with brodetto, a local fish soup which was cooked all together but served separately yet at the same time; first the broth itself, made with tomato and garlic, in one dish, and in another the fish, clams and squid which had been cooked in the liquid. Along the centre of the table the waiter put down wicker baskets of thick-sliced, golden-crusted Italian bread. Everyone enjoyed this first course, and it was followed by a selection of huge pizzas, from which they could cut themselves whatever they liked: the toppings varied, from simple cheese and tomato with onion, to seafood or chunks of local spicy sausage and garlic. For dessert they were offered ice-cream.

      Saskia skipped dessert and just had strong black espresso coffee made in a gleaming chrome machine on the counter of the trattoria.

      After lunch the guide told them they could have the rest of the afternoon free. Jamie fanned himself with his straw hat, yawning widely, and decided that what he needed was a siesta in his hotel room.

      ‘I shall do some shopping,’ Saskia said.

      ‘Well, be careful; don’t talk to strange men!’

      She said wryly, ‘I won’t.’ She was always far too cautious to talk to strange men, and today she didn’t want to talk to anyone, even Jamie. She needed time alone, to think. ‘See you later, Jamie; enjoy your siesta,’ she said.

      She walked away slowly as if to make for one of the main shopping areas of Venice, but once she was out of sight she doubled back, to wander along the quiet less-used canals, over bridges, through squares, watching the afternoon sun glinting on the ever-present water which made this city so magical. Sunlight gleamed everywhere, on the worn stone of ancient palaces, on geraniums on ironwork balconies, on washing hanging between houses high above alleys, above the narrow canals. She heard the dying echoes of voices along the water, from the backs of crumbling houses, the sound of children laughing, water rippling, women gossiping on their doorsteps, pigeons flapping in the sunny air.

      It was a peaceful afternoon, yet she continually had the feeling she was being watched or followed, and kept pausing to look back, her nerves prickling.

      There was never anyone there, except Venetians busy about their own lives, shopping, talking, unloading boats on to a quayside, washing windows, watering flowers. None of them ever looked her way.

      Saskia walked on each time, trying to shake off her jumpiness, intent on absorbing Venice through every pore. She felt she was learning more about the city this way than in all the sightseeing their guide had been getting them to do.

      She got back to the hotel eventually at about five when the sun was beginning to go down and the spring afternoon had cooled.

      She felt as if she had been far away, her nerves were quiet, her mind tranquil, but as she crossed the marble floor towards the reception desk she stopped in shock, hearing a voice from a salon leading off the foyer.

      Domenico!

      What was he doing here? He knew she didn’t want anyone on the tour to know about their old relationship; he had agreed to wait until tomorrow to talk, at Florian’s. So why was he here now?

      She slowly walked towards the open door of the salon, halted on the threshold, stricken at what she saw.

      There were only two men in the room,

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