Christmas in Venice

‘Please,’ he begged, ‘don’t remind me of that.’

‘Is it such an unpleasant memory?’ she teased.

He gave her a speaking look. ‘Do you really want me to answer? Well, I shall. But later. When we’re alone together.’

She felt as if she was clinging onto a runaway train. Two hours ago she hadn’t even met him. Now they were rushing headlong into passion.

But the passion had been there from the moment he saw her nakedness and she saw his shock and admiration. The rest was talk.

‘You wanted to know about me,’ she said in a voice that wasn’t quite steady. ‘I’m English. I work for a chain of fancy goods stores—gifts, novelties, fine glass and china. It’s just been bought by people who want to expand and they decided to try Venetian glass. They only took over this week, which is why my trip here was arranged at the last minute. It’s my first big assignment and I’m going to make a success of it. And it’s my first sight of Venice.’

‘You put that the wrong way around,’ he said gravely. ‘It’s your first sight of Venice that matters.’

‘Well, you’re a Venetian—’

‘Yes, I’m a Venetian and I know that this is one of the wonders of the world. Now you have seen it, it will be with you all your life.’ His merriment had faded, and she realised he was talking about something that mattered to him deeply. She hoped he would go on, but he smiled and said, ‘Tell me some more. What about your family?’

‘I have none. My parents are both dead. I studied Fine Arts in evening classes, specialising in glass. I want to have a shop with the best glass from all over the world.’

He gave a mock frown. ‘But only Venetian glass matters. Why should you bother with any other?’

‘Well—other countries do make good glass.’