Unmasking Elena Montella (11 page)

‘
Please, you must let me pay for it,’ she said.

He shook his head.

‘
Never turn down a gift from Stefano. It would be very bad luck,’ Viviana explained.

Elena smiled. She already had quite enough to contend with, she thought, without inviting a dose of bad luck too, so she graciously accepted his gift.

‘
All I ask is that you’ll let me know how you get on with it.’

She smiled again. ‘I promise,’ she said before leaving the shop with the golden mask tucked under her arm.

Mark’s eyes were dazzled by it all. Everything around him seemed golden. Perhaps it was because he’d left behind a particularly grey day in London, but he felt as if he’d landed in paradise. When he got off the boat, he pulled his rucksack onto his back and stood absolutely still for a moment, looking out across the lagoon. The last of the sun’s rays streaked across the water like a comet’s tail. It was mesmeric, and the water looked so inviting, you could almost be lulled into jumping right in for a swim. You wouldn’t, of course. This was Venice, after all.

He felt rather pleased with himself for having the bright idea of visiting. It was going to be a great week, he thought, and that sunset was very auspicious.

The apartment was easy to find as he had Elena’s directions from her sister. What he hadn’t got, though, was a phone number, so he hadn’t been able to ring ahead and check that firstly, someone would be in and, secondly, that he’d be welcome. Ringing the bell on the wall of the rather ugly exterior, he prepared himself for disappointment. If she wasn’t in, he’d just have to find a cheap hotel, if there was such a thing in Venice.

It didn’t take long before he heard the door opening and he quickly raked a hand through his hair. At least he’d remembered to shave for once.

He smiled as a woman greeted him. She had the same lustrous dark hair as Elena and her eyes were large and a deep, deep brown. She was about the same height but her figure was fuller.

‘
Rosanna?’ he enquired, his eyes taking in her face which was quite lovely if a little sullen-looking.

‘
Yes,’ she said. She didn’t look at all welcoming.

‘
I’m Mark. Mark Theodore. Elena’s fiancé.’ He smiled at her but he didn’t receive one in return. ‘I work with Elena,’ he explained.

‘
Yes! Yes!’ she said at last. ‘Elena’s told me.’

‘
Phew! I was beginning to get a bit worried then!’

She stared at him for a moment more. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘
Thanks,’ he said. ‘Look, I know this is a bit unexpected.’

She turned around from her position ahead of him on the stairs. ‘Don’t worry. I’m used to the unexpected with Elena.’

Mark laughed but he noticed that her tone was deadly serious. ‘She
can
be unpredictable,’ he agreed.

Rosanna said something but it was in Italian and he couldn’t make out what it was and didn’t like to ask in case he wasn’t meant to have heard.

‘
Blimey!’ he said as they reached the top of the stairs into what could only be described as the biggest living space he’d ever seen. It was the size of his entire flat and the thin Finn’s English school rolled into one.

‘
Yes,’ Rosanna agreed.

‘
How come I’ve never heard of this artist before? If he owns something like this, he must be pretty well-known.’

‘
He’s still working on the getting well-known bit but his art sells for a fortune here.’

‘
I can see,’ he said, dumping his rucksack and walking over to look at some of the canvases.

‘
Please, don’t touch anything over there. Most of the oils are still drying.’

Mark nodded as his eyes roved over the pictures stacked up against the wall. They were mostly nudes and, looking closer, he noticed that they were mostly of Rosanna. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling rather hot and uncomfortable. It felt almost incestuous looking at nude paintings of his future sister-in-law and he hurriedly looked for something else to comment on in the room.

‘
Those are his latest,’ Rosanna said as he examined some paintings on a long trestle table that looked like a fallen oak tree.

‘
Yeah?’ Mark peered closely. ‘What’s this business with the cat?’

There was a moment’s pause before Rosanna suddenly burst out laughing. Mark looked up at her, wondering how, one minute, she could be statue-cold and, the next, sound like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

‘
What is it? What did I say?’

‘
The cat!’ she said, her hysteria subsiding slightly and her features rearranging themselves back to normality. ‘That bloody cat!’

‘
What about it?’ he asked, feeling thick. He didn’t quite understand what she’d found so funny.

‘
It’s Sandro’s pet. His darling
Bimba
. Horrible animal - appears in all his paintings - even the portraits. It makes me sneeze but he insists on having it in the house.’

‘
I don’t see it.’

‘
No,’ she said. ‘When Sandro’s away, the cat will play -
outside!
’ she said and then started laughing again.

This time, he couldn’t help but join in. Her face fell apart when she laughed and her joy was contagious. If they hadn’t both heard the door open then, they might both have ended up in a heap of helpless tears on the floor.

‘
Elena?’ he said quietly to Rosanna.

She nodded.

‘
Listen. I want to surprise her,’ he whispered, grabbing his rucksack from view.

‘
Oh, I think you’ll manage that,’ Rosanna said, the laughter banished from her face once more.

‘
Rosanna? Is that you?’ Elena called from the lobby and Mark felt himself smiling at the sound of her voice. It felt an age since he’d last heard it.

‘
Yes.’

‘
Who’s that with you?’ Elena called, her feet clicking on the stone steps.

Mark waved his hand at Rosanna in a shushing motion.

‘
Nobody,’ she said. ‘I was just laughing at something on the television.’

Mark blew a kiss to Rosanna, hid behind the great oak desk, and waited.

Somewhere between leaving
Viviana’s
and the Campo San Giovanni e Paolo, Elena must have taken a wrong turn but the strange thing was, she didn’t feel at all anxious - not like she would have back in London. It was probably all part of the romance of being in a different city. She guessed tourists never knowingly looked for the danger lurking beneath the fine architecture and magnificent views. Who wanted to think about pickpockets in the middle of paradise? Anyway, she knew she was fairly close to home now and it wasn’t as if she were alone: she had her mask with her for company.

Elena looked at the box stashed safely under her arm and couldn’t resist taking a quick peek. In the light of a small campo, she opened the lid and let her eyes feast on the golden face gazing up at her from out of its bedding of soft tissue. She couldn’t help but smile. What was she doing with a mask? She’d always laughed at people who’d worn them. Yet something had burned within her and she simply hadn’t been able to think about leaving the shop without it.

She wondered why, with all the beautiful and fantastical masks at
Viviana’s
, she had been drawn to one of the plainest. Even though it was the most beautiful gold she’d ever seen and was edged with the most delicate of details, and boasted a fancy scroll above its left cheek, it was fairly plain compared to the rest that had been on display.

She let her finger trace along the scroll and, for a moment, she swore her fingers took on a golden hue. Should she try it on? Stefano had seemed keen that she should. Hadn’t that been the condition of the gift - that she try it on and let him know how it went? She smiled. What on earth did he imagine would happen to her by simply putting on a mask? He was a funny man. Still, the temptation was proving too much.

Her fingers fastened around the mask and she was just pulling it out from its bedding when a dog, no bigger than a rat, ran right between her legs. She was so startled that she almost dropped the mask in shock. Quickly replacing it and putting the lid back on the box, she couldn’t help feeling rather self-conscious as a man lumbered by in pursuit of his rat-dog. She mumbled a quick apology as if it was her fault and then decided to get her map out. It was time she found her way back.

At least it would be nice and quiet when she got back, she thought, realising she was only a couple of streets away. She’d probably have a few more pressing questions from Rosanna but she was hoping that she’d had time to calm down by now. With any luck, she might even have thought of a way for her to get out of her prickly predicament.

She thought of Reuben back at the Danieli. He’d wanted her to stay with him, she knew, and she was mean not to, but she had told him that she’d come away for some space and that he had to respect that. Besides, she could tell that he’d been itching to get his sketchbook out. And dear Mark. What would he be doing back in Harrow? Probably down the pub with his mates before going back home to one of his horrible microwaved meals. She couldn’t really blame him, mind. Nobody would want to cook on that disgusting cooker in his flat.

And sweet Prof. What would he be doing now? she wondered, as she found her way into the long, thin calle that would lead her back to the apartment. He’d probably be having dinner at his favourite restaurant, a pile of essays to read next to a bottle of red wine. She hoped he wasn’t reading her latest attempt and wondering where her bibliography was because she hadn’t written one.

Out of her three special men, Reuben was the one who’d made the effort when it counted and that meant a lot to her. But did it mean that he was
the one
? Did getting on a plane to Venice constitute true love? Or were his motives jealousy, lust and a realisation that, if he did some painting, it could be tax deductible? But wasn’t all that part of what she loved about Reuben? His drive, his passion, his ambition and dogged determination were so admirable. Prof had those very same traits but his were hidden under the surface. He wasn’t in-your-face like Reuben; he was subtle, silent and self-assured.

Elena couldn’t help getting a warm feeling when she thought of Prof and her heart went out to him sitting on his own with nothing but a pile of essays for company. Digging in her handbag, she found her mobile phone. It was a well-kept secret from her fiancés as she couldn’t quite contemplate three men being able to find her wherever she went. She dialled Prof’s number and waited.

‘
Hello,’ he said a moment later.

‘
Prof? It’s Elena!’

‘
Elena! How are you? Is everything okay?’

‘
Yes - fine! I’m in Venice.’

‘
I know. I miss you!’

She bit her lip. He missed her. ‘I miss you too. I wish you were here. You’d love it. Everything’s so beautiful.’

‘
Have you been sight-seeing yet?’

Her mind tumbled back to the interior of the Danieli and she could feel herself blushing with guilt. ‘Not really. Not yet. I went to Dorsoduro today and bought a mask.’

‘
A mask?’ she heard him chuckle. ‘Whatever for?’

‘
I don’t know,’ she said, suddenly feeling silly for sharing that with him. ‘Where are you?’

‘
At
Reggie’s
,’ he said.

‘
I had a feeling you’d be there.’

‘
You’ve caught me in between a very fine pasta dish and tiramisu - in honour of you. I’m with you in spirit.’

‘
And I bet you’ve got your essays with you,’ she said and then promptly wished she hadn’t. Why had she tempted fate like that?

‘
Ah! Yes. Elena, I’m glad you mentioned that. I wanted to have a word with you about your essay.’

‘
Pardon?’ she said.

‘
It’s about your bibliography. You don’t appear to have-’

‘
Sorry! I can’t hear you? There’s something wrong with the line.’