Her New Year Baby Secret(21)

She'd known that Marco's family was rich, knew he had enough money to  buy handmade suits and frequent expensive bars, but somehow she hadn't  realised that Marco was rich-really rich, not merely well off-in his own  right.

It made everything infinitely worse.

It took two to make a baby, she reminded herself. This wasn't her fault.  She wasn't trying to trap him, to enrich herself at his expense. But it  was what people would think. It might be what he would think and she  couldn't blame him. It would all be so much easier if he were a little  more normal, if his family hadn't made the idea of fatherhood, marriage  and settling down into his worst nightmare. If she thought he'd be happy  with her news, not horrified...                       
       
           



       

Preoccupied, she hadn't noticed where they were walking, barely taking  in that Marco had turned out of the narrow road to lead her through an  arched gate and onto a rough floor made of wooden slats, leading down to  the canal. Wooden, balconied buildings took up two sides of the square,  the open canals the other two, and upturned gondolas lined up on the  floor in neat rows.

'Marco!' A man dressed in overalls, wiping his hands on a rag, just as  if this were a normal garage in a normal town, straightened and strode  over, embracing Marco in a warm hug. Marco returned the embrace and the  two men began to talk in loud, voluble Italian. Sophie didn't even try  to follow the conversation, even when she heard her name mentioned;  instead she pulled out her camera and began to take pictures of two  young men bending over a gondola, faces intent as they applied varnish  to the curved hull. It was the closest she'd got to a gondola in all the  time she'd been here; Marco owned his own boat, of course, and had made  it clear that gondola rides were only for tourists. She'd not argued  but couldn't help feeling a little cheated out of the quintessential  Venetian experience.

'Sì...sì, grazie.' Marco embraced the man again and Sophie whipped the  camera round to capture the moment, his body completely relaxed, his  smile open and wide in a way it never was at the palazzo. His family  were only a small part of his world here. He had his business contacts,  yes, family obligations and friends-but also this whole other life. His  own friends and interests, left behind when he started a new life in  London, and yet still obviously important. This was what he would be  returning to when he started to spend more time here. Leaving behind the  network of business friends he spent his time with in London for people  who really knew him. Sophie swallowed. She could go back to Manchester  tomorrow and not meet one person who would make her smile the way Marco  was smiling now.

'Ready?' He stepped over an oar and re-joined Sophie.

'For what?'

'I thought you wanted to go shopping and I have a few things I need to  buy. Arrivederci,' he called over his shoulder as they exited the yard  as speedily as they had entered it.

Sophie looked back, wishing they'd had more time for her to take in every detail. 'Is that where gondolas go to die?'

His mouth curved into the rare genuine smile she loved to see, the smile  she liked to draw out of him. 'No, it's where they go to get better.  Tonio's family have been fixing them for generations. When we were boys  he swore it wouldn't be for him, swore that he would travel the world,  be his own man...'

'What happened?'

Marco shrugged. 'He travelled the world and realised that all he wanted  was to come home and run the yard. Now he's the most respected gondola  maker and fixer in all of Venice.'

It didn't take long to reach the shops Sophie had noted when they'd  first entered the Dorsoduro and she was immediately torn between a  textile shop specialising in hand-woven materials and a traditional mask  maker. She hadn't had to dip too far into her carefully hoarded money  so far; a few ingredients for the meal she'd cooked Marco, material from  a warehouse for her dress and for Bianca's wedding gift, but she wanted  to buy presents for her friends if possible.

'I have a few errands to run,' Marco said as she wavered between the  two. 'See you back here in an hour? I know the perfect place for lunch.'  And before she could respond he was gone. Sophie checked her watch. She  had just under an hour and streets of tempting little shops to explore;  there was no time to waste. With a deep breath and a feeling of  impending bankruptcy she opted for the mask shop.

It was like stepping into another world, a world of velvet and lace, of  secrecy and whispers, seductive and terrifying in equal measure. Sophie  turned slowly, marvelling at the artistry in every detail, her eyes  drawn to a half-face cat mask, one side gold, the other a green brocade,  sequins highlighting the slanted eye slits and the perfect feline nose.  She picked it up and held it against her face, immediately transformed  into someone-something-dangerous and unknown. She replaced it with a  sigh of longing. The gorgeous carnival masks, all made and painted by  hand, were definitely beyond her means and having seen the real thing  she didn't want to waste her money on the cheaper, mass-produced masks  displayed on souvenir stalls throughout the city. Likewise she soon  realised that the colourful fabrics, still produced on traditional  wooden looms, would bankrupt her.

Three quarters of an hour later she was done, choosing beautiful  handmade paper journals, one for each of her friends. Turning as she  exited the shop, she saw Marco sauntering towards her, a secretive,  pleased smile on his face. 'Done already?' he asked as he reached her  side. 'I usually have to drag Bianca and Mamma out of these shops  kicking and screaming.'                       
       
           



       

'I could just look at the colours and the workmanship for hours,' Sophie  admitted. 'I very nearly came home with a cat mask. But options for  wearing such a thing in London are sadly limited. Not that I can imagine  actually wearing it. It's a work of art.'

'You should see the city at carnivale. It's not just the masks, the  costumes are out of this world-hats, dominoes, elaborate gowns. You  would go crazy for the colours and designs. My mother has five different  outfits and six different masks, so each year she changes her look  completely.'

'What about you? What do you wear?'

'I go for the simple black domino and a half-mask, but it's many years  since I've been here during carnivale. The city gets a little fevered.  It's easy to get carried away.'

After a light lunch at a pretty café overlooking a narrow back-street  canal they explored the rest of the vibrant district, wandering down to  the university, visiting churches and museums as they went. The  afternoon flew by and it was a surprise when Sophie realised it was late  afternoon and their wandering no longer had an aimless quality to it.  Marco was walking with intent as they retraced their steps back to the  gondola yard they had visited earlier. The gates were closed now, but  Marco knocked loudly on the wooden door and almost immediately one large  gate swung open. Sophie didn't recognise the owner at first. He'd  changed out of his overalls and into the striped top and straw hat of a  gondolier, although, in a nod to the season, he had put a smart black  jacket over the top.

'This way,' Marco said and steered her towards the jetty. A gondola was  moored there, gleaming black in the fading light. Warm velvety throws  were placed over the black leather seats, several more were folded on  the two stools that provided the only other seating. 'It gets cold,'  Marco said briefly as he took her hand and helped her step into the  gently rocking boat. 'Welcome aboard, signorina.'

The rug was soft and warm as Sophie wriggled into one of the two main  seats, placed side by side along the middle of the long narrow boat.  Marco picked up another blanket and draped it across her knees and  Sophie folded her hands into the fabric, glad of the extra coverings.  Her tights and wool jacket were good enough protection against the chill  while she was moving and the sun was out, but, sitting still as the  evening began to reach dark fingers along the sky, she was suddenly very  aware it was winter. Marco set a basket on the small table in the  middle of the seating area before gracefully stepping aboard and taking  his seat next to hers. It was a narrow space and she could feel the hard  length of his thigh next to hers, his body heat as he slipped an arm  around her shoulders and shouted something unintelligible to his friend.  The next moment the moorings were untied and the boat began to glide  away from the dock, moving smoothly down the canal.

Marco leaned forward and, with a flourish, took two champagne glasses  and a bottle out of the basket, and set them in front of her, followed  by a selection of small fruit and custard tarts, beautifully presented  in a lavishly decorated box.