Her New Year Baby Secret(9)

It wasn't just the beauty of the city, it was the life thrumming through  it. This was no museum, a place existing merely for the multitudes of  tourists. It was a living, breathing place-and for the next two days she  would be part of it. Would belong.

At that moment the boat began to turn and headed towards a small  gangplank and a set of stairs leading directly to a door to an imposing  cream-coloured building right on the Grand Canal. What was going on?  She'd done a little research and knew that the hotels overlooking the  famous canal were exorbitant. Sophie had expected a little B & B  somewhere further out of the city. 'Wait, where are you going?'

Gianni looked puzzled. 'To Palazzo Santoro, of course. Signor Santoro asked me to convey you directly.'

'The palazzo?' Sophie's hands tightened on the side of the boat. Marco  hadn't mentioned a palazzo-especially not one right on the Grand Canal.  Her stomach twisted. Girls from the Manchester suburbs didn't belong in  places like this-not unless they were serving drinks. She took a deep  breath. Palazzo probably didn't mean anything grand. Maybe Marco's  mother had a flat in this building. No one actually owned a building  this big, no one Sophie was ever going to meet.

Before she could completely gather her thoughts the boat had stilled and  Gianni was lifting her bags out of the back of the boat and extending a  hand to help her disembark. Sophie climbed gingerly over the side of  the boat and followed Gianni, treading carefully up the stone steps. He  rapped smartly on the door and, as it opened, set Sophie's bags inside,  gave her a friendly nod and ran lightly back down the steps and into the  boat. She looked around wildly, hoping for a clue as to where exactly  she was going, but all she could see was the open door. And her suitcase  and travel bag were inside.

It fleetingly crossed Sophie's mind that no one knew exactly where she  was-or who Marco was-and she could enter this house and never be seen  again. But if it was a kidnap plot, it was far too elaborate a set-up  for a waitress living on the outer edges of Chelsea. She took another  step up the last step and entered through the ornately carved wooden  door and came to an abrupt standstill.

Had she fallen down a rabbit hole? Sophie had cleaned and waitressed in  some seriously swanky homes over the last year or so, but she had never  seen anything quite on this scale or of this antiquity. The door led  into an immense tiled hallway with a wooden-beamed ceiling and  aged-looking frescos on the wall and ceiling, the only furnishings a few  very old and very delicate-looking chairs. The hall ran the entire  length of the building; she could see double doors at the other end,  windows on either side, the sun streaming through the stained glass at  the top. A gallery with intricate wrought-iron railings ran all the way  around the hallway, accessed by two wide staircases, one at either end  of the hall. Sophie could see several closed doors running the length of  the room, discreetly hidden in the faded frescos.

What she couldn't see was any sign of life. She stepped further in,  swivelling slowly as she took in every detail, jumping at the sight of  the elderly woman, clad in sombre black from throat to calf, standing  statuelike almost behind the open door. 'Oh, hello. I mean buongiorno.'  All her hastily learned Italian phrases seemed to have disappeared from  her head. 'Je m'appelle... No, sorry, that's not right. Erm...mi chiamo  Sophie. Marco is expecting me, isn't he? The driver, boatman, he seemed  to think he was at the right place.'

That's right, Sophie, just keep babbling.

She was struck by a sudden thought: maybe this was a hotel and the  Santoro was just a coincidence-it could be a totally common name like  Smith or Brown. 'Should I check in?' she enquired hopefully. A check-in  desk she could cope with. House rules, room-service menu, hopefully a  fluffy white robe.

The woman didn't respond. Instead she bent slowly, so slowly Sophie  could almost hear the creak of her waist, before picking up Sophie's  suitcase as if it weighed less than an empty pillowcase. Sophie, who had  stepped forward to stop her, froze in place as the woman stepped  forward, the suitcase almost swinging from her hand. It had taken all  Sophie's efforts just to heave that suitcase onto the Tube. She eyed the  woman with respect and stood back out of her way as the woman strode  past her with a grunted 'This way' as she did so. Sophie followed meekly  behind, along the hallway, up three flights of the sweeping staircase  and onto a long landing peopled with portraits of men in tights and  women with fans. Sophie was panting by this point, but the woman seemed  completely at ease and Sophie yet again promised herself a regular  routine of Pilates, Zumba and body pump.                       
       
           



       

They came to an abrupt halt outside a wood-panelled door. The woman  pushed it open and gestured for Sophie to step inside. With a wondering  glance she did so, her aching legs and heaving chest instantly forgotten  as she turned around in wonder.

The room was huge, easily twice the size of Sophie's entire apartment  with three huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the canal, shutters  swung open to reveal the Juliet balconies outside each one, Venice  framed like a living breathing picture within. Although the walls were  painted a simple pale blue the ceiling was alive with a fresco of  cherubs and angels, partying riotously across the room, edged in gilt  matching the elaborate gilt headboard on the huge bed and the elegant  chaise positioned before one of the windows. A huge mirror hung opposite  the windows reflecting the watery light. The woman-a maid? Marco's  grandmother? A complete stranger? Sophie had absolutely no idea-opened  one of two matching doors on either side of the bed to reveal a dressing  room, complete with dressing table and two wardrobes. The other door  led into a bathroom so luxurious Sophie thought she might never be able  to leave it.

'The family will gather in the reception room at six,' the lady intoned  and left, shutting the door firmly behind her, leaving Sophie standing  in the middle of the room torn between giddiness at the gorgeousness of  her surroundings and fear at trying to find her way through this huge  house to meet a set of people she didn't even have names for.

'Breathe,' she told herself. 'Live a lot, remember?' But as she sank  onto the bed she was painfully conscious that all she wanted to do was  hide away in this room.

Okay, here was what she knew: this was not an apartment; Marco's family  appeared to own the entire, immense and very old building. Therefore the  family party was unlikely to be just a few close friends, a glass of  sherry and some pineapple and cheese sticks in the kitchen. The only  person she knew was Marco and he wasn't even here and didn't expect to  be until the party. She lay down and stared up at the cherubs, hoping  they might be able to help her.

On the other hand she was in Venice. Sophie sat up and rolled off the  bed, almost running to the window before the thought had fully formed,  staring out with rapt eyes at the palazzos opposite, at the boats  sailing below. She was in Venice and about to go to a party with a  gorgeous man before returning to the most beautiful room she had ever  set eyes on. So she was a little daunted? Time to pull on her big-girl  pants-well, the nicest underwear she owned just in case-and try to enjoy  every moment because she knew all too well that moments like this  didn't come her way all too often.

'Come on, Sophie. Enjoy it. It's just a couple of days...' Two days of  being someone new. Nobody here knew her, nobody here knew that she was  twenty-six, had wasted the last eight years of her life, that she worked  sixteen hours a day trying to pay her bills and get her own business  off the ground. She wasn't Sophie Bradshaw, reliable employee of Maids  in Chelsea, waitress, chambermaid and cleaner. She was Signorina  Bradshaw, the kind of woman who went to glamorous balls and got invited  to stay in palazzos. Why not be that woman for two days? After all, she  wasn't expecting to see Marco again after she went back to London. What  harm could it do to live the fantasy, just for a little while?

But as she turned to look back at the ornate room fear struck her once  again. How would a girl like her ever fit in a place like this? Even if  it was for just a couple of days?

* * *

Marco adjusted his bow tie, painfully aware that he was running almost  inexcusably late. It had been a long six days. Since his move to London  Marco had kept his visits back to Venice as brief as possible-he'd been  confident in his contacts in Italy; it had been the rest of the world  he'd needed to concentrate on. But a decade was a long time and it was  becoming painfully clear a couple of days twice a year was no longer  enough. He needed to start spending some significant amounts of time  here if he wanted to continue to grow his business.

His mother was also making it very clear that it was time he stepped up  and assumed his role as head of the family. Only, guided by her, of  course... His mouth thinned. He'd already fought that battle with one  parent and he wasn't sure either of them could count a decade-long  standoff as a victory. And now his father was gone it all seemed  pointlessly self-destructive anyway.