his knees, John told me. I looked up at that incredible blue cloud-strewn sky,
and wondered if it ever rained here, if it was ever damp and cold and miserable.
Did they ever have a wind that was so strong it would nearly rip your hair from
your head?
Not now, in April, they didn’t. It was Venice, and I felt its magic to the
depths of my soul. The sounds of the gently lapping water of the Grand Canal
against the ancient pilings below us soothed me to my very bones. George liked
the sounds, too. He snored more loudly when he napped on the balcony and could
hear the water.
It was perhaps a half hour before sunset, the most vivid time of day, when the
sun shone gold on the water, and grew so large as it neared the horizon that it
seemed to swallow the earth. I stared as the water glistened off that brilliant
dying sun, spreading dazzling sharp points of white everywhere. A magic hand had
strewn diamonds over the water. I heard a gondolier singing to the dying sun,
and I wanted to weep with the wonder of it.
I stretched in my husband’s arms, and he dropped a kiss on my forehead. George
sat on a cushion beside us, sleeping, his ugly little head resting on his paws.
“We have been here for two weeks now,” John said, and kissed my left ear.
“Yes, and the weather is so perfect, so absolutely, impossibly perfect, that I
find myself pining for a nice stiff wind off the moors at home.”
“When I was a young man, just arrived here, I decided that I wanted to come to
Venice with my bride. And because I am a man who can manage just about anything,
here we are, my bride and I, all cozied up in Venice. What is this? Are you
bored with me already?”
His hand lightly cupped my breast. I leaned into him, wanting to feel his hand,
his fingers, the warmth it sent all the way to my belly.
“Perhaps in fifty or so years,” I said, and leaned forward to kiss his neck.
“I received a letter from your father today. All goes well with him. He feels
fine now, and his diamond-cutting business continues to prosper despite his
absence. He will visit us in June. Miss Crislock is being kept in a house near
Leeds run by this woman Dr. Boulder knows. He said that she and her staff care
for the insane. They are not maltreated. She is fine, Andy.”
I nodded, not liking to even think about the woman I had regarded as my second
mother. I lightly rubbed my palm over his chest, feeling the slow steady beat of
his heart. The feel of him, so different from me. It was still a wonder to me. “I
never thought a man could be so precious,” I said, and kissed his heart through
his jacket.
He laughed, I felt the rumble of it. “Does this mean that you are thinking
spiritual thoughts about me?”
“Probably not.”
“Ah, then you want to have your way with me?”
“I rather like that thick carpet in front of the fireplace.”
I thought he would swallow his tongue. I had changed so much, and it still
occasionally floored him. Of course he was himself responsible for all the
changes, and it pleased him enormously.
“Actually,” he said, “I do, too. We’re alone, and George isn’t snoring for the
moment.”
“It’s a miracle.”
He laughed and hugged me close. “I will hear your laughter every day of my life.
It is a wonderful thing. Now, there is another party for us this evening. The
Contessa di Marco. Are you yet tired of all the fetes and soirees and balls?”
I shook my head against his shoulder. “I wish to wear that beautiful turquoise
silk gown you selected for me. There is something else, too, John. I don’t want
to leave Venice until we finally see a bit of rain, perhaps a bit of wind,
perhaps feel a chill to our bones.”
“Then we might be here until next November.”
George wuffed, and John added, “He nearly fell into the canal the other day,