Chapter 21
Beth’s head, and heart, ached as she approached the rowing club on Sunday morning, eager to work the emotion of the night before out of her body.
Coming home to Polo had provided some comfort.
The cat had purred and padded her lap before settling into bed with her, curling up at her feet.
She’d never been more grateful to Signor Balbo for making her take him, and she’d stroked his fur as she’d stared at the beamed ceiling and listened to the water of the canal gently run against the side of the building.
But all through the night, as angry as she was with Marco for being so preoccupied with his sister and Emilio, she couldn’t shake the memory of that moment on the dance floor.
Her heart had pounded like a marching band.
She hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long, long time, if ever really.
Her feelings for Marco were real and powerful, and she’d thought his were becoming the same for her, but then it had all gone wrong.
As she approached the boathouse, the fresh air blew the night’s dullness from her mind.
She pulled out a one-person boat and was just hauling it onto her shoulder when he appeared out of the morning mist as if she’d somehow summoned him just by thinking about him.
She huffed out a breath, unsure if she wanted to see him or not.
The guilt was growing heavier, and seeing how much he was worried for his sister last night, she felt trapped by Cesca’s lies.
His hair was ruffled, falling in all directions, and he hadn’t shaved the night’s stubble from his jaw.
Her unhelpful heart twinged, and she wished it would stop making her feel things for him.
Life was far easier when she stayed focused on her goals and didn’t allow handsome men to distract her.
‘Beth,’ he called, jogging towards her. She thought of ignoring him, but they had to work together, and she couldn’t be childish.
‘Beth!’ Marco called again, waving this time as he moved closer to her.
She slowed her pace and came to a stop, the boat awkward on her shoulder.
‘You’re going for a row?’ He pushed his hair back nervously and her heart gave an involuntary spin. ‘Of course you are. Sorry. I – I was hoping to see you. I thought maybe we could go together? It’s a beautiful morning,’ he added sheepishly, signalling to the pale morning sky.
The sun was creeping up slowly, washing the city in pale yellow light. The water reflected the golden tones, and banks of white cloud rolled in from the east.
‘Okay.’
His smile made her stomach flip and she told herself that until he apologised she was going to be mad. ‘Great. I’ll take that and grab a two-man. Can you get the oars?’
He took the boat from her shoulder and before long they were out on the water again.
The tension drained from her body as her arms and legs worked, her muscles burning and her heart rate increasing.
Endorphins flooded her system as she looked at the pale peach of the dawn sky and listened to the movement of the water.
The world was quiet and calm, her mind focused on the next stroke, on the pull of the oars and the push of her legs, on breathing in and out.
‘Beth,’ Marco said, panting slightly at the physical effort. As usual, he was behind her, so she couldn’t see his face, but his tone was soft.
‘Yes?’
‘I – I’m sorry about last night. I was a terrible date.’
All Beth’s senses suddenly heightened, like her hair was standing on end. First of all, he’d said date, and she loved that. And secondly, she appreciated that he’d come out and apologised and not tried to justify his actions.
A tremor underlined his words, and she listened intently as he spoke. ‘After I saw Cesca, I was so worried about her and Emilio that I ruined our evening and I – I was having a wonderful time with you. I’m sorry I threw it away.’
Beth felt herself softening, her anger fading. ‘I get you don’t want her to get hurt, Marco, but would it really be so bad? I thought Emilio was your best friend?’
‘He is.’
‘So why would it be so awful if they were dating? I know he’s had a reputation in the past; Cesca told me. But maybe he’s given all that up. Maybe he’s in love.’
The word love floated in the air between them. She knew she was falling for him, and had hoped last night he was going to say the same. Would he now?
A silence settled between them, heavy and expectant, different to the ones they’d enjoyed together rowing.
‘I hope Emilio has grown up,’ he said eventually, ‘and is ready to make a life with someone; I really do. Just not with my sister. She’s always liked him, and I don’t want her to get her heart broken.
She acts tough but she’s really very sensitive. It would hurt her too much.’
‘Surely that’s her decision to make?’ She spoke softly, not wanting to labour the point but hoping she could make him see.
‘She’s been hurt enough already.’
‘Are you talking about the accident?’ He didn’t answer and she knew she was right. ‘Marco, that was a long time ago and you were both teenagers. It wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen all the time. You didn’t deliberately hurt your sister.’
‘I’m supposed to protect her.’
‘But you can’t do that forever. She’s a woman now. The best way to support her is to be there for her if and when she needs you.’
Marco didn’t speak but his breathing increased as they sped up, the water resisting deliciously against the oars. She hoped he would believe what she said. Cesca didn’t blame him for the accident, and it was time he stopped blaming himself.
‘Anyway,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’m sorry I ruined our night. I – I was enjoying it before they interrupted us.’
Although Beth was already hot and sweaty from the rowing, heat rose up her spine. ‘I was too.’
‘I have another artist for us to see this afternoon, when you finish work, if that’s okay.’
‘Yes, yes of course.’
‘Good.’
They continued rowing in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Despite their difficult conversation she appreciated his apology and as they lapsed into companionable and easy quiet, she watched the sky lighten, the last remnants of night’s darker colours drifting away to reveal a bright day.
The red roof tiles of the buildings and the pale grey lead of the domes of St Mark’s Basilica shone brighter in the shafts of light punctuating the cloud.
As they slowed, she took deep, steady breaths of the salty air.
They returned to the dock and washed down the boat and oars.
‘So I’ll see you at, say, five?’ Marco asked tentatively.
Beth nodded. ‘What are you up to today?’
‘I’m working on the family business,’ he added. ‘We need sales to pick up and I’m hoping I can convince Papa to let me try some advertising or at least contacting some local galleries to see if they’ll stock some pieces.’
‘I hope he agrees.’
‘After your analogy, I’m hoping he’ll see it – and me – differently. I wished I’d thought of it earlier.’ He stepped forwards and placed a kiss on her sweaty cheek.
‘That can’t have been nice,’ she replied, smiling.
‘I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it would be.’
With a flash of his devastating smile, he walked towards the gym and, wishing once more they hadn’t been interrupted the night before, Beth followed. She might even need a cold shower this morning, if her tingling body was anything to go by.
As she opened La Libreria delle Parole, Polo leaping from his carry case and deciding to stroll around on the fondamenta before taking himself off, Beth breathed in the lingering smell of fresh paint and admired the neat and tidy bookstore she and Cesca had created.
Yes, there was still work to do outside, but for now, she’d bask in the glory of accomplishing so much in such a short timescale.
Lolanda and Galvano were next door again and the two performers were back down the street.
She wondered if their repertoire would be the same or if she’d have something new to watch today.
This being her own boss was proving wonderful, and she was even enjoying making conversation with customers, seeking them out to find out if she could help and talk about the books they’d enjoyed.
She could feel herself growing, like the bud of a flower opening up so its petals can feel the sun.
From her chats with customers she discovered she lacked a bit of literary fiction and made a mental note to order some.
The day flew by, and she closed up the book barge as soon as she saw Marco, grabbing her coat to meet him on the bank. They would drop Polo off on the way. ‘So where are we off to then?’
‘Are you wearing clothes that can get dirty?’
‘Ummm, yes.’ She was in her usual uniform of trousers and a jumper, but as she had so many, it wouldn’t matter if these got dirty. Her interest, and nerves, were piqued. ‘Why?’
Marco held out his hand. ‘You’ll see.’
She slipped her chill fingers into the warmth of his and followed his lead as they moved through the city.
They were walking towards Dorsoduro and stopped outside a pretty pottery shop.
Through the window she could see pale wooden shelves lined with plates, mugs, vases and jugs.
Some were plain, others brightly coloured or intricately patterned.
The sign on the door said closed and Beth turned to Marco in alarm.
‘Did we miss the appointment?’ She checked the time on her phone.
‘Don’t worry.’ He knocked, giving three loud taps on the glass of the door.
Before the last one had even finished echoing through the shop, a young man appeared wearing a clay-covered apron.
He had a tidy goatee and a messy man bun, and his dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he opened the door.
‘Marco!’ They did some kind of handshake-into-a-hug move and then Marco introduced Beth.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she said, following them both inside.
‘I’m so pleased you’ve come for the class.’
‘Class?’ She turned to Marco who was grinning.
‘When I spoke to Fabrizio about possibly selling through the book barge, he offered us a class to make something ourselves. I thought you might enjoy it and then you’d have something special of your own in case you ever return to England.’
‘Oh, right. I don’t plan to go back but … thank you!’ Marco’s eyes widened a little as she said this and something passed across his eyes she couldn’t read. She turned to Fabrizio. ‘I don’t know if I’m any good at pottery but I’m happy to give it a go.’
Fabrizio smiled. ‘Come through to the workshop and I’ll get you both an apron.’
The apron was almost as big as Beth was, but she wrapped it tightly around her and sat at her wheel. Marco did the same, with a few other people who were there for the class.
Fabrizio dropped a lump of clay in front of her and said, ‘Would you prefer me to speak in English?’
‘No, Italian’s fine! If everyone else is Italian, then please speak that. I’m pretty fluent and I can always ask Marco if there’s a term I don’t understand.’
‘Grazie. It will be easier for my other students whose English is not so good.’
From then the class was conducted in Italian.
Fabrizio sat at his own wheel showing them how to mould the clay into a basic cup shape and how to add ridges.
Marco took to it quickly, the artistic tradition of his family making it easy for him.
Beth, however, struggled. Her cup wasn’t round; it was more of a lump with a shallow bit in the middle and the sides were thick and uneven.
She wasn’t going to be able to drink out of it anytime soon; that was for sure.
‘Psst, Marco!’
He looked over, eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘What?’
‘Help me!’ she mouthed, not wanting to draw attention to herself.
He manoeuvred his stool so he was sat behind her, and she felt his strong arms either side of her body.
He was so close she could smell his aftershave and feel the heat of his torso.
Goose bumps flew over her skin as his hands folded on top of hers, guiding her fingers to form the clay.
She could see why the movie Ghost was famous for its clay scene.
She hadn’t imagined anything like this would ever happen to her and as Marco’s breath brushed the back of her neck, her mind flew to what it would be like if his wonderful kisses began at the sensitive skin under her ear, reaching down her neck and shoulders to …
Her body began to tingle, and she exhaled a shuddering breath.
She didn’t know if Marco could feel it too, but his fingers trembled.
Beth glanced around, relieved to see the other students intent on their own work.
Marco spoke in a low, husky voice as though he too were struggling to control his breathing. ‘There, you see. Cupping the hands gently and drawing them up gives the shape.’
His head rested against the side of hers and she mumbled, ‘When did you get so good at this?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s just in my blood.’
‘Right,’ Fabrizio announced, eyeing Marco and Beth with a sly grin. ‘Time to make the handle.’
Marco moved back to his wheel and again Beth missed the weight and warmth of him behind her.
Her body sizzled from the contact. She desperately wanted this romance between them to be her future, but not only was there Cesca’s secret creating a wall between them, what if he wanted children?
He already knew how she felt about it but hadn’t given any indication of his own feelings, and seeing him with his nieces and nephews made her wonder if he would be okay with the idea of never having a family of his own.
As they went about throwing the clay for the handle, Beth felt the barrier grow between them. The foundations had already been laid by Cesca, and now, bricks were stacking on top, pushing it ever higher.
‘What are you doing tomorrow evening?’ Marco asked.
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘I have someone else I want you to meet.’
‘Another artist?’
‘Yes. Can you meet me at Campo San Barnaba at seven?’
‘Sure. I’ll be there.’
He smiled and turned his attention to his cup. Beth’s handle almost flew off, onto the person next to her and she managed to squash it before it left her wheel. She swore in English and Marco chuckled. She should really stick to selling books.