"Do you know how often you use that expression?" he asked softly. "Always you try to bring the story to an end at the moment of your choosing. But nobody can do that. The story ends when it ends."

"And do you know how often you lecture me?" she asked, speaking in a furious whisper.

"I'm sorry. Yes, that is a fault of mine."

"Why do you think you have the right?"

"Because you matter," he said simply.

"No, I do not matter to you, and you do not matter to me. Please let me pass."

He stood back and inclined his head politely.

"As the signora pleases."

She stared, shocked. He'd reminded her that tonight he was here as a servant. Perhaps he thought she was a snob who'd cold-shouldered him on that account. But before she could tell him he was wrong, Dulcie called back from the door, "Justine, come and meet somebody."

She smiled, hurried across to where boats were drawing up at the palazzo's landing stage, and was engulfed in cheerful greetings.

When she next looked, Riccardo had gone.

Chapter Eight

A party in the Palazzo Calvani was a step back into an age of elegance. Thirty people dined at the long rosewood table, eating off Sèvres porcelain and drinking from crystal etched with the Calvani crest.

Riccardo had prepared a banquet fit for a king. It was served by the palazzo servants, but under his eagle eyes. As he had told Justine, tonight he was the headwaiter.

It was Justine's first experience of Venetian cuisine, and she promised herself it wouldn't be the last. A dish of sardines in onions, pine seeds and sultanas was only the start. After that there was squid in tomato sauce, pork loins with Swiss cheese and shallots, with pears in hot chocolate to follow.

Clearly, whatever else he was economizing on, Riccardo had hired a superlative chef. There was more to him, she realized, than a lusty charmer. There was also a serious businessman who knew exactly what he was doing.