Page 20 of Once Upon a Time in Venice

Instinctively, Daniela ran to the centre of the room, twirling and dancing on the parquet floor. ‘I feel like a princess,’ she exclaimed.

‘Can you imagine attending a ball here two hundred years ago, wearing a beautiful dress and dancing to an orchestra?’

‘It’s like being in a fairy tale,’ Daniela beamed, as Gina admired how unselfconscious she was, pirouetting and spinning around the room. Marco and his wife were clearly doing a great job; Daniela was bright, funny and confident.

‘You’re an excellent dancer,’ Issy told her.

‘Thank you. I have lessons every week. I do ballet and jazz, though jazz is my favourite.’

‘You must be top of your class. What other hobbies do you have?’

‘I like reading and swimming too. Can I really have gelato?’

‘Yes, of course. We can go now if you want.’

Daniela nodded enthusiastically, and ran across the ballroom, laughing as she slid towards Gina and Issy on the polished floor.

Behind them they heard loud clapping and a voice shouting, ‘Brava!’

‘Olivia!’ Gina greeted Olivia warmly. The bride-to-be was dressed in a cream linen dress and a light olive Kashmir shawl.

‘And who is this beautiful young lady?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.

‘This is Daniela,’ Gina told her. ‘She’s our guest today.’

‘Very nice to meet you.’

Gina made the introductions, as Olivia seemed to drink in the wonderful opulence around them. ‘I just thought I’d come in and take a look at the ballroom. This is my favourite room in the hotel, as you know, Gina.’

‘Isn’t this where you and Max met for the first time?’

‘That’s right, my current fiancé, soon to be my husband!’ Olivia said in explanation to Issy.

‘Congratulations!’ said Issy.

‘I can hardly dare to believe it,’ Olivia said, ‘When I think back to the very first time I met Max, in this very ballroom five years ago …’

The notes of Puccini’s exquisite Tosca floated out from the string quartet playing in the White Palace’s ballroom. Olivia knew the story of Floria Tosca’s doomed romance so well, and it always tugged at her heart strings. She and her husband, Simon, had fallen in love with the opera, and as the instrumental notes filled the beautiful baroque space, Olivia could only note the sad irony that here she was, in the eternal city, mourning her own tragic loss.

It had been six long, hard months since Simon had been taken ill at the wheel of their car, suffering a catastrophic heart attack which drove it off the road, killing him instantly and almost taking her own life. Her hip had been shattered and one of her legs crushed in the accident. Brilliant surgeons had carefully and slowly rebuilt her lower body and, after months of hospital and surgery, she was now convalescing in Venice.

Her heart … well, that would take quite a lot longer to repair. Maybe it would never mend.

The poignancy of the music was almost too much to bear, and Olivia was suddenly filled with a desperate urge to get some fresh air, to nip any tears in the bud before they threatened to overwhelm her. Gina, the concierge, had brought her into the ballroom and promised to return once the afternoon concert was over, and had in fact already checked on her twice. Olivia was relishing the performance, The music, ranging from Vivaldi to Monteverdi, had transported her away from her sadness for a short while, but now, well, Puccini was just too much.

Olivia pulled herself up with one crutch, and then reached for the other.

You can do this, she told herself, just as the physiotherapist had told her at the hospital during her rehabilitation sessions.

I’m stronger than I think I am.

Taking her time, she picked her way through the tables, glad she had chosen to sit towards the back – she wouldn’t have wanted to offend the musicians, with their wonderful mastery of the music, by leaving partway through, but luckily she was far enough away not to interrupt their concentration.

As Olivia saw the exit to the lobby, she took her eye off the route towards it and caught her elbow on one of the chairs, which sent her right crutch crashing to the ground.

Drat, drat, drat.

This action threw her completely and, before she knew it, she had lost her footing and was in danger of sliding to the ground. She reached out, searching for a surface to steady her, but instead her arm was caught gently but firmly as a body moved to her side, offering support and preventing her from falling.