Wounds of Passion

‘She always has to be first in the bath! That gives her more time to get dressed, and she does love to dawdle over dressing for a party; she changes her mind half a dozen times over what dress to wear, what make-up, how to do her hair and so on! You’d think she was deciding the fate of nations, the time she takes to make up her mind.’

‘The end product is worth it, though,’ Antonia said warmly. ‘She always looks gorgeous!’

‘That she does.’ Alex grinned at her. ‘So do you. What are you going to wear tonight? Something wild and sexy or something elegant and sophisticated?’

She gave him a wry look, knowing that neither description ever fitted her. The last thing she wanted to do was look wild or sexy. She preferred not to attract male attention in that way; it was far too risky.

What she had been doing for the last two years was melting into the background as much as possible, trying to be invisible, especially to men. As for elegance or sophistication, much as she admired both qualities in other women, she had never fooled herself that she possessed either. She wasn’t the type, neither tall enough nor with the right cool manner.

‘I brought my carnival dress, actually,’ she said, and Alex Holtner’s face lit up.

‘That one! I’d forgotten it—you almost never wear it; but you must, tonight. It’s wonderful! Nobody will be able to take their eyes off you.’

‘Off my costume, you mean!’ she drily said, knowing the effect it always had.

It was a dress Alex had bought her here in Venice, not long after they’d arrived. It had been in a sale at half-price, having been designed to be worn for the Venice Carnival, which took place in the dark weeks of late February, when the city was half empty, grey, chilly and wet. The wild explosion of the carnival lit the cold streets for a week, bringing in tourists at the dead season of the year, and thousands of art students from all over Italy, and, indeed, Europe, who came to enjoy the fun and make pocket-money by doing body-painting in the streets for other students who weren’t able to do it themselves. The most extraordinary designs were worn around Venice that week—young people in hand-painted masks, wearing ‘body’ costumes like pale second skins, which were then painted with wild zigzags of colour—orange and gold and black and scarlet—making them look like alien life forms. On really cold days they wore a warm cape which flew around them as they walked, leaving their body-painting visible to passers-by.

Alex Holtner, his wife and Antonia had just missed the carnival, arriving a couple of weeks later, but carnival masks and costumes had still been around in the shops at reduced prices, and Antonia had stopped in her tracks as she’d passed a shop not far from the Rialto market and seen a silver and black dress taking up the whole of the shop window.

Although it was half-price, it was still far too expensive for her, and she would have walked on, but Alex and Susan-Jane had seen the glow of delight in her face, the coveting expression.

They had exchanged a glance, then Susan-Jane had urged her, ‘Go in and try it on!’

She had demurred, laughing, s

haking her head, but Susan-Jane had firmly led her into the shop and asked to have the dress taken out of the window so that she could try it on. The owner had looked Antonia up and down, with a thoughtful expression.

‘Yes, it will fit her, I think,’ she had said, and Antonia had been carefully helped into the costume in a cubicle. Seeing herself in a mirror had stunned her. She had gone out to show Alex and Susan-Jane, who had gazed, silenced.

‘But I really can’t afford it!’ she told them sadly, aching to own the lovely thing.

‘We can, though; it’s our present to you,’ Susan-Jane had said, smiling, and Alex had nodded, smiling too.

‘You look enchanting in it. It was made for you.’

She had been over the moon. It was a typical generous gesture from them both; they were the most warm-hearted and giving people in the world, and she felt she had been very lucky to have them for relatives. Their love had more than made up for the indifference her parents had shown her all her life.

She had only worn the dress once so far, but it had made the sensation she had known it would. People had stared open-mouthed, had spontaneously burst into applause at the ball she had attended not long afterwards with Alex and Susan-Jane. The dress was meant for some such occasion—a ball, a costume party, a carnival. It wasn’t a dress you could wear every day; it was far too striking and fragile. It was intended for very special occasions, and with care would last her for years.

She smiled at her uncle, her eyes misty. ‘Oh, I’m going to miss you both! Venice is going to seem empty once you’ve gone.’

‘We’re only a few hours away,’ he said gently. ‘Call us if you need us, any time; you know we’ll come. But you’re going to love living in the palazzo; your suite sounds fabulous, and you’re fond of Patsy Devvon, aren’t you? When does Cy get back?’

She looked down, her lashes falling against her cheek, biting her lip as she tried to think of the words to explain, to tell him that she wasn’t going to marry Cy after all, that she meant to break off her engagement, but then Susan-Jane called out from the top of the stairs.

‘Alex! Alex, come and scrub my back!’

He laughed, getting up. ‘I’m coming, darling!’ he called and lightly ran up the stairs.

Antonia was the last to have a bath and dress, and she took her time, knowing that the party wouldn’t begin until nine o’clock and that everything was ready; there was nothing much to do now.

She was painting her toenails silver when Susan-Jane called through the door. ‘We’re just popping out to buy some more drink; Alex doesn’t think we’re going to have enough. We just got a call from Pietro to say he’s bringing half a dozen musicians with him to give us an impromptu concert in the garden, and you know what musicians are!’

‘OK,’ Antonia said, contemplating her shimmering toes. She was going to be wearing delicate, thin-strapped silver sandals, and now her toes would match. She began painting her fingernails too.

‘Be back in half an hour or so!’ Susan-Jane said and clattered down the stairs.

When her nails were all dry Antonia picked up the face mask lying on her bed and tried it on in front of the mirror. It fitted over her nose, covering only the upper half of her face, leaving her mouth, cheeks and jawline bare, an exquisite confection of silvery feathers slanting upwards around the almond-shape of her sea-blue eyes, which looked misty and mysterious between the feathers.