‘That sounds good,’ she agreed.
A shower helped him get some of his equilibrium back. Strong Italian coffee helped even more.
And then, with the help of a map, he found the Sotoportego dei Preti. ‘This is what I wanted to show you,’ he said. ‘It’s the cuore in mattone—the heart in the brick.’
‘I should’ve guessed it would be something architectural,’ she said with a smile, looking at the brick just below the lintel. ‘A heart-shaped brick is very appropriate for Venice. What’s the story behind it?’
‘You’re meant to touch it and make a wish—so the legend goes, if your wish is respectful and harms no one, it will be answered within the year,’ he said.
‘So have you known about this for years, or was this like the tangoing in Paris?’
‘Like the tangoing. I looked it up on the Internet,’ he admitted. ‘Shall we?’
They touched the brick together and made a wish. Roland couldn’t help asking, ‘So what did you wish for?’
‘I imagine it’s like the wish you make on a star or when you blow out the candles on your birthday cake,’ she said. ‘So I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.’
‘I guess.’ And that meant he didn’t have to tell her what he’d wished for, either.
For love to fill his life again. For this thing between them to become real.
They took the water bus over to Murano to see all the pretty painted cottages and to see a glass-blowing demonstration.
‘You and your glass,’ she teased afterwards.
He spread his hands. ‘You can’t come to Venice without seeing glass being blown or lace-making.’
‘I guess. And it was pretty spectacular—I’ve never seen anything like that before. Do you mind if I take a quick look round the shop?’
‘Sure. Though shopping’s not really my thing, so I’m going to sit in the sun while you’re looking round. Don’t rush,’ he added. ‘Just come and find me when you’re ready.’
* * *
Grace was glad that Roland wasn’t planning to shadow her in the shop, because she’d hoped to find a gift for him to thank him for taking her to Venice. And there was a beautiful modern paperweight that was absolutely perfect. Better still, the sales assistant wrapped it beautifully for her, so he wouldn’t have a clue about it.
Roland found a little osteria that sold cicheti—Venetian tapas—for lunch, and the choice was breathtaking: tiny polpette, stuffed olives, tomato bruschetta, white asparagus wrapped in pancetta, baby octopus in lemon, slices of grilled polenta with salami, arancini, spider crab, zucchini stuffed with tomatoes and cheese, and marinated artichokes. Between them, they tried a little of everything, sharing a plate and feeding each other little morsels; again, it felt like being on a honeymoon, and Grace had to remind herself to keep her feet on the ground. To go back to being sensible, quiet Grace.
But on the flight back to England, Roland went quiet on her.
And that in turn gave her time to think. Today was the last day of their arrangement. Their last day together. Grace and Roland had agreed that once Bella and Hugh returned tomorrow, from then on they’d be polite strangers.
A few weeks ago, that had seemed perfectly reasonable. But, last night, they’d made love. So would he still want to stick to their original deal, or would he suggest that they try to make a go of things?
She knew what she wanted. She’d wished on the heart-shaped brick that things would be different—that this thing between them could turn out to be real. But she wasn’t quite brave enough to bring it up. This morning, she’d woken to find him looking full of panic, clearly having second thoughts. What else could she have done but pretend everything was just fine and let him off the hook?
It was pretty clear that her feelings were one-sided. Last night, they’d simply got carried away with the romance of Venice, the gondola and dancing through St Mark’s Square. It hadn’t been real.
So it was better to leave this situation with her dignity intact.
And she’d get over this.
She would.
Back in the airport at London, she switched on her phone to find that it was dead. ‘I must’ve left an app on that drained the battery,’ she said.
‘You can use my phone if you need to,’ Roland offered.
‘Thanks, but I didn’t tell my family I was away so they won’t be worrying. It can wait,’ she said.
Back at Roland’s house, there was a pile of post. He set his coffee machine working, then sat at the kitchen table to go through his mail, while Grace plugged in her phone and waited for it to charge for long enough that she could switch it on again, then checked the messages that came through.