He touched the wall of the fountain where she was sitting. ‘About the fountain?’
She shook her head. ‘No. About the nymph. Do you know who sculpted it? Is there any village history that would tell us?’
His eyes were fixed on hers. ‘I know the legend attached to the fountain.’
Her heart started to beat faster. ‘What’s the legend?’ She was watching the fine billowing mist that seemed to glow in the lowering sun. Of course. Every village fountain in Italy would have a legend.
He gave her a wistful kind of smile. ‘They say that if you toss a coin and it lands in the clamshell you get your wish.’
Her stomach clenched. It wasn’t exactly what she’d wanted to hear. But it reached into her and grabbed a tiny part of her soul. Oh, she had a whole host of things she could wish for. But most of them were in the past. And nothing would change that now.
Wishful thinking. That’s all that could happen around this fountain. And a fanciful legend didn’t help her identify the sculptor. ‘Do you know anything else? Anything more realistic?’
He looked as if he’d been stung. He frowned. ‘I have no idea. Is it important?’
She stood up and spun around to face it. ‘It could be. See the folds of the cloak?’
He leaned forward. ‘Yes...’ His voice was hesitant.
She touched his arm. ‘Does it look familiar to you?’
His face broke into a smile, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and he held up his hands. ‘Is yes the right answer?’ It was clear he had no idea.
But something had sparked a fire within her. ‘I think it might. Most Renaissance artists didn’t just paint—they also sculpted. It could be the nymph was sculpted by the same person who painted the fresco. The folds of the cloak are quite characteristic. If I can compare the fresco and the nymph to the works of art that are held in Venice, it could help identify the artist.’
He started to nod his head in recognition. ‘You still think its Alberto Burano?’
She smiled. ‘It could be.’
This was work. Work she could do. Talking about work made her feel confident again. Made her feel safe.
‘So what happens now? How long will it take you to find out?’
She paused. Of course. ‘These things can take weeks—sometimes months. The Italian Heritage Board is cautious. We have to be careful before we make any kind of declaration about the potential artist of any fresco. It can always be challenged by others.’
Logan shook his head. ‘But what happens in the meantime? Can the wedding still go ahead in the chapel? Louisa is absolutely adamant that things must go to plan. I suspect she’s counting on the money from the royal wedding to help her complete the renovations on the palazzo. If we can’t progress...’ His voice tailed off.
There were deep furrows in his brow. He put his hands on his hips and stared out across the village. It was obvious that something else was bothering him.
‘If we can’t progress—what?’
He let out a deep breath and turned to face her. ‘We have a non-completion clause in the contract. It’s standard practice in the renovation business.’
‘What happens if you don’t complete on time?’ Now she understood why he looked so worried.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. Her brain whirred. She knew exactly what would happen. Logan’s company would have to bear the brunt of any costs.
Something twisted inside her. It had been a long time but Logan had been the father of her child. She knew exactly how much something like this would matter. If he failed to complete this job his reputation would be ruined—he could kiss his company and all his hard work goodbye.
‘Is there anything I can do to help prevent the delays?’ There was an edge to his voice. Determination.
From the second she’d got here all she’d wanted to do was get away. Being around Logan was claustrophobic, too cluttered—stifling, too many memories.
But she couldn’t let his business fall apart because of things he had no control over. This wasn’t his fault.
She hesitated. ‘There will be a whole lot of paperwork that will need to be completed in Venice. That’s always the thing that causes the most delays. If Louisa will allow you to be a signatory for her it could make things much easier. As you know, Italian paperwork can be complicated.’
‘You want me to come to Venice?’ He sounded a little stunned.
But so was she. Had she really just suggested that?
‘Well...it might move things along more quickly. I will be working on the comparisons with other frescoes. If you could find any history of the village that might link Alberto Burano to being here it could also be a huge benefit.’
He nodded slowly. She could almost see him thinking everything over, weighing up the best way forward.
He stepped forward. A little closer than she expected and as she breathed in all she could smell was his woodsy aftershave.
‘What day do you want me in Venice?’ His voice was determined.
‘Friday,’ she said quickly, trying not to think about it too much.
Friday was only a few days away. She would have done some of the groundwork before he got there.
He seemed to wait a few seconds before he replied. His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. ‘Friday it is.’
What had she just done?
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HEAT IN Venice was stifling. It seemed the whole world had descended on it to hear one of the world’s biggest rock bands play in a concert. Piazza San Marco was positively heaving, the streets crowded beyond measure and tourists juggling to pay the inflated prices in the surrounding cafés and bars.
Venice was always hot in the summer and Lucia was used to it. Living in the middle of permanent tourist attractions meant it was rarely quiet but today was the busiest she’d ever seen it. The queue of people to get inside St Mark’s Basilica snaked around the centre of the piazza twice.
Lucia glanced at her clock again. She’d expected Logan to call her over an hour ago. When they’d made the arrangement for him to come and help complete the paperwork she’d had no idea about the rock concert. It hadn’t even been on her radar. She didn’t want to think about what Venice Marco Polo Airport was like right now. She knew that the wait for the water buses was over an hour and that everything was going much slower than expected.
But the heat in her office was becoming claustrophobic. Even with her windows opened wide over the Grand Canal there was no breeze. She glanced at the clock again and pulled her fitted blouse away from her back. The air conditioning rarely worked at the Italian Heritage Board. Today was no exception.
She gathered up the papers she might need, closed her windows and headed for the door. Her mobile sounded just as she walked down the stairs. Logan. She answered quickly, but could barely make out his voice for the background noise. ‘Logan, where are you?’
She walked out into the bustling crowds, her feet turning automatically in the direction of San Marco, the waterbus drop-off on the Grand Canal. His voice was lost as she struggled to hear, so she continued through the thronging crowds towards the drop-off point. There, in the distance, she could see Logan and a smile flickered to her face.
His bag was clutched in one hand, alongside a pale beige jacket and his mobile phone. His white shirt was wrinkled, his hair rumpled and his face red. It was the first time in her life she’d ever seen Logan looking hot and bothered. It was kind of nice to know that could actually happen to him too.
He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around him, scanning the crowds. The rock concert had obviously caught him equally unawares.
She lifted her hand and waved at him, snaking her way through the people. A flash of relief was all over his face and gave her an unexpected glow. He moved towards
her. ‘Lucia, thank goodness.’ He held up his hands. ‘This place is even madder than usual. It wasn’t until I hit the airport that I heard about the concert. I guess I should have got an earlier flight. The queue for the water taxis and buses was a mile long.’
She gave a nod and glanced at his bag. ‘You look hot. How about we find somewhere to sit down and get something cool to drink?’