Sins

‘Liar.’

‘All right then, I was thinking about Janey,’ she lied. ‘She keeps begging me to ask you to let her show you her designs for the salon uniforms.’

‘Does she? Well, I suppose I’d better take a butcher’s then,’ Josh grinned. ‘Tell her to bring them over tomorrow evening. Oh, wait a minute, I’d forgotten. It will have to be the night after: I’m taking this girl out tomorrow.’

Josh seemed to date a different girl every week, and was obviously in no hurry to settle down.

Rose was glad that she was in love with John and that she wasn’t one of Josh’s dates. She could just imagine how unhappy and insecure it would make her feel if she was dating him and perhaps falling for him, and she knew that he was seeing other girls. Rose didn’t like taking risks or exposing herself to potential emotional pain. Josh was very good-looking and fun to be with but she was relieved that they were simply friends and that she wasn’t in any danger of falling for him. Thanks to John.

‘I thought it was Manchester where it never stopped raining, not Venice.’

Ella watched as Oliver paced the marble floor of the elegant entrance to the Hotel Danieli, glaring towards the door through which they could see the rain, which had been falling ever since their arrival nearly two days ago, dimpling the waters of the Rio del Vin.

‘It’s no good,’ Oliver told the fashion editor, ‘I’m going to have to take the models out and get some sample location shots done, rain or no rain.’

Ella looked discreetly at her watch. She was on edge, hoping to be able to snatch some time off so that she could visit the Italian silk firm with whom her stepmother did business. Amber had told them that Ella was visiting Venice and they had passed on to her an open invitation to call and see them. It would be rude not to do so, but on the other hand Ella didn’t want to put herself in a position where she was asking for special favours.

‘You can’t possibly take the models out in this weather, Oliver,’ the fashion editor was saying. ‘The last thing I want is one of them catching a cold.’

‘Well, I can’t just go out and photograph a few bridges and canals for possible locations without a model.’ Oliver looked and sounded irritable, pushing his hand through his overlong hair.

The fashion editor tapped one immaculate fingernail on the highly polished surface of an inlaid table and pursed her lips, as she looked round the room as though seeking inspiration, her gaze suddenly focusing on Ella.

‘I’ve got it,’ she announced. ‘You can take Ella with you and she can stand in for the models.’

‘Ella! What the hell…?’

‘Oh, no, please, I couldn’t possibly.’

They were both equally opposed to the fashion editor’s decision, although no doubt for very different reasons, Ella recognised.

‘You can spare Ella, can’t you, Daphne?’ the fashion editor asked Ella’s boss, ignoring the outbursts.

‘Yes, I don’t see why not. And don’t forget, Oliver, I want some photographs for the piece I’m doing on the summer haunts of high society.’

He might be nodding his head in acknowledgement but he was looking at her, Ella realised, assessing her, and it was plain that he didn’t much care for what he could see. Well, that was all right because she didn’t care for him either.

‘I hope you’ve got a raincoat,’ he told her sulkily. He pushed back the cuff of the shabby leather jacket he always wore and looked at his watch, adding, ‘We’ve got about three hours of light left, if we’re lucky, so you’d better step on it. You’ve got five minutes to get whatever you need and meet me by the main entrance.’

Ella didn’t have a raincoat; it was the last thing she’d thought she would need in Venice, and she certainly wasn’t going to risk her good coat getting soaked. She’d have to make do with an umbrella borrowed from the hotel, she decided, as she hurried up to her room to get her bag.

There wasn’t time to change out of the knitted white pleated skirt she was wearing, with its navy border just above the hem and its matching knitted cardigan, which she was wearing over a red silk blouse. The outfit wasn’t something she would ever have chosen for herself, and had been a surprise gift from her stepmother, who had presented her with it especially for her trip. Personally Ella felt that the light colour made her look far too conspicuous, but she had still felt obliged to bring it with her, even if it was loose on her because of all the weight she had lost–four more pounds on the journey to Venice, with only another ten pounds to go to reach her goal.

The red beret that went with it might help to keep her hair dry, and she would just have to hope that her navy court shoes wouldn’t suffer too much damage from the rain.

She was out of breath, her heart racing in that disconcerting way it had developed recently, by the time she rejoined Oliver by the main door, grasping the large umbrella she had borrowed from the porter.

‘Come on,’ Oliver demanded, turning up the collar of his jacket as they stepped out into the rain together, and then strode out ahead of her.

‘If we go that way we’ll end up in St Mark’s Square,’ Ella warned him when she caught up with him.

‘So?’ he demanded, peering beneath the umbrella to glare at her.

‘You said you wanted bridge and canal locations,’ Ella pointed out.

He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘So we’ll find some bridges and canals.’

‘It will be quicker if we go this way,’ Ella told him, indicating one of the narrow sidestreets leading off the square.