‘I wouldn’t know.’ Marco sounded exasperated as they headed back into the hotel. Just ahead of them, they could hear Brad finishing up his call. ‘Now, please, get your head in the game.’

‘You don’t have to lecture me on being professional,’ Edoardo shot back. ‘You know what? You can deal with this yourself – I’ll see you back at the office.’ And he stormed off across the hotel lobby, leaving Marco feeling quietly relieved.

Chapter 9

‘And this is our grand ballroom. Isn’t it spectacular?’ Gina said, watching Daniela’s eyes widen as she took in the profusion of gilt and the dramatic ceiling frescoes. Even Issy seemed impressed, and Gina knew she’d visited this room a dozen times with Brad, as it would feature in the movie.

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.

Olivia felt her bottom lip wobble, but was able to right herself fully, and watched as the person beside her leant quickly to pick up the crutch from the floor of the ballroom.

As Olivia turned to face her rescuer, she found herself looking into two bright hazel eyes, belonging to a man in his fifties, around her own age. His full head of hair was auburn and he wore a blue open-necked shirt and buff-coloured trousers, he looked tanned and relaxed.

‘Crisis averted,’ he whispered, ‘no harm done.’

‘Thanks to you,’ Olivia whispered back, her voice still wobbly.

He looked over at the orchestra who were still deeply engrossed in their performance and, holding onto her crutch, nodded towards the exit, while holding out his arm for her to take.

A few moments later, she was seated at a quiet table in the lobby, looking out over the palazzo to the Lido beyond.

‘I feel so silly, making a fool of myself like that.’

The man shook his head. ‘You were as graceful as a swan, I assure you.’

This made Olivia laugh out loud, ‘I felt more like a dying duck!’

They both laughed at that, and Olivia noticed the way the man’s eyes crinkled appealingly at the corners.

‘I’m forgetting my manners,’ she said. ‘My name is Olivia Booth.’

‘And I’m Max Hillman-Clark.’

Olivia’s eyes widened. ‘Not the Max Hillman-Clark? The world-famous expert on the treasures of the Doge’s Palace? My husband has …’ she checked herself, ‘had … read everything you’ve ever written.’

‘I’m extremely flattered. Most people don’t have the faintest clue who I am.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Is your husband here with you in Venice?’

A shadow passed over Olivia’s face, one that was obvious for Max to see. She still hadn’t got used to saying the words out loud. She hesitated, the wobble in her voice returning.

‘I’m afraid he died six months ago in a car accident.’