Golden Mistress by Angela Wells

Golden Mistress by Angela Wells

Author:Angela Wells
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1993-03-15T00:00:00+00:00


* * *

Despite his gibe, it had been one of the happiest evenings of her life, Catia allowed several hours later as, perched self-consciously on a stool in the middle of the piazza, she allowed her thoughts to wander while an artist drew her portrait before an admiring crowd.

It had been Nicolò’s idea that she should have her portrait drawn, and he who had selected the artist from among several plying their trade in the well-lit square beneath the star-spangled blackness of the clear sky. Now, as she heard the admiring comments of the crowd, she guessed he had chosen well and with foreknowledge of the artist’s ability.

Her husband had been the perfect escort, she admitted to herself with some surprise: patiently lingering as she’d taken her fill of the elegant clothes in the numerous boutiques which lined the maze of streets between the Rialto and San Marco; waiting without adverse comment as she had gazed entranced at the shops selling carnival masks, every variety from china to fabric, bejewelled and feathered displayed in their illuminated windows; allowing her to wander down winding alleyways to walk past small pavement cafés, their outside tables garbed in pristine linen tablecloths of various hues, their cutlery and glasses gleaming under the amethyst three-lamped street lighting which added to the character of the beautiful city.

For those few hours she’d been elated, her senses replete with the sights, sounds and perfumes of the evening by the time they reached the Rialto. A momentary twinge of disappointment overtook her as she realised the restaurants were packed. She might have guessed that such a highly renowned tourist spot would be packed out early.

It was only when Nicolò had led her through one of the open-air restaurants towards an empty table right by the water’s edge that she’d realised that he must have used some of the time she had kept him waiting at the palazzo to phone and reserve a table.

‘Oh Nicolò—how lovely it is...’ she’d breathed, unable to hide her spontaneous delight. Deep amber lanterns suspended from the fringe of the scarlet canopy above them had swung gently in the slight breeze, while graceful wrought-iron standards arched against the low railings, each bearing a pastel-coloured Japanese-style lantern, the low-wattage bulbs adding an extra gentle luminosity to their surroundings.

It was not yet dark, and from where she’d sat she’d been able to observe the crowds streaming across the Rialto Bridge, watch the gondolas leave from their station below the restaurant and admire the fondant-coloured buildings opposite with their thumb-shaped windows and delicately styled wrought-iron balconies.

She hadn’t been hungry, but there had been no pressure put on them to leave, so she’d taken her time to enjoy a cold lobster salad followed by strawberries and ice-cream, washed down by the omnipresent acqua minerale and a bottle of Gambellara.

It was a good thing, she opined to herself, as she sat motionless on her perch, that she’d drunk most of the mineral water while Nicolò had enjoyed the wine. Even



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