‘The rest of today is ours to do with as we choose.’
Kaitlin rose from the table and headed to the window, oh, so careful not to so much as brush past him. ‘There is a part of me that’s tempted to stay right here in safety, but most of me feels cautiously optimistic that I can deal with outside. I would like to go to the Scuola Grande di San Rocco, if that’s OK with you? It’s a little off the beaten track, but I’d love to see so many of Tintoretto’s works under one incredible roof. ‘
‘Sounds like a plan. I’ll get directions, and we can always use our phones to navigate.’
He sat down and pulled his computer towards him to source exact directions—sure that for Kaitlin the idea of getting lost would hold little appeal and might indeed trigger panic.
‘Thank you.’
As he glanced at her he felt a funny little tug pull at his chest. Dressed in a blue lace dress that combined simple elegance and comfort, Kaitlin looked...relaxed—more relaxed than he could have imagined. Her glorious hair hung in loose waves to her shoulders, her green eyes held a glint of emerald and her body held minimal tension.
He glanced at the map of Venice and made some quick calculations. ‘OK. Route mastered. Let’s go.’
As they exited the hotel from the back entrance, walked through the peaceful courtyard and through the wrought-iron gates that led out onto a bustling Venetian street, Daniel glanced down at her. Her body held more tension now, as they joined the crowds, and he couldn’t help but wonder how hard it must be for her to contain her panic—the amount of energy and strain she expended in simple day-to-day life.
‘I know what you need. You need pizza.’
‘I do?’
‘Yup. We’ll get takeaway pizza and eat it whilst we watch the world go by.’
Twenty minutes later he had made good on his promise and they were seated in a small courtyard—a pocket-sized garden of tranquillity. The scents of oleander and laurel mingled with the pungent tomato sauce of the pizza, and the background sounds of the fountains merged with the noise of St Mark’s square just metres away.
Kaitlin sat on a bench and took a bite of pizza. ‘This is fabulous.’ For a while they ate in companionable and appreciative silence. Until she wiped her mouth with a napkin and turned to face him. ‘You keep asking how I am. Now it’s my turn. How are you?’
‘Fine.’
A shake of her head indicated disbelief. ‘You told me that last time you came to Venice it made you feel melancholy. What about this time? I’m not trying to pry.’ Her expression was soft, pensive. ‘But you have helped me—you are helping me, so much—and I want you to know that if I can reciprocate I want to.’ She sighed. ‘Not in a tit-for-tat way—more in a... I’d like to.’ A shake of her head. ‘I can’t believe how garbled I’m being.’
‘It’s OK. I get it.’
Ironically, he did—way more than he got her carefully thought out sentences, however clever or apposite they might be. This Kaitlin was real, genuine, and he didn’t want to close the conversation down. Because to do so would be to send the real Kaitlin away.
‘Last time I came here was eight years ago—I was much younger and more emotional and it felt like a pilgrimage. This time I’m older and wiser.’
This time he also had Kaitlin, but that was neither here nor there.
‘I wish my parents had had this chance—a chance to make a go of it, enjoy the beauty of the city—but I can’t change the past.’
‘No. You can only face forward,’ she said, quoting his words back at him. ‘But the past is still important, because it shapes your future.’
‘Your own choices shape your future.’
‘Of course. But you can’t deny the past has an effect. Even if you wish it didn’t. You are a different person than the one you would have been if your father had lived.’
‘So you don’t believe our fate is ordained from birth?’
‘Perhaps some of it is. Or maybe not “ordained” but made probable. It is more likely that I will mix in aristocratic circles because I am from an aristocratic family. But it’s not set in stone. My sister Cora was never very interested in that side of things.’ She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘So it’s not only our birth but also our family who influences us. After your father died I’m sure your grandparents must have had an impact on your life.’
‘Unfortunately not.’ The age-old anger flared in his gut. ‘My mother had run away from her own family as a teenager—she would never speak of the reasons, but I assume her childhood was pretty horrific. My dad’s family wanted nothing to do with us.’
‘Why?’
‘They thought my mother was beneath my father. When she got pregnant and they decided to get married my dad’s parents were furious. They asked him to choose between them and my mother.’
The irony of the situation caused bitterness to rise in his throat.
‘He chose my mother, so they disowned him—fired him from his job in the family restaurant business and blackened his name. My dad took any job he could find, because he was determined to provide for us—for his baby, his family. He worked all hours because he was determined to succeed on his own. One of the jobs he took on was as a lorry driver—he was so exhausted he fell asleep at the wheel, the lorry crashed and he died. Luckily at least no one else was hurt.’