The Echoes of Love by Hannah Fielding Page A

her heart’s content. Impossible to dwell upon a secret grief for long in a place like this , she told herself as she made for Attila’s throne.
    She settled herself on the white seat formed by a single piece of rough-hewn stone, which stood on the patch of grass opposite Santa Fosca. As she was taking out the panino of salami, mozzarella and rucolafrom her bag, a voice from behind startled her.
    â€˜Una leggenda locale vuole che chi si siete su questa sedia si sposerà entro un anno, local legend has it that anyone sitting in this seat will be married within a year.’
    She turned sharply and glared, scarcely able to believe that he was still hanging about. ‘Do you make it a habit of creeping up on people?’
    Paolo’s dark features assumed a wolfish grin as he walked round to stand in front of her and folded his arms. ‘No, only stubborn beautiful young women who refuse to have lunch with me.’
    She looked back up at him, stirring half angrily.
    His mock-contrite expression sparkled with mischief. ‘What can I say? I simply felt it impossible to take no for an answer.’ Resting his elbow in the opposite hand, he touched his forefinger on his lips and gazed at her in contemplation. ‘What thoughts are hiding in those honey-dark eyes of yours? Their mystery is intriguing and makes me wonder what I would find if I penetrated their fiery gaze.’
    Venetia bristled, fidgeting uneasily on the stone seat. ‘Don’t flirt with me, signore , I promise you are wasting your time.’
    â€˜It’s my time, and I don’t mind wasting it if I can just have your company for a while.’
    Her eyelids dropped to hide from him a sudden flame of anger. ‘If it’s an affair you are looking for, signore , then you’ve knocked at the wrong door. I do not indulge in that sort of sport.’
    Paolo’s brows rose at her vehemence. ‘How should I say it…? “Nothing is more curious and awkward than the relationship of two people who only know each other with their eyes… and who keep up the impression of disinterest either because of morals or because of a mental abnormality. Between them there is the hysteria of an unsatisfied, unnaturally suppressed need for communion…” Something like that. Thomas Mann, Death in Venice .’
    He had spoken in English, and shock momentarily cut off Venetia’s speech. The deep tonal quality of Paolo’s voice struck a haunting chord of recognition. For a split second she could have sworn it was Judd’s voice that had just uttered those words, even though Paolo had spoken with an Italian accent.
    â€˜I didn’t realise that you spoke English,’ she breathed through a sudden constriction in her throat.
    Paolo shrugged. ‘I speak very little of many languages, cara .’
    Venetia made an effort to carry on her end of the conversation. ‘Anyhow, to come back to your quote, Thomas Mann may be right, but I’m not trying to be awkward here, or difficult, and I’m not playing games either. Even if we did know each other better, the only thing I could offer you is friendship.’
    His lips quirked in a half-smile. ‘In my experience, friendship is a very elastic word.’
    â€˜Well, for me the word holds no ambiguity and is not flexible. As defined in the dictionary, it means a person whom one knows, likes and trusts.’
    â€˜This is a very interesting conversation which we should continue over lunch. Your panino will be stale by now and I have reserved a table for two, on the off-chance that you would change your mind and agree to have lunch with me.’
    Venetia felt she was being sapped of the will to fight. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ she sighed, as she replaced the unwrapped panino in her bag and stood up.
    â€˜Never.’ There was a flash of fierceness in his tone belied by the suave smile he gave her as he gestured the way out across