A few days later Serafina and Franco took over the rooms allocated to them, where their costumes had been installed in readiness. Serafina had been largely thwarted in her bid to turn the palazzo into a Hollywood mansion, but she’d hung enough glittering decoration to make Pietro shudder.

They were to be dressed in the eighteenth-century style, as was normal for Carnival. Franco would wear knee breeches and a flare coat, neither of which did any favours to his overfed body. Serafina’s dress was of scarlet satin, lavishly embroidered with glittering gold thread, and cut low in the bosom. She insisted on parading before the household, accompanied by Franco, bursting with pride.

‘Don’t worry,’ Pietro told Ruth when they had escaped. ‘You’ll take the shine out of her.’

‘Me? I’m not going to be there.’

‘You don’t think I’m going to endure it alone, do you? You’ll be there, and you’ll wear the costume I’m having sent over for you.’ He caught her looking at him and added hastily, ‘I mean, please will you wear the costume?’

‘It’s all right. I guess being il conte is a hard habit to break.’

‘I’m doing my best.’

‘What’s my costume like?’

‘Ivory brocade.’

‘You mean I don’t get scarlet satin?’ she asked wickedly. ‘Shame!’

‘You’ll drive me too far.’

All was well, she told herself. They were cracking jokes again, and that was surely the best possible thing.

Even a subdued Serafina was someone to avoid, and after she moved in Ruth began spending more time in the palazzo library, which, she rightly guessed, was the last place the Baronessa would want to visit. It was a useful chance to practise her improving Italian, especially as she found one book both in the original language and an English translation.

It was a historical record of the great families of Venice, including the Bagnellis and also the Alluccis. After an initial hesitation Ruth delved into the story of generations of the Allucci family. It stopped before the birth of Lisetta Allucci who had married Pietro Bagnelli, but Ruth found something else that intrigued her, and sat considering it for a long time.

She was still thoughtful when she went to bed which was, perhaps, why her dreams took a strange turn that night.

There was Lisetta, arrayed in her bridal finery. But that picture vanished, to be replaced by the earlier one, taken when she was thirteen, playing dice, staking everything on one throw.

Ruth opened her eyes and sat up.

That’s just what I did the other night, she thought. Everything staked on one all-or-nothing throw. That was the chance I took, and the answer was nothing. So, shut up complaining Ruth Three. You’re beginning to sound like Ruth Two, and you know what I think of her.

After a moment she even managed to say ironically, ‘I guess I’m just not a very good gambler, but how was I to know that? I’m still getting used to myself.’

She wished she could have shared that joke with Pietro, but there were things they couldn’t say now.

Carnival had arrived, the time of masks and masques, of jollity, eating, drinking and merry sin. The merrier and more sinful, the better.

It began at precisely midday with the Volo dell’ Angelo, in which a woman dressed as an angel scattered flowers over the crowd in St Mark’s Piazza.

Minna had secured a small revenge against Serafina by suggesting that her talents were underused in the Carnival, and she should have insisted that this role had gone to her. Serafina had promptly demanded that Franco secure it for her, which Franco was determined to do, until Pietro hastily explained that the angel reached the piazza by gliding down a rope hung from the top of St Mark’s bell tower, over three hundred feet up.

After that Serafina’s enthusiasm waned, and she looked at Minna with glowering eyes. Minna didn’t look at her at all.

Day after day St Mark’s piazza was filled with musicians, acrobats, clowns and people who just enjoyed wearing fancy dress. They performed or watched others perform, laughed, sang, kissed, then went wandering off along the calles, their cheerful sounds floating back behind them.

Officially this was the celebration of winter giving way to spring, but it was February and, to the last minute, Ruth feared a cold snap, but Mario assured her that nature always obliged, and so it proved. There was even the odd burst of sun.

For such a great tourist attraction Pietro was kept busy. In addition to his other interests he had shares in a couple of hotels, both of which were packed with visitors, and hosting galas of their own. Being kind-hearted, he briefed Mario to join in these events and report back to him. Naturally this entailed dressing up and Mario selected the ‘devil’ costume Ruth had seen him wear the mask of on the first day, and which had mysteriously failed to appeal to anyone else.

‘Probably because the two of you have been keeping it out of sight,’ Pietro murmured. ‘Go on, Mario, and be sure to take notes.’ ‘Eh?’

‘About the party,’ Ruth reminded him gently.

‘Oh-yes. The party.’

They managed to keep straight faces as he swaggered off, looking sophisticated and devil-may-care. His note-taking was sketchy to say the least, but from the odd remark they later judged that he’d enjoyed himself in ways that left no time for note-taking.

Pietro took part in very few events. Ruth knew that he attended a concert of classical Venetian music one evening and made brief appearances at other, fairly sedate events. But apart from that he meant to keep aloof, except for the gala ball in his own home.

Ruth’s costume, when it arrived, was a dream of elegance and luxury, made of lavishly embroidered ivory satin. Now she was glad of her height, which made it easier to carry off the wide hoops that supported the skirt. The front was heavily decorated with lace and ribbons, cunningly interspersed with little jewels that had been sewn in and which glistened tantalisingly.

They might almost have been diamonds, Ruth thought, inspecting them closely. But that was impossible. They must simply be very well-cut glass.

At first she was relieved that the bosom wasn’t cut as low as Serafina’s, being conscious that she had less to show off. But when she tried on the gown she had to admit that this part of her was unimpressive.

Minna came to her rescue on the night of the ball, showing her a trick learned in her youth by which her breasts could be manoeuvred together and upwards, resulting in a display that was impressive while still managing to be decent, even if only just.

There was also a white wig that fitted her head snugly, with one curl drooping elegantly down onto her shoulder. Ruth was undecided whether to wear this, but finally decided that she would. It gave her a new look, and she wondered if there would be a Ruth Four before the night was out.

Then came the mask of ivory satin, covering most of her face except her mouth.

‘The pleasure of a mask is the sins it can hide,’ Gino had told her. ‘At one time the Venetian Republic passed a decree forbidding masks except at Carnival and during official banquets. The penalty for disobeying could be two years in gaol.’

‘Two years?’ she’d echoed, aghast.

He’d laughed, standing before her in knee breeches and flared coat of black brocade, with the Bagnelli crest on the sleeves. Surely, she’d thought, he must be the most handsome young man on earth.

‘The city fathers were very determined to stamp out immorality,’ Gino had informed her solemnly. ‘It didn’t work, of course. Most of the fun of life comes from immorality-’ he slipped on a black satin mask, leaning down to touch his mouth against hers, whispering ‘-and if there’s one thing Venetians know about, it’s enjoying life.’

That had been this time last year, when they had spent a few days of Carnival together before she had had to leave. He’d seen her off at the station, the same station where he’d left her standing recently, and they had parted with vows of eternal love.

Where was he now? Did it matter?

There was a knock at the door, and Minna’s voice called, ‘Pietro says are you ready?’

‘I’m just coming.’

Slowly she got to her feet, checking her appearance in the mirror.

‘You look wonderful,’ Minna said. Dropping her voice, she added, ‘He will lose his heart to you.’

‘No, Minna, it’s not like that,’ Ruth said hastily. ‘I’m just helping him out as part of my job.’

‘Of course you are.’

She helped Ruth ease the magnificent skirt out of the door. From down below came the sound of the orchestra tuning up as Ruth made her way slowly down the corridor.

Then she froze.

Gino was walking towards her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SUDDENLY Ruth’s heart was thundering, although with what feeling she couldn’t be sure. It should have been delight, but it felt more like dread.

Gino had returned. He was here, advancing on her.

He looked just as he had last year, the black brocade costume, the mask that concealed most of his face, and she froze as he grew nearer. Then he spoke.

‘Ruth, what’s the matter?’

It was Pietro’s voice. She let out a long gasp and steadied herself against the wall.

‘You!’ she exclaimed.

‘Of course it’s me.’ He looked closely at her face. ‘Who did you think it was?’

‘Gino. I saw him in that costume last year. For a moment I thought-’

‘So that’s it. I guess he borrowed it because of this.’ Pietro indicated the Bagnelli crest on the sleeves. ‘Part of his impersonation. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘No, I’m just being silly. It’s only that I was thinking of him just before-something he told me, about masks, and people not being allowed to wear them except at Carnival.’