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Amy felt better having come to terms with the place. Looking round her in the square, filled even now way out of season with visitors, she saw more clearly those same tourists she had avoided before in order to experience the city in a different way. She could accept now, was even relieved that, though she did not behave as they did, she was the same as they were, a tourist in Venice and nothing more. She would feed the pigeons, commission a bad charcoal drawing of herself from a bad artist, have an even worse photograph taken from a worn-out box camera on a tripod. She would no longer
ignore the plastic flowers stuck in the prow of a gondola or the over-pricing as she had before. She would gripe as the tourist hordes did and forget the real back-street Venice that had swept her into love.

She had imagined living there the way George and Jarret did, the way the Princess Marina did, and it had seemed rich and glamorous and exciting and filled with mystery. No longer. Now it just seemed curious that they were not affected by Venice as she had been.

Venice was a city of visitors even to those who were born or who chose to live there. Venice was a dream, an escape from reality that should happen to everyone at regular intervals. But it was a place with an unreal quality and short stays there were long enough. How could Jarret have chosen to live here? Why? She pondered these questions and her own motives for returning. One last look into dreamland before her return to New York and Peter and reality? To put an infatuation to bed – well, at least to place it in its rightful context? Whatever the reason, centred once again, looking round, she knew that as much as she would like to be, she never could be one of Venice’s average tourists, or even play a Miss Average Tourist role. She bloody well would not feed those pigeons!

Amy threw back her head and laughed aloud until tears actually came to her eyes. Being able to laugh at herself released the enormous tension and unhappiness that had been building in her. She no longer questioned, was merely relieved that her uncertainty had vanished with her laughter. Instantly, she felt wonderful,
absolutely on top of the world, and put it down to having opened her eyes to Venice and herself. She was thrilled that she was a traveller and not a tourist, and that she could still make a fool of herself over a place and a grand passion for a man.

Amy called for her bill, paid it and started weaving her way through the mass of tables, thinking that she would go to the Lido for lunch. That was just what she felt like doing. She had yet to see the Lido or Burano, the small satellite islands circling Venice. Distracted, she didn’t see the man until he stepped in front of her and spoke.

‘You’re Amy Ross, aren’t you?’

He was not very tall, slender and balding, and his skin was tanned and smooth with an incredibly polished look to it. His eyes were dark brown and bright, clever, smiling eyes. He was dressed in black flannel trousers and wore a black blazer with bright silver buttons over a black silk shirt with a collar that was too wide and too pointed and worn open at the neck for several buttons. A small black silk scarf was tied in a knot round his neck and on his chest could be seen a silver coptic cross on a gold and silver chain. The clothes – well-worn but impeccably clean and well-pressed – had seen better days. He looked smart if a little sinister. All that black in the sunshine. He carried his clothes with too much flair and wore much too much scent. Amy was astonished.

‘Yes, I am. I don’t think I know you?’

‘You don’t. We don’t know each other but I feel as if
you have already become a part of my life. I would have known you anywhere. Jarret has not stopped talking about you since you left Venice.’

Amy’s heart raced at the very mention of Jarret’s name and to know that he had spoken about her, and continually, to this man was more than she could have hoped for, more than the vain hope she had been carrying in her heart that he had not forgotten her and would call when he was in New York.

All she could manage to say was, ‘Good things, I hope?’

He raised her hand and lowered his head to give it the perfect continental kiss. ‘Frankly I’ve never heard him rave about anyone as he has about you. Or about having such a thrilling day. He thinks you have somehow changed his life and has been feeling very sorry for himself for letting you go.’

They were standing among a sea of small tables covered with white cloths and metal and wooden café chairs but not many people. This seemed to be
the
hour for all of Venice to take their break because people were coming and going past them. A man jostled Amy and quickly took her by the elbow and excused himself. He recognised the stranger she was talking to and excused himself to him, then greeted him and kissed him first on one cheek then the other before leaving. Amy was grateful for the intrusion, in which she was able to calm herself.

Then Jarret’s friend took her by her arm and suggested, ‘I think we should walk on.’

‘This is incredible – that you should know me, pick
me out from the hundreds of people around.’

‘Well, frankly I was first attracted to you by your laugh, when you were laughing at yourself, and then I knew it was you almost at once.’

Amy found that a little eerie, that he should know she had not been laughing at something other than herself. Few people after all sit alone laughing at themselves. Rasputin came to mind. She was amused and wondered if she was such an open book or if this friend of Jarret’s was incredibly perceptive. She realised who he was.

‘So you’re Fee?’

‘Yes, I’m Fee, and thrilled to meet you, though I had not expected it would be in Venice. Jarret will be so pleased to see you.’

‘He’s here? In Venice?’

‘Yes.’

‘I had no idea, I thought he was in Istanbul with you.’

‘Change of plans.’

‘How extraordinary. A last-minute change of plan is what brought me back to Venice.’

‘That’s what you may think …’

‘Now you’re going to tell me that it’s fate at work?’

‘Now I don’t have to.’

‘But that’s what you believe?’

‘Fate and Jarret is what I believe brought you back to Venice. Fate and Amy Ross is what changed our plans and is, I believe, why we’re still here. But does it matter what I believe? You’re here and I’m thrilled to meet you
and bring you home to Jarret. He will be incredibly surprised and happy.’

It suddenly became very real to her. That she would be seeing Jarret, that they were somehow a part of each other’s lives. She felt weak-kneed, incredibly emotional. The weeks of setting aside her feelings for him, of trying to rationalise him, keep him and her emotions in proper perspective … she could drop all that now.

She could hardly wait to hear his voice, to see his face. ‘Shall we call him?’ she asked Fee.

‘Oh, no. We’ll surprise him.’

‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘Very. Now where were you going? What were you going to do today?’

‘I was going to buy a pair of boots or shoes in a shop near here and then I was going to go to the Lido for lunch.’

‘I’ll come with you to the shoe shop. I know it and the owner very well. The Lido for lunch – how lovely. You mustn’t change your plans. After lunch I’ll take you to Jarret. You would like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Oh yes. But what of your plans?’

‘I had no plans for today.’

‘Then you must be my guest at the Lido for lunch.’

‘I don’t want to impose. Are you sure?’ asked Fee.

‘Quite sure. We could call Jarret and he could join us, celebrate the workings of fate?’

‘He’s out or I would have taken you directly to him. I will join you for lunch. I don’t eat very much.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘What fun,’ he said, and arm in arm they headed for the shoe shop.

Fee seemed to know everyone, and everyone who greeted him seemed to be an intimate of his, as if he were somehow a part of their lives, a part of the Venetian scene. He was amusing and solicitous and flattering. He took Amy over in the nicest way, made the day she had planned much easier by arranging everything effortlessly.

From a basket hung on the arm of an elderly flower vendor, he chose a minute bunch of violets tied with narrow streamers of satin ribbon and pinned them to her jacket. Amy could not help but notice that the woman refused his money. It seemed enough for her to chat with him and to serve him. Her fondness for him was obvious.

Amy and Fee had great fun in the shoe store and Amy bought shoes and a pair of boots. He had taste and was interested in her shopping, and it was he who arranged for the shoes she purchased to be sent round to the Gritti.

He got a good price for a boat to take them to the Lido and they had the luxury of not having to share it with anyone but each other. En route he had the boat slip briefly down several canals to show Amy views of exquisite buildings that she might never have seen without him. He had called through to the right hotel for the right table and they were received enthusiastically. Fee seemed to be well known and respected here as well.

And he was amusing. There was something quite fey about him, as if he were not quite ordered in his mind
and possessed a strange kind of over-confidence, but all in the nicest way. A touch of madness, artistic madness, was what Amy finally summed it up as.

Over a stunningly good lunch she could not help but notice that he was indeed frugal with his food and drank no alcohol.

Ever since he had made himself known to Amy, every other sentence he spoke was about Jarret. Of course that was wonderful for her. All she really wanted was to talk about him or have someone else tell her about him, his life and his work. She was gaining a picture of Jarret Sparrow that only drew her closer to him.

Fee raised his glass to her. The toast he made was, ‘To you and Jarret, Amy.’

‘How generous of you, but might you not be a bit premature, Fee? I do hope not, but you might be.’

‘No, I don’t think so. You have to remember, I know him better than anyone else in this world. We have lived and worked together for years. I’ve listened to him talk about you for weeks. Jarret is a man in love, and I’m thrilled to be the one to bring you back together. Now that I have met you and like you, I find it exciting that you’re going to be a part of our lives.’

It was true then. Jarret loved and wanted her, and she certainly wanted him. All this was heady stuff, almost too much for Amy to cope with. Fee made her believe it was true and what she wanted most was going to happen: she was going to be part of Jarret’s life, not just a holiday romance. She could feel it in the marrow of her bones. Amy was overwhelmed by his generosity.
There could be but one toast. She corrected him. ‘To us, the three of us, may all our dreams come true.’

‘How nice to be included. I had hoped we would get on, and we do. Did he tell you about his wife?’

‘No. He never mentioned he had a wife,’ she answered nervously.

‘Well, legally he doesn’t any more. But I will always think of Savannah as his wife. We got on so well, Savannah and I, it’s still difficult for me to accept that it should all have gone so wrong. We tried so hard to make her happy. I never thought he would love like that again, but here you are. New beginnings, new happiness. You have no idea how thrilled I am for you both, for all of us. To see Jarret happy is to be happy myself.’

Of course there were innumerable questions about Savannah that she wanted to ask but somehow Amy sensed that these should be set aside for the time being. Fee had brought Jarret from the realm of possibility to reality. Jarret was so alive for her that she felt to pose any questions about him or his ex-wife would be a betrayal of some sort of the man she loved and who loved her. If there were any questions she would address them directly to him.

Instead, she changed the subject and said, ‘Fee, all afternoon we’ve done nothing but talk about Jarret and me. What about you? I’d like to know more about you. I only know that you’re a painter who no longer paints, and that Jarret is your best friend.’

‘Friend and partner in work. In all things, in fact,’ he corrected.

Amy did not quite understand what he meant. Rather than question it, she told him, ‘I stand corrected.’

‘Firuz Yolu. I am Turkish.’

‘Is that the name you paint under?’

‘
Painted
under. Yes, when I did paint.’

‘Will you paint again?’

‘Who knows?’

There was something in the way he answered her, a look in his eyes, the way he moved uncomfortably in his chair. Painters and painting Amy understood and was intuitive about, and she didn’t like what her intuition was telling her now. Fee was lying. She sensed that he knew very well that he would pick up his brushes again, and that he was biding his time. He was a painter being cagey about his work, and she guessed he was working to some plan. It was at that moment that she made up her mind that whatever Fee or Jarret were to do with their careers, she would never become involved professionally. Talk about art and their work with them, yes; art was after all the stuff of their lives in one way or another.

Fee shocked Amy when he added, ‘At the right time, for the right dealer. If not the big one-man show for a top international dealer, then never. It’s Jarret’s career we’re working on at the moment. Partners in everything, I did tell you that.’ It was as if he knew that she had caught him out.

Amy realised that he played fey because he wanted people to think that was all he was. She didn’t mind that particularly, so long as she hadn’t been taken in by
his act. And she hadn’t been. Amy did believe that Fee was genuinely a fey character but also sensed that beneath that lay an oriental mind, clever and quick, possibly devious. It prompted her to ask, ‘Where did you meet Jarret, Fee?’

‘In Florence on a hot summer’s day in the Uffizi, in front of a Donatello. He was a very new arrival. The handsomest, most sensitive and interesting American I had ever met, and so full of enthusiasm for art and Florence. His Italian was atrocious, mine very good. I came to his rescue. I was with a French friend. We three were very poor, living off the hospitality of wealthy friends in high places, and our small allowances: mine from a brother, Jarret’s from an old aunt, and Jean-Paul’s from his mother. We decided to pool our resources and travel together. Jarret and I have been together ever since, much more than friends, more like brothers. We have had a marvellous life full of adventure, good times and bad. And Jarret has become a fine painter with a considerable following who will make it big one day.’