The Girl Behind The Curtain (Hidden Women) (34 page)

‘I specialise in naughty girls,’ I told her. In the emails I had exchanged with her granddaughter, I’d described the research projects that had led me to be interested in Kitty. I explained once again that Kitty was in good company with Luciana Giordano and Augustine du Vert.

Then I told her everything Gerd had told me about his brother’s fate. I had given Kitty’s daughter the bare bones of the story to make sure Kitty was somewhat forewarned that there was no happy ending, but she sobbed openly as she heard again about Otto’s death from typhoid.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Crazy as it sounds, I can’t believe he’s actually dead. Just this morning I turned on the radio and heard a Berlin accent. It can still break my heart. I keep expecting him to turn up one afternoon, with his hands in his pockets and whistling our song.’

‘ “The Song is Ended”?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Kitty, deliberately misunderstanding my quoting of the song’s title. ‘I suppose it finally is.’

By the time I left, Kitty had once again regained her composure. As I got ready to go, she asked me a little about my own life. Was I married? Did I have any children? I told her about Marco and his own Berlin tale. I told her I would be in Venice before too long.

‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘I only wish I’d had a chance to see Gerd before he died.’

‘He was a good man,’ I said. ‘He was very kind to me.’

‘I always knew he had that in him. Thank you, dear, for reuniting me with these little pieces of my past. I hope that you and your friend can work things out, my darling. I think you may be just what he needs.’

‘I think so too,’ I confided.

Kitty squeezed my hand. I said goodbye. As I left, I thought I heard her singing ‘The Song is Ended’.

Chapter 44

After my brief visit to the Cotswolds, I went back to Berlin to put my affairs there in order. I cut short my tenure at the university but remained in Berlin for as long as it took them to find a replacement to take the classes I was contracted to teach. It was just a couple of weeks but it all felt too long until I could be back with Marco.

My friends were anxious for me when I told them that I was giving up my cushy number in Germany to take up a job as a librarian. Librarians were an endangered species, in the UK in particular. But what I didn’t tell them – at least, not at first – was that I wouldn’t be throwing myself on the mercy of a politically motivated local council, who might cut my job at any moment. I was going to be working as librarian in a very particular private library. Marco’s library at the Palazzo Donato.

When I arrived in Venice for the fourth time in a year, I knew that Silvio would be waiting for me at the airport dock. I spotted him at once, standing proudly at the wheel of the beautiful little boat that had been the very first vessel in the Donato shipping empire: the boat that Marco’s grandfather had bought with tips from his waiting job.

What I did not expect was to see that Silvio was not alone. As he jumped up to help me load my bags on to the boat and receive my grateful hug, I saw that Marco was with him. Marco took off his sunglasses and I was immediately lost in those wonderful eyes.

For the first time, we walked through the garden together. The fountain had been switched on and, though it was the middle of winter, the air in the garden was soft and welcoming. The light was as pink and yellow as it had been on my very first day in the city twelve months earlier.

As we passed the rose bush, Marco pointed out a single rose, braving the elements to bloom against the odds. He plucked it and gave it to me.

‘What will you give me in return?’ he asked.

‘You can have every part of me now, as well you know,’ was my reply.

‘For ever?’ he asked.

‘For ever,’ I said.

As we passed the statues of Orpheus and Eurydice, I could have sworn I saw both of them smile.

We went into the library, the scene of so much flirtation and angst. Marco showed me some new additions to his collection. Luciana’s diary and Louis Sauvageon’s sketchbook both had pride of place in a new glass display cabinet. Ernestina still smiled down from her place above the fireplace. I could tell that she was pleased with the way things had worked out.

Then finally I was in the bedroom I had so often dreamed about. It was exactly as I had imagined. The enormous bed was made with pure white sheets and it was as soft and fluffy as a cloud. I fell on to the mattress just as I had done in my dreams, with my arms above my head in an attitude of perfect abandon.

Marco hesitated by the door for a moment, just watching me.

‘What are you thinking?’ I asked him.

‘I’m thinking,’ he said, ‘that we’ve been here before, you and I.’

‘I was thinking exactly the same thing.’

He stepped towards me. He sat down on the mattress and leaned over to kiss my lips.

‘Tell me this isn’t a dream,’ he said.

‘I promise you,’ I said to him, ‘that this is absolutely real.’

Being with him at last was more perfect than I had ever imagined. My most wild and exotic dreams could not compare with the reality of finally being in the arms of the man I loved.

Marco joined me on the bed. He kissed me more passionately than I had ever imagined. When he slipped his tongue into my mouth, I could taste the champagne we had been drinking on the boat trip from the airport. I ran my fingers through his thick dark hair, then down his neck to his shoulders, feeling his muscles beneath his blue cotton shirt.

We pulled apart for a moment and I helped him to undress. He had an erection already. I could feel it through his trousers. Meanwhile, he pushed my dress up to my hips and unclipped the suspenders that were holding my stockings in place. He rolled them down towards my feet and kissed each foot as he bared it.

I got up to help Marco get out of his trousers. He was wearing pure white boxer shorts. I pulled them down over his hips. His cock sprang out to greet me. The skin of his penis was silky and warm. I wrapped my hand round it. Marco slid his own hands over my curves. He registered his pleasure with a delighted groan.

I gasped as Marco’s fingers moved to the place between my legs. He smiled with pleasure upon realising how wet I already was. Just at the thought of him. Before he even got there. I murmured my appreciation as he moved to touch my clitoris. Every confident stroke took me a little closer to the edge. At the same time, he continued to kiss me, to caress my breasts with his free hand. When he stopped kissing me for a moment, I felt my stomach muscles contract in delirious anticipation as I watched him lick a finger before slipping it inside.

Everything was just right. The sound of his voice as he whispered ‘I love you’ in my ear. The smell of his hair as I nuzzled my face in his neck. The feeling of utter completeness that came with having him enter me, filling me so utterly. And nothing could be better than the sensation of having him come inside me. To hear him cry out my name flooded my heart with happiness.

Never had I been so completely satisfied. Marco made me feel as though every part of my body was precious and rare. He touched me so carefully. He worshipped me with his lips and his tongue. I worshipped him too. Touching him transported me to somewhere close to heaven. There was nothing I wanted more than to be with him. We were free of the past and the future that awaited us was perfect.

For the next few weeks, we were like honeymooners. Every moment we could we spent in bed together. I loved to wake up beside him and fall asleep with our limbs entwined. During daylight hours, we could hardly bear to be apart. The Palazzo Donato was the perfect love nest. The silent courtyard was now filled with music and laughter once more.

When Marco asked me to marry him, I could hardly find the words to tell him how happy it would make me. It’s a good job I only had to say ‘yes’.

Epilogue

That was last year. I’ve been in Venice ever since. We married within two months of Marco’s proposal. There was no need for us to wait. Silvio and Bea were witnesses as we signed our names in the register at the Palazzo Cavalli, overlooking the Rialto bridge. I wore a pure white copy of the dove-grey Dior dress that Marco had picked out for what should have been our first meeting.

We celebrated with a small party at the Palazzo Donato. The courtyard was full of roses for the occasion. Silvio even had the statues of Orpheus and Eurydice moved so they were together again at last. Bea caught the bouquet that I threw as Marco and I sped away in his grandfather’s boat on the first leg of our journey to our Paris honeymoon. Later, she admitted that she had dropped the security guy in favour of Nick and they were making one another very happy.

My love for Marco only grows stronger over time. It’s not all been plain sailing. He continues to have small procedures that, if they will not give him back the face he once had, will at least make him more comfortable. He has increasing mobility in his hand.

He continues to draw me while I work, but now he does not have to observe me through a peephole in a false wall. Instead he sits in the armchair by the library fire. Sometimes we spend whole evenings there together, reading out loud to one another. One of our favourite things is to read Luciana’s diaries again. I read them in Italian and Marco pretends to swoon at my appalling accent.

At night, when we are alone together in the bedroom, I tell Marco about the dreams I had before we were together. He tells me about his own dreams. It is strange how closely they echo mine. Sometimes, when he tells me something from his past, I feel as though I was there. We have no secrets from one another and our plans for the future are all shared.

From time to time, I think about all the women who have shown me through their stories what I might make of my own life. Luciana with her daring. Augustine with her devotion. Kitty with her bravery. They’ve taught me about taking risks, remaining loyal to love and about finding and offering forgiveness. They’ve taught me that it is possible for two people to make a bond that lasts for all time. I only hope that one day in the future, someone will read my diary and be inspired to find a love of her own.

Acknowledgements

With thanks to editor Francesca Best and copy-editor Jacqui Lewis for their sterling, speedy work in bringing my trilogy to print. To Emilie Ferguson for spreading the news. To Antony Harwood and Joanna Kaliszewska for brokering the deals.  To Victoria Routledge, Jojo Moyes and Serena Mackesy for their support while I thought about retraining as an accountant.  To Matt Dunn, Kate Harrison, Stella Duffy, Rebecca Chance and Lauren Henderson for all the tweets, quotes and Facebook fabulousness. To Helena (with an ‘a’!) Cutler for reading everything I write and always finding something kind to say.  To Mum, Dad and Kate for listening to my complaints when I was cross-eyed with tiredness and felt like I’d never get to ‘The End’.  Most of all, thanks to Mark, who didn’t complain when I interrupted our Italian holiday to plot the whole trilogy out and was equally game to dress in rubber and hit the clubs of Berlin.  Any tea-making scenes are entirely inspired by him.

About the author

Stella Knightley is the author of twenty-six novels published under other names.
The Girl Behind The Curtain
is the third and final book in the
Hidden Women
series, which blends the daring stories of historical women of note with an erotically-charged contemporary love affair which will delight the fans of
Fifty Shades
. Stella grew up in the west of England and now lives in London.

Also by Stella Knightley

The Girl Behind The Mask

The Girl Behind The Fan