Read Online 078 The Phantom Of Venice by Carolyn Keene - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Keene
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would ignore her with a patronizing, macho arrogance, and speak flatteringly to Nancy or try to slip an arm around her waist.
Once, when they stopped in a little trattoria for some fruit ice, Gianni even reached across the table to caress Nancy’s hand. She saw the hurt, unhappy lookthat flickered over Tara’s face and jerked her hand away as quickly and pointedly as she could.
Not long after passing the horseback statue, they came out onto the Fondamenta Nuove just as passengers were debarking from a steam launch. Among them, Nancy glimpsed Don Madison.
Her pulse raced and she found herself waving eagerly. “Don!”
Heads turned as the pretty strawberry blond called out his name. Don waved back and hurried toward them with a pleased grin. “Hey, what a nice surprise! What are you doing up this way, Nancy?”
“Seeing Venice—on foot,” she chuckled, and introduced him to her two companions. Gianni’s nostrils flared with ill-concealed dislike as he shook hands with the American.
“It’s after five,” Don remarked. “Going back to the palazzo?”
“We haven’t decided yet,” said Nancy. “So far we’ve just been wandering around, playing it by ear. Why?”
Don turned to Tara and Gianni. “Look, I hate to break up this happy trio, but would you mind very much if I snatched Nancy away from you?”
Tara certainly didn’t. But Gianni looked sulky as Nancy smiled, “What did you have in mind?”
“Dinner. There uh . . . there are some things Iwant to tell you about Pietro and the glassworks, things I’ve just remembered.”
“Then we’d better talk, by all means.” Nancy excused herself to her two companions, and Don promptly flagged a motorboat-taxi.
As they put-putted away down a rio , Nancy waved goodbye to Tara and Gianni. The handsome young Venetian watched sullenly and made no response. Tara, however, waved back with a happy smile as she clung to Gianni’s arm.
“Was I rude?” said Don.
“Not in the least. And you couldn’t have shown up at a better time,” Nancy assured him.
Don took Nancy to a charming old inn, the Antica Locanda Montin, well off the tourist track in the Dorsoduro, a quiet residential area on the Right Bank, near the southern end of the Grand Canal. “My favorite eating place in Venice,” said Don. “In fact, I had a room here before I was invited to stay at the palazzo.”
The inn occupied a seventeenth-century building with a quaint lantern hanging over the front door. It was run by two brothers and favored by writers and artists, as indicated by paintings hanging on the walls. Don led the way to an inner courtyard where tables were arranged in a tree-shaded arbor. Nancy fell in love with the place at once.
“Do you really have something to tell me aboutPietro and the glassworks?” she asked when they were seated.
Don smiled sheepishly. “Not really. It was just an excuse to—to have you all to myself for the evening.”
“I’m glad,” Nancy said softly, and their eyes met. She knew at that moment that a new, wonderful relationship had begun. The attraction that had sprung up when Don had seized her in his arms to save her from falling into the lagoon was now flowing strongly between them.
Both began to talk at once, then broke off, laughing. “When we first met,” Nancy confided, “I thought you didn’t like me.”
Don shook his head. “Far from it. I found you so attractive, it . . . it frightened me.”
“Don’t tell me you’re all that bashful?”
“Not exactly. I intended to explain over dinner tonight, but now I suddenly seem to be losing my nerve again.”
Nancy was puzzled, but she was enjoying their tète-â-tète too much to press him.
The dinner of grigliata misti, mixed seafood grill, was delicious, and dessert even more so—a mouthwatering wild-strawberry torte smothered with cream. Nancy reflected with a giggle that it would have sent her plump hometown girl friend, Bess Marvin, into swooning
Once, when they stopped in a little trattoria for some fruit ice, Gianni even reached across the table to caress Nancy’s hand. She saw the hurt, unhappy lookthat flickered over Tara’s face and jerked her hand away as quickly and pointedly as she could.
Not long after passing the horseback statue, they came out onto the Fondamenta Nuove just as passengers were debarking from a steam launch. Among them, Nancy glimpsed Don Madison.
Her pulse raced and she found herself waving eagerly. “Don!”
Heads turned as the pretty strawberry blond called out his name. Don waved back and hurried toward them with a pleased grin. “Hey, what a nice surprise! What are you doing up this way, Nancy?”
“Seeing Venice—on foot,” she chuckled, and introduced him to her two companions. Gianni’s nostrils flared with ill-concealed dislike as he shook hands with the American.
“It’s after five,” Don remarked. “Going back to the palazzo?”
“We haven’t decided yet,” said Nancy. “So far we’ve just been wandering around, playing it by ear. Why?”
Don turned to Tara and Gianni. “Look, I hate to break up this happy trio, but would you mind very much if I snatched Nancy away from you?”
Tara certainly didn’t. But Gianni looked sulky as Nancy smiled, “What did you have in mind?”
“Dinner. There uh . . . there are some things Iwant to tell you about Pietro and the glassworks, things I’ve just remembered.”
“Then we’d better talk, by all means.” Nancy excused herself to her two companions, and Don promptly flagged a motorboat-taxi.
As they put-putted away down a rio , Nancy waved goodbye to Tara and Gianni. The handsome young Venetian watched sullenly and made no response. Tara, however, waved back with a happy smile as she clung to Gianni’s arm.
“Was I rude?” said Don.
“Not in the least. And you couldn’t have shown up at a better time,” Nancy assured him.
Don took Nancy to a charming old inn, the Antica Locanda Montin, well off the tourist track in the Dorsoduro, a quiet residential area on the Right Bank, near the southern end of the Grand Canal. “My favorite eating place in Venice,” said Don. “In fact, I had a room here before I was invited to stay at the palazzo.”
The inn occupied a seventeenth-century building with a quaint lantern hanging over the front door. It was run by two brothers and favored by writers and artists, as indicated by paintings hanging on the walls. Don led the way to an inner courtyard where tables were arranged in a tree-shaded arbor. Nancy fell in love with the place at once.
“Do you really have something to tell me aboutPietro and the glassworks?” she asked when they were seated.
Don smiled sheepishly. “Not really. It was just an excuse to—to have you all to myself for the evening.”
“I’m glad,” Nancy said softly, and their eyes met. She knew at that moment that a new, wonderful relationship had begun. The attraction that had sprung up when Don had seized her in his arms to save her from falling into the lagoon was now flowing strongly between them.
Both began to talk at once, then broke off, laughing. “When we first met,” Nancy confided, “I thought you didn’t like me.”
Don shook his head. “Far from it. I found you so attractive, it . . . it frightened me.”
“Don’t tell me you’re all that bashful?”
“Not exactly. I intended to explain over dinner tonight, but now I suddenly seem to be losing my nerve again.”
Nancy was puzzled, but she was enjoying their tète-â-tète too much to press him.
The dinner of grigliata misti, mixed seafood grill, was delicious, and dessert even more so—a mouthwatering wild-strawberry torte smothered with cream. Nancy reflected with a giggle that it would have sent her plump hometown girl friend, Bess Marvin, into swooning
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