Read Online The Echoes of Love by Hannah Fielding - Free Book Online

emotion that was taking hold of her before it set in too deeply.
    * * *
    The week before the opening of the exhibition had been nerve-wracking. Days had passed with alarming swiftness for Venetia. She was doing so much – and there was plenty still to be done – that she hardly had time to think about Paolo. Her days were spent darting backward and forward from Ca’Dario,overseeing every detail of the project. She checked lists, and supervised the packers to make sure every photograph and drawing was properly wrapped and labelled. Helped by Francesca and Fabrizio, she mapped out the layout of the exhibition, considering intriguing juxtapositions between the works as she tried to create an interesting dialogue between the art and the audience. ‘Your perfectionism never ceases to amaze me, Venetia,’ Fabrizio had said with a cheeky grin. ‘You’ve rearranged that presentation three times now… I think we can safely say that our clients will not be complaining of a lack of thought behind it!’
    On the day itself, Venetia was strung to high tension. It was the first exhibition she had headed, organising it from start to finish, and many of the items on display were the result of her efforts. Bianchi e Lombardi were expanding their restoration department to encompass the whole of Italy, and an advertising campaign had been put together in the hope of attracting not only a powerful Italian clientele, but also institutions and visiting foreign movers and shakers. In view of this, important people had been invited to the opening night, among them the Mayor of Venice, plus la Contessa Rossi-Conteni, a philanthropist whose millions had saved many historic buildings, not only in Venice but the remainder of Italy; and the senior director of the UNESCO team who regularly visited the city. Though the pressure of all this could not fail to impress itself on her, nonetheless Venetia did not betray her nerves by any outward sign; she was controlled, as always.
    Only as she was dressing that evening did she allow herself to think of Paolo. It was a fleeting thought, slightly wistful because now she knew – or at least thought – that he wasn’t single. She was surprised that this should leave her a little sad and longing but she was aware that seeing him, even thinking about him, troubled her.
    Standing in front of her cheval mirror, Venetia studied herself with critical eyes. She wore a blush silk chiffon bustier-gown that showed off the curve of her shoulders and delicate collarbones. From the cleavage of the snug, draped bodice, the petal-thin fabric fell in a cascade of romantic folds to the floor. The internal corset, which consisted of an under-wired bra and boned waist, moulded her to perfection, ensuring a statuesque silhouette.
    Venetia had washed her hair with a chamomile shampoo, which always gave her chestnut mane golden overtones. First she thought of letting it fall in long locks at the front and around the back, with thick bangs curled off to the sides; but then she decided to style it up, exposing her long neck. Brushing it back and off her forehead and sides, she pinned the top towards the centre of the back to keep her hair in place, and then she folded the rest of it beneath, up and over the pins, curving the hair under vertically and fastening it with hairpins. It looked soft and feminine and she secured it all with spray , considering the result carefully.
    She chose her accessories with equal care, not wanting to overpower the dress. After going through her jewellery box, she finally chose a dainty pair of shoulder-grazing eighteen-carat gold and diamond zigzag earrings, and a matching lightning-bolt gold and diamond bracelet. Just before glancing into the mirror for the last time, she slipped on transparent pin heel sandals – ones she had bought in the eighties and which were still very fashionable – that maximised the floor-sweeping cut of her dress. She took a