The Girl Behind the Mask by Stella Knightley Read Free Book Online

for. The wooden hull was recently varnished. The brass oarlocks shone as bright as gold.
    I had splashed out on a water-taxi of my own to get to the library that morning. Though I had been in Venice for three days now, I was no closer to knowing my way round than I had been on that first morning. I still got lost within fifty feet of my apartment and I could not risk being late. Not when it had been so difficult to persuade Donato to let me visit in the first place.
    ‘This is the house,’ said the taxi driver.
    ‘Thank you.’ I counted out the fare I had negotiated at the start of the trip.
    ‘I’d love to have a look inside,’ the driver continued. ‘My father told me in the nineteen-sixties, this was the place to come for a party. Everyone came here. Film stars, millionaires, politicians, rock stars. Even the president of the United States.’
    ‘Kennedy?’ I suggested.
    ‘Maybe.’ The driver shrugged. ‘It was the same in the nineteen-nineties, with the grandson. Parties, parties, parties. Every night. All the famous faces were here. One night, he had Prince fly in to play a song for his girlfriend’s birthday. We thought he would have Prince here to play for the millennium too. You know, 1999.’
    ‘Of course.’ I remembered my own Millennium Eve, spent in a suburban semi, getting drunk on a bottle of schnapps my cousin had stolen from her parents’ drinks cupboard. Sixteen years old and stuck in Guildford, with no hope of even being allowed out of the house to see midnight, a party in a palazzo with real live celebrities was beyond my wildest imaginings.
    ‘That party never happened,’ the driver sighed. ‘No one knows why. It would have been an incredible night.’
    ‘Well, yes. I suppose it would.’
    ‘And now this place is just a library.’
    I had explained my mission to the water-taxi driver as he brought me to the house.
    ‘Such a waste.’ He shook his head. ‘Great house for a party.’
    ‘Great house for a library,’ I countered.
    ‘If you like that sort of thing.’
     
    Fortunately, I did like that sort of thing and as the taxi driver helped me on to the pontoon in the wonderfully gallant style I had quickly come to expect from Italian men, I could feel my excitement growing. I was now only minutes away from seeing the letters and diary I felt sure would prove my theory about The Lover’s Lessons . I was also only moments away from meeting the mystery man himself.
    I was almost trembling with anticipation as I tugged on the brass bell-pull and heard the chimes announce my arrival deep inside the house.
    After a moment, I realised the water-taxi driver was still hovering. He too wanted to see behind the door that had so long been closed to anyone but the few people who worked inside.
    ‘Call me when you want to go back,’ he said hopefully.
    ‘Of course,’ I said, though I knew I wouldn’t. My budget didn’t stretch to two water-taxi rides in one day. Now I just wanted him to go away so I could savour this moment alone. I turned back to the house. At last he got the hint and the landing platform bobbed furiously as the water-taxi roared off at top speed. I had to spread my feet for balance to keep from tumbling into the canal.
    It seemed like an age before the door was opened. As I heard the creak of a lock being pulled back, I straightened myself up in expectation of meeting the master of the house – after all, he was the one who had been corresponding with me – but a crooked-looking man, who must have been in his seventies, came to the door instead.
    ‘ Signorina Thomson?’ the man asked.
    ‘ Sì, sì ,’ I confirmed. Perhaps Donato was waiting for me inside. A multimillionaire hardly needed to open his own doors, did he?
    ‘ Avanti ,’ the man said, ushering me through and closing the door quickly behind me, as though to shield the house from prying eyes. Donato was obviously serious about his privacy. ‘This way. Please.’
    I stepped into the lobby. I had been