surprise, the Moronisinis had given Giaconda a gift of half a dozen galleys; some said it was in payment for a service rendered, but no-one quite knew what the service was, although they speculated. A very well-known tailor who, it was rumoured, made Signorina Dorata’s special golden gowns, also signed over the handling of his thriving business to the Maleovellis.
Even the Ottoman ambassador, Ramadi Suliman, a former Janissary of the current Sultan, had been known to dine with the Maleovellis, who were prepared to cater to his unusual dietary requirements. Foreign officials, merchants, members of the Church, and nobiles all beat a path to the Maleovellis’ door. And everyone attributed this rise in popularity and fortune to the mysterious Signorina Dorata.
When it came to beauty, no sacrifice, financial, political or familial was too great.
IT WAS WELL PAST NOON WHEN TALLOW awoke. She lay in her bed, reluctant to rise. The fetid odour of the canal crept in the window, tinging the already close air in the room. Outside she could hear the sounds of gondoliers on the main canal. Servants shouted to each other from windows, exchanging gossip, not caring if others heard their stories. Tallow propped her head on her elbow and listened. She’d been the subject of many a conversation, swapped while beating rugs or shaking out wet washing. She’d heard envy in their tone, and pride – she was one of them: Signorina Dorata lived in their sestiere and they earned a certain cachet with their distant families because of that. Boasting of her nearness would have been a popular pastime over Sunday dinners. She’d also overheard what it was believed she earned. Millione, they said she charged – a million ducats! She’d almost laughed that day.
Within the house she could hear the clack of heels against the floors and the opening and closing of doors along the corridor. Now that they had more servants, the previous stillness of the house had disappeared. Dark corners evaporated with the light of burning candles and the smell of mildew was washed away in lemon-scented waters and musky oils. Below she could hear the low hum of men’s voices. No doubt Jacopo and Signor Maleovelli would be welcoming merchants, showing them the beautiful fabrics, spices, dried dates, salt, figs and jewelled ornaments that were not only the basis of their new business ventures but which Jacopo had brought back from overseas. They were only part of his prize. He’d also returned with valuable documents – exclusive trading rights within the region. The Doge had been most impressed, and Tallow knew it was only a matter of time before Signor Maleovelli was restored to the Council of Ten.
Noises from her stomach finally shook her from bed. She went behind the screen to use the chamber pot and then washed before throwing on one of her older gowns.
The dining room was empty, but a platter of exquisite fruits was laid on the credenza, as well as some cold meat and sliced bread. Sipping a watered vino, Tallow helped herself. She was just finishing with a cafe when Jacopo entered. She had been staring into one of the candles, lost in thought, and hadn’t heard him approach. He cleared his throat. Startled, she jumped.
‘Jacopo!’ The cup clattered as she fitted the delicate china back on its saucer.
‘Did I startle you, cousin?’ said Jacopo with a smile that indicated it had been deliberate. ‘Mi dispiace.’ He inclined his head before studying her with his lazy eyes.
Repressing a shudder, Tallow quickly finished the cafe and left her chair.
‘Please, don’t leave on my account,’ said Jacopo, grabbing her wrist. He pulled her towards him. His stinking breath blew against her face.
Tallow froze and raised her arm. His fingers bit into her flesh. She stared at them. ‘What makes you think I would do anything on your account, Jacopo?’ she said quietly.
He sniggered. ‘The jewel has developed sharp edges while I’ve been gone. I like it.’
‘Trust me, Jacopo,’ said Tallow slowly, ‘you won’t.’
Jacopo leant so close his lips almost brushed her ear. He inhaled deeply. ‘Trust me, Dorata, I would.’
Tallow felt something wet along the side of her face. It took a moment to register it was Jacopo’s tongue. She tried to pull away, but he was stronger than she thought. He used the momentum to drag her into his arms. He managed to capture both her hands in his. Tallow struggled.
‘Let. Me. Go.’
He began to breathe heavily. Tallow almost gagged. ‘I hear you like it rough,