Venetian Sunrise

'Thank you, Georgie. Nice of you to remember.'

'Yeah, well, I tried to phone you at home, but I kept getting the answerphone. So I assumed you must be travelling?'

'Italy,' Henry said.

'Italy. Hmm. Nice. Business or pleasure?'

'A bit of both,' Henry said. 'So how are you?'

'Um, yeah, yeah, not too bad. You know ... busy. You know how it is, Henry.'

Suddenly, Henry couldn't resist. 'And Rose?' he asked. 'How is Rose?'

Rose, who was sitting just across the table from him, suddenly looked more than a little anxious.

'Um, yeah, she's OK. She's pretty busy too. We all are. You know how it is. Anyway, look, they're calling my flight, so, I need to go. I just wanted to try and get to you on the day, as it were.'

'It's actually tomorrow,' Henry said.

'Is it? Oh well, have a happy birthday tomorrow, Hal. And we must have a proper chat one of these days.'

'Yes,' Henry said. 'We probably should. Oh, and do give my love to Rose.'

'I'll do that,' George said. 'Yeah. Yeah, I will.'

Henry slipped the phone back into his pocket. 'George,' he said – although no explanation was required.

Rose nodded.

Henry swirled the last of his wine around in the bottom of the glass. 'George doesn't know, does he? He doesn't know that you flew to London.'

Rose said nothing.

'In fact George doesn't have the faintest idea where you are.'

'No,' Rose said quietly. 'No, he doesn't.'

Henry reached across the table and took Rose's hands in his. 'Oh, Rosie,' he said. 'Is there something I should know? Is there something I can do?'

The light from the candle glinted off the tears that were beginning to form in Rose's big dark eyes. 'You could take me back to the hotel,' she said.

As they left the restaurant, the mist was getting thicker. Henry put his arm around Rose's shoulders and held her close to him as they walked.

Venice is sometimes said to be The City of Lovers. But love can be complicated.

Back in their room, Henry unpacked the bottle of VSOP brandy that he carried 'for emergencies' and poured a generous measure for each of them.

'So,' he said. 'What's happened, Rosie? Do you want to talk about it?'

For a long time, Rosie just stared at her brandy. Then she took a large sip, sighed, and started to tell Henry how she had arrived home, early, unexpectedly, from a weekend printmaking course, and discovered George 'screwing Monica on our dining table'.

Henry was visibly surprised. 'Oh! Bloody hell! That must have been ... well ... George? Huh! Don't think I'd have picked that one.' And then after a while he added: 'Which is why you asked me if I had heard from Monica.'

'Everyone else seemed to know,' Rose said in a forlorn little voice.

Henry just shook his head. 'You poor girl.'

'I think the worst thing was when I suddenly realised that everyone I thought of as "our" friends were really George's friends. And most of them were, in some way, connected to the bank. As far as I can tell, most of them had known about George and Monica for months. Apparently, he even took her to some big dinner down in Washington – after he'd told me that it was "boys only". 'I just didn't know what to do, Hal. I'm sorry.

'I didn't think you were in on it. I don't know why. So I thought that if I told you that George and I were coming to London for your birthday – and then I came on my own – I'd at least be away from George and New York and all his sniggering friends, and then I could have some time to think about what to do next.

'I didn't mean to impose on you, Hal. That was the last thing on my mind. Honestly. I just didn't ... well ... I just couldn't think what else to do.'

'I think you did the right thing,' Henry said softly.

Rosie took another large sip of brandy.

'All the way across in the plane I was rehearsing my speech. By the time we got to Heathrow, I had it all worked out, I knew exactly what I was going to say, what I was going to tell you. But then ... I don't know ... I took one look at you and I thought ... no, Rosie, worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, just enjoy the company of someone you really like. You deserve it.'

'And you did, Rosie,' Henry said. 'And you still do.'

'And then I thought I could somehow slip it into the conversation when we went to see the Turners, but you said about coming here, and well ...' And it was at that point that Rose gave up any pretence of having things under control and burst into tears.

In some ways it was not a surprise. Henry had been half expecting something like this almost from the moment that Rose had stepped out of the lift at his apartment. 'Oh, Rosie,' he said, 'what are we going to do with you?'

Funnily enough, having finally told Henry her story – and having let the tears flow for a moment or two – Rose began to look a little less ... well, stressed. 'I'm sorry. I must look a mess,' she said as she searched her pockets for a tissue.

'You don't look a mess to me, Rosie,' Henry said.

Rose smiled and squeezed her brother-in-law's hand.

'Shall I get them to send us some tea?' Henry asked.

'No,' Rose said quietly.

'More brandy?'

'No. No, I just want you to take me to bed and hold me,' she said. 'Would you do that for me, Hal?'

Henry just nodded. Yes, of course Henry would take her to bed and hold her. In fact Henry wondered – briefly – why he hadn't thought of that, why he hadn't already done that.

'The bathroom's yours,' Henry said.

Rose kissed him lightly on his lips. 'Thank you, dear Hal,' she said. 'I do need to do something about these eyes.'

While Rose went to 'do something' about her eyes, Henry had another sip of brandy and tried to make sense of the past few hours, the past few days. He still couldn't picture his brother and Monica – Monica who had always been so critical of George's 'moods'. But, as he told himself, it's a strange world out there.

And this time when Rose emerged from the bathroom in her elegant nightgown with the revealing bodice – revealing to the point that the garment was almost superfluous – Henry didn't even try to avoid looking at her.

'You look gorgeous,' he said.

'Your turn,' she said, giving Henry a second little kiss on the lips.

'Feeling a bit better then?' he asked. Although he immediately regretted doing so.

But Rose smiled. 'Yes. I think so. Thank you, Hal.' And then she added: 'Well, a little better anyway. But don't worry ... I intend to feel a lot better. I promise.'

Rose was already in bed when Henry returned.

As Henry slipped in beside her, he had no idea what he was going to do next. Oh, well, just leave it to Rose, I suppose, he told himself. Take my cue from her. Rose snuggled into Henry's side, her head on his shoulder, and her soft barely-covered breasts against his bare torso.

In the semi-darkness an unmistakably feminine hand reached over and softly stroked Henry's face and neck before coming to rest on his naked chest. 'Thank you, Hal,' she said again.

Henry did his best to nod.

'I just don't know what I would have done without you,' she said.

Henry tried to tell himself that the two of them being together in bed like this was all perfectly normal, perfectly understandable. Friends, not lovers. But even he knew that was no longer true.

'Look, Rose, umm ...'

But Henry didn't need to worry about how he was going to finish the sentence. Rose was asleep.

For a long time, Henry lay there, staring at the soft streaks of light on ceiling, trying to organise the events of the previous few days in his mind.

How did Rose and George end up where they had, apparently, ended up? How did Monica become part of this mess? Monica of all people! And perhaps the big question: how did Henry himself get involved? Well, he sort of knew the answer to that. Henry's involvement was inevitable. At least it now seemed that it was inevitable. But at what point did it become inevitable? Had Henry missed something somewhere along the way?

Henry told himself that there are often moments in the night when everything makes sense and yet nothing makes sense. Why was that, he wondered. Why was that? And then he, too, must have fallen asleep.

The next thing Henry knew, it seemed to be early morning. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that there was a hint of morning light coming through the narrow gap between the drapes in front of the balcony doors.

A little to his surprise, he was still lying more or less on his back. And Rose was still pretty much draped across him.

Gently, Henry extracted himself from their tender tangle, slipped out of bed, and tiptoed to the balcony. He pulled back the edge of one of the heavy creamy-beige drapes. Well, the mist had gone. But now it was raining. It was raining quite heavily. There would be no Turneresque sunrise on this particular morning.

'Happy birthday, darling Hal.'

Henry turned to see Rose propped up on one elbow. 'Thank you, Rosie.'

'Time for our sunrise?' she asked.

'Raining.'

'Aww.'

'There's always tomorrow,' Henry said philosophically.

Rose nodded. 'In that case, you'd better get back in here so that I can give you a proper birthday cuddle.' Henry grinned, but did as he was told.

As Henry got back into bed, and almost before he realised that it was happening, Rose had slipped out of her elegant nightgown and dropped it in an elegant pile on the floor beside the bed.

'There. That's better,' she said. 'And I think you should get rid of those pyjama pants. With what I have in mind, they're just going to get in the way.'

Henry hesitated – but only for a moment. Rose had clearly made up her mind. 'Are you sure about this, Rosie?'

Rose paused, briefly. 'What do you think?'

Henry knew the answer. In fact he had known the answer for several days. But still ... a gentleman has to ask.

Over a celebratory birthday lunch – at the famous Osteria alle Testiere – Rose announced that she had made up her mind: she was moving back to London.

'Is that a good idea?' Henry asked. 'I can understand why you're thinking that at the moment, but ...'

'No, it's where my heart is, Hal. George convinced me to go to New York, but ...'

'Well, whatever.'

Rose nodded. And then she nodded again. 'It's OK. It's not just a whim, Hal.'

'I'm sure it isn't,' Henry said. 'But still ... you don't have to decide now, Rosie. Take your time. Think it through. And, of course, until you know ... until you know what you really want to do, you are always welcome to stay at my place.'

'Thank you,' Rose said. 'That's very kind.'

After lunch, they strolled back, arm in arm, through the narrow streets to St Mark's Square. And then they took the boat across to The Cipriani.

'Another glass of wine?' Henry asked.

'No. I've had enough wine,' Rose said. 'I want you to take me back to bed. There are still lots of things for us to try.'

And there were.

Henry put it down to the wine. For two people who had only just begun to know each other intimately, the way in which their two bodies melded was pure magic: tender, gentle, hot, and passionate, all at once.

Afterwards, as they lay in each other's arms, Henry said: 'If you did decide to stay at my place for a while – while you get yourself sorted – you could have your own room, of course. I mean ... well, we wouldn't have to ... you know.' Henry was almost embarrassed.

Rose propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him sternly. 'I do hope you're joking,' she said.

'Well ... it's just that I wouldn't want you to think ... you know.'

Rose smiled and gave Henry a long passionate kiss. 'I don't think we should stop now, Hal. It's taken us rather a long time to discover that we're quite good together. We have ground to make up. Lots of it.'

Henry just smiled.

By the time they had got up again, showered, and wandered off in search of spot of light supper, the skies had cleared. And the next morning there was a Venetian sunrise. It wasn't exactly like the sunrise JMW Turner had painted all those years earlier, but it was still pretty good.