A Dangerous Arrangement Read Free

usual upbeat self from the moment she’d arrived, convinced the five-day gig on the cruise ship would ease her into playing again. How could she say that her body felt as cold as the gel pack she applied to her wrist three times a day? How could she tell him every pleasurable emotion had been erased the moment the specialist diagnosed repetitive strain injury? Vlad had gone to so much trouble to organise this gig for her, she couldn’t admit the last thing she felt like doing was playing tourist.
    With a deep breath, she nodded. ‘You’re right. I’ll go, I promise.’ She shot him a glance as they walked together towards the main doors, pleased at the satisfied expression on his face. ‘And I’ll do my best to get my happy on for the cruise.’
    He frowned at that. ‘You don’t have to pretend with me, Rina.’
    â€˜I know.’
    They lingered for a while longer, discussing sections of the score that needed work, and then Vlad opened the heavy door for her. ‘Go back to the hotel and do your rehab. We’re as prepared as we can be.’
    Marina stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek. ‘I may not sound it, but you know how grateful I am.’
    A pale pink blush stained the big Russian’s cheeks. ‘Hey, it’s not every day the first violinist from the Sydney Symphony joins my string quartet. You’ll lend us some class, even if we’re playing to a bunch of inebriated tourists.’
    â€˜Say hello to that beautiful wife of yours when you call to say goodnight.’ Marina smiled, thinking of Elena who’d only been too happy to sit this cruise out and stay home with their children.
    â€˜I will.’ Vlad pointed an index finger at her. ‘Tomorrow. Pier three. Don’t be late.’
    With a wave, Marina stepped outside and looked around the piazza. It was less crowded than when she’d arrived three hours earlier. Then, hordes of camera-toting tourists and street vendors had vied for space, while restauranteurs shouted down their opposition in an effort to coax the passing crowd inside. Now, only a handful of people gathered around the central fountain, droplets glistening in the afternoon sun as water sprayed from tridents and the mouths of fish.
    Using the obelisk as a landmark she set off across the square, heading for the narrow street that would lead her back to the Rialto Bridge. Pigeons cooed from every ledge and windowsill, while the stench of diesel fume hung over the city from the thousands of watercraft using the canals.
    She faltered as her phone vibrated in her pocket, then remembered no-one knew she was in Venice. With a deep breath, she continued on and let the call go through to message bank. At home she’d been careful to keep the diagnosis quiet, resting her arm during the symphony’s three-month break. But with the new season due to begin in six weeks, she needed to be certain her wrist would stand up to the rigours of performance. And if she broke down, she’d rather it happen on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean than at the Sydney Opera House.
    Within minutes the stone portico of the Rialto Bridge came into view. Packed with tourists the architectural icon spanned the Grand Canal, and beside it stood the dusky pink facade of the Hotel Mercurial.
    Marina sighed with relief. The breeze was hair dryer hot, but that was okay, she could handle hot. Not so wading through knee-deep water should the notorious tide decide to flood the water city.
    The porter swung the door open and she stepped inside, welcoming the cooler temperature in the art deco lobby. On her approach the front desk supervisor looked up and smiled.
    â€˜Ah, the Stradivarius.’ He straightened the cuff of his white jacket. ‘Would you like me to put it in the safe again tonight, signora?’
    â€˜If you wouldn’t mind.’ Marina handed over the instrument, watching as he ran his hand over the smooth