Evening Star

by Catherine Coulter

  Giana shrank back against Lucienne, so frightened that she could not speak. At last she managed a jerky nod.

  “A virgin?” Alfredo asked, his eyes resting upon her breasts.

  Giana blinked at his bald question, but Lucienne laughed delicately. “I fear not, my dear Alfredo.”

  Señor Alfredo sighed heavily. “I fear that the only virgins left in the world are so ugly that only a blind man could enjoy himself.” He paused a moment, darting his pink tongue over his thick lower lip. “I’ll take her in any case, Lucienne. She is a beauty, and what a lovely mouth. A skilled mouth, I trust.”

  Facing a man who wanted to buy her body, a man who was quite open about it in fact, as if he were purchasing a bottle of wine, made her want to disappear into the thick carpet beneath her feet.

  Lucienne laughed again. “I fear you can only enjoy her charming company, Alfredo. Her services have been bespoken.”

  “Such a pity. She is so young and fresh-looking. Well, little Helen,” he continued to Giana, “perhaps some other night I can possess you.”

  Giana kept her eyes downcast, and felt Lucienne’s elbow against her ribs. “You are in Rome long, sir?”

  “Not long enough, I fear,” Señor Alfredo said. “Where do you come from, Helen?”

  “From Paris,” Giana said.

  “Ah, then you must have a beautifully skilled mouth.”

  Giana looked up at him with incomprehension. “Thank you, señor.”

  “You are quite right, Alfredo, and I know that is of particular interest to you, isn’t it, my friend? Come, let us have a glass of champagne.”

  Giana dutifully followed in Lucienne’s wake toward the sound of men and women laughing in the drawing room. She wondered what that leering old man had meant about her mouth.

  She felt his hand on her bare arm, and felt gooseflesh rise where his fingers caressed her. She was on the point of slapping him away, but she saw Lucienne’s narrowed eyes. She lowered her head and allowed him to lead her into the main salon.

  “You like my touch, little one?” Alfredo asked her, grinning.

  “I am thirsty,” she said in halting Spanish.

  “Ah, she speaks, and in my tongue. How very delightful. Have you visited Spain, Helen?”

  “No,” she said, so numb with humiliation that she did not at first see Signore Salvado.

  “What have you here, Alfredo? Ah, the new girl Lucienne was telling me about.”

  Giana felt Alfredo’s fingers tighten possessively about her arm. “Are you the one who has bespoken her services for the night, Carlo?”

  Giana looked up at him in astonishment. Luciana’s husband—here, and quite at his ease in a brothel. She felt a moment of terror that he would see through her disguise, but when she forced herself to meet his hungry eyes, she saw no recognition in them. She thought of Luciana, his wife, not terribly attractive, to be sure, but nonetheless his wife.

  She heard Signore Salvado say, “No, I am not the lucky man. But look around you, Alfredo, at all the lovely ladies. Come, my friend, with all the negotiations we conduct during the day, you mustn’t be downcast because you cannot have your first choice at night.”

  Alfredo was looking at her as a dog would a prize bone. “She even speaks a little Spanish,” he said.

  Signore Salvado grinned, and before Giana could react, he reached out his hand and rubbed his open palm over her breasts. “Dio,” he said, “I would not care if she were deaf and dumb.”

  She shrank back, unable to help herself. Carlo Salvado frowned. “Mind your manners, girl,” he said, a glint of anger in his dark eyes.

  “I am thirsty,” Giana said again, this time in Italian.

  “A pity that she is not hungry,” Carlo said. “What I would give her to eat . . .”

  “I must go,” Giana said.

  Lucienne watched Giana lurch back and saw Carlo Salvado’s lips tighten. She swayed gracefully toward them, her servant, Draco, close behind her with a tray of drinks. She said in a coquettish voice to Carlo, “You are such a mouthful, signore, that all of my girls become limp with pleasure at the thought of you. But look, gentlemen, Emilie and Jeannette are most interested in what you have to offer them.”

  Carlo Salvado took one last, lingering look at Giana’s breasts, shrugged, and walked away, Señor Alfredo with him. “Perhaps another night, Helen,” Alfredo called over his shoulder.

  “Little ninny,” Lucienne hissed at her. “A whore, or a wife for that matter, must not show disgust. If the gentlemen want to touch you a bit, you will smile and pretend that you enjoy it. Do you understand me?”

  “It—he was disgusting,” Giana whispered, still trembling.

  “Don’t be a fool. Do you think gentlemen come here only for conversation?” She saw that Giana would still protest, and said sharply, “Do you see that gentleman over there? The one with his arm about Lucia? Go stand near them and listen to Lucia. Perhaps you will learn how to hold your tongue and behave. Here,” she added, grabbing a glass of champagne from Draco’s silver tray, “drink this. It will help relax you.”

  Giana clutched the slender glass stem between her fingers as she walked over to the davenport where Lucia sat. There was a marble statue of a naked woman behind the davenport, and she slipped quietly behind it. She saw the man openly fondling Lucia’s breasts, and Lucia was giggling and pressing herself toward his hands. The man gave a quick yank at the material over her breasts, and a large dusky nipple came free. To Giana’s horror, the man leaned over and closed his mouth over it. She saw his tongue circling the nipple, his teeth nipping.

  Giana was so surprised that she stared.

  She heard Lucia say in a drawling, intimate voice, “Now, signore, you cannot take me here. Let us go upstairs.”

  The man gave a groan, but rose quickly. Giana saw Lucia’s hand lightly brush over the bulge in his trousers.

  She tossed down the champagne, scarcely tasting it.

  She managed to stay hidden behind the statue as they walked from the salon, their bodies pressing against each other. “Well, Giana,” she heard Daniele say softly to her, “what do you think of our house of pleasure?”

  “Why, it is charming, to be sure,” she said with vicious brightness.

  “It pleases me that you have not lost your sense of humor.”

  She looked at him as if she would have liked to wring his neck, but he only smiled.

  He continued easily, “It took me a while to recognize you. The blond wig makes quite a difference, as does all the makeup. Have you spoken to Signore Salvado?”

  “Oh yes.” She sneered. “He was all that is gracious. He touched me, Uncle. Here.”

  He saw her hand steal protectively over her bosom. “Signore Salvado is usually quite generous with girls who please him. Did he ask for you?”

  “I said I was thirsty, and he said it was a pity that I wasn’t hungry, then laughed with that other man.”

  “He also thinks himself a wit. I trust you laughed.”

  “It is difficult to laugh, Uncle, when one doesn’t understand the joke.”

  “Well, it is only your first evening, is it not? Doubtless understanding will come in good time. Lucienne provides very pleasant surroundings, don’t you think? All her girls are lovely, well dressed, and skilled. Come now, my dear, it is time that you learn what goes on upstairs.”

  Giana allowed him to take her arm, and walked stiffly beside him as he led her from the room. She heard Signore Salvado call after them, over the laughing conversation, “You old devil, Daniele. So it is you who will enjoy the little blond morsel.”

  Daniele merely smiled and waved a languid hand.

  “For those gentlemen who do not wish to partake of Lucienne’s girls, there are other pleasures.” He walked beside her down the long upstairs hallway, past the closed doors, to a narrow door at the end of the corridor, hidden behind a purple velvet drapery. He shoved the drapery aside, opened the door, and nudged Giana ahead of him.

  The room was sma
ll, with but one sofa and two papier-mâché chairs, both set on a kind of dais, facing the far wall. There was a ceiling-to-floor brocade tapestry covering the wall, displaying nude figures at a Roman banquet.

  “Come sit down, my dear,” Daniele said, waving her to one of the chairs. “I selected Lucienne’s house for several reasons, one of them this room.” He pulled a golden brocade cord and the tapestry parted in the middle. Giana found herself staring through a wide glass into the next room.

  “This is the Golden Chamber. The gentlemen within know that they are being viewed, of course. From inside the room, this glass appears only as a mirror. One of science’s marvels.”

  Giana forced her eyes to focus into the room. She saw that its walls were covered with heavy gold brocade draperies, the huge bed in the center of the room with heavy golden coverlets. Even the carpeting was a deep lush gold. She drew in her breath when Señor Alfredo suddenly came into view. The fat old man was naked, and beside him, smiling sweetly up at him, was an equally naked Emilie. Giana had never before seen a naked man, and her revulsion brought bitter bile into her throat. Her eyes fell from his huge belly to the limp shaft of flesh at his groin, surrounded by thick black hair.

  “He is not a particularly sterling specimen of manhood,” Daniele said dryly, “but not unlike many men who grow older and have a taste for their food.”

  “I cannot stand it,” Giana cried, lurching up from her chair. “It is disgusting.”

  Daniele grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back down into her chair. “You will please sit down, Giana, and watch. Emilie is very skilled with a man such as Señor Alfredo. And open your eyes, child.”

  When Giana saw Emilie again, she had moved from the bed and was kneeling in front of Señor Alfredo. She was smiling up at him, caressing his fat legs lightly, her slender hands moving slowly upward until they stroked the flesh at his groin. To Giana’s horror, Señor Alfredo pressed his hands against Emilie’s head and began to slowly sway his hips toward her in a rocking motion. Giana watched, mesmerized with shock. That was what he had meant about her mouth. Giana gagged, unable to believe that Emilie did not. She could see Señor Alfredo’s face turning florid, his mouth splitting over his clenched teeth. He tensed suddenly, and she could hear him cry out through the nearly soundless wall.

  “She has killed him?”

  “Only for the moment,” Daniele said, grinning. “She has brought him to orgasm, the point of the whole business.”

  He released Emilie and she fell back on her haunches, her lips covered with a white liquid.

  “What is that? What is wrong with her?” Giana cried.

  Daniele was appalled at her ignorance. “It is his seme, Giana, his man’s seed. Usually,” he added, “it is what a man plants in a woman’s body, but of course, a woman’s mouth is also a delightful receptacle, as you see.”

  “Please, Uncle Daniele, can we not leave now?” She turned away from the sight of Señor Alfredo running his hand contentedly over his now limp flesh. “Please, it is so horrible, so—”

  “No. It is life. The act you just witnessed is one that your Randall will expect of you, unless of course you faint at the suggestion. Then you can be certain he will take himself to a skilled vixen like our Emilie.”

  “No,” she gasped. “He would not. He is not like that disgusting fat old man.”

  “Well, he is certainly not old or fat, but for the rest—” Daniele shrugged. “He is a man.”

  Giana watched Señor Alfredo casually embrace Emilie, his fat arms squeezing her slender ribs. She was momentarily fascinated by the soft whiteness of Emilie’s body. Her breasts were full and rounded, just as were her hips, and her long hair trailed down her narrow back. Emilie embraced Señor Alfredo and kissed him full on his mouth, her hands still fondling that limp shaft of flesh at his groin. Giana turned vague, empty eyes to Daniele, then jerked up from her chair, her hands clamped over her mouth. She could not stop the racking sobs that broke from her throat.

  Daniele did not touch her. He stood quietly beside her until she was silent. He handed her a glass of wine. “Drink this, Giana. Perhaps you have learned enough for your first evening.”

  “How delightful to see you again, Giana. I had hoped you could come to dine last evening, but Daniele told Teodoro that you were otherwise occupied. Do let Bela take your shawl.” Angela Cavour fluttered about as she spoke, and then drew Giana’s arm through hers. She led her into a small solarium that gave onto a flower-filled balcony. “This is my favorite room,” Angela said, waving her hand before her. “The hills are so green and lush during the early summer. Do sit down and tell me what you have been doing. Enjoying all of our marvelous sights, no doubt.”

  Giana could not help but laugh. There was an irony in the sound that made Angela regard her with widened, worried eyes. “My dear Giana, are you all right? It has been terribly warm of late. Have you been too much in the sun?”

  Giana took hold of herself, and stared at Angela Cavour. Fragile, gentle Angela. Did her husband do unspeakable things to her? Surely not, it was impossible.

  “Thank you for inviting me, Angela,” she said at last, bringing her voice to calm.

  “It is my pleasure, Giana. I do not have many friends my age. I thought we could have lunch here on the balcony. Perhaps later, you would like to see my little Maria. Unfortunately, I do not think Teodoro will be able to join us. He is so busy of late, so very involved in his business. Ah, here is Bela with our lunch. I try to eat very lightly during the day,” Angela confided. “Teodoro does not like me to be at all heavy.”

  Giana pictured Teodoro Cavour, a smiling young man, but one whose stomach stretched his trousers. “But Signore Cavour is heavy,” she said.

  Angela shrugged and smiled slightly. “ Nonetheless, I wish to please him.”

  “You are so small, Angela,” Giana blurted out, “so light.”

  “Now I am, but when I was carrying my baby, I looked so grotesque, as if I were hauling about a mountain. Teodoro did not like it at all, and I could not blame him.” Angela flushed and quickly said, “Do forgive me, Giana, I should not speak so bluntly. You are so young and as yet unwed.”

  “Not much younger than you, Angela.”

  “I am turned nineteen just last month, Giana. But an old married lady now. Do tell me about England. How I long to visit your country.”

  Giana tasted a bit of the mixed fruit salad before she replied. “It is much cooler than Italy. The closest thing we have to the Piazza San Pietro is Trafalgar Square, not nearly so impressive, I assure you. Euston Station is new, only ten years old, and imposing with its Doric colonnade. But surely, Angela, you can visit England, perhaps when the exhibition opens.”

  “Oh, that is not possible,” Angela said slowly. “You are a most unusual young lady to be able to travel without a chaperon or your mother to such a faraway place.”

  “My mother,” said Giana, “does not want me to be ignorant of things.”

  “Perhaps Signora Van Cleve is right,” Angela said in her soft voice. “I have never traveled abroad. Teodoro is even worried that I will get lost when I leave the house. He wants always to be with me when I go out.”

  “You are not stupid, Angela.”

  Angela merely smiled and played about with the tiny fresh shrimp on her plate. “I think Luciana would much like to visit England. She has already confided in me that she wants to accompany Carlo on his next business trip. Whether he will allow her to, I don’t know.”

  Giana chewed on a succulent slice of orange, suddenly angry. “Have her threaten her husband with a lover,” she said, “if he does not take her.”

  “Giana, you mustn’t talk like that.” Then, to Giana’s surprise, she giggled. “She would, if she had the idea, I suppose. Luciana is most strong-willed, you know. Her daughters are all terrified of her.” She frowned and pushed her half-filled plate away. “No, it is impossible. If she were to do such a thing, Carlo could lock her away in a convent and take away her childr
en.”

  “That is terrible. Surely he could not be such a monster.”

  Angela shrugged, a faint pitying smile on her lips. “Of course he could, dear Giana. And he wouldn’t be a monster.”

  But surely Luciana’s precious Carlo had mistresses.

  “But why do you just accept that? It isn’t right, truly.”

  Angela reached over and patted Giana’s hand. Giana followed her gaze toward an old woman in a starched gray gown and white cap who was walking toward them carrying a frilly pink bundle in her arms.

  “Ah, my dear Giana. This is my baby, Maria.” Angela held out her thin arms and took the infant on her lap.

  “Not too long, signora,” the woman said in a chiding voice. “The master does not wish you to tire yourself.”

  “Oh, Teodoro,” Angela said, smiling fondly at the mention of her absent husband, “he always fusses so. He believes me so delicate, and in truth, I am not. Look, Giana, she is smiling at you.”

  Giana looked at the baby’s tiny face, and indeed, the little girl’s mouth was curved upward. She let the baby clutch her finger and pulled gently against her grip. Suddenly before her was the image of Alfredo’s seed glistening on Emilie’s lips. That made this exquisite child? She shuddered, unable to help herself.

  “Angela,” Giana said after the woman had taken Maria away, “exactly how are babies made?”

  Angela turned a dull shade of red and looked quickly away from Giana, her hands fluttering nervously in her lap.

  “I’m sorry. I do not mean to embarrass you. It is just that I am not certain exactly how it is done.”

  “I know,” Angela said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I also wanted to know before I was married. I think it is better if one does not know. It is best that one’s husband shows what is necessary.”

  Giana saw her flush again, and tilted her head questioningly. “Does it hurt?”

  “Only at first, then not at all. Teodoro is a very kind man, and very considerate.”