Elisabetta laughed. “And then there is the pirate and the wench. In that one, he blindfolds me, ties my hands behind my back, and makes me do all manner of things.”
“What else?” Marta goaded.
“Let’s see, we also like to play painter and model, since he’s a budding artist, you know. First, I pretend to be very shy, while he insists I take off one piece of clothing at a time. He actually draws me while I do. Then, when I’m completely naked, he flings the brush and parchment aside and assaults me while I protest. Oh, it’s so arousing.”
Cassandra was speechless. She never expected the upper class women of the Renaissance to be so…bawdy.
“You’ve inspired me,” said Marta, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Maybe I can use some of your games with Tulio. I’ve got to do something to get that man interested in my bed again.”
“I never enjoyed relations with my husband at all. I didn’t even know it could be like this until Giovanni cast his seductive eye toward me one day, and I invited him over for a little…breakfast.”
“I have to ask,” Marta began, “and don’t get me wrong, my dear, you are very beautiful for a woman your age, but are these games the only thing that entice him to come around?”
“Oh, I slip him a few scudi here and there, always give him a good meal, and sometimes a trinket or two he can sell or give to his girlfriend.”
“He has a girlfriend too?” Cassandra finally managed.
“My dear Contessa, you seem very old-fashioned about these things. Do you disapprove of our ways here in Tuscany?”
“No, no. I’m just curious.”
“And we are curious about you,” declared Marta. “You seemed very familiar with Signor Marino the other night.”
“Well, he is very handsome but—”
“And what about Maestro Sampieri? All the unmarried women, and some of us married ones as well, have been trying to turn his head for a long time. I’m jealous. He seems to have eyes for you.”
“No, I don’t think so.” It was gratifying Marta would think so, however.
“Giuliana, you are very quiet,” the woman continued. “How is that husband of yours in bed? He’s old, true, but he looks like he’d be nice and—firm.”
Elisabetta laughed but Giuliana didn’t seem amused.
“Or maybe it’s you that’s interested in Signor Marino?” Marta said to the young woman. “You cannot tell us you haven’t considered dallying with him. Oh, I’d like to run my hands over those nice strong arms.”
“Francesco is a friend that is all.”
“But who do you find pleasure with? My husband tells me yours is out every night gambling. You must get your ‘happiness’ somewhere else.”
Giuliana sat up a little taller. “Truth be told, I am in love with someone, but I can’t reveal who it is.”
“Oh! She is keeping secrets,” declared Marta. “I’ll find you out, Giuliana. I always find my friends out. No one can hide anything from me.”
“I’m sure it’s Francesco Marino,” said Elisabetta. “She just won’t admit it.”
“The contessa and her brother are coming to observe Signor Marino draw me tomorrow night. Then Cassandra can decide for herself if there’s something between Francesco and me. I invite her to report the results to you two. Now, can we please talk of something besides men?”
“What else is there?” Marta cackled.
“Oh, my dear,” said Elisabetta to her friend. “I have to tell you about the horrible servant my husband hired last week, a dirty, slatternly girl who listens to nothing I say. I’m sure I know why he hired her….”
Giuliana tapped Cassandra on the arm and spoke in a low voice. “Will you walk with me out of doors for a while?”
“I would love to.”
“Excuse us, ladies,” said Giuliana. “Do you mind if we leave you to walk outdoors?”
“Please, go ahead,” returned Elisabetta. “The heat tires me.”
Cassandra and Giuliana strolled out the doors of the salon, across the lawn, and into a field of waist high sunflowers. Bees hummed busily around the blooms, ignoring the women as they walked.
“I’m not much in favor of how those women talk,” Giuliana said.
“It’s amusing…to a point.”
“I would love to have someone like you to talk to about things that interest me.”
“You don’t have that with your husband?” Cassandra knew the answer before she asked.
“No, but I had that with your brother.”
“So I understand.”
“Contessa―”
“Please call me Cassandra.”
“Thank you. Why did Jacopo really come here? Was it only to have your portrait done by Maestro Sampieri?”
“Yes, of course,” she lied. “Honestly, Giuliana, I didn’t know my brother once had strong feelings for you, or I wouldn’t have agreed to this trip. Now that we’re here, though, I hope he can make amends for how he treated you. However, there’s nothing more he can do, with you being married.”
“No, certainly. Though…it’s painful to see him again. Wonderful, but painful. I have to confess, seeing him makes me realize how truly trapped I am in my marriage. I was forced into it, and sometimes I feel I will wither and die if I don’t escape.”
“I am truly sorry.” Cassandra fingered the silken petals of a sunflower, momentarily mesmerized by the swirling pattern in its giant face.
“I almost feel I’ll do something desperate.”
She looked at her companion. “I hope you won’t, Giuliana. Sometimes it’s best to see what fate has in store for you rather than doing something irrational. You could be going from bad to worse.”
The Italian woman stopped and looked out over the sea of yellow-gold. “I will think about what you are saying.” A tear ran down her face and she brushed it away impatiently. “When I was with Jacopo, we talked about art, music, philosophy…. My husband isn’t interested in any of those things. The only reason he wants a portrait of me is so he can impress his friends with his good taste. However, when I’m in the church, I look at the beautiful painting on the walls, and I feel the inspiration those artists must have had to create such works.”
“I know you said there’s nothing between you and Francesco, but surely you can talk about those things with him.”
“A little, but when he’s drawing me, he’s very intent on drawing.”
“Did you know him very well before he was commissioned to paint you?”
“Not so well. It was my husband’s idea to hire him.”
“He strikes me as very passionate about his work. Someone who could perhaps be some level of…I don’t know how one would say it in Italian. In English we might say, ‘the mate of your soul.’”
“That’s a beautiful expression. But I think I have already found that person, even if I’m not destined to be with him.”
“How do you manage to get through the day with no one to talk to about the things deepest in your heart? I used to have my husband. Now that he’s gone, I fortunately have many close friends, yet it doesn’t seem as if you do. That’s why I thought maybe Francesco was becoming that person for you.”
Giuliana gave a half-hearted laugh. “We do talk sometimes. It is inspiring to be the subject of his art. As my own expression though, I have my music. I pour my heart into that.”
“You’re a musician?”
“Yes, I play many instruments, but I prefer the lute.”
“Did you know I play the harpsichord?”
“No, I didn’t. Tomorrow night, when you come to my home, perhaps we can play together.”
“Are you sure your husband won’t mind us being there?”
“I don’t think so. Though he didn’t take warmly to Jacopo at first, he grew fonder of him once he so thoroughly beat him at dice.”
“Very well. Shall I bring music?”
“No, I have some duets we can try.”
“Good! I’ll let Jake…Jacopo… know.”
“Maybe you could be the kind of friend to me that you speak of, Cassandra.” Giuliana lightly placed her hand on Cassandra’s arm.
“I will hope to, as long as I’m here, but that won’t be for long. We should go back to the others,” Cassandra said, gently pulling away. “I think it’s time to return home anyway. I hear it’s not wise travelling after dark, even with the protection of Elisabetta’s carriage.”
“Perhaps I can go with you as far as my house. Carlo walked me here, but I don’t want to trouble him to return for me. Then we can continue our conversation.”
“That would be nice,” Cassandra said, forcing a smile. Becoming overly friendly with Giuliana was not what she’d had in mind, but now that the intimacy was begun, she’d have to continue it. Besides, a good duet always suited her.
Jake and Cassandra entered the Guerrini’s palazzo of reddish stone on the east end of the Campo. From the soaring ceiling of the main room hung a massive wooden chandelier, lit up with candles. They followed a servant into a smaller interior room where the light was dim, most of it from a fire burning in a stone fireplace, for though the days were warm, the sun could still not heat to the core of the houses of thick stone that stayed cool far into the summer. Piero and Francesco were sitting at a round, leather-covered table, heads bent together, deep in discussion. They rose when the two foreigners entered, and greeted them. Francesco’s gaze traveled over Cassandra’s body as if her dress was transparent. Then his eyes met hers, and he winked at her. She moved away to examine a tapestry on the wall.
Wine was brought, and bowls of fruit. There was an easel set up with a board and paper on it. Francesco set his supplies on a stand nearby. Soon after the visitors were settled at the leather table, Giuliana entered. Jake was looking everywhere but at the model, who wore a gown of deep red, cut low in front. The wide, flowing sleeves were attached to the shoulders with ribbons, through which showed a satiny, cream-colored chemise. The floor-length skirt was slit up the middle, and a silken petticoat was purposely visible beneath. Her thick, dark hair hung down her back, and she wore a delicate chain that bore a red jewel as a hair band, resting in the middle of her forehead.
“She is magnificent,” declared Francesco, as if reading Cassandra’s mind.
“Yes, she is a rare example of feminine perfection,” said Piero with an unpleasant smirk, “I was lucky to win her.”
Was he talking about a prize mare or his wife?
Giuliana greeted Cassandra, placing a kiss on either cheek. She extended her hand to Jake, and he kissed it, just barely brushing her hand with his lips before letting go. They did not look each other in the eye.
Francesco led Giuliana to a seat near the firelight and called for candles to be placed all around. Then the servants placed his easel and charcoal where he indicated.
“He says he prefers the subtle light of flame to the starkness of daylight,” Piero whispered to his guests.
The artist had seemed perfectly content with daylight when sketching Cassandra.
Piero barely spoke to his guests while Francesco drew. His eyes were fixed in the direction of artist and subject. Jake tried to bring up several topics, but the host dismissed them with a grunt. He continued to drink wine and stuff fruit into his mouth. He never once looked at Cassandra.
Francesco changed Giuliana’s position many times, and sketched her roughly, again and again, to find the best angle, the most expressive pose. Cassandra found it interesting to watch for about fifteen minutes. The wine in her goblet had a sour taste she didn’t much like, and she had no desire to eat the fruit that Piero had pawed over. Her rear was growing numb from the hard chair, but she knew she shouldn’t fidget. After an hour, Giuliana finally complained of being tired. She and the Francesco joined the others around the table.
“Piero,” she said to her husband, “do you remember I told you Contessa Barrentine is a musician?”
“No,” he grunted as he took a slug of wine.
Cassandra leaned forward in anticipation of Giuliana’s invitation.
“We thought we’d play a duet for the gentlemen.”
“I am not in the mood for music tonight. Damn it, Giuliana, must you always be the center of attention?” Piero laughed loudly, looking to Francesco to join him. The painter managed a strained smile.
Giuliana narrowed her eyes at her husband, but he didn’t look in her direction. She turned to Cassandra. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
Cassandra gently shook her head and tried to muster a reassuring smile.
Jake began to rise.
“Count Grenefeld,” Giuliana said quickly, turning to him. He sat again, but his hands held tight to the edge of the table.
“I understand you are to have your sister painted by Maestro Sampieri. How did you know of him from so far away in England?”
“When an artist is a great as Maestro Sampieri, word of his excellence travels abroad.” Jake picked up his silver goblet of wine and drank deeply, his complexion turning nearly the color of the grape.
“I’m sorry I missed the chance to take on that commission as well,” said Francesco. “I’m not as well known as Sampieri, but the opportunity to paint not one great beauty, but two, would have been a boon to my career.”
“Ha!” laughed Piero, taking another swig of wine. “Don’t be greedy, Francesco. Many artists would kill for the chance to paint Giuliana.”
“Oh, do not think I am not grateful. It’s just that we do not see many northern flowers like the Contessa in Siena. It would require me to think in a different color palette for her fair complexion, that is all.”
Cassandra nudged Jake under the table. It was time to get out of there.
“Yes, well, when are you going to be finished sketching? I want to see some paint on the canvas,” said Piero.
Francesco laughed lightly. “I’ve only just begun the process. It will require several more sessions. When I begin to lay paint on canvas, I must be totally prepared. You cannot rush it, you know.”
“Well, damn it, I’m already bored with everyone sitting around staring at her.”
“We should be going, gentleman, signora,” Jake said, rising. “Thank you for the delightful evening. As a fledgling student of the arts, I am always interested in the creative method with which an artist arrives at the finished product.”
Cassandra stood with him.
“Conte, Contessa! Do not leave so soon,” cried Giuliana. “Piero, let me play for our guests—just some soft lute music. We don’t have to go to all the trouble of moving into the music room for the harpsichord. I’ll call for my instrument here. Cassandra, you won’t mind if we don’t play the duet tonight?”
She began to shake her head, but Jake jumped in.
“Another time, signora, we would be honored, but my sister is not used to the late evenings. I must get her home.”
Not used to the late evenings?
“Then please return after you have taken her home,” Giuliana continued.
“Enough!” shouted Piero, throwing his goblet across the room. It landed on the stone with a loud clatter. Cassandra jumped, and Giuliana winced. A servant immediately scurried in to pick up the cup and clean the spilled wine. “Let our guests be, wife, they do not wish to hear your music tonight and neither do I! You may go to bed. Please excuse yourself.”
“Buona notte,” Giuliana said with a quick curtsy. She hurried out of the room, her hand pressed to her mouth.
“Signore,” Jake said brusquely to Piero, “we will find our way out.”
“Nonsense,” the man replied. “I will see you to the door. Francesco, get me another cup of wine.”
Jake and Cassandra said their farewells to the artist and followed Guerrini to the door. As he opened it and his guests stepped out into the night, he looked into Jake’s face and whispered, “Stay away from my wife, Conte. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but I warn you, keep away.” With that, he slammed the heavy wooden doors shut.
J
ake raised his fist and went to pound the door, but Cassandra grabbed it and pulled him into the street.
“Leave it, Jake. Don’t antagonize him further. That man is a pig and a brute. Ugh, I loathe him.”
“You couldn’t possibly hate him more than I do,” he said through clenched teeth.
“He sees there’s something between you and Giuliana. You have to be careful.”
“There’s nothing between us. We cleared it all up when we met at the studio.”
“I think she thinks there’s something between you. I’m sure she’s still in love with you.”
“Really?” His face softened.
“You must feel that.”
“I don’t know….”
They started through the dark streets—it was impossible to know what they might step in.
“I wish we’d asked for an escort,” she said.
“Not only was Guerrini not inclined to offer one, but he’d obviously be just as happy to see me dead.”
The sound of laughter came floating out of a tavern. They pressed on. A gang of young men passed, stumbling and falling into each other. One of them fell toward Cassandra with a loud guffaw, but Jake pulled her away before the man knocked into her. He placed a protective arm around her shoulder.
“Come on. We can do this,” he said.
They hurried along the streets, obscure as caves. No light, other than that provided by the occasional glow of a candle in a window, illuminated their way.
“Are you sure you know where we’re going? I feel turned around.”
“I think this is Via Cecco Angiolieri right here.”
There was no street sign. “I don’t know, Jake.”
Footsteps approached from ahead, and a deformed figure loomed in the darkness. Before the person was fully visible, a putrid odor filled the air.
“Signore, signora,” the creature said in a raspy voice. “Can you spare a lira for an old man?”
The man was hunched over, bent almost completely in half. He walked with a stick and was clothed in rags. He reached a gnarled hand out to them. Cassandra groped in the pocket of her skirt for her money purse. She plucked out a coin and handed it to him.
The Time Contessa (The Time Mistress Book 3) Page 7
