Tender Is The Tyrant

by Violet Winspear

  Shadows and slight rustlings followed her all the way to the top landing. There she paused and took note of a trio of oval-shaped doors. Two of them gave access to Maxim di Corte’s private rooms, and suddenly she felt a trespasser and wished she had not given in to the impulse which had brought her this far.

  A draught tickled her neck and she turned towards the door behind her. Now or never, she thought, and swiftly opened it. A sigh of relief escaped her as cool night air came drifting down several stone steps. She mounted them and found herself out on the battlements of the tower.

  She stood beside one of the deep embrasures, the wind flattening her dress to her slim figure, awed by the dim shapes of the towering steeples and immense domes that seemed closer up here. The scene was Gothic ... she breathed the night and the mystery into her very being, and felt under her fingers the lichen that covered these old grey stones.

  Overhead the stars were like small white flames, and the scent of the waterways drifted upwards with each distant ripple. From here, Lauri thought with a smile, the fair Rapunzel could have let down her hair for her—sweetheart to climb. Here the brooding power of Maxim di Corte had a setting both wonderful and lonely. An eyrie fit for a lofty idealist, a man as unyielding as iron when it came to art and its proper expression.

  Was he different, a little more human when alone up here in his tower? she wondered as she took a final look at the great domes the Venetian voyagers of long ago had erected as their monuments. The wind blew cool through her hair, loose on the shoulders of her dress of rowan-red velvet. It was her favourite dress and she didn’t really know why she had put it on to go to the Cafe Anzolo. It was an informal place, and Michael had not eaten there tonight.

  Perhaps as Concha had suggested he had taken out another girl. Lauri knew she had annoyed him last night by hurrying him away from the Three Fountains just as he was enjoying himself.

  Right now she must hurry away from this place. Each second that she lingered added to the danger of running into Maxim di Corte. She turned round ... and the most uncanny feeling swept over her as she was about to cross the tower. She sensed rather than saw anything among the shadows. Heard an infinitesimal rustle that could easily have been the wind brushing against the lichened walls of the tower.

  A cold shiver ran through her., She wanted to cross the battlements and make her escape down the spiral staircase, but was held back by an instinctive fear of the unknown ... a remembered awareness of the soft rustlings which had followed her up the stairs. The silk about a woman’s ankles would make such a sound.

  As in a dream she stood fast; her limbs were leaden though her heart was racing. Were those whispers among the dancers true? Was the tower haunted?

  Nonsense, she scoffed though still she didn’t move. All dancers had far too much imagination, and she must snap out of this and not imagine that something stood shadowy, waiting, on a bend of those winding stairs...

  A gasp of fright escaped her as footfalls rang distinctly on the stone steps leading to the battlements. A shadow loomed up, larger than the others, and again she took a step backwards.

  ‘Be careful,’ the voice was lash-sharp with warning, there is a crack in that wall!’

  She was against the wall, the sound of water lapping ominously against stone far below her, when Maxim di Corte swept her close to him in a pair of arms that felt iron-hard. ‘You little fool,’ his breath raced across her forehead, ‘you might have been killed!’

  ‘I—I didn’t know it was you.’ She could feel his hands right through the velvet of her dress, bruising her until he let her go as suddenly as he had taken hold of her.

  ‘Who else were you expecting?’ His eyes narrowed as they raked her frightened face. ‘This is my tower. I issue the invitations.’

  ‘I—I had no right to come up here,’ she stammered. ‘You have every right to be angry with me.’

  ‘I am angry because you could easily have had an accident, Miss Garner.’ He drew her away from the embrasure that in daylight was like blackened teeth. ‘Some years ago lightning struck this tower and weakened the structure, that is why I prefer you dancers to keep to your own section of the palazzo. Come, you can stop shaking in your shoes. It is a wise girl who never trespasses, but a feminine one can never resist temptation.’

  ‘The view is wonderful.’ She gave him a shaky smile. ‘I’ve often seen you up here admiring the lovely old buildings and waterways.’

  ‘I know which parts of the tower are safe,’ he rejoined. ‘If you wished to see the view from here, you should have asked me and I would have brought you up here one evening when the sun was setting over the city. Why did you never ask?’

  ‘You’re a busy man, signor,’ she could feel herself flushing in the gloom. ‘I didn’t like to bother you—’

  ‘It would not have been a bother,’ he said crisply. ‘I am always happy to talk about Venice. Do you find it a fascinating city, signorina? Has Michael Lonza shown you all the places you should see? The Byzantine churches, the galleries, the islands where they make lace, and Venetian glassware?’

  ‘He has talked about taking me to Murano,’ she could feel her flush deepening and turned slightly away from the dark eyes that might discern it. ‘I love looking at anything made of lovely old glass.’

  ‘The finest age of Venetian glassware was in the sixteenth century, and I have an ancient goblet from those days which you might find interesting. What of the museums, Miss Garner? Have you been to any of those?’

  ‘One or two.’ A smile quivered on her mouth. ‘I’m afraid Michael finds them rather a bore, except for the sumptuous Venetian costumes and the ornaments and swords the people used to wear with them.’

  ‘They are very striking, I agree. This section of the tower is quite safe, if you wish to go a little closer to that embrasure, Miss Garner. I shall not snatch you off your feet as before. Poor child,’ his laugh was a little mocking, ‘I don’t quite know how you regard me—as some ferocious baron, perhaps? In which case it was either foolhardy or brave of you to venture up here just for the view.’

  ‘It was plain nosiness, signor, as you said yourself in a more subtle and Latin way.’ She peered over the embrasure at the canal below, lap-lapping the stone quay of the palazzo. ‘Are there mermaids in the canals of Venice, who dwell in the underwater palaces?’ she murmured.

  ‘It could well be.’ There was a smile in his voice, and she felt the brush of his sleeve as he stood beside her. Venice is a mysterious city, almost a fable in itself, and when the steeples and domes meet their shadows in the water—as we are told they must in the end—then all things lovely will be gone.’

  Lauri gave a little shiver and he must have felt it, for he said crisply: ‘Venetians have a melancholy strain in them, as well as subtlety. Tell me, Miss Garner, where did you go last night? I had promised the Contessa Riffini that I would introduce you to her. She was disappointed at not meeting my little English dancer.’

  ‘I—I forgot all about the dinner party, signor. I’m sorry.’ Lauri had to force herself to turn and face him; she felt sure his anger was awful when roused, and all day she had been fearing the moment when he would demand an explanation for her absence.

  ‘Lonza was also absent.’ His voice was silky, more coldly menacing than when he lost his patience in the practice-room. ‘I can assume that you were together? That you found each other’s company of far more interest than the company of my friends?’

  ‘I didn’t imagine for one moment that I would be missed.’ Lauri stood braced against the lichened wall of the tower, slender in her red velvet, and afraid of his frown. The frown joined blackly above the bridge of his Roman nose ... sign of a man who would not wed, said the country folk of Downhollow.

  ‘You are altogether too modest,’ he mocked. ‘Lonza would not wish for your company if you were a colourless nonentity, Miss Garner. Where is your Romeo tonight? Are you taking a rest from the excitement of his company, or did you plan to meet up here? I recall that m
y arrival on my own tower gave you a nasty surprise.’

  ‘You exaggerate, signor.’ She tried with a smile to win him back to his earlier mood. ‘A trespasser expects to be surprised if like an idiot she lingers too long on someone’s private property. I’m truly sorry about last night. I did forget, and then it was too late for us to get back for the party—’

  ‘I accept part of your explanation,’ he drawled. ‘No doubt Lonza persuaded you to forgo the party altogether. Where did he take you?’

  ‘We had supper at a restaurant on a little island. The Cafe of the Three Fountains.’

  ‘I know the place. It is very romantic and secluded. And now perhaps, to make up for not being at my table last night, you will join me for supper in my tower? It is my servant’s evening off, but he has prepared a cold-fowl salad for me, also there is fruit, and coffee.’

  Even as Lauri was taking in the unexpectedness of the invitation, he was placing his hand beneath her elbow and leading her with decision towards the steps that descended to his rooms. A minute later she was being ushered into a lamplit room whose dark panelling was mellowed by framed drawings and pictures of ballet artists. There was also a packed gallery of books that encircled the room and was reached by a small winding staircase.

  ‘Please to be seated, Miss Garner.’ He indicated a tapestry sofa beside which a table was set with chessmen.

  ‘Do you play?’ he asked, as she leant forward to look at the ivory knights, castles and bishops with pointed hats.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ She shot him a smile. A game of draughts is about all I can manage.’

  ‘Chess is a fascinating game.’ His eyes flicked her dress, and her dark hair that fell rain-straight almost to her slender waist. ‘A game in which knights storm castles and challenge queens should have a lot of appeal for someone like you, signorina.’

  ‘You make me sound very young,’ she protested, ‘as though I still believe in goblins and Galahads.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ He quirked a dark eyebrow, then turned aside from her and flicked a hidden switch. Immediately a portrait glowed into vivid life against the dark wall-panelling. A large portrait whose enamel-like tones depicted a girl dressed in an embroidered blouse, flounced skirt and lace-edged apron. Her dark hair was crowned by a headdress of tiny leaves and flowers.

  The room was strangely silent, and then Maxim turned to look for a searching moment at Lauri. ‘Travilla,’ he murmured. ‘As she appeared in her favourite role—Giselle.’

  Lauri couldn’t take her eyes from the portrait ... it was as though she had always known the girl.

  The artist had not flattered or detracted, he had portrayed with warmth the youthful grace of spirit and body which had been Travilla’s. Her eyes were softly alight, her lips half-parted in a smile were sensitive yet gay; her neck was very slim and vulnerable to have been bowed so frequently under the mighty sword of acclaim ... which can fall more swiftly on the great than on anyone else.

  Unconsciously Lauri’s hand was near her heart, as though to still its beating. ‘Her eyes speak out of the portrait,’ she whispered. ‘One can almost hear the rustling of her dress ... as though at any moment she will step down out of the frame and dance for us.’

  ‘I always think of the portrait as enchanted,’ he agreed, and feeling his gaze Lauri turned to look at him. She was shy of being alone with him in his tower; aware of a subtle charm in the atmosphere—an undercurrent of danger.

  She felt him reading her thoughts, and lowered her gaze with the delicacy of a little cat. The undergold of her eyes gleamed through her dark lashes.

  ‘When we have had supper,’ he indicated a side-table on which stood silver-domed dishes, a bottle of wine cradled in a basket, and a bowl of fruit, I will show you some small possessions of Travilla’s which I think you will find rather charming.’

  ‘I shall look forward to that.’ She smiled a little at her own demure reply, her fingers finding the edge of a book under a crimson cushion of the tapestried sofa. When she knew that Maxim had gone to the side-table and had his back to her as he carved chicken, she withdrew a slim volume and let it fall open where a silk marker lay between pages of verse. They were by Yeats, and one of them had been lightly underscored, as if of special significance to the owner of the book.

  Lauri scanned the lines, and they lingered in her mind after she had returned the little book to its hiding place behind the cushions.

  I have spread my dreams under your feet,

  Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

  They charmed and intrigued Lauri, a slim-young figure in Dante-like velvet. Under whose feet had Maxim spread his dreams—the swift, stabbing feet of Lydia Andreya?

  He made a domestic clatter at the table behind her, a man whose power and passion were revealed by his approach to his work. He would love a woman with great intensity, Lauri felt. He would be like Falcone di Corte who had never looked at another woman but Travilla.

  But how unlike the fairy-like Travilla was the worldly Andreya!

  ‘Will you take artichokes, Miss Garner?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Lauri half turned and saw his profile etched falcon-like in the lamplight. Andreya would not be pleased when she heard about this supper a deux.

  ‘You are sitting there very quiet.’ He came and set a small table in front of the sofa where she sat.

  ‘I am quiet when I’m pleased with my surroundings,’ she smiled. ‘Like a cat, I suppose.’

  He quizzed her face with his keen dark eyes, and she saw a little smile in them, as if it pleased him that she liked his retreat, with its rich but sombre colours, its air of quiet seclusion.

  ‘If I had a tower like this, signor,’ she said impulsively, ‘I should never want to leave it.’

  ‘It might then become a prison instead of a quiet haven.’ He went to the sideboard, and returned with a bowl of salad and white meat on a silver plate. ‘One needs contact with the world in order to appreciate more fully the, joys of retreat.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She watched him arranging the food on the sofa table, and it shook her a little that this was actually her stern, dark master who munched an olive and told her to help herself to the fare while he poured the wine. Colour stole into her cheeks as she realized that she had sat here and let him wait on her. ‘You must think me a lazy cat,’ she said in confusion.

  ‘I think you are young and rather shy.’ The cork of the wine bottle popped and he filled a pair of wine glasses on twisted stems. This wine is known as Rain-gold. Do you like wine, signorina?’

  ‘Mmmm, this is delicious.’ Then catching his smile, she added out of bravado: ‘I’ve had wine before, you know.’

  ‘Of course.’ He sat down beside her and helped himself to artichokes. ‘I forgot that young Lonza has taken part of your education in hand. You must try some of this sauce with your salad.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She accepted a little of the spicy Italian sauce, and through her lashes watched him deflowering the fawn-shot artichokes on his plate. He devoured the hearts with appetite, and broke amber-crusted bread in lean hands that were made to handle a rapier ... or subdue a woman.

  .Beware! She ducked her head to her plate as he applied his table napkin to his lips and quizzed her profile over the rim of his wine goblet. ‘Old wine must be enjoyed slowly,’ he said. ‘Do you like these goblets, signorina? They have been in my family for hundreds of years, and it is a thought to marvel at that we touch our lips to rims that have known the lips of men and women of the past. Does the idea intrigue you, Miss Garner? Or do you find it a little sad that old wine glasses should outlast the people who pledged their devotion over these silver rims?’

  She fingered the twisted stem of her wine glass, and a terrible wonderment gripped her. To think that such fragility had outlasted the strength and arrogance of the Falcone di Cortes from whom the man beside her had sprung! She met the Titian directness of his eyes, dropped her glance to the shoulders that had a firm strength under stone
-grey suiting. For the first time he seemed very human to her; a man who was as much at the mercy of life as she was..

  ‘Have I frightened you?’ He touched a finger to her chin and made her look at him. ‘I forget that I am older and more resigned to the facts of life; that for each caress of the sun we must take three lashes of the whip.’

  ‘ “Life is a loom, weaving illusion”,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve accepted that, so I can’t be such a child, signor.’

  He smiled and she saw the lines of character in his face, and was very aware for a moment of the charm of an amused male. ‘Eat your chicken, pepita, then we will break the wishbone together.’ He indicated the small triangular bone on the edge of the silver plate. ‘Are those of the Land of Angels as superstitious as Venetians?’

  ‘Country people are.’ She broke into her throaty chuckle. ‘Do you truly think Britain a land of angels?’

  ‘Let us say devil-angels,’ he smiled. ‘The British people and the Venetians are both mercantile and artistic; alike in their pride and history. I also believe that the British are far more volatile in their emotions than they appear on the surface. Their air of coolness is a cloak for shyness—what, after all, is more impenetrable than shyness?’

  A pair of dark eyes in a lean, Venetian face, she thought swiftly. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever heard a London taxi-driver serenading his customer,’ she chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny to hear a romantic ballad issuing from the cabin of a taxi-cab?’

  ‘I allow that our Venetian atmosphere is more conducive to romance.’ He sat back against the tapestry of the sofa and the light of a nearby lamp played over the lower part of his face, leaving his eyes to glitter a little, as through a mask.

  ‘Have you yet been serenaded in a gondola, Miss Garner?’