Tender Is The Tyrant

by Violet Winspear

  ‘You look alarmed,’ he murmured. ‘Are you afraid that I am going to carry out my threat of this morning?’

  She heard the quick catch of her own breath, and then his hand was at the base of her neck, curving round it in lean strength. She struggled and tried to turn her face away as his lips drew near to hers. She had never been so afraid in her life, and she went rigid as she felt his breath stir warmly against her cheek.

  ‘Don’t use me as a means of working off your temper,’ she gasped.

  ‘What do you mean?’ He forced her to look at him, and she saw the flicker of dark fire in his eyes and felt his fingers in her hair.

  ‘Y-you’ve been in a nasty mood since before lunch,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Because of what Venetia said to you—’

  ‘And what did Venetia say?’ His voice was low and silken.

  ‘You know very well.’ Lauri’s voice was low and shaken.

  His arms tightened about her, and she knew that her heart was beating its wildness against his. ‘Please—stop devilling me,’ she implored.

  For a long moment his eyes looked dangerous, and she prayed that he would spare her his kiss of mockery, of curiosity, and punishment. ‘Is that how you think of me, as a devil?’ he asked whimsically.

  ‘Yes—at the moment.’ She was beyond choosing her words; all she wanted was to be free of his arms.

  ‘Does that mean that you regret coming to Venice to dance for me?’

  ‘Would you allow me to return to England?’ she fenced.

  ‘No, I don’t start something and leave it unfinished,’ and then with a taunting little laugh he brushed her cheek with his lips and put her away from him. ‘I promised to show you the cave of Aphrodite—unless you feel that I am too much of a devil to be alone with in there.’

  ‘Is that the cave?’ She ran ahead of him towards some strangely shaped rocks at the entrance of a hollow in the cliffs. The rocks were dark, like petrified dragons put there to guard the pagan secrets of the cave; she scrambled past brambles and wild myrtle until she stood within the mouth of the cave.

  She took off her sunglasses and when the brambles rustled behind her, took a step forward into the large chamber of rock. ‘Magic was born in old caves.’ Maxim stood gazing around him. ‘In such places the old sibyls told fortunes and sold love potions to young girls.’

  ‘Do you believe in magic, signor?’ The light that filtered in was sea-green, and Lauri felt a draught blowing against her cheek like a cobweb. It cooled the hollow under her cheekbone, where his brief kiss lingered.

  ‘I believe that people’s lives are shaped by deep, mysterious currents,’ he replied. ‘But perhaps by magic you mean nymphs and little green men who cast spells and lead people into mischief?’

  ‘I should imagine they do exist,’ she said with a laugh, ‘judging from the things we do get led into, quite against our better judgment.’

  ‘You consider that it was against your better judgment to come to Venice with my company?’ He faced her, lounging against a waist-high boulder at the centre of the cave which had the look of a pagan altar of sacrifice.

  ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘I have left Aunt Pat all on her own—yes, I know she’s ambitious for me, but I’ve never been all that ambitious for myself.’

  ‘You feel that you are sacrificing yourself to the ambitions of other people?’ He touched the altar-like boulder significantly. ‘But don’t you realize that a person with a talent must share it? That it is not a personal property but a public one?’

  ‘Yes, I realize that,’ she gave a sigh, ‘but surely you are talking about the kind of talent which Andreya has? Which your own grandmother had?’

  ‘And which you have,’ he said quietly, deliberately, yet in a voice that disturbed the shadows all around them. ‘I thought it intriguing when I first saw your likeness to Travilla, The wide, winged eyebrows, the luminous eyes, the intangible quality of a being from another world lost in this one. You danced like an amateur that first time, but I knew I could remedy that.’

  ‘How egotistical you are,’ she broke in. ‘It is always what you want—’

  ‘Yes, when it comes to the dance,’ he admitted. ‘I have decided that I want you to partner Lonza in Giselle, perhaps when we go to London and you are more used to being on a stage.’

  ‘But Andreya would never agree to sharing the role,’ Lauri gasped.

  ‘I am afraid she will have to.’ His eyes held Lauri’s, darkly brilliant in the gloom of the cave. ‘Giselle is a poignant and lovely role. It demands a compassionate heart, the innocence that makes her betrayal believable. Andreya is a dancer of many unique gifts, but she brings to the role of Giselle the hysteria of her own selfish unhappiness.’

  ‘Signor,’ the word broke from Lauri, ‘how can you say such a thing when you feel as you do—’

  ‘How do I feel—like a lover?’ His words struck with mocking resonance against the walls of the cave. ‘Good heavens, have we really given the impression that she has my heart, and I have hers?’

  He was laughing, making echoes that mocked, and there was such a look of recklessness about him that Lauri backed away involuntarily from his hard, lean figure, and his laughter.

  ‘The woman I love is on this island.’ He spoke with a rampant frankness, and suddenly be began to pace the cave like a panther on a leash. His white shirt took on green shadows, and his eyes glinted. ‘I have loved her, it seems, for ever, but I must wait, be a little more patient, for something stands between us and she is not yet ready to love me.’

  Love me ... love me ... the echoes of his words died away and all that remained was the knowledge that he spoke about Venetia. She was the woman he loved on this island set in opal water; this remote and pagan place that opened the heart and made it reveal its secrets.

  Lauri looked about her with a cold little shiver, and wanted to be gone from this place. ‘I understand,’ she said, and it was the simple truth. She could understand his love for Venetia, but she had always thought it strange that he could care for Andreya.

  ‘Come, it is cold in here after the warmth of the sun.’ He took her arm in light fingers and as they emerged from the cave, it seemed to her that the mist on the horizon had crept a little nearer to the island.

  ‘Are we leaving soon?’ she asked.

  ‘Zena will expect us to stay for dinner. Why,’ he followed her gaze to the sea, £are you afraid that the sea mist is creeping in to encircle us?’

  ‘It does appear to be thickening,’ she said. ‘Surely it would cut this island off from the mainland?’

  ‘From all civilization for several hours,’ he said dryly. ‘I have been here before when the mist has developed into a fog—but the beds at the villa are comfortable.’‘

  ‘You mean we would have to remain here overnight?’ Lauri’s heart gave a flutter of dismay.

  ‘It would be the wise thing to do,’ he agreed.

  ‘But surely it would be even wiser to leave before the mist develops?’ Lauri tried to sound matter-of-fact. ‘I am sure the Contessa would understand—‘

  ‘I don’t wish to leave just yet.’ His eyes held a wayward glint as they met Lauri’s. It is an exciting experience to be cut off from the world, almost like being lost in the Clouds.’

  And of course, Lauri added to herself as they walked to the edge of the sea, he would be near Venetia a few more hours. Green ripples touched the margin of the black sands, and not so far out the drifting mist made lace that could grow into a web that would hold them trapped.

  ‘I suppose I must bow to the inevitable,’ she said. ‘I know by now that you don’t yield once you have made up your mind.’

  ‘You make me sound very self-willed,’ he mocked.

  All men are that, you more than most,’ she rejoined. ‘Just listen to the voice of experience!’

  He laughed above her head. ‘Like most females, Miss Garner, you are swayed by your emotions like the tide by the moon and cannot understand the logic which governs a man�
��s actions.’

  ‘It is hardly logical to think I am ready to dance the role of Giselle,’ she argued. ‘Andreya has had years of experience—and besides, she would never let another dancer have the role.’

  ‘I am the Director of the di Corte Company,’ now he spoke curtly. ‘My dancers will do as I say.’

  ‘But I couldn’t—you and Michael are out of your minds to suggest it.’

  ‘So Lonza has talked of wanting you for his partner?’

  Her glance flashed upwards to meet Maxim’s. ‘You must have heard him say so, signor, when you passed us on the stairs yesterday.’

  ‘Ah, so that was what he meant?’ A black lock of Maxim’s hair was teased by the sea breeze, ‘I must say I wondered.’

  ‘What else would he mean?’ She looked at Maxim uncomprehendingly.

  ‘If you don’t know, my child, then it is proof indeed that innocence is its own defence.’ His smile was the rare and brilliant one that had the power to disarm his enemies and enslave his dancers. As she looked at him her hair blew free like a swallowtail, and she wondered how long he had loved Venetia, and whether so proud and tempestuous a man could ever be content with half a woman’s heart.

  ‘You don’t always like me, do you?’ He smiled as if it didn’t really worry him. ‘Being older than you, signorina, I know that people never really come to terms with each other until they have dug below the surface of each other and caused a pain or two. It must hurt, the learning of another person. The faults, have to be understood as well as the virtues admired, the talents applauded, and the physical attributes found attractive.

  ‘That is life,’ he added quietly. ‘Life, as Victor Hugo wrote so wisely, is the flower of which love is the honey.’

  She absorbed the quotation, along with the tang of the sea and the evasive scent of wild myrtle. Had she ever really believed that Maxim di Corte had a cold heart? Well, she had learned today on this Venetian island that she had been wrong.

  They were making their way up the terrace steps when Lauri noticed that the strands of sea mist had formed into a mesh that obscured the sun. Threads of flame shot through the mesh, and as Lauri caught her breath at the sight, she stumbled on a step and fell flat before she could save herself. In an instant Maxim had lifted her to her feet. ‘Have you hurt an ankle?’ he demanded, when she winced.

  ‘No, but just look at my stocking—and my skirt!’

  The violet material had ripped about two inches, and her knee was grazed.

  ‘You should be more careful,’ Maxim said, an arm around her waist as she limped into the villa. ‘You could so easily have wrenched an ankle.’

  ‘Blow my ankles,’ she retorted, ‘it’s my skirt I’m worried about. Just look at that tear!’

  ‘What has happened?’ Venetia rose from a deep window-seat of the salottino and came over to them.

  ‘The child was not looking where she was going,’ Maxim told her.

  ‘I’m not a child,’ Lauri muttered, dabbing at her grazed knee.

  ‘That knee must be bathed,’ Venetia said gently. ‘Come, we will go up to my room and do what is necessary. Maxim, perhaps you will ring for some tea. Zena is probably awake by now, and she likes her afternoon cup of tea.’

  ‘Certainly, my dear,’ he said, and frowned at Lauri. ‘I am sure Venetia can lend you a dress, for we are dining here, mist or no mist.’

  ‘Max, don’t be such a bully,’ Venetia chided him. ‘Do you want to make Laurina cry?’

  ‘I am sure it would take more than my bullying to make Laurina cry.’ He bore down deliberately on the Italianized name, and Lauri gave him a look meant to scorch but which left him looking cool. He bowed herself and Venetia from the room.

  After seeing to Lauri’s knee and applying a small plaster to the graze, Venetia took her along to the Italian Room, which she and her husband had shared whenever they stayed together at the villa. Some of her dresses from those lost and happy times were still hanging in the wardrobe, she added, and it was with an effort, Lauri saw, that she forced herself to turn the handle and push open the door of the big double room.

  It was tapestried, with a baroque carved four-poster bed, massive closets, embroidered chairs, and big windows overlooking the sea. Venetia stood looking about her, sadness etching her face and shadowing her deep blue eyes. ‘The remembrance of happiness is more painful than the recollection of torment,’ she said. ‘I look in those mirrors and see Stefano’s face, not my own. I touch this bedside clock and time has no more meaning for me, for it cannot bring him back in an hour, in two hours. It ticks away my empty life.’

  ‘Venetia,’ Lauri touched her arm with gentle fingers, ‘I am sure that one day your life will be full again, happy again.’

  ‘There is no happiness like that which comes from being loved and needed,’ Venetia said, and as she reached forward to open the doors of a wardrobe her tapering hands seemed to be reaching for what was gone. A mixture of materials shimmered within the wardrobe, and after a moment Venetia drew out a simply styled dress of luscious green-gold material. ‘I am sure this will fit you.’ She held it up against Lauri. ‘Yes, we are of a similar build.’

  ‘It’s very lovely.’ Lauri fingered the brocade, and then added from her impulsive heart: ‘I am sure you are needed, Venetia, and loved.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Venetia shrugged and laid the green-gold dress across the foot of the baroque bed. ‘I will leave the dress here for you to change into later. You will not mind using this room? It has its ghosts, but they are young and very much in love, and they cannot hurt anyone but me.’

  Lauri’s throat tightened with compassion, then she followed Venetia from the Italian Room. She would not be afraid to return to it, she told herself.

  Later, as she stood in the brocade dress before the dressing-table mirror and fixed her hair in a braid about her head, she remembered Venetia’s words and her own childish sense of irrevocable loss years ago. Aunt Pat had taken her into warm arms and had not needed words to convey what had happened to her adored parents—they were gone and all she had left was the memory of their gaiety, their beauty, their love for her.

  She loved Aunt Pat deeply and warmly, but there had often been nights when she had wept for the special smile that had been her mother’s, and the hard hug and smoky kiss that had been her father’s.

  It might be years before Venetia was ready to love again, and able to let her little son be reborn out of the new love.

  Lauri drew a sigh, and went to look out of the windows of the Italian Room. Her sigh turned to a gasp of dismay—with the falling of darkness a thick curtain of mist had drawn round the island, isolating it from the rest of the world.

  She could hear phantom bells drifting over the water—the bells of Venice guiding the ships into harbour. The quickening beat of her heart told her that the Villa Nora had become a ‘castle of no return’.

  She listened to the bells and the beat of her heart, and suddenly the shadows beyond the dressing-table lamps had drawn closer to her and the room felt haunted. She turned, snatched up her long skirts and fled from the room and along the corridor to the stairs. There was an archway just before she reached them, and a sound of voices brought her up short, and she stood like a girl in a medieval frame, the brocade dress shimmering green-gold about her slight figure.

  Then Venetia spoke, and there wasn’t time for Lauri to advance or retreat. She heard the young widow say clearly: ‘I know your feelings, Maxim. I have loved too deeply myself not to sense an equally deep emotion in someone else.’

  ‘I thought you might guess how things stood with me, cara.’ His voice was that of a man very much moved. ‘I shall wait, and hope that soon my love will be returned as I need it. I cannot accept mere affection, or any of the lesser forms of love. You understand that, Venetia?’

  ‘Utterly,’ she replied. ‘For you, Max, all or nothing.’ Lauri trembled. Her heart beat fast, for it was as though she had pressed the spring of a secret drawer and found within somethi
ng she had not wanted to face. She moved, and Maxim must have heard the rustle of her dress. He swung to face her, and his eyes were shadowed by his black brows.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ He studied her in the lovely borrowed dress, and added with a brief smile: ‘I have never seen you look so grown up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and walked quietly down the stairs between him and Venetia.

  Candles were alight in the Venetian chandeliers of the salotto. A fire had been lit, and the long curtains were drawn against the mist and the phantom bells. The scene was cosy and warm, but Lauri’s heart felt strangely chilled.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A WEEK had gone by since Lauri had stayed for a mist-bound night at the Villa Nora. Rehearsals for the new ballet season had begun in earnest, and Maxim had announced that Lauri was understudying Andreya in the role of Giselle.

  Lauri still shivered when she remembered Andreya’s face. A buzz went round among the other dancers and significant glances were exchanged. ‘Watch out,’ Lauri was warned. ‘Andreya brooks no rivals for a role.

  ‘I don’t want the role,’ Lauri said. ‘The very thought of it frightens the wits out of me.’

  This was true. She was sure she would run away if Maxim gave in to his impulse to see her in the ballet. It would be cruel of him. for he knew her secret fears as no one else in the company knew them, and he knew also that her youth and sensitivity, her likeness to Travilla, were not real substitutes for experience and technical brilliance.

  Maxim, she assured herself, would not run the risk of a failure just for the sake of a whim.

  She said as much to Michael as they stood on the Bridge of Sighs watching the sun sink into the Grand Canal. He fired a cigarette, dropped the match into the darkening water, and puffed a plume of smoke. ‘What if Andreya breaks a leg?’ he chuckled. ‘You mystify me, Lauri. Love of the dance consumes the rest of us, but what is it that you love?’