The chiming of a clock in the distance made her aware of the lateness of the hour, and she undressed and climbed into bed. In another month the heat of the city would be stifling, and she hoped she had the stamina to see the season through. It would be her first one here and she did not want to let down the Signora. Heaven knew where she would find another job as interesting as this one. It was not simply that she loved the beauty of Venice or enjoyed working in the shop, but that she was being allowed to design her own jewellery and given the opportunity to study the works of some of the brilliant craftsmen whom the Signora employed. Erica's fortnightly visit to the Botelli workshop on the outskirts of the city was the highlight of her existence, though she knew that the peak would be achieved when the necklace she was now working on was displayed for sale in the window. Yet how laborious her design was when compared with the superb workmanship of the Rosetti Rose. It had been singularly stupid of her not to have recognized its value when she had first seen it
She sighed and hoped that the Conte's dislike of publicity would allow him to let the thief go unprosecuted. Such a pretty creature would not have resorted to stealing unless she was in great trouble.
CHAPTER TWO
Erica overslept next morning, and because she did not like being late she rushed from her apartment without breakfast
The day was sunny and had brought out slowly ambling Americans and groups of black-haired Japanese men all busy clicking their cameras. Because of this it was difficult to make fast progress through the streets, and it was well after half past nine before she reached the shop and slid back the iron gate from the window.
Luckily there was no sign of her employer, and she wondered if the woman had gone directly to seek the Conte. Yet she could not have done so, for the brooch was still in the safe. She had noticed it when she had taken out some rings - the more valuable ones were placed there each night - to put back in the window.
Going into the small office, she took out the gold necklace she was in the middle of making. Simultaneously the bell above the door chimed and she swung back into the shop as a man walked in. Yet walk was an inadequate verb to describe the way he moved; he seemed to glide in, dwarfing the small interior with his height and diminishing the splendour around him with his incredibly handsome face. He was, without doubt, the most striking-looking man she had ever seen. His olive skin and satin-black hair proclaimed him a Mediterranean, though he had the narrow features of a Spaniard: longish nose, thin but well defined mouth and heavy-lidded, sloe-shaped dark eyes. But when he spoke his Italian was faultless, as was the navy silk suit he wore, its impeccable cut drawing attention to his wide shoulders and lean hips. His manner was as crisp as his linen and equally starchy.
'Signora Botelli?'
'She has not yet arrived. I am her assistant. May I help you—'
He ignored the offer. "What time will she be here?'
'I am expecting her at any moment May I help you?' Erica said again.
His lower lip jutted forward as if he were thinking. 'You work here the whole time?' he asked suddenly,
'Yes.'
'You were here yesterday?'
'I am here every day.'
'I am concerned with yesterday afternoon. Were you here then?'
Erica nodded. 'Signora Botelli was out most of the afternoon, but I was here the whole time.'
She glanced at him and saw he was frowning. Could his wife have bought something here that he did not like or which he found too expensive? Somehow she did not think expense would matter to him, though she had no doubt that he had strong likes and dislikes.
'If you have come about a piece of jewellery…' she murmured.
'Indeed I have. A gold brooch with a pink diamond in the centre.' Correctly reading Erica's astonished expression, his own became more aloof. 'You appear to know the brooch I mean?'
'I do. A young girl brought it in yesterday. She wanted to sell it'
'And you offered her half a million lire for it?'
'Oh no,' Erica corrected, and looked over the man's shoulder at the door, hoping that her employer would not be long in coming through it. Was this man the girl's accomplice come to demand either payment for the brooch or its return? Yet she dared not give it back to him in case he disappeared with it; nor would she give him the money. She moistened her lips and tried not to show her nervousness.
'I was under the impression that you offered to pay half a million lire,' he repeated, his voice menacing.
'I most certainly didn't,' Erica said firmly. The girl said she would be willing to take that amount, but I told her I couldn't buy it without my employer's approval.'
'But you kept the brooch, didn't you? You made sure of that!'
'The girl insisted on leaving it here. I didn't ask her to do so.'
'Then you will kindly give it back to me.'
Erica drew a deep breath. 'I'm afraid I can't.'
His eyes glittered. 'You mean you haven't got it?'
'Of course I've got it - it's in the safe - but I can't give it to you.'
'We'll see about that!' His voice was harsh. 'Were it not for the scandal, I would report you immediately to the police!'
'I haven't done anything wrong, signore,' she cried, and was annoyed to feel her face flame with colour. That he had noticed it she could tell from the angry gleam in his eyes as he came a step closer.
'You hardly look the picture of innocence,' he said crisply. 'You've flamed up like a peony.'
'Because I find you extremely intimidating.'
'Then give me the brooch and I will go.'
'You will have to wait for Signora Botelli. I expected her at half past nine, but - but I think she must have gone to an appointment first.'
'I have no intention of waiting for the Signora's return.' The man made an effort to control his temper. 'Will you please be kind enough to return my brooch to me and count yourself lucky that I will take the matter no further.'
'Your brooch?' she gasped.
'Mine,' he repeated. 'Give it to me at once.'
Erica moistened her lips. 'Are you… Do you mean you are…'
'The Conte Filippo Rosetti.' There was no expression in his voice. The brooch you considered yourself so lucky to obtain is my property. If you doubt my credentials—' With a flourish he withdrew his wallet and flicked it open to show her his driving licence.
'Please,' she protested. There's no need to give me proof.
I believe you.'
'Then let me have the brooch and be done with it. I have wasted enough time here already.'
This was more than plain speaking; it was downright uncivil, and Erica's temper, normally slow to rise, began to do so. 'I have already told you that I can't give you the brooch until my employer arrives. I'm sure she'll be here soon.'
His brows drew together, forming a thick black line above his eyes. 'It is a pity you didn't show as much care in taking the brooch as you do in returning it. Or do you frequently buy stolen property? I believe it can often be obtained at an advantageous price.'
'You have no right to say a thing like that!'
'I have every right. You take possession of an extremely valuable heirloom - offer a pittance for it knowing full well it is not legitimately on the market - and then you have the audacity to question my right to have it returned to me!'
'I'm not questioning your right,' she said passionately. 'I'm merely telling you that I must wait until my employer gets here. I would also like to inform you that I had no idea it was an heirloom nor that it was so valuable.'
'Don't you know anything about jewellery?'
'Of course I do.'
Then how can you say you didn't know its worth?'
Irritated at being disbelieved, she snapped: 'One doesn't usually get the chance of seeing such a piece; and the Rosetti Rose isn't so well known that I'd be likely to recognize it I'm an ordinary jeweller, signore, not a dealer in antiquities!'
'Even an ordinary jeweller,' he said scathingly, 'would know
the value of a pink diamond.'
'Well, I didn't'
'Then you should be selling bonbons, signorina!'
His rudeness took her breath away, which was a good thing, for she might have said something she would afterwards have regretted. Before she could find her breath again, Signora Botelli walked in.
With a swiftness that put Erica to shame she immediately recognized the man. 'Conte Rosetti,' she said graciously. 'Only a few moments ago I was speaking to your secretary. He said you were out and I left my name. I did not expect you to get here so quickly.'
'I received no message from you, signora.' The man's temper was replaced by icy calm. 'I learned the whereabouts of my brooch late last night - unfortunately too late for me to contact you - which is why I came here first thing this morning. If you would be kind enough to return it to me, I will consider the matter closed.'
The Signora looked nonplussed, as well she might, for there was nothing in the Conte's manner to show he was pleased to have his brooch back. Rather he conveyed the impression that in accepting it without recourse to the police, he was doing them a favour.
'The Conte believes we knew the brooch had been stolen and that we offered to buy it for half a million lire,' Erica explained to her employer. 'I hope you can disabuse him of that idea. I'm afraid I haven't been able to do so.'
Every inch of the Signora's massive frame quivered with indignation and she looked like a jelly on the boil. 'If I wish to buy your brooch, Conte Rosetti, I would not have telephoned your home last night nor again this morning.'
'Then why did you accept the brooch in the first place?' .
'I was the one who accepted it,' Erica intervened angrily. 'And I have already told you I did not recognize it.'
'My assistant is speaking the truth,' Signora Botelli confirmed. 'A young girl brought it in and insisted on leaving it here. She was willing to sell it for half a million lire, but my assistant has no authority to buy any jewellery and she asked the girl to return this morning.'
'Which she was supposed to do at ten o'clock,' Erica spoke again.
'I am here in her place.' The man ignored Erica and looked at the Signora. 'Please let me have it and the matter can be forgotten.'
'Of course you can have the brooch.' The Signora went to the safe. 'But I must insist that you apologize to us. My reputation does not warrant your attack on it.'
There was silence in the little shop and Erica held her breath. From the paleness of the Conte's face she could tell he was not normally given to apologizing; either because he believed he was never wrong or because even if he were, no one had yet had the temerity to tell him so. Yet here was the plump Signora not only telling him he had made a mistake but demanding an apology for it!
'You are quite correct, signora. I had no right to jump to such a conclusion. Please forgive me.'
Erica heard the apology with astonishment. Was this the Conte's voice, this gentle, almost kindly tone that bore no relation to the frigid one of a moment ago?
'My only excuse,' he went on, 'is that personal matters have made it hard for me to maintain my usual calm and logic. Had I not been distressed, I would have known better than to impugn a reputation which - as you well know - is recognized to be the highest in the city. Again I beg you to forgive me.'
He paused and Erica waited, not sure if he was going to suggest buying something expensive as a further sop to Signora Botelli's anger. But he was far too intelligent to be so obvious. Instead he bestowed a smile of singular sweetness on them both, making Erica realize once more that she was standing in front of the most handsome man she had ever seen. If the Conte epitomized Italian masculinity - and coming from such lineage he probably did - small wonder that the marble men hewn by Michelangelo should be such magnificent specimens of virile strength and beauty. The last word caught at her imagination, for it was rare that one could apply it to a man. Yet it fitted this one. Beauty without a hint of feminity; virility and assurance so well tempered that, like the finest steel, its strength could only be guessed at.
The Signora took the Rosetti Rose from the safe, but as she went to place it in a box the Conte reached out and put it unceremoniously into his pocket.
'Be careful,' Erica said before she could stop herself.
He looked at her. With anger no longer darkening his eyes, she saw they were not black as she had supposed, but dark brown and fringed by incredibly thick lashes.
'The brooch has had far worse treatment than being placed unwrapped in a pocket, signorina.'
His smile revealed perfect white teeth, and crossly she wondered if there was anything to fault about this man or if everything about him was perfect. At least she could object to his manner without feeling she was deliberately looking for a flaw. Not even his apology - charming though it was - could make her forget the quick way he had assumed she had tried to buy the brooch knowing it was stolen: that she had actually used this knowledge to try and obtain it at a ridiculously low price.
'You look as if you do not believe me?' The Conte spoke again and she knew he had misread her expression, assuming it to be doubt of his last remark rather than dislike of his behaviour. 'I can assure you this brooch has received much harsh treatment. The Contessa for whom it was made was famous for her rages. Many times she took off the brooch and flung it at the cause of her bad temper. The first time it hit the face of the cardinal who had had it made for her - and drew his blood - and the next was when she flung it at the girl who had seduced her husband.'
'It's usually the man who seduces,' Erica said shortly, determined not to be humoured so easily.
'That is a fallacy encouraged by women! When a man strays, it is generally because a woman entices him.'
'We must agree to differ on that point,' she retorted, and went into the tiny office. Behind her she heard the man speak to the Signora, though his voice was too low for her to make out what he said. It was several moments before the door of the shop closed, and when it did the Signora immediately came into the office.
'Aye! What a piece of luck that the brooch was stolen!'
'I don't see how.'
'It brought him to the shop, didn't it? Now he has seen for himself the jewellery that we make.'
'With pieces like the Rosetti Rose,' Erica said crisply, 'I can't see him collecting modem stuff.'
'He doesn't collect it,' the Signora smiled. 'He gives it away.'
'To whom?'
'His current mistress.' The fat shoulders lifted. 'Madame Medina at the moment. I thought you knew.'
Erica's smile was rueful. 'There's a great deal going on that I don't know. I suppose I'm more interested in Venice's painted frescoes than its painted women!'
The Signora chuckled. 'Painted women! What an old- fashioned expression. It is not only your father who is living in ancient times.'
Erica grinned. Her father was Professor of Archaeology at a university in England and she was well aware that a great deal of her attitude bore resemblance to his own.
'Does the Conte have many affairs?' she asked carefully.
'Not more than most men in his position.'
'What does his position have to do with it?'
'My dear child, that old-fashioned you cannot be! When a man is as good-looking and rich as he is, he has to fight the women away. It would require the disposition of a monk to remain immune to the flattery he receives.'
'He got none from me,' Erica said coldly.
'So I noticed.' The beady black eyes were appraising. 'You made no effort to hide your dislike. Yet he was very charming to you.'
'Only when he was apologizing. You should have heard how rude he was before you came in.'
'He is a worried man. He told me he has a great problem with his niece.' The Signora lowered her voice as though afraid that even in the empty shop someone might hear her and tell the Conte she was speaking of his private life. 'The girl is in love with someone totally unsuitable and has threatened to run away with him.'
'Are you talkin
g of the girl who brought the brooch in?'
'Yes. Apparently the Conte allows her to wear some small pieces from his collection. It was a great shock to him to discover she was prepared to sell one of them. Not merely because she could do so with something that did not belong to her, but because the piece itself is an heirloom.'
This at least was an attitude Erica could understand, and it partially lessened her dislike of the man. 'How did he find out about it?' she asked. He said he knew before you had called him.'
'He came home last night - earlier than expected - and brought a couple of business colleagues with him. He asked his niece to dine with him and to wear the Rose. When she didn't do so, he—'
'You mean he told her what to wear?'
'Why shouldn't he?'
'I'd like a man telling me what to wear!' Erica snorted.
'You probably would.' The Signora deliberately misunderstood Erica's meaning. 'Most women appreciate a masterful man.' Long distant memories of long-distant passions warmed the plump face. 'Especially if the man combines mastery with tenderness.'
'I'm sure the Conte is brimming over with tenderness!'
'You don't think so?' The little eyes were sharp. 'You have a lot to learn, my child.'
'But not from him!' Erica picked up the gold necklace and continued to work on it 'I'm surprised he told you his niece had taken the brooch. I thought he'd do anything to keep his family name untarnished.'
'He knows that what he has told me will go no further.'
'He is very trusting of a woman's discretion!'
'He knows that if the story of his niece's behaviour leaked out, it could only come from us.'
'Don't worry about my discretion,' Erica assured her. 'I've forgotten it already.'
'Good. If he wished, the Conte could do my business a great deal of harm.'
The woman went out, and Erica thought about the Conte Rosetti's niece. She could not help feeling sorry for the girl.
Affair in Venice Page 2
