'You've brought me the longest way round,' she accused.
'I thought it would give us a chance to cool off. When I quarrel with a woman I prefer it to be over something important.'
Uncertain how to answer this, she pretended to be absorbed in the scenery. No matter from what viewpoint one saw the city it was always beautiful, its uniqueness adding to its charm. Nowhere else was squalor and dirt so magnificently intermingled, nowhere else could one find ruins crumbling so gracefully.
'Occasionally I toy with the idea of living elsewhere,' the Conte said behind her, 'but no matter where I go, I am always glad to come back here.'
'I can understand that.'
'Yet you say you are going to leave?'
'That doesn't mean I want to go. Merely that all things come to an end. To be young and foreign in a country is difficult enough, but to be old and foreign is impossible.'
He flung her a look of astonishment. 'What is this talk of being old? You are still a child.'
'Children grow up,' she smiled. 'Anyway, I only came here to break out of the rut. I couldn't make it my permanent home.'
'Could you do so if you had a family here?'
She shrugged and turned back to look at the water gliding past them. Her entire body was quivering as if all her nerve ends were exposed. She knew it came from the strong impact this man was making on her and she tried to analyse it away. She was not unused to male companionship or admiration. Living in a university town where her home had been the focal point for many students, she had become accustomed to compliments. Yet here she was acting like an ingénue to the ones Conte Rosetti was making. But complimentary was not the right way to describe his manner of talking to her. He was too subtle; and it was this which disarmed her, making her see how vulnerable she was. The Conte was a man of the world, used to women of the world, a description which she knew she could never fulfil. A picture of Claudia Medina came into her mind and she wondered if the woman was truly his mistress or whether only gossip made her so. Yet according to Signora Botelli the Conte paid her jewellery bills, a gesture he would scarcely do for someone who was merely a friend. What a dangerous and disarming lover he would make, demanding total obedience yet - because he was too intelligent to be satisfied with a compliant female - wanting the woman to have a mind of her own. The thought was disturbing and she tried to depersonalize it, forcing herself to think only of man and woman, rather than of this particular couple.
Because of her upbringing Erica had never been able to envisage herself as someone's mistress. It seemed to be a degrading position that demanded more from the woman than the man. Yet most of the girls she knew did not agree with her. They believed that a woman's love-life could be as unrestricted as that of a man's. They saw no stigma in an unmarried sexual relationship, and the fact that she herself still did was a mark of her immaturity. Would she feel the same sense of repugnance about it if she fell significantly in love? She had been attracted to several men in the past three years, but for none of them had she experienced the feeling which would have made her consider the world well lost for love. If she ever did, then perhaps she too might behave like many of her girl friends.
'Come back to Venice, Miss Rayburn. Your thoughts are miles away!'
The Conte's voice broke into her reverie and she turned swiftly and apologized. They had reached a more familiar part of the city and were approaching a bridge which, if she crossed it, would bring her into the street where she lived.
He lessened speed and drew the motorboat into the side. With a lithe movement he jumped out and bent to help her. The step was slippery and he caught her round the waist and lifted her bodily from the launch. His hands were like steel around her and she knew it had required enormous strength to have lifted her up from such a position. Yet he gave no sign of exertion and looked as relaxed as ever as he jumped back into the cockpit
'Arrivederci,' he called, and turning the engine full throttle, roared away.
His quick departure left her unaccountably let down. But what else had she expected him to do? Stand there and mutter inanities? He had already given her far more of his time than she had anticipated. Besides, Claudia Medina was awaiting his return.
The knowledge was depressing and briskly she crossed the bridge and turned towards her apartment. She had spent a wonderful afternoon with interesting people in magnificent surroundings, and had concluded the expedition by being escorted almost to her front door by the city's most handsome, aristocratic member. What more could a twenty- three-year-old English girl with an ordinary background and no pretensions expect?
CHAPTER FIVE
As Erica had anticipated, she was required to give Signora Botelli a complete account of the afternoon she had spent at the Palazzo Rosetti. This included not only a description of the guests, but also the food and furnishings down to the last minute detail.
'It is said to be the best preserved palazzo in Venice,' the woman informed her.
'It's certainly the most opulent. There's a Titian in the salon which is worthy of a museum, and some Bernini drawings that must be absolutely priceless.'
'They are the only ones in private hands,' the Signora said.
'What does the Conte do?' Erica asked casually, as she dusted one of the glass-topped counters. 'I know he doesn't need to work, but I can't see him being idle.'
'He is never idle. He has an insurance company and a bank.'
Erica made a face. 'I'm not sure I approve of so much power. It's wrong for one family to have so much.'
'There is also the Rosetti Foundation. They give millions away to all kinds of charities.'
'Conscience money!' Erica retorted.
'I don't think the Conte has any guilt about his money. If he helps others, he does it from a sense of duty. Anyway,' the Signora smiled, 'you mustn't be derogatory about one of our clients.'
'He's never bought a thing here!'
'Signora Medina has! Which reminds me - she's coming in this morning. Is her pendant repaired?'
'I finished it on Friday.'
Erica was giving the pendant a final polish when the young widow came in. Although it was early morning she was elegantly dressed, her beige silk suit matching her beige crocodile bag and shoes.
'Of course I remember you now.' She greeted Erica with a smile. 'What a pity I didn't know you were coming to the Palazzo yesterday, or you could have brought the pendant with you.' She took it from Erica and put it on. 'I understand you saw Filippo's collection,' she went on. 'Did you like it?'
'It was magnificent. One doesn't often get the chance to look at such pieces so closely.'
'Filippo thought you would appreciate that best of all. That's why he invited you. He didn't know how else to repay you for the trouble Sophie caused.'
'Miss Charters caused no trouble,' Erica said quickly, surprised that Claudia Medina should know about it. Yet why shouldn't the Conte confide in her? After all, she was a close friend of the family as well as his.
Signora Botelli came out of the office and greeted her customer with friendly deference. 'We will be producing some new designs in about a month. If you are interested in anything particularly…'
'A bracelet and earrings to match my pendant.' Claudia Medina looked at herself in the full-length mirror that took up most of the end wall. She lifted her thick, glossy black hair to disclose two shell-like lobes. 'Something dangling, I think.'
'You will need to wear your hair drawn back,' the Signora advised.
'Of course. The Conte likes it that way.' Through the mirror Claudia Medina smiled at the woman. 'He is a man of definite tastes.'
'He knows his mind,' the Signora agreed.
Claudia Medina delicately lowered her eyes, though watching her, Erica felt that the modesty was false, assumed only to create the image she wished to project. For all her air of fragility, Claudia Medina had a will of iron. If she gave in to a man it was because it paid her to do so. Watching as she tried on several more pieces and postured in front
of the mirror, Erica marvelled that any man - particularly one like the Conte - could be taken in by such false gentleness. Surely he was intelligent enough to see the wilfulness in the full mouth, the hardness in the large eyes? But perhaps he did not care to see beyond the facade.
Excusing herself from the shop, Erica went to work at the jewellers' bench. But long after the lovely widow had left, her perfume lingered behind, souring the rest of the day. The jealousy Erica felt for the woman both astonished and frightened her, the more so because she knew it stemmed from the strange emotions which the Conte Rosetti was arousing in her.
Anxious to disprove them, she went out to dinner with Johnny Rogers, a young man from the American Express office who had been pursuing her for months.
He was delighted at her change of heart and set out to be as entertaining as possible. To begin with she found it hard to stop being self-conscious. She had the strange feeling that Filippo Rosetti was hiding behind every corner and that whenever she looked up she would find his dark eyes watching her. The notion was ludicrous, born out of her inability to forget him, and it was not until she had drunk half a bottle of Chianti that the image of him began to dull and she was able to look into her escort's blunt features without seeing narrow patrician ones.
'We must do this more often,' Johnny said as he took her home. 'How are you fixed for the week-end?'
She longed to say she was busy, but resolutely told him she was free, and before bidding him good night, agreed to see him on Saturday evening.
Alone again in her apartment she felt such a blessed relief that she could understand why she had been foolish enough to have gone out with Johnny in the first place, nor why she had promised to go out with him again. He was charming and intelligent, yet all the while she had kept comparing him with Filippo Rosetti. The knowledge filled her with dread. She hardly knew the Italian yet she could not stop thinking about him. How much of this stemmed from the awe with which Signora Botelli referred to him, she did not know; all she did know was that the man had mesmerized her.
Slowly the week passed. Johnny telephoned her twice at the shop and would have done so more frequently had she not told him, after his second call, that he was incurring Signora Botelli's wrath.
'Far be it for me to upset the dear old pouter pigeon,' he chuckled, and promised not to call again until Saturday.
His description of the Signora was so apt that she was smiling as she put down the receiver, and felt very guilty when her employer - seeing the smile on her face - said happily:
'I am so pleased you have found yourself a boy-friend. I do not think that having lunch with the Conte Rosetti did you much good. You have been pale and sad ever since.'
'Green with envy, perhaps,' Erica said quickly.
'You are not the jealous type; at least not over money or possessions.' The plump chin quivered. 'Over a man you might be different. But even then you are the type who would suffer in silence rather than fight for what you wanted.'
'My character isn't as milky as my colouring!'
'I do not mean you lack spirit,' the Signora hastened to assure her. 'But you have pride. And that will not allow you to fight for a man.'
'Then I'd better not fall for one with a roving eye!'
'One cannot fall in love to order.' The Signora glanced at the telephone. 'The American boy who calls - he has lost his heart to you?'
'We're just good friends,' Erica said flatly.
'In today's language that means lovers! When Signora Medina calls the Conte her friend, she is—'
The entry of two customers put an end to further conversation, and by the time they were alone again the Signora's mind was working on another tack.
But Erica could not forget what had been said, and later that evening as she sat in her room she tried to assess ' Claudia Medina's character from all she had gleaned from Signora Botelli. Married at seventeen to a wealthy Milanese industrialist, the woman had been widowed three years ago. Her family was a well-known Roman one with more pride than money, and though she did not appear to be short of money herself, it was rumoured that she had not been left as well off as she pretended.
The Conte would solve all her problems,' Signora Botelli had stated, 'both financially and emotionally! He is a real man, that one.'
How much of a man, Erica knew all too well. Her body tingled at the mere thought of him; his presence was like an aura around her, heightening her senses and disturbing her peace of mind.
To Combat it, she went out frequently with Johnny during the following week. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not see him as anything more than a friend.
As celebration of their fifth meeting he took her to the Danielli for dinner and went to great pains to make sure they had a table on the terrace. It gave them a panoramic view of Venice, though the diners around them - either American or English - made it hard to believe they were abroad. Had it not been for the menu and the waiters they could have been in any smart restaurant in any cosmopolitan city.
'I wish I'd been born in an era when travelling abroad was still a great adventure,' she commented.
'What a thing to say to me,' Johnny grinned. 'Don't you know I'm the king of the package tour? A couple of years from now and I'll have my own agency.'
'Do you want that sort of responsibility?'
'Sure. You can't make big money working for someone else.'
'And you consider big money important?'
'I like the nice life, honey, and you can't have that without bread. 'His grey eyes appraised her. 'Aren't you ambitious?'
'Not for money. I love designing jewellery, but I don't particularly want to own it.'
"Yet you make beautiful things for rich women. Don't you envy their ability to buy anything they want?'
'I never envy anyone their possessions.' She bit her lip, I'm making myself sound too good to be true!'
'You are too good,' he grinned. How about showing me some of your vices?'
'My only vice is that I'm a prude.'
He raised his brows. Is that a vice?'
'Most men seem to think so,' she smiled. 'I doubt if you'll be any different!'
'Ouch!' he said plaintively. That remark hurt. But probably because it fits me!'
She laughed at his honesty and liked him all the more for it, though not enough to change her mind when he tried to turn their goodnight kiss into a more lengthy one.
'I'm still going to try and seduce you,' he said, 'so be warned.'
That's as good as being forearmed,' she replied, and heard him laugh as she closed the door on him.
Sunday was the hottest day she had known since her arrival in Venice, and she regretted her refusal to go with Johnny to the Lido beach. It was too sultry to remain indoors, and at lunchtime she went to a local restaurant and treated herself to ravioli and scampi, then debated whether to go to the Lido for a swim. Knowing the interest her silvery-blonde colouring would arouse, she decided against it, and instead went for a stroll in the Piazza San Marco.
The shops were closed, but the cards were open, their tables packed with tourists and Venetians all enjoying the Sunday afternoon. Hundreds of pigeons weaved and circled overhead, swooping to the ground to be fed corn seeds and crumbs. Erica felt she must be the only person without anyone to share the day, and experienced such a pang of self-pity that she decided to overcome it by treating herself to an icecream.
After some effort she managed to find a vacant table, shaded from the sun by the arcade yet still giving her a good view of the square. A few yards away came music from another cafe: Franz Lehar waltzes that epitomized Venice as much as they did the Vienna where they had originated. A glass of water and a vanilla ice were set before her and she picked up a spoon and began to eat. In a pale yellow cotton dress that highlighted her softly tanned skin, she looked as cool as an ice herself. Because of the heat she had held her hair away from her face with a narrow circlet of gold, a gift from Signora Botelli. Unsoftened by her hair, her features were thr
own into relief: her eyes large and limpid and marked by delicately arched brows; her nose small and straight and her mouth looking soft and tremulous and the warm pink of a rose.
All around her people were talking to friends and family, and again self-pity threatened to engulf her. She forced herself to concentrate on the beautiful facade of the church. Her eyes moved over the statues that stood in marble and gilded splendour along its length, then came down to the entrance, where a flock of nuns hovered.
A young couple caught her attention, not so much because the girl was young and pretty but because the man looked like one of the Apostles He was tall and thin, with light brown hair, worn long and straight, and a full beard. Even as she watched he put his arm around the girl's waist and drew her away from the church. It was only then that Erica realized that the girl was the Conte Rosetti's niece. Startled, she stared at the bearded man again. From his colouring she did not think he was Italian, while from his strange appearance - apart from his long hair and beard he wore a long white shirt embroidered with blue and gold motifs - it was highly improbable that he was on the Rosetti visiting list.
She was still watching the couple when the girl turned in the direction of the Grand Canal. As she did so she stopped and glanced apprehensively at the man beside her. Then she caught his hand and began to walk swiftly towards the arcade.
It was only as she came abreast of Erica's table that she stopped, her smile so wide that it was difficult to believe this was the same unfriendly girl she had met at the palazzo a fortnight ago.
Hello, Miss Rayburn, how wonderful to see you!'
Affair in Venice Page 6
