by Anne Mather
‘But surely,’ she exclaimed, making a final bid for sanity, ‘you could finance my father and employ an agency to find you a companion for your daughter! Good heavens, I should imagine there are dozens of English girls who would jump at the chance of living in Sicily.’
‘I have made my proposition, signorina.’ Santino was without emotion. There was no way of appealing to him.
Stephanie spread her hands. ‘But how could I come to Sicily?’ she exclaimed.
‘That is what you must ask yourself, signorina.’
‘But you don’t understand, signor; I—I have a job here, I work in a hospital! I can’t just leave it like that!’
‘That is up to you, signorina.’
Stephanie heaved a sigh. ‘But what about my home—my family?’ She ran a hand over her hair nervously. ‘I—I have a boy-friend, too. We—we expect to get engaged at Christmas.’
That wasn’t strictly true, but she saw no reason to withdraw the statement, particularly as Santino merely shrugged his shoulders indifferently and made no comment.
Pietro however found her final remark disturbing. ‘You did not tell me you were almost betrothed!’ he accused her shortly.
Stephanie held up her head. ‘I didn’t think it was any of your business,’ she retorted, unwilling to accept his dissension as well.
Santino seemed vaguely amused by Pietro’s annoyance and Stephanie thought with a grim sense of foreboding what a cruel devil he could be. How could she place herself in this man’s hands, miles from anything or anyone she knew?
Now she lifted her shoulders in an expressive gesture and said: ‘I shall need time to think—to consider your proposition, signor.’
Santino considered her unsmilingly. ‘I do not have a lot of time, signorina.’
Stephanie took a deep breath. ‘You can’t expect me to decide something like this on the spur of the moment.’
‘Why not? It is a simple question: can you allow your father to be ruined when you have the power to prevent it?’
‘But that’s not fair—’ she broke out tremulously.
‘Nothing in life ever is, I am afraid,’ he observed coldly. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I will allow Pietro to escort you back to your father’s house. I will give you…’ he consulted the thick gold watch on his wrist—‘I will give you twelve hours. I shall expect your answer at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. You may telephone me at this number. Just say yes or no. That will be enough.’
‘But, signor—’
Santino swung his leg across the chair and straightened. ‘Arrivederci, signorina. Pietro!’
Pietro rose too, and excusing himself to Stephanie he accompanied Santino across the restaurant to the door. He seemed to be listening to something the older man was saying and Stephanie, watching them, felt the beginnings of despair. What could she do? How could she refuse? She knew she would never forgive herself if by her indifference she drove her father to desperate lengths.
When Pietro came back she got immediately to her feet and said: ‘I want to go home—now.’
‘Of course.’ Pietro stood back and allowed her to precede him across the room. Once outside, the chill evening air struck her face like an icy blast and she realized she was numb with cold. But it was an inner coldness, one which Santino Ventura had inspired, and she wondered if she would ever be free of it again.
Pietro hailed a taxi and once inside, he said: ‘I’m sorry,’ rather inadequately.
Stephanie glanced at him. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she managed tautly.
Pietro said nothing for a few minutes and then he went on: ‘What will you do?’
Stephanie gave him a tremulous look. ‘Don’t ask me that. I just don’t know.’
‘Will you tell your father tonight?’
‘No!’ The word was tom from her. ‘No, I couldn’t do that. I have to make the decision on my own.’
Pietro nodded, a strange expression in his eyes, and Stephanie had the oddest feeling that he had wanted that answer from her.
When the taxi reached the house, she slid out without waiting for him to help her. ‘Good night, Pietro,’ she said shortly. ‘It’s—it’s been—very edifying!’ and as her voice broke she fled up the drive to the doors, leaving him standing there.
To her intense annoyance, she encountered Jennifer in the hall. The older woman was wearing a crimson velvet house-gown that accentuated her dark beauty, and she was beautiful, Stephanie had to acknowledge.
‘Well, well, the prodigal’s return!’ she observed dryly, as Stephanie closed the front door. ‘Where have you been?’ Stephanie chose not to answer, walking swiftly across the hall to the stairs. But Jennifer’s next words halted her. ‘Allan has been here this evening. He wanted to know how you were. Your father told him that you had said you were meeting him at some party. Obviously, someone was mistaken.’
Stephanie swung round dejectedly. ‘And what did Allan say?’
Jennifer sighed. ‘He was rather annoyed, naturally. After all, he thought you were unwell.’
Stephanie chewed bitterly at her lip. ‘Damn!’ she exclaimed. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’
‘Such language,’ remarked Jennifer mockingly, and yawned. ‘God, I’m tired! Exactly where have you been anyway?’ She frowned.
Stephanie shook her head. ‘Out,’ she replied sharply.
Jennifer’s eyes glittered. ‘Charming!’ she murmured indifferently. ‘In any case, I could hazard a guess.’
Stephanie stared at her. ‘I doubt it.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Jennifer was annoyingly tormenting.
Stephanie turned and began to mount the stairs. ‘Good night, Jennifer,’ she said quietly.
‘How about that Bastinado man?’ Jennifer called after her. ‘That young Italian. What was his first name? Peter—Pietro! That’s it, isn’t it? Pietro Bastinado. Ventura’s assistant. He couldn’t take his eyes off you earlier this evening. I bet that’s who you’ve been with, isn’t it?’ Jennifer looked at her triumphantly. ‘Poor old Allan!’
Stephanie stopped again and turning looked down at her stepmother. Jennifer regarded her mockingly and chuckled, ‘You can’t deny it, can you?’
Stephanie would not allow Jennifer to get away with it. She might tell her father and Stephanie could not risk that. ‘You’re making a mistake, Jennifer,’ she said tautly. ‘I’m not interested in Pietro Bastinado.’
Jennifer raised her eyebrows. ‘No?’ Her lips thinned. ‘Then who have you been with? You don’t know anyone else, other than that crowd you go about with, and it couldn’t be one of them, not one of Allan’s friends.’ She wrapped her gown closer about her and then her eyes flickered curiously back to her stepdaughter, a sudden thought manifesting itself in her mind. ‘You couldn’t possibly—I mean—you haven’t tried to see Ventura—’ She halted, staring at Stephanie intently.
Stephanie’s reactions were not quick enough to prevent Jennifer from seeing the guilt in her eyes, and the older woman stared at her furiously. ‘For God’s sake, Stephanie,’ she snapped, ‘you haven’t attempted to bargain with Ventura on your father’s behalf, have you?’
Stephanie shook her head slowly, but from the suspicion in Jennifer’s face it was obvious she didn’t believe her. Jennifer grasped the banister and stared angrily up at her and with an exclamation Stephanie turned and ran up the stairs. She heard Jennifer following her, calling her to stop, but she ignored her, running along the wide landing to her room, locking the door so that when Jennifer turned the handle it would not give.
‘Stephanie!’ Jennifer’s voice was taut with anger. ‘Open this door at once! I want to speak to you.’
‘Go away, Jennifer. I’m taking a bath.’ Stephanie stood in the entrance to her bathroom trembling a little.
Jennifer hammered on the door. ‘Stephanie, if you’ve seen Ventura and you’ve said or done anything to jeopardize those shares—’
Stephanie pressed her lips together and went into the bathroom fully, slamming the do
or so that Jennifer could hear her and turning on the bath taps to drown the sound of Jennifer’s knocking. Then she sat down on the wicker clothes basket and buried her face in her hands. Oh, God, she thought, whatever am I going to do?
* * *
She hardly slept at all. Tossing and turning in her comfortable bed, when sleep did come to claim her it was plagued with nightmares of demons and witches and castles engulfed in flame, and she awoke sweating with fear, the bed clothes a tortured mass at her feet. She rose in the early hours and went to the window, looking out on the still sleeping city. Somewhere in that mass of shops and offices and hotels, Santino Ventura was sleeping, no doubt dreamlessly, uncaring that he was probably going to destroy her life… Did nothing ever disturb him emotionally? Would no appeal reach that callous heart of his? Had he no thought at all for the humanity of the situation? She shook her head helplessly, recalling with piercing clarity everything he had said. Why had he chosen her? What possible difference could there be between herself and a qualified nanny? In fact practically anyone would be more suitable. She had had no experience of teaching, other than simple practices for the use of the patients in the psychiatric ward. She knew little Italian, and the child apparently did not speak English. It seemed an impossible situation.
She turned back from the window and flung herself on to her bed, staring at the scarlet telephone. She wondered if Allan was awake yet. She wondered what he thought of her disappearance last evening. It seemed doubly traitorous when she had told him she had a headache, and would he believe that she had not had any plans for going out when she had telephoned him? And more important, would he believe that her motives for accepting Pietro’s invitation were not personal ones?
Then she rolled on to her back and stared up at the ceiling. What did it matter anyway? If she did, what it seemed she was being forced to do, and went to live at the Castello di Strega in Sicily she might never see Allan again…
She remained in her bedroom until late in the morning, wanting to avoid the eventual confrontation with Jennifer and her father. No doubt Jennifer would have told her father what had happened the night before, but after her stepmother had gone away no one else had come to her door, so perhaps not. In any event, sooner or later the crunch would come, and she needed all her strength to face that.
It was five minutes past eleven when she telephoned the number Santino Ventura had given her. A strange man’s voice answered the telephone and he insisted on knowing her identity before putting her through to Ventura. When eventually Ventura came on the line it was almost a relief, and she wondered what capacity the other man served. Was he servant—or bodyguard? The latter seemed likely.
Ventura’s voice was as cold and indifferent as she remembered it to be and a chill struck her being as he said: ‘You have made a decision, signorina?’
‘Y—yes, signor.’
‘That is your decision?’
‘Yes, signor.’ Stephanie swallowed hard. ‘You won’t change your mind—?’
But all she heard was the dialling tone. He had rung off.
She replaced her receiver as though it had bitten her, a frown marring the smoothness of her brow. He was an insensitive animal, not a man, not a human being. Her lips trembled and she bit them to prevent them from doing so. She was committed now, and she must go and tell her father what she had done…
Unlocking her bedroom door, she went slowly down the stairs. Miller was in the hall and she looked up in surprise. ‘Oh, you’re awake, miss. Do you want some coffee?’
Stephanie swallowed again. ‘Maybe later, thank you, Miller,’ she said faintly, and the servant regarded her strangely.
‘Are you all right, miss?’
Stephanie managed a faint smile. ‘Of course. I—I had rather a restless night, that’s all. Er—where is my father?’
‘In the library, miss. But he’s on the telephone at the moment. A—a Signor Ventura, is that right?’
Stephanie stared at her for a moment. ‘Signor Ventura?’ she echoed.
‘Yes, miss. The call came through a few moments ago.’
‘I see.’ Stephanie wet her lips with her tongue. ‘And—and Mrs. McMaster? Where is she?’
Miller frowned. ‘She went out, miss, about an hour ago. She didn’t say where she was going.’
‘I see.’ Stephanie nodded. ‘Thank you, Miller. You may bring coffee to the library for my father and myself.’
‘Yes, miss.’
As Miller walked away, Stephanie crossed the hall to the library, and after a light tap on the panels of the door, she went in. Her father was still on the telephone and he regarded her intently as she entered the room, obviously listening closely to what Santino Ventura was telling him. His brows were drawn together with some degree of incredulity, and he patted the desk beside him, indicating that Stephanie should come to sit there. Then he looked at her with expressive eyes, shaking his head in a stunned way.
Stephanie guessed that she was not going to have to tell her father what Santino Ventura had suggested. She might have known he would not allow her to give such information. He would want his position making perfectly clear.
At last her father ran a weak hand over his forehead which was visibly perspiring and said: ‘I find all this just—just too much, signor.’
Stephanie heard the blur of Santino’s voice going on and her father nodded his head rapidly several times. ‘Yes, yes, yes, I know, I know. But I just find it hard to accept. I—I never suspected—’
Stephanie frowned. Suspected what? What was there to suspect? She wished there was an extension in the room so that she could hear what was being said. She tapped her father’s arm to attract his attention, but he shook off her hand impatiently, obviously intent on what the other man was saying.
Finally he said: ‘Well, if that’s what you both want, there’s nothing more to be said. I can’t deny the news has shocked me, but then young people today have their own ideas. And she is only eighteen, even though I know that she is considered an adult.’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I just wish she had confided in me, that’s all. Oh, yes, yes, I realize you have a point there… but well…’ He sighed heavily and Stephanie felt the familiar feeling of apprehension where Santino Ventura was concerned rising inside her. What in heaven’s name was he telling her father? What was he saying that was causing Robert McMaster to look so astounded? Her father nodded now, and said: ‘You must know so far as W.A.A. is concerned, I couldn’t be more delighted. It may seem a selfish attitude to you, but it’s such a relief to know that our troubles are over, at least for the present.’
Stephanie linked and unlinked her fingers. That sounded more familiar, and her heart pounded uncomfortably inside her. She was actually committed now. Committed to accompanying the Sicilian to his castle in the wilds of an island that even today defied all attempts at law and order.
She looked again at her father and he gave her a faint smile. Then: ‘You want to speak to Stephanie? Of course! In fact, she’s right here, now.’
Stephanie’s palms moistened as her father said: ‘I’ll hand you over to her, then. What? You’ll come round after lunch? Right! Right, we’ll discuss everything then. Good-bye for the present.’
Stephanie took the receiver her father held out to her with some reluctance. Why did Santino want to speak to her? Surely he had nothing further to say. Her father seemed to be regarding her strangely, and with difficulty she gave him a ghost of a smile and then spoke into the phone: ‘Yes?’ Her voice quivered and she clenched her teeth angrily at the weakness.
‘Signorina? Are you listening?’ Santino’s voice was calming. Even across the telephone wires she was aware of his overwhelming power of personality.
‘Y—yes, I’m listening,’ Stephanie nodded.
‘Good. Now listen carefully! Is your father still with you?’
Of course.’ Stephanie chewed at her lip.
‘Get rid of him!’
‘What did you say?’
‘You hea
rd me, signorina. I did not want to speak to you with him present. It is just unfortunate that you should have joined him before I contacted you.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Stephanie gave her father an awkward glance, and as though he had heard what had been said he rose to his feet.
‘I’ll go,’ he mouthed. ‘I understand how difficult it is for you.’
Stephanie stared at him incredulously. ‘You—you don’t have to—’ she began, putting her hand over the mouthpiece, but he shook his head, raising a hand perceptively and walking to the door. As it closed behind him, Stephanie allowed her temper to overcome her nervousness. ‘Exactly what have you told my father, signor?’ she exclaimed angrily.
Santino sounded bored by her emotionalism. ‘I gather you are alone now.’
‘Yes. What is all this?’
‘It’s quite simple, signorina. I have told your parent that you are to return to Sicily with me… as my wife!’
CHAPTER FOUR
STEPHANIE stood before the mirror of her dressing-table regarding herself critically. The simple white gown she wore accentuated the red-gold brilliance of her hair and her eyes which had been skilfully painted by a West End beautician seemed enormous in her small face. She supposed the gown was magnificent; made of satin and Italian lace, it moulded her breasts and swathed the rest of her body closely, and was certainly the most expensive gown she had ever worn, and yet she hated it!
She turned away, pressing a hand to her breast, trying to still the palpitating pace of her heartbeats, and as she did so the huge diamond ring on her finger caught in the threads of her veil. She freed it with careful haste, smoothing the faceted surface of the stone. It glinted with subdued brilliance, fitting her perfectly, and yet seeming almost too heavy for the slenderness of her finger. Its weight constantly reminded her why it was there, and she wondered whether that was Santino’s intention when he gave it to her. Santino!
She pressed both palms of her hands against her cheeks. In an hour she would be with him, and afterwards… She caught her breath. Oh, God, she thought unsteadily, how did I get myself into this?
