by Anne Mather
‘And you look disgustingly healthy, as usual,’ Evelyn remarked derisively. ‘That’s new, isn’t it?’ She indicated the sable coat. ‘Makes one wonder how Robert can afford it—in the circumstances!’
Santino moved forward at that point, taking Evelyn’s arm and saying: ‘Come along, Mrs. Lacey. You have not had any champagne yet. Surely you want to toast the health of my wife and myself?’
Evelyn looked at him intently and then she half smiled. ‘All right, all right, I know I talk too much,’ she said shortly, but she allowed him to steer her towards the table which was loaded down with wines and spirits of every kind.
Stephanie hesitated for a moment and then realizing it was expected of her she moved after them. They were standing by the buffet tables, drinking champagne and talking together in undertones. She wondered with foreboding what they were saying to one another. She had not known Santino knew her aunt, and the familiarity with which they spoke to one another was puzzling.
As though realizing she had joined them, Santino turned and regarded her with his dark enigmatic gaze. Evelyn turned too, and glanced rather roguishly at Santino as she said: ‘Your bride looks quite beautiful, Santino, don’t you think so?’
Stephanie coloured and Santino gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. ‘It is a beautiful dress,’ he commented unsmilingly.
Evelyn gave him an arch look. ‘Oh, come now, Santino. Surely a Sicilian can do better than that—’
‘Aunt Evelyn, please!’ Stephanie was terribly embarrassed.
Evelyn Lacey swallowed the remainder of her champagne and handed the empty glass to Santino. ‘Get me another there’s a good man!’ she asked him appealingly. ‘While I have a few words with my niece, eh?’
Santino took the glass and with a slight bow left them. Stephanie twisted her fingers together and looked at her aunt with what she hoped was a calm countenance. ‘Well, Aunt Evelyn,’ she said, ‘it’s lovely to see you again.’
‘If you haven’t seen me before this, it’s your fault, young woman! You know my house is always open to you.’
Stephanie sighed. ‘I know. I know.’ In years gone by, years when Jennifer’s barbs cut more deeply than they did now, Stephanie had often sought refuge in her aunt’s rambling old house in Hampstead. But in recent months she had seen little of her. ‘I’m sorry. You know how it is.’
Evelyn nodded. ‘Yes, I know. So now you’re a married woman! How does it feel?’
Stephanie bent her head. ‘How do you think it feels?’
‘I’m asking you.’
Stephanie shrugged. ‘I’m—delighted, naturally.’
‘Are you? You don’t look delighted to me. You look like the fly who has been caught in the spider’s web!’ She snorted impatiently. ‘And if that fool of a father of yours can’t see it, too, then he’s got less grey matter than I gave him credit for.’
‘Aunt Evelyn!’ Stephanie was horrified.
‘Well, isn’t it true, then?’
‘Isn’t what true?’ Stephanie chose to be obtuse.
‘That you’ve got yourself into a situation you can’t control!’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Stephanie tried to appear aloof.
‘Oh yes, you do.’ Evelyn glanced round almost furtively, leaning towards Stephanie conspiratorially. ‘I know, you see.’
Stephanie trembled a little. ‘You know what?’
‘I know the real reason why you married Santino Ventura!’
CHAPTER FIVE
STEPHANIE felt as though the room was beginning to revolve around her and she caught the edge of the buffet table tightly. Evelyn noticed her pale cheeks and hissed: ‘Don’t pass out on me, girl! They’ll say you’ve had too much to drink!’
The callousness of her aunt’s statement was like a douche of cold water to Stephanie, for she knew there was some truth in that. Even so, it was terribly difficult to look at her aunt knowing that she was aware of the terrible emptiness inside her.
‘Well?’ Evelyn raised her thin eyebrows. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? This is no love match!’
Stephanie calmed herself with difficulty. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because Santino’s no fool. He wouldn’t finance your father unless he had a reason for doing so, particularly—’She broke off abruptly, biting her lips.
‘Particularly—what?’ Stephanie was curious.
‘Oh, nothing, nothing. Anyway, the fact remains, and what are you going to do about it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look, girl, don’t try to make a fool of me! I’m older than you are, a little more experienced in the ways of men, and as you’ve got no mother to talk to you, I felt I must say something.’
Stephanie coloured. ‘If it’s about the birds and the bees, don’t bother!’ she retorted, linking and unlinking her fingers and looking past her aunt to where Santino was absorbed in conversation with Pietro and Mario.
Evelyn regarded her irritably. ‘Don’t get on your high horse with me, my girl! Just because I’m trying to help you—’
Stephanie bit her lip hard. ‘If you’d really wanted to help me you should have stopped the wedding!’ she said chokily, unable to stand much more of this.
‘Stopped the wedding!’ Her aunt shook her head vigorously. ‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Santino’s the right kind of man for you. You’ve always had it too easy where men are concerned. You’ve never known what it is to have a man who knew how to control a woman! Santino’s not one of those anaemic specimens you’ve produced regularly for my inspection. He will always be master in his own house.’
Stephanie clenched her fists. ‘But it’s not like that, Aunt Evelyn. If you know so much, you must know that this is a marriage of convenience. Santino doesn’t want a wife, he wants a mother for his daughter, that’s all.’
Her aunt gave her a derisive stare. ‘That may be true—for the moment. But you’ve never lived in close proximity with a man for any length of time or you wouldn’t talk like that. What will you do when Lucia is in bed? When your services as a nursemaid are no longer required?’
Stephanie pressed a hand to her throat. ‘Aunt Evelyn, I—’
But her aunt turned away abruptly, saying: ‘Where is that husband of yours with my drink? Santino!’
Santino came to join them, handing the old lady her glass of champagne. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Have you said all you wanted to say?’
Stephanie would not look at him and he looked quizzically at her aunt. ‘Don’t worry.’ Evelyn’s voice was dry. ‘I’ve been discretion itself. Now, where’s that brother of mine? I suppose I must have a few words with him.’
Stephanie swung round. ‘You won’t—’
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, what a tangled web!’ she remarked sardonically. ‘No, I won’t say anything, Stephanie. Why should I be the one to burst that bubble he’s riding on? I’ll leave that to dear Jennifer.’ She walked slowly away, leaning heavily on her cane while Stephanie stood absolutely still, searching frantically for something to say.
Santino moved to her side, looking down into her expressive face with some concern. ‘What has she been saying to you?’ he inquired.
Stephanie wet her dry lips with her tongue. ‘This and that.’
‘I see.’ His cool assurance infuriated her. ‘You may be interested to know we leave in exactly twenty-three minutes.’
‘Leave?’ Stephanie looked at him blankly.
‘You did know we were leaving late this afternoon, didn’t you?’
‘Well—yes, I suppose I did.’ Stephanie put a hand to her cheek and then glanced down at her dress. ‘My—my case! I have to change!’
‘Mario has taken care of everything. There is a room in the hotel prepared for you.’
‘Oh!’ Stephanie took a deep breath. ‘How—how do I get there?’
‘Mario will take you.’ Santino turned and snapped his fingers, and Mario came to his side. Santino issued hi
s instructions and then looked again at Stephanie. ‘You are all right? You do not wish me to accompany you?’
‘You?’
Stephanie managed to suppress the hysteria that rose in her throat. To imagine Santino accompanying her, being there while she changed, was absolutely beyond her powers of credibility. Besides, everything her aunt had just said was printed indelibly on her mind and her awareness of him had heightened somehow.
Without saying anything more, she turned away and walked towards the door and Santino watched her for only a moment before gesturing to Mario to follow her.
The room that awaited her was part of a suite of rooms that would have easily accommodated a dozen people. They passed through an enormous lounge decorated in cream and green with a soft carpet underfoot and Mario threw open the door of a bedroom bigger than any room she had ever seen before.
‘There, signorina,’ he said, with a smile. ‘This is all right?’
Stephanie gasped, her problems momentarily pushed to the back of her mind. ‘It’s marvellous!’ she exclaimed.
Mario nodded with satisfaction. ‘Your case is there, signorina. All your other luggage has been sent to the airport already, and when you have completed your toilette I will escort you back to your husband.’
Her husband!
Stephanie nodded and turned away, closing the bedroom door behind her. Adjoining the bedroom was a large bathroom, and stripping off her clothes she had a swift shower before changing into the outfit she had chosen to wear to travel in. When she was dressed she studied her reflection critically in the dressing-table mirror. The slim-fitting suit of cream silk moulded the curving lines of her body, and her fur coat could be shed at Palermo. She looked very pale, but she could not help that and she did not attempt to put artificial colour into her cheeks merely for effect. Indeed, she felt a kind of fatalistic attitude towards her future, and she did not particularly care what she looked like.
An imperative tap at the bedroom door startled her and she called: ‘Yes! What is it?’ in a voice that quivered slightly.
‘Signorina! It is time!’ came Mario’s voice, and she thought with a quickening of her senses that he still called her signorina when in reality he should now address her as signora. She sighed, and shook her head. What did it matter? She didn’t feel married! She didn’t look married! And certainly, in almost every sense of the word, she was not married!
Now she opened the bedroom door and stepped into the lounge. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Mario,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I took longer than I intended.’
‘Si, signorina. Come, il padrone is waiting.’
Stephanie allowed him to take the case in which she had packed the white dress and open the door for her and then preceded him into the corridor. It was as though her subconscious mind was searching still for a means of escape, but there was none. Not even the stretches of thickly carpeted corridor would lead her anywhere than downstairs again. Back to the room where her husband waited for her…
Santino was pacing impatiently about the reception room and looked up broodingly as they entered. ‘Dove andavate voi?’ he demanded, angrily, glaring at Mario.
Mario spread his hands expressively and responded in their own language, successfully cutting Stephanie off from what was being said. She glanced at her father and Jennifer who were standing with Harold Mortimer and his wife and as though sensing her discomfiture her father approached her.
‘You’re ready?’ he asked gently.
Stephanie had the most ridiculous desire to laugh. Ready! She would never be ready for this marriage!
But she controlled her hysteria and said: ‘We’re leaving now, Father. Will—will you write?’
‘Of course, of course! And I’ll come and see you soon. After all, that’s the beauty of owning an airline. Plenty of transport.’
Stephanie managed a smile, and she was glad she had when she found Jennifer watching her cynically. Her stepmother had said very little all day and in fact her reactions to this marriage had not been at all what Stephanie had expected. She mentally stiffened herself. Why was it that as soon as she started thinking about things nothing seemed normal any more? It could only be that it was herself that was unbalanced and not everyone else. Although…
She found Pietro had come to join them and her father looked at him with impatience. ‘Well?’ he said.
Pietro looked at Stephanie. ‘We’re leaving now.’
Stephanie nodded and her father caught her hands. ‘My dear,’ he began, but she shook her head mutely, pressing her lips together, and understanding, he leant forward and kissed her cheeks warmly. Then it was Jennifer’s turn. She kissed Stephanie without warmth and as their faces touched she murmured in an undertone:
‘You’ve wasted your efforts, you know, darling!’
Stephanie’s brows drew together and she stared at her stepmother curiously, but Jennifer merely smiled a strange little smile and moved away again leaving Harold Mortimer to make his departure. Finally Aunt Evelyn came to kiss her and Stephanie steeled herself for some sardonic comment from her, but none came. Instead the old woman had unmistakable tears in her eyes.
‘Be happy, child!’ she adjured softly. ‘You can be, you know.’
Stephanie found it incredibly difficult to say anything and she was glad when Santino indicated that they should move outside. Outside the hotel there were more reporters and they had to run the battery of the cameras before reaching the comparative safety of the limousine. Mario was with them now, and so was Pietro, while Giulio sat in front with the chauffeur.
Stephanie could have wished for a less public journey to the airport. She was conscious all the while of at least three pairs of eyes surveying her with a mixture of curiosity and compassion, and she wished that Santino would put away the papers he had extracted from a briefcase Pietro had handed to him and behave more naturally. Surely no bride had ever been treated with more indifference. In truth she ought to have been relieved that this was so, but she was not. She had felt an irrevocable sense of desolation at leaving everyone she knew and held dear to go with this man who was still virtually a stranger to her, and not even the realization that she was doing this for her father was sufficient to banish the emptiness inside her.
She glanced surreptitiously at his bent head as he studied a surveyor’s report, noticing inconsequently the dark hairs which grew on the back of his hands and on the slim wrists which emerged from the whiteness of his shirt cuffs. His fingers were very long and tanned and the only ring he wore was the heavy signet ring she had noticed earlier. Her gaze travelled up his body encased in the immaculate dark suit to the lean strength of his face, and she tried to imagine what his daughter would be like. Was she as dark as her father, or was she one of those lighter-skinned Italians one sometimes found? Was her hair as thick and luxuriant as his, and were her teeth as white? Certainly Santino Ventura seemed in the peak of physical condition, and this was surprising in a man who so obviously was absorbed with business pursuits.
He glanced up at that moment as though sensing her scrutiny, but ever aware of the interested gazes of his men he said nothing, merely allowing his eyes to speak for him. There was impatience in his stare as well as a kind of insolent appraisal, and Stephanie wished he had not found her watching him. She stared determinedly out of the car’s windows. She must never arouse his suspicions in that direction. She hated and despised him for what he was making her do, and when he realized that she could not be broken he would be only too glad to send her back to England.
Their arrival at the airport was auspicious. Everything was handled with the least delay possible and one of the airport officials escorted them through customs and to their plane. Inside the aircraft the whole forward compartment had been commissioned for their use and as Stephanie had been told that they were taking a scheduled flight to Palermo she was frankly astounded. Santino, however, accepted it all as his due and when the official departed he looked suitably rewarded for his serv
ices.
It was strange being able to move freely about the cabin after take-off and Stephanie was glad when dinner was served by the stewardesses, for it gave her something to do. Santino was not seated beside her: He had a table before his seat and he ate his dinner with one hand while he mapped out some figures with the other. Stephanie was left to Pietro’s devoted attentions and she found she no longer cared for it. During their brief engagement she had accepted the other men’s company as being of little importance, but now she found she wanted Santino’s attention, if only for a short while. Only he could rid her of her desperation even if his methods of doing so were brutal.
At Palermo another chauffeur-driven limousine awaited them. Stephanie stepped out of the plane into the velvety dusk of evening and smelt the drifting perfume of lemon trees. Overhead the night sky was studded with stars and a pale moon was rising above fleecy drifts of cloud. The airport was efficient and impersonal. Santino was recognized and given clearance without much effort and then they climbed into the car which was to take them to the Castello di Strega. Only Mario accompanied them this time, Pietro and Giulio riding behind in another limousine. Both cars were black and Stephanie thought with grim amusement that they looked like a funeral procession. Now that it was dark and Santino could not work Stephanie thought he might talk to her, but he seemed sunk in thought and the long drive stretched silently and endlessly before them.
It took two hours to reach the castle and by this time Stephanie was chilled, if not physically then mentally, and stiff. She had withdrawn rigidly into her corner when it became obvious that Santino was uninterested in her company and she had remained so for the whole journey. There had been little to see. Beyond the lights of the headlamps darkness clouded her view and only occasionally did she glimpse the shimmer of water through the trees on either side of the road. The perfumes of the island drifted through the windows, though, and she found the scent of citrus groves and jasmine quite intoxicating. Until recently she had never considered visiting the island, but now she began to wonder whether indeed she might find her surroundings appealing if nothing else.
