The Autumn of the Witch

by Anne Mather

  Frowning, she looked about the room and then gave a start of surprise as she saw a small figure hovering uncertainly by the door. Wrapping the bedclothes about her, she sat up and looked across at the little girl who stood there in her dressing gown, her long silky dark hair tied back with a crumpled satin ribbon.

  ‘Hello,’ said Stephanie softly. ‘Are you Lucia?’

  The little girl stared at her for a long silent moment, and then she said: ‘Dov’e Papa?’ in a puzzled voice.

  Stephanie translated the words and felt the colour run up her cheeks as she realized what the child was trying to say. She had obviously expected to find her father here. Speaking carefully in phrase-book Italian, Stephanie said: ‘Your father is in his own room, Lucia.’

  Lucia regarded her curiously. ‘Non capisco, signora,’ she said, reducing Stephanie’s poor attempt at her language to nothing.

  Stephanie sighed. Then, with an exclamation, she slid out of bed, wrapping the dark blue housecoat she had left on the end of the bed about her. Lucia took a hesitant step towards the door as though afraid of what Stephanie intended to do and with great care Stephanie bent down beside her and said: ‘My name—’ she pointed to herself, ‘my name is Stephanie. Ste-phan-ie! You say it, too. Stephanie!’

  Lucia regarded her with some of the brooding concentration of her father. Shaking her head from side to side she repeated: ‘Non capisco!’ her lips visibly trembling now.

  Suddenly there was a light tap at the door and Stephanie straightened as the door opened softly to admit Santino. Obviously he had expected Stephanie still to be asleep and he looked impatiently at them both as he saw his daughter in the corner. As Lucia uttered a squeal of delight and brushed past Stephanie to fling herself into Santino’s arms Stephanie stepped back a pace, running a helpless hand over the tumbled mass of her hair. Although Santino was only wearing a silk dressing gown over blue pyjama trousers, he at least looked presentable, while she felt absolutely terrible. However, although Santino allowed Lucia’s baby arms to twine themselves round his neck he still did not look pleased.

  ‘I am sorry, Stephanie,’ he said stiffly, ‘but Lucia has obviously been given a different explanation of our sleeping arrangements.’ He glanced at his daughter’s face. ‘It appears that Sophia has gone into some detail as to what position you are to hold in this household.’

  Stephanie coloured hotly, aware of the revealing lines of the housecoat, holding the neckline together nervously. ‘That’s all right, sig—I mean—Santino,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I—I wanted to meet Lucia.’

  Lucia was looking at her intently and Santino spoke to his daughter in Italian. He spoke quickly and reprovingly, and Lucia bent her head unhappily.

  ‘Oh, please,’ began Stephanie. ‘Don’t punish her. I—I didn’t mind, really.’

  Santino looked back at her, and for a moment his eyes dropped down the length of her body before returning to her face again. Dark and unfathomable, she wondered what was behind that brooding gaze, and breaking the sudden silence which had fallen on all of them, she said: ‘I—I slept very well.’

  ‘Did you? That is good.’ Santino nodded and turned towards the door again. ‘We will go now. I will take Lucia to my room. She will not trouble you any further this morning. I should go back to bed if I were you and rest a little longer. Sophia will bring you breakfast in an hour or so.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m not tired now,’ Stephanie ejaculated.

  Santino opened the door and stepped outside. ‘Then do as you will,’ he remarked indifferently, and closed the door behind them.

  Stephanie swung round almost angrily as they left and tugged impatiently at the cord of the housecoat. Flinging it on the bed, she marched into the bathroom, and turning on the taps half filled the massive bath sprinkling in a generous quantity of the bath salts she found standing on glass shelves above the pedestal washbasin. After soaking for almost half an hour she got out of the bath, dried herself thoroughly, covered herself with scented talc and tackled her suitcases which still stood on the floor where the men had put them the night before.

  Not bothering to unpack everything, she found a pair of close-fitting denim pants and a short-sleeved lace shirt and put them on. She tugged the brush through her tangled hair but did not bother to fasten it in any way and it hung silkily about her cheeks and shoulders. Then she opened her door and went out on to the landing.

  It was an easy matter to find the gallery and from there the staircase ran down to the ground floor. She was halfway down the staircase when a sound below her startled her. A man had just entered the castello and was presently shedding his gloves and raking a hand through his hair. It was Pietro Bastinado, and Stephanie gave an exclamation of relief. At last, she thought, someone to talk to.

  Pietro looked up at the sound of her footsteps and he grinned warmly when he saw who it was. ‘Hi,’ he greeted her. ‘You’re up early.’

  Stephanie ran down the remaining few stairs to his side and smiled back at him. ‘Lucia woke me,’ she explained. ‘She—she—well—’ She spread her hands, realizing she could not tell even Pietro why Lucia had gone into her room.

  ‘I expect she was curious to see you,’ observed Pietro, apparently not noticing her indecision. ‘Well? Did you sleep?’

  Stephanie bent her head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Pietro sounded almost relieved. ‘So now you are the mistress of the Castello di Strega. Do you think you are going to like it here?’

  Stephanie made an expressive gesture. ‘Who knows?’ She glanced round. ‘You’re early. Where are the others?’

  Pietro smiled. ‘I imagine Mario is still sleeping. Giulio is in Palermo, and I—’ He shrugged. ‘I hoped I might see you.’

  ‘I see.’ Stephanie bit her lip.

  ‘Where is—Santino?’

  Stephanie shrugged. ‘In his room, I suppose. Lucia—Lucia is with him.’

  ‘Ah, si. Lucia is a very possessive young lady, as you will discover. When her father is here she monopolizes his attention.’

  Stephanie sighed. ‘Well, that’s nothing to do with me, is it?’ She tucked her thumbs into the waistband of her pants. ‘And there’s no use pretending otherwise.’

  Pietro nodded. ‘You are right, of course.’ His eyes softened. ‘Stephanie, I wanted to tell you something, but until now I haven’t been able to do so—’

  Stephanie moved restlessly. She hoped Pietro wasn’t going to prove difficult. She had more than enough to cope with at the moment.

  ‘That night,’ he went on, ‘that night at the restaurant, when Santino asked you to come here as Lucia’s companion, I suspected there was more to it than that, but of course I could not be sure. Then, afterwards, I no longer wanted to change things. I wanted you to come here—to be here all the time.’ He put out a hand and caught one of hers. ‘Stephanie—’

  Stephanie pulled her hand away abruptly, staring at him helplessly. ‘Pietro, don’t say any more. I—I don’t want any illicit relationships with any man, don’t you understand?’

  Pietro gave a sigh. ‘I am not suggesting an illicit relationship, Stephanie. I realize that is not for you. But surely we can be friends.’

  Stephanie turned away, her head bent. ‘We are friends,’ she replied awkwardly. ‘But—well, Santino might not like us to be too—well, close.’

  ‘And that matters to you? What Santino likes?’ Pietro sounded scornful. ‘After the way he has treated you!’

  Stephanie frowned. ‘That isn’t a very nice thing to say, whether or not I believe it.’

  Pietro uttered an exclamation. ‘Where you are concerned, Santino knows my feelings.’ He indicated the sunshine outside the tall windows of the hall. ‘See—outside it is a beautiful morning. The sun is hot and the sea is warm. And what will you do today? Wait until your—husband—issues his commands?’

  Stephanie lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘I’m not a servant, Pietro.’

  ‘Then come swimming with me.’

  �
��Swimming!’ echoed Stephanie blankly. ‘Where?’

  ‘Below the castello. You do have a swimsuit, do you not?’

  ‘Of course.’ Stephanie was impatient. She knew she wanted to go with him, and she was annoyed at the awful sense of uncertainty which held her back. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘All right. When?’

  ‘Now, of course. The water is perfect at this time of day.’

  Stephanie hesitated only a moment, and then nodded and ran up the stairs to her room. Snatching up her bikini, she fled downstairs again.

  She found Pietro was still in the hall, leaning against the balustrade, but Sophia was with him. The housekeeper looked up dourly as Stephanie approached them, her eyes eloquent with disapproval as she noticed the towel and shred of bathing suit in Stephanie’s hand.

  ‘Il padrone?’ she said pointedly. ‘He is still asleep?’

  Stephanie flushed. ‘No. No, Lucia is with him.’

  Sophia frowned. ‘Cosi! E voi?’

  Stephanie glanced awkwardly at Pietro, and then shrugged. ‘I am going swimming with Signor Bastinado.’

  Sophia frowned. ‘And the padrone knows this?’

  Stephanie sighed rather impatiently. ‘No. Why?’

  Pietro moved from his reclining position and deliberately caught her hand in his. ‘Come, Stephanie,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. ‘I have the feeling that the atmosphere in here is distinctly chilly this morning.’

  Stephanie suppressed the ready smile that his words provoked and allowed him to lead her across the hall to the door. Sophia watched them, and then with an expressive shrug of her thin shoulders she began to climb the staircase.

  Stephanie looked anxiously at her companion. ‘Will she tell Santino?’ she asked.

  Pietro raised his dark eyebrows, opening the door for her to precede him outside. ‘Very likely, I should think,’ he replied calmly. ‘Are you worried?’

  Stephanie compressed her lips and then shook her head. ‘No, why should I be? I—I told him I didn’t want to go back to bed.’

  Pietro’s brows drew together in astonishment. ‘You did what!’

  Stephanie coloured as she realized what she had said and what construction he could place upon it. ‘Oh, don’t misunderstand me,’ she exclaimed hastily. ‘Your—your brother-in-law came to my room to find his daughter. I was already up.’ She omitted to say that she was not dressed, however, and went on: ‘I—I told him I did not want to stay in my room and he told me to do as I liked.’

  ‘I see.’ Pietro’s face relaxed and he closed the door firmly behind them. At the foot of the steps his Lancia was parked and Stephanie admired it as they went down. ‘I’ll get my towel and bathing shorts from the trunk,’ said Pietro, and Stephanie looked about her curiously, realizing this was her first real glimpse of the place that was to be her home.

  Below the grey walls of the castello the land sloped away into the valley where orchards of lemon and orange trees intermingled with olive groves. The slopes themselves were cultivated with vines, and here and there trails of smoke rose from the cottages of the workers. The sun was already quite high in the sky, gilding the tops of the trees and turning the faint mist into shreds of gauze. Away to the west, the headland curved round the bay, the Mediterranean waters blue-green and inviting. It was a spectacular panorama and Stephanie hugged herself with a strange kind of excitement. No matter how stark or barren the rest of the island might be, this was quite startlingly beautiful, and she gained an aesthetic pleasure from just looking and looking. Pietro turned from the car and caught the rapt expression on her face and smiled.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘I perceive that you find it all quite satisfying.’

  Stephanie turned to him eagerly. ‘It’s so different from what I expected,’ she confessed. ‘Tell me, does—does Santino own those orchards?’

  ‘Your husband owns most everything the eye can see,’ replied Pietro, rather dryly. ‘Once this was all barren land without any source of water to provide cultivation. Now Santino has introduced modern methods of irrigating and the valley flourishes as you can see.’ He frowned. ‘Why do you ask? Are you speculating on the extent of his possible wealth?’

  Stephanie flushed. ‘Of course not. I was curious, that’s all.’

  Pietro shrugged and shaded his eyes, surveying the surrounding countryside intently. ‘It is incredible to imagine the poverty there once was here,’ he said. ‘These people had nothing and no way of ever getting anything. They owe a lot to il padrone.’ His tone was dry.

  Stephanie looked at him speculatively. ‘And you, Pietro? Your sister was his wife, was she not?’

  Pietro looked down at her. ‘Yes, Sancia was his wife,’ he agreed quietly.

  Stephanie pressed her lips together. ‘Did—did he love her?’

  Pietro ran a hand round the back of his neck. ‘Who can say? Not me! I suppose he must have done. After all, until now he has never looked at another woman more than once.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Stephanie was curious in spite of herself.

  Pietro half smiled. ‘Santino is a man, Stephanie. Sometimes a man needs a woman.’

  Stephanie’s cheeks burned and she turned away. ‘Shall we go?’ she suggested pointedly, and with a faint inclination of his head Pietro agreed.

  They crossed the lawns at the side of the castello and passed through a white gate in a low wall which formed a barrier along the cliff top. A winding track led down to the rocks below and Pietro went first, giving Stephanie his hand to balance her. Below them the grey rocks of the Baia del Fortezzo looked jagged and dangerous, and Stephanie wondered whether she would ever have the courage to come down here alone. Once they reached the comparative safety of the larger rocks that formed flat plateaus at the foot of the cliffs she looked up at the castello with some misgivings. It seemed so far away and almost impossible to reach.

  Pietro looked about them and then said: ‘Come along. We will go down here.’

  He led the way across a kind of causeway to where a shingly stretch of beach sloped down to the water. There was nowhere to sit on the sand, but the rocks provided marvellous suntraps and Stephanie looked about her eagerly, wondering where she could change.

  Pietro grinned at her then, and pointed to a group of larger rocks just below the cliff face. ‘You can change there,’ he said. ‘If you promise not to look, I’ll strip off here.’

  Stephanie coloured and turned away, and Pietro began to unbutton his shirt with careless abandon. To Stephanie, changing in such a confined space was quite an ordeal and she decided that in future she would change before coming down here. When she was ready, she emerged, only to find that Pietro had disappeared. His clothes were strewn on the rocks, however, so she guessed he was in the water. A few moments later his head appeared some distance out from the shore and he beckoned to her to join him. Stephanie put up a hand to her hair. She had no bathing hat and it was going to get awfully wet—but what of it? Her only doubts concerned Santino, after all, and the realization that she would not be able to hide that she had been swimming if her hair was damp.

  With determination, she thrust all thoughts of Santino aside, and stepped into the creaming waves at the water’s edge. It was amazingly warm and with a shiver she plunged forward, submerging herself completely for a brief moment. When she came up, she felt freshly awakened and exhilarated, and she struck out towards Pietro with strong strokes.

  They swam for almost half an hour, ducking and weaving about below the surface, and splashing one another like children. Stephanie had not enjoyed herself so much for a long time, and when they at last climbed out of the water on to the rocks she felt pleasantly tired and happy.

  Pietro looked at her slim body in the white bikini and then stretched himself beside her on the rocks, but as he made no attempt to touch her Stephanie did not object. The sun beat down on their damp bodies with a burning intensity and in no time at all her swimsuit had dried on her. Pietro, lying on his stomach, his head pillowed on one arm watched her
lazily as she shaded her eyes with one arm, and then said: ‘Are you glad you came, Stephanie?’

  Stephanie frowned and turned her head to look at him. ‘Do you mean this morning—or to Sicily?’

  ‘I guess a little of both,’ he admitted.

  Stephanie sighed. ‘You know why I came to Sicily. As to this morning—I’m very glad I came.’ She sat up reluctantly. ‘But I really think we ought to be going back now. It must be quite late.’

  Pietro leaned over and extracted his watch from the pocket of his shirt. ‘It is exactly nine-thirty,’ he replied, putting the watch on his wrist.

  Stephanie gasped, ‘Nine-thirty! Heavens, we’ve been out for hours!’

  Pietro sighed, and rolling on to his back he stretched lazily. ‘Don’t panic! Santino is not an early riser. I doubt very much whether he is even awake at this moment.’

  ‘But Lucia—’

  ‘Lucia will have been taken away for her breakfast by Maria.’

  ‘Maria?’ Stephanie frowned.

  ‘The old nursemaid. Didn’t you know about her?’

  ‘How could I?’ Stephanie got to her feet. ‘I thought Lucia had no one—’

  ‘Maria is an ignorant old woman,’ remarked Pietro blandly, getting up too. ‘She is no companion for a child like Lucia.’

  ‘Even so…’ Stephanie reached for her pants and pulled them on over her bikini, fastening them automatically. ‘I didn’t know there was anyone else. Perhaps you had better tell me what the routine is at the castello.’

  Pietro sighed. ‘Well, it’s very simple really. Maria cares for Lucia. She washes and dresses her and gives her her meals. She looks after her clothes and generally acts as a kind of watchdog.’

  ‘I see.’ Stephanie put on her blouse. ‘And the other servants?’

  Pietro pulled on his trousers. ‘There aren’t many. Sophia you know, of course. Then there’s Dominica, the cook, Carlo who takes care of the gardens, and a young girl who comes up from the village every day to help Sophia. That’s about it. Apart from Mario, Giulio and myself, of course. I suppose you could regard us as servants, too. Certainly Mario makes himself useful where Santino is concerned.’