by Anne Mather
‘I wonder—may I have the keys for the dressing-room which adjoins my room, Sophia?’
Sophia’s expression changed considerably. ‘The dressing-room is kept always locked, signora,’ she said carefully.
Stephanie bit her lip. ‘I know that. But I thought I might—well—clear it out, you know. It might do as—as a storeroom.’
‘It already is a storeroom, signora.’ Sophia hesitated. ‘I do not think the signore would approve of your disturbing things.’
Stephanie sighed. Surely this small request was not going to create more difficulties! Her instincts warned her not to tread on any more toes, but she could see no harm in just looking into the room. With persuasive persistence, she said: ‘I don’t want to disturb anything, Sophia, but the room does adjoin mine after all, and if it’s been neglected it may be damp—or mice-infested! Anything!’ She sighed. ‘Surely it’s turned out occasionally.’
Sophia glanced at the cook. ‘The signore does not allow anyone to go in there, signora.’
‘I see.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘Do you know why?’
‘No, signora.’
Stephanie compressed her lips. ‘Well, all I want to do is look inside. What harm can that do?’
Sophia sighed. ‘Very well, signora.’ Without another word she crossed the room and took down a handful of keys from a hook on the wall. ‘There you are, signora. That one is the key you require.’
Stephanie took the keys almost reluctantly. As she looked at them she said: ‘You don’t consider this a personal affront, do you, Sophia? I mean—my reasons for wanting to see the room have nothing to do with the way you run the castello—’
A faint smile touched Sophia’s lips. ‘No, signora,’ she replied firmly. ‘Maybe you are right. Maybe the room should be cleared out.’
Stephanie studied her closely trying to decide whether or not she was serious and then she shrugged. ‘Well, we’ll soon find out.’
‘Si, signora.’ Sophia returned to her task at the table and with another shrug of her slim shoulders Stephanie went out of the room.
The key Sophia had indicated did not fit the door which joined the two bedrooms and Stephanie guessed that this was the key to the outer door, the one which opened on to the corridor. And she was right. It fitted the lock perfectly but took quite a time to turn. At last it clicked back and the door gave inwards on creaking hinges.
The room seemed dark at first, but Stephanie saw that this was because there were shutters over the windows and little light penetrated the cracks. However, there was a light switch by the door and she flicked this and gasped in astonishment at the scene which met her eyes.
Obviously no one had been into this room for years and there were cobwebs everywhere hung with the most enormous spiders Stephanie had ever seen. The room was stacked from floor to ceiling with canvases, some on easels rotting with age, and others strewn carelessly against the walls. On an old table in one comer there were rusted tubes of paint and a palette, as well as several large paintbrushes standing in a jar which must once have held turpentine but which now had dried up to a crusty brownness. There was a musty smell about the place and Stephanie thought it was incredible that such a room should be here in the castello where every other room was furnished so beautifully.
Hesitating on the threshold, she felt almost as though she was intruding into the past. Obviously, this was where Sancia had kept all her artist’s equipment, and when she died Santino must have locked the room and left everything exactly as it was. And this was why Sophia had been so reluctant to give her the key. She must have known what was kept in here, but she had been unwilling to say.
Stephanie sighed. It was apparent that she could not clear this room without Santino’s permission and she was on the point of closing the door again when her arm was grasped angrily and Santino himself swung her round to face him.
‘Dio, Stephanie, how dare you open that room!’
Stephanie gasped in astonishment. She had thought he was out for the afternoon and his sudden appearance had shocked her terribly. ‘I—I—I didn’t know what was inside!’ she stammered, unable for the moment to act composedly.
‘You are an interfering female!’ he snapped violently. ‘You persist in behaving in a manner designed to aggravate me!’
Stephanie tried to prise his fingers from her arm. ‘Just because I show a normal interest in my surroundings you try to turn it into something morbidly inquisitive,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve done no harm. But if you want my opinion the room wants clearing out and airing. There’s dampness in there and the Lord knows what else!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Surely it’s obvious. Those rotting canvases are an open invitation to vermin of every kind!’ Stephanie took a deep breath and freed herself as his grip slackened. ‘I realize now that I shouldn’t have opened the room, but as I have…’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t realize it was Sancia’s storeroom.’
Santino’s face had taken on a brooding aspect, and he thrust his hands deep into his trousers’ pockets. ‘It was the only room in the house that could honestly be said to hold any of her personality,’ he muttered, speaking almost to himself. ‘How could I destroy everything?’
Stephanie secured the door and tossed the keys nervously in her hand. Now that he had released her she could see the lines of strain around his eyes and his mouth and a sense of compassion overwhelmed her. It was natural, after all, that he should feel angry with her for probing emotional wounds that were perhaps not yet healed. She must not judge him too harshly for reacting as he had done.
Her expression must have given away a little of her feelings, for his face darkened suddenly, and derision filled his eyes. ‘Oh, do not feel pity for me, Stephanie,’ he said coldly. ‘I am not some lovesick adolescent sighing for what is past. Maybe indeed I should be grateful to you for tearing away the maudlin sentiment that prevented me from burning those canvases! I’ll have Mario deal with it first thing in the morning!’
‘Oh, but—but you can’t!’ Stephanie involuntarily put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Please—’
‘Please what, Stephanie?’ His eyes glittered fiercely. ‘What do you imagine you have stumbled upon, I wonder? What romantic dreams of love are you composing now? Whatever they mean to you, I can assure you they mean nothing to me!’
Stephanie drew back her hand, pressing it to her throat. ‘Of course, you would say that,’ she cried tremulously. ‘You would never admit to any kind of emotionalism, would you? It would be against your code of behaviour! Not even the memory of your dead wife arouses more than a ripple of indifference inside you, does it?’
Santino glared at her. ‘Don’t you speak to me like that!’ he commanded violently. ‘You have not the faintest idea of the complexities of life! As I’ve told you before, your world is in your head—not in reality!’
Stephanie heaved a shaking breath. ‘Well, at least my world is not as cruel as yours,’ she jibed. ‘My world is peopled by real people—human beings—not cold-blooded automatons, like you!’
Santino’s expression frightened her, and she backed unsteadily into the open doorway of her bedroom. ‘That is the second time you have called me an automaton,’ he said tightly, stepping towards her, so that she backed away again, in alarm. ‘Maybe I should teach you a little lesson, Stephanie. Maybe that is what is required. Perhaps a husband should have complete possession of his wife to have complete control over her.’
Stephanie was horrified. ‘What do you mean?’
Santino advanced into the room, slamming the door behind him. ‘I think you know, Stephanie,’ he replied huskily, his accent thickening as he neared her.
‘No!’ Stephanie was aghast. She could not believe he was serious, and yet there was a remoteness about his features which dispelled any hopes she might have had that he was only trying to frighten her. She should have known that Santino Ventura was not a man like any Englishman she had known; his morality was not her morality, and his laws we
re not her laws.
Making one last appeal, she cried: ‘You can’t do this! You are an honourable man. This marriage was just to be a marriage of convenience!’
‘So it was,’ he agreed harshly, halting in front of her as she stood pressing herself against the outer wall of the apartment. ‘But you chose otherwise when you started interfering in my affairs. And do you attempt to deny that you did not enjoy what happened between us here yesterday afternoon, for all your high ideals—’
‘You—you swine!’ Stephanie’s breast rose and fell swiftly. ‘Don’t you dare to touch me! I—I hate you!’
She lifted her hand as though to strike him, but he caught her wrist and twisted it behind her back. ‘I think not,’ he muttered fiercely, and dragging her close against him pressed his mouth down on hers.
Stephanie fought like a wild thing. Whatever emotions he had aroused in her yesterday were overwhelmed by the purely primitive desire for survival, but she was no match for his strength. Although she raked his cheek with her nails, and kicked and scratched like an untamed she-cat, it was no use. He picked her up and carried her to the bed effortlessly, quelling her struggles with the weight of his body, and silencing her protests with the demanding passion of his mouth…
CHAPTER TEN
IT was dark when Stephanie opened her eyes and she lay for a few moments dazed, unable to assimilate where she was or what had been happening. And then as her brain began to function properly it all came flooding back to her and a terrible feeling of hopelessness enveloped her. She closed her eyes, willing oblivion to come and claim her once more, but it was no use. She was awake now and her healthy young body would not submit to the toils of Morpheus.
She slid off the bed and padded to the door where a switch brought illumination to the room. Then she put on the dressing-gown which lay at the foot of the bed, wrapping it closely about her as she walked to the dressing-table. Sinking down on to the stool, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, noticing the pallor of her cheeks and the dark smudges of eyes that had already cried too many tears.
She buried her face in her hands, resting her elbows on the edge of the dressing-table, shivering uncontrollably. What was she going to do? What could she do?
Raising her head, she cupped her chin on one hand and stared through the mirror beyond her reflection to the door that led to the dressing-room. Was it really only four hours ago that she had opened that door so blithely? She bit her lips tightly. Why had she had to do it? Why couldn’t she have found some other occupation, something that would not have brought her into direct confrontation with Santino?
Santino!
Her lips trembled. She had thought him incapable of humiliating her further, but she had been wrong. He had done so with a brutal disregard of her feelings, and the remembrance of what had happened was sufficient to bring the hot tears to her eyes again. She brushed them away with a careless hand. Tears would not help her now, what was done was done, and nothing she could do would change that.
She rubbed her hands against her cheeks. It had been as though he had wanted to punish her, and he had shown none of the tenderness she had learned he was capable of the previous day. But then he had been contemptuous of his behaviour at that time and maybe his actions today had been a kind of propitiation to himself of his earlier gentleness. But whatever hidden motives he might have had, his obvious motives were clear. He had wanted to hurt and humiliate her, to destroy her romantic illusions, and in part he had succeeded. Yet in spite of everything, in spite of the cruelty he had displayed, Stephanie’s most bitter recollections were that in the end he had conquered her, mentally as well as physically, and there had been nothing she could do about it.
Heaving a sigh, she rose from the stool and went into the bathroom, running herself a deep bath and scenting it liberally with bath-cubes. Then she lay for a long while in the water before scrubbing her body roughly with the sponge, endeavouring to obliterate all traces of his touch from her skin.
When she emerged and had dried herself vigorously, she put on a towelling robe. It was impossible to consider going downstairs again this evening and although she knew Lucia would wonder what was wrong she could not risk seeing Santino again.
A knock at her door sent the colour flooding to her cheeks and she hesitated shakily before walking across the room to answer it. She opened the door only a few inches, but only Sophia stood outside, a tray in her hands. Stephanie indicated that she should come in and Sophia entered the room and put down the tray on the bedside table. As she straightened, she said: ‘Are you feeling a little better, signora?’
Stephanie’s colour deepened. ‘I—I thank you, yes.’ She frowned, wondering what Santino had told them.
‘That is good. The signore, he say not to disturb you, but I thought you might be feeling a little hungry in spite of your headache.’
Stephanie swallowed hard. So that was what Santino had said, that she had a headache. Controlling the tremor in her voice, she asked: ‘Where—where is—the signore?’
‘He has gone out, signora. To dine with Signor Marchesi and his family.’
‘To dine?’ Stephanie could not entirely keep the consternation out of her words.
‘Si, signora. But I thought you knew.’
Stephanie spread a hand. ‘I—er—I suppose I did. My my headache,’ she put a hand to her head convincingly. ‘I probably forgot.’
Sophia nodded calmly. ‘Si, signora. Is there anything else I can get you?’
Stephanie shook her head quickly. Then: ‘Tell me,’ she said nervously, ‘is—is there a key to my door?’
Sophia was obviously surprised at this question. Frowning, she nodded. ‘Si, signora. It is on the key-ring I gave you this afternoon.’
‘The—the key-ring? Oh, oh yes.’ Stephanie pressed her hand to her cheek, looking round the room desperately. Then she saw the keys. They were lying in a heap near the wall where she must have dropped them in her struggles with Santino. On unsteady legs she went and picked them up. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I forgot.’
Sophia shrugged. ‘It is of no matter, signora. I will take them back to the kitchen if you have finished with them.’
Stephanie handled them agitatedly. ‘Which—which key fits my door?’ she asked.
Sophia frowned again, but she came across and taking them isolated one key. ‘That is the one, signora.’
‘May I have it?’ Stephanie wet her dry lips.
Sophia hesitated and then shrugged again. ‘If you wish, signora.’ She twisted the key round the ring until it came loose. Then she handed it to Stephanie, looking at her with almost anxious concern. ‘Is something wrong, signora?’ she asked gently.
Stephanie could not bear her sympathy. ‘No!’ she exclaimed shortly. ‘No, why should there be?’
Sophia lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘I don’t know, signora.’
Stephanie pressed her lips together. ‘Thank you, Sophia.’
‘Si, signora.’ Sophia moved towards the door and Stephanie turned away, her lips trembling again. ‘Are you sure there is nothing I can do?’ Sophia was by the door now and Stephanie twisted the key in her fingers convulsively.
‘No, no, I’ve told you!’ she cried, but to her ignominy, her voice broke on a sob and she gulped it back in dismay.
There was complete silence for a moment and Stephanie half wondered whether Sophia had gone, but when she glanced round she saw the old woman standing by the door looking at her with obvious compassion.
Stephanie held up her head, willing the tears back, as she said: ‘What are you waiting for, Sophia?’
Sophia watched her for a moment, and then she sighed. ‘There is something, signora. I would like to help you if I can.’
Stephanie pressed her lips together almost cynically. ‘No one can help me, Sophia,’ she said carefully. ‘No one.’
Sophia bent her head. ‘Are you sure, signora? The signore—’
‘The signore!’ Stephanie gave an hysterical l
augh. ‘The signore! Oh, that’s ironic, it really is!’
‘Signora?’
‘Oh, go away, Sophia,’ exclaimed Stephanie desperately, tears beginning to roll down her pale cheeks. ‘Please! Just leave me alone!’
Sophia hesitated, and then as Stephanie flung herself face downwards on the bed she went silently out of the room.
* * *
Stephanie awoke to the sound of someone rattling at her door and she opened her eyes reluctantly and glanced at her watch. It was daylight and the sun was streaming through the shutters even though it was only seven o’clock. The rattling continued and Stephanie sat up unwillingly. It could only be Lucia out there, unable to understand why the door would not open to her touch.
With a sigh, Stephanie slid out of bed and went across the room to open the door. Turning the key, she allowed Lucia to do the rest and the little girl burst into the room as the door suddenly gave inwards. She giggled as it banged back on its hinges and looked expectantly at Stephanie.
Stephanie managed a smile and then closed the door again before walking back to the bed. Lucia said good morning and bounced on to the bed too, looking in surprise at the tray of food’ which still stood untouched on the bedside table.
‘Che cosa e questo?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Your—er colazione?’
‘Breakfast, no! Dinner. Desinare.’
‘Dinner?’ Lucia frowned. ‘Perche?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Stephanie heavily, feeling in no mood to try and explain why it was there to the child. But not just any child, her subconscious told her, his child, his daughter, Santino’s offspring. She shivered and tried to dispel the feeling of misery which threatened to overwhelm her again and slid out of bed and went into the bathroom.
Lucia followed her and Stephanie turned to her angrily, wanting to hurt her for being who she was. ‘Oh, go away,’ she exclaimed fiercely to the little girl. ‘Go away! Non entrare! Don’t you understand?’
Lucia stared at her for a long moment and then her face crumpled like a spent flower, small tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. Stephanie watched her brightness disintegrate and the hunching of the little shoulders as she turned away, and all at once she realized what a cruel thing she was doing to an innocent creature.
