The Autumn of the Witch

by Anne Mather

  Santino gave an impatient curse. ‘Why? Why should I not give you some money if I desire to do so? Your stepmother was not averse to taking me for every penny that she could with those shares!’

  ‘I am not like Jennifer!’ asserted Stephanie briefly.

  ‘I know that!’ He chewed at his lower lip. ‘But you are still my wife in the eyes of the law!’

  ‘I don’t want money from you,’ she cried. ‘Don’t make things any more beastly than they already are!’

  Santino came to her then, anger showing in the muscle that jerked in his cheek. ‘Dear heaven, Stephanie, you do enjoy baiting me, do you not?’

  ‘I’m not baiting you,’ exclaimed Stephanie wearily. ‘Oh, please, go away! I’ll do what you want and stay here until you get back, but don’t humiliate me any further.’

  Santino hesitated as though he would have liked to have said more, but then with an angry flick of his fingers, he turned and strode swiftly out of the room. The door slammed, and Stephanie collapsed weakly on to the bed again. Her head was aching abominably and there was an awful sickly pain in the pit of her stomach, but neither of these complaints was as agonizing as the knowledge that the reason she felt no delight in returning to London was because in spite of everything she had fallen in love with Santino. It didn’t matter that he had tricked her, that he had hurt and humiliated her, that he had made love to her without her consent. All these things paled into insignificance beside the unshakable fact that her fear of him was not based on his treatment of her, but rather in the fear of the power he could exercise over her emotions at will…

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT was amazing how quickly the days slipped away after Santino’s departure.

  In the beginning, Stephanie had expected them to drag endlessly, but life was not like that, and she had forgotten how swiftly time could pass when it was reaching towards something unpleasant. For in spite of the pleasure of seeing her father again, she was not looking forward to returning to London. Jennifer was in London, and she did not think she could bear it if Jennifer saw this return as a kind of rejection and began taunting her with it.

  But what else was she to do? She could hardly get a flat when she had little enough money as it was, and she was determined not to touch a penny of Santino’s. The problem remained unsolved, and she knew by not facing it she was merely delaying the inevitable.

  About three weeks after Santino’s departure a cablegram arrived from Japan addressed to the Signora Ventura and marked personal. Stephanie ripped it open with trembling fingers when Sophia presented it to her, aware that the old housekeeper was watching her anxiously, afraid as she was that it might be bad news. The first words danced before Stephanie’s eyes, and she had to grasp the support of a chair as she read on:

  SANTINO RUSHED INTO HOSPITAL STOP EMERGENCY APPENDECTOMY STOP LETTER FOLLOWING STOP PIETRO.

  Stephanie felt the colour draining out of her cheeks, and she handed the cable weakly to Sophia, appreciating her concern. Sophia took the slip of paper, but before she had a chance to read it she had to jerk forward and save Stephanie as she slid to the floor in a dead faint.

  It was fortunate that Lucia was not around at the time or Stephanie’s moment of unconsciousness might have disturbed her terribly. As it was Stephanie came round to find herself lying on the couch in the lounge with Carlo and Sophia standing looking down at her anxiously.

  Her eyes flickered and she managed a faint smile to reassure them, before struggling up on her elbows. ‘I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed helplessly. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

  Sophia stepped forward. ‘It was the cable, signora.’

  ‘Oh, yes, the cable.’ Stephanie lay back against the cushions. ‘Did you read it, Sophia?’

  ‘Si, signora. But Carlo, he say this—this appendectomy, it need not be serious.’

  Stephanie smiled weakly. ‘I know. And I’m sure the signore will have the best attention available. It was just that well, I suppose getting a cable like that, I thought the worst for a moment.’

  Sophia nodded understandingly. ‘Never mind, signora. It is you we must worry about now. I will contact Doctor—’

  ‘Heavens, no!’ Stephanie sat up abruptly, and swung her legs to the ground. ‘I don’t need a doctor. I’ve never fainted before in my life. I expect I’m hungry, or something.’

  Sophia looked doubtful. ‘The signore would insist if he were here—’

  ‘But he’s not here,’ said Stephanie firmly, getting to her feet. ‘Honestly, Sophia, there’s no cause for alarm. I’m perfectly all right.’

  Sophia still looked doubtful, but Lucia came dancing into the room at that moment and looked curiously at their anxious faces so that they were all forced to behave naturally and dismiss what had happened from their minds. Even so, despite her assertions to Sophia, Stephanie could not dismiss what had happened so easily, and a disturbing doubt was rapidly invading her thoughts.

  But it couldn’t be, she told herself desperately. Santino had been married to Sancia for eight years before Lucia was conceived. And yet when she came to consider the possibility seriously it explained several previously inexplicable occurrences. For example, for the last week she had been feeling particularly tired and although she had never felt sick in the mornings in the evenings she had sometimes experienced a sense of nausea. And in her agony of mind over leaving Sicily, she had not bothered to take much account of dates…

  In her bedroom, she sat down at her dressing-table and stared at her reflection. Could it possibly be true? Was she really pregnant? Could she conceivably be carrying Santino’s child?

  The prospect was at once exhilarating and yet terrifying. Exhilarating because she wanted it to be so so desperately. She wanted to know the thrill of feeling a small being kicking inside her, and the even more satisfying thrill of knowing it was Santino’s child. But terrifying because of what he had told her before he left for Japan, and terrifying because the very last thing she wanted, in her longing for this man, was the realization that he might find out and accept her because of the child.

  She got up and paced restlessly about the room. What could she do? What must she do?

  This unexpected appendectomy of Santino’s had changed a lot of things. To begin with, he would be in hospital for possibly two weeks, and afterwards would he be fit to face the journey home straight away? And if not, how long would it be before he got back? One month—two maybe? Could she afford to wait that long, knowing that sooner or later someone would notice something, or even that Santino himself might find out when he got back just by looking at her.

  She glanced at her reflection again. Of course, there was no sign as yet, but once her waistline began to thicken… She consoled herself with the thought that it would be some weeks yet before that happened, but there were other signs, and Sophia’s eyes were very sharp… That incident just now, for example, was likely food for gossip in the kitchen at this moment.

  She turned to the window, looking out on a grey November day, the Mediterranean almost unrecognizable under the lowering sky as a squall of rain beat against the panes. If only Santino had come back before this had happened, before she had known or even suspected. It would have been so much easier facing him without this knowledge. Would she be able to face him with it? She was not a good liar, and she dreaded the piercing penetration of those dark eyes.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling his face to mind, seeing it with vivid clarity. Now that she felt this urgency to get away she also felt a sense of desolation at the realization that she might never see him again. Could she bear that? Could she accept that the child she might be bearing might never know its father?

  Another thought struck her more forcibly. What part might Santino play in all this? If he ever discovered that she had had a child after their separation what might he do? What claims might he have upon it?

  She shivered suddenly. She ought to tell him, but how could she? And besides, she was being precipitate. She c
ould not in all honesty be certain yet.

  * * *

  The letter from Pietro arrived three days later. It was short and to the point, almost as though it had been dictated by Santino himself, Stephanie thought. It had been written the day after the cablegram and at least it told her what she wanted to know: that Santino had had his operation and was recovering satisfactorily.

  The rest of the letter concerned itself with general affairs. Pietro informed her that their business in New York had been completed to Santino’s satisfaction, but unfortunately he had been admitted to hospital before he could finish his business in Tokyo, and therefore they would be staying on there for two or three weeks longer than was anticipated to enable Santino to conduct the negotiations himself.

  Stephanie was disturbed. She felt no longer in any doubt about her condition and this news meant that it could be two months more before they arrived back in Sicily. She could not afford to wait so long. By then her slender body would be unable to hide its secret from a man who had held her body in his arms and knew its contours intimately.

  She did not reply to Pietro’s letter even though he had given her an address to write to and instead endeavoured to find a solution to her own immediate problems.

  Always, whenever she thought of leaving she was brought up short by the prospect of abandoning Lucia and she knew she would miss the little girl desperately. Lucia had come to rely on her for a dozen small things during the day, and her acceptance of Stephanie was complete.

  Stephanie realized that her only chance lay in finding someone to take her place temporarily, and consequently she confided her plans to Sophia, simply saying that she wanted to return to England for a visit while Santino was away.

  Sophia was frankly horrified, Stephanie realized, that she should want to return to England at this time, and it was terribly difficult convincing her that nothing she could say or do would make Stephanie change her mind. But when it became clear to her that Stephanie was going, she rallied round and came up with a solution of her own.

  Teresa’s younger sister, Camilla, was reaching school-leaving age and wanted a job. Sophia’s suggestion was that Teresa should take on the care of Lucia temporarily, until Stephanie returned, while Camilla took on Teresa’s household chores.

  It seemed an admirable solution, solving as it did the need for Lucia to get used to someone new. She already knew and liked Teresa and Stephanie herself felt more relieved to leave the child in her hands. After all, it was only for a short period. Santino would be back soon, and then he had said he would take her away. She was too young to attach too much importance to one particular person as yet, and she would soon forget once Stephanie was gone.

  Stephanie found this last realization hard to bear. Lucia would soon forget, but would she? Particularly as she was taking with her something that would remind her always.

  She left a letter for Santino stating blankly that she had decided it would be easier for both of them if she was not here on his return. She gave him the name and address of her father’s solicitors, who were also her solicitors, and finally hoped he was fully recovered from his illness. It was a cold, bleak little missive and she hesitated a long while before sealing it in an envelope and placing it in a prominent position in his study so that he would be bound to see it as soon as he entered the room.

  However, her departure was by no means without incident. Carlo was driving her into Palermo to the airport there where she had booked a flight for London, but on the morning of her departure Lucia threw a fit of hysterics and could not be quietened for some time. She seemed to sense that this parting was not the temporary thing both Stephanie and Sophia had told her it would be and she clung desperately to Stephanie’s legs, begging her, in shrill Italian, not to leave her.

  Stephanie was almost in tears herself by the time Sophia had prised the little fingers off her skirt, and she got into the car without a backward glance. She could not bear to look at Sophia and Lucia and the castello knowing she would never see any of them again.

  All she had taken with her was a small suitcase. She would send for the rest of her things later, once she had settled in England again, but for the present clothes were unimportant.

  The flight to London was uneventful. She had not advised anyone that she was coming and consequently her arrival at Gatwick was rather a lonely affair. She took a taxi from the airport into the city, and gave the address of her father’s house.

  But when Miller opened the door to her she stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why, Miss Stephanie!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Stephanie frowned and stepped past her into the hall. ‘I’ve—I’ve come back, Miller,’ she said swiftly. ‘Where’s my father?’

  Miller closed the front door and stared at her in amazement. ‘But he’s not here, miss. Your father’s in Paris.’

  ‘Paris?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No.’ Stephanie’s frown deepened. ‘When will he be back?’

  Miller shook her head. ‘He won’t, miss. At least, not for some time. Didn’t you know? That Signor Ventura—’ She coloured. ‘I mean—your husband, miss—he—he’s made your father the chairman of one of his companies in Paris. Something to do with airlines, it is. Not exactly aeroplanes, I don’t think. Components, or something.

  Stephanie gasped and sank down weakly on to the seat by the telephone. ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, miss. Didn’t you know?’

  Stephanie shook her head confusedly. ‘If I did, would I be here?’ she asked helplessly.

  Miller bit her lip. ‘Well, I’m sorry, miss, but I was sure your—your husband—would have told you.’

  Stephanie swallowed hard, trying to take it in. She looked up and said: ‘And—and Jennifer?’

  ‘Well, naturally she’s with him, miss. Thrilled to bits, she was, going to live in Paris and all. She told me they’ve got the most beautiful apartment in this boulevard where there are fountains and statues and—’

  ‘All right, Miller.’ Stephanie was beginning to feel distinctly nauseated. What was she to do now?

  Miller coloured and then said tentatively: ‘I—er—I’ve been sort of pensioned off, miss. I only come here once or twice a week to clean, see. It’s lucky you caught me today. I shan’t be back again before next Wednesday.’

  Stephanie’s head jerked up. ‘You mean my father has shut up the house?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Oh, God!’

  Stephanie pressed the palms of her hands to her cheeks. She couldn’t stay here now, that was obvious. So where could she go? She had little money now that her air fare had been paid, and she certainly couldn’t book into a hotel.

  She frowned. There only was one other person—Aunt Evelyn. Surely she would not turn her away!

  Rising to her feet, she lifted her suitcase and said: ‘Well, Miller, I’d better go. I—I shall go to Mrs. Lacey’s. Do you have my father’s address?’

  ‘Of course, miss. Just a minute. I’ll get it.’

  Miller was obviously relieved that Stephanie was demanding nothing more of her, and Stephanie herself now just wanted to get away. Surely Santino could have told her what he had done before he left for Japan. He must have known. This was no unexpected decision. When Miller came back, Stephanie asked: ‘How long have my father and Jennifer been in Paris, Miller?’

  Miller frowned. ‘Over three weeks, miss,’ she said slowly. ‘At least—let me see—yes, it must be getting on for three weeks anyway.’

  ‘I see.’ Stephanie nodded. It was over a month since Santino had left for New York. In spite of the fact that her father had not departed for France before Santino’s trip, his plans must have been made before that.

  Leaving a curious Miller behind, Stephanie walked across the square to the main thoroughfare and summoned another taxi. It was getting dark and the chill wintry evening struck through even the tweed trouser suit she was wearing. She draped her lambswool coat about her shoulders as t
he cab sped through the twilit streets, busy now that the evening rush hour got under way.

  Aunt Evelyn’s house stood in its own grounds in a quiet cul-de-sac adjoining a park. It was old and rambling and although Stephanie knew that her aunt had had central heating installed to aid her fight against arthritis everything else was exactly the same as it had been fifty or sixty years ago.

  There were welcoming lights in the lounge windows and Stephanie paid and dismissed the taxi driver before ringing the bell.

  It was some time before anyone answered the door, but eventually, when she was beginning to feel chilled to the bone both mentally and physically, the sound of bolts being drawn back could be heard and the door opened a few inches and a face peered out.

  ‘Yes, yes, what is it?’

  Stephanie stepped forward, recognizing her aunt’s old maid and companion, Betsy Marshall. ‘Betsy! Is that you? It’s Stephanie.’

  The door opened a few more inches and the old woman stared out piercingly. ‘Stephanie!’ she exclaimed. ‘Stephanie McMaster?’

  ‘Yes. Can I come in? I’m freezing out here.’

  ‘Betsy! Betsy!’

  Evelyn Lacey’s strident tones could be heard coming down the passage. ‘Betsy, whatever are you doing? Who is it?’

  Betsy stepped aside invitingly, and Stephanie walked into the hall as her aunt switched on a light and illuminated them all.

  ‘Dear heaven, Stephanie!’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘Betsy, you old fool, what are you doing keeping my niece hanging about here in the hall? Come along into the living-room, girl, come along in. Betsy! Fetch us some tea straight away. Oh, and some of those fancy cakes you’ve been making this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Evelyn.’

  Betsy’s lined old face crinkled into a smile and she hobbled off down the hall, taking Evelyn’s ill temper in good part. Then Evelyn took one look at Stephanie’s strained expression and ushered her into the warmth and light of the living-room where in spite of the panelled radiator a merry fire burned in the grate.