The Autumn of the Witch

by Anne Mather

  Stephanie allowed her aunt to take her coat and drop it into a chair before urging her forward to sit on the comfortable chintz-covered settee which was set right in front of the roaring fire. The warmth of it flooded her being and dispersed a little of the chill she had been feeling. Evelyn seated herself beside her and chafed her hands between her gnarled old ones before saying:

  ‘In heaven’s name, girl, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Sicily. Is Santino here?’

  Stephanie lay back against the soft cushions and allowed herself to relax for the first time for days—weeks, even. ‘No,’ she said, slowly. ‘Santino’s not with me. I—I’ve left him. We’ve separated.’

  ‘What!’ Evelyn was obviously horrified. ‘You’ve left him! Why?’

  Stephanie made a helpless gesture. ‘Oh, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Our marriage was just a fiasco, you knew that. Why should you be surprised that it’s over?’

  ‘Because—oh, well, never mind.’ Evelyn chewed at her lips. ‘Well, where is Santino anyway? Letting you come here alone and your father out of the country.’

  ‘I didn’t know he was,’ explained Stephanie weakly. ‘Santino didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Did you give him chance to?’ Evelyn was quick to defend her husband, Stephanie noticed. Then she went on: ‘Well, where is he, then?’

  Stephanie sighed. ‘In Tokyo,’ she said wearily.

  ‘Ah, I see. On business.’

  ‘He was. But then he had appendicitis and they had to rush him into hospital there. I believe he’s getting better now.’

  ‘You believe he is!’

  ‘Oh, well then, yes, he is!’ Stephanie compressed her lips. ‘Aren’t you going to ask why I’ve come to you?’

  Evelyn shrugged. ‘Well, I imagine it’s because your father’s away and you’ve no one else to turn to.’

  Stephanie sighed shakily. ‘And don’t you mind?’

  ‘Mind? Mind? Why should I mind? It’s what I’d expect you to do given the same circumstances over again. Heavens, I’m your aunt, aren’t I? I’m the natural person you should turn to now that your mother’s dead and your father’s taken up with that—that—creature!’

  Stephanie frowned. ‘Oh, yes, I meant to ask you first of all, why has Father gone to Paris? What’s happening about W.A.A.?’

  Evelyn hesitated and looked thoughtfully at her, and Stephanie, sensing her indecision, said quickly! ‘I know about the shares, Santino did tell me that.’

  ‘Oh!’ Evelyn nodded. ‘That’s a relief. Well, I suppose your father leapt at the chance.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Well, isn’t it obvious? Your father needs an occupation, we both know that, but W.A.A. was too much for him. Between them, the airline and Jennifer were killing him, to put it bluntly. Now, he’s got a good job, without the weight of the business on his shoulders. He’s his own boss, but he’s not responsible for the corporation. A big syndicate run that, as you know. So!’ She spread her hands. ‘Everyone’s pleased.’

  ‘But couldn’t Father have let me know?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he could. Unless he expected Santino to do it for him.’ Evelyn shook her head. ‘Maybe he felt ashamed. Giving up so easily after everything he had said.’

  ‘Yes.’ Stephanie pondered this. It seemed her efforts on her father’s behalf had been but a travesty.

  Evelyn patted her hand now. ‘Let’s not talk about that right now. It’s you I’m concerned about. All your colour’s gone, girl. What’s been happening to you? You’re not pregnant already, are you?’

  Stephanie gasped. No one but Aunt Evelyn could make such an outrageous statement without turning a hair. After all, she had just been told that Stephanie had left her husband. She wished she had the courage to deny it, but her face was eloquent of her anguish, and Aunt Evelyn’s expression changed to one of deep compassion.

  ‘Oh, my dear child,’ she exclaimed, shaking her head helplessly. ‘What a stupid old woman I am! I always say the wrong thing at the wrong time!’ She pressed Stephanie’s hands tightly. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? I can see it in your face. But why have you come away?’

  Stephanie stared at her mutely for a long moment, but then the sympathy and understanding in her aunt’s eyes combined with the relief of being able to confide in someone at last was sufficient to break down her reserve. Hot tears came to her eyes and her aunt hesitated only a moment before gathering her close and allowing her to rid herself of all the pent-up emotions of the last two months…

  * * *

  It was amazing how everything looked so much better in daylight. With a wintry sun filtering through the heavy curtains at her windows and the sound of milk crates being unloaded from a van in her ears, Stephanie lay in bed considering her future.

  Last night, she and her aunt had talked for a long time, but although Stephanie knew that Evelyn considered her very impulsive for acting as she had and believed she should have told Santino before committing herself, she could not agree. The very last thing she wanted was Santino’s pity, and she would not accept that he had any rights in this case. So far as he was concerned, it had all been a rather stupid charade which had misfired, placing them both in an impossible position. By leaving like this, she had made things easier all round.

  ‘On one subject, however, Evelyn was adamant. Stephanie must stay with her for the time being until she decided what she was going to do, and when Stephanie brought up the subject of money, her aunt told her brusquely that she would be offended if Stephanie refused her assistance.

  So for the present Stephanie had acquiesced. She had been glad to do so. It was so nice to shelve all her problems and allow someone else to do the thinking for her. Sooner or later she would have to assert herself again, but for the present she was going to relax and try to forget.

  And in the weeks that followed she did relax. Aunt Evelyn was an undemanding hostess and as she had various pursuits of her own to follow, she did not interfere in Stephanie’s affairs. She was a keen bridge player, and although her arthritis troubled her terribly, she still managed to play. She was a member of several charity committees, as well as being a chairwoman of the local branch of the Women’s Institute. In consequence, she went out quite a lot in the evenings and Stephanie was left to her own devices.

  Stephanie herself did not go out. She had not bothered to let her friends know she was back in England again. They would be bound to ask a lot of awkward questions which she would not care to answer, and besides, she had lost touch with their way of life. She did think about telephoning Allan Priestley, but changed her mind. It was no use raking up that old relationship which had been unsatisfactory at the best of times, and anyway, he would be bound to tell the others and that was what she wanted to avoid.

  So she remained in anonymity, going out only to shop for her aunt or to buy the necessities she needed. She did not write to the castello, even though she thought often of Lucia and Sophia, but it was no use retaining a connection with them when Santino wanted the break to be complete.

  Nights were the worst time, of course. Once the house was silent and Evelyn and Betsy slumbered peacefully in their beds, Stephanie found it difficult to get to sleep. During the day, she managed to keep her anxieties at bay, but in the dark hours before dawn they came back to torment her even when her body was physically exhausted.

  Eventually, when Evelyn had bullied her mercilessly to do something about it, she went to the doctors for sleeping pills, and her other condition was confirmed. Doctor Rogers was her aunt’s physician and he looked at her rather wryly over his glasses, obviously disturbed about the deterioration in her health.

  ‘Where is your husband, Mrs. Ventura?’ he inquired, frowning down at the diagnosis pad in front of him.

  Stephanie flushed. ‘We’re separated.’

  ‘I see.’ Doctor Rogers’ frown deepened. ‘I gather your husband is not English, Mrs. Ventura.’

  ‘No. No, he’s—Sicilian.’

  Doctor Rogers raised his
bushy eyebrows. ‘Sicilian, eh?’ he remarked in surprise. ‘And is there no chance of a reconciliation, now that this baby—’

  ‘No!’ Stephanie was adamant.

  ‘I see,’ the doctor said again, tapping his pen absently against his desk. ‘Well, Mrs. Ventura, I’ll give you some tablets to make you sleep, but you’ll have to help yourself by eating plenty of fresh, wholesome food and get some flesh back on those bones, eh?’

  Stephanie nodded jerkily. ‘I am all right, aren’t I?’ She bit her lip awkwardly. ‘I mean—’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Doctor Rogers dryly. ‘Yes, you’re okay. A little on the thin side, as I’ve said, but I shall expect you to have improved immensely by the next time I come to see your aunt.’

  Stephanie managed a faint smile. ‘Thank you, doctor.’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘Don’t thank me. I shall be pleased when you tell me you’re sleeping properly again without the use of drugs.’

  Stephanie’s aunt was delighted that Doctor Rogers had found her generally to be in good health. ‘I told you,’ she said, ‘food is what you need. And rest!’

  ‘But I do rest!’ exclaimed Stephanie.

  ‘During the day, perhaps. But you don’t rest at night, do you? Do you think I haven’t heard you pacing about your room in the early hours of the morning, or seen your light burning far into the night? Stephanie, you’re a fool to yourself. You love the man! You’ve admitted as much. For God’s sake, why don’t you tell him and see what happens!’

  Stephanie shook her head vigorously. ‘No. And—and you wouldn’t tell him, would you? I mean—you wouldn’t write to him—?’

  Aunt Evelyn grimaced angrily. ‘I’m not such an old meddler,’ she remarked, shortly. ‘No, I shan’t tell him. But you mark my words, you’ll regret it if you don’t.’

  Stephanie turned away. They had had many such arguments as this, but it made no difference. She still felt the same, and she knew she would never change her mind.

  * * *

  December was a bitterly cold month. Snow arrived early that year and the roads were iced and dangerous. Stephanie’s father paid her a visit from Paris in reply to a short explanatory letter she had written him, but although they discussed superficial matters, Stephanie made no mention of her condition. She let him think she was staying with Evelyn until Christmas and then branching out on her own. He seemed much happier, she noticed with relief, and Jennifer seemed to be enjoying Paris from all accounts. If there was a trace of discomfort in his manner, Stephanie paid little attention to it, and it was only after he had gone that she wondered whether indeed Jennifer had commented upon her sudden marriage to Santino.

  But it didn’t matter now what she had said. Her father probably considered her old enough to know her own mind, and now that Jennifer was happy again she would not risk spoiling things by intimating circumstances that might cause Robert to have second thoughts about this job in Paris. Aunt Evelyn, of course, saw the inadequacy of his visit as just another example of his obsession with his wife and his total disregard of his daughter’s happiness.

  ‘They deserve one another!’ she remarked angrily. ‘I always said your mother was too good for him!’

  Christmas was only a couple of weeks away now and Evelyn was out most evenings organizing parties and functions for the young and the elderly. There were bridge evenings and amateur dramatics and Stephanie got used to spending her evenings alone in front of the television. Occasionally she had Betsy’s company, but as their choice of programmes varied, the old woman usually preferred to watch her own set in her sitting-room.

  One evening, about ten days before Christmas, Stephanie was spending an evening alone. Betsy had gone out to pay a visit to her married daughter in Cricklewood, and Evelyn was attending a charity concert in aid of the local children’s home. It was a cold evening with a trace of sleet in the air and Stephanie was glad she did not have to venture out. After Betsy and her aunt had departed she made up the fire in the lounge and settled down on the couch in front of it with a thriller she had bought at the bookseller’s that morning. The wind howled through the cracks in the doors, but she was very warm and very cosy and she relaxed almost contentedly.

  She had been reading for over an hour and was engrossed in a macabre chase through the waterways of Venice when the doorbell pealed. She gave a start of surprise and glanced automatically at her watch. It was only a little after eight-thirty, so it could not be either her aunt or Betsy arriving back at this time.

  A shiver of apprehension slid over her as she contemplated going out into the dark passage and turning the Yale lock. Anyone could be waiting outside. She had heard so many peculiar stories of women opening the door to would-be thieves and burglars, not to mention more villainous characters, and the book she had just been reading did not aid her confidence.

  She swung her legs to the ground and looked regretfully at the standard lamp above her head. Anyone outside would see this light and know someone must be in, but even so, that didn’t mean that she must answer it.

  The bell rang again and she trembled slightly. Ought she to go? After all, there were neighbours close by, and it could well be someone wanting her aunt. But if that were so, her aunt was not at home, and mightn’t they just as easily grow tired of waiting in the cold and go away again?

  She sighed, and in the silence she heard a strange sound. At least, it wasn’t altogether strange; it was the sound of a key being inserted in the lock and being turned.

  Her heart fluttered in a nervous way and then subsided. If the visitor had a key, it must be either her aunt or Betsy. Sliding off the couch, she opened the lounge door and stepped out into the hall just as the front door opened and she saw the visitor outlined against the lighter background of the street light outside. A scream rose to her throat, but seemed constricted there by the tautness of her fear and her hand sought tremblingly for the light. As the electric bulb illuminated the hall, her lips parted in astonishment and she stared disbelievingly at her husband…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  STEPHANIE’S immediate reaction was one of relief, mingled with a kind of confused refusal to believe that this was actually happening, and she leant rather weakly against the lounge door. Santino for his part slammed the front door and came striding down the hall towards her, his eyes dark with concern. His first words mirrored his agitation, as he stopped about a foot from her and demanded: ‘Are you all right, Stephanie?’ in heavily accented tones.

  Stephanie drew a trembling breath, trying to recover her scattered senses. ‘Of—of course I’m all right. What—what are you doing here? How did you get in? Do you have a key?’

  ‘In a moment.’ Santino unfastened the buttons of his overcoat and chafed his hands roughly. ‘Dio, what a climate this is! Do you have any heating in this place?’

  Stephanie stepped back jerkily. ‘Of course—come come in.’ She stood aside to allow him to walk into the lounge. ‘I—I’m sorry if I appear distrait, but quite frankly when I saw your silhouette—’ Her voice broke ignominiously, and he turned from warming his hands at the roaring blaze of her fire to look at her.

  ‘Of course,’ he said huskily. ‘I am sorry if I startled you. But when you did not answer the door, I thought…’ He shrugged, his jaw tightening abruptly and he looked back at the fire. ‘I thought perhaps you had been taken ill.’

  Stephanie’s legs refused to obey her, but she managed to close the lounge door and lean back against it nervously ‘How—how are you? Have—have you recovered from your operation—’

  Santino glanced at her again, his eyes suddenly bleak. ‘Do you care?’ he asked sharply.

  Stephanie stiffened. ‘Of course I care. I—I was very sorry to hear you had been rushed into hospital—’

  ‘Oh, spare me the platitudes, please!’ Santino straightened and took off the heavy sheepskin overcoat to reveal a dark lounge suit beneath. Flinging the coat over the back of a chair, he put his hands behind his back, standing with his bac
k to the fire. ‘You were so concerned that you disappeared as soon as it became obvious that your stay at the castello might be lengthened—’

  ‘No! No, that’s not true!’ Stephanie was indignant.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ His gaze flickered appraisingly over her and she was glad she was wearing slacks and a chunky sweater and that her figure was still so slim. ‘Then why did you run away?’

  ‘I didn’t—run away.’ Stephanie coloured hotly. ‘I—I oh, what’s the use? You know I was to leave as soon as you got back. I—I thought my leaving would make things easier for—for everyone.’

  Santino chewed at his lower lip. ‘I particularly asked you to stay until I returned.’

  ‘I know you did, but—’

  ‘But nothing!’ He made an impatient gesture. ‘You might at least have considered me to that extent.’

  Stephanie sighed. ‘How—how is everyone? Lucia?’

  ‘Lucia’s fine.’ His face was grim. ‘At least she is now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean now that I am back. She has been desolate. She expected you to return, that was what you had said, was it not, and when you did not she grew anxious.’

  ‘Oh!’ Stephanie shook her head helplessly.

  ‘You could have written to her. You could have shown in some small way that you had not forgotten her now that you have taken up your old life in England!’ His tone was accusatory.

  Stephanie lifted her shoulders weakly. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you wouldn’t want that.’

  ‘Why?’ His face was grim.

  ‘Surely it’s obvious!’ Stephanie spread her hands. ‘I assumed you wanted the break to be complete—’

  ‘Did I say so?’

  ‘No, but—but—when you dismissed me—’

  He took a step forward. ‘Pardon me, but I did not dismiss you! I offered to let you go.’

  Stephanie’s expression was desperate. ‘It’s the same difference! I thought you would be glad—’

  ‘Glad?’ Santino’s fists clenched. ‘Oh, Stephanie, do you know me so little that you cannot distinguish between desire and necessity?’