Secrets

by Galia Ryan

Stephanie remained lost in thought.

  Chapter 12.

  Stephanie opened her eyes and glanced at the alarm clock. “Oh my God, I’m late.”

  Rolling over, she quickly touched her lips to Olivia’s. The response, little more than a murmur, was about what she expected.

  “Don’t wake up. I’ll shower in the guest room.”

  Gathering her clothes from the floor she tiptoed out of the bedroom. Hell and damnation. She had another exam this morning, and had hoped for enough time to run over a few points before it was too late.

  She could hardly blame anyone else. The fault was all hers. She had returned the previous evening with the X-rated videotape that had been doing the rounds of her fellow students. Olivia had simply supplied the champagne. Between them they demolished the bottle, and long before the movie was over they were naked and giving each other orgasm after orgasm. No wonder she was tired.

  Even the traffic seemed to be against her this morning. By the time she reached the Via Zambori and made her way to the café on the corner, Giancarlo had already arrived.

  “Ciao Bella, where have you been?” His French was reasonably fluent, unlike Stephanie’s Italian, which was still only passable. “I thought we were meeting at quarter past?” He closed the notebook he had been writing in and returned it to his bag.

  “Sorry, we were. One of those mornings.” Not in the mood for further explanations, she threw herself down onto an empty metal chair. “Have you ordered?”

  “I will now.” He signalled for a waiter.

  “Just coffee, black,” she instructed, reaching over and lifting a thick book from her bag. “Are you all good for this morning?”

  “I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Wish I could say the same.”

  “Late night?” Giancarlo was looking closely at her. “I thought you were planning to study.”

  “I was. I did.” She was abrupt. “Look, will you just go over this with me?” She flicked through the pages before stopping and running her finger down the printed lines. “Here is it.” She read aloud.

  He shrugged. “Okay, that’s easy,” he said.

  Not for the first time she thanked the Fates this Italian fancied her as badly as he did. She had no qualms about using him. It was just one of those things. Perhaps one day she would sleep with him. He wasn’t bad looking. Tall, dark and intensely brooding; he was just what every Italian mama dreamed of for her daughter. Unfortunately for him, her mother had been Danish.

  She tried to concentrate on his explanation and ignore the irritation she felt each time Giancarlo paused to look at her. His habit of pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose was very distracting. Why didn’t he get them adjusted? She asked another question, and he patiently went over the details again.

  She blew out an exasperated puff of air. “I can’t wait to get this over with,” she said.

  He cleared his throat. “One day, when you are a partner in the most prestigious firm in Europe, you will look back on today and wonder what you were so worried about.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad you’re so confident.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You would be, too, had you studied a little more.”

  She swore silently as she closed the textbook. How dare he be so condescending?

  By midday they were back out in the sunshine. The exam hadn’t been as onerous as she had feared; in fact she was quietly hopeful that she had done well enough to get a half decent grade. Giancarlo caught up with her as she was weaving through the students swarming the colonnades.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I think it went okay.”

  “Bene. So, you want to go somewhere?”

  “Where do you suggest?”

  “What about Tamburini?”

  “Are you buying?”

  Giancarlo smiled. “I might.”

  In the short time she had been living in Bologna Stephanie had come to love the city. Dating from the Middle Ages, it had somehow managed to maintain its integrity, unlike other cities from that era. The terracotta arcades and medieval structures were the perfect setting for one of the world’s oldest universities, and she still couldn’t believe her luck in being there.

  “So,” Giancarlo said when their plates had been piled high with meats and cheeses from the delicatessen and the waiter had poured two glasses of Sangiovese, “what will you do when your course ends? Stay here or return home?”

  “Return home, I expect.” Stephanie broke off a piece of bread. “What will you do?”

  Giancarlo hesitated. “I’ve been thinking of spending a year as an aid worker.”

  “Really? Where, Africa?” Stephanie looked at him in astonishment.

  “They’re still struggling to feed people there.”

  “I know. It’s beyond belief that the West gives as much aid as it does, yet only a small percentage gets to where it is most needed. Doesn’t it bother you that charity actually supports the regimes that put their own survival before that of their people?”

  He waved his hand in a gesture of impatience. “Of course it does. But the real concern is that, if we all stop giving, the starving have no chance at all. At least this way, as intolerable as it is, some of the aid gets through.”

  “So, better something than nothing. That’s what you are saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like Bob Geldorf?” Stephanie popped another cube of mozzarella into her mouth.

  “I suppose.” He laughed. “You know ...” He stopped, as if uncertain whether or not to continue.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You could come with me.”

  She recovered quickly. “I don’t think so. Not my thing. But you’ll do well.” She put her hand on his arm. “You’ll come back a seasoned campaigner and pick up an internship with Greenpeace.”

  Behind the steel rims his eyes turned serious. “Will you sleep with me, cara?”

  She reached for her glass. “Ask me another time.”

  “Why isn’t now a good time?” he wanted to know.

  “Because I’m eating.”

  Chapter 13.

  Olivia was trying to make her see the sense of a farewell party.

  “Darling, you’ll be leaving in a week. Why don’t we have a few people over? Or”—it was as if the thought had suddenly struck her—“we could go out. Have a few drinks at the già Baglioni, and then perhaps find somewhere fun to eat?”

  “And who would you invite?” Stephanie was struggling into her jeans. “Have I put on weight?” She twisted to study herself in the wardrobe mirror.

  Olivia gave her a critical onceover. “Not that I can see.”

  “Well, if I have, it’s all those fattening pastas.”

  “I did warn you. So what do you think?” Olivia said, steering the conversation back.

  “I don’t mind. Just don’t make it Friday. Now that our exams are over we’re all going out to celebrate.”

  “Will Giancarlo be there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Darling, that poor boy is so in love with you.”

  “I know, but what can I do?” Stephanie was briskly pulling a brush through her hair.

  “Let him get it out of his system.”

  “Let him fuck me, you mean.”

  “Why not? It’ll probably do you good as well.”

  Stephanie’s look was full of reproach. “You know he’s not my type.”

  “Too young?”

  “Too broke.” Gathering her hair she piled it up and inserted a comb.

  “God willing, he’ll be able to overcome both disadvantages one day.” Olivia laughed. “I’ll make it Saturday then.”

  * * *

  Olivia often hosted gatherings, some impromptu and all successful. Invitations were highly sought-after. This one, the last before Stephanie was to return home, had been planned for a while.

  She had decided the time had come for Stephanie to meet certain people—those with even the
most tentative connections who might prove useful in the future. With firsthand experience of how important such contacts could be, she had already started working on a guest list.

  It was a diverse group. There were those whose attendance would bring prestige, and those who would add a touch of flamboyance. Others would receive invitations based on their intelligence or attractiveness. It was all a question of balance.

  And then there was the second list. Those Olivia deemed potential lovers. Not for herself, of course, but for Stephanie.

  Lacking any real wealth or breeding, Stephanie had only one real option that might allow her to integrate into the society she aspired to—via the bed of an existing member. Of course, that step might not be necessary later on, if her plans of becoming a highly successful lawyer came to fruition. But that was the future. This was now.

  To Olivia’s relief, Stephanie seemed to have few moral scruples when it came to practical matters such as money and position, and had heard her out when she raised the issue some months earlier.

  “The outcome we are looking for is not marriage,” Olivia explained. “Not, that is, if you are to achieve power in your own right.”

  “So you are condemning me to the life of a spinster?”

  “Not at all. Who knows? Perhaps a commitment will be offered, and there may even be suitable terms. In the meantime I want you to continue with your studies. You are a woman few men will be able to resist. Beautiful, intelligent and very desirable.”

  “Are you sure you’re not rating me too highly?”

  Olivia had been jotting in her diary. Rising from her desk she grazed Stephanie’s cheek with her lips, then held the younger woman at arms length. “You need to take this seriously, darling, unless you want to be like your fellow students and work hard for your start in life.”

  “You know that holds no appeal at all.”

  “Exactly,” Olivia said, smoothing back a stray lock of Stephanie’s hair. “You want it all, my darling, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then listen to me, and listen carefully. There are times when you will be offered money ...” Olivia’s look was stern. “Sadly, wealthy men tend to think that everyone, and everything, can be bought. You must look shocked, hurt even. Let me put this in the strongest terms I can. If you accept money from a lover, you will immediately devalue everything you have worked for. And worse, gossip spreads.”

  Stephanie broke away. “So how will I pay my way in this wonderful world of yours?”

  “Heavens, you don’t pay your way. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? The right man will provide for you. An apartment, clothing, jewellery.”

  “A kept woman then.”

  “No more kept than a wife,” Olivia smiled, returning to her desk.

  Stephanie followed and picked up Olivia’s Mont Blanc pen, as though assessing its value. “Put like that, I suppose there’s little difference.”

  “Ah, but there is. A wife is a caged bird.”

  “And what does that make us?” She stared directly at Olivia.

  “Utterly desirable commodities.”

  “And when my lover is bored with the arrangement? Then what?”

  “When that happens, and of course it will, you must accept the situation with style and diplomacy,” Olivia said.

  “Suppose it is my choice to leave?”

  Olivia shrugged, and held out her hand to reclaim her pen. “The same applies.”

  “It all sounds too much like a Victorian melodrama to me.” Placing the pen in Olivia’s elegant, long fingered palm Stephanie collapsed into an overstuffed chair.

  The other woman shook her head emphatically. “You won’t feel that way when you’re settled in a New York penthouse. Or on a luxury yacht in the Bahamas.”

  * * *

  The party was in full swing and, at 11 p.m., already destined to be recorded in the society pages as yet another success for the visiting English aristocrat, Olivia Devries-Smythe. The venue, a frescoed room in a historic palace, couldn’t have been more perfect. Impeccably dressed waiting staff glided around the floor, trays of canapés or flutes of Dom Perignon at the ready. In one corner, a jazz trio was holding court. The vocalist seemed more than happy to accept requests, and some of the guests were already dancing, albeit a little self-consciously.

  Stephanie was talking to a retired diplomat and his wife. For some unfathomable reason they believed their reminiscing on embassy life in an African colony, some forty years earlier, was little short of fascinating.

  “The parties, my dear.” The diplomat’s wife—painfully thin, expensively coiffed and bejewelled—was hitting her conversational stride. “You would not believe. They would go on for days. So much fun. And Alasdair. Do you remember him, darling?”

  Her husband did little more than nod enthusiastically.

  His wife turned back to Stephanie, her eyes alight, and placed a hand on her arm. “He had a plane and would arrive at any hour, day or night, if he knew we had guests. And the hunting. Absolutely wonderful. We were all crack shots, of course. You couldn’t do that now. Too many regulations. Such a shame.”

  Knowing his duty, the diplomat shook his head, his rheumy eyes looking suitably wistful.

  Stephanie tried hard to find the right thing to say. It was difficult, since giving rein to her thoughts on the results of western colonisation would appear offensive, to say the least. Thankfully she spotted Olivia making her way towards her with a very attractive man on her arm. He was fortyish, with clean-cut, almost boyish good looks and the unadventurous ensemble—well-cut suit and bland tie—one associated with Americans.

  She excused herself graciously. As Olivia had so often said, a good opinion might be useful in the future.

  “Darling, I want you to meet William.”

  “Piacere.” Stephanie smiled, proffering her hand.

  William hesitated. “Mi dispiace, ma non parlo l’italiano.”

  “You don’t, do you,” she said with a laugh.

  Smiling, Olivia wagged an admonishing finger. “Don’t tease him. Stephanie, William has only just graced our shores. He is a United States Senator.” To William, she added, “Stephanie is my ward. She is staying with me while studying law at the university here.”

  “Really? And what are you hoping to do once you have graduated?”

  She looked into his eyes, searching for and finding genuine interest.

  “I’m not sure yet. Perhaps look for an opening with an environmental or charitable organisation.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I trust you won’t be wasting your talents?”

  Stephanie wondered whether the double entendre was deliberate. If Olivia had introduced her it would have been for a reason. He might be expecting to discover her talents for himself a little later.

  “So, William,” she was careful to pronounce his name correctly, her eyes sparkling as she did so. “How is your wife finding Italy?”

  “Oh, she isn’t here. She’s back home in Maine.”

  “That’s unfortunate. There is so much to see here. Have you been to Bologna before?”

  “No. I’ve been to Rome, though. My wife and I went there once, many years ago. But that’s the extent of my travels in Italy. Until now, of course.”

  “Then we must make up for that. Did you know this city is renowned for its restaurants?”

  “I’d heard that.”

  “I will give you a list of those you must try.”

  “Why, thank you.” His blinding white smile was definitely encouraging. “I look forward to seeing your suggestions. And perhaps I might even persuade you to join me one night? As you have already found out, my Italian is not the best.”

  Shortly after that, she excused herself.

  She knew he would try to find her again. They always did. Meanwhile, wondering why Olivia had deliberately selected this man for her, she wandered out to the balcony, where she found her friend enjoying a rare moment by herself, overlookin
g the dimly lit gardens.

  “Don’t discount the Americans,” Olivia advised her. “They may not have old world style, but there are those who have considerable old world wealth.”

  “And William?”

  “Is from one of the founding families of America. He is wealthy, Anglo-Saxon and Protestant.”

  “In other words, an uptight WASP.”

  “Heavens, darling. What do you want? An American-Irish Catholic?” she said in gentle response to Stephanie’s grimace. “Don’t let William’s background put you off. Just concentrate on the word wealthy. Look, if it makes you feel any better, America loves to debate its issues. Environmental, human rights, etcetera, etcetera.” She had waved her glass around airily. “Isn’t that going to be your field? He could be an extremely useful ally in the future.”

  Stephanie pursed her lips. “But will he know how to play the game?”

  “You might need to teach him. Give him half an hour, and then let him find you.”

  “Okay,” Stephanie said, though her reply lacked enthusiasm. “He does seem the best of the bunch.”

  “Good Lord,” Olivia said, “don’t be such a snob. Look on it as part of your education.”

  Stephanie slipped her arm through her friend’s. “Only if you promise to find me a wealthy European next.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Chapter 14.

  Alain Duvall could hardly contain his pride.

  “I always knew she had it in her,” he beamed at his wife, “but International and European Law? It’s impressive, it really is. She could end up in Brussels or Geneva, you know.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  Amelie shook her head. Mostly in amusement, but she was starting to feel the slightest prick of irritation. He had spoken of little else for the past few weeks, and it was becoming tedious. Not that she wanted to take anything away from Stephanie’s achievement. She considered herself a fair woman, and her stepdaughter had obviously applied herself to her studies. But there were times she wanted to scream.

  She knew Stephanie was not the golden child Alain believed her to be. She also knew he was no different from plenty of other adoring fathers in being blind to his daughter’s faults. And giving her whatever she wanted was not going to improve Stephanie’s character.