It was obvious to her now that he had said nothing to his parents about their relationship, yet another indication that she was not, after all, to be a part of his life. But then, she had given him little hope, had she? Only that one precious gift which apparently had not been enough to convince him of her commitment. For some time now she had thought that Santo and his brother would never display the same duplicity. She had given him the benefit of the doubt. Now she saw how mistaken she had been. How naïve and trusting. And what a fool, too.
* * *
The guest room she had been given overlooked the garden at the front of the house where the set of four windows opened on to a stone balcony above the outside stairway. The problem of luggage, or lack of it, concerned Signora Juna not at all, for she had everything they could possibly need for an overnight stay. She was, she told them, quite used to unexpected guests staying longer than intended, though she said it so graciously that they felt no awkwardness. Etta had come for a chat before saying goodnight, telling her that of course Santo could not have spoken to her this evening with a father like that watching them. Santo was obviously choosing his moment, Etta suggested, and as Leon was unwell, would surely wish to be with him. Aphra was unconvinced.
The room was beautiful and fragrant with scents from the garden. The distant tinkle of water drew her to the window where the plots, bathed in moonlight, were laid out like tiles on a palace floor. Such a lot to be explored, she thought, wondering if Leon grew herbs here. A shadow moved into the central pathway, a man of Santo’s stature, standing quite still to face her window. She knew he had seen her. He turned and walked towards the summerhouse where they had dined earlier. He meant her to follow, to go down and meet him there. But by now the wall of rejection and hurt was growing steadily around her heart, building on previous foundations, stout and protective.
Let him sit there alone. Go to bed. Taste the cup of bitterness once more. Let him think you came for Ben’s sake, not his. Love is for fools.
* * *
She had slept badly and fitfully, and at dawn she dressed in the nightrobe left for her use and, without waking Tilda, crept downstairs and across empty salons and out into the pale slumbering garden. Walking quietly round the edge, she reached the stone summerhouse and climbed the stairs from where she could see more than she had yesterday. She saw, however, more than she had expected when Santo greeted her from a corner bench, wearing the same suit of grey velvet, his shirt open at the neck to contrast sharply with his tanned skin and unshaven chin. ‘You’re late,’ he said, almost whispering.
‘You’ve been here all night?’
‘All night. You came to me once before at night. Remember?’
‘No. Why should I? Perhaps I should not have come here at all.’
He uncoiled himself from the corner. ‘Where, here? Or Italy?’
‘Both. I was foolish enough to think you might have said something about me to your parents. Not knowing how much they know makes things difficult for me.’
‘I’ve been back home only four days, Aphra. I don’t part with all my news to my father so quickly. You’ve seen him. A cynic. Plays by the rulebook. No imagination. Everything is black or white to him. He would not understand.’
Aphra was still standing and uncomfortable at being here with him after expecting at least another day of non-communication. She had not prepared herself for this. She looked round for a place to sit. Her legs were suddenly weak and she knew now how it felt to be at a disadvantage as a guest, as he had probably been at Sandrock. Here she felt no longer in control, as she had been there. Well, for most of the time. ‘Four days?’ she said. ‘And that is not long enough?’
She saw that she had angered him. ‘For what?’ he said. ‘What did you want me to tell him? That I seduced you before I left? Or that you came to me that last night, in spite of you forgetting? Or that...’
‘Or that, despite you denying you had a lover or a wife, you had a beautiful young woman with you in your galley for several weeks, however long it was? Did you tell him that, or are you still waiting for something?’
He had not expected that. She could tell. His eyes narrowed like two daggers and she wanted him to be as hurt as she was while at the same time wanting to throw herself into his arms and be told that she was mistaken. Except that she was not.
‘How do you know that?’ he said. ‘Who told you?’
‘We all know it. All of us. So now you can stop pretending you are free, can’t you?’
He paused for her words to take effect, denying nothing. ‘But you are not free, either, Aphra. Are you?’ he said. ‘And you never will be as long as your interfering in Dr Ben’s affairs continues. Then you’ll be old and bitter, like my father. And cynical. And lonely.’
‘But I shall not be a deceiver, like you and your brother,’ she retorted, wishing the words back as soon as they had gone.
In the early light, with more shadows than substance, she was not quick enough to move away as he took two fast strides towards her, grabbing her shoulder and the thick mass of her long hair, forcing her face up to his where she could see deep into his angry eyes. Her lips parted to begin a protest, but they were taken by his in a hard kiss that was clearly intended to stop any more of her hurtful contempt. As if to revenge himself for his wait throughout the night, he took his fill of her mouth until her knees began to give way. Then, hooking his hands under her armpits, he held her to him for a final kiss, softening, making the most of her weakness, roaming over her eyelids, earlobes and throat, sending shivers into her thighs as she recalled that night together when all had been equal and well. That, she was sure, would have to be her last memory of him.
‘There,’ he said at last. ‘Take that with you into your poor cold memory. You might have done better to ask me about her instead of telling me what you expect to hear. One bad experience has made a cynic of you, Aphra Betterton. Get over it, woman, or you’ll be a bitter old crone before you know it. And stop leaping to your stupid conclusions. For a beautiful and passionate woman, you can be unbelievably opinionated.’
Breathless, and furiously angered by his lecture as well as the rough treatment, she snarled as she wriggled free, ‘And as a woman, I’m not supposed to think for myself. Is that it?’
‘Think for yourself by all means, but not for others. Especially not for me. I can do my own thinking, thank you. And if I want to bring an extra pilgrim back here to Padua, I shall not ask your permission, mistress. Is that clear?’
Although she had moved away, he moved with her, not menacing, but with authority. ‘Bring whoever you like whenever you like,’ she said, holding the back of her hand to her bruised lips. ‘I’m sure I have no interest in your extra pilgrims. I bid you good morning, signor.’ She turned to go down the steps, but he held her arm.
‘Just one more thing,’ he said, holding her back.
‘More? Your lectures grow tedious.’
‘Too bad. Leon will be with us today. He’s not quite himself. Be careful with him. Try to remember that he obeyed our father. That’s all there is to it.’
‘Finished?’
‘For the moment.’
Tugging her arms out of his grasp, she stalked towards the house that was flushed with pale pink light, its windows staring at her indignantly, accusingly. Had she become cynical? Would she be a bitter old crone? Had she misjudged him?
The answers brought a threat of tears to her eyes and a terrible misgiving that she had handled things very clumsily, so far, and that if indeed he was being driven away by her mishandling of things, then she had only herself to blame.
* * *
The day had begun disastrously and now Aphra knew she would need to draw on all her reserves of strength during the rest of it when she must go through with the ordeal of discussing Dr Ben’s business. She would rather have met Leon alone, or perhaps with Uncle Paul, but the rest of them had
already gathered after breaking their fast, except for Leon who, for some reason, ate with his wife in their apartment. She had not asked, but Signora Juna had explained that Leon and Bianca lived on an upper floor in their own rooms with their own servants, since he was still attending the University of Padua and was expecting to qualify this year. His final exams were only weeks away.
Hence the urgency to acquire his notes, Aphra thought, appreciating at the same time that neither he nor his wife would be in any particular hurry to meet her and her family after all that had happened. Santo had asked her to be careful with him and she would. What would it serve to be otherwise? Not simply because she needed his help, but also because she sensed that all was not well since their parting, less than a year ago. He had been obliged to obey his father, Santo had said, and now she could see, having met the patriarch, that Leon would have lost more than he could afford, had he disobeyed. As the new mistress of Sandrock, that would not have mattered to her so much, but there had been the added element of honour to consider, which would certainly matter to the Datini family.
After the hostile interlude with Santo, which had made Aphra consider anew her assumptions, the first change she decided to adopt would be her public attitude towards him which, if she continued with her cold-shoulder treatment, would cause some comment of an adverse kind. This would not serve any purpose, either. It was a personal indulgence she could not afford. Obviously, her visit had come at an inconvenient time for him, but now they were here, he would have to make the best of it, as she would. So it was her cousin Etta who pointed out to her, when she commented on Aphra’s swollen lips, that Santo must have cared enough about her to stay up all night to wait, in the hope of mending the rift that appeared to have opened up between them. What was more, she said, if the unknown lady on his galley had been his lover, he would surely have thought it best to tell her so, rather than have her believe that she stood a chance with him after coming all this way. It was time, Etta said, that she started to think more rationally. Aphra had not argued with that.
To look at Santo, however, no one would have thought he’d spent a sleepless night out in the garden. Years on the open sea had toughened him. By breakfast, he had changed into his long merchant’s gown of chestnut-brown brocade with long hanging fur-edged sleeves and an open front that showed a tunic of pale grey silk. His chin had been shaved and he was still as healthily handsome, still able to stop Aphra’s breath with the effortless virility of a man in his prime.
With a slight lift of his square chin, he held her eye with a steady gaze as if to judge how much, if at all, she had been affected by their hostile confrontation and by his harsh criticism of her. She met his eyes, but not for long could she manage the defiance she had intended and it was her own lids that dropped first in a blink of sudden embarrassment, amounting almost to shame at her shrewishness. She knew his eyes remained on her as a blush rose from neck to cheeks, but she took some comfort from her attire, which he could see now in daylight, and the careful braiding of her hair.
The preparation of her mind was not so easy, for no anticipation had quite matched her picture of Master Leon Datini that had stayed with her over the bitter months of their parting. Once gay and full of zest for life, he now appeared rather shorter than she remembered and certainly not as smiling as the man she had once felt a deep affection for. Besides which, someone or something had given him a black eye. The lack of smile she could understand, but the apologetic and uncertain attitude almost broke her composure.
Before both families, she held out her hands to him, keeping them there until he stepped forward and hesitantly lifted them into his own, raising first one and then the other to place a courteous kiss on her fingers. She felt the warmth of his lips and knew for a certainty that his love was still in place, recalling how those kisses had once been in other more sensitive places. And as if rehearsing a stately dance without music, their hands parted, feet took a step backwards, and heads bowed before Aphra broke the silence with, ‘Master Leon.’ She withheld her smile, thinking it would be too much to expect one from him, in the circumstances.
‘Madonna,’ he said. ‘You are well?’
‘I am well, I thank you. But you...?’
‘You have come a long way. I was sorry to hear about Dr Spenney. A great loss.’ The loss appeared to show in his eyes, one of which was almost closed, swollen and bruised with a crimson ring around the tender skin. His other eye showed signs of weeping, with a dark shadow beneath, and Aphra’s heart ached with pity for his obvious unhappiness, all the nurtured stores of heartache at her own plight now transferred to him in a single instant.
‘It is indeed,’ she said, gently. ‘And I must beg your forgiveness for troubling you at this time. If I had known...’ She had to stop, unable to find the words that would express a sympathy the details of which she could not begin to guess.
‘No,’ he said, putting out a hand to stop her, ‘it is no matter, madonna. I will do whatever I can to help your enquiries. My brother and my father have told me of your concerns.’
‘Yes. Thank you. We are all concerned...but of course...you have met us all, haven’t you? Father...?’ Re-introducing them, she managed a glance at Santo who stood beside his brother and was heartened to see the slight nod of his head and a slow blink to accompany it. Approval. Well done. And even though she still had reason to believe she might have lost him, his silent praise mattered to her.
To her great relief, the two Datini parents, having realised that they had no role to play in what was a very private concern, announced that they would leave the business to their sons and guests to deal with, suggesting that they should occupy the stone summerhouse at the end of the garden. Here they would be secluded from the rest of the household and servants had been instructed to attend them with refreshments. Flora was more than happy for herself and Grace to stay with Signora Juna in the garden and more particularly to impress the lady with her knowledge of plants, their names and uses.
Visiting the summerhouse again so soon, Aphra found that her recent memories were making her ache with longing, Santo’s voice still ringing in her ears, his kisses still hard on her lips. Now able to compare the brothers, she saw their differences in detail, Leon’s eyes that had once been soft and appealing, Santo’s more usually squeezed hard against the sun and wind, alert and penetrating. His shoulders were wider than Leon’s, his frame altogether stronger and more robust. She had felt the hardness of him, the power and energy, and the lash of his tongue. All the affection she had once felt for Leon, thought of as love, was now a deep sadness for all the misery he had suffered and was still suffering, apparently. Would she have time, she wondered, to help him through it, or would her presence here only make things worse for him?
Just as importantly, she saw as if for the first time that her feelings for Leon had come nowhere near the passion she now felt for Santo and that the pain of betrayal and fury at the mention of a rival was something she had heard of but never experienced for herself. Jealousy. Etta had told her it could do terrible things and now, experiencing its insidious coils squeezing the joy from her heart, she knew Etta to be right. Etta had once felt it, too, and had suffered badly. Aphra remembered her cousin’s despair. Whatever the truth of the matter she herself must not fall prey to that hideously ugly emotion.
Chapter Nine
Ever since Santo had informed Aphra that he had helped his brother to write the letter telling her he wouldn’t be returning, she had wondered about the nature of the relationship between them. Was it really as close as he had made it sound? Now she saw that it was when Santo took the chair next to Leon, gently touching his shoulder as they sat. She sat opposite them with Uncle Paul, though it was her father who addressed Leon first.
‘Master Leon,’ he said. ‘Thank you for taking the time to help us with our concerns. We appreciate that you are anxious to resume your studies, so we shall not overstay our welcome, I assure
you. But your presence means a lot to us all.’
Leon’s expression was far from his usual geniality and they could see he was making an effort to concentrate. ‘Thank you for sending my notes back, madonna,’ he said to Aphra. ‘I believe Dr Ben would have approved of that.’
She longed to put him at his ease, glancing at Santo for a spark of kindness. She found it and was able to put her question before her father, who had already cleared his throat in anticipation. ‘Yes, I believe he would,’ she said, ‘but I wonder if you could tell us why Dr Ben needed to use your notes for his lecture instead of his own?’
‘I think we already know that, don’t we?’ said Sir George, pursing his lips.
‘No,’ Paul replied, glancing at his brother-in-law. ‘We suspect. We’d like to hear what Master Leon has to say about it.’
Leon was already agreeing. ‘I think you should know,’ he said in a quiet voice, ‘that neither Dr Ben nor myself ever thought anyone would discover that the lecture notes were not his own, but mine. He asked a great favour of me, but he’d once lent me his notes, so it was my way of repaying him and he said he would mention my name. That would have been a great honour. There appeared to be no problem, except that I was obliged to return to Italy without them. Then, when it was clear that...that I would...not be...returning...’ His voice wavered and slowed, only gaining strength from Santo’s quiet presence beside him. ‘Returning... I asked my brother to call on Dr Ben to collect them, not knowing until later that...well, you know—’ his hand flapped idly on the table ‘—Dr Ben had gone.’
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