by Anne Mather
Emma could guess what about. Her temporary reprieve was over.
‘But the Count …’ she began, glancing at Anna.
‘Anna will let us know if there’s anything we can do,’ said Celeste, ‘won’t you, Anna?’
Anna shrugged her broad shoulders. ‘There will be nothing, madame,’ she said tonelessly, and with veiled insolence. ‘Giulio can cope.’ She gave Emma a slight smile. ‘Goodnight, signorina, madame.’
Celeste flung herself across the room with ill-temper, determined that as soon as she became the Contessa Cesare, Anna must go. Emma gave a helpless little movement, and then followed her. She felt unutterably tired, and did not relish the idea of a scene with Celeste at this hour of the morning. On top of which she was very worried about the Count. Wounds of that nature could so easily fall victim to infection, and antibiotics were the safest method of preventing infection. Giulio could not possibly have the knowledge required, she fretted anxiously.
In the huge bedchamber used by Celeste, there was little to remind her of their surroundings. Chairs and cupboards alike were strewn with Celeste’s belongings, while the dressing table groaned under the weight of perfumes and cosmetics that Celeste used liberally to retain her clear complexion and soft skin. Celeste needed a maid, and had employed one until she found Emma a more than adequate substitute.
‘Now,’ she said, as the door closed. ‘You know why I want to speak to you, don’t you?’
Emma sighed, ‘I can guess.’
‘Don’t be impertinent. Just remember I have ways of making you sorry you ever crossed me!’
‘Oh, Celeste,’ exclaimed Emma. ‘I wanted to go out today. And when Count Cesare invited me …’ Her voice trailed away.
‘You couldn’t wait to go with him!’ snapped Celeste. ‘Don’t imagine for one moment that you’re fooling me, Emma! I know you too well! You’re patently transparent, I’m afraid, and it’s just as patently obvious that you imagine yourself in love with Vidal!’
‘In love!’ echoed Emma. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’
‘It’s not I who am ridiculous,’ retorted Celeste, smiling grimly. ‘I’ve seen too many cases of adolescents falling for middle-aged men and Vidal is far from that, yet. Oh, I don’t blame you.’ Celeste reached for a cigarette. ‘He was as much of a surprise to me as he was to you. In fact, I think that were he not the Count Cesare, I would still want to marry him. I really think that for the first time, I’m in love!’
Emma turned away. ‘Is that all?’
‘No, damn you, it’s not! I’m not finished yet. I want you to know that if you attempt to do again what you’ve done today, I shall find some way to humiliate you so badly that you’ll wish you’d never been born, believe me!’
‘Oh, Celeste!’ Emma hunched her shoulders. ‘If you feel this way, why don’t you find some reason to send me home?’
Celeste shook her head. ‘No. It wouldn’t do. There is no valid reason that I could find that would convince the Contessa absolutely. Already, she knows, and shares, my hopes for this marriage, and I believe she produced Antonio simply to equalise the situation. She believed, as I’ve led her to think, that I wouldn’t want to be parted from my sweet little stepdaughter, so as she, as well as I, could see where you were heading so far as the Count was concerned, she’s provided Antonio as a substitute!’
Emma swung round, her cheeks scarlet. ‘You can’t be serious!’
‘Oh, but I am. The Contessa may be old, but she’s not senile, and she’s well aware of Count Cesare’s predilection for the opposite sex, and when it’s offered to him on a plate … well, he’s a man, and he’s only human!’ She smiled cruelly. ‘Poor little Emma!’ she mocked. ‘You could never seriously imagine that a man like that could be interested in you!’
‘I thing you’re despicable!’ exclaimed Emma, shaking a little now. ‘I can’t imagine what my father ever saw in you to love!’
Celeste looked uninterested. ‘What does it matter? He was a lonely man, and if a person is lonely, he’s open to suggestion. And I can be quite persuasive, you know!’
‘I know! Unfortunately!’
Celeste seemed to be enjoying herself now, her temper spent, and the ridiculous aspects of the situation appealed to her malicious sense of humour.
Then, as though recalling the incident in the hall, she said:
‘Now go! I don’t want to see you any more. You’re beginning to bore me. And should that creature Anna attempt to ally herself with you, she’ll find the strength of my influence is not to be ignored.’
Emma left her, feeling sickened and humiliated. Were her emotions so revealing? Had Celeste guessed something from her actions which she herself, as yet, would not even admit to herself? To envisage herself facing Count Cesare after this seemed more than she could bear, particularly after his hateful accusations flung at her on the launch. Life had become so painfully complicated, and she wished with all her heart she had never agreed to come to Italy with Celeste in the first place. She should have known that Celeste could not change overnight. That she never did anything for purely altruistic reasons.
She climbed back into bed as the faint light of dawn crept over the horizon. She wondered what was happening to Count Cesare; whether indeed Giulio had attended to him, or whether a doctor had been summoned. This latter event seemed unlikely, as there had been no sounds of arrival that she had heard, and although Celeste’s bedroom prevented much sound from penetrating some sixth sense seemed to tell her that there were reasons why such an occurrence should not be made public.
It was all very puzzling, but Emma had had a tiring day, and she fell asleep almost at once, a deep dreamless sleep from which she did not rouse until midday.
CHAPTER NINE
EMMA did not encounter Count Cesare the next day at all. He remained in his room until dinner time, and then he and Celeste went out while Emma was changing for the meal. The old Contessa mentioned that they were dining with friends, and did not refer to his arm injury at all, and as Emma had grown used to subterfuge, she did not like to ask outright. In consequence, their meal was a quiet affair, and afterwards the Contessa said vaguely that she had some letters to write and excused herself.
The next morning Emma went shopping with Anna. The old servant welcomed the young girl’s company, and her help in carrying the loaded shopping baskets, and Emma bought herself two more dresses in case she should see Antonio Vencare again, and be expected to go out with him. She was in a particularly dejected frame of mind, and half-hoped the young Italian would not trouble her again. She was quite prepared to do her own exploring during the daytime, and stay in during the evenings. She was determined never to inflict herself on Celeste or Count Cesare again. Soon their time here would draw to a close, and if the affair ended successfully for Celeste she would be allowed to return to England and her old peaceful life at the hospital. She had many friends there, some of whom had written to her asking how she was enjoying her holiday, but as yet she had not had the heart to reply to them. It would be difficult to enthuse about her surroundings when the situation she was in grew daily more difficult.
At lunch time she entered the lounge before the meal was served to find Count Cesare at the drinks cabinet, helping himself to a liberal glass of whisky.
Emma turned uncomfortably away, but the Count had seen her. He swallowed half the liquid in his glass, and then said:
‘Well, Emma! Are you disturbed that I should be taking such strong stimulant at this hour of the day?’
Emma turned back to look at him. She noticed that he still looked a little pale under the dark tan of his lean face, while he held his left arm rather stiffly, but in a dark lounge suit he was arrestingly attractive, and her cheeks burned suddenly, as she remembered their last encounter alone together. She realized anew that it was not good looks which attracted a woman to a man, but rather the kind of vibrantly sensuous magnetism which emanated from him, enveloping her and leaving her weak with a longing to feel those hard brown hands on her body,
and that savagely passionate mouth against her own.
Now, she said, ‘What you do is no concern of mine.’ She bent her head, looking for a cigarette.
He held out his case, and she extracted one nervously, allowing him to light it for her. Then, puffing on it jerkily, she walked around to the open doors leading on to the loggia. It was a perfect day, and the faintest of breezes stirred the canvases of a small craft passing below on the canal.
She was aware of him acutely, particularly as he came to stand slightly behind her, looking and unseeingly.
‘I feel I should apologize for my behaviour … the other afternoon,’ he murmured softly suddenly, and Emma started.
‘That’s not necessary,’ she replied coldly. ‘I … I’ve forgotten all about it. It … it wasn’t the first time anyone made a pass at me.’
‘Perhaps not …’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘But I dislike this schoolgirlish attitude you seem to have adopted in my company. You continually act as though I’m about to jump on you.’
Emma composed her face, and then looked at him rather scornfully, she thought. ‘You’re imagining things, Count Cesare. If my manner seems slightly strained it’s simply because my presence here is obviously superfluous, and I could wish there was some way you could be relieved of it.’
He felt in his pocket for something, and she saw him wince at the pain he was feeling from his arm, before retrieving a packet of cheroots and lighting one with his right hand. Then he stared at her intently, his light blue eyes hard as steel.
‘You are right,’ he said at last. ‘I also wish there was some way you could leave the Palazzo, but not for quite the same reasons as you imagine.’
Emma turned a little paler. ‘I’m sorry I can’t oblige you.’
The Count studied the tip of his cheroot thoughtfully. ‘It is your welfare I am thinking about,’ he said, his voice deep and soft.
‘Oh, really!’ Emma was disbelieving.
‘Yes, really. Emma, please believe me …’
‘… No, thank you,’ she interrupted him, turning away. ‘In any case, you’re forgetting our arrangement; we were not to exchange any conversation, other than the most perfunctory greetings.’
His eyes darkened angrily, and he took a step towards her, turning her towards him, and then grimacing in agony as he used his wounded arm again. He released her abruptly, pressing his arm to his side, fist clenched.
Emma’s heart turned over with compassion. ‘Oh, Cesare,’ she said impatiently. ‘That arm should be in a sling!’
‘What do you know about it?’ he muttered, through gritted teeth.
‘More than you think,’ she cried, shaking her head. ‘Has … has it been stitched? Have you taken any drugs?’
He stiffened. ‘Don’t practise your ambulance training on me!’ he muttered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘It’s not ambulance training,’ said Emma angrily. ‘I was …’
‘Emma!’ Celeste’s voice arrested her. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Doing?’ Emma swung round. ‘I’m not doing anything. The Count is in pain, that’s all!’
Celeste ignored her, and approached Cesare. ‘Darling! Whatever’s happened? Has Emma accidentally hurt your arm?’
Count Cesare’s eyes were veiled by his long lashes. ‘No,’ he said decisively, ‘Emma did nothing. Absolutely nothing at all!’
Emma left them. She couldn’t bear to see Cesare in pain, no more than she could bear to see Celeste acting the part of the ministering angel. It was all so … so awful; so artificial!
Several days passed by, almost uneventfully. Emma saw little of either her stepmother or Count Cesare, but whether they were together all this time it was difficult to ascertain. Certainly, Celeste did not act like the happiest of women, and she treated Emma many times to the knife edge of her tongue. She ordered Anna about, gave Emma endless small tasks to perform, and generally made a nuisance of herself.
Emma had not much time left to herself for although Celeste departed in the mornings shopping, she made sure Emma had enough to occupy herself with until her return.
As for Count Cesare, whenever Emma saw him she made sure they were not left alone together, and tried to ignore the strained look of fatigue he sometimes wore, as though he wasn’t sleeping too well.
Antonio appeared the second day and made arrangements to take Emma to a performance of Pagliacci at the Fenice, the opera house, and they both enjoyed it enormously, for although Emma was no particular fan of opera, her surroundings, and the costumes, combined with the stirring music, cast a spell over her, from which she was loath to arouse herself.
Antonio seemed to enjoy her company, and another evening he took her to meet his mother and father, and three sisters. This was quite an ordeal for Emma, although she found Count Cesare’s aunt a delightful and attractive woman, who did her utmost to put the younger girl at her ease.
The days passed by, and much to the Contessa’s disappointment, Cesare and Celeste seemed no further forward in their relationship, which although it was to be a marriage of convenience should nevertheless have shown some signs of fruition.
Emma fretted continually in her quiet moments, both about Cesare, and about her own prospects when she returned to England. The white walls of the hospital seemed so cold and far away, and the charm of the ancient palazzo was beginning to weave its spell about her. If she sometimes pondered on the enigma of its owner, she thrust these thoughts to the back of her mind, and only concerned herself with worrying whether his wound had healed cleanly.
It was about ten days after the Count’s accident when Emma was leaving to do some shopping for Anna early one morning, that she met Cesare in the lower hall of the Palazzo, emerging from the small ante-room which had intrigued her that first day.
‘Buon giorno, signorina,’ he said sardonically. ‘Comé sta?’
‘Bene, grazie,’ returned Emma coolly, and would have passed him but he stopped her by stepping in front of her.
‘Very good,’ he said lazily. ‘Now, where are you going?’
‘That’s no concern of yours,’ said Emma abruptly.
The Count looked annoyed. ‘You dare to speak to me like that!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now, where are you going … again?’
‘Oh, just shopping for Anna.’ She indicated the door. ‘Giulio is waiting for me with the launch. Can I go now, Signor Count?’
He stepped aside. ‘Wait! I myself have business in the city. I will take you. It will save Giulio, si?’
Emma sighed heavily. ‘If you insist,’ she said wearily.
He frowned angrily, but she brushed past him carelessly, and opened the door herself, glancing back to see whether he was following her. He was standing motionless, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, lord! Did I hurt you?’
He shook his head, but he did not speak, merely following her across the courtyard to the landing. By the time he had joined her and Giulio he was himself again, and a few rapid words in Italian to the old man sent him hurrying back into the Palazzo.
‘Get in,’ he said, and she complied, feeling guiltily aware of her thoughtlessness. And yet it should have healed somewhat by now, and not hurt so badly just by her brushing past him. She shook her head. He was asking for serious trouble by not having it professionally treated. And why had he never informed the police of the attack? Celeste had never mentioned this either, and that was unusual, unless Count Cesare had fobbed her off with some story of his own. It was most disturbing, and most puzzling.
‘Whatever are you thinking about?’ he asked, as they turned into the Grand Canal.
‘You, if you want the truth,’ she replied honestly. ‘Your arm; it hasn’t healed at all, has it?’
His face turned masklike. ‘That is my affair.’
‘No, it’s not. You’re behaving childishly,’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t you know that gangrene could set in? You could lose your arm!’
‘Unlikely,’ he remarked coldly.
>
‘It’s not unlikely! I’ve seen it happen!’
‘Have you? Where?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘Oh, I can guess. Are you one of these do-gooders who visit hospitals, dressed in style to impress the patients, and who glean a little bit of knowledge that seems to entitle them to diagnose anything from a toothache to pregnancy!’
‘You’re impossible,’ she said, and bit her lip. She had already said too much, and if Celeste knew she would be furious. She ought to feel grateful that he had not guessed her secret.
‘Where do you want to shop?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Where are you going?’
‘As you are so fond of saying, that is my concern.’
Emma flushed. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant, you can drop me wherever it suits you.’
‘All right. We will leave the launch near the Rialto. You can meet me back there in, say’ … he glanced at his watch … ‘a couple of hours.’
‘Very well,’ Emma nodded, and thereafter they did not converse.
It was exciting shopping alone. When Giulio accompanied her he usually came along to carry her parcels, but today she felt independent and free.
She chose the fish and vegetables that Anna had directed her to buy in the markets, and then turned her attention to the other side of the bridge where the street markets led into the Merceria, Venice’s main shopping area. She had plenty of time, and she wandered along aimlessly gazing into shop windows, and wondering what she ought to take back home as presents for her nurse friends at the hospital. There were some glass figurines which were quite exquisite and reasonably cheap, compared to some of the glassware Emma had priced in the larger shops. But she decided to wait before actually buying anything. After all, there was plenty of time yet.
She walked back to where the Count had left the launch in the charge of a ragged urchin with a dirty face, dirty clothes, but a quite enchanting smile.
To reach the landing stage she cut through a narrow via that led on to the waterfront, only to find a private wharf at the end, and she turned back to find her way blocked by two men, both dark-skinned Italians, small and obviously unfriendly from the way they advanced menacingly towards her.
