Veretti’s Dark Vengeance

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘It’s an honour,’ Emilio told her. ‘Did Antonio ever tell you about this festival?’

  ‘A little. Let’s see-’ she pressed her fingers to her forehead ‘-it goes back several hundred years, to the days when the doge took a ceremonial barge out into the lagoon, and tossed a gold ring into the water to mark Venice’s marriage to the sea.’

  ‘That’s right. These days it’s recreated every year. A fleet of boats goes out, and an actor plays the role of the doge. All the great men of Venice take part, including the cardinal, otherwise known as the Patriarch of Venice. You’ll be in fine company.’

  ‘Assuming that I accept.’

  ‘People commit murder to get these invitations. Think of all the networking you can do.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I must think of that.’

  While she was planning whether to call Salvatore or write a reply, the phone rang.

  ‘Did you receive my invitation?’ he asked.

  At the sound of his voice all the good work of the last few days went out of the window. What had happened between them might have been last night.

  ‘I was about to call you,’ she said.

  ‘I expect you need to know a little more before you give me your answer.’

  ‘No, I’d decided to-’

  ‘We’ll have lunch. Meet me in an hour at-’ He named a café two streets away.

  A click and he was gone.

  The café was small, cheap and cheerful, a world away from the elegant eating places she was used to. Salvatore was waiting for her at a table outside, overlooking a small canal, busy with boats delivering supplies. He poured her a glass of light white wine, which he’d already ordered.

  Her first view of him gave her an eerie sensation of looking into a mirror. If his eyes told a true story he’d had as many sleepless nights as she.

  He rose as she appeared and drew out a seat.

  ‘I’d have been in touch before, but I was called away suddenly,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the head. I’ve locked it away safely to prevent my grandmother smashing it. She’s indignant that anyone should see me as the devil. I told her that you’d explain it to her when the two of you meet.’

  ‘You did what?’ she demanded, shaken out of her composure. ‘What am I supposed to say to her?’

  He shrugged, grinning. ‘That’s for you to decide. I’ll just act as referee.’

  His smile lit up the world, although she tried not to admit it. For a week her thoughts about him had been bitter. Now she was happy just to be here with him.

  ‘I was right when I made you a devil,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the cheek of one.’

  ‘So I take it you accept my invitation? Good.’

  ‘Hold on, I haven’t said that.’

  ‘Why should you refuse? Because it comes from me?’

  He said it quizzically, making his face charming. She tried not to be charmed, but failed.

  ‘Let’s just say I’m deeply suspicious of you for asking me,’ she said.

  ‘But you’re a celebrity now. Naturally I want to be seen with you as often as possible, for the sake of my reputation.’

  ‘Will you stop talking nonsense?’

  ‘I’m being serious. As a man of position I have to make sure that you’re seen in my company rather than any other man’s. I couldn’t risk competition from-say-Silvio Tirani.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I might swoon into his arms at any moment.’

  ‘I live in fear of it. All Venice is talking about how you sent him out of the restaurant with a flea in his ear.’ He added wryly, ‘To be honest, I have a certain fellow feeling.’

  ‘Oh, really!’ she said with deep scepticism.

  ‘You’ve given me a flea several times. Perhaps Tirani and I should set up a society, Helen of Troy’s Venice Rejects.’

  They burst out laughing together, and the warmth came flooding back, not just the fierce sexual heat but the gentler warmth of minds in harmony.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, echoing the words he’d used before, wondering if she would remember them.

  She remembered at once, and nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I ask because-’

  ‘I know. I was in a strange mood that night.’

  ‘I didn’t harm you in any way, did I? Because if I did I’ll never forgive myself.’

  His voice was gentle and concerned. So were his eyes, she noticed with a catch of the breath. Briefly the battle was in abeyance. This was Time Out, when they could be just people reaching out tentatively to each other, not combatants.

  ‘You didn’t harm me,’ she insisted firmly.

  ‘But something troubled you,’ he said, still gentle. ‘I wish you’d tell me.’

  For a moment he thought she would confide in him and his heart lifted. But then she gave him a beaming, confident smile and he knew he was shut out again. The smile was her armour. He’d learned this much about her by now.

  ‘The only thing that’s worrying me is the fact that you won-for the moment,’ she said slightly.

  ‘I haven’t noticed you going out of business,’ he observed.

  ‘I wasn’t talking about business. You told me-how much I’d enjoy our time together. And I did.’ She raised her wine glass. ‘Congratulations on your victory.’

  ‘Shut up!’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t talk like that.’

  Once he would have triumphed in her words. Now they tortured him.

  She shrugged and set down the glass, looking at him from behind her armour.

  For the moment he gave up, knowing that in this mood she was beyond his strength.

  ‘So you’ll be my guest on my boat for the festa,’ he said, ‘and then at my home for the banquet afterwards.’

  ‘Well, actually-’

  ‘And if you’ve accepted anyone else’s invitation you can just tell them you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘That’s better,’ she said with relish. ‘Now you sound like you again.’

  He was troubled, a feeling he was reluctantly finding familiar. It had been that way with him ever since he’d risen from her bed after a union that had disconcerted him in ways he didn’t understand.

  Salvatore was used to being the one who made love only with the body, while keeping his heart to himself. His experience of desire was that no matter how mysterious a woman seemed before they went to bed her mystery vanished when he’d brought her to climax. Then she said and did the same as every other woman, grasping hold of him when he wanted to leave, trying to prolong the relationship when it was dead, speaking of love to a man who didn’t want to hear, refusing to recognise reality.

  But Helena had turned away, content to let him go, seemingly indifferent. He’d found himself with thoughts that had never troubled him in the past, and had left the city to escape them. During his absence she’d sent the glass head with a polite note, but apparently made no other attempt to contact him at work or at home. He was puzzled.

  She’d said she had no heart to give, and he was beginning to wonder if it was the truth. It had never mattered before.

  ‘My family have a great desire to meet you,’ he said. ‘After all, you’re one of us now. Yes, I understand why you give me that disbelieving look, but there are a lot of Verettis and they’re not all as bad as me. At least give them the chance to welcome you.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said politely. ‘I shall be very pleased to meet Antonio’s family.’

  A silence fell between them. She leaned back, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on her face, and he watched her, wondering what she was thinking.

  ‘Helena…’

  She looked up, meeting his gaze, meeting his thoughts, discovering them to be the same as her own. So intense was the experience that she could almost feel his hands on her body, touching it as it had never been touched before, as she’d never allowed it to be touched before.

  Suddenly she was angry. How dared he make time and space disappear and take her into a new dimension just by looking at her? Who the hell
did he think he was?

  ‘Helena-’

  ‘Yes?’ she asked glacially.

  ‘I’d like…’ He seemed to be having difficulty getting the words out. ‘I’d like to show you my boat, and explain something of what will happen at the festa. Perhaps tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m afraid it will have to be another day,’ she said. ‘I have people coming to the factory and-you know how it is…’

  She fell silent.

  ‘Another time, then,’ he agreed.

  ‘In fact I should be getting back. I have a mass of work to do. I look forward to the festa.’

  She rose, gave him a brilliant smile, and walked away.

  He watched her go, wondering at the ease with which she could tangle his thoughts and sap his will. She’d just informed him that the next move would be hers, and she would make him wait for it.

  Another new experience.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  F OR two days it was a stand-off, both knowing what the next move of the game must be, both wondering who would crack first.

  Going through the hotel lobby one morning, Helena was hailed by the young man at the information desk.

  ‘You joined the tourist trip to Larezzo, signora. I thought you might be interested in the trip to Perroni. It will depart in ten minutes.’

  She’d been about to head for Murano anyway. Now an imp of mischief prompted her to say, ‘This is Wednesday, isn’t it? Hm!’

  ‘Does that make a difference, signora?’

  It did. She knew that Salvatore was always at the factory on Wednesdays.

  ‘No, not at all,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’d like to join the trip.’

  She called Emilio, explaining that she wouldn’t be there today, and went out to join the others on the boat. She was smiling as they sped across the lagoon.

  She had to admit that Salvatore’s factory was impressive. Larger than Larezzo, it had all the most modern equipment, so their guide assured them.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a couple of the workmen nudge each other, staring in her direction. Salvatore would know of her presence within a few minutes.

  ‘This is the new oven, delivered only two months ago,’ the guide declared. ‘It’s state-of-the-art, and none of our competitors has one.’

  ‘But I dare say Larezzo will have one by tomorrow,’ said a voice behind Helena.

  She turned and saw Salvatore, looking amused.

  ‘Doing a little industrial spying?’ he asked, taking her arm. ‘You should have told me. I’d have arranged to give you a personal guided tour.’

  ‘It seemed better to do it in secret,’ she said demurely. ‘I thought if I came on Wednesday you’d never know.’

  His cynical glance told her that he wasn’t fooled.

  ‘As a secret agent you have a lot to learn,’ he observed. ‘Come with me.’

  For the next two hours he gave her the grand tour, taking her to every part of the factory, explaining everything in detail. He didn’t seem worried that she might steal his professional secrets, and when she saw the advanced state of his machinery she could understand why.

  Emilio had explained that Larezzo had lacked investment during the last few years. Without actually saying that Antonio had wasted the profits self-indulgently he’d told her enough to make it clear. The factory had survived so far because its product was the best, but it needed more money lavished on it. As things stood, Salvatore had nothing to fear from Larezzo, and she had no doubt that he knew that.

  But that was going to change, she resolved.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve learned a lot. Now I must go away and think.’

  ‘Found any useful ideas to steal?’ he asked lightly.

  She laughed. ‘Any ideas worth stealing are well locked away from my prying eyes,’ she observed. ‘Do you think I didn’t know that?’

  ‘No, I never underestimate you.’

  ‘I’ve seen one or two things I could improve on.’

  ‘Only one or two?’ he asked in a tone of shock. ‘Surely you can do better than that? Have dinner with me tonight, and we can talk some more. And give me your cell-phone number. You’re turning into such a dangerous character that I may need to keep tabs on you.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  They exchanged numbers and he named the restaurant, the same one where they had eaten last time.

  ‘I’ll meet you there,’ Helena said thoughtfully. ‘There are too many gossips in the hotel.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘I must be going.’

  ‘I’m afraid your party has left without you. I’ll call for a boat.’

  ‘No. Since I’m here in Murano I’ll drop in on my own factory-just to make sure it hasn’t crumbled yet,’ she finished satirically.

  She walked the short distance to Larezzo, sunk in thought. Her employees saw her coming and scuttled out of the way, since it was obvious that she noticed nothing but what was in her head. When she came back to the real world she was in her office and Emilio was looking at her anxiously.

  ‘I’ve come to a decision,’ she said. ‘First I must make an urgent phone call, and then-’ she chuckled ‘-then I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Salvatore went to the restaurant prepared for fireworks, and intrigued to know what form they would take. Life without Helena was intolerably dull, and he was ready for anything. When she was late he began to suspect. Even so, she managed to surprise him.

  The text message that reached his cell phone was simple.

  ‘Regret can’t make it. Work calls. Will be in office. Helen of Troy.’

  Salvatore regarded the words with a wry smile, feeling both intrigued and entertained. She might simply have signed it ‘Helena.’ That she’d chosen Helen of Troy conveyed a message, one that was reinforced by her statement that she would be in her office. There was no need for her to tell him that, unless…

  He made a quick call home to make sure that his motor boat was ready, and almost ran back to the palazzo. Ten minutes later he was speeding across the lagoon to Murano.

  There was a light on upstairs and he found a door open at the back. Slipping inside, he followed the light above, until he heard something that made him pause.

  A man was talking.

  He’d expected to find her alone. Now he wondered if she really was working after all, perhaps entertaining business clients. Entertaining how?

  Moving very quietly, he crossed the floor to the open staircase that led up to the next level. At the turn in the stairs he paused, hearing the man’s voice come closer. Standing in the shadows, he could observe unseen.

  Then the owner of the voice appeared and Salvatore grew very still.

  He was a young man, no more than thirty, with curly hair and a strikingly handsome face. From here Salvatore could just make out that he was smiling mischievously.

  ‘Come on, darling,’ he was saying. ‘Don’t give me a hard time.’

  Then Helena’s voice, filled with laughter.

  ‘I’m not being difficult Jack, honestly. I’m just not used to doing it this way.’

  ‘Well, let me show you.’

  He vanished, but Salvatore still heard his voice from a distance.

  ‘Come on, do it like I showed you before. Put your arms over your head and lean back-that’s better. You’re still a bit overdressed. Can’t you take something off?’

  ‘No, this is as far as I’m prepared to go. Hurry up and take me.’

  ‘But if you-’

  ‘Just take me-like that, yes-and again…’

  Salvatore’s hand tightened on the rail until the knuckles were white. What he might have done next he never knew, for something intervened-a sound that shook him, made him stare.

  It was the clicking and whirring of a camera, then Jack’s voice saying, ‘OK, OK, great, do that again-look at me-’

  ‘Take me like this,’ came Helena’s voice.

  ‘Yes, yes-like that-lovely!’

  ‘Well, that should be every
thing. I wonder if-Salvatore!’

  She came towards him, arms outstretched, a smile of welcome on her face. He returned it, taking her in his arms.

  ‘I knew you’d be working, but I didn’t know it would be this hard,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right everyone, you can pack up and go,’ Helena called.

  There was a general laugh, and for the first time Salvatore realised that there were several other people in the room, all female. Two of them were holding arc lights to illuminate Helena, and the third was the photographer’s assistant.

  Helena herself was dressed for photography, in a long white dress of thin silk, slit high at the sides, while the top plunged to the waist. From where he was standing it seemed to Salvatore that she wore nothing underneath, but, try as he might, he couldn’t be quite certain.

  The crew were packing up fast, but the photographer she’d addressed as Jack said, ‘I’d like to have another look around, to see if there are any more good settings-’

  ‘Another time,’ Salvatore told him.

  ‘But this would be the perfect-’

  ‘Out!’ Salvatore commanded, handing him a wad of notes. ‘Now.’

  They vanished.

  ‘So you prefer their company to mine,’ he observed.

  ‘No, but I’m going to earn money with those shots.’

  ‘In this place?’ He looked around at the room, a bare wooden structure without decoration.

  ‘They’re not going to be looking at the place, just me, draping myself over it.’ She went to a large beam, aslant from floor to ceiling, leaned on it and let her arms glide up slowly over her head.

  ‘Like this,’ she purred. ‘And like this.’ She raised one knee so that the silk fell away on either side, giving him a grandstand view of the most perfect, elegant leg he’d ever seen.

  ‘And how much will they pay to see you like that?’ he asked, moving closer and reaching up to trap her wrists.

  ‘It depends how well the pictures sell. A lot, I hope.’

  He drew her wrists towards him and over his shoulders, then took her by the waist, pulling her closer.

  ‘Do you really not mind men looking at you, for money?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re only pictures. Who cares if they look at me-as long as I’m not there to know about it? It doesn’t matter what they’re thinking.’