by Evie Blake
‘Grazie!’ She blows him a kiss, making sure to give him a flash of her camisole.
‘Prego, signorina!’
She looks triumphantly out of the window of the train to see Garelli running down the platform, too late to get on.
He knows she is on this train, but he doesn’t know where she is getting off. It could be Brescia, Verona or Padova, rather than Venice. At least she has bought some time. She tries to push from her mind the worry that her lover has done something really wrong. Is she going to lose him anyway into the arms of the law, and for a long, long time? She tries not to think past today, as she checks her train ticket and walks down the corridor hunting for her compartment.
Valentina takes off her trilby hat and puts it in the luggage rack above her. Since its contents are so precious, rather than putting her briefcase up there, she tucks it in between herself and the window of the train. She is sitting in a compartment all on her own. She waits, expectantly. Any minute now, she thinks, Theo is going to enter the compartment. Yet as the train speeds away from Milan and the miles lengthen, it becomes apparent that Theo is not on the train with her. What will happen when she gets to Venice; where should she go? He will be at the station to meet her, she reassures herself. And if not, she’ll call him.
She leans back and takes out the novel she is currently reading, Jezebel by Irène Némirovsky. She can’t help comparing the main character with her own mother. The beautiful, irresistible temptress Gladys Eysenach is a woman whose vanity comes before her own child. A woman who is terrified of looking old, and will even commit murder to conceal her age. No, even her mother isn’t that bad. Despite Némirovsky’s lyrical prose, as soon as Valentina has read a few lines, her eyelids begin to drop. Last night she didn’t sleep at all, and she is exhausted from the drama of the Dark Room. She still doesn’t quite understand why Theo was part of it. How could he be happy about Leonardo touching her? Her relationship with Leonardo is how she thought her and Theo’s should have been: platonic, yet sexual. Are they friends who fuck? No, the dynamic is different. Leonardo is more like her teacher, a guide of sorts. She knows that most people would judge her for sleeping with another man, yet Theo is obviously different. When he first moved in, he said that they did not have to be monogamous. She agreed, yet she asked him never to tell her about other women he might be with. It is best to focus on what we have together, she thinks as she nods off, rather than all of the circumstances around us. Her last thought as she drifts off to sleep is of Theo’s lips, soft, plush, opening up her heart in the Dark Room.
She is kissing him. She can taste him. She feels his hands upon her shoulders, the brush of his stubble against her cheek. She opens her eyes, and Theo is right there in front of her.
‘Oh, Theo!’ she cries. ‘You’re here!’
He smiles, and his eyes crease.
‘Yes, I’m here,’ he says, and she can see that he is looking a little tense, on edge. ‘You brought the painting?’
‘Yes, but why . . . I mean . . . what’s going on?’
‘Keep it safe, will you?’ he asks. ‘Until we get to Venice.’
‘Okay.’ She pulls him towards her. ‘Why are you doing all of this? The old photos . . . the club . . . the Dark Room?’
He looks at her questioningly.
‘Haven’t you worked it out yet, Valentina?’
‘But . . .’
He silences her with a kiss.
‘Time for words later,’ he whispers. ‘There is something I’ve always wanted to do on a train.’
She can’t help it. She is grinning at him. Oh, it is so good to see him, to feel him again.
‘Really, Signor Steen? And what would that be?’
He sits down next to her on the seat, and leans over, pushing her jacket off her shoulders so that it slips off to reveal her silk camisole.
‘Do you know what I want?’ He puts his hands on either side of her face, and forces her to look at him. She can see his pupils dilated to black, his chiselled cheeks and strong chin. ‘I want you, Valentina.’
Her breath quickens. Is Theo serious? Does he actually want to make love on this train? What if someone comes into the compartment or sees them?
Theo unbuttons his shirt and drops it on to the floor. He takes her limp hand and pushes it through his chest hair. Her hand cups around his heart. She feels its frantic beat, and she looks into his eyes. She wants this too, she realises. She wants this moment of pure primal need with her lover, this spontaneity of passion that keeps love alive, just like when they first met.
‘I want you too, Theo,’ she whispers.
He stands up and undoes his jeans, pulls them down. He is wearing no underwear. His penis is erect, so beautiful, her darling Theo. She reaches out to touch it.
‘I am all yours, Valentina.’
She looks at him, a question forming in her head.
Am I really? But where do you go?
‘You are my all,’ he says, taking her hands in his and pulling her up to face him.
It is as if she is in a trance. She undoes her trousers and slides them off her body. Now she is only in her silk underwear. She stands up to face her man, and he pulls down the straps of her camisole, stroking her breasts and erect nipples as it slithers off her over her bottom and legs. He puts his hands either side of her hips and pulls down her French knickers. As she steps out of them, she feels his hand stroking between her legs.
‘Oh yes, you want me, don’t you, Valentina?’ he says, and she looks into his blue eyes, hypnotised.
‘Turn around,’ he tells her.
Valentina turns to face the window of the compartment. The train is speeding through the Italian landscape, and she can feel it rocking beneath her feet.
‘Lean forward and put your hands on the window.’ She does as he tells her, and she can feel him spreading her legs. He is stroking her, widening her with his fingers, preparing her. The next moment he pushes up into her. He is so big that she feels as if he has reached her navel. She squeezes his penis tight as the train rocks beneath them, pushing them towards and away from each other.
‘I am going to fuck you now, Valentina, like you want me to.’
He is breaking their golden rule. Talking during sex. And yet his dirty words turn her on. She feels herself clenching him tight, sending vibrations through her body.
He withdraws slowly, so that she is almost bereft with need, and then suddenly slams into her. She gasps, pressing her hands against the window. A thought comes into her head: what if they get to a station or go through a town? People will see them. But she doesn’t care. She wants Theo to bring her so outside herself that she is a screaming dervish, all her wild elements dancing gleefully inside this train compartment, celebrating her abandon. She pushes her bottom up against him, and he slams into her again, gradually building up speed. He is touching her so deeply, right down inside the heart of her sex. She clenches her teeth, pulling her dark self outside of her and looking it full in the face.
‘Fuck me!’ she hisses urgently. ‘Fuck me!’
The train picks up speed and so do they. It is as if they are all part of the same mechanism, rocking, fucking, moving forwards. She is gloriously close to release, and as she comes, she feels her palpations having an effect on her lover’s cock as he climaxes inside her. Her hands slip off the window of the compartment and she loses her balance. They collapse on the floor, still joined together. He lies on top of her, and despite his size, she is comfortable. She closes her eyes, feeling as if she is liquid, so light now that the dark part of her has gone. She sinks into the floor of the compartment, drips down underneath the train and showers the rails with her essence. It litters the tracks like pearls among the gravel.
They lie like this for a few moments, Theo kissing the back of her neck. She shifts under his weight, and she feels him lifting himself off her, pulling her up and back into his arms, cradling her naked in the first-class compartment.
‘Mio Dio, I can’t believe we just di
d that,’ she whispers.
Theo stands up, pulling her with him.
‘We’d better get dressed.’ He winks at her. ‘Better not push our luck.’
He looks himself again, Valentina thinks. And she realises that he hasn’t seemed quite so happy since before the time of the miscarriage.
‘Theo?’ she says, pulling on her trousers over her silk underwear. ‘What is going on with this painting?’ She taps the black briefcase. ‘Is it stolen?’
He sits down next to her, chews his lip.
‘That’s a difficult question to answer.’
‘How so? Either you stole it, or you didn’t.’
She can’t really believe she is seriously asking her lover this question. How could Theo Steen, critic and art historian, with his privileged and very civilised upbringing in New York, be an art thief?
‘Well,’ he says slowly, holding her with his magnetic eyes. ‘I did steal this painting, you could say, but you could also say that it is not actually a stolen painting, not any more.’
She gasps. This is a nightmare.
‘Oh my God, Theo. Who are you?’
She stares at his familiar face. She doesn’t know this man at all, does she? And yet she feels she does. She cannot believe that he is a criminal.
‘What will we do?’ she says in a horrified whisper.
He clasps her hands.
‘Trust me, darling.’
She shakes her head.
‘You have to trust me.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I can’t explain everything now, but I promise you I will later.’
He stands up, smoothes down his crumpled shirt.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I have to get off the train at Verona. I’m picking up a car there.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s better if we travel separately. You stay on the train, with the picture, and I’ll see you in Venice.’
She folds her arms and glares at him.
‘Why can’t I go with you?’
The train begins to slow down as it pulls into Verona station. She feels seized with an unaccountable panic. She doesn’t want Theo to go. He has to stay with her. And yet she doesn’t want to show him the rawness of her need. Stay calm, Valentina, she lectures herself. Keep your distance until you know what’s going on.
‘What if I get caught with the picture on me?’ she snaps. ‘Have you thought of that, Mr Art Thief?’
He stops in the compartment doorway, all tousled hair and devilish blue eyes, and laughs. He actually laughs.
‘I promise you, Valentina, that if you get caught with that painting, you will not get into any trouble.’
He has made her cross again. Why does she keep swinging between rage and desire when it comes to Theo? The train pulls out of Verona, and she peers out of the compartment window, but Theo seems to have disappeared into thin air. She sighs. Well, he told her he would explain everything later. She just has to be a little patient. But she wants to know now. She is too agitated to read her book. She sits back in her seat and crosses her legs. That’s when she sees the envelope on the floor of the compartment. Right in front of her eyes. When did he put that there?
She bends down and picks it up, rips it open.
Hotel Danieli. Bar. 20.00.
She chews her lip, smiling slightly to herself. Another secret tryst. At last she will get to keep Theo in her arms all night. It has only been eight days since they were last together in their apartment, and yet it feels so much longer to her. She is glad she brought one of her great-grandmother’s silk evening dresses, rolled up in her case. She wants to look bewitching tonight.
There is a sudden jolt as the train screeches to a halt. They are not in a station but somewhere in the countryside, not far from Venice Mestre she reckons. She yawns, slips her feet out of her shoes and sits cross-legged on the seat. The door of the compartment slides open, and as she looks up, she feels the blood drain from her face. Standing in the doorway is the blond man from Marco’s party. It is irrational, and yet her fear takes over. She grabs her briefcase and jumps up from her seat. Without bothering to put her shoes back on, she pushes past him and runs down the corridor to the exit doors. She presses the open button, and since the train is stationary the door slides open. She steps down on to one of the metal steps and leans out of the train, holding on to the handrail. She looks up the track, and then twists around and looks the other way, but she can’t work out where they are. Even so, isn’t it better to get off the train and call Theo? She has no shoes on, but he can pick her up wherever she is.
She is just about to jump off the train when she feels a hand on top of hers, prising her fingers off the handrail and gripping her around the wrist. She twists round to see her blond nemesis.
‘Hey!’ She tries to swing at him with her other arm and the case, but she has hardly any balance at all.
He is holding her hand in his now, and if she lets go of him she will fall hard on to the track. She hears a whistle blow, and the train begins to move. She has to jump now, before it speeds up. She twists and turns, trying to break free, but he is gripping her around the wrist so firmly it is impossible. And now the train is going faster and faster, and she is frightened. It is too late to get off. What if he drops her? She could die. She grips the briefcase and swings her free arm in an effort to propel herself back into the train, but she doesn’t have the strength.
He drags her inside just before the door shuts automatically, and she slams into his chest, breathless with fear and anger. He lets go of her wrist and she pulls back from him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she yells.
‘Saving your life, Valentina,’ he says, head on one side, looking amused.
She is not so sure about that.
‘Who the hell are you?’ she says, getting straight to the point.
The man leans back against the toilet door, crosses his arms. He is wearing a blue T-shirt that matches his eyes, and dark jeans. She notices the blond hairs on his pale arms, whiter than the hair on his head. He doesn’t look the least bit Italian and yet his accent is perfect.
‘I’m a colleague of Theo’s,’ he says. ‘Has he never told you about me?’
‘At the university?’ It is hard to believe this muscle-bound thug is some kind of academic.
‘No, no,’ he says. ‘An entrepreneurial colleague . . . Well, I suppose we are more competitors than colleagues.’
The man smiles at her. He runs his tongue over his teeth, which stick out ever so slightly, as if to suggest a kiss.
‘Why are you following me?’ she snaps.
He raises his eyebrows, and doesn’t answer her.
‘If you don’t stop following me, I’m going to call the police,’ she threatens him.
‘Go ahead,’ he says lightly. ‘Although I don’t think your boyfriend will thank you for it.’
Valentina takes a breath. Is this man a policeman as well? But he knows Theo. He said they were colleagues . . . or competitors.
‘Who are you?’ she asks again.
‘I really don’t think that is important right now,’ he says. ‘I am sure Theo will fill you in when you see him again.’ He gives a short laugh. ‘He is not as clever as he thinks. I knew he didn’t have the painting. I guessed you had it all along.’ He taps her briefcase, and she feels herself tensing, digging her nails into the leather handle.
‘Is it in there, Valentina?’ he says. ‘Be a good girl now and give it to me, nice and quiet.’
The train shunts sideways, and they both lose their balance slightly. The blond man staggers backwards and slams against the toilet door, which opens, causing him to fall inside. Valentina takes her chance. She turns and runs away from him, along the empty first-class corridor. She sees her compartment, darts inside and grabs her shoes and trilby hat before shooting off again and into second class. To her relief, the carriage is packed with tourists. She spies a spare seat by the window, surrounded by a group of young Americans with backpac
ks. That’s what she needs. Safety in numbers. She squeezes into the seat and sits back, gripping the bag, shoes and hat to her chest. The girl opposite her looks at her curiously and smiles at her.
To Valentina’s surprise, the blond man hasn’t followed her, but she knows he is there, lurking in first class, waiting to catch her once they get to Venice. She pulls her mobile phone out of her pocket to call Theo, but to her horror the battery is flat.
She is shivering with terror, yet she realises that it is not for herself but for her lover.
Oh Theo, what have you done?
Belle
SANTOS HAS TOLD HER TO RETURN TO SIGNOR BRZEZINSKI’S house. She cannot understand it. She hoped he might have some kind of plan. A way she could escape Venice and meet him somewhere. Or even that he might suggest she transform completely into Belle, although Signor Brzezinski would surely put a stop to that now she is pregnant. Yet Santos doesn’t know she is carrying his child.
She reads his note again.
Go home, my little blackbird. I promise you that after today, Signora Louise Brzezinska’s ordeal will be over.
Could he not have given her a few more words? A promise that he will return? Yet Belle knows that Santos makes no oath he cannot keep, and he has promised her that her life as Signora Brzezinska will be over after today. What can he mean? He must be far away by now. He cannot return, for he will surely be thrown in jail if he does. And imprisonment for Santos is worse than death.
Belle does not know it yet, but there is something apocalyptic about this day. Although it is only eight hours since she left her husband’s house, his world has turned on its axis. For today is 29 October 1929. It is a day that will ruin many men.
