by Lucy Gordon
“Yes, I think they were,” he admitted.
“I asked you what kind of man you were. I should have said what kind of devil?”
He was silent. He couldn’t plead for her understanding again. He could see himself through her honest, steadfast eyes and the sight filled him with shame.
Terri rose. “I’m going back to Venice,” she said. “Leo’s there somewhere and I’m going to find him.”
“My helicopter can be ready to leave in half an hour,” Maurizio said. “I’ll take you back and we’ll search for Leo together.”
Terri looked at him. Her eyes were no longer stones. Rather, they had a hazy look of distance as though she could see right through him. The sight gave Maurizio an unnerving sensation, as if he actually wasn’t there, or as if he was a man with nothing but emptiness inside. “Don’t come near me,” she said in a voice that chilled him. “Don’t touch me, don’t even talk to me until I say you can.”
Terri herself couldn’t have said where that sudden assumption of authority had come from. She only knew that a change had come over her, turning her into another person. She wasn’t sure she liked the new woman who was filled with hate and scorn. But she was also filled with strength, and Terri knew she was going to need that strength. “If any harm comes to Leo, it will be your fault,” she said. “I’m going now. Don’t try to stop me. You wouldn’t like it if I spoke my mind in front of your servants.”
He made no attempt to detain her. He seemed too stunned to move. Terri descended the stairs at a steady pace. She didn’t look around her but she was intensely aware of curious eyes following her every movement. Ignoring them, she went out to the car and drove quickly away.
*
She didn’t head straight back to Rome, but went out into the countryside and stopped where there was no one around. She needed to be alone with the turmoil in her brain. She got out of the car and walked around for a while, but her thoughts refused to compose themselves. Now the thing she’d feared was happening, and grief was taking over: grief for Leo and grief for the shattering of her newborn love. She buried her face against a tree and gave herself up to the sobs that racked her. Every inch of her seemed to have come alive with the memory of the passion that she’d learned in Maurizio’s arms. He’d touched her body and her heart and made them both sing, but now she must order them to be silent, and the command was agony. He’d deceived her. She’d been nothing but a part of his plan for revenge, and the love she’d thought had flowered between them was hollow and false. She wept until she was weary. But then she dried her tears and swore that she wouldn’t weep again. From now on, only strength was any use to her. She got in the car and drove to Rome.
She arrived too late for the afternoon train, so she booked herself a berth on the night sleeper and went to have a meal. She wasn’t hungry but she forced the food down grimly.
She expected to sleep badly, if at all, but the feeling of having made a decision seemed to have relaxed her. She dozed off quickly, sleeping until the train was about to pull into Venice. She was a different person from the shy, uncertain young woman who’d first arrived in Venice. Now she went to the vaporetto stop and stepped confidently onto the first boat that arrived. She didn’t sit down but stood in the prow until they neared the Midas, and then she was the first off. At the hotel she instructed the receptionist to prepare her bill, and hurried up to her room. She wanted to be packed and out of here before Maurizio tried to intercept her.
But as soon as she threw open her door, she froze at the sight of Maurizio standing by the window, his face haggard as if he were being tormented by the Furies themselves.
Chapter Nine
“I might have known,” she said contemptuously.
“I flew back yesterday afternoon. I went to the station to meet the evening train. When you weren’t on it, I didn’t know what to think.”
The words didn’t begin to describe the abyss of fear that had opened up in him at the thought that she, too, might have vanished. It had taken several minutes before he’d calmed down enough to remember a friend in the travel industry who owed him a favor. The friend had checked with Rome, discovering that Terri was on the sleeper, and the relief that filled Maurizio had been like a warning of the uncharted seas that surrounded him. He’d tried to resist the knowledge, telling himself that no woman had ever mattered that much and no woman ever would. In this mood he’d returned to the Midas. But then the fear had flooded back, driving him to go to her room so that he didn’t miss her. “But now you’re here, there are many things we must discuss,” he said.
“I’ve got nothing more to say to you,” Terri said briskly. “I’m moving out of the Midas.”
“The hell you are!” he said violently. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I don’t think anything, Maurizio. I’m simply leaving, whether you like it or not. Unlike everyone else, I’m not afraid of you.”
Maurizio swore softly, more at himself than anyone else. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. Please, Teresa, don’t do anything in a hurry. We have to talk.”
“I’ll talk when I’m ready. In the meantime, I have packing to do.”
“But where will you go?”
“I’ll find somewhere. There are plenty of rooms. Please step aside so that I can get to my things.”
He did so and stood watching her as she moved about. His expression was baffled. “I’ve never seen you so hard and cold before.”
“I’ve never had such cause before, but you’d better get used to me as I am, because this is it for the future.”
“I don’t believe you. The gentle, beautiful woman who lay in my arms could never have turned into this.”
“Don’t you ever speak of that again,” she cried passionately. “That woman didn’t exist, any more than you—” She stopped and took a shuddering breath. Suddenly, her eyes were blurred but she brushed a hand over them and went on with her packing, her jaw set.
“I swear to you that when we lay together, there was only truth between us,” Maurizio said earnestly.
She confronted him. “If you want me to believe a word you say, there’s a simple way to do it. Find my brother. Let me hear from his own lips that you didn’t harm him, and then maybe I can forgive you.”
“I’m doing all I can to find Leo. I’ve got people tearing Venice apart but—”
“But it’s a good place for a man to vanish,” she finished for him. “Especially one who doesn’t know who he is. Anything could have happened to him. He might have fallen into a canal the way I did, and perhaps there was no one to help him out.” She saw by his ravaged face that this was his greatest dread, and felt a bitter satisfaction at his suffering. An imp of cruelty possessed her. If he could be a devil, so could she. “We’d never know, would we, Maurizio? A stranger to Venice, slipping beneath the water, leaving no gap because no one knew his name. Just something for you to wonder about for the rest of your life.” Her voice broke. “And for me to wonder about, too. What did Leo or I ever do to you that you should be so cruel?”
“I told you it wasn’t you,” he said violently. “It was Elena Calvani.”
“You don’t evade your responsibilities that easily.”
Maurizio’s face set grimly. “I’m not trying to evade my responsibilities. What I did was wrong and I’m trying to put it right, but there’s more than one side to this.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then I’ll have to show you,” he said, seizing her hand and heading for the door.
“Let go of me,” Terri said, trying to pull away.
“Not until you’ve seen what I want you to. Then maybe things won’t look so simple to you.”
She gave up the struggle and let Maurizio take her downstairs to the landing stage. He dismissed his boatman with a brief gesture and handed her in, starting the engine at once and heading out into the Grand Canal. She was assailed by the memory of the last time they’d been in this boat together. That had been only a fe
w days ago, yet in that short time the world had turned upside down, pitchforking her from heaven into hell. For a moment, her grief welled up again and threatened to overwhelm her, but she crushed it with a terrible effort. “It won’t make any difference, Maurizio,” she said.
“Wait before you say that.”
He took the boat out into the lagoon and swung left. “I don’t want to go back to Murano,” she insisted.
“We’re not going to Murano,” he told her. Then she realized that he was heading for San Michele, the walled island she’d noticed on the first journey, the place he’d called the cemetery of Venice. In a few minutes, he’d tied up at the landing stage and they were walking through the dark portals. It was like no cemetery she’d ever seen. “Venetians are buried above ground because of the water,” Maurizio informed her. “Coffins are placed in marble vaults, in slots side by side and tier on tier.”
The tiers rose above her head and stretched away in long blocks. Coffins were pushed in headfirst, and at the foot of each one, a plate of marble had been fitted in, sealing it off. Each plate contained an urn for flowers so that the effect was of a wall of flowers. Where two such walls faced each other, there was a corridor of blooms.
Maurizio led her down two corridors, striding ahead in a manner that showed he was heading for a familiar spot. Terri guessed what was coming and tried to harden her mind to resist what she saw as manipulation, but she couldn’t help being curious. At last they stopped at the end of a corridor and Maurizio indicated three plaques. Terri studied them, noting the names: Annunciata and Pietro Vanzani, Maurizio’s parents. Below them was the memorial of Rufio Vanzani, who’d died earlier that year, aged twenty-three.
Beside the urn a photograph had been imprinted in the marble. Terri looked closely and saw a charming young man with a bright, eager expression. The handsome face seemed so full of life that she almost expected him to speak to her. She glanced at Maurizio, seeing the brotherly likeness in their features. Yet there were vital differences. Rufio had a ready smile and he looked as if he’d found life kind and generous. On Maurizio’s face, the harsh lines had settled long ago, and as he gazed at the picture, his eyes held a dark, brooding melancholy.
“He looks delightful,” Terri said.
“He was delightful. He was in love with life and, God help him, he was in love with her.”
“By ‘her,’ I suppose you mean Elena,” Terri said tartly. “There’s no need to speak of her as if she were Messalina.”
“Messalina,” Maurizio echoed. “Now there’s an excellent description that I hadn’t thought of. Messalina, a cruel and corrupt woman who played with men’s hearts for pleasure and tossed them aside when they grew inconvenient.”
“I don’t believe my mother is like that.”
“How do you know what she’s like? She played love games with Rufio, but they weren’t games to him. He was madly in love with her. He dreamed of their making a life together. What delusions! As though the woman who’d sold herself to the most corrupt man in Venice for the sake of his wealth and title could ever have lived on love in a cottage.
“When he begged her to come away with him, she ended their affair at once. His love made him a threat to her position. Her rejection plunged him into black despair and he killed himself.”
“And you blame Elena for that?”
“Not just for that. She knew what he was going to do—”
“You can’t be sure—”
“But I can. He left me a letter, saying that he’d told her he was going to end his life, but she’d simply ignored him. She could have stopped him but she didn’t bother. Why should she? His death removed an inconvenience. For this, I will never forgive or forget.”
“So all this is for vengeance,” Terri said bitterly.
“For vengeance,” he confirmed. “Per vendetta.”
“It’s horrible.”
“It’s inevitable. Do you think I’d let her get away with it? Rufio was worth more than that.”
“So that’s how you justify the unjustifiable,” she snapped. “What gives you the right to punish her?”
“The fact that nobody else ever will,” he growled. “And when Leo came here and I discovered the truth, at last I saw my way. You can be sure Elena never told her husband she had twins by another man. He wants a son. He’d love an excuse to be rid of her and she knows it.”
“So why didn’t you just just tell Francisco? Or was that too simple? Yes, that’s it. You’ve enjoyed watching Elena on hot coals. You’ve relished working in the shadows, creating an atmosphere of fear. You’re a monster.”
“Don’t expect me to feel guilty about how I treat a murderess. Vendetta is an old and honorable Italian custom. Your blood is Italian, Teresa. It speaks to you of things others could never understand. Listen to it.”
“Yes, my blood is Italian,” Terri retorted. “But my rearing was English and vendetta means nothing to me.”
He took hold of her shoulders. “Listen to me—” He checked himself, staring over her shoulder. Terri turned to see what had caught his attention, and down the long avenue of flowers she saw a delicate woman, dressed in black, with blond hair, coming toward them. “Elena!” Maurizio breathed. Swiftly he drew Terri aside.
Elena walked with her eyes cast down and a grave, sad expression on her face. Her clothes were black, which made Maurizio’s lips curl in derision. “Such hypocrisy!” he muttered.
“You make easy judgments,” Terri snapped.
Elena approached the plaque and stopped to gaze at it. In her hands she had a small posy of flowers and she proceeded to add them to the flowers already in the urn. Then she laid her fingertips gently against Rufio’s picture and murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There were tears in her eyes.
Terri stepped forward, shaking off Maurizio’s hand. “No,” she said furiously. “Too much has happened in the shadows. It’s time your hatred was dragged into the light.”
The sound of her voice made Elena look up. She smiled at the sight of Terri but her expression changed to one of horror when she saw Maurizio watching her. “M-Maurizio,” she stammered. “I—I came to—”
“To ask forgiveness of the boy you killed?” Maurizio finished coldly. “How convenient that he can’t answer you, so you can imagine a reply that suits you. But I speak for Rufio and I tell you that I do not forgive. Nor do I forget, contessa. Remember that.”
Elena had flinched but then she seemed to gather her courage to answer him with spirit. “I know you’ll never forgive me,” she said. “You were always pitiless. But Rufio wasn’t like you. He was generous and kind, and he would have forgiven me.”
“What man forgives the woman who kills him?” Maurizio demanded.
“I didn’t kill Rufio,” Elena said emotionally.
“You knew he was suicidal and you let him die.”
“But I didn’t know.”
“In his last letter to me, he said he’d told you—”
“It’s not true,” Elena cried.
“Rufio was never a liar. He said he told you and I believe him. No doubt you had your own reasons for keeping silent.”
“If I’d known, I would have tried to stop him, I swear it,” Elena cried. “I’d never have hurt Rufio. I—I…” she checked herself.
“Surely you won’t dare to say you loved him?” Maurizio jeered.
“I—I was very fond of him,” Elena faltered. “He was a dear boy. When he started flirting with me, I thought it was just a game.”
“As it was to you.”
“I never knew he took it so seriously until—until it was too late. Oh, God!” Elena buried her face in her hands and wept. Terri put her arms around her, and Elena instinctively turned toward her.
But Maurizio didn’t soften. “What a pretty performance!” he said harshly. “But my brother still lies buried in that marble because you were heartless.”
“If there was anything I could do to bring him back…” Elena sobbed. “But I c
an’t—I can’t.”
“No, you can’t,” Maurizio agreed. “And so events must take their course, contessa.”
Elena looked up imploringly but Maurizio’s expression was stony. With a little cry, she turned and fled. Terri didn’t try to follow her. She would comfort Elena later. First, she had unfinished business to take care of.
Maurizio glowered at Terri. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “Do you think you’ve made things any better?”
“I’ve forced you out into the open where at least she can see you working against her.”
“Just how open do you mean to be? Are you going to tell her who you are?”
She took a long breath. “I don’t know. I sometimes wonder if she guesses.”
He nodded. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to know. You’re as much of a threat to her as I am—as Rufio was.”
“At any rate, you must see now that she’s not as heartless as you thought. She’s truly sorry about Rufio’s death.”
“Then she should have prevented it when she had the chance.”
“But you heard her say—”
“Yes, I heard her and I didn’t believe a word of it. Such a pretty performance, including flowers for effect.” Maurizio began to strip away the flowers Elena had placed in the urn, but Terri seized his hands.
“Stop it!” she said fiercely. “She meant well, but you’re so eaten up with hate and mistrust that you can’t see anyone straight.”
“I thought I saw you straight,” he retorted. “But now I see you siding with my enemy.”
“I’m not siding with your enemy, Maurizio. I am your enemy. I thought I loved you, but now I see there’s no one there to love, just a shell with nothing inside but revenge. I thought you loved me, but you can’t love anyone.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him. “Have you finished?” he demanded coldly.
“Yes, except for this. Find my brother and restore him to me safely. Otherwise, I’ll remember the lesson you’ve taught me about vendetta.”
She turned and ran away from him. A public motor boat had arrived at the landing stage and she hurried onto it. As it drew away into the lagoon, she saw Maurizio emerge, looking for her. She watched as the distance between them grew. In her morbid state, that growing width of water seemed symbolic. Her heart felt like lead within her but her jaw was set. She would not let herself weaken now.
