Seduced by Innocence

by Lucy Gordon

  One day when Terri had merely toyed with a tempting meal, Elena gathered some on a spoon and said firmly, “Just one more mouthful.”

  “I haven’t any more room,” Terri pleaded.

  Elena smiled, at her most charming. “To please me,” she coaxed.

  When she put it like that, she was impossible to resist, and Terri obediently forced the mouthful down. But it was a mistake. Without warning, her stomach rebelled. Quick as a flash, Elena dashed to the bathroom and returned with a towel just in time.

  “I’m sorry,” Terri choked when the storm had passed.

  “It was my fault,” Elena said penitently. “Come, I’ll help you to the bathroom and find you a change of clothes.”

  Terri emerged a few minutes later to find Elena changing the bed linen with a clean nightgown laid out. She chivied Terri back into bed. The clean linen felt cool and smelled delicious and Terri snuggled down gratefully, closing her eyes. Elena watched her for a moment with a look on her face that no one had ever seen before. It was a look of protective love and almost incredulous tenderness. It would have lightened Terri’s heart if she could have seen it, but she never opened her eyes. After a while, Elena crept out.

  Slowly, Terri sank into a fevered sleep and a strange dream came to her. She called it a dream although she had the sensation of awakening and seeing everything that happened. She seemed to split into two people, and her other self rose from the bed and stood looking down at her. She had Terri’s face but her manner was different. She was poised and purposeful, with defiant eyes that confronted the world—or any man in it—on equal terms. She had almost nothing in common with the shy, retiring young woman who’d come to Venice so many weeks and so many ages ago.

  “Who are you?” Terri whispered.

  “I am Teresa.”

  “No,” she protested. “Teresa was his name for me. I won’t be Teresa.”

  “You have no choice. This was bound to happen. He said your Italian blood would speak to you, and now it does. It speaks of love and pain, of passion and hate. And when it speaks of the vendetta, it sings. I am Teresa, and I am you.”

  Then the phantom lay down on the bed and the two of them became one again. At once Terri seemed to fall asleep and when she awoke everything was normal. Her temperature had fallen and she was herself once more.

  Except that she was no longer sure who she was. The dream had been real and vivid, and she was determined to understand it. Maurizio was right. She was Italian by blood, and the love and pain she’d discovered had tapped deep wells of feeling within her that she’d never dreamed of in her English life. The passion and violence of those feelings had brought her Italian side alive. The dream had merely crystallized something that was already happening.

  “Vendetta,” she murmured. “You were right, Maurizio. And when you discover how right you were, you’ll wish you’d never brought Teresa to life.”

  Elena came in, and seeing Terri sitting up and looking better, the countess beamed. She herself looked tired and pale but she bustled energetically over to the bed and laid her hand against Terri’s forehead. “Good,” she said. “Your fever has gone and now you can start to get well.”

  “I feel bad about you looking after me,” Terri said. “It’s not your job.”

  Elena shrugged. “I like looking after people,” she said simply. “And there’s no one else for me to care for. I’ve really enjoyed caring for you, dear.” She smiled. “Or must I call you Teresa now?”

  “Why—why should you think that?”

  “Because while you were asleep you kept saying, ‘I am Teresa. I am Teresa,’ over and over. And once you said, ‘This was bound to happen.’ Were you having a bad dream?”

  “It was a dream, but I’m not sure it was a bad one,” Terri said thoughtfully. “It made me understand something about myself, and now I’m stronger.”

  “Why did you run away from Maurizio? Was it to do with what Denise told you about Leo?”

  “Yes. Leo fell sick on Terranotte, and Maurizio kept him there. Even when I came to Venice looking for him, Maurizio didn’t tell me where he was.” She took a shuddering breath. “He pretended to love me just so that he could keep tabs on me.”

  “But why?” Elena asked, bewildered. When Terri didn’t answer, she said hesitantly, “Was it connected with Rufio and those things Maurizio said to me at the cemetery?”

  “Yes, he thought that you and Leo were—close,” Terri said carefully. “When Leo vanished, he thought it would scare you.”

  If Elena noticed any holes in this carefully edited explanation, she didn’t say so. Her only comment was, “Maurizio always made me nervous.”

  “And you were right.”

  But then, Elena’s volatile nature showed her the bright side. “But at least you found out about Leo,” she said. “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. He left the estate and vanished. His mind is wandering. All we know is that he came to Venice. Oh, Elena, I have to find him and I don’t know how!”

  Elena had gone very pale. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, we must find him. Poor Leo. That Maurizio is a devil.”

  “A devil,” Terri agreed.

  When she was alone again, she found something else that gave her food for thought. Her things had been thoroughly unpacked and put away neatly. The smallest bag had a zipped pocket at the side where she’d packed her passport, but she found the pocket empty. A search revealed the passport neatly stowed away in her bedside drawer, and that made her sit down and think hard.

  Without asking outright, there was no way of knowing for sure whether Elena had opened the passport and studied the information it contained, but Elena’s frank curiosity and love of gossip were part of her wayward charm, and Terri guessed she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. Which meant that she’d seen the name Mantini and Terri’s date of birth. She had enough clues to guess Terri’s identity—if she wanted to.

  *

  As soon as she was well again, Terri began scouring the city for Leo. She had to search at night as her duties with Elena occupied most of her days. Venice was a small place and she set herself to knock on every door, armed with a picture of Leo. It was tiring, dispiriting work that took her down a thousand dark alleys, up flights of stairs, to confront the puzzled faces of strangers for a brief moment of hope before turning away again, close to despair.

  Late one night, she was on the verge of giving up when she decided to try a final building. It had been converted into four tiny apartments that made an L-shape on two sides of a courtyard. As soon as she knocked on one door, lights came on in all the other apartments. The door was opened by a middle-aged woman dressed for bed. Terri made her usual speech and showed her the picture, which the woman studied carefully. Her husband appeared and screwed up his eyes at the picture, but shook his head.

  There was a step behind Terri and she moved aside to allow a girl of about sixteen to enter the apartment. From the way the man and woman screamed, “Maria,” and pounced on her, firing questions, it was clear that this was the couple’s daughter returned from a date with her boyfriend—much too late. Maria looked sheepish but uncowed, and deflected the inquisition by studying the photograph.

  “I think I may have seen him,” she said slowly.

  “You have? When? Where?” Terri asked eagerly.

  “Don’t you believe her,” Maria’s mother said with grim humor. “She’s hoping we’ll forget that she should have been home two hours ago.”

  A young woman of about twenty emerged from one of the other apartments and strolled toward the little crowd. Maria thrust the picture at her. “Here, Damiata,” she said. “Didn’t I see you talking to him once?”

  Terri held her breath as Damiata took the picture and stared at it. But then she shrugged and shook her head. “I’ve never seen him,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Terri pleaded.

  Damiata yawned. “I’m sure. He hasn’t been around here.”

  “But you tho
ught you’d seen him,” Terri said desperately to Maria.

  Maria shrugged and grinned, as if admitting that her interest had been a smoke screen to hide her from her parents’ suspicions, and Terri’s heart sank again.

  People appeared from the other apartments and studied Leo’s face but they all shrugged. Terri looked around, hoping to see Damiata again, but she’d vanished. She thanked everyone and went out into the dark street with slow, weary steps.

  She froze as she saw the dark shadow of a man standing beneath the lamp. Despite the dim light, she knew the outline, even before he stepped forward and spoke her name in accents that made her heart lurch. “What are you doing here, Maurizio?”

  “The same as you. I, too, spend my nights going from door to door. I promised you I would search every corner of Venice.”

  “I thought you had employees to do your dirty work,” she said cruelly.

  “I do. I thought they’d find him but they didn’t, so now I’m conducting my own search.”

  “On valuable casino time?” she mocked. “Won’t your customers miss you?”

  “Let them. This is more important. I gave you my word to find Leo, and I’m going to keep it.”

  Despite herself, she was touched, but she was Teresa now, not Terri, and Teresa refused to weaken. “If you can keep it,” she said. “Suppose he’s dead?”

  She was bitterly gratified to see that that thought hurt him almost as much as it hurt her, and it must have shown in her face because Maurizio winced and said, “You enjoyed saying that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. There’s a lot of pleasure in paying you back in your own coin. You used to call me Teresa because you were speaking to my Italian side—”

  “I told you that one day you would come to know that side of yourself.”

  “And you were right. I am Teresa, and I love being Teresa because she’s everything I wasn’t, strong and confident, not a deluded little fool who’ll believe every lie a man tells her. You won’t like her. She’s learned the lessons you had to teach, about cruelty and deception, how to be cold and hard to people who love you—”

  “No,” he said with soft vehemence. “I was never cold and hard to you. It may have begun that way—before I knew you—it’s true that then you were just part of my revenge. But from the first moment we met, you entered my heart, although it took me too long to realize that everything had changed.”

  “How convenient!” she scoffed. “So you admit you set out to make use of me.”

  “Only in the beginning—”

  “Do you think it’s all right to use people as pawns as long as you don’t know them? But anything can be done in the sacred name of vendetta, can’t it?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned and began to walk away. He moved quickly to keep up with her. “Teresa, please believe I’m not proud of myself. I’ve had time for bitter regrets about what I’ve done to you. If anything has happened to Leo, I shall never forgive myself.”

  “It’s my lack of forgiveness that should worry you, Maurizio,” she snapped.

  “It does. Your hatred weighs on my heart day and night. That and my conscience are burdens almost too great to bear.”

  “Bear them,” she raged. “They’re nothing to the burdens you’ll bear if my brother’s body is fished out of the water.”

  She moved quickly to get away from him. But his voice stopped her. “Leo isn’t dead.”

  She whirled and stared at him, but her limbs seemed to be frozen. Maurizio came closer. “I don’t believe that Leo can be dead,” he told her. “If he were, you would know before I did. Your heart would tell you.”

  “If only I could be sure.”

  They’d reached a street lamp. Now she had a good look at Maurizio and the sight shocked her. For the first time, she realized that he really suffered. His face was ravaged. He was thinner and there were dark circles under haunted eyes. He looked like a man who seldom slept, and what sleep he did have was tormented by nightmares. But when she thought of her own nightmares, she could feel no pity for him.

  “I hope you’re right about Leo,” she said. “But as time goes on with no sign of him, I get more and more afraid that I’ll never see him again. And if that happens, may God forgive you, because I never will.”

  Abruptly she turned and ran away. A pain had started in her heart and it threatened to overwhelm her. Her love was dead, yet she knew she had to get away from the sight of Maurizio’s tormented face while she had the strength.

  In a few minutes, she reached the Palazzo Calvani and let herself in quietly. But if she thought to pass unnoticed, she’d reckoned without Elena’s watchful eyes. As she reached the upper floor, Elena was already there, in her dressing gown, looking at her watch. “You’re so late,” she said. “I was getting worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

  “I never go to sleep until you come in.”

  Terri stared. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I listen for the front door, then your footsteps coming up the stairs. They always sound heavy and I know you haven’t found Leo. One night I hope to hear them light and happy.” She took Terri’s hand between hers. “You’re like ice. Come and get warm. We don’t want you catching cold again.”

  She drew Terri into her own room, and made her sit down on the huge, luxurious double bed. “Francisco won’t disturb us,” she said with a shrug. She began to rub Terri’s hands. “Obviously you didn’t find Leo tonight.”

  Terri shook her head, too tired and wretched to speak. Elena looked at her suddenly. “But something’s happened,” she said. Her hand flew to her mouth. “You’ve had bad news of Leo? Oh, my God! Tell me quickly.”

  “It’s not Leo. It’s Maurizio. I met him in the street.”

  “What did he have to say for himself?”

  “What can he say? He’s searching, too—trying to ease his conscience, if he has such a thing.”

  “But it upset you to see him, didn’t it?” Elena said sympathetically. “Do you still love him so much?”

  “I don’t love him,” Terri said in a hard voice. “And he doesn’t love me. He never did. It was nothing but an illusion.” Then her grief came welling up, making her cry out, “But it was a lovely illusion. The world is so cold without it. I want my illusion back.” Tears streamed down her face and she crossed her arms over herself, rocking back and forth.

  “I know how cold the world can be,” Elena whispered. “It’s only when love is over that you understand what it meant to you.” She took Terri’s sobbing form in her arms and stroked her hair. “Cara Teresa,” she said softly, “I’m here. Hold on to me.”

  Terri hardly heard the words but she reached out blindly, feeling something ease in her heart as she was enfolded in a mother’s loving warmth and comfort for the first time in her life. The two women sat like that for a long time.

  *

  The smile on Rufio’s face was the first thing that greeted Maurizio as he put on the light. It was the same smile as always, fixed, unchanging, serving only as a reminder that he was dead. Maurizio averted his eyes.

  After a moment, Bruno came in. “Still no news?” he asked.

  Maurizio shook his head. “I’ve been to every house in Venice,” he said heavily. “There’s nowhere else to look.” Bruno didn’t answer and Maurizio turned on him savagely. “He’s not dead,” he shouted. “You’re not to say that.”

  “But it’s not I who says it.” Bruno pointed out. “It’s your own conscience.”

  Maurizio stared at him from haunted eyes. His face was that of a man enduring the tortures of the damned. “She thinks he’s dead,” he whispered in horror.

  “You saw her tonight? What did she say?”

  “She said—” Maurizio shuddered. “She said that God must forgive me, because she never would.”

  Bruno nodded like a man who knew there was nothing to add. He glanced at Rufio’s portrait. “I’ve been thinking of Rufio, who was so gentle and l
oving,” he said. “I don’t believe there was a vengeful bone in his body.”

  “Shut up!” Maurizio ordered him. “Shut up.”

  He buried his face in his hands.

  *

  As Christmas approached, life in the Palazzo Calvani became hectic. Elena was in her element, giving lavish parties and gifts, and buying lots of new clothes. She took Terri along on shopping expeditions and always bought her some costly trinket. She deflected all protests with a dazzling smile and the observation, “It’s Christmas.” But sometimes she would take Terri’s hand between her own two little hands and say gravely, “I want to do this—please,” in such a strange tone that Terri would wonder again exactly how much Elena suspected.

  Her official Christmas gift to Terri was a long velvet cloak. “For you to wear at Carnival,” she said. She chuckled like a delighted child. “Carnival is such fun. I start to prepare for it on the day after Christmas.”

  Francisco’s gift was a pearl necklace, so fine and beautiful that Terri gasped. The pearls were perfectly matched, with a soft glow that spoke of luxury and cost. “I can’t accept this,” she said quickly.

  “But why not?” he asked with a smile.

  “It’s much too expensive.”

  “It’s the best, and the best is what I wanted to give you to show my gratitude for all you do in this house.”

  “I don’t do anything much…”

  “On the contrary. You transform whatever you touch. My mother is happier, Elena is calmer, everything runs smoothly.” He carried her hand to his lips. “Thank you, signorina, for the way you’ve transformed my home.”

  Once the gesture would have embarrassed her, but she’d left that gaucherie behind her, and now she was sufficiently poised to smile and let Francisco finish, without showing how much she disliked his touch.

  After such generosity by her employers, she was embarrassed by the comparative modesty of her gifts to them. For Francisco she bought a silver pen, little enough amidst the luxury he took for granted, but it blew a hole in her budget. She was careful to give it to him in Elena’s presence and he smiled and thanked her formally. But later he found her alone and said, “I must thank you again for your gift. It was charming of you to be so observant.”