by Lucy Gordon
In the long silence that followed, Terri’s heart beat so loudly that she was sure Elena must be able to hear it. At last, the countess said softly, “Whoever she is, I think she’s very lucky to have so kind and thoughtful a daughter. You think of her and her difficulties, that perhaps she has a husband who knows nothing of her past and who would take terrible revenge on her if he were to find out.” She clasped her hands together and Terri saw how thin and nervous they were beneath the rings that flashed and sparkled on them. “But also, perhaps—she has never forgotten her children—her child. Perhaps she has more of a mother’s heart than she realized all those years ago, and her loss has torn at her ever since, and if only she had more courage—” She broke off with a little gasp and for a moment her eyes were suspiciously bright. In another moment she would have taken her mother in her arms, pleading for her recognition, and her love.
But with one of her swift changes of mood Elena recovered herself and glanced at the mirror with its giveaway twin reflection. “On second thought,” she said, “I don’t think I like these costumes, after all.”
“But you’ve bought them now.”
“So? The shop can resell them. Take it off, cara. We’ll wear something else.”
Terri let her breath out slowly, trying to steady herself against disappointment. Briefly Elena had opened a door through which Terri could glimpse their future relationship; one of honesty and love. But at the last moment Elena’s courage had failed her and she’d hurried to close the door again. Terri couldn’t reveal the truth now. Nor could she tell when the chance might come again.
*
The party at the Palazzo Calvani was the event of the carnival. Everyone who was anyone was there. The champagne was the finest, the jewels the most glittering, the costumes the most outrageous. The Calvanis wore eighteenth-century costumes of black and silver. Terri’s costume was also eighteenth century, but everything was snowy white, from the gleaming satin brocade of the hooped skirt to the lace ruffles. Terri had fallen in love with it. The depth of the square neckline had given her qualms, as she’d never before worn anything that revealed so much of her bosom, but Elena’s was just as low, and she soon suppressed her modesty. The final touch was the shining white wig with hair piled high on her head and one long ringlet brushing her shoulder.
When Francisco saw her, he said, “Tonight you must wear the pearls I gave you for Christmas. They’re perfect with that costume.”
This was so obviously true that Terri could find no way to refuse, although she managed to dodge his attempt to fasten the necklace around her neck.
They were in Elena’s bedroom where Terri had gone to put the final touches to her appearance. This was Elena’s idea so that her own maid could tend the two of them. When Francisco had departed, Elena dismissed the maid and said quietly, “There’s a very strange story going around Venice, about Maurizio.”
“What do they say about him?” Terri asked, trying to sound indifferent.
“That he’s going mad. He went into a café for a snack, took out a forty-thousand-lire note and sat staring at it. The bill was thirty-five thousand, but when Giovanni, the proprietor, asked for it, Maurizio said he’d pay by check because he didn’t have any money on him. Giovanni reminded him of the note he’d been holding, but Maurizio insisted he was mistaken. Apparently, he got terribly angry, gave Giovanni a check for twice the amount and stormed out. Giovanni says he’s going to frame the check to prove that he’s the first man in Venice who ever got an extra lira out of Maurizio. Did you ever hear such an odd story?”
“Perhaps he’s been affected by the spirit of Carnival,” Terri suggested lightly. But she was sure she knew what had made Maurizio behave so strangely. The note must have been the one she’d given him as a tip at their first meeting, and nothing would make him part with it. It was practically a declaration of love, and for a moment her heart was full of pain. But she suppressed it. That was weakness. She’d yielded to weakness once, but not again. Not until Leo was found.
The guests began to arrive at nine o’clock and soon the room was awash with glamorous and outlandish costumes. Terri began by keeping close to Elena in case the countess needed her, but Elena soon waved her away, ordering her to enjoy herself. When the dancing began, Terri was much in demand, and for three hours she gave herself up to flirting and laughing and appearing to have a wonderful time.
At last she made her way to the window to escape the crush and took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. As she stood sipping it and fanning herself, a crowd of revelers surged along the street below the window. Looking down, she saw a riot of colorful costumes, Harlequins and Columbines, Pantalones and Pulcinellas, clowns and devils. Then they passed and the alley was quiet again.
But not quite empty. A solitary Harlequin figure stood beneath a lamp, leaning against the wall. In his hand he held something that glittered. His slim body was covered with a skin-hugging costume of multicolored diamonds. On his head he wore a black tricorne and a black mask covered the upper part of his face. At first sight, he looked exactly like a thousand others who’d thronged the city for the last few days. And yet, there was something different about him, something familiar about the way he was standing, something that made Terri’s heart pound.
“Leo,” she breathed softly.
She opened the window and leaned out, making the Harlequin glance up. Terri strained to see the shape of his mouth but the light was too poor. All she could tell was that the sight of her had made him grow very still. She didn’t speak, fearful of alarming him, but for a long silent moment their eyes met, and all the while her conviction grew.
At last she ventured to say, “Why are you alone, Harlequin? No one should be alone for Carnival.” He put his head on one side, considering, but he didn’t answer. If only he would speak, she thought. Then she would know by the sound of his voice. “Why don’t you come up?” she asked lightly. “Perhaps your Columbine is here?”
He considered again, then nodded. “I’ll come down and let you in,” she said.
Swiftly she closed the window and made her way through the crowd. Her heels tapped out a pattern as she sped down the marble staircase to the side door and pulled it open. Her heart was beating with joyful anticipation.
But there was no one there.
She ran to the end of the alley but there was no sign of him in the rabbit warren of streets. Desperately she retraced her steps and hurried to the other end but he was gone. There was only the night and the soft lapping of the dark water. She almost cried aloud in her bitter disappointment.
Then something caught her eye. On the ground where Harlequin had stood, there now lay the glittering object he’d been holding. Terri picked it up and saw that it was a small gilt replica of a winged lion, the symbol of Venice. “A lion,” she breathed in English. Then something impelled her to repeat it in Italian. “Leone…Leo…”
It might be no more than coincidence but she didn’t think so. The love and comradeship of years spoke and told her that her brother had been here, reaching out to her and then running away. Why? What—who—was he afraid of?
There’d been false hopes before but this time her spirit was up and she was determined to do something. She ran back inside, spoke hurriedly to one of the servants, then hurried upstairs for her velvet cloak. It was time she confronted Maurizio again, and this time, she promised herself, it would be no sentimental interlude, letting him off the hook, but a challenge that he couldn’t avoid.
Francisco stood in the middle of the hall and watched her disappear upstairs. When she was out of sight, he summoned the servant Terri had spoken to. “What did the signorina say?” he demanded.
“She told me to send for the boatman, Excellency.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Yes, Excellency. To the Midas Hotel.”
“Very well. Be about your business. I will deliver the message.”
Arriving at the landing stage a few moments later, Terri f
ound the motorboat ready, its engine humming. But when the boatman reached up to help her in, she drew back with a little gasp. “I heard you were going to the Midas,” Francisco said, “and since I’m going there myself, I decided to act as your boatman—unless, of course, you have some objection.”
It was impossible to object, so Terri make the appropriate response, but actually she was dismayed. Francisco knew nothing about Maurizio’s concealment of Leo or the real cause of her quarrel with him, and he mustn’t suspect the truth, for Elena’s sake. Unless she could shake him off when they reached the Midas, it would be impossible to speak frankly to Maurizio.
Suddenly, a thought struck her and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear!”
Francisco glanced briefly aside from steering the boat. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m supposed to be helping Elena with the party, and I just walked out without saying anything to her. How rude of me!”
Francisco grinned. “To tell the truth, I slipped away secretly myself. But it’s most unlike you. Usually you’re quite frighteningly conscientious, and very, very English. Tonight you’ve behaved like an Italian, acting on impulse. What was the impulse, I wonder? A lover?”
“I have no lover,” Terri said firmly.
“Not even Maurizio?” Francisco asked idly. He seemed to be concentrating on the water.
“Least of all Maurizio.”
“Then he’s not the reason you’re going to the Midas? Forgive me if I seem inquisitive. Since you’re living in my home, I naturally feel a fatherly interest in your welfare.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” Terri said. “It’s true I’m going to see Maurizio. I have things to say to him. But they’re not words of love.”
“I’m glad. I’ve told you I respect him because he’s ruthless and formidable, but he’s not a good man for a young woman to become involved with.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said grimly. “My heart is armored.”
The Midas was dazzling against the night. Another moment and they were at the landing stage, climbing the steps into the casino. She saw Maurizio as soon as she entered the roulette room. He was moving from table to table, exchanging pleasantries with the gamblers. Here, too, there were Harlequins and Columbines, and clowns of all kinds. Maurizio himself was dressed as usual in white dinner jacket, and in the garish crowd he stood out by his quiet presence and authority. Pain seized Terri’s heart. She’d seen him so often like this before, and loved him. Now she must crush love, but her heart refused to still its beating, almost as if it didn’t know he was an enemy.
An attendant was waiting to take her cloak. She unclasped it and in the same moment Francisco stepped forward, laid his hands over hers and lifted the cloak away. It was unnecessary but she smiled a polite thanks just the same, trying not to flinch as his fingers briefly brushed against her neck.
Maurizio was deadly still, watching her. His eyes burned as they gazed, letting her know more clearly than words ever could that he was on the rack. Terri faced him with her head up, her eyes sparkling with defiance. Francisco observed them both, a chill smile on his face. “There are two places free at this table,” he murmured, leaning close to her. “Unless there’s another game you would rather play.”
“Roulette will do splendidly, thank you,” she said, following him to the table and letting him draw out a chair for her. The gorgeous dress splayed out in a froth of white satin as she sat down. A pile of chips appeared in front of her.
“I took the liberty of ordering them for you and having them put on my own account,” Francisco explained.
“Thank you,” she said crisply. At any other time she would have refused to be in his debt, but tonight the knowledge of Maurizio’s disapproving eyes on her was like heady wine. She took a pile of chips and played them. For a moment, the impulse that had brought her here was forgotten in the bitter pleasure of knowing that he was on hot coals. Let him suffer as he’d made her suffer.
The wheel spun and in moments her chips were gone. She played the rest and they vanished, too. More chips appeared at her elbow. She staked them defiantly, and just as defiantly watched them vanish. Maurizio was looking at her, not moving, his mouth tense.
When all her chips were gone, she laughed and said, “It’s not my lucky night.”
“Don’t forget the saying,” Francisco murmured. “Lucky in love, unlucky at chance. Who knows where your lucky love is waiting?”
Terri gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t think it matters if one is lucky in love,” she said coolly. “After all, what is love but another game of chance? If one loses, there’s always another table and higher stakes.” The men around the table were all watching her. At this remark, some of them grinned and edged closer, as if recognizing a new player in the cynical game that Venice had played for centuries. Maurizio didn’t move, but it was as though his stillness dominated the room.
“You’re right, of course” Francisco said silkily. “But the night is young, and you’re here to enjoy yourself. Do you know, cara, now I see you in that dress, I know I bought you the right gift. Those pearls look so perfect with white satin. I was inspired.”
A small frisson of interest ran around the table, for there wasn’t one person there who couldn’t estimate the value of the flawless pearls. Still Maurizio didn’t move, but there was something terrible in his stillness.
“Your taste is impeccable, Count,” Terri said politely.
“It is, signorina—” he lifted her hand and kissed it “—in all things.”
Francisco released Terri’s hand and reached out to sign for more chips but at that moment Maurizio seemed to awaken out of the trance that had held him frozen. He made a gesture to the steward holding out the chit to Francisco and said curtly, “The count and Signorina Wainright are my guests tonight. Their play is on the house. Give me any chits that the count has already signed.” The steward did so and Maurizio tore them into tiny pieces. Then he left the room without looking at Terri.
At the bar he ordered a double whiskey and downed it in a single gulp. He was on the verge of ordering another but he stopped himself. To drink more would be an admission that he was losing control, and that was unthinkable. Only he knew how dangerously close to being caught off guard he’d been when Terri had entered the casino tonight. At first his lonely heart had given a leap of gladness. He was still infused by the tenderness of their last meeting. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since, but she lived in his mind as she’d been then, gentle, sad, reaching out to him for help. His body remembered her, not as she’d been in their moments of passion, but the way she’d rested her head on his shoulder, and it craved to hold her again in loving kindness.
When she’d walked in, his first thought had been that she’d returned to him. He’d known an almost uncontrollable instinct to go to her, open armed. He would be glad until his dying day that he’d resisted it, for the next moment he’d seen Francisco just behind her, and the byplay with the cloak. Suddenly, he’d noticed the air of sensual sophistication that she wore like an aura, so different from when he’d first known and loved her.
Loved. He could use the word now that she was lost to him. He’d loved her sweetness and simplicity even while he refused to recognize them. And by the time he understood the truth, it was too late. His betrayal had destroyed the very things in her that had touched his heart. Now she looked cool and worldly, a woman who could breathe the corrupt Calvani air and thrive on it, who could accept a fortune in pearls from the most debauched man in Venice, and flaunt them in the face of the man who loved her. Maurizio’s head swam with the thought.
“Shall I refill your glass, signore?” The barman had the whiskey bottle ready.
“Yes,” Maurizio said harshly. “Yes.”
He was emptying the glass when he saw her reflected behind him in the bar mirror. She was wearing a silver mask through which he could see her eyes watching him intently. He turned slowly to look at her. “Why are you here?�
� he demanded.
“I want to talk to you, Maurizio. But not here. In private. Your office will do.”
He noted the touch of arrogance in her manner, and it dismayed him. He didn’t know how to deal with her.
When the door of his office had closed behind them, he indicated her mask, saying, “I wish you’d take that off.”
“I think it’s very appropriate. From the day we met, you were wearing a mask. You hid behind it while you appraised me for your purposes.”
“Take it off,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know you like that.”
“You never knew me. But that’s not important now. I came to tell you that I saw Leo tonight.”
“When?” he demanded sharply. “Where?”
“Outside the Palazzo Calvani. He was dressed as a Harlequin.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“I tried but he vanished.”
“How can you be sure it was him? Did you see his face?”
“He wore a black mask and his hair was covered, but it was Leo. He had a winged lion in his hands, which he left behind. Leone—Leo. It was him. I know it was.”
His shoulders sagged and despair ran through him like icy water. “You can’t be sure of that. Why should he run away from you?”
“Perhaps he didn’t know me. Who knows what’s going on in his mind? The only thing I’m sure of is that he’s frightened. What’s he scared of, Maurizio?”
“Why do you ask me that?”
“Because you’re the man he first ran away from. You kept him prisoner—”
“That’s not true. He was ill—he had the best of care.”
“Oh, yes, the best of care from a man who needed him alive for his own purposes. I think Leo knew that. I think that through the haze of fever and confusion, he saw clearly the most important thing about you—that you’re cold and heartless, and nothing matters to you but your own purpose. Nothing. So he ran away. He didn’t know who he was or what you were using him for, but he knew he had to escape. Even in Venice, he tries to approach me but at the last moment he remembers you, and becomes afraid. Why, Maurizio? What is he afraid of?”
