LoveMakers

by Gould, Judith

  'That's all you think it is?' Charlotte-Anne asked, shocked. 'A lousy shipboard romance?'

  'Come, come. Let us not fool ourselves, Miss Hale.'

  Charlotte-Anne raised her chin stubbornly. 'Luigi and I love each other,' she said with fierce but quiet pride. 'We will love each other forever.'

  A faint smile hovered on the Principessa's lips. 'Really.' She crossed the room, leaned back against a little writing table, and folded her arms in front of her. The smile never left her lips. 'How much do you want?'

  Charlotte-Anne looked startled. 'I beg your pardon?'

  'I said,' the Principessa repeated patiently, 'how much money do you want in exchange for calling off this foolish marriage?'

  'You're trying to buy me oft?' Charlotte-Anne said with disbelief.

  'In whatever currency pleases you. For some it is money. For others it is jewelry, or favors. Everyone has a price. Only the currency differs.'

  'I don't believe this,' Charlotte-Anne said, springing to her feet and crossing the room. She towered over the shorter woman. 'I don't think you heard right,' she said. 'We are already married.'

  The Principessa tilted her head back, her gaze still piercing. 'Are you, now? You're certain of that?'

  Charlotte-Anne nodded. 'Of course I'm certain.'

  The Principessa shook her head sadly, as though trying to get through to a stubborn, recalcitrant child. 'You forget one thing. You are now in Italy, Miss Hale,' she said in a quiet voice. 'The laws here are different. We are a Catholic country. Your shipboard wedding was a meaningless ritual.'

  Charlotte-Anne narrowed her pale eyes. 'Well not for me it wasn't,' she snapped.

  'Then you are deceiving yourself. And that is a pity.'

  Charlotte-Anne's expression did not change. 'So what are you trying to tell me? That the marriage isn't recognized?'

  'Ah. Now you are getting the point.'

  'And Luigi . . . he knew it wouldn't be?'

  'Surely you cannot think that my son is ignorant of the laws of his country and his church?'

  The fight seemed to seep out of Charlotte-Anne. She felt suddenly dizzy. She didn't know if what the Principessa claimed was true, but she was frightened.

  'It can't be true,' she told herself silently. 'Oh God, why do I have to face this creature alone? Why can't Luigi be here at my side now of all times?' Her shoulders slumped and her eyes fell wearily.

  The Principessa seized upon the moment, misinterpreting Charlotte-Anne's desolate pain for defeat. 'Leave him now, while there is still time,' she whispered hoarsely. She dug her fingers claw-like into Charlotte-Anne's arms and shook her. 'You are merely infatuated with each other.

  But love? What can you know of love? You are too young. When you are older, you will thank me for not letting you make this mistake.'

  Charlotte-Anne jerked back, loosening the woman's painful grip. Slowly she shook her head, still in a state of shock. She knew now how wrong she had been to underestimate Luigi's parents. She hadn't expected them to welcome her, but even in her wildest nightmares she had not expected a battle such as this.

  Defiantly she raised her chin. 'Principessa, I think we are agreed on one thing,' she said in a trembling voice. 'You do not like me, and I do not like you. So be it. However, I love Luigi.' She blinked back the tears which threatened to fill her eyes. 'I love him so much that I will fight to my dying day to keep him, and I believe in my heart that he will do the same for me. The way I see it, you have two choices left open to you. The di Fontanesis have power and influence. You will either accept us, and make certain our marriage is recognized, or you will lose your only son. I don't want your money or your favors. I don't care what your twisted mind may come up with, but I will never be bought off.'

  'Call it what you will.' The Principessa's face was rigid with cold self-assurance. 'It is as I have said. Everyone has a price. You need only state yours.'

  'Damn you, I won't be bought off.' Charlotte-Anne exploded in spite of her choked-back tears. 'Can't you get that through your head?'

  'Do not be so emotional.'

  Flushed and breathing hard, Charlotte-Anne whirled around and ran toward the door.

  'Where are you going?' the Principessa called after her.

  Charlotte-Anne spoke without turning around. 'I'm going upstairs to pack.' She paused, her fingers on the door handle. 'And as soon as I'm through, Luigi and I are returning to Rome. I can see we aren't welcome here.'

  The Principessa laughed. 'You are bluffing.'

  'Am I?' Charlotte-Anne let go of the door handle, clenched her hands at her sides, and retraced her steps towards Luigi's mother. 'Try me,' she challenged. 'Besides, we'll be far better off in Rome than in this . . . this museum of an ice palace. You know, I think in your own way, you're as mad as Luigi's great-grandfather. This place is addling your brain.' She paused and added slowly, 'Believe me, Luigi and I will be happy in Rome.'

  'And Luigi's career?' The Principessa had recovered her momentary lapse into mild fear; her voice was once again smooth and well modulated. 'What about that? Il Duce has let it be known that he has great plans for Luigi.'

  'What about them? Luigi loves flying and racing; he'd be content to do that for the rest of his life. So Il Duce wants him in the armed forces. So what? He'll either take him or leave him. And, anyway, from what I've seen so far, Luigi'll be a damn sight better off if he doesn't run around with that pack of murdering fascists.'

  The Principessa gasped and her face went ashen. 'You fool,' she hissed. 'You would be best off to keep your political views to yourself. It's not safe to speak that way.'

  'It isn't, is it?' Charlotte-Anne permitted herself a smile. 'Well, in that case I'd better run through this morgue and shout out my opinions before anyone gets the wrong idea. And then I'd better go from village to village, and city to city.'

  'Please,' the Principessa urged quietly. 'Calm down.'

  Charlotte-Anne felt like laughing and crying at once. What a farce this was, she thought. She had found the Principessa's two weaknesses: her height, which was why she hadn't taken a seat, and, more important, her immense fear of the fascists. Apparently the powerful di Fontanesis were not that powerful after all.

  'You may be infallible around here, Principessa,' Charlotte-Anne said contemptuously, 'but I see I was wrong. You do have more than two choices open to you.'

  'And what,' Luigi's mother asked, 'might else there be?'

  'Specifically, I will promise to keep my political views to myself. If you stay out of our lives and stop trying to meddle.'

  'And if I do not?'

  'Then I'll shout from the rooftops. I'll make the biggest anti-fascist stink this country has ever seen.'

  'You would not live for a day!'

  'Without Luigi, life is not worth living for me. And believe me, if I go, I'll drag you and your entire family down along with me.'

  The dark eyes shone with fear. 'Please, be reasonable,' the Principessa gasped.

  'No, you be reasonable. I think you'll agree that we'd better start accepting each other's presence. I won't have my husband torn between his wife and his mother. Do I make myself clear?'

  The Principessa stared at her with shocked hatred.

  'We'll be polite and civil,' Charlotte-Anne continued. 'We don't have to pretend to love each other. We'll do our best to stay out of each other's way. And this, Principessa, had better be our last fight. Oh. For another thing, you might as well get used to calling me Charlotte-Anne instead of Miss Hale. Just as I'll have to get used to calling you 'Mamma.' '

  The Principessa cringed.

  'Now, I suggest you go and use all your influence to make certain that this marriage is recognized.'

  And with that, Charlotte-Anne stormed out of the music room. She left a quivering Principessa Marcella Luisella Uberti di Fontanesi standing alone staring at the door.

  As she hurried down the cold, gleaming marble corridor lined with crystal candelabra, Charlotte-Anne smiled grimly to herself. The Princ
ipessa had been both right and wrong, she thought to herself.

  Everyone had a price.

  Silence, it seemed, was golden. And as such, very expensive.

  It had cost the Principessa her son.

  The moment Charlotte-Anne left the music room, a secret wall panel concealed by the striped, blue-and-gold wall fabric swung soundlessly open. His Eminence Giovanni, Cardinal Corsini, the same man Charlotte-Anne had met at her first dinner aboard the Ile, stepped gracefully into the room, his ankle-length soutane rustling as it swirled around his legs. His thin face with its high, angular cheekbones held an impassive expression. He pushed the panel shut with the palm of his hand.

  The Principessa Marcella di Fontanesi turned wearily to him. 'You heard everything?' she asked in Italian.

  He nodded and slipped into a chair. 'She has spirit,' he said expressionlessly.

  'Spirit!' The Principessa snorted. 'She is asking to be shot. And she will end up getting us all shot. These modern American girls - they think they are entitled to everything. It is true what is said about them. They are only interested in one thing - to marry titles.'

  His Eminence steepled his bony fingers and held them against his brittle lips. 'This one cannot be bought off,' he murmured. 'I see now that I have misjudged her. I was wrong.'

  'Yes, you were wrong.' The Principessa took a seat opposite him, but the light seemed to go out of her. 'However, I am still grateful that you hurried here and warned us about the marriage before they arrived. To show our gratitude, the church will, of course, receive a sizeable donation, as always.'

  'Whatever charity you find it in your heart to give, Principessa,' the cardinal said softly, 'the church is grateful for.' He stared at her with an expression of hurt. 'I did not come because of the donation.'

  The Principessa smiled tightly. 'Of course not.' She glanced down at her hands as she wrung them nervously in her lap. 'It seems we have all underestimated the girl,' she mused aloud. She looked back up at him. 'How do you suggest we proceed?'

  He half-smiled. 'With utmost delicacy.'

  'Of course.' She tightened her lips. 'Much as I hate to admit it, she has threatened our sole vulnerability. And perhaps she really does love Luigi. Only time will tell.'

  'Then you wish the marriage to be recognized?'

  'Do I have any choice?'

  The cardinal shrugged. 'Not much. It depends on how serious she is about carrying out her threat.'

  'The results of which, your Eminence,' the Principessa reminded him drily, 'we cannot afford to even consider.'

  He nodded gravely. 'These are difficult times,' he sighed.

  'But it is true that their marriage, as it stands now, is not recognized?'

  'It depends, Principessa. In the courts of America, England, and Germany, it is official. According to Rome, however, it is not. Prince Luigi and his wife are living in sin. Any child they conceive would be conceived in sin. She is not even Catholic. I discovered that on the ship.'

  The Principessa nodded and pursed her lips. 'In that case, I suppose we have no choice. We must make certain this marriage gets recognized with all due haste. Of course,' she added delicately, 'we will only be too happy to show just how grateful we are for any red tape you are able to cut.' She eyed him significantly. 'Not for yourself, of course. For the church.'

  'Of course,' he replied, his face still impassive. 'I shall put it to the Holy Father at once.'

  11

  The room smelled faintly moist and musky from recent lovemaking. Their labored, anguished breaths had calmed again to become soft, steady breathing. The bright country moonlight streamed in through the open windows. The faint, distant sound of the church bells rode over on the cool breeze from the convent on the hill across the valley.

  Charlotte-Anne stared up at the dark ceiling of heavy damask canopy covering the bed, her mind drifting. In the moonlight, her face was pale silver and deeply shadowed.

  She sensed Luigi's eyes studying her. Then she felt his satin skin against hers as he gently prodded her to turn over on her side. He took deep, appreciative sniffs of her salty skin. 'Nobody makes love like you do,' he whispered into her spine as he buried his face against her naked back. He made an animal-like growl, pretended to take a bite out of her flesh, and nuzzled her roughly.

  'And nobody makes love like you do either,' she retorted, but it was a weak, half-hearted attempt at good humor. The listless tone of her voice gave her away.

  'What is the matter?' He shifted on the bed, switched on the silk-shaded nightstand lamp, and lay sideways, supporting his weight on his cocked elbow. He was watching her intently.

  'Oh, nothing really.' She rolled over and lay flat again, her eyes tracing the swirls of damask. She puffed her cheeks full of air and let go of a deep breath, blowing stray tendrils of hair out of her eyes. 'I was just thinking, that's all.'

  'About what?'

  'You. Me.'

  'What about us?' he asked. 'Aren't you happy with me? Don't I satisfy you in bed?'

  She couldn't help laughing. 'You're perfect. But you know that.' It amused her that Luigi di Fontanesi, the notorious lady-killer, should need such reassurances.

  'Then what is it?' he asked worriedly. 'You look so preoccupied.'

  'Do I?'

  'Yes, you do.' He leaned over her face. 'When we made love just now, you were so . . . determined. It was as though you wanted to use it to forget something.' He paused. 'I only want you to be happy,' he said, kissing her lips. 'I want you always to be happy.'

  'I know that.' She smiled faintly up at him.

  'And we must never keep secrets from each other. Not ever. Not for as long as we live.'

  She nodded, feeling ashamed of herself for keeping something from him so early in their marriage. Their unrecognized marriage, she reminded herself with a stab of fear, remembering the Principessa's icy, self-righteous words. There was nothing she wanted to do more than to confide in Luigi and tell him about her confrontation with his mother, but she knew she would never be able to discuss it with him. What had occurred was between the Principessa and herself, and it had to stay that way. She was not about to see her husband torn between his wife and mother.

  'Then will you tell me what is disturbing you after such wonderful lovemaking?' He paused. 'Was it my mother?'

  She gave a start. It was as though he could read her mind. She let out a low laugh which she hoped sounded convincing. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

  'You were with her this evening. Afterwards, when we made love, you were tense. I have never seen you so tense.'

  'I suppose I was,' she said slowly, choosing her words with care, 'but that's only to be expected. It isn't every day that a girl meets her in-laws.'

  'And that's all that is bothering you?'

  'Should there be anything else?'

  He shrugged his shoulders. 'Knowing my mother, who knows? Sometimes she intimidates people without even realizing it.'

  'Does she now?' Charlotte-Anne regretted the sarcasm the instant the words slipped out.

  He nodded. 'Yes, she does.'

  She let out a breath of relief. Luigi's English was good, but the sarcasm was completely lost on him.

  He was baffled. 'If it is not me, or my mother, then what is it?' he prodded. 'I do not want us to have any problems.'

  'I don't either,' she said quickly. She turned on her side to face him, her pale eyes glittering. 'But Luigi . . . '

  'Yes?'

  'Your mother. . . well she . . . she hinted that we might face some problems.'

  'Problems? What kind of problems?' he asked in a puzzled voice. 'Hopefully not any which are insurmountable.'

  'Knowing you, no problem is insurmountable.' Nevertheless, she bit down on her lip. 'It's about our marriage.'

  'What about it?'

  'Your mother is afraid it won't be recognized by the Church.'

  'That is a problem.' He nodded gravely. 'However, I've thought about it and I am not so certain it cannot be worked out. If we
must, we will simply get married all over again.'

  She tightened her lips. 'I want us to be married already,

  Luigi,' she said with soft intensity. 'I want our marriage to have been official all along. I know it sounds silly, but I want to know that I am your wife.'

  'Then do not worry,' he smiled. 'I am a di Fontanesi, and so are you. And God knows, we give enough to the Church. Have no fear. Our cardinal will work things out.'

  'Your cardinal?'

  'Yours, too, now that you are a di Fontanesi.'

  'But. . . I don't understand.'

  'You will in time. All the powerful Italian families have a 'family' cardinal, so to speak. It is like having a family doctor, or a lawyer. Our cardinal will straighten things out. It may cost us, but then, nothing in life is free.'

  'Who is this cardinal?'

  'You have already met him. On the Ile de France.'

  'You mean Cardinal Corsini?'

  'The very one. So stop worrying. Knowing my mother and the cardinal, together they will move heaven and earth to set things right. My mother is a very determined woman. She always gets what she wants.'

  Charlotte-Anne nodded.

  'Now wipe that worried expression off your face. I said it would all be fixed, did I not?'

  She smiled. 'Yes, you did.' She bent forward and kissed him deeply. Somehow, just hearing him tell her it was all right made it seem so.

  'Now look what you made me do,' he accused as he drew away from her.

  'What?' she asked.

  He laughed, Hipping off the embroidered sheet and looked down. She followed his gaze and shook her head in disbelief.

  The Principessa Marcella moved down the marble corridor on slippered feet. As she passed Luigi's apartment, a perverse kind of curiosity came over her. For an instant she wavered between stopping and continuing on her nightly rounds.

  Her curiosity won out. She drew close to the door and pressed her ear against it. Her elegant lips curled with disgust as her acute hearing caught the muffled, urgent sounds of lovemaking. She could hear her son's anguished moans and the cries of passion that the putana he had brought home emitted as she urged him on.