‘You think I don’t understand what it means to love someone, and to be hurt? You think I am made of stone?’ The questions lashed at her, like cold spray over the bows of the gondola.
She pulled her gaze from the glimmer of the sea, through which the gondola was cutting towards the deeper green of an island. She looked at Maxim and saw that his face was as if cut in stone. ‘Your strength of will is greater than other people’s,’ she said. ‘I am not saying that your understanding is less.’
‘Thank you,’ he said with irony. ‘I take it that in your estimation people should give way to their feelings?’
‘No—you twist my words—’
‘Perhaps a little,’ he admitted, ‘but it is unwise to provoke a man by implying that he has no feelings ... he might be tempted to prove you wrong.’
Her eyes met his, wildly.
‘What would you do then?’ he mocked. ‘Gondoliers take no notice when a man puts his arms around a woman in a gondola. They would merely look the other way—if I kissed you.’
‘But you wouldn’t!’ She drew back against the black gondola cushions and looked very much a shrinking violet in that moment.
His eyes flicked her hair, the tiny mole at her temple, the pulse in her throat. His face was dark, unreadable, then with a laugh of arrant mockery he sat back in his seat and watched lazily as the gondoliers rowed them to the landing-stage of the island.
A stepped terrace rose above the shore, and the sun was bright on the white walls of the Villa Nora.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LAURI turned to look at the view beyond the terrace, and her eyes sparkled like the sea.
Then with renewed delight she looked at the villa, with its upward twining loggias of stucco like thick white lace. She heard the sea whispering, and the wild bees humming in the cloaks of wallflowers, double-flowering, sweet-scented masses of cream on apricot and beige on rose.
‘Do you like the villa?’ Maxim asked.
Tt does have a look of the Arabian Nights about it,’ she replied, and when she glanced at him she saw how proud and dark he looked, sculptured against the blue-green seascape, the colourful mass of flowers, and the terrace guard that sloped upwards beside the wide steps. The white wall was fretted along its surface, with arabesques cut deeply in the stucco.
He lounged against the ornamental wall, and with the sun behind him his eyes were masked, while she stood in the full play of light. ‘This place also has a most disturbing effect on me,’ he said, ‘but perhaps the heat of the sun melts my hard feelings, eh?’
He was goading her, she knew that, but when she saw the glimmer of his teeth in a mocking smile she couldn’t resist the impulse to answer the challenge in his words and his smile.
‘People compare you to a falcon because of your family crest and background,’ she said, ‘but isn’t it a fact, signor, that the falcon disdains affection and takes the hearts of the small, flashing birds in the sky?’
A silence stretched between them, and her heartbeats seemed louder than the sea whispers and the bees humming.
‘The small, flashing birds are my dancers, I take it, of whom I demand everything without giving an atom of my own heart?’ He moved towards her, so quickly that she put up a hand as though to fend him off. ‘You little fool, you don’t know a thing about me!’
He walked on ahead of her, and above the clamour of her heart she heard him hail someone. She shielded her eyes with her hand and saw a woman standing at the top of the steps, a slim figure in black with hair that blew in the breeze off the sea and had a hint of dark flame in it.
The woman was young and Lauri guessed from the black she wore that she was Venetia, about whom he had spoken so gently.
Maxim gazed long at Venetia, and as Lauri drew near to them he took the young woman’s hands into his as though they were flowers. He carried them to his lips, and there was about the gesture a tender gallantry that thrilled through Lauri like a pam. The couple spoke together in low tones, then he turned to Lauri and beckoned her to him with an imperious gesture.
‘This is my young protégée, Venetia.’ The smile he gave the young widow was a brilliant mingling of dark eyes and white teeth. The look he gave Lauri was quick and cool, nor did his voice linger warmly on her name when he introduced her.
‘I am glad to meet you, Signorina Garner.’ Venetia had a voice with a ghostly echo of warmth in it, her fine features were shadowed by sadness,’ and her eyes spoke eloquently of the suffering she still endured. Her eyes would be remarkable in animation, for they were the shade of blue seen in stained-glass windows, and strikingly framed by her dark auburn hair.
‘Zena waits impatiently for you both in her “virgin’s bower” as she calls the sun loggia.’ Venetia gave Lauri a fleeting smile. ‘Because of the clematis, you understand, which grows in profusion all over the loggia. I must warn you that the Contessa has a sharp wit, but please don’t let her alarm you too much.
Lauri smiled back at Venetia. ‘I am quite used by now to being alarmed, signora.’
Venetia glanced at Maxim, who gave Lauri an ironical little bow. ‘The child refers to me, Venetia,’ he said. ‘She considers me quite a taskmaster, and also has the effrontery to say I have no heart.’
‘You said that to Max?’ Venetia gazed at Lauri in some surprise. ‘I have always found him the kindest of men.’
‘Miss Garner will retort that you have never had to dance for me.’ He flicked a mocking smile over Lauri’s face, and as she gazed back at him little pieces of gold fell through the branches of the trees and seemed caught in her wide eyes.
‘As an artist, Venetia, you see people as art forms both mythical and symbolic.’ He gestured at Lauri in her woodsmoke suit, her hair a dark switch reaching to her heart. ‘Of what does my protégée remind you?’
Venetia studied Lauri with these deep blue eyes that were so disturbing. ‘Of an Aretino faun,’ she said quietly. ‘And now, Max, stop teasing her. If you do this all the time, then it is no wonder the poor girl thinks you unkind.’
‘She thinks me a tyrant.’ He laughed low in his throat, and stood aside so that the two girls could precede him along the path to the sun loggia. It was octagonal and surmounted by a cupola. Clematis vines clambered all over the white walls, and a fountain tinkled as they entered the little sun temple where the Contessa awaited them.
She sat in a fan-backed wicker chair, a little bee of a woman, carved out of ivory and held together with lace and bombazine. A white, blue-eyed cat sat on her lap, and she stroked the snowy fur with a tiny, jewelled hand. Her eyes were shrewd, inquisitive, and they flashed over Lauri as she gave her other hand to Maxim to be kissed,
‘I notice you don’t apologize for being late,’ she said to him.
‘A Venetian is never on time, you know that, Contessa.’
‘Humph!’ She looked at him, and her eyes sparkled like the gems encrusting her rings. ‘You mean you never apologize for anything. A woman could wait an hour, or a lifetime, and never humble you.’
‘What do you think would humble me?’ he asked, a glitter of devilry in his eyes.
‘You are a Falcone di Corte,’ the Contessa said deliberately, ‘fated to love one woman. You may find that you will have to humble yourself to her, Max.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ he laughed.
‘On the contrary, Max, if heaven allows.’
He quirked an eyebrow, but when he made no reply the Contessa said wickedly, ‘Ah, have I the king in checkmate?’
‘No, I have a gambit that could surprise the queen,’ he replied, ‘but I am not prepared right now to show my hand.’
‘Timidity, amico caro,’ she mocked.
‘Expediency, signora.’ He swung smartly to face Lauri and held out his hand to her as though to a child. ‘Come along, the Contessa won’t bite you now she has had a go at my tough skin.’
Lauri took a nervous step forward and the warm steel of his fingers drew her right in front of the intimidating little woman in the gre
at wicker chair. The jetty eyes played over her face, while the white cat rose on all fours and looked at her as well.
‘Stroke him, go on,’ the Contessa said. ‘Minou likes the very young and the very old because he is wise like all cats.’
‘He’s beautiful,’ Lauri smiled, and with her hand on the cat’s silky white fur it was easier to withstand the scrutiny of his mistress.
‘Beauty is irrelevant,’ the Contessa said. ‘If he were not wise and loyal I would not love him for his blue eyes alone. So you are Maxim’s protégée? Do you like being his pupil of the dance? Or do you fight with him?’
Lauri met the Contessa’s eyes and saw in them none of the awe which Maxim aroused in everyone else. To her, incredibly, he had been known from a baby.
‘Does my question embarrass you?’ the Contessa asked.
‘You must remember, Zena, that Miss Garner is British,’ Maxim said dryly,
‘A reticent nation, to be sure. Venetia mia, will you pour our refreshments?’ A servant in a white jacket had just carried in a tray and set it down on a wicker table in front of the fountain. There was a cool clink of ice against glass, and the sun poured warm through the arched openings of the loggia.
‘Take off your jacket and be cooler,’ the Contessa said to Lauri. ‘Come, sit here beside me and we will talk.’
Lauri fumbled with the buttons of her jacket and as she withdrew her arms from the sleeves she felt Maxim take the jacket from her. She wore a sleeveless blouse and was suddenly conscious of how pale her skin was in contrast to his. Venetia gave her a grave smile and a long glass of fruit juice.
‘Gin and vermouth for you, Max.’ Venetia carried the drink to him, and as Lauri glanced over at them she was struck by the foil his darkness made for Venetia’s auburn colouring. His gaze seemed to cover her, warm and sheltering.
‘This is an unusual child, Max,’ the Contessa remarked as he relaxed into a lounger beside the young widow. ‘She has a strange quality of stillness, like a brook in a woodland. Most benign. You must let me have her for a companion if you fail to make a dancer of her.’
‘I don’t intend to fail,’ he said, and his brows were drawn down like a visor over the eyes that were like black steel as they dwelt on Lauri. ‘She will dance for me as I wish her to, then she will be free as a bird. Then she may choose to be someone’s companion—but not yours, Zena.’
‘And why not, may I ask?’
Lauri felt the probe of jetty eyes and wanted to retort that she wasn’t a doll, a marionette to be given away when Maxim di Corte was tired of pulling her strings,
‘I have an aunt in England,’ she said, giving him a cool look. ‘She wished me to try and find success as a dancer, and I came to Venice for her sake.’
‘Do you like Venice?’ Venetia asked in her gentle, hollow voice.
‘It is very picturesque and unusual,’ Lauri replied.
‘But you miss England?’
‘Yes—my home is there, and my aunt and I have always been very close.’ A sudden wave of longing for the homely security of Aunt Pat’s cottage swept over her, Dear Aunt Pat would be putting the Sunday joint in the oven, and the Sunday music programme would be on the radio. There would be cuckoos calling in the lanes of Downhollow, and catkins budding on the willows by the old milistream—it was unbearable, this ache in her heart for the simple things she loved, and the security she needed.
‘So your aunt wishes you to be a success?’
Lauri glanced at the Contessa. ‘She was in ballet herself as a girl, you see—’
‘And one likes to please a loved one, eh?’ The jetty eyes smiled shrewdly. ‘That is the way of life, my child. We are all victims of the impulses of our hearts, but having lived a long and varied life I know that what makes it exciting and warm and enriching is this drive we have towards other people. This need to love, and to be loved. It may hurt us, and very often it does, but it is the very essence of living, and those who shield themselves from its abrasions are dull and lifeless people.’
‘You mean, Contessa, that it is out in the world that we learn to face up to life?’
‘Exactly so.’ A jewelled hand patted Lauri’s. ‘If your aunt used her love for you only to protect you, then she would do you more harm than good. I am sure you have talent—Max would not waste his precious time on anything less—and the elusive magic, perhaps, that theatregoers crave to see.’
Lauri smiled at the idea of theatregoers craving to see her. She watched a gnat on the cup of a nearby flower, combing its green wings with its legs. The careless dexterity reminded her of Andreya.
‘Have you decided to present Giselle this coming season, Max?’ The Contessa smiled nostalgically. ‘I always love it, and recall how wonderful your dear grandmother was in the role.’
‘Giselle is a weakness I can never resist,’ his smile warmed his eyes brilliantly. ‘Yes, I shall be presenting the ballet at the Fenice when we open the new season.’
‘With Andreya?’ Venetia glanced sideways at him, and it seemed to Lauri that her blue eyes held a flash of dislike which she quickly veiled with her lashes.
‘Andreya is my prima ballerina.’ He gazed reflectively into the glass in his hand. ‘She came to me six years ago and in that time my company has had some exciting successes. Giselle is not one of her best roles, I will admit—’
‘Are you blindly loyal, Max? That woman is as hard as nails!’
The words rang out in the loggia, and they all stared at Venetia, whose flash of animation made her lovely. Then she leapt to her feet, a hand pressed against her mouth. ‘Oh, Max, how could I say such a thing—I must be going out of my mind!’
‘My dear—’
‘No, don’t be kind to me, Max. Because I can’t live with myself there is no reason why I should hurt others—you of all people. You came to me in Florence when I needed a friend as never before. Without you standing by, I should have—’
‘Venetia, don’t torture yourself.’ He rose quickly and put an arm around her, and as Lauri watched them she felt her fast-beating heart.
‘I think it is time we went into lunch.’ The Contessa shook the white cat out of her lap and indicated that Lauri give her an arm. Talking together about the scented shrubs and trees, they made their way indoors as though nothing had happened. Venetia and Maxim walked behind them, but what they said to each other was not audible.
They lunched in the salotto, and the Contessa talked vivaciously about ballet. After several cups of Italian coffee, she said it was time for her siesta and she would join them later. Venetia also excused herself, and after Maxim’s perusal of a newspaper, he asked Lauri if she would like to see a little more of the island.
‘We are informal here,’ he added with a rather strained smile. ‘I am a friend of such long standing that the villa is more or less a second home to me.’
Lauri felt the disquiet in him as they walked the cool length of the salotto, with its inlaid floor, wall murals and vases of flowers on pedestals. As they approached the archway into the garden, her glance was caught by the three crossed spears on the wall above the arch, ‘In the days of Roman conquest, crossed spears were a symbol of subjugation,’ Maxim smiled down at her with a hint of savagery as she looked at them. The slave of a Roman had to pass beneath them to indicate her-bondage.’
‘How interesting,’ she said, trying to sound casual as she preceded him beneath the three symbolical spears.
‘There are Roman ruins on the island,’ he added, ‘and a cave down on the shore where secret rites were practised long ago. Would you like to see it?’
‘Very much.’ The flagstones were hot, the walls of the villa very white, and she took her sunglasses out of her bag and put them on. Now she could look at him and she saw that he still had a faintly savage look ... due, she was sure, to that scene in the loggia.
‘I had better warn you that the rites were connected with Aphrodite, the goddess of love.’ His teeth gleamed against his tawny skin. ‘The islanders say that the
cave is haunted by the pagan spirit of love, and that a woman alone there with a man is in danger of falling under Aphrodite’s spell.’
‘What of the man?’ Lauri asked daringly. ‘Doesn’t the spell affect him as well?’
‘I had better not tell you, especially after our conversation in the gondola coming here.’
His words and his mood were unsettling, and a tingle seemed to run along her spine as he followed her past the loggia where Venetia had cried out that he was blind about Andreya. The loggia looked like a house of flowers, with bees dark against the pink and white clematis, and the pulse-beat of the cicadas was echoed by Lauri’s pulses as she hurried ahead of Maxim down the terrace steps.
‘Be careful,’ he warned her, ‘you don’t want a twisted ankle.’
Oh, heavens, she wanted to retort. Let me forget for once about my precious dancing feet!
The view beyond the terrace was lovely and limitless. The other islands were smudges of purple, and there was a haze fine as a bridal veil stretched across the horizon. The sea lipped the shore as she reached it, almost as green as jade. The sand was fine underfoot, and almost as black as ebony.
‘I’ve never seen a black beach before.’ No shadow fell across hers as Maxim joined her; his strides were always unhurried and lithe. She knelt down and was surprised to find the dark sand hot from the sun that it did not reflect. She trickled it through her fingers and over the whiteness of her arms. ‘It’s like crushed onyx and black pearls,’ she laughed.
Maxim towered into the sun above her, and as she looked up at him she saw with surprise that he had discarded his jacket and his tie—somewhere up there on the terrace—and that his white shirt lay open at his throat.
So must his roving ancestors have looked, standing on the quarterdeck of a ship as it set sail for a voyage of discovery. Same black brows linked above eyes that never wavered, the Roman nose like a prow above the stern upper lip and the passionate lower one.
‘Come.’ He held out a hand and she let him pull her to her feet. She had a natural lightness that brought her a little too close to him, and her eyes widened with the sudden shock of his nearness, and her own awareness of how alone they were on this black beach with its cave of Aphrodite, its scent of wild myrtle, and the soft, seductive murmurs of the sea.
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