She had met Signora Botelli by chance. The woman's nephew was studying archaeology with Erica's father and halfway through his second term his aunt - in London on business - travelled north to see him. Her delighted nephew had brought her to meet his professor and daughter, and from this had sprung the offer for Erica to work in the Signora's Venice shop and study the Venetian craftsmen.
At first Erica had refused, unable to see how her father could manage without her. But his reaction to this had been surprisingly angry.
'I'm not a child, Erica. I can manage perfectly well on my own. If I hadn't been such a selfish man I would have sent you packing long ago, instead of letting you keep house for me.'
'I'm quite happy staying here,' Erica had assured hint, 'I've been toying with the idea of renting a stall in the antique market and—'
'Designing copper necklaces for arty women? Rubbish!'
Rarely had she known her father so vehement, but it was a vehemence which led her to accept the Signora's offer, though she made it clear that she must be free to leave at a moment's notice should her father need her back.
Four months after arriving in Venice, Professor Rayburn married a visiting American archaeologist attached to the university for a sabbatical year. Erica had met her when she had flown back to England for the wedding, and had returned to Venice reassured by the knowledge that her father was no longer a responsibility, though saddened by the fact that she must now make her own life alone.
Signora Botelli's suggestion that she use the extra commission she earned from the sale of her necklace to move into a better apartment was something she had carefully considered. Yet it seemed pointless to waste her money on bigger rooms in a better position. No matter how happy she was in Venice, she could not envisage living here permanently - certainly not if she remained single - for the life of a middle-aged spinster in an Italian town had little to commend it. At least in England there were social clubs, evening classes and a host of concerts and lectures one could attend alone. But Italy was still a patriarchal society, where women were regarded as second-class citizens, and where those unlucky enough to remain unmarried and without families to whom they could devote themselves were treated with even less consideration. At twenty-three it was easy for her to enjoy her life here, but it would be unwise to consider it as permanent.
She skirted San Marco Square enjoying, as she always did, her brief glimpse of it, and turned down the narrow street that led to the shop. As she unlocked the front door she saw a large silver-grey envelope on the mat. Her name was typed on it, and assuming it to be another invitation to an exhibition, she opened it.
Expecting the card inside to be printed, she was surprised to see firm black writing. At once she knew it was from the Conte Rosetti. Quickly she read it: it was an invitation to lunch with him next Sunday and apologized for not having been in touch with her earlier, explaining he had been in America to satisfy himself as to the security which would be given to the Rosetti Collection when it arrived there.
Here at last was an explanation for his silence. Happy to think that her judgment of him had been wrong, and that he had not forgotten his offer to show her his jewellery, she immediately penned him a note of acceptance and was addressing the envelope when her employer walked in.
Nothing escaped her sharp black eyes and she immediately saw the card. 'From the Conte Rosetti, eh?'
Erica couldn't stop herself from flushing. 'How can you recognize his writing upside down?'
'I didn't - I recognized the crest!'
'He has invited me to see his collection,' Erica explained, forestalling the next, most obvious question.
'Of course you will accept! It is a wonderful opportunity.' The Signora smiled. 'The Conte has an interest in a pretty face.'
'Then that's a guarantee for my safety!'
'What a thing to say! You are a lovely girl.'
'It's my new dress that's lovely,' Erica replied. 'I bought it on Saturday.'
'It suits you. I am glad you are taking an interest in your appearance. What will you wear for your dinner?'
'It's lunch.' Erica looked mischievous. 'Sorry to spoil your romantic illusion!'
'What is wrong with the afternoon?' the Signora retorted, and laughed throatily as she saw Erica blush. 'Seriously, child, beware of him. He is very much a man of the world and I do not wish to see you hurt.'
'I'm only being invited to see the collection,' Erica reiterated, anxious not to let her employer's imagination affect her own.
'A man in the Conte's position does not usually invite shop assistants to lunch with him in his palazzo.'
'He could hardly bring the collection round to the local coffee shop!'
'You know what I mean, Erica. I feel responsible for you and-'
'The days of the bold black knights are over, signora. Damsels don't remain in distress for long. They all know how to do the karate chop!'
'Do you?'
'Actually I don't; but I've a marvellous high kick!'
The Signora chuckled and turned her attention to business. The necklace Erica had been working on was finished, and had been sent to Signor Bruno who had immediately bought it for his wife. His delight had prompted Erica to design several more pieces, and from these Signora Botelli chose a couple of rings and three brooches.
'Make the sapphire and diamond ring first. The others you may do in any order you wish.'
'I'll need a large sapphire,' Erica warned.
'I'll bring you a selection from Rome.' The woman picked up the design in question. 'A bracelet and necklace to match this ring would be ideal. We could get a good price for a whole suite.'
'Let me do the ring first.'
'Would you like someone to help you?'
Erica shook her head and the Signora let the matter drop.
But in the ensuing days she went out of her way to keep her young assistant tied to the work bench, even though this meant she herself had to spend more time in the shop.
By Friday night Erica was beginning to wish she had never submitted the designs, for her eyes ached as much as her fingers, and she vowed that come what may, on Saturday she was going to serve in the shop and not look at a soldering iron, let alone touch it.
Luckily there was an influx of American tourists, and both she and her employer were kept busy serving, too busy even for Erica to give much thought to her visit to the Palazzo Rosetti the next day. It was only as she opened the safe to take out a pair of earrings to show a honeymooning American couple, and caught sign of an aquamarine pendant which Claudia Medina had brought in to have repaired, that she realized she would be seeing the Conte in a matter of hours. Had the pendant been one of his gifts to the beautiful widow, or had it come from another admirer? Quickly she pushed the thought away.
At closing time Signora Botelli asked Erica if she would like to borrow some jewellery for the following day. But Erica declined, explaining that she would feel uncomfortable wearing something that did not belong to her.
'Have you decided on your dress?' Signora Botelli asked.
'It depends if it's warm.'
'No cardigan,' the Italian woman asserted. 'Always the English wear the cardigan.'
Erica chuckled. 'A twin set and pearls, you mean! No, I won't wear that. But please don't talk about it any more, or you'll make me so nervous that I won't go.'
'How could you refuse?' came the shocked response.
'By telephoning and saying I have a headache.'
The Conte would know it was an excuse.'
'Then that should make him all the keener,' Erica retorted, hiding a smile.
'I do not think so. He is not used to chasing women. It is more the other way around.'
'Well, if he doesn't do any chasing, perhaps you'll start to believe that his invitation is purely a business one.'
'Business, possibly,' said the Signora, 'pure, never!'
'You're incorrigible,' Erica scolded, and bidding her employer good night, went home.
I
t was well after eight o'clock and she accepted the fact that from now until the end of the tourist season they would rarely close before this hour. Late afternoon and evening was their busiest time, for most tourists gave the morning and afternoon over to sightseeing or leisurely tours, only getting down to the serious business of buying when the galleries and museums were shut
Evening in Venice was the best time as far as Erica was concerned, and definitely the most beautiful time in which to see San Marco Square. The facade of the cathedral gleamed pale and beautiful in the radiance of floodlighting, while the glittering shops that ranged the three other sides of the square glowed like Aladdin's cave from behind the graceful columns that went to form the arcade beneath which one walked. Resisting the urge to stop and treat herself to a coffee, she returned to her apartment where she made herself a light supper, too tired to do more than eat it quickly and then relax in a chair beside the narrow balcony.
Tomorrow she would be seeing Filippo Rosetti. It was a nerve-racking thought and she tried not to let it worry her. She would only be with him for a couple of hours. Nothing momentous could happen to her in that short space of time.
CHAPTER FOUR
Erica's first waking thought was that in a matter of hours she would be lunching in a palace. Her second was the rueful one that had she not been reluctant to feed Signora Botelli's imagination, she would have asked that good lady for more information about the Rosetti family and their home.
All she had managed to glean was that the Conte lived there with his sister and niece - his sister having been widowed two years previously - and that he had been the sole heir to the Rosetti fortune, though there were a couple of uncles, aunts and many cousins all anxiously waiting to see if he would marry and produce a son. It seemed surprising that, for this reason alone, the Conte was still single. He must love his freedom if he was not willing to give it up in order to ensure that his name and possessions remained within his own branch of the family. Most Italian men were married long before they reached his age, which she guessed to be in the middle thirties.
Unwilling to continue thinking of the Conte, she washed and set her hair, and by the time she had showered and changed it was time to leave for the palazzo.
It stood on the Grand Canal; a vast mansion which she had passed many times on the water-bus without knowing to whom it belonged. Unlike many similar Venetian buildings, this one was in excellent repair, and even though the outer walls of the ground floor were green from the dampness of the canal water which lapped its sides, it was a discoloration that came from natural causes and not from lack of money. The rest of the palazzo was in splendid, almost ostentatiously excellent condition, with gilded decoration round the innumerable narrow, arched windows and black-lead paint resplendent on the ornately carved balconies and railings.
Ignoring the temptation to take a private gondola, Erica queued for the water-bus, feeling rather solitary among the crowd of vociferous Italian families, the men plump and suave in pale suits and paler ties, the women matronly in black. With her shining pale gold hair and simple shantung dress and jacket, Erica looked ludicrously different, though it was a difference that the men appreciated, if the scowling looks of their womenfolk were anything to go by.
She had no difficulty obtaining a seat in the bus, for several gallants offered her their own, and though she would have preferred to stand and enjoy the breeze on deck, sitting down at least saved her from the ignominy of having her bottom pinched, an act which seemed - as far as she was aware - to be a national disease that gripped most Italian males between the age of seventeen and seventy.
Long before they reached the palazzo she saw it gleaming ahead of her, the gaily painted wooden stakes to which visiting gondolas were tied standing like bright sentinels in the dark green water. The bus stopped some twenty yards away from it, and she walked slowly along the side of the Grand Canal, only realizing - as she drew nearer - that the main entrance lay down a side turning.
The palazzo was so vast that it occupied one complete section of the block and though the front of it gave on to the water, its east and west sides were bordered by trees and a flower-filled garden. It was a garden that Erica missed most since living in Venice, and she would have loved to linger on the small but lush lawns that lay either side of the grey stone path that led up to the two shallow steps and the massive wooden door which, a few seconds after her ring, swung back as though on well-oiled casters.
A servant, resplendent in dark blue and silver livery, ushered her in to what, at first glimpse, appeared to be a slightly smaller version of Westminster Abbey but which, as her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she saw to be a hall of vast but noble proportions. Its stone walls were lined with magnificent tapestries and a range of windows faced the Grand Canal, with another vast door lying between them. It was shut and bolted, though she assumed it was used when large receptions were held here. What a magnificent sight it must be when all the wooden stakes had gondolas moored against their sides and brilliantly garbed men and women entered the hall the way they had done for hundreds of years past.
Aware of the footman waiting for her - he could not be designated as anything less - she followed him up the stone staircase to the first floor. Here was another hall, half the size of the one below, yet still enormous - one shuddered to think of the heating bills - with massive wooden doors leading off both sides of it. The footman opened the second one and Erica entered a high-ceilinged room filled with people. Her first feeling was of intense and illogical disappointment that she was not to be the only guest. Then quickly her mind took control of her emotions and she knew that she should be pleased that the Conte would not be able to focus his full attention on her. Yet oddly enough she had been looking forward to sparring with him; showing him that though she looked what he had called a gentle creature, she was also an intelligent one.
He came towards her, more handsome than she had remembered in a light grey suit that made his skin look olive. The people around her were equally well dressed, and she wondered if Italians were ever casual when they entertained. More than any other race they loved the opportunity of showing off.
'I am delighted you were able to come.' The Conte lightly touched her hand with his own and led her further into the room, introducing her to several of the guests.
She did not attempt to remember their names beyond being aware that most of them had titles of one sort or another and seemed to come from varying parts of Europe. There were barons and baronesses, condes and condesas, lords and ladies. Only as he reached his sister did her host stop his introductions.
'I think I will leave Miss Rayburn with you, Anna,' he said, and turned to look directly at the girl beside him. 'Forgive me for leaving you, signorina, but as you see, I am not alone.'
'I'm sure I'll be well taken care of,' she smiled, and was both glad and disappointed when he moved away.
'This was going to be a quiet Sunday lunch,' Mrs. Charters said, and Erica forced herself to pay attention. Today the woman looked less tired, though she still gave the impression of being under a strain.
'You aren't telling me all these people just dropped in?' Erica smiled as she accepted a glass of champagne from a magnificent silver tray held out by another liveried servant.
'Not quite that,' the older woman replied. 'Apart from the family and yourself there were only going to be two other guests. Then a couple telephoned to say they would be in Venice for the week-end and some more friends of Filippo's arrived unexpectedly in their yacht.'
'So, like Topsy, the party just growed,' Erica responded.
'A tendency that my brother's parties generally have!' Mrs. Charters' sad eyes were filled with humour, making her look both prettier and younger. 'Filippo is renowned for his entertaining.'
Among other things, Erica added to herself, and looked around as she sipped the delicious champagne. No non-vintage plonk for the fabulously wealthy Conte. This was French and bore a name as famous as his own.
; It was two o'clock before they sat down to lunch and well after three before they rose from it. As Mrs. Charters had said, the Conte offered a wonderful table, and for the first time in her life Erica tasted caviar, mounds of it being served with a total disregard to its exorbitant cost. This was followed by consomme and then by individual baby chickens served on an aromatic bed of rosemary, the whole garnished with a succulent assortment of fresh spring vegetables. Large thick spears of Italian asparagus brought the meal to a close, and coffee and liqueurs were served in the drawing- room.
Only when the last of the cups had been cleared away did two men in dark suits appear. Erica knew at once that they were detectives, and sure enough their arrival heralded the showing of the Rosetti Collection. It was wheeled in on four long wooden trolleys, each one covered with hand-tooled leather boxes. The guests crowded around, but as if by common consent - though it might have been the warning looks given to them by the two plain-clothes men - they remained some two feet away, as the Conte himself moved along each trolley and lifted the lids.
Erica had never seen such a breathtaking display. The best in Florentine craftsmanship was disclosed to her, and gold work of an intricacy she had never imagined was visible not in one but in a hundred different pieces. And not just magnificent craftsmanship but magnificent jewels too: emeralds, diamonds, rubies and sapphires brought the colours of the rainbow into the room. Here was not merely a king's ransom but a kingdom's ransom. She longed for a closer more leisurely inspection of some of the articles, and watched with regret as the boxes were closed and the trolley wheeled away.
Affair in Venice Page 4