This was the signal for the luncheon party to break up, and in twos and threes the guests departed. Erica saw it as her own signal to leave, but moving over to make her farewells to the Conte, found him shaking his head at her.
'Go and talk to my sister,' he said softly. 'I do not wish you to leave yet.'
'But everyone else is going.'
'All the more reason for you to stay.'
'But-'
'You wanted to see my collection.'
'I have.'
He shook his head but was prevented from explaining by several more of his guests coming to say good-bye. Erica returned to sit next to his sister, who was looking extremely pale.
'Aren't you feeling well, Mrs. Charters?'
'I'm tired. I've been ill, you know, and I still tire easily. I'll go and lie down as soon as everyone has gone.'
That might not be for another half hour.'
'Oh no, Filippo hates protracted good-byes. Sometimes I tell him he makes people leave too abruptly, but he won't listen to me. He says that when someone decides to go, they should go quickly.'
'I agree with him.'
'Most people do,' his sister smiled. The thing about Filippo is that he is so frequently right!'
Erica remained silent, unwilling to enter into a discussion of the Conte's habits. She had not seen his niece and to change the subject she asked Mrs. Charters where her daughter was.
'She had an argument with her uncle this morning and is staying in her room. You know about the brooch, of course, so you can imagine how furious he still is with her. She just has to do the slightest thing wrong and he jumps on her.'
Have you lived with your brother for long?'
'Since my husband was killed.'
‘Killed? I'm sorry, I didn't know.'
He was shot. We were living in Bolivia at the time - my husband was a diplomat - and there was a skirmish at the Embassy.'
‘How awful for you!' The words were totally inadequate, but the woman seemed gratified by them.
'I'm just beginning to recover from the shock. My brother has been wonderful: so kind and understanding. Men normally don't have patience with a woman who suffers from nerves.'
Erica found it difficult to believe that the Conte could ever be kind and understanding - let alone in such a situation. She would have thought a nervous woman would be the quickest thing to arouse his temper.
The room had now emptied and with only the three of them there, it seemed enormous. There were at least a dozen settees in varying shades of gold and green brocade, with twice as many armchairs and a preponderance of the small gilt and marble tables beloved by Italians. The furniture did not have the flashiness usually found in the antique shops of Venice and Rome. The carving had been done by hand: the gold leaf was genuine and not gilt, and the ormolu that decorated the heavier pieces bore the dulled patina of age. The walls were lined with damask and hung with recognizable Old Masters. A Bellini, a magnificent Titian, a group of priceless Bernini drawings, their lines still clear and pure despite their great age, and a splendid Canaletto above the marble fireplace.
'You like the paintings?' the Conte said, and she realized he had been watching her for the last few minutes.
'Very much,' she replied, and wished her voice did not sound so nervous. Just because she was sitting in one of Venice's most resplendent palaces, being stared at with interest by one of its wealthiest sons, was no reason to buckle at the knees. What had happened to her true British socialism?
"Will you forgive me, Filippo, if I go to my room and rest?' the Conte's sister asked him.
'Of course,' he replied, and escorted her to the door. He remained there until she disappeared down the hall, then he closed it and came back to stand by the fireplace. It was a warm day, but the logs in it were blazing.
'I suppose it's always chilly in a palazzo,' Erica murmured.
'We have excellent central heating!'
'That doesn't overcome the damp, though.'
That is one of the penances of living in Venice. I always say that in my next incarnation I will return as a duck!'
'A swan,' she corrected, and went scarlet as he smiled widely.
'Thank you for the compliment, Miss Rayburn, though I do believe that ducks are better-natured. Swans have a tendency to bite the hand that feeds them.'
'You would give them a very aristocratic bite!'
He laughed outright 'You at least know that my bark is much worse!'
It was her turn to laugh and he nodded, as though pleased by the sound, and came to sit beside her. She was aware of his nearness and noticed again how impeccably dressed he was.
'It was kind of you to invite me here to lunch.' She broke the silence, finding its continuation oppressive.
'I promised you that I would.'
'I know you did. But when I didn't - I mean when you - er… I'm surprised you remembered,' she finished flatly.
'I cannot imagine any man forgetting a promise he made to you?
'Please don't flirt with me, Conte Rosetti!' She jumped to her feet, unaware that she had done so until she saw him below her. He was still sitting down, his dark head leaning against the bade of the settee, one leg crossed nonchalantly over the other.
'I am not flirting with you, Miss Rayburn, I am stating a fact You are a charming young woman: cool and clear as water.'
'Cold and transparent?' she added.
‘Deceptively calm and penetrating everywhere without a sound!'
'I suppose that's some sort of a compliment,' she said doubtfully.
'You have asked me not to give you any,' he reminded her. 'And again let me hasten to add that I was merely stating a fact.' With a suddenness that took her by surprise he jumped up, showing that despite his air of ease he was as tightly coiled as a spring. 'I promised that I would show you my collection. Come with me.'
'But I've already seen it.'
'From a distance and surrounded by people? Credit me with more understanding than that.'
Not waiting to see if she were following him, he went down the hall to a door at the far end. This led to a small ante-room and thence to a library with massive mahogany furniture, leather armchairs and book-lined walls.
In the centre of the room stood the trolleys, still guarded by the two men she had seen earlier. The Conte signalled them to go, and as they did, he lifted the lids of the calf- bound boxes and beckoned Erica forward.
Nervously she stepped closer, and then forgot her nervousness as she feasted her eyes once more on this most priceless collection.
'You may pick up anything you like,' he said.
She shook her head, but within a moment succumbed to the temptation and lifted out one piece after the other. As she came to the Rosetti Rose she paused, but a strange reluctance to touch it made her turn instead to the emerald brooch that lay beside it. It was a perfect stone, flawless and of a deep, clear green.
'Do you like it?' the Conte asked.
'I love emeralds.'
'It isn't your stone. You should wear pearls; pink ones for preference. Emeralds and diamonds are too hard for you.'
'You have very definite likes and dislikes.' She stared down at the brooch.
'I know the sort of things that you should wear.' He came close to her. Tor example, I admire your clothes. They are inexpensive, but they show excellent taste.'
He was so serious that she could not be annoyed with him. Nevertheless she did not feel inclined to let his words go unremarked. 'Most women would object to that sort of comment'
'I would not make such a comment to "most women".'
Once again he had had the last word and she concentrated on the brooch she was holding. This hasp is broken. When was the last time you bad every piece examined?'
'Not for many years. Most of the jewellery is never worn, and as long as it remains in the vaults it is pointless to do any repairs to it.'
'What a pity that it's all locked away. I feel jewels only come alive when they're being worn.
'
'I agree with you. But they need to be worn by a beautiful woman for them to look their best!'
He took the emerald brooch from her, and as his fingers touched hers it was as though an electric current went through her. It was not surprising really, for he had a magnetic quality that had nothing to do with his wealth or position. Undoubtedly his name and rank added to his aura, but even without such trappings he was not a man one could overlook.
'I refuse to believe that you don't know any women beautiful enough to wear these things,' she said, turning away to look at the leather cases.
'I know many beautiful women,' he replied, 'and all of them eager to wear this collection. But my ancestors made it a rule that only Rosetti women could do so, and at the moment there are only two who qualify; my sister and my niece.'
'Then you have an excellent motive for getting married.'
'When I do, it will not be to provide a background to the jewels but a jewel to the background!'
She smiled and he smiled back, looking younger and less aloof. 'Nevertheless you have a point about my keeping the jewellery in good repair,' he continued. 'When it comes back from America I will arrange for you to examine each piece and decide what needs to be done.'
'That would involve a lot of work.' At random she picked up a necklace: a ribbon of ruby fire. 'Just examining the collection will take a week, and doing the repairs could be a six months' job. I might not be here that long.'
"You are thinking of leaving Venice?' he asked sharply. 'Do you not like it here?'
'I love it.'
'Then why do you talk of leaving?'
'Because Italy isn't my home. I can't stay here for ever.' Made nervous by the intensity of his gaze, she put down the ruby necklace and backed away from him. 'It's getting late, Conte, I must go.'
'We will have tea first and then I will take you home.'
That isn't necessary.'
'What isn't? The tea or my taking you home?'
'Both. I'm sure you don't normally have tea - and it isn't necessary for you to take me home. I can quite easily go on the bus.'
Do you not wish me to accompany you?'
'Of course I do, but…'
Then why do you make such a fuss?'
She drew a deep breath. 'I'm not making a fuss. I just don't want to be a bother to you.'
'You are only a bother when you keep arguing. We will have tea and then I will escort you home.'
Back in the salon he rang for a servant while Erica wandered round the room, admiring the many beautiful and priceless objects in it. Half a dozen Faberge boxes were arranged on the glass shelves of a tall cabinet, while in another one reposed a similar number of jewelled Faberge eggs, some closed and some open to show the unusual interiors.
'It must be a great responsibility to take care of all this,' she remarked.
'It is. I often think I'd be far happier if I were a self-made man. If you make your own wealth, you have the choice of deciding how to spend it But if one inherits so much…' His black head tilted as his eyes ranged the room. 'Sometimes I feel it to be a ball and chain.'
‘What stops you from selling everything?'
'And deny my heritage? Such a thing would be impossible. Besides, most of the time I enjoy it. It is only occasionally that I feel I would prefer to be poor and unknown. At least if I were, I would never have any doubts about the sincerity of my friends.'
Without being told, she knew he was really referring to women. Sympathy for him warmed her, melting some of her reserve. To think of the Conte as a man looking for genuine friendship made him less frightening than to see him as the head of one of Italy's leading families.
The door opened and two servants came in carrying a small table which they set in front of the settee nearest to the fireplace. On it was a silver tea-set and a beautifully worked Florentine coffee pot in gold.
'The coffee is for you?' she surmised.
There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. 'When I said we would have tea together, I meant the participation of the ceremony, not the liquid!'
She laughed and poured him a cup of coffee, trying to keep her hand steady. It was no easy task, for he watched her every movement and, even when she had given him his cup, he continued to watch her as she served herself. The tea was surprisingly strong and milk as well as lemon was provided. Gratefully she added milk and sipped.
'Delicious,' she said. 'It's real English tea.'
'I have it sent from London. My sister prefers it to coffee. It is a legacy left from her marriage.'
'I understand Mr. Charters was killed?'
'Yes. It was a most tragic business. My sister is only now beginning to recover from it. That is why it is so important for her to have no worries.'
Erica found it hard to imagine what worries a member of the Rosetti family could have. Not monetary ones in any event; and other worries could frequently be cushioned by wealth.
'Money doesn't solve one's problems,' he said as though aware of what was going through her mind. 'Frequently it creates them. In Sophie's case, for example. She has—' He stopped as the door opened and a petite, dark-haired woman came in.
With a sense of shock Erica recognized Claudia Medina. The woman was holding out her hands to the man, her face tilted to receive the kiss which he placed on her cheek.
'Filippo, forgive me,' she said in a husky voice. 'I know we weren't supposed to meet till later, but Uncle Otto caught the earlier plane to Paris and it left me free.'
'I thought he was staying until this evening?'
'We finished our discussion during lunch and he was afraid we'd start to quarrel again if he remained any longer! He is even worse than usual. Anyone would think he is still my guardian!'
'He brought you up,' the Conte reminded her.
'But I have been married and widowed since then.' Claudia tossed her head. 'It is foolish of him to treat me as if I were still a single girl. He as good as told me that if I'm not remarried within a year, he'll cut my allowance.'
'I am sure you will find a way of getting around him.'
She shrugged and looked at Erica. 'We have met before somewhere,' she smiled, 'but I cannot quite place it.'
'I work for Signora Botelli,' Erica said.
Instantly the smile thinned and Erica could almost hear the woman's mind working. What was a jewellery assistant doing at the palazzo? More important still, why was she taking tea with its owner?
Unwilling to be in the way, Erica stood up. 'Thank you for a delightful afternoon, Conte.' She spoke directly to him, but avoided looking into his face.
'There is no need for you to go yet,' he replied.
Ignoring the comment, she smiled good-bye at Claudia Medina, who stood in front of him, noticing in the split second she focused on them what a handsome couple they made: both dark and olive-skinned; both with black flashing eyes. But where the man was wide-shouldered and full of animal strength, the woman was feminine and fragile.
Swiftly Erica left the room, not even giving the Conte a chance to reach the door and open it for her. Across the long hall she sped and down the flight of stone steps that led to the vast lower hall. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows overlooking the Grand Canal and sent golden shafts across the grey stone floor. The heavy wooden front door was locked and her fingers fumbled at the massive iron bolts. Slowly they slid back, but as she went to open the door itself a long-fingered hand came out to cover her own.
'Why such a precipitate flight?' Filippo Rosetti asked.
Startled, she looked into his face. He was smiling slightly, but she knew he was angry. 'It is late, Conte, and I must be getting back.'
'A little while ago we agreed that I would take you home.'
'That was before Signora Medina arrived.'
'What has Claudia's arrival got to do with it?'
'You can't leave her now.'
'I did not ask her to come so early.'
Dumbfounded, she stared at him.
; 'There is no need to look so concerned,' he continued. The fact that Claudia decided to call here much earlier than arranged does not alter the plans I made with you.'
'You made no plans with me.'
'Indeed I did.' He held open the door and inclined his head for her to go ahead of him.
'Please don't bother seeing me home,' she protested. 'I'm perfectly capable of going on my own.'
'So you said before. Be careful, Miss Rayburn, or you could become that most obnoxious of all women - an argumentative one! Now please give in gracefully.'
'I've no intention of giving in. Do go back to Signora Medina.'
'I am not a parcel to be sent where you wish,' he retorted.
The simile was so unexpected that she giggled. How ridiculous they must look, standing here quarrelling like a couple of children.
'What have I said that amuses you?' he inquired stiffly.
‘Nothing - everything.'
'Make up your mind.'
"You're trying not to let me have one!'
He caught his breath, then expelled it slowly. 'I am used to giving orders,' he said, and as if to prove it, put his hand under her elbow and guided her through the gardens.
They were more extensive than she had realized and appeared even larger because of their beautiful landscaping. In actual area the ground they covered was small, but numerous sections were divided into secluded bowers, each with its own distinctive decor both as to plants and shrubs and statuary. One held a small fountain which spouted a silver mist of water over idly swimming goldfish; another was a mosaiced area filled with flowering urns and a rustic bench; a third was an arbour of white trellis with trailing plants overhead and grass underfoot.
They came to a door set in the wall and the Conte opened it and stepped out on to a small quay. Here were moored two gondolas and a sleek motorboat, on its prow a small flag bearing what she took to be his coat of arms. He helped her into the boat, untied the rope that held it moored and switched on the engine.
Gently they glided along a dark green waterway with tall houses looming either side of them. Erica watched him manipulate the craft He did it with practised ease, steering it skilfully round corners that seemed too tight for them to turn. At no time did he let out the full throttle but seemed content to move at a leisurely pace through the water. Though she had lived here for six months she was seeing a part of Venice she did not recognize, and only as they emerged from a narrow canal did she discover they were by the harbour. As it was Sunday there was little activity, and large ships, some gleaming white, some dark and rusty, lay on the water like sleeping albatrosses.
Affair in Venice Page 5