Affair in Venice

by Rachel Lindsay

  Surprised by the warmth of the greeting, Erica was even more so when the girl asked if she could join her and sat down without waiting for confirmation.

  'David, go!' she cried, 'Quickly!'

  'You're wrong, Sophie.' The man's voice was low and gentle. 'Let me stay.'

  'I know what I'm doing. For goodness' sake, go!'

  The man melted into the crowd and Sophie gave a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair, at the same time reaching out for Erica's half-finished icecream.

  'I'm not mad,' she said hurriedly as she saw the look on Erica's face. 'I can't explain yet Just play along with me. Please.'

  "What do you want me to do?'

  'Personally I'd sell all my uncle's paintings for a couple of Jackson Pollocks,' Sophie said brightly. 'We'll just have to agree to differ when it comes to art.'

  'Still talking like a Philistine?' a deep voice inquired, and Erica had no need to turn to know who had come to stand beside them. She also knew the reason for Sophie's illogical conversation and behaviour. The girl had obviously seen her uncle in the square and did not wish him to guess she had been with a man. Hence her sudden dash to this table and her pretence that she was in the middle of a conversation with Erica - as well as an icecream!

  Annoyed at being made use of in this way, Erica was in half a mind to make her anger known. But the look of pleading in Sophie's brown eyes kept her silent, and she watched wordlessly as the Conte pulled out the vacant chair beside her and sat down.

  'I did not know you had a rendezvous with Miss Rayburn,' he said pleasantly to his niece.

  'I didn't realize I had to tell you all my engagements,' the girl replied.

  'Of course you don't. But had I known your plans, I would have joined you earlier.' He smiled at Erica. 'You are well?'

  'Yes, thank you.'

  'But somewhat pale. May I get you a drink?'

  She shook her head, forbearing to explain that her pallor was due to his niece's behaviour.

  Accepting her refusal, he ordered a coffee for himself. It was exactly a fortnight since she had seen him, yet she felt it was only yesterday, so constantly had he been in her mind. It angered her that she should have been so aware of him when he was so apparently unaware of her. If he had given her half as much thought, he would have telephoned her or come to the shop days ago. Obliquely she looked at him. As always he was fastidiously dressed, this time in blue-grey, with a slightly paler shirt. A gold watch glinted on his wrist, where the hairs grew thick and black, though the hands themselves were pale and smooth, the fingers supple and strong. Moving her eyes upward, she studied his face. He looked unconcerned as he sipped his coffee, but there was a narrowing of the thin mouth that indicated that he was holding himself under control, and the sharp glint in his eyes suggested the same thing. Was he angry because his niece was spending the afternoon with a shop assistant? She dismissed the thought at once. The Conte might be a snob, but he was not a fool, and having already invited her to his home he could not object if a member of his family wished to renew the acquaintance.

  His head turned swiftly and Erica found herself looking directly into black pupils. She lowered her lids, her long lashes resting on cheeks that were pink with embarrassment.

  'What were you and Sophie talking about?' he asked softly.

  'Art,' Erica replied. 'Your niece likes the moderns.'

  'Ah yes, Jackson Pollock. And what about you?'

  'My taste is eclectic - in art as well as jewellery.'

  'I understand you are designing some modern pieces for Signora Medina?'

  Erica's heart missed a beat, but she managed to nod her head. 'She wants a bracelet and earrings to match a pendant she bought from us.'

  'It is a lovely pendant,' he said. 'Did you make it?'

  'I designed it, but it was made in Signora Botelli's own workshop.'

  'What about designing something for me?' Sophie came into the conversation saucily.

  'Time enough for that when you have a husband to pay your bills,' her uncle chided.

  'You're not Claudia's husband!'

  The Conte caught his breath and for an instant looked furious, but when he spoke his voice was soft. 'You have no need to buy jewellery, Sophie. You may choose to wear anything from my collection.'

  'It's too much bother. Anyway^ aren't you scared I might be tempted to sell it?'

  'You will not make the same mistake twice.' His tone was even more gentle. "Not because you would worry about my anger, but because you know it would break your mother's heart.'

  'I hate you for telling her what I did!'

  'It was the only way of making sure you didn't repeat the act.' He pointed to the icecream melting in front of her. 'Finish it up, your mother is approaching.'

  Sophie jumped up as Anna Charters stopped beside the table.

  At once her brother went to pull a chair forward for her, but she shook her head. 'I am afraid I cannot stay, Filippo. I'm meeting the Frascattis at four o'clock and I am already late.'

  'It is unwise to hurry in this heat,' the Conte warned. 'It is better for me to telephone and say you have been delayed.'

  'There won't be any need if I go now.'

  'I'll come with you,' Sophie offered.

  Her mother nodded and looked at Erica. 'I'm delighted to see you, Miss Rayburn. I hope we meet again soon.' 'Come on, Mother,' the younger girl said impatiently. 'You said you were late.' She beamed at Erica. 'Thanks for the icecream. I'll be in touch with you!'

  Mother and daughter wended their way through the crowded tables and were soon lost from sight. Erica glanced nervously at the man beside her and wished he would do the same.

  'Don't you have an appointment?' she blurted out.

  'I am in no hurry.' He looked at her glass of water and without asking her, ordered two fresh coffees. He did not speak again until they were placed in front of them, then he leaned forward and looked fully into her face. 'It was kind of you not to give my niece away.'

  'Wh-what do you mean?'

  'You know very well. I saw Sophie with Mr. Gould several moments before she saw me.'

  'You mean you knew she wasn't with me?'

  'Si. You were sitting here by yourself. I saw you. That is why I was walking in this direction.'

  She was too busy thinking about the failure of Sophie's subterfuge to pay attention to the rest of what he had said, and only as she looked at him and saw his intent expression did she do so.

  'I was going to join you for afternoon tea,' he continued. 'Which reminds me - the Rosetti family owe you an icecream. Poor Sophie thought it would fool me more if she pretended to eat yours!'

  Erica's lips twitched. Though sorry that Sophie had not succeeded in fooling her uncle, she was nonetheless amused by the way he was reacting to it.

  'Please don't bother getting me another icecream. It's better for my figure if I don't eat one.'

  'Not at all. You are too slender. A few kilos would improve you.'

  'And more expensive clothes too, no doubt!'

  He looked completely unrepentant. 'I am glad that you take note of what I say. It augurs well for the future.'

  Deliberately she refrained from asking him what he meant, though from the way he continued to watch her she knew he was waiting for her to do so. She sipped her coffee. If he was hoping to embarrass her by flirting with her he would have to do better than this. She might be innocent from his viewpoint, but she was not so devoid of social graces that she would allow herself to be flummoxed by such heavy-handed flattery.

  'Why was your niece afraid to let you see her with Mr. Gould?' she asked. 'Don't you like young men with beards?'

  'It is his attitude to life - not his clothes - that bothers me.'

  'What does he do?'

  'Nothing. That is the trouble. He has an engineering degree, but according to Sophie he is more interested in meditation. He has been in India for three years and is on his way back to England. Unhappily he decided to stop off in Venice - which is how th
ey met.'

  'I take it you don't approve of their friendship?'

  'Would you - if you were me?'

  She pondered the question. 'Not if I were you,' she said finally.

  His nostrils flared. 'Explain that.'

  'I have a less rigid upbringing than you, Conte Rosetti. I am able to make allowances for different points of view.'

  'Are you suggesting I am narrow-minded?'

  'Yes. You are also obstinate and self-opinionated.'

  His eyes glittered like points of steel. 'All this is based on one single meeting with me?'

  'This is the third time we have met.'

  'I do not count that time in the shop. We began on the wrong feet.'

  Wrong foot,' she corrected, glad to find he was not faultless in everything.

  'Foot, feet, what is the difference! We are talking now of important things. I am disappointed that you should think me narrow-minded. I consider myself to be exactly the opposite!'

  'Naturally.' Her tone was dry. 'That's why you object to your niece's friend!'

  'She wishes to marry him,' he said abruptly. 'Can you see them being happy?'

  In all fairness she had to concede to some reservations, but was quick to add that she was reluctant to give a firm view without talking to the young man.

  'He may be quite different from the way he looks,' she finished. 'Anyway, it's better to go to India and study religion than to wear leather suits and tear up the motorway on a motorbike!'

  'Both are extremes of behaviour that I detest.'

  'Didn't you do anything foolish when you were a boy?'

  He rubbed one long finger across his chin. 'I had too many family responsibilities to have the time. There was some talk about my entering the priesthood…' He smiled, his eyes crinkling. 'That would have been worse than foolish - it would have been a disaster!'

  Annoyance seared through her. 'Do continental men always talk about sex?'

  'I cannot answer for other men,' he replied. Tor myself, the answer is no.'

  'Then why—'

  'With you it is different. I feel I can say whatever comes into my mind. It is hard for me to realize that we barely know each other. I seem to have thought of nothing except you since we have met.'

  She was stunned into silence, and taking advantage of it, he put his hand on her arm. His fingers were warm on her skin and it required all her will power not to pull her hand away. He's only flirting with me, she reminded herself. Whatever he says to the contrary, he's only playing a game.

  'Do not let us waste time talking about Sophie and her young man,' he continued. 'I will deal with him in my own way. I wish to talk about you instead. Will you have dinner with me tonight?'

  Happiness flooded through her, but as swiftly as it arose, so it ebbed away. He was only asking her out because he had seen her this afternoon. Had they not met he might never have contacted her again.

  'I can't go out with you,' she said stiffly. 'I am busy.'

  'What are you doing? Where are you going?'

  Unprepared for the catechism, she could not lie, and her silence gave him his answer. His expression hardened.

  'Why are you pretending, Erica?'

  It was the first time he had spoken her name and she wondered if he was aware of it.

  'Why?' he demanded again. 'I insist that you tell me.'

  Do I have to have a reason?'

  'Certainly. You are not an irrational child. If you refuse to dine with me, it is because you do not wish to do so. I have a right to know what I have done to offend you.'

  He looked so angry and determined that she stared at him helplessly, wondering how to appease him. Yet why should she even bother to appease him? She meant nothing in his life and he meant nothing in hers. It was ridiculous for either of them to pretend. She tilted her head and faced him.

  'If you hadn't bumped into me - if Sophie hadn't used me - you wouldn't have asked me out.'

  'So that's it! You think I only asked you to dine with me because of my niece?' His fingers tightened so painfully on her arm that she winced. But he appeared not to notice it, so intent was he on what he was saying. 'I have invited you to have dinner with me because I want to be with you. I would like to be with you now if I did not already have another engagement.'

  'Please don't let me keep you,' she said coldly.

  'What's the matter with you? Why are you angry?'

  'I am not angry, Conte Rosetti. I just do not like being picked up and chopped like a bad penny when it suits you.'

  'Picked up and dropped?' Dark eyebrows met above his long, thin nose. 'I do not comprehend you.'

  'It's very simple.' Throwing discretion to the wind, she became blunt. 'It's two weeks since we met, and if you hadn't seen me by accident this afternoon, it might have been another two weeks - or even a month - before you saw me again. In fact you might never have seen me at all! I've already lived here six months without bumping into you.'

  'You have already lived twenty-three years without our meeting one another.'

  Not sure what to make of this, she stared at him. But his expression gave her no help. A faint flush darkened the tightly stretched skin across his cheeks and his dark eyes were narrow as though in concentration.

  'Continue,' he said. 'I wish you to get it all out of your system.'

  'There's nothing more to be said. It isn't necessary for me to dot the i's and cross the't's.'

  'No, it isn't,' he sighed. 'But it seems that I must do a bit of dotting and crossing.'

  Once more he leaned close, and she became aware of unexpected lights in the dark brown irises around his pupils; saw too the exceptionally thick, black lashes.

  'Since you had lunch at the Palazzo, I have been in London on business. I only returned to Venice late last night. And it was an unexpected return too, for I had not reckoned to be here until next week. If I had known of my change of plans earlier yesterday, I would have telephoned you at the shop. But by the time I knew I could get back, Botelli's was closed and I did not know how else to contact you.'

  'Why should you wish to do so?'

  'Because I wanted to see you,' he said in exasperation.

  "We still only met by accident this afternoon.'

  'I was going to telephone you tomorrow. I would have come in search of you today, except that I did not know where you lived.'

  Because she wanted to believe him so much, she was afraid to believe him at all. 'It's silly for us to argue, Conte Rosetti. I can't go out with you tonight.'

  'You mean you won't!'

  She shrugged and was aware of him pushing back his chair and standing up. 'In that case there is no more to be said. I wish you good afternoon, Erica.' He hesitated. 'You do not mind me calling you by your name. But I have not been thinking of you as Miss Rayburn.'

  'English people don't mind having their Christian names used,' she said carelessly, and knew her indifference had piqued him, for he frowned, gave her a polite bow and walked away.

  She watched as he made his way across the square. Even among so many people he was noticeable for his tallness and upright carriage. In the sunshine his hair gleamed black as a raven's wing, and lay thick and close to the nape of his neck, stopping short just above the collar of his shirt. A little girl ran across his path and bumped into him. He swooped down and caught her before she fell, then set her on her feet. Still bent, he spoke to her, and though he was too far away for Erica to hear what he said, she saw the child laugh up at him before running away. A crowd of nuns interrupted her line of vision and when their fluttering black robes had gone, so had the Conte.

  How strange it had been to hear him speak her name. Everything about his upbringing indicated attention to tradition and for him to call her Erica meant he saw her more as a friend than an acquaintance. Yet they were too socially apart to be friends and to pretend otherwise would be to fool herself. But what about girl-friend? For him to see her as this seemed far more logical. Indeed men of his type often chose their mistresses
from outside their own milieu. In this way they avoided the complications that might ensue if they had an affair with someone in their own circle. Against this argument, however, was his relationship with Claudia Medina.

  This thought depressed her so much that tears filled her eyes. She groped in her bag for a handkerchief, and as she took it out was aware of a shadow falling across her table. Her heart thumped wildly and she lowered her head further. But the voice that spoke to her was a strange one, and her excitement died as she looked up.

  David Gould stood in front of her. 'Would you mind if I Joined you?'

  'Be my guest,' she said drily. 'Everyone else has this afternoon!'

  He smiled and sat down. Seen at close quarters he was as Arresting as he had been from a distance, exuding a tranquillily that came more from his calm blue eyes than his white flowing robes. He was in no way the sort of young man she would have associated with Sophie Charters, any more than she would have seen Sophie appealing to him.

  'The Conte has gone?' he asked, giving the title its English pronunciation.

  'You wouldn't be sitting here with me otherwise!'

  'I have nothing against him,' he shrugged. 'All the bad vibrations are his.'

  She grinned, and not put off by her reaction he grinned back. 'We all give off vibes, you know. Yours are placid, though at the moment they've gone haywire!'

  'And Sophie's?' Erica could not forbear asking.

  'They are haywire most of the time! That's why we get on with each other. She lifts me up and I calm her down.'

  'Do you believe what you're saying?'

  'Of course. I am simplifying it for you,' he admitted. 'You would find it easier to accept if you knew the whole philosophy behind it.' He folded his arms across his chest. 'I'm sorry Sophie chose to get you involved in our affairs. I keep telling her to relax and let things take their course, but she finds it hard to believe that things will move without her pushing them!'

  'What course do you think events will take? Don't answer me if it's too personal," she added hastily.

  'I don't believe in secrets, Erica.' He used her name with ease, as though it never entered his mind to call her anything else.

  It made her realize how much more thought Filippo Rosetti had given to it. His use of her name had been deliberate, his tongue moving over the word slowly as though he were savouring each vowel and consonant. How intimate he had made the name sound. She clasped her hands tightly on her lap and concentrated on the young man opposite.