Affair in Venice

by Rachel Lindsay

  This was not quite the way Erica would have put it, but she forbore to say so.

  'You only looked at the emerald for a few seconds?' Filippo repeated.

  'Yes, my dear,' Claudia replied, and put her hand on his arm. 'I can see you are upset. I will come back for the clothes when Anna returns from Rome.'

  Filippo nodded but did not disengage his arm from Claudia's as they walked through the garden to the jetty. Claudia's launch was moored there and he saw her down to it and watched her being driven away before he jumped into his own launch and guided Erica down.

  His eyes looked into hers as she stepped on to the small deck, but she could not see any message in them, nor could she feel any warmth in the pressure of his hands as he steadied her as the launch moved down the canal. It could have been any hand on hers; not the hand of a man who loved her.

  The living room of Erica's apartment appeared small with the Inspector and Filippo standing in it, and she was glad she had tidied it before leaving for work that morning.

  'What do you wish to see?' she asked the Inspector.

  'Everything. You will permit me to go though your things?'

  'Is that necessary?' Filippo asked.

  'You wish this matter to be cleared up, no? Then permit me to do it my way.' The man returned his gaze to Erica. 'I wish to examine everything, Miss Rayburn, but please do not be embarrassed. Regard me as you would a medico - a doctor.'

  She shrugged and sat down, careful not to look at Filippo. But her tact was misplaced, for a sideways glance at him told her that his thoughts were miles away. How distasteful he must be finding all this. How sordid for Conte Filippo Carlo Marcello Rosetti, fifteenth of a line of illustrious aristocrats, to be sitting in the cramped quarters of his fiancée’s home while her rooms were searched by a policeman who suspected her of being a thief! No wonder he was keeping his thoughts miles away! She would be lucky if he ever allowed them to return to her. She stared at the floor, trying to fight back her tears. She should never have become engaged to him. It had been crazy to believe they had a future together. Whoever had said that love conquered all could not have met this tall and arrogant Italian. There were some barriers that love could never overcome and the differences between herself and Filippo were insurmountable.

  With a start she realized the Inspector was asking her to accompany him on his search and she went with him to the tiny kitchenette.

  'I expect you'll want to look in the cereal boxes in case

  I've hidden the emerald there! And don't forget the bread bin. I could have hidden it in a lump of dough.'

  Do not be angry, signorina. I am doing this in your interest as much as the Conte's.'

  'I know,' she apologized. 'Forgive me, Inspector, but I am on edge.'

  She returned to the living room and this time Filippo looked up. 'I'm sorry about all this,' she whispered. 'It must be awful for you.'

  'I am the one who is sorry. I should have realized—'

  She never knew what it was he meant to say, for he was stopped by a loud oath coming from her bedroom.

  Then the inspector stood at the door, a shabby leather jewel case in his hand. It was one which her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday and she used it to keep the few pieces of jewellery she possessed, as well as some gemstones which she had started to collect as a hobby in the last few months. It was these stones that the inspector was now examining.

  'Conte,' he whispered, and there was something in his voice which brought Filippo immediately to his side.

  Erica saw them staring at the bottom of the box and the look on their faces brought her to stand beside them.

  "What is it, Filippo? What have you found?'

  Fleetingly he looked at her. Then his eyes returned to the leather case and, doing the same, she saw the jumble of gemstones lying there: a couple of rough amethysts, a piece of citrine, a lump of topaz, the pale yellow-green of a peridot and the deeper green of an emerald.

  She caught her breath. There was no gemstone the exact colour of an emerald. She reached out for it, but the Inspector withdrew the case sharply, his expression hard.

  'Do not touch it, Miss Rayburn.'

  'Please show it to me,' Filippo commanded, and the Inspector held the case towards him. Filippo stared at the conglomeration of stones. 'It is the emerald,' he said, in a dull voice.

  'It can't be!' Erica cried. 'It's impossible. Let me see it.'

  Filippo took the case from the Inspector and lowered it so that she could look into its interior. Among the heap of rough-cut stones the large and beautiful emerald gleamed. There was no point denying what it was and no point denying she had taken it when it was here in her possession for everyone to see. Yet she could not accept a guilt that was not hers, and she lifted her head and looked into Filippo's face.

  'I didn't take it I swear to you I did not take it. Please, Filippo, believe—'

  'Be silent!' he interrupted, and swung round to the Inspector. 'You will permit me to take the stone?'

  "Normally we should keep it at police headquarters, but seeing its value and—'

  'The fact that I called you in privately,' Filippo interrupted, 'means you will allow me to take it.' As he spoke he took out a clean handkerchief and lifted the emerald from the box, careful not to touch it with his fingers.

  'Is it as fragile as all that?' the Inspector inquired.

  Filippo's only answer was a shrug and he placed the emerald in his wallet. Then he looked at Erica. 'I have some things to do this evening. I suggest you remain in your apartment.'

  She lowered her eyes. She could not blame him for believing her guilty yet, at the same time, he could have shown a little more disbelief. Not trusting herself to speak to him, she looked at the Inspector. 'Am I under arrest?'

  The man glanced at Filippo and then his shoulders lifted in a shrug typical of the Latin. 'Not unless the Conte presses charges.'

  'Come, Vittorio,' Filippo intervened, and strode to the door. 'Don't leave this apartment, Erica,' he said harshly, 'Not even in the morning.'

  'But I have to go to work.'

  'Very well, but don't go anywhere else. Nowhere else. Do you understand?'

  She nodded, though she did not understand at all, and watched as he and the Inspector went down the hall. As they reached the stairs Filippo glanced back at her. His face was still colourless and his features were tight, making him look much older than he was. He hesitated, as though about to speak, but then the man at his side murmured something which Erica could not hear, and Filippo glanced at him and then followed him down the stairs without a backward look.

  Erica closed the door of her apartment and returned to the sitting-room. She waited to experience the pain she knew she should be feeling, but no pain came. She was numb. Numb with a shock so intense that she could experience nothing. She sat in a chair in the centre of the room. Could this be happening to her, this horror that had turned her dreams into a nightmare?

  'A nightmare.' She said the words aloud and pinched herself, hoping she would wake up and find it was nothing more than a too heavy dinner eaten close to bedtime. But though the skin on her hand turned an angry red, the horror of the moment did not abate and she knew it was real and lasting and not a figment of sleep. Only as the full realization of this dawned on her did the numbness recede and, like the blood returning to a cramped limb, the pain she felt began to increase in its intensity until she was unable to sit still and paced the room wildly.

  Regardless of what Filippo and the inspector believed, she was innocent. That meant someone else had taken the emerald. Not only taken it, but planted it in her room in order to make her look guilty.

  The knowledge that someone hated her enough to do this was as much a shock as knowing she was suspected of having taken it herself. But who hated her with such malevolence that they would resort to such an act? Filippo's sister might not have been pleased that her brother was marrying an ordinary English girl, but she would never resort to an act like this i
n order to discredit her. And Sophie certainly wouldn't have done so, nor David.

  Could Signora Botelli have found it too much of a temptation to have the emerald on her premises and stolen it in a fit of madness? This made no sense either. The woman was old and extremely wealthy. To steal a jewel and run the risk of losing her reputation and business would have been foolhardy in the extreme. Yet greed made people foolhardy and the chance of possessing an emerald of such value might well blind one to the dangers of doing so. And planting it here would not have been difficult for her to do either, for it was the Signora who had found her this apartment and she might easily possess a key to it.

  With a groan Erica put her hands to her head. It was crazy to suspect her employer. She would never have done it.

  Yet someone had.

  Only one other name was left, and because this was the person she disliked the most - and as such her obvious choice - she had refused to let herself consider it. Yet it was the only possible solution. Forcing herself to calmness, she tried to work out how it could have been done. No need to ask why; the answer was obvious. Merely how?

  'I don't know.'

  It was only as she heard the words ring out in the silence of the room that she realized she had said them aloud, and she repeated them again as if doing so would help her to find an answer.

  But her mind remained blank. And she walked over to the window and stared out into the street. Small groups of people were moving along it and she realized that the hour was still early, though it seemed to her a lifetime ago since she had left Filippo's home. Again she went over everything she had told the inspector, but again she was no nearer finding a solution and she wondered if, after all, she was allowing her dislike of Claudia to cloud her judgment. Yet logic told her that of all the people she knew, this woman was the only one who had reason to dislike her sufficiently to want to do her harm. Rightly or wrongly, Claudia believed she had a future with Filippo; that given time he would ask her to be his wife. Seeing Filippo's interest in someone whom she regarded as inferior had been enough to arouse her jealousy, though the hatred had only come with the realization that the inferior English girl had been invited to spend a weekend with Filippo in Rome and - more frightening still - been brought to the Palazzo and introduced to his sister. Perhaps it was this gesture that had warned Claudia that Filippo's interest had been more than a passing one, for he was not the sort of man to introduce his casual affairs to his family. Yes, perhaps Claudia, coming to the Palazzo last night and seeing Erica looking so much at home there, had finally seen her as a danger to be destroyed.

  Once more Erica paced the floor. She had a motive for Claudia's hatred, but she still did not know how the act had been done. She had never left Claudia alone in the office with the emerald. Carefully she went over the scene, forcing herself to recall every word spoken, every gesture made. Slowly it took more vivid form in her mind and she could visualize Claudia clearly, even smell the musky perfume the woman wore which surrounded her like a cloud every time she moved. But she hadn't moved very much after she had come into the office. She had just stood by the bench looking at the emerald and asking to see the designs that had been prepared for her.

  Once again Erica relived that moment, but once again she could find nothing fresh to remember. She had shown Claudia the designs and soon afterwards the woman had left and she had put the designs back on the desk. No, she had put them back in the drawer, the lower one. No, that was wrong too. It had been the very bottom drawer of the desk. That meant she had to bend down to find them in the first place and for five seconds - perhaps longer - while she had searched among the papers - her line of vision had been blocked. But five seconds was more than enough time to pick up one stone and replace it with another.

  Erica stopped her pacing. That was what had happened. She was as certain of it as she was certain of her love for Filippo. But not of his love for her. Quickly she pushed this thought aside. For the moment she must concentrate on clearing her name. Coming to terms with Filippo's lack of faith in her was something she would have plenty of time to do in the empty years ahead. And how empty those years would be. Tears filled her eyes and though she tried to blink them away, others replaced them and sent the first ones coursing down her cheeks to be followed by more and more until, blinded by them, she sank down and buried her head in her hands. What was the point of learning the truth if it couldn't bring back her happiness?

  It was only a long time later when her storm of weeping had subsided that she again gave thought to her belief that Claudia was the thief. Having arrived at this conclusion, she wondered how it had been planned. She would have liked to believe it had been unpremeditated, for this would have indicated less hatred. Yet she knew it had been carefully worked out, for the false stone had not only been the same colour as the real one, but also identical in size.

  Identical in size.

  Horrified at where her conjectures had taken her, she longed desperately to share them with someone else. No one - no matter what they were willing to pay - could have found a stone to replace the Rosetti emerald without having it especially made. This meant that the action had been planned a long time ago and had not been done on the spur of the moment. If Claudia was indeed guilty, then she had been preparing her theft for weeks. Equally significant, it had nothing to do with her own association with Filippo. The woman's plan to implicate her had obviously been a spur of the moment - or more probably a spur of the evening - decision.

  Curiously she pondered on what would have happened had she not taken the brooch away to mend. How could Claudia have made the switch unless she had anticipated being allowed to wear the brooch herself?

  Erica's desire to tell Filippo all she believed was so strong that she ran to the window, half hoping to see him, yet not surprised when she did not. He was unlikely to come back and see her tonight. What was he doing? she wondered. Was he with the inspector, or had he returned alone to the

  Palazzo? He might have gone to Danny's hotel to tell him the emerald had been found. She moved away from the window. Even if she saw Filippo how could she convince him Claudia was guilty when she had no proof other than her instinct?

  The knowledge that she might never be able to prove her innocence suddenly hit her with overwhelming force, making her realize the priceless gift of having a good name. What a pity one did not appreciate its worth until one had lost it, she thought bitterly, and knew she had lost more than her name tonight. She had lost Filippo too, for even if he eventually believed in her innocence, she would never be able to forget he had doubted her.

  'Filippo!' She cried his name aloud. 'If only you had more faith in me!'

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Erica was so reluctant to go to the shop the next morning that she almost didn't get out of bed. But her unwillingness to stay alone in the apartment was something that she disliked even more, and she forced herself to dress, drank a cup of black coffee and hurried down the street

  The beauty of the day was lost upon her, so intent was she on her own thoughts. Not that they were any more coherent than they had been the night before: hours of sleeplessness had still not brought her nearer a solution. She was certain Claudia alone had had the opportunity to steal the emerald but she knew she would never be able to prove it.

  Casually she inquired of her neighbours on the ground floor if they had seen any visitor call on her, but the shake of their heads only confirmed her belief that Claudia had been too clever to allow herself to be seen. No doubt she had chosen the siesta hour during which to sneak into the building, and more than probably worn something unobtrusive in place of her usual elegant clothes. Even if she could find someone who would say they had seen a woman enter her apartment, she still had no way of proving who it had been.

  Signora Botelli had already opened the shop when she arrived and was busy refilling the window. Aware of her employer's curious eyes upon her, Erica knew she was expected to recount further news about her engagement. But short of tellin
g the Signora the truth - which she could not bear to do - she had to remain silent.

  For the next hour she busied herself around the shop, dusting the counters, polishing parts of the glass where yesterday's clients had left their fingermarks, and then going into the inner office to sit at the desk and look at her designs. It was only as she did this that she knew she would have to tell Signora Botelli what had happened. If Filippo and the Inspector judged her to be a thief, she could not expect the Signora to let her go on working here.

  Before she could change her mind she jumped up and ran into the shop. 'I must talk with you, signora. I have something to tell you.'

  'I have been waiting to hear it,' the woman beamed. 'The wedding day has been set, si?'

  'No,' Erica corrected. 'It's over. Finished. He thinks I'm a thief… that I stole the emerald.'

  In a rush most of the story came out, though she omitted her belief that Claudia was the guilty one.

  'The emerald was found in your bedroom?' Signora Botelli gasped. 'But that is impossible! Someone has - how you say it in English - has framed you. You have been made to look guilty.'

  'Filippo and the Inspector think I am.'

  'Stupido! Not even an inspector of police can be such a fool! He has only to look into your face to see your innocence. I will go and talk to him at once - and the Conte too. They are both mad, mad!'

  'You mustn't go and see them.' Agitated, Erica caught the Signora by the arm. 'It won't do any good.'

  'It won't do any harm either for them to know I think they are crazy!' She burst into a spate of Italian, using an argot which Erica could not follow and which told her much more of the woman's original peasant background than could be guessed from her present rich and sophisticated position. Only when she had exhausted her temper at the stupidity of men did she lapse into English again.

  'Who did it?' she asked abruptly. 'We know you didn't, so that means someone else did.'