Ernestina was eyeing them with her bird-like glance and Venetia felt herself flushing.
‘Give me the button that’s missing, signorina. I’ll sew it back on and return it to your room. You’ll find it done when you come home after lunch.’
‘Thank you, Ernestina.’
The housekeeper left, carrying the dress. Paolo turned to Venetia. ‘Andiamo?’
‘Yes, I’m ready.’
‘Have you finished packing?’
‘Almost, there’s only that dress and my wash bag.’
‘Splendid then, let’s go for lunch.’
That afternoon, after lunch, they worked solidly, going over the plans, assessing, arguing. Venetia made suggestions, many of them in direct contradiction with the original designs, and though Paolo listened, discussed, and gave his ideas, she noticed that if the plans didn’t comply with her propositions, he usually altered the project here and there as they went along in accordance with her advice, almost encouraging her to make it her own. They functioned well together, taking pleasure in each other’s company, entering into each other’s enthusiasms. She was amazed at the way they got on, their brains clicking with the same perfection and compatibility as their bodies had shown that morning. They sparked off each other and when they disagreed on a point, it was only because their contrasting ideas complemented one another.
Paolo laid his hand on hers as they were studying the plans spread out on the table in front of them. ‘I’m happy that you’ve taken on this assignment, Venetia,’ he said, grinning and curling his arm around her waist, pulling her gently towards him, ‘not only because it will keep you near me, but also because you’re a brilliant architect and restorer, with a flair and taste that I’ve seldom seen. For any other firm, it would just be another contract; they would look at the project from a purely business point of view but I know that you will look at it with the eyes of your heart. You’ll weigh all the elements: aesthetics, history, conservation, and business too, and you’ll give each aspect its fair due without compromising on any one of them.’ He cocked his head and his eyes shone with admiration and love.
Venetia blushed and smiled playfully, holding on to his forearms. ‘Well, that’s certainly a vote of confidence, Signor Barone, which I hope I’ll live up to. I must admit that, to start off with, I didn’t want to get involved with the project for reasons that you might have guessed.’ She looked up at him shyly through her long lashes. ‘But although it’s a challenge, now that I’ve visited the site and seen the plans I’m really very excited about it.’
In the late afternoon they went for a stroll in the garden. Paolo had a firm arm about Venetia’s shoulders. The clear golden sunshine crowned the hills. They couldn’t see the sea, it was behind them, but the hills were beauty enough to gaze at and lose oneself in for hours at a time; and besides, they didn’t need the scenery, they had each other.
‘I’ve been starved of the warm, sweet touch of a woman and I’m hungry for more of you. I had read about this wonderful feeling… I’d heard other men talk about it and still I hadn’t found it, until today, in your arms.’ Paolo’s eyes were intense, wandering over the scenery and then back to Venetia as he spoke.
Venetia gazed up at him, seeing above her his wide shoulders rampant with masculine force and his strong protectiveness. She wondered how such a hulk of a man could be so vulnerable, and she leaned further into him as they walked, immersing herself happily in that thought. They sat on the edge of a fountain that played in a round stone lily pond and watched the goldfish swim out their circular lives.
At this hour, the garden was teaming with birdsong. A blackbird, perched on the branch of a small pine tree, was sending forth his notes, which tumbled out on to the air like a little fairy trill cascading over invisible stones. Here and there, he seemed so thrilled with the loveliness of his own song that he got the notes all jumbled up and they came out like a veritable splotch of music. From a distance away somewhere, a mistle thrush sent out his ringing like a question: Did-he-do-it? Did-he-do-it? And from farther away still came the cawing conversation of rooks. Venetia could see their black shapes flapping about the sky, the outlines ragged. They might have been pieces of black paper caught up and blown about in the wind. She revelled in the calm beauty of it all. The air, only just moving in a light breeze, felt clean, and it was so soft, passing like folds of invisible velvet over her skin. She hadn’t felt as happy and serene since those far-off days when she used to go for walks with Judd in Kew Gardens.
Later, Paolo and Venetia had dinner on the terrazzo among the dwarf potted lemon and orange trees and the large Etruscan urns overflowing with flowers. All around them was the scent of freesias, whose sweet fragrance rose like incense from the sunken garden to the terrace. They watched as the sun slipped steadily lower and lower, chasing the long shadows from the valleys, and with remarkable swiftness changed its golden flame for coral-red, as bright as a branding iron. The sea turned purple, and above, the sky darkened and began to glow with the phosphorescence of night. Then, overpowering everything else, the Tuscan islands of the Tyrrhenian Sea started to shine and blaze with hot ochre light. It seemed as if the sea itself was steaming from the immersion of these burnt-sugar creatures, covered with ice-green lichens that here and there occurred and vanished in the broad consuming glow.
After dinner, Paolo walked Venetia back to La Sirena. The moon was shining, the stars winking at them happily in the navy velvet canopy above. The sea was like a table of amethyst liquid, glistening with moonlight. In the distance, the Port of Santo Stefano wore her lights as a woman wears her diamonds, sparkling and glowing against the darker bulk of the hills behind. There was something infinitely peaceful and refreshing now that the sun had gone down; the air was as wine – cool and reviving, intoxicating the lovers.
Paolo stopped at the doorway. Their eyes met for a brief moment as Venetia hesitated, and in that instant she was conscious of every detail about him, which was enough to send wild yearning surging through her. She shivered.
‘Let’s go in,’ he murmured.
‘Oh, Paolo,’ she breathed as he tried to pick her up, while fire shot to life inside her. ‘We have a long way to go tomorrow. You need to have a good rest. You’ll be driving, and you mustn’t be tired.’ Her voice was gentle to match the quiet of the night.
He gazed down at her. ‘I’m never tired when I’m with you.’
‘Well, perhaps just a small nightcap.’ A little smile flickered around her mouth. ‘But you must promise me that you’ll go back to the house after. I don’t want to be worrying tomorrow.’ She looked at him shyly.
‘Looking at you now, cara, hard as it will be, I promise I’ll go.’
He wandered into the sitting room to pour them both a shot of grappa, while Venetia headed for the bedroom to fetch a cardigan. The temperature had dropped somewhat and she was beginning to feel slightly chilly.
Then with a little cry she stopped in the doorway, rooted to the spot. Appalled, she came into the room, unable to believe her eyes. There, lying pitifully on the ground in an unrecognisable pile was the beautiful purple dress that she had entrusted to Ernestina. It was ripped from the oval neckline through to the hem and, as if that had not been enough, the ethereal purple chiffon had been slashed in the most savage way, the shredded lengths of it scattered around the room. A cold, sick feeling gripped Venetia’s heart, crushing it with a mixture of fear and anger. It was a deliberate expression of violence and malice. She could think of only one person who could have wrought such a wanton, passionate act of hatred… Allegra.
‘Venetia, what’s wrong?’ Paolo came bursting into the room.
‘I’ve just found this.’
Paolo looked horrified as she held up the garment. ‘But how… who could have done that? I can’t believe that anybody could do something so utterly evil.’ Something indefinable flickered for a moment in his eyes but his expressio
n was ferocious.
‘Jealousy is very corrosive.’ Venetia stared back at him, trying to control her emotion.
‘You mean Allegra?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea, but there are not so many people at Miraggio who would have a bone to pick with me.’
‘Though I know Allegra can be swayed by her passions, I think it very unlikely that she would attack you in this underhanded way. She would be more likely to start a fight with you, I think. This is the work of someone with a tortuous mind – it is more likely to be Antonio than his niece.’
Perhaps this was true. To Venetia’s knowledge, the girl hadn’t had a chance to see the dress. Could it have been Antonio? She had difficulty imagining the caretaker doing such a thing, but maybe... As she picked up one of the pieces of ruined fabric, her eyes brimmed with unshed tears of outrage and resentment.
‘Here, cara, let me see.’
She handed it to him, but didn’t look at his face. Somehow, she couldn’t let him see how much it had affected her. Bringing it up to the lamp, he examined the thin purple cloth closely.
‘As I thought… it’s the work of an animal. Rufus… See?’ He gave her back the dress and paced the room, looking pensive. The holes made by the sharp incisors were showing clearly in some parts of the material, still damp with the dog’s saliva.
‘Yes, you’re right. Antonio must have set Rufus on it,’ she said quietly.
‘I don’t like this one bit.’ Paolo suddenly looked up and saw the look on Venetia’s face. ‘Cara, are you all right?’ He gathered her firmly into his arms, pressing his mouth against her hair. ‘Comportamento scandaloso, outrageous behaviour! I will ring my lawyer tomorrow to terminate Antonio’s contract – I want them both off Miraggio.’
‘Don’t be so quick, Paolo,’ Venetia said. She turned her face up to his, watching the scowl darken his features ominously in a way she hadn’t seen before. ‘Wait until we get back and then maybe you can have a talk with him and sort this out. I don’t want to be the cause of a rift between you and Allegra. After all, you do love her as a daughter and maybe you’ll be able to talk her into being sensible about…’ she hesitated, ‘… about us.’
It wasn’t exactly her first impulse, she thought uncharitably, but despite her bitter feelings towards the Italian girl now, she knew she would regret it later if she didn’t try to give Allegra a second chance.
There was a warm light in Paolo’s eyes. ‘Oh, amore mio, you have such a kind heart. It’s one of the things I love most about you. I’m so sorry about this nasty mess – it’s very disturbing and, yes, I’ll put it right as soon as we get back to Miraggio after Easter.’
Venetia felt herself relax a little and pulled away from him. ‘I think I could do with that drink now.’
They walked back into the sitting room and Paolo handed her one of the shots of grappa he had poured. She sipped at the fiery amber liquid and welcomed the warmth in her stomach that seeped through her limbs. She watched as he downed his own drink in one gulp. Seeing her raise her eyebrows, he glanced at her.
‘I needed that too,’ he explained. His features had grown tense and distracted again, and she knew his mind was playing on what he was going to do.
‘Paolo, please don’t worry.’
He set his glass down and started pacing again, the fingers of one hand loosely on his hip, the other combing through his hair. ‘Of course I’m worried, cara. I think I should stay with you tonight.’ He stood in front of her, his piercing blue gaze anxious.
She hesitated for a moment, putting her own glass on the small coffee table, next to the bowl of fruit. ‘No, Paolo – you don’t need to do that, I’ll be fine.’
‘Venetia, how do you think I can leave you tonight, after this?’ He reached out and traced his thumb along her bottom lip. ‘If something ever happened to you because of me, I could never forgive myself,’ he murmured.
She sighed, blinking up at him. ‘Paolo, please, we’ll sort this out. If it was Antonio, he wouldn’t actually harm me. He wouldn’t dare. It’s obvious this was just meant as scare tactics. Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve been on my own since I was nineteen and managed fine.’
‘But, cara, you’re not on your own. You have me, now.’ He took her chin in his hand.
‘Yes, I know, and it’s wonderful, believe me, Paolo. But I’m a big girl and I can look after myself. I can’t explain… it’s just important that I still can. Besides, if you stay, they will have won, whoever they are. I refuse to be intimated. My English backbone will see me through, you know that.’ In an attempt at teasing she touched his raised forearm and gave him her most plucky smile. She would not give Antonio or his niece the satisfaction of knowing they had got to her.
Paolo’s eyes were still wary but he nodded his agreement. His hands pulled her close, and she held up her flushed face. For a minute or two, he held Venetia tightly, and the hard pressure of his lips on her mouth as he bent down and kissed her was so thrilling that she almost weakened and asked him to stay the night. The temptation to lie in his comforting arms until dawn was almost overwhelming. The only measure of time was the pounding of Venetia’s heart and, unconsciously, her hands moved towards his face as the kiss slowly ended.
‘Ti adoro,’ he whispered huskily, now placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. ‘You mean everything to me. I will never let anything happen to you, Venetia.’ His eyes were shining with passion but there was also a trace of sadness as he stroked her cheek softly with his finger. Taking her hand as they both went to the door, Paolo kissed her once more. Then he walked away towards the house.
Venetia stood in the doorway until he had disappeared and she could no longer hear his steps on the gravel. Finally she went in.
She walked back to the bedroom, undoing her blouse, her mind and body still full of Paolo. Sitting on the bed, she was jolted back to reality by the sight of the pieces of ripped fabric still littering the floor. Who on earth would go to these lengths to separate her and Paolo? If Ernestina had left the door of the cottage open after having hung up the dress in the bedroom, perhaps the dog could have come in and mangled it. It was a rather far-fetched idea but, without a witness, who knew what was possible? No, surely it was the caretaker: Antonio. Ferociously in favour of his niece, obviously aware of the relationship developing between Venetia and Paolo, he had declared his own war on her to make her leave. Or Allegra herself had perhaps put him up to it. A beautiful Amazon, a nasty giant and a dangerous dog… Venetia shivered, feeling frozen to the bone in a world of hostility from which she could see no chance of escape, at least for the moment.
She glanced at her watch. It was late; she should get some sleep. She picked up the tatters of her lovely dress and stored them away in the cupboard and then, on a second thought, shoved them into her suitcase.
That night, she went through a dreary hell while she lay for hours in her bed, staring out of the open window, gazing at the moon and the stars, trying not to think of the frightening possibilities. Her imagination worked at a hundred miles an hour, conjuring all sorts of dreadful scenarios. What ogres the mind calls forth in the darkest depths of night can be dwarfed in the warm light of morning, carried away on the wings of dawn. And so Venetia told herself that she would look at things differently tomorrow. She got up, made herself a cup of hot milk, and went back to bed, finally dropping off into a restless sleep.
* * *
The next morning, Paolo dressed quickly and made his way to his study. Perhaps Venetia was right, he thought, as he strode through the dark gothic corridors of the house; he ought to wait to deal with Antonio until after they returned from Sardinia, when he had calmed down.
But he’d made up his mind: the man had to go. That the caretaker could have let his dog into the cottage with the deliberate intention of scaring Venetia, even if she wasn’t there, was unthinkable. And if she had been there, what then? Would he have hurt
her, even accidentally? Antonio had always been protective of Allegra, and would probably do anything for her if he thought she was threatened in some way. He had never been any trouble before, but Paolo wouldn’t be able to trust the man again. He had been thinking about the problem of the caretaker and his niece even before Venetia had come on to the scene. And if he and Venetia were to be together… No, Antonio was finished at Miraggio.
He frowned deeply. As for Allegra… He hadn’t promised Venetia that he would defer dealing with her. At first light, when Ernestina had brought him coffee in his room, he had asked the housekeeper to tell Allegra to meet him in his study in an hour. He was going to have it out with the girl before he set foot on a plane to Sardinia. This was a conversation he couldn’t put off. His fury at her behaviour was unlike any he could remember since taking her in all those years ago. Had he misjudged how damaged she was?
Her constantly dissolute ways were one thing – he had shown weakness there out of indulgence, and a mistaken faith that she would grow up, change. This new outrage wasn’t just designed to get his attention, like her other unsavoury antics; this time, she had involved Venetia. Well, she had his attention now, she could be sure of that. He had loved and trusted her like a daughter but she had repaid him with bitterness and betrayal.
As he strode up the steps to his study, Paolo tried to calm himself, wrestling with disappointment and anger. When he opened the door, she was already there, draped in one of the armchairs near the door. She was wearing a low-cut green dress, fitted at the bodice with a flowing skirt that was hitched up around her thighs as she hung her shapely legs over the side of the chair. Paolo regarded her coldly. It was now even more distasteful to him that she persisted in flaunting herself with such unsubtle and adolescent clumsiness.
‘You wanted to see me, Paolo?’ Allegra stared at him, her voice sweetly purring and her smile innocent, though it did not reach her eyes.
The Echoes of Love Page 29