The Contessa's Vendetta

by Sichirollo Patzer, Mirella

  Beatrice rose to leave. I placed the jewels in a leather-covered wooden case, strapped and locked it, and then handed it to her with its key. She gushed with appreciation, almost fawning over me, in fact.

  And thus I discovered another defect in her character, a flaw which, as her friend in former days, I had never before noticed. With little encouragement, she would become a flatterer, a groveling servant to the affluent. As friends, I had believed her to be beyond reproach, never heartless, and a person who despised duplicity. But it was all a mere delusion. More treachery by my nearest and dearest. And now that I was no longer deceived? Was the destruction of my delusions worse than the delusions themselves? I believed so as my old friend took hold of my hand and bid me farewell that morning. How I longed to trust her like I once did, but I could not. That had all been swept away by a tidal wave of lies. I watched her leave carrying the box of jewels for my husband.

  After Beatrice left, I paused to re-ponder every aspect of my plan. There was still much to do. Part of my plan was to establish myself as a person of great importance in Vicenza and I had written numerous letters and sent out visiting-cards to affluent families. I summoned Santina and Paolo to help me finalize these arrangements and attend to other minor business matters.

  Santina was a perfect lady’s maid, as Paolo was a faultless steward. They were both silent, discreet, admirably trained. Neither of them asked questions. They were too dignified to gossip, and both bestowed me with instant and unconditional obedience. They completed their duties, going beyond my expectations by attending to details that kept me comfortable and content. I rejoiced in my good fortune in having found and hired them both.

  Occupied thusly, the hours passed swiftly, and in the afternoon, I made my way to Beatrice’s studio. I had no need to consult the card she had given me, for I was already familiar with the studio’s location. After all, it was I who had paid for and acquired it for her. It was a curious, charming place, located at the top of a steep hill. I had passed many a happy hour there with Beatrice before my marriage, reading a book or watching Beatrice paint her unsophisticated scenes and people, most of which I cheerfully bought as soon as she completed them. The quaint porch, now overrun by star-jasmine looked forlornly recognizable. My knees weakened at the pang of regret I experienced in remembering the past, but I recovered. I tugged the bell cord and heard its familiar melodic tinkle.

  Beatrice opened the door, her face animated and glowing. “Come in, come in!” she said cordially. “Please excuse the mess. Everything is in a state of disorder. I don’t have many visitors. Mind the step, contessa! It is a little loose and I do not wish to see you stumble.”

  She ushered me up the narrow flight of stairs to the sunlight-filled room where she worked. Glancing around, I immediately noticed the room’s neglect and disarray. It was obvious she had not been there for quite some time, though she had made a half-hearted attempt to tidy it before my arrival. A large vase of elegantly arranged flowers rested on the table. I noticed that Beatrice had not begun anything new and I recognized all the old finished and unfinished paintings, now caked with dust.

  I sat in a cushioned chair and looked at my betrayer with a fault-finding eye. She had donned a gray gown instead of the black one she had worn earlier that morning. Her face was pale and her eyes extraordinarily luminous. She looked her best and I could understand how my lazy, pleasure-seeking husband might be easily attracted by her beautiful form and features. I spoke a part of my thoughts aloud. “You give the appearance of a true artist.”

  She blushed a little and beamed. “You are very kind to say so.” A delighted sense of self-importance glowed in her expression. “But you are flattering me. By the way, before I forget, I wish to let you know that I have fulfilled your request.”

  “To Signore Gismondi?”

  “Si. He was not only astonished, but elated at the magnificence of the jewels you sent him.”

  I laughed. “Good. Now let us talk about the picture you have on the easel there. May I see it more closely?”

  She pushed the easel closer to me. It was badly done, a gaudy landscape colored by the setting sun depicted in colors that appeared artificial. Nevertheless, I praised it enthusiastically and purchased it for five hundred scudi. Encouraged, she then produced four other similar paintings. Of course, I purchased these too at heavily inflated prices.

  When we finished our transactions, Beatrice seemed jubilant. She opened a bottle of wine and poured us each a small goblet, chattering away ceaselessly. I listened to her politely, laughed at her anecdotes, all of which I had heard before, duping her vainglorious spirit into thinking I cared about what she spoke of. I let her natter on, let her bare her full personality to me, and saw it for what it truly was: a fusion of self-absorption, greed, sensuality, and callousness, with flitting glimpses of friendliness and understanding. This was the woman I had loved like a sister, a person of paltry intelligence and doubtful values. This worthless, frivolous, turd of humanity was the same being for whom I once bore such steadfast affection!

  The clip clop of hooves stopping at our door interrupted our conversation. I set down the glass of wine I had just raised to my lips, and looked at Beatrice steadily. “You are expecting a visitor?” I inquired.

  She seemed ill at ease, smiled, and dithered.

  “I am not sure, but—” The bell tinkled and Beatrice rose with a word of apology to answer it.

  I sprang from my chair. My instincts knew very well who it could be. With concentrated effort, I steadied my nerves. I forced my racing heart to slow down, adjusted my dark glasses more securely over my eyes, and straightened myself. I waited.

  I heard Beatrice ascend the stairs. A heavier step accompanied her lighter ones as she spoke to her companion in whispers. Another instant passed and she flung the door of the studio wide open with the haste and reverence due for the entrance of a king. There was a rustle of fine wool, a subtle scent of horse sweat and leather on the air, and then I stood face to face with my husband!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dario’s incredible handsomeness stole my breath away. My gaze swept over him with the same captivation that had befuddled me the first time I saw him. His solemn black mourning clothes only enhanced his stunning appearance. Without doubt, he was the most magnificent looking man I had ever encountered, and I, his late wife, still trembled in the wake of his splendor.

  He stood gallantly in the doorway with a disarming smile on his lips. Pausing, he studied me for an instant. I became so tense, I realized I was holding my breath, and had to force myself to appear calm.

  “Buon giorno, do I have the pleasure of meeting the gracious Contessa Giulia Corona?” The sound of his deep voice flooded the room.

  I could not utter a word. All speech seemed trapped within me. Shock scorched my mouth. My throat faltered with constrained fury and anguish. I could only respond with a slight nod.

  He walked toward me and extended his hand with the confidence I had so often admired. “I am Signore Gismondi. When I learned from Signorina Cardano that you planned to visit her studio this afternoon, I could not resist coming to personally thank you for the exquisite gifts you sent. The gifts are truly majestic. Permit me to offer you my sincere thanks!”

  I accepted his outstretched hand and squeezed it hard as he raised it to his lips for a kiss, but he was too well-mannered to show any reaction. By now, I had regained my composure and was eager to begin my charade. “Oh, but it is I who must thank you for accepting the trivial ornaments, especially in light of your recent loss. You have my deepest condolences. Had your wife lived, no doubt she would have gifted them to you, and they would have carried a more profound sentiment for you. I am grateful to you for accepting them from such an undeserving hand as mine.”

  His face turned pale and he shuffled his feet uneasily. He stared at me intently. Behind the shelter of my dark spectacles, I met his stare with confidence. Slowly he let go of my hand. I gestured for us to sit in a chair. He fell int
o it with the effortless ease I was so familiar with. Like a corrupted king, he studied me pensively.

  Beatrice brought us wine, a dish of fruit, and some sweet cakes. “I can see we surprised you!” she said to me with a bit of a giggle. “I trust that you have guessed that the signore and I planned this encounter to catch you unawares. We had no way of knowing when you could visit the signore, and he was so anxious to thank you personally that we arranged this meeting. How amusing! Come, contessa, you cannot deny that you are delighted with our little surprise!”

  “Indeed I am!” I responded, unable to disguise my derision. “Anyone would be delighted. I understand the special honor Signore Gismondi extends by permitting me to meet him after such tragic circumstances.”

  The moment I spoke these words, my husband’s face turned wistful and sad. “Ah, my poor Carlotta. How tragic that she is not here to greet you! She would have been so excited to meet you, a friend of her mother. She cherished her mother more than anyone.” He shook his head. “I still cannot believe she is dead. Such a terrible loss. I will always mourn her passing.”

  I could not believe the ease with which he assumed such profound grief.

  I glanced at Beatrice. She coughed and her cheeks reddened. She was not as good an actress as he was an actor.

  Studying them both, I could not decide whether my contempt or disgust was stronger. “In someone as young and handsome as you are, time will be quick to heal your wounds. Although your wife’s death is most regretful, do not allow grief to consume you. It is futile. A lifetime of opportunity and many happy days await you and you deserve to experience it all to its fullest!”

  His angst-ridden expression evaporated like morning dew beneath a hot sun. “I appreciate your good wishes, contessa, but a visit from you will go a long way toward easing my grief. You must promise to visit.”

  I hesitated.

  Beatrice looked amused. “I warned him how uncomfortable you are with men, contessa,” she said with a touch of mockery in her tone.

  I cast her a cold glance and turned to face my husband. “Signorina Cardano is perfectly right, I often avoid the company of men, but have no defense against the smile of an Adonis like you.” I gave him a slight curtsey to emphasize my point.

  His expression lightened. How he treasured his handsomeness and I knew it sparked his desire for conquest. With languid grace, he removed the glass of wine I was about to raise to my lips and fixed his dark brown, deep-set eyes upon me with a smile. “Your compliment pleases me and you must, of course, pay me a visit tomorrow, for Adonis’ demand obedience! Bea—, I mean Signorina Cardano, I trust that you will accompany the contessa to my villa?”

  Beatrice nodded stiffly, her look sullen. “I am glad to see, that you succeeded in persuading the contessa when all my attempts failed.”

  He laughed. “But I am a man and most men are used to having their way. Don’t you agree, contessa?” And he raised an eyebrow, amusement and spite merging in his expression. When he noticed Beatrice’s annoyance, he delighted in teasing her still further.

  “I do not know, signore,” I answered him. “I know almost nothing about the ways of men, but I am convinced that you must be right, whatever you say. Your eyes would convert a pagan!”

  Again he gave me one of his magnificently radiant, sensual, direct glances, and then he rose to leave.

  “This has truly been a visit by Adonis – pleasant, but short!” I said.

  “We shall have a longer visit tomorrow,” he replied, smiling. “You promised, so please do not disappoint me. Come in the afternoon, as early as you like. Then you can meet my daughter, Chiara. She is very much the image of her poor mother.”

  Dario extended his hand and I placed mine upon it. He raised it to his lips, smiled as he withdrew it, and then looked at me, or rather at the glasses I wore. “Do you have trouble seeing?”

  “Ah, si, it is a most dreadful condition. My eyes are overly sensitive to light, but I should not complain, for the weakness is common in someone of my age.”

  “You do not seem old.” His eye scrutinized my unwrinkled, soft skin, which could not be masked.

  “Not old? With my white hair!” I exclaimed as I brushed away a loose curl.

  “Many a young women has hair turned gray,” he said. “At any rate, it is common when in one’s prime. And in your case, it is quite attractive.” With a deep bow given only to me, he departed.

  Both Beatrice and I hastened to the window to watch him enter his carriage, which waited for him at the front door. The same carriage and pair of bay geldings I had given him for his birthday. The driver slapped the reins and the horses entered into a brisk trot. In a few moments, the elegant conveyance disappeared from sight. When I could see nothing more than the cloud of dust stirred up by its revolving wheels, I turned to my companion. She bore a grim expression and her brows were pinched in a frown. The green-eyed snake of jealousy had taken its first bite. The bow he had given me in farewell instead of Beatrice had stabbed her pride.

  Woe the blindness of women! With all our abilities; with all the world before us to conquer, we crumble at an abusive word or rude gesture by a man, whose strongest affection is paid to the mirror that reflects him in the most becoming light. How simple my vengeance would be, I thought, as I studied Beatrice.

  I touched her on the shoulder. She returned to the moment, away from her unsettling daydream, and forced a smile.

  “What are your thoughts?” I asked with a gentle laugh.

  Lost in thought, she gave me no answer.

  “Do not be desolate, my friend,” I said cheerfully as I linked my arm through hers and turned her away from the window. “It is said that one’s wit should be sharpened by the glance of an intelligent eye. So why does your speech seem blunted? Perhaps your emotions are too profound for words? If so, I am not surprised, for the man is exceedingly fine-looking.”

  Her gaze flickered over me. “Did I not say as much?” she exclaimed. “Of all the men in this world, he is flawless. Even you, contessa, with your distrust of men, even you were restrained and affected by him!”

  I pretended to ponder her words. “I was?” I responded with feigned astonishment. “Restrained and affected? I disagree, however, I do admit I have never seen a man so striking in appearance.”

  She unlinked her arm from mine, and stared at me. “I told you so. And now I feel I must warn you.”

  “Warn me?” I asked with insincere alarm. “Of what? Against whom? Surely not Signore Gismondi, to whom you have been so eager for me to meet? Does he have a disease? A contagious malady? The plague? Is he deceitful or dangerous or untrustworthy?”

  Beatrice laughed at the concern I flaunted over my own safety - an angst which I delivered in an almost comic manner, but she looked a bit reassured too. “Oh, no. I meant nothing of the kind. It is only fair of me to forewarn you that he can be very seductive and his romantic behavior would flatter any woman who was not aware of his alluring ways. It might lead you to believe yourself the object of his desire, and—”

  I broke out laughing. “Your admonition is unwarranted. Do I look like the type of woman who would attract the attention of such a handsome man? At my age, the idea is preposterous. Why, I am old enough to be his mother, and yours too. To be his lover? Impossible!”

  She gave me an attentive look. “He thought you did not seem old at all,” she murmured, half to herself and half to me.

  “Oh, most certainly he made a small, flattering remark to me.” A thrill ran through me at the knowledge the attention he paid me tormented her. “I accepted the compliment in the nature that it was meant - kind-heartedness. Sadly, I am only too aware of how decrepit and unattractive I must appear in his eyes in comparison to you.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “You must forgive me if my warning seemed too severe. The signore is like a brother to me. In fact, my late friend Carlotta encouraged a brotherly and sisterly affection between us. Now that she is gone, I feel duty-bound to watch over him and protec
t him. He is youthful and carefree. Surely you understand what I am saying?

  I nodded. I understood her perfectly. She wanted no more thieves to threaten what she herself had stolen. I could not disagree with her point of view. But I was the rightful owner of all that she had claimed, and naturally, I had an opposing view. I said nothing and pretended to be bored by our conversation.

  Seeing this, Beatrice dropped her dismal tone and became an engaging ally once more. After we agreed on the time for our visit to the Villa Mancini the following day, our conversation turned to matters concerning Vicenza, its society, and their way of life. I commented on the people’s immorality and unfettered values to draw my companion out and measure her character more thoroughly, even though I believed I understood her views well enough already.

  She laughed delicately. “Immorality is a matter of opinion. What is accomplished by marital fidelity? Why should a woman tie herself to one man when she has enough love for fifty? The good-looking youth she marries is likely to become a portly, vulgar, crimson-faced, good-for-nothing, troublemaker by the time she has reached the full bloom of womanhood. Yet, for as long as he lives, society and all its laws favor men.”

  “People should repent their sins, but they rarely do.”

  “Why should they? What good can come from regretting anything? Will it mend matters? Who is to be pacified or pleased by our remorse? God? My dear contessa, there are very few of us nowadays who believe in God. The best thing we can do is enjoy ourselves while we live. Life is short and when we die there is nothing.”

  “That is what you truly believe?” I asked.

  “Si, to eat, drink and be merry, to live life to its fullest, because tomorrow we die.”

  I had no desire to disagree with her. I only wanted to understand what dwelled in her shallow heart to convince me of her utter worthlessness. I tested her further. “There truly is no need to be virtuous unless it suits us. The only important thing is to avoid public scandal so that our more pleasant activities do not suffer.”