The Autumn of the Witch

by Anne Mather

  Calming herself with difficulty, she walked to the window, pushing it wide and inhaling deeply. She must not break down now. She must not allow her father to suspect that anything was unusual. Somehow, Santino had convinced him that their affair had begun several weeks ago when he was in London, and that to begin with they had hidden it because of the merger and its possible complications. Stephanie shook her head. Only Santino could have made such a proposition sound convincing and she was sure that Jennifer did not believe a word of it, but there was nothing she could do, nothing anyone could do, least of all Stephanie herself. By telling her father as he had, Santino had successfully destroyed any chance she might have had of refuting the claim. His whole plan had been masterful. Her compliance with his earlier demands had made her a willing puppet in his hands and when her father confronted her with his new knowledge, what could she say? She could hardly try to tell him that Santino had merely asked her to accompany him as his daughter’s companion and by so doing destroy her father’s new-found confidence. Oh, he had been so clever, she thought tremulously, biting her lips. He had fooled both of them, and in so doing had involved her in a situation from which there was no escape.

  She trembled as she walked back to her dressing-table. It was easy now to consider the alternatives, but she could have taken up none of them; not without ruining any chance her father might have of recovering his business. Santino had known that had he suggested such a thing on the night she met him at the restaurant she would have refused absolutely to accept his proposition and by so doing would have made his plans impossible to carry out. But by telling her half a story he had made the way clear for him to tell her father the rest, and she had allowed him to do so because she had believed otherwise.

  He had known she would be unable to go back on her word and she hated him for his ruthless disregard of her feelings. Even now, she could scarcely believe that such a thing could happen to her, and not even his assurances that this marriage was simply a matter of expediency on his behalf could convince her that she was not making the biggest mistake of her life. She knew he had no feelings for her, he had made no secret of that; indeed he had left her almost entirely in the hands of Pietro Bastinado and another man, Mario Vecchi, who Pietro had told her was part of Santino’s bodyguard; and yet he had insisted on this marriage even though he knew she would be forced to go to Sicily with him anyway as his daughter’s companion. It didn’t make sense, and any sense she could make of it terrified her by its implications.

  She sat down on her dressing-table stool and rested her chin on her hands. Could any man be so unfeeling? Could he conceivably be as remote and ruthless as he appeared? Pietro liked him, but he was afraid of him. The man in the restaurant, Luigi, he had liked him, but he too had obviously been afraid of him. And she? She sighed. Hers was a simple case of fear alone. He was not a man one could like. Sometimes when he was unaware of her scrutiny she had looked at him and wondered with trepidation what manner of man he was. What lay behind that implacable mask he presented to the world? Did it never slip? Did his daughter ever arouse in him a protective emotion? Or was she, like Stephanie soon, simply a possession to be used and put aside when not required? She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook. Whatever was the truth of the man he made no attempts whatsoever to reassure her father and Jennifer that theirs was a normal relationship. He never touched her or behaved in any lover-like way towards her in their presence, although he did watch her as she moved about, and Stephanie was very much aware of the appraisal of those dark eyes. The situation was such that a kind of barrier had erected itself between herself and her family and there was no way to bridge it without destroying everything she had achieved.

  There was a tap at her door just then, and Stephanie rose abruptly to her feet. ‘Who—who’s there?’ she called.

  ‘Me,’ came her father’s voice, and she relaxed a little.

  ‘Come in,’ she invited, and he opened the door, halting admiringly when he saw her.

  ‘My dear child!’ he exclaimed, closing the door and advancing towards her to take her hands. There were tears in his eyes as he surveyed the picture she made, and Stephanie prayed she would not break down and cry herself. ‘You look beautiful!’ he went on, shaking his head. ‘Beautiful! and so like your mother. I find it hard to believe that you’re actually leaving us in a few hours. Oh, Stephanie, this is what you want, isn’t it?’

  It was not the first time her father had asked her that question and several times Jennifer had insinuated as much, although since the announcement of Stephanie’s engagement she had been noticeably quieter, not causing any more trouble over the business of her shares, much to Stephanie’s amazement. But now the question held a deeper significance and it took all Stephanie’s will power not to break down and confess everything.

  Now she said: ‘You know it is, Father. I—I wouldn’t be marrying Santino otherwise, would I?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that question a dozen times during the past two weeks.’ Her father sighed. ‘Stephanie, I didn’t even know you met Ventura when he was here for the initial negotiations.’

  Stephanie bent her head, hoping her father would not notice her suddenly heightened colour. ‘I know you didn’t,’ she replied, saying what Santino had told her to say. ‘But you see—we wanted you to get this business of the merger over before we considered our personal affairs. I thought you would prefer it that way. It was only when it became obvious that Santino was going to have to either finance you or take over the business that we decided we might as well tell you.’

  Her father gave a shake of his shoulders. ‘Oh, well, if that’s the way of it, there’s nothing more to be said. I just wish you had let Allan down a little more lightly, that’s all. He’s in a pretty low state, you know.’

  ‘I know that.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘But you see—oh, it’s no use. I know I was pretty rotten to him, but it would never have come to anything, you know. Not even without—without Santino.’

  Her father frowned. ‘I thought you were serious.’

  Stephanie shrugged. ‘I think it was simply a matter of familiarity breeding contempt,’ she said, and now she was being honest. In many ways, since the break with Allan, she had felt a sense of relief. Which was ridiculous in the circumstances, she supposed.

  ‘So you’re really going to be happy?’ Her father was persistent.

  ‘Yes, really.’ Stephanie managed to look him in the eyes as she spoke.

  ‘I must say the fellow doesn’t show his feelings,’ muttered her father gruffly. ‘I only hope this marriage is the right thing for you. He’s so much older than you are, and he’s been married before. Why, you don’t even know his daughter.’

  Stephanie managed a faint smile. ‘She is only four, Father.’

  ‘That’s all very well. But—well, have you thought what marriage means? I mean—he’s no inexperienced boy!’ He moved uncomfortably, obviously finding what he had to say very difficult.

  Stephanie drew away from him gently. ‘I’m not a child, Father. I do know what goes on, you know.’

  ‘But when you’re involved, it’s different. Stephanie, are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘Of course I know.’ Stephanie was abrupt. She had plenty of doubts of her own without adding his to them. ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ as she saw his anxious face. ‘But really, you have no need to worry about me.’

  Her father raked a hand through his thinning hair. ‘Well, he’d better make you happy,’ he said, sniffing rather noisily. ‘Or he’ll have me to deal with.’

  Stephanie touched his cheek with her lips. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  Robert McMaster turned away and blew his nose suddenly, and then, when it was done, said briskly: ‘Are you almost ready? The car will be here in half an hour.’

  Stephanie glanced at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I’m ready,’ she said. ‘But why have we to use—Santino’s car? I mean—your car would have done.’<
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  Robert McMaster raised his eyebrows. ‘I imagine because his Mercedes will hold you and me and Jennifer, as well as that man Mario Vecchi.’ He gave an impatient gesture. ‘Surely you don’t need a bodyguard, Stephanie!’

  Stephanie coloured now. ‘I—I—I think Santino—worries about me,’ she explained unconvincingly.

  Her father grimaced. ‘Indeed? Then why wouldn’t he agree to a church wedding, instead of this cold ceremony at a register office? Surely he could have waited another week—’

  Stephanie fingered the coronet of pearls which had been her mother’s and to which her short veil was attached. The register office wedding was the only loophole in Santino’s plans, she thought. So long as they were not married in a church, some day she could be free of him. But she could not say this to her father, and so she merely smiled and made some placating comment which seemed to satisfy him.

  ‘Come along,’ her father said now. ‘Let’s go downstairs, shall we? I could surely use a drink, couldn’t you?’

  Stephanie shrugged. ‘If you like.’

  Jennifer was in the lounge and they joined her. The only other invited guests, Harold Mortimer and his wife, and Robert McMaster’s sister, Evelyn Lacey, were meeting them at the register office. Stephanie had not thought her aunt would come, particularly as Jennifer was to be there, but apparently the idea of seeing her niece married had mellowed her attitude.

  As for Santino, Stephanie had not set eyes on him for three days, and Pietro had informed her that apart from himself and Mario and another man who also worked for Santino, Giulio Franciscus, he was inviting no one.

  Jennifer gave Stephanie a critical stare as she entered the room with her father, but she said nothing and Stephanie drank the small glass of sherry her father gave her silently. She would have preferred something more potent to bolster her morale, but as she was not used to alcohol perhaps it was just as well. Jennifer, in a silk suit of mimosa yellow, a coat of sables about her shoulders, looked quite stunning, and Stephanie wondered for the first time how she had felt when she had married Robert McMaster. For there were similarities between Jennifer’s marriage and her own. Robert was twenty years older than his wife, he had been married before, and he had had at that time a small daughter. But there the comparison ended. Jennifer must have wanted to marry her father, whereas she did not want to marry anyone.

  She was almost relieved when the car did arrive and Mario came into the room to inform them. Tall, like Santino, his hair generously sprinkled with grey, he was older than the other men and in other circumstances Stephanie could have liked him. As it was he reminded her too strongly of what was facing her.

  The drive to the register office was accomplished without incident, although a crowd of photographers were waiting outside and Mario had to elbow his way through to the door, making room for Stephanie and her father. Stephanie had put a fur coat about her own shoulders for the drive, but shed this when she reached the register office and adjusted her veil to her satisfaction. In truth she was delaying the moment when she must meet Santino, but when she entered the ante-room and he was there she knew she had to go on.

  Santino was wearing a charcoal grey lounge suit, his linen white and immaculate against the darkness of his skin. His thick hair was combed smoothly against his head and as he moved to shake hands with her father she noticed the heavy signet ring he wore on his left hand. Soon, she thought, feeling almost panic-stricken, she would notice everything about him, and she wondered with despair exactly what this marriage of expediency meant to him.

  Harold Mortimer and his wife were there, too, but Stephanie could not see her aunt after all. Maybe she had changed her mind, she thought philosophically, and then they were informed that they could go in and she had no more time for thinking.

  It was over so quickly, it hardly seemed possible that she was really married. But the broad gold band on her finger was real, and so was the warning pressure of Santino’s hand upon hers as he bent and kissed her formally on the forehead as they left the office. It was certainly the strangest wedding Stephanie had ever attended, and she was glad when they all got into their cars and drove to the luxury hotel where Santino was staying and where a small reception was being held.

  Santino sat beside Stephanie in the car and now Mario sat in front with the chauffeur and they were momentarily alone. It was almost the first time they had been alone, apart from brief periods during the past two weeks when always there was the possibility of either Pietro or Mario interrupting them. Pietro’s attitude seemed to have undergone a change since her engagement to Santino and Stephanie had supposed that like everybody else he found the arrangement hard to accept. But now a glass partition gave them privacy and Santino turned to look at his new wife with disturbingly brooding eyes.

  ‘So,’ he said softly. ‘It is done. You have behaved well.’

  Stephanie compressed her lips. ‘Am I supposed to be glad that you’re pleased?’ she exclaimed tremulously.

  He frowned. ‘Do not be bitter, Stephanie. Believe me, this is the best way for everyone.’

  Stephanie stared at him. ‘For you, perhaps. But not for me.’

  ‘And your father?’

  Stephanie clenched her fists. ‘Oh, yes, you would mention him, wouldn’t you? Haven’t you had your pound of flesh!’

  ‘Cosi, you are quoting me your English poet, no?’ He raised his dark brows quizzically. ‘You speak so carelessly, Stephanie, you seek to hide the fear that really makes you so angry.’

  Stephanie’s nails bit into the palms of her hands. ‘I’m not afraid of you, signor!’

  His eyes darkened. ‘No? Then perhaps you will be certain not to make that mistake again.’

  Stephanie realized what she had said. ‘I—I find it hard to use your name,’ she said defensively. ‘That’s all.’

  He sighed, reaching for his cigarettes. ‘We will not argue about it now, Stephanie. There is plenty of time for… everything.’

  Stephanie stared blindly out of the car’s windows. Time, she thought hysterically. That was the one thing she had too much of. Time to wake and time to sleep, and time to wonder exactly what he wanted of her.

  A delicious lunch was provided for the wedding guests, but although Stephanie endeavoured to behave naturally she found she simply could not swallow food. She drank several glasses of champagne, however, and began to feel quite light-headed until Santino noticed and firmly steered her towards the buffet tables.

  ‘Eat!’ he commanded insistently, and she lifted a canapé obediently and placed it in her mouth.

  ‘I’m really not hungry,’ she asserted, her words slightly slurred. ‘You can’t force food down my throat in the same way as you forced this marriage, Santino!’

  ‘Be quiet!’ His face was grim and forbidding. ‘Do not let me hear you make any further remarks like that, whether or not they can be overheard, do you understand me?’

  ‘You’re hurting my arm,’ she whimpered, as his fingers bit into her flesh, and he slackened his hold.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said coldly. ‘I did not mean to hurt you, but you will do as you are told, Stephanie, believe me!’

  Then someone came to speak to him and he walked away with a casual word of departure to her and she stood on by the buffet table and closed her eyes as a wave of panic overwhelmed her. She was aware suddenly that someone had come to stand beside her, and she glanced up quickly, dabbing a tear from her cheek. But it was only Pietro, and he did not do her the injustice of asking what was the matter. Instead, he said:

  ‘Someone else has just arrived, Stephanie. Is it your aunt? A Mrs. Lacey?’

  ‘Aunt Evelyn? Oh, yes, yes.’ Stephanie rubbed her cheeks vigorously. ‘Where—where is she? Do I—do I look all right?’

  ‘You look beautiful, cara!’ he murmured intensely, and for the first time Stephanie was glad of his regard.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and his eyes softened caressingly.

  ‘Just remember,’ he said softly, ‘I s
hall be there—if ever you need me!’

  Stephanie cast him a startled look and then with determination she walked across the room to her father and her aunt. Evelyn Lacey was a woman nearing sixty, who leant continually on a cane. She suffered badly from arthritis, and it was all the more reassuring that she had troubled to come to Stephanie’s wedding. She allowed her niece to kiss her cheek, and then said: ‘Well, Stephanie! So you’re a married woman now, are you?’

  Stephanie smiled. ‘Do you know my—my husband?’ She only faltered over the last word.

  ‘Santino Ventura? Yes, yes, of course I know him.’ Evelyn was impatient. ‘Robert tells me he was surprised at the union. I can’t say I was. It’s exactly what I expected.’

  Stephanie stared at her in amazement. ‘You expected it!’ she echoed faintly.

  ‘Why, of course. Santino’s a very attractive man. Were I thirty years—even twenty years younger, I’d be angling for him myself!’

  Stephanie almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Obviously Evelyn had no idea as to the reasons for their marriage despite her assertion that she knew Santino. ‘It’s very kind of you to say so,’ she managed, and became aware with a sudden heightening of her senses that Santino had come to stand beside her. She wasn’t sure how she knew it was him, but of course it was.

  ‘So there you are, Santino!’ Aunt Evelyn spoke almost archly. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you noticed I was here. I suppose I should congratulate you, shouldn’t I? After all, you’ve achieved what you wanted to achieve.’

  Santino’s face mellowed slightly and Stephanie saw a trace of a smile tugging at the comers of his mouth. ‘You are most kind, Mrs. Lacey,’ he replied gallantly.

  Evelyn Lacey gave an impatient shrug of her shoulders. ‘You’re a cool devil, I’ll say that for you.’ She glanced round at her brother. ‘Now, Robert, where’s that wife of yours? I suppose I should speak to her, shouldn’t I?’

  Robert blustered a little, but Jennifer’s voice was cool and modulated as she said: ‘Here I am, Evelyn. Just like the proverbial bad penny. You’re looking very well.’