by Anne Mather
‘It’s not a ridiculous game!’ she flared hotly. ‘I’ve coped. All right, your antique furniture hasn’t been polished, and the carpets all need vacuuming, and there’s dust in the rooms that aren’t used, but we have managed! Lucia and Maria have continued their lives almost unchanged, except that Lucia likes to help me when she gets the chance. Pietro has been an absolute angel—’
‘Ah yes, Pietro!’ His brow darkened. ‘Where is he?’
Stephanie pressed her lips together. ‘He—he’s gone into Palermo, on business.’
‘I’m surprised he finds time for his work engrossed as he is with household affairs,’ remarked Santino, with cutting sarcasm.
Stephanie made a helpless gesture. ‘You—you won’t try to understand, will you?’
‘As I see it, you have behaved in a foolhardy manner, dismissing Sophia out of hand, and taking on the running of the castello without the first idea how to accomplish it—’
‘I didn’t dismiss Sophia!’ Stephanie stared at him indignantly.
‘Oh, of course, you would say that. All right, let us say you made it impossible for her to stay!’
‘I did no such thing. I merely wanted to have some say in the running of the castello. Surely that isn’t too much to ask?’
Santino allowed his arms to fall to his sides. ‘What do you know about running the castello?’ he snapped contemptuously. ‘Sophia has lived here for thirty years! Surely it is obvious that you cannot teach her anything about her job—’
Stephanie wrapped the towel closer about her, wishing she did not always feel at such a disadvantage when she was talking to him. ‘I—I didn’t expect to teach her anything,’ she retorted. ‘I wanted her to teach me!’
‘But why? When Sancia was here—’
Stephanie had had just about enough and her impassioned emotions suddenly seemed to erupt. ‘Oh, yes, Sancia!’ she snapped sharply. ‘I wondered how long it would be before her name came into this discussion! It seems as though everything that happens around here is compared in some way to the way things used to be when Sancia was here!’ She took a deep breath, uncaring of the carved lines that had begun to deepen beside his mouth and on his forehead which were a forewarning of his anger. ‘Your wife—your first wife, that is—is no longer mistress here, I am! You brought me here, you forced me to come, you made me what I am, and now you have got to take the consequences! I can’t help what Sancia used to do. Maybe she was content to let life go on around her and take no part in it! I’m not like that! I’m me! An emancipated woman, not some—some sweet, feminine creature who was happy in the knowledge of her master’s indulgence, content to while away her days sewing and gardening and painting—’
‘Silenzio!’
His lapse into his own language should have been sufficient warning to Stephanie that she had gone too far, but in spite of the blazing fury in his eyes she went on. It was as though everything that had happened to her in the month since she first met him at her father’s house had been building up into a balloon of resentment that had suddenly burst and shattered her reason. ‘I won’t be silent!’ she almost shouted the words at him. ‘You brought me here, but I’m not your puppet, and you’re not my master!’
Santino stepped forward, grasping her wrist in a cruel grip. ‘You will not speak to me like this!’ he bit out savagely. ‘You will not mention Sancia’s name with such derision!’
‘Why? Why?’ Stephanie was too frightened now to be cautious. ‘Why shouldn’t I defend myself in any way I can? I’m a human being, you know, not an automaton like you!’
He was so close now she could see the pulse that was beating heavily in his cheek and see the muscle jerking at his jawline. In spite of the heat of the afternoon, he was immaculately attired as usual in a sleek navy blue suit, while his linen was as usual immaculately white against his dark skin. His clothes always fitted him closely, as though his tailor took an immense delight in designing them for him, and they accentuated his intense masculinity. The long fingers gripping her wrist so unrelentingly were like slender bands of steel, and the ruthlessness she had seen in his eyes was so much closer now. Stephanie put a protective hand to her throat, and he thrust his face close to hers.
‘In Sicily a man is obeyed by his wife!’ he said grimly. ‘In Sicily the man is the master! And whether you like it or not you are the wife of a Sicilian and therefore answerable to me! Do I make myself clear?’
Stephanie quivered in his grasp, in the enveloping devastation of his strength, but she would not allow him to see that he was winning. ‘And is it also true that in Sicily a man bullies his wife into submission?’ she exclaimed unsteadily.
Santino looked down at her rakingly, his insolently appraising gaze making Stephanie feel the heat of embarrassment covering her body. The towel was a totally inadequate shield between her and his contemptuous stare and she hated the humiliation of it all.
With a final effort to make him release her she brought her hand up sharply and swung it hard against his face. The sound of that slap rang chillingly in the still air and Stephanie stared horrified as the red marks of her fingers began to appear on his cheek.
But instead of making Santino release her, it had the completely opposite effect, in that he wrenched her violently towards him, sliding angry fingers around her slender throat. He glared down at her furiously, his gaze taking in the trembling awareness of her parted lips and the tear-wet brilliance of her eyes. Stephanie, for her part, after that initial tremor of fear, found other sensations disturbing her. The closeness of his body was agonizingly disruptive to her nervous system, particularly as the muscles of his legs were hard against hers. She could smell the clean male smell about him intermingling with the heat of his body and knew the strangest desire to press herself against him and disturb him as he was disturbing her. She had thought him immune from awareness of her as a woman, but somehow she sensed now that he too was experiencing emotions that anger had no part of.
The fingers round her throat tightened momentarily, as though he would destroy the weakness she sensed in him, but then they became gentler, caressing the smooth skin of her throat and shoulders with rhythmic movements so that she closed her eyes to prevent him seeing the aching longing that suddenly gripped her. It was madness, she thought wildly, allowing him to touch her like this, knowing what manner of man he was and what an opinion he had of her, but she could not help it. The tentative experimental experiences she had had with Allan had not prepared her for this sensual sinking into feeling that was overwhelming her, so that all she was conscious of was the touch of his hands, and the nearness of his body, and the trembling suffocating tightness in her throat.
Santino tipped her face back with his thumbs under her jawline and her eyes flickered open to encounter the passionate intensity of his. He seemed to be fighting some inward battle of his own, and the muscle in his cheek jerked more visibly as he allowed his gaze to drop to her mouth, lingering there for a long moment before continuing down the column of her throat to her breast. ‘Dio mio,’ he muttered thickly, the words torn from him with obvious reluctance, ‘ti voglio, I want you!’
With a groan he pulled her closely against him, his hands in the small of her back, his mouth parting hers with shattering urgency. Stephanie had no thought to resist him. Already she was consumed with the desire to know the demanding pressure of his mouth and his hard body, and her bare arms wound themselves round his neck as she arched closer.
Whatever kind of existence Santino had led in the years since Sancia’s death he had certainly lost none of the expertise to reduce Stephanie to a state of mind where she could not even think coherently, and even when he lifted her on to the bed she did not resist. She was lost in a world of loving that made submission to this man not only desirable but necessary.
Santino himself had for the moment lost complete control, and Stephanie’s yielding body in his arms drove all sane thoughts from his brain so that he buried his face in the thick softness of her hair, murmur
ing to her passionately in his own language, showing her how human he could be…
CHAPTER NINE
BUT the delight was only momentary.
As though from a distance Stephanie heard Lucia’s shrill little voice exclaiming: ‘Papa! Papa! Che cosa fai?’ and at once Santino stiffened, thrusting himself up and away from her almost violently.
Stephanie looked at him as he rose and saw the twisted grimace of self-loathing which crossed his face as he endeavoured to button his shirt and tighten his tie before turning to face his daughter. His eyes flickered over Stephanie with almost chilling indifference, and she wrapped the towel closely about her, sitting up too, averting her eyes from his. She would not have believed he could revert so swiftly to the cold, detached being she was used to dealing with, and not even the smile he gave Lucia could dispel the bitter self-derision from his eyes.
Lucia came towards him slowly, looking curiously at Stephanie, who knew she must make some effort to appear normal. Rising to her feet, she gave what she hoped was a bright smile and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Let Santino talk to Lucia, let him give her whatever explanation he thought fit. She could not bear to sit there knowing that he despised her for behaving so shamelessly and despised himself still more for responding to her.
She waited in the bathroom until there were no sounds in the bedroom and when she emerged she found the room was empty, the door closed securely behind them. Only then did she give a shuddering sigh and sink down weakly on to the bed. Remembrance of the scene with Santino was so vivid in her mind that it was impossible to think of anything else, and she looked searchingly at her reflection in the dressing table mirror half expecting to see some kind of change in her appearance. But apart from faint bruises on her throat where his fingers had gripped her and a bruised softness about her mouth eloquent of his lovemaking, she was still the same girl. She shivered as she sat there and she put a careless hand to her hair to see whether it was still damp. But it had dried and the ends curled rather tenuously about her fingers. She looked down at her toes and tried to calm her inner emotions. Someone would have to prepare dinner this evening and it was getting late. Whatever Santino expected of her he would not expect to starve and it was up to her to dress and go downstairs and deal with everything as before. But to think of doing such a thing and actually putting such a plan into operation were two entirely different things, and she thought she would die if Santino looked at her again as he had looked at her when Lucia appeared and interrupted them. How could she prepare the meal and then sit with him while he ate it, knowing he hated and despised her…
Eventually, of course, she pulled herself together sufficiently to dress and almost defiantly she put on casual cotton trousers and a scarlet poplin shirt, uncaring that her clothes were unsuitable for evening dinner. As she descended the staircase, she heard the sound of a car and a feeling of relief swept over her. That would be Pietro. Right now she needed his reassuring presence.
But the sound of the car’s engine receded instead of increasing and she realized that it must be Santino’s car departing. At once, regardless of her earlier feelings, she felt a sense of desolation. That he should care so little about her feelings to drive off in the early evening, uncaring that she might be preparing a meal for him was too much.
Tears of self-pity stung her eyes and she dashed them away with an angry hand. She would not get upset about him, she told herself fiercely, she would not allow his indifference to distress her so. After all, he had made no pretence about his reasons for bringing her here, and just because she had got him so angry that he lost control for a few moments was not sufficient reason for her to imagine she could make any demands upon him. Nothing had changed, except that he had proved he was still very much a man.
In the kitchen the chicken was beginning to smell overcooked and she hastily dragged it off the heat and stirred the pan vigorously. Then she put on the vegetables before tackling the meringue pie. She worked for about fifteen minutes before anyone appeared and then it was only Maria who came through the door from the hall.
Stephanie looked up quickly. ‘Hello, Maria,’ she said, casually. ‘Where—where is everybody?’
Maria came right into the room. ‘Lucia—she go out with the signore,’ she intimated, nodding her head slowly. ‘You see him?’
‘The signore? Yes, I saw him.’ Stephanie turned away to put a pan on to the stove. ‘Did—er—did you know he was coming back?’
‘Che?’ Maria frowned.
Stephanie sighed. ‘The signore! You sent for him?’
Maria threw up her hands in alarm. ‘Oh, no, no, signora. E terribile!’
‘I know.’ Stephanie turned back to the table. ‘But if you didn’t tell him, who did?’ She was speaking almost to herself, but Maria said:
‘Prego, signora! Che cosa dici?’
Stephanie shook her head. ‘Niente, Maria. It’s not important. Signor Pietro? Is he back yet?’
‘Signor Pietro, signora? E a Palermo.’ Maria’s anxious face mirrored her concern. ‘You wish I help?’ She indicated the dirty dishes on the table.
Stephanie hesitated and then shook her head. ‘Grazie, Maria, ma no! I can manage.’
Maria sighed. She obviously wanted to help, but like Stephanie she had been thrown off balance by the unexpected return of her master. If only she could have discussed it with Maria, Stephanie thought regretfully. It would have been so nice to share her troubles with someone. But her conversations with Maria were always stilted, relying as they did on the few sentences each of them knew of the other’s language, and Stephanie thought that when things reverted to normal again, if they ever did, she must make a determined effort to learn more of the language.
Maria departed and Stephanie clattered the dirty pans into the sink. A rising sense of frustration was rapidly taking the place of her earlier lapse into self-pity and she thought, rather impatiently, that Santino had a nerve walking out like that and taking Lucia with him. After all, he had not even bothered to tell her he was going and she was left here like some kitchen drudge to prepare a meal without the least idea who would be there to eat it.
In the event, there was only Maria and herself to share the chicken and vegetables and rice, and as Stephanie was not in the least hungry most of it was left. The cherry meringue pie went untouched and before making the coffee they washed up. Although Stephanie was glad of Maria’s company to begin with, the old woman’s attitude began to disturb her. Since darkness had fallen upon the castello Maria started at every sound, her eyes darting continually to the door as though she expected someone to appear and pounce upon her at any moment, and Stephanie could only assume that she was worried because Lucia was out so late.
Eventually she took the tea cloth from her and said: ‘Go to your room, Maria. You look tired. You’ll hear the car when the signore returns.’
Maria stared at her with wide eyes. ‘Dov’e il padrone?’ she exclaimed. ‘Where is the signore?’
Stephanie gave a resigned sigh. ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ she replied, and then: ‘I don’t know, Maria. I don’t know.’
Maria clutched convulsively at her apron. ‘I should not have stayed,’ she said tremulously.
Stephanie, who had been piling the dishes together preparatory to putting them away, stopped what she was doing to stare at her. ‘What do you mean? You shouldn’t have stayed?’
Maria shook her head from side to side in an unhappy motion. ‘When Sophia left—I should leave also!’ she replied, pointing to herself.
Stephanie gave an exasperated exclamation. ‘Whatever are you on about now?’ she exclaimed. She had had just about enough today and Maria’s unexpected recriminations were the last straw.
Maria continued to sway from side to side. ‘I should have gone,’ she repeated shakily. ‘I should not stay here. Il padrone—he very very angry—’
‘Well, he will have to stop being very very angry,’ snapped Stephanie impatiently. ‘What else was ther
e to do in the circumstances?’
Whether or not Maria understood what she was saying was doubtful, but the tone of Stephanie’s voice got through to her and she stopped swaying to stare at her mistress.
‘You do not understand,’ she said, twisting her apron, agitatedly. ‘Temo, signora!’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Stephanie thrust the plates away in their cupboard and straightened angrily. ‘What are you afraid of? No one can harm you here. I’m here! Besides, the signore is not that kind of a man!’
Maria’s face crumpled. ‘Devo andare, signora!’
‘But you can’t go now.’ Stephanie made a helpless gesture. ‘It’s dark. You can’t go down to the village alone in the dark.’
Maria shook her head. ‘You take me, signora?’
‘No, I won’t take you!’ Stephanie unfastened her apron and hung it away on the hook. Then she sighed as she saw Maria’s dejected face. ‘Look, Maria, what’s brought this on? You knew the signore would come back sooner or later!’
‘The signore is very angry with Maria,’ she repeated.
‘So?’ Stephanie raked a hand through her tangled hair. ‘Maria, are you trying to tell me the signore would use some means to punish you?’ Stephanie stared at her intently realizing she did not understand what she was saying. Marie was an ignorant old woman and obviously she had taken whatever Santino had said to her badly. Besides, what had she done wrong? Stephanie was to blame, if blame there was. It was simply that it was a particularly dark night and the castello was a large and perhaps frightening place to share with only one other person. Even so, Stephanie was not perturbed and she had not even thought about it until now. However, Maria’s fears were obviously real to her and Stephanie was not insensitive of this. Heaving a sigh, she studied Maria’s lined face with compassion, and placing both hands on the back of her neck, she said: ‘All right. All right, Maria. I’ll take you down to the village if that will make you happy.’