by Anne Mather
Celeste’s eyes were sharp and cold. ‘I understood Emma went shopping on our first afternoon at the Palazzo. As she has done a couple of times since.’
Cesare wondered whether he ought to have mentioned anything to Celeste. With her temper she was quite likely to go back and make Emma’s life a misery.
‘I met Emma on the landing stage. She was at a loose end and so was I. I offered to show her a little of Venice. That was all.’ His tone was cool now, almost curt in his own annoyance at having opened his big mouth.
Celeste stared at him, and then looked away. From the set of her jaw Cesare was almost certain that Emma would hear of this.
‘Celeste,’ he said, purposely using a caressing tone, ‘cara mia, it was a perfectly innocent expedition. What else could it be? But my dear, if we are to become much closer acquainted, surely it is natural that I should want to get to know the girl who is my … well … your stepdaughter.’
He emphasized his words in such a way that Celeste was temporarily disarmed. When he chose to be charming she was unable to resist him, and by the time they reached the Palazzo. Cesare felt almost certain she had forgotten their earlier conversation.
He would have been less pleased had he witnessed the scene in Celeste’s bedroom that afternoon, when lunch was over, and the Contessa had gone to rest. Cesare had disappeared immediately after lunch, no one knew where, and Celeste called Emma into her room on the pretext that she wanted Emma to mend some lingerie for her. But once the door had closed, the heavy door which blotted all sound from outside or within, she turned on Emma like a cat attacking a mouse.
‘You little liar!’ she stormed furiously. ‘I could put you over my knee and slipper you for making a fool out of me!’
Emma straightened up in astonishment. ‘You might find that easier said than done,’ she remarked calmly, more calmly than she felt. But it was ridiculous to imagine a little creature like Celeste attacking her, a young Amazon, with a slipper.
‘Don’t be clever with me, Emma,’ warned Celeste angrily.
‘Well, what is it? What’s wrong? What have I done to cause this furore?’
‘You went out with Vidal, that’s what’s wrong!’ stormed Celeste. ‘And you told me you’d been shopping!’
Emma’s cheeks were burning, but she managed to retain her dignity. ‘Correction,’ she said quietly. ‘I said I was going shopping when I went out. When I came back, you didn’t ask me where I’d been.’
‘You sly minx!’ exclaimed Celeste. ‘Of course I didn’t ask you. I naturally assumed you had been shopping.’
‘Well, what of it?’ asked Emma wearily. ‘There’s nothing to know about it, anyway. The Count took me out in his motor boat. We went to the lagoon, that’s all. He was very polite, and very pleasant, and we certainly didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.’
Celeste looked slightly mollified. ‘Nevertheless, you will not do anything like that again, do you understand? If the Count asks you to go out with him, no matter how innocent, you will refuse. Do you see?’
‘I see that you’re a vain jealous woman,’ cried Emma, her eyes rather too bright now. ‘Oh, why can’t you let me go home, to England? I’m doing no good here. Let me go. Please!’
‘You’re doing plenty of good,’ retorted Celeste, beginning to look smug now. ‘The Count told me the Contessa has taken a liking to you. I understand she’s teaching you a little about art.’
‘Paintings, yes. Tintoretto and Canaletto have done a lot of work here. The Contessa is teaching me about them; it’s very interesting.’ Emma sighed. ‘But I would still like to go home.’
‘I’ll tell you when you can go home,’ said Celeste, quietly and firmly. ‘Now you can go. I want to rest. I had quite an energetic morning, one way and another.’
CHAPTER SIX
THAT evening Count Cesare took Celeste out to dinner. They had been invited to a ball being held in the palazzo of a friend of Count Cesare’s, and a few intimate friends, including the Count and his lady, had been invited for a meal before the ball.
Celeste wore a glittering silver lamé ball gown, and a fortune in jewels about her throat and wrists, and Emma saw them enter a huge gondola, decked with scarlet trappings, from her bedroom window. The Count looked dark and sinisterly attractive in evening clothes, and Emma wondered whether she had dreamt the instant response she had aroused in him when he held her close against him. Certainly during the last two days he had given no sign that anything of consequence had happened between them, and had treated her with polite indifference, almost as though they had never met at any time other than within the sight of either his grandmother or her stepmother.
His attitude had caused her many bad moments, for she could not forget the incident so easily, and every time he came near her, she recalled the warm insistence of his body, and the clean, male smell about him.
The next morning, Celeste breakfasted in her room. Since her arrival at the Palazzo, she had always roused herself to come to the breakfast table, simply to see Count Cesare, Emma privately thought, but today Anna announced that the Signora had a bad headache after the ball the previous evening, and would the Contessa excuse her if she spent part, if not all, the day in bed.
‘But of course,’ exclaimed the Contessa warmly, to Anna. ‘Please convey my sincere condolences to the Signora, and tell her that she may stay in bed as long as she wishes.’
‘Si, si, Contessa,’ Anna nodded, and went to attend to this request, and then she returned and spoke to Count Cesare, who had been sitting idly drinking cups of coffee, and studying the daily journal.
‘Signore, the picnic basket you desired, this will not be necessary now, no?’
Cesare looked up, and then he looked purposely at Emma.
‘Si,’ he said, nodding. ‘It will be necessary. The Signorina Emma and I will use it, eh?’
The Contessa looked at her grandson strangely. ‘You are taking Celeste on a picnic today?’
‘Yes, Contessa. But as you have heard, she cannot come.’
The Contessa bit her lip. ‘And now you intend taking … Emma?’
Emma shivered involuntarily, despite the heat of the morning. Count Cesare’s words both overjoyed and frightened her in turn, and she was aware that her face gave away her emotions.
Cesare moved restlessly. ‘If Emma wants to go. And you do want to go, don’t you, Emma?’
Emma swallowed hard. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To an island I know. Out in the lagoon. One of the small, deserted islands I told you about. There is a small chalet there, suitable for changing, and the beach is ideal for swimming from. The water is warm, and we will have plenty of time to swim and sunbathe.’
The Contessa stretched out a hand and gripped her grandson’s arm. ‘Cesare, are you sure …’ Her voice trailed away. ‘You are making it terribly difficult for Emma to refuse, even if she wanted to.’ She looked anxiously at her goddaughter’s stepdaughter. ‘Emma, are you sure you want to go?’
For some reason, the Contessa wanted her to refuse. But why? Unless she was aware that her grandson was a dangerous companion for an impressionable young girl, and a deserted island was hardly the place for two unattached people to go at any time.
Emma knew also that she ought to refuse. By even agreeing to accompany him she was creating a terrible situation for herself with Celeste, and no doubt a prolonged period with Vidal Cesare would create difficulties of a very different, and more provocative, kind. But she wanted to go; to spend several hours alone with him, and just at that moment, she didn’t much care what Celeste might do or say on their return.
‘I’d like to go very much,’ she said, refusing to look at Cesare. ‘That is, if you don’t mind, Contessa.’
The Contessa leaned back, releasing her grandson’s arm. ‘Of course I have no objections; how could I have?’ She looked somehow defeated.
Cesare looked across at Emma. ‘Do you have a bathing suit?.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then get it, and we’ll go. Before anyone else thinks up some reason why we shouldn’t. Is the picnic basket prepared, Anna?’
‘Oh, si, signore. As you said,’ Anna nodded.
‘Bene. Get it, Anna, there’s a good girl. Emma! Have you finished your breakfast?’
Emma was spared the necessity of going in to say good-bye to Celeste by Anna, who told her that her stepmother had closed her eyes again and was resting, and it might be as well not to disturb her. Emma felt sure that Anna had guessed the situation correctly and wanted to spare her any last-minute lectures.
The spectacular scenery of the morning, with sunlight gilding the spires and campaniles of the city, relieved Emma of the necessity of making polite conversation with Count Cesare as he guided the motor launch through the narrow canals and waterways that led from his palazzo to the waters of the lagoon. She pretended to be too absorbed in her surroundings to pay much attention to him, whereas in actual fact her whole body throbbed with an awareness of his presence, of the lean tanned arms, bare to the elbows, which rested lazily on the wheel, of the lithe strength of his body, and the sometimes quizzical glances he cast in her direction. She had changed the unbecoming dress, one of the new ones Celeste had bought her, for a pair of wide-fitting yellow trews, worn together with a caftan-styled over-blouse. The blouse was a jungle print, its vivid colours adding warmth and attractiveness to her usually pale cheeks, and her hair hung straight and silky-smooth to her shoulders.
At last, as the islands of the city were left behind them, Emma felt compelled to say something, and turning to Cesare she said:
‘I’m sorry to inflict myself on you like this.’
Cesare’s eyes grew mocking. ‘Sweet Emma, don’t start that again. I thought we agreed the last time I took you out that we were to be friends, and nothing more. As such, I want to get to know you better. To find out what interests you.’
‘Everything interests me,’ remarked Emma, deliberately baulking him. ‘What interests you?’
Cesare grinned. ‘Many things! Like you, I am open to suggestion.’
‘Stop mocking me,’ she said, becoming annoyed. She was unused to this kind of thrust and parry conversation.
‘Why should I? You rise so beautifully to the bait. Emma, why can’t you accept things as they are? Why do you continually try to find reasons for everything? If I choose to take you for a picnic, that’s not so terrible, is it? You had every opportunity to refuse.’
‘I think you’re trying to make Celeste jealous,’ remarked Emma at last. ‘And maybe it amuses you to have someone to torment. Like your ancestors of old, perhaps you enjoy finding new ways of torture.’
Cesare stared at her for a moment, and then he burst out laughing, shaking his head.
‘Oh, Dio, Emma, you do persist in being obstinate, don’t you?’ He sobered a little. ‘It might interest you to know that despite the difference in our ages I enjoy your company, for yourself alone, and believe me, I have no desire to arouse your stepmother’s wrath. On the contrary, my grandmother expects great things of our association.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ retorted Emma, and turned her back on him.
He drew out his cigarettes and offered her one, his arm curving round her from behind, placing the case near her hand. Emma took one in the hope of calming her nerves and then moved away from him jerkily, so that he swore angrily, as he held out his lighter.
‘You had better do it yourself,’ he said coldly. ‘Since it is obvious you cannot rid yourself of a feeling of alarm in my presence.’ His lips sneered. ‘Must I repeat yet again, you are young enough to be my daughter.’
Emma flicked the lighter awkwardly, almost dropping it into the canal, and Cesare sighed as he watched her.
‘Give it to me,’ he said impatiently, and taking the lighter he lit it easily, holding it out for her cigarette. Emma steadied his hand with the tips of her fingers, and shivered at the contact. His skin was cool and firm, and when she looked up unexpectedly she encountered the penetrating intensity of his gaze.
Then his long lashes veiled his eyes, and he lit his own cigarette, and thrust the lighter back into the pocket of his close-fitting navy blue pants. He was also wearing a dark blue knitted shirt with short sleeves, and the sombre attire contributed to his foreign air so evident today.
Emma drew on her cigarette, and standing back glanced down into the tiny cabin below them. Twin bunks separated by a polished wood table, were adjoined by a small cooker and a covered basin, while wall cupboards fitted the opposite area. Bookshelves, generously filled with paperback novels, curved round the end of the cabin, and the whole gave an appearance of comfortable living.
Cesare watched her, and then said: ‘Go make us some coffee. You’ll find all the necessary equipment in the cupboards.’
Glad of something to do, Emma agreed, and descended the several small steps to the cabin below. It was an enjoyable experience acting steward in the small galley, and when the milk was heating on the stove she glanced at the paperbacks, which were unfortunately all Italian, and opened cupboard doors to discover their contents.
There was a fully fitted cocktail cupboard above the bookcase, with a plentiful supply of liquor, while cut glass goblets and china, together with real silverware, supplied the necessary eating utensils.
Emma made a moue with her lips, wondering whether in fact these things were important to Count Cesare. It was obvious his grandmother considered that anything was acceptable providing the fortunes of the Cesare family were restored, but did the Count really not care about selling himself for such a price? Emma sighed, shaking her head. It was just as distasteful to her now as it had been when Celeste first broached the subject, and she knew she ought to be feeling nothing but contempt for a man who would prostitute himself in this way.
She bent and opened the cupboard beneath a small basin, wondering why she felt so curious about him. It had never been her nature to probe private personalities, for with Celeste it had been easy to assess her selfish nature. But with Count Cesare it was as though she wanted to find a decent reason for what he was doing, to justify the wholly undesirable awareness of him she was unable to dispel.
In the cupboard there was nothing but a guitar case, and she frowned, remembering suddenly how she had seen him enter the Palazzo so stealthily that first morning with just such a case. Emma lifted it out. She used to know a boy who had played a guitar and had herself attempted to strum a melody. The boy had said she had promise, for music came easily to her and the guitar was a very soothing instrument.
Lifting the lid, she was astonished to discover not the guitar she had expected but instead underwater diving equipment. There was a gleaming black rubber suit, goggles and breathing cylinders. All that was missing was the oxygen cylinders. How extraordinary!
‘Basta! Dio, what in hell do you think you are doing?’
Emma swung round guiltily, a hand to her throat. ‘Signore?’ she faltered.
Cesare descended the steps to her side. ‘I asked what you thought you were doing,’ he muttered furiously. ‘How dare you poke and pry like some peeping tomcat?’
Emma’s cheeks burned uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry, signore,’ she managed, still unable to assimilate her misdemeanour with his incensed anger.
‘So you ought to be! I do not recall giving you permission to investigate my private possessions.’
Emma was regaining some of her composure, and anger was taking the place of embarrassment.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘What have I done? Opened a silly old guitar case that didn’t hold a guitar at all.’
Cesare, also, seemed to be controlling his temper now, and he closed the case with a definite click.
‘Scusi, signorina,’ he said coldly. ‘I was rude. But in future I should be grateful if you would not allow your curiosity such free rein among my possessions.’
Emma sighed. It had been her fault after all, and whatever she thought privately, he was within his
rights to complain.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said slowly. Then, as the smell of burning became evident to them both, she exclaimed, ‘Oh! The milk! Now look what’s happened!’
Cesare lifted the burnt pan from the gas, and turned off the jet. Then he dropped it into the basin, filling it with water. He looked at Emma strangely, and shrugged his broad shoulders.
‘Come, we will say no more about it. Let us have a can of lager instead of coffee. It is very warm, and I am thirsty.’
Emma agreed and went up on to the deck of the launch while Cesare pierced a couple of cans of lager, lifted two glasses, and followed her. Emma seated herself in the rear of the boat, and accepted a glass of lager from her host awkwardly. She still felt incredibly naïve and stupid, and was sure she had ruined the rest of the day.
Cesare seated himself beside her on the low wooden seat. He swallowed a mouthful of lager appreciatively, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand lazily. ‘That was good!’ he remarked, and suddenly smiled. ‘All right, Emma, all right. I have apologized. But occasionally something happens for which you can offer no explanation, except the obvious one, that there is an explanation but I cannot divulge it.’
Emma sipped her drink, and then looked at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I know. But maybe one day you will. All I can say is that I wish you would forget you ever opened that case and saw its contents, si?’
She frowned, her brow furrowed. ‘Forget it?’
‘That is correct. Is that so much to ask?’
Emma shook her head.
‘Good. Then we are friends again. I must admit I was not so concerned about you peering into my cupboards and opening my books.’
Emma was baffled.
‘Now. Have I your word that you will not mention this incident to anyone? And I mean anyone.’
‘Of course,’ said Emma shortly, brushing back her heavy hair with a careless hand, and giving her attention to the drifting waters of the lagoon.