She could still see the distinctive bell tower of Saint Mark’s ahead of her, above the jumbled rooftops, but instead of getting closer to it she seemed to be getting further away.
She’d intended to make her way back to Saint Mark’s Square and maybe take a photo of the basilica on her phone to send to Lou, and prove that she really was in Venice. Instead she found herself wandering further and further off the beaten track. The little passageways were filled with the smell of frying garlic from the kitchens of tiny trattoria frequented only by locals. Eve’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t done as Raphael had instructed and made herself some breakfast at the palazzo. She had discovered the dingy, old-fashioned kitchen and retreated hastily, preferring to find a café.
Although for the first time in her life she wasn’t craving chocolate.
This really must be love.
She crossed a little bridge, nodded politely at an old woman coming the other way, and paused before entering a narrow passageway between two tall, crumbling buildings. It smelt suffocatingly of damp and decay, and she found her heart was beating so hard that she feared the sound must be echoing off the high walls above her. She hesitated, wondering whether to retrace her steps and ask the old woman for directions, but pride and her inadequate Italian prevented her. Quickening her pace, she walked on.
The passageway opened out into a small, sunlit square with a café at the far end. The campanile was to the right of her now, so she must have come almost full circle and now be heading back in the direction of St Mark’s. She breathed a grateful sigh of relief, and was just wondering whether to stop and order some tea or keep going when the blood seemed to freeze in her veins.
For a second she thought she was going to faint. Blackness blocked out the sun, and blindly she stretched a hand out behind her, groping for the support of a wall to lean on. Gradually her vision cleared, and she was able to see for certain that her first glance had been horribly, sickeningly accurate.
Raphael was leaning across a table, clasping the hands of a fragile-looking dark-haired woman. He had his back towards her, but there was no mistaking the deep indigo linen shirt, the sharply slanting sweep of cheekbone that was all she could see of his face beneath the dark hair. And, she realised with another sickening lurch of her stomach, there was no mistaking his intimacy with the woman opposite him. Holding both her hands between both of his, he was leaning towards her, speaking intently to her. There was no way this was a casual encounter with an old acquaintance.
Or a business meeting.
And then, in front of Eve’s horrified eyes, he half rose from his seat and took the woman’s face in his hands to press a kiss onto her trembling mouth.
Clapping her hand to her mouth, to try and stifle the terrible sobs that threatened to tear her apart, Eve turned on her heel and ran.
* * *
‘Don’t ask me to do this, Raphael, please!’
Raphael tightened his grip on Catalina’s hands.
‘I wouldn’t if I had any other way of getting Luca locked up. You’re our only chance, Cat. You said yourself that most of the other girls who’ve fallen into his clutches are either lost in the drugs underworld and wouldn’t be reliable witnesses or are dead. Like your friend—Ellie, was it? You’d be given absolute protection and treated with complete respect. I promise.’
He felt some of the fight go out of her.
‘I trust you Raphael. Va bene,’ she whispered.
‘You’ll do it?’
‘Si, I’ll try.’
Almost dizzy with relief, Raphael felt like leaping up and doing a victory dance around the square, but he settled instead for stretching across the table and giving her a quick kiss of pure gratitude. As he sat down again he saw the colour drain from her cheeks and an expression of utter terror come over her face. Wide-eyed and ashen-faced she leapt to her feet, almost overturning the table as she stared at a spot just over his shoulder.
Instantly Raphael was beside her, taking her in his arms.
‘Cat? Cat! What’s wrong? What’s the matter?’
She pointed a shaking finger across the square. ‘She was there! She was! She looked at me!’
Raphael glanced over his shoulder.
‘Who?’ ‘Ellie!’
‘Ellie? Your friend who died?’
Catalina nodded, burying her face in Raphael’s shoulder and sobbing brokenly. Automatically Raphael patted her back, making soft sounds of comfort while his mind raced.
He knew all about the hallucinations that were an after-effect of addiction. Damn. Talking about the past had probably triggered something off. She clearly wasn’t as together as he’d first thought.
‘There’s no one there, Cat. Shh … There’s no one there. Come on, cara, let’s get you home.’
Grimly he pulled some money from his pocket and left it on the table, then took the arm of a sobbing, incoherent Catalina.
The tantalising image of Eve in bed at the palazzo taunted him, and he cursed inwardly. It looked as if this was going to take a while, after all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BLINDED by her tears, Eve continued to run, without hesitating to think where she was going. Dimly she was aware of going back over the bridge she had crossed only minutes before. But that seemed like a different lifetime. She was almost surprised to see the same old woman, only a short way along the canal-side from the bridge. How could everything else be so absurdly normal when her world had just collapsed about her ears?
Eventually a stabbing pain in her side forced her to stop running, and she sank down in a doorway and wept.
No wonder Raphael had seemed so uptight this morning. And no wonder he had been so vague about when he would be back. With another flood of anguish she remembered his impatience as he’d said—what was it?—It could be over very quickly; it might take most of the day. This woman must be an old flame he had been hoping to rekindle, and he hadn’t been sure what kind of reception he’d get.
Well, he certainly seemed to have lucked out, Eve thought savagely. From the way he’d leaned over and kissed her it didn’t look as if he was going to be heading back to the palazzo any time soon.
She’d been so stupid. Stupid and naïve. Right from the moment they had first set eyes on each other she had thought that the feelings that existed between herself and Raphael were rare and extraordinary. She had been so overwhelmed by their power that she’d put herself in a position of potential danger to be with him, and her discovery last night that he wasn’t what she’d thought had been a moment of pure joy.
Well, he might not be a drug pushing low-life, but he was a two-timing liar. And the way she felt now, that was just about as bad as it got.
‘Eve? Eve, cara, I thought it was you! Tesoro, what is wrong?’
‘Luca! Oh, Luca … How did you …?’
‘My hotel is over there. Oh, bambino, tell me—what has made you cry?’
Next moment she was in his arms, her head buried in his shoulder as she wept. He smelled of cigarettes and booze, and she found herself thinking that it was a far cry from Raphael’s clean, lemony tang, but he was familiar, and he was here—and for that she was immensely grateful.
Gently he held her away from him and peered into her face. ‘Shh, cara, shh. It is Raphael, no?’
She nodded dumbly.
‘Is he hurt?’
There was something slightly wild in Luca’s eyes, and he shook her by the shoulder a little as he asked the question again. Taking deep, shuddering breaths Eve managed to shake her head again.
‘I saw him with … with … another woman. In a café. He was …’ For a moment tears choked her again, and she gratefully took the handkerchief that Luca offered her. After blowing her nose she continued, struggling to keep calm. ‘They were holding hands. And then he kissed her.’
Luca gave a low whistle. ‘What did she look like, this woman?’
Eve shrugged dejectedly. ‘Long dark hair, very slim … I don’t know. Kind of fragile-l
ooking, I suppose. Like an anorexic version of Alessandra.’
Luca’s eyes glittered and he looked oddly pleased. ‘Catalina.’
‘You know her?’ Eve wailed.
‘Si. She and Raphael had a big thing a few years ago, when she was modelling for Lazaro. But wait, cara,’ he said soothingly, as Eve started a fresh bout of sobbing, ‘it was all over a long time ago. I can’t imagine for a minute that Raphael would want her back now.’
‘Wh-why n-not?’ Eve gulped. She didn’t like the tone of Luca’s voice.
‘Because she is damaged goods, cara, that is why. Drink, drugs and a whole lot of depravity have taken their toll. Believe me, I speak as one who knows. She has most definitely lost her youthful sparkle.’ He smiled nastily and stroked a finger down Eve’s cheek. ‘Unlike you, mio carino. Come—I know where Catalina’s apartment is. Let us go there and—’
‘No! I couldn’t! I don’t want to see them!’
‘Calm down, bambino, calm down. You are jumping to conclusions. We’ll go there, and I bet we find Catalina alone. You will meet her and you’ll see what I mean about her. Then you will go back to Raphael and give him big kiss and tell him how silly you are. Yes?’
Eve scrubbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief, feeling the tiniest glimmer of optimism. If Luca thought she was being silly, maybe she was.
‘OK.’
‘Bene. Let’s go.’
‘Nearly there, cara. Catalina’s appartemente is in that building there, on the first floor.’
Eve followed his gaze. Like many of Venice’s buildings, the one he pointed out was painted a soft shade of ochre, and in spite of the fact that the paint was peeling and the stonework flaking it had about in an air of faded grandeur. The three storeys above street level were each dominated by tall, elegant windows, some of which opened onto tiny balconies, and the huge door to the building was set into an elaborate stone frame. The whole impression was of a building where important things had happened over the centuries.
Eve just hoped nothing important was going on there now.
Her footsteps slowed as they approached, until Luca was virtually dragging her along. She stopped altogether as they drew level with the building.
And then she saw them.
‘No,’ she rasped, staring up in disbelief. ‘Oh, God. Luca, look. In the window.’
For a moment Luca didn’t speak, and in awful fascination they watched Raphael unbutton Catalina’s dress, then kiss her forehead.
‘I’m sorry, bambino, so sorry. It seems you were right,’ Luca murmured.
He had to force her to turn away, but by that time she had already seen Raphael lower the bedroom blind. Tears were coursing silently down her cheeks as Luca led her briskly back the way they had come.
After receiving the news of Ellie’s death Eve remembered the curious feeling of numbness that had come over her. Everyone around her had treated her with the utmost gentleness, as if she were an intricate and unstable piece of finely tuned machinery that they were afraid of breaking. She hadn’t been able to cry.
She wished for a little of that numbness now. All she wanted to do was scream and rage and beat her fists on the floor, like a child having a tantrum in a toyshop. I want Raphael, I want Raphael! It’s not fair!
Going back to the palazzo was a particularly cruel torture. In a daze, Eve climbed the stairs which Raphael had carried her up only twenty-four hours previously.
‘Which room?’
‘Sorry?’
Luca rolled his eyes. ‘Which room are your things in? You forget, cara, this is Isabella’s palazzo. I have never been allowed inside it before. I do not know my way around.’
‘Here.’
It seemed incredible that everything looked just the same as when she had left it just a couple of hours ago. The unmade bed—the scene of such joy and passion—seemed to mock her, and throwing herself down upon it she buried her face in the rumpled sheets, breathing in the lingering scent of sex and Raphael.
‘Come on, bella, don’t cry.’
She knew she was beginning to frustrate Luca, but she didn’t care. His initial tenderness was starting to give way to a restlessness that frightened her a little.
‘Your bag? Where is it?’
‘I’m not sure. Raphael put it …’ She bit her lip against another surge of tears. ‘There it is—under the bed. I don’t have much else.’
The pale green dress was draped carefully over the back of a little chair, and Eve went over and stroked the satiny material. She had been so happy when she’d worn it. Now she felt exactly as the dress looked—empty and forlorn. As far as Raphael was concerned she was yesterday’s news, something to be tidied away when she was no longer required.
‘Ready?’
Eve nodded, but didn’t turn round. Behind her, Luca’s voice was sharp with impatience. ‘Come, then. We must return to my hotel to collect my bags first, then we go to Marco Polo. I have ordered that the jet be made ready.’
She looked round, wide-eyed with alarm ‘Not the Lazaro jet?’
‘Si, cara. I may not have been allowed in here before, but you forget—I am a di Lazaro too.’
‘But I can’t—’
She stopped, aware of how ridiculous it would sound. I can’t bear the thought of it without him.
Luca’s voice was smooth and dangerous.
‘I think you can, bambino. Unless you want to stay here. Perhaps you would enjoy a little ménage à trois with Raphael and Catalina?’ He laughed unpleasantly at his own joke, then, seeing her stricken face, put an arm around her trembling shoulders.
‘Don’t worry, bella. Luca will look after you. And if you are a very good girl I will give you something nice to help you relax.’ ‘What do you mean?’
He grinned and tapped the side of his nose mysteriously. ‘I show you later. Now, let’s get out of this place. It gives me the creeps.’
‘I love it,’ said Eve fiercely. She shut the bedroom door and leaned her head against it for a second as tears seeped out from beneath her closed eyelids. The image of the unmade bed was firmly imprinted in the darkness in her head, and she suspected it would stay there for a very long time to come: the scene of such brief but perfect happiness.
It was halfway through the afternoon when Raphael finally let himself into the palazzo. He carried a large box of English breakfast tea that he’d bought at a vastly inflated price from the owner of a smart café he’d passed on the way back from Catalina’s apartment.
He had left Catalina sleeping deeply, having had to undress her as if she were a child and put her to bed. Getting her home from the café had plumbed reserves of patience and strength he hadn’t known he possessed, as she had screamed and sobbed, saying the name of the dead girl over and over again. Ellie.
Raphael stopped just inside the doorway of the palazzo, his brows drawn together in an agonised frown. He’d sunk everything he’d got into setting up the helpline for girls like her—Catalina said she had even had the number—but it still hadn’t been enough to compete with the ruthlessness of Luca.
He’d waited until Catalina’s mother had arrived before leaving the apartment, and had spoken to Signora Di Souza at some length about the possibility of Catalina giving evidence against Luca. It had been a huge relief to find that she was in favour of the idea. Together, they’d agreed, they would give her the support she needed to brave the witness box if and when the case came to trial. For the first time Raphael had allowed himself to cautiously believe that it really was a case of when. He would ring Marco immediately.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he felt his mouth curve into a smile. Well, maybe not immediately.
Quietly he opened the door, wondering if Eve had been true to her word and stayed in bed. After all, they hadn’t had much sleep last night.
‘Eve?’
The room was empty, and there was something about the emptiness that sent a shiver right through him. With a casualness he didn’t feel he tossed aside the box of tea an
d sauntered over to look underneath the bed, where he had stowed their bags.
His was there. Roughly he pulled it out of the way, desperate to find hers hidden behind it. Nothing.
He stood up and looked wildly around. Snatching the mobile phone from his pocket with shaking hands, he scrolled through in search of the number for Marco Polo airport.
Five minutes later, having ascertained there was no one with the name of Eve Middlemiss booked onto any of the outward flights that day, he allowed himself to breathe a little easier, and sank onto the bed with a groan of despair. If she was still on the island she must have checked into a hotel, for some crazy reason. Which meant he had a lot of calls to make.
Just as he was about to begin, the phone in his hand started to ring.
‘Pronto?’
‘Signor di Lazaro? It’s Roberto. I thought I should let you know Signor Luca has just boarded the jet back to Florence.’ There was a small pause, then Roberto said more quietly, ‘He has with him Signorina Middlemiss.’
Raphael let out a vicious expletive. ‘Are you in the air yet?’
‘No, signore, but Signor Luca is in a hurry to leave. We will be taking off in a few minutes.’
‘Thanks for letting me know, Roberto.’
‘Ne problemo, signore. Would you like us to fly back for you once we’ve dropped Signor Luca at Amerigo Vespucci?’
‘Si, per favore. Let me know when you can get airspace.’
‘Of course, signore.’
‘Oh, and Roberto …?’ Raphael pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. ‘Could you ask Nico to keep a very close eye on Signorina Middlemiss, please? She … she doesn’t enjoy take-off very much. Look after her for me.’
White-lipped, Raphael let the phone fall from his hand onto the unmade bed, then walked over to the window. This was where he had stood yesterday, just after they’d made love. Just twenty-four short hours ago. Closing his eyes, he could picture it exactly. Eve had sat on the bed in that dress, her beautiful face softened with compassion and tenderness, as he’d talked about his mother’s death. Her eyes had been alight with love. And he’d been too bloody stupid to see it.
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 48