Veretti’s Dark Vengeance

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘As long as it’s armed,’ she reminded him.

  ‘My truces are always armed.’

  He stopped a passing young woman and spoke to her in Venetian. When she’d departed he said,

  ‘I asked her to bring us some refreshment outside, where we can sit down.’

  Outside was a wooden seat on a terrace that overlooked a small canal with shops along the bank. It was pleasant to sit there drinking coffee.

  ‘Is this your first visit to Venice?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’ve thought about it for years but never got around to it before.’

  ‘Do you travel alone?’

  ‘Quite alone.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘I wonder why.’

  ‘Let us not play games. You don’t need me to say that a woman as beautiful as you need never lack company.’

  ‘But perhaps you need to hear that a woman may prefer to be alone. It isn’t always the man’s choice, you know. Sometimes she consults her own preferences and consigns men to the devil.’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘Touché! I suppose I asked for that.’

  ‘You certainly did.’

  ‘And have you consigned us all to the devil?’

  ‘Some of you. There are men who are fit for nothing else.’

  He nodded. ‘You must have met quite a few of them.’

  ‘A fair number. The virtues of solitude can be very appealing.’

  ‘And so you travel alone,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Alone-but not lonely.’

  That seemed to disconcert him. After a moment he said quietly, ‘Then you must be the only person who isn’t.’

  ‘To be enough for yourself,’ she answered, ‘safe from the onslaughts of other people, and happy to be so-it isn’t really very hard.’

  ‘That’s not true, and you know it,’ he replied, looking at her intently. ‘If you’ve achieved it, you’re one in a million. But I don’t believe that you have achieved it. It’s your way of fooling the world-or yourself.’

  She felt as if a hand had been laid on her shoulder, halting her in her tracks. It was a moment before she drew a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t know if you’re right. Perhaps I never will.’

  ‘But I would like to know,’ he said in the same quiet tone. ‘I’d like to see behind that mask you keep so firmly in place.’

  ‘If I removed it for everyone, there would be no point in having it,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Not everyone. Just me.’

  Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. It was as though a cloud had crossed the sun, throwing the world into shadow, making complex things that had seemed simple only a moment before.

  ‘Why should I tell you what I tell nobody else?’ she managed to say at last.

  ‘Only you can decide that.’

  ‘That’s true. And my decision is…’ She hesitated. Something in his eyes was trying to make her say what he wanted to hear, but it had to be resisted. ‘My decision is that I’ve kept my secrets safe so far, and I’ll go on doing just that.’

  ‘You think your secrets are safe, do you?’

  Something in his voice filled her with the conviction that nothing in the world was safe, her secrets, her heart, herself-nothing.

  ‘I think-I think I shall work hard to keep them safe.’

  ‘And woe betide intruders?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But don’t you know that your attitude is, in itself, a challenge to intruders?’

  She smiled. She was beginning to feel at ease again.

  ‘Of course I know. But I’ve fought this battle before, and I always win.’

  He raised her hand and brushed the back of it with his lips. She took a long, shaky breath.

  ‘So do I,’ he assured her.

  ‘Do you know, that’s twice you’ve told me you’re invincible, once about business and once about-well, whatever?’

  ‘Why don’t you give it a name?’ he asked.

  She met his eyes. ‘Perhaps names don’t matter.’

  Before he could reply her attention was caught by the sound of a motor. Turning her head, she just made out the boat that had brought her here, appearing around the edge of the building and streaking away across the water.

  ‘Hey, they should have waited for me,’ she protested.

  ‘I told them not to. I said I’d take you back myself.’

  ‘You told them to go without me?’ she said slowly. ‘Without asking me first?’

  ‘I was sure that you would agree with me.’

  ‘No you weren’t. That’s why you didn’t tell me. You’ve got a cheek!’

  ‘In that case I apologise. I meant no harm.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said affably. ‘Just to get your own way with the least inconvenience. Where’s the harm in that?’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  ‘I suppose the poor idiot who owns this place is going to get the same treatment until she gives in.’

  ‘Don’t pity her; she’s no idiot but a very clever woman who got her hands on Larezzo by cunning and will sell it for the highest price she can extort.’

  ‘And since you want the place, she’s laughing.’

  ‘I doubt she’ll be laughing when I’ve finished. Let’s not talk about her further. She isn’t interesting and you still haven’t told me your name.’

  She was saved from having to answer by the sight of Rico appearing behind him.

  ‘I think you’re wanted,’ she said.

  Rico was anxious to let him know that the manager had now returned and awaited his pleasure. Salvatore thanked him and turned back to Helena.

  She was gone.

  ‘What the-? Did you see where she went?’

  ‘Round that corner, signor,’ Rico said.

  But when Salvatore followed he found himself facing a small piazza with no less than four exits and nothing to show which one she had taken. He made a token pursuit, hurrying from one little street to another, peering vainly down the narrow length of each, but knowing it was useless.

  At last he stopped, furious at how easily she’d given him the slip on his own territory. Before returning he adjusted his expression so that he could say casually to Rico,

  ‘Do you happen to know who she was?’

  ‘No, signor. She just came as one of the group. Is it important?’

  ‘No, not important at all,’ he said heartily. ‘Let’s get back to business.’

  Helena found that it was simple to return to Venice. Taxis were as easy to come by as in any other city, except that they moved on water. Soon she was streaking back across the lagoon, trying to sort out her conflicting emotions.

  Satisfaction warred with annoyance. She’d bearded the enemy in his lair, looked him over, assessed him, been intrigued by him, and come off best in their parting. All that remained now was to make him suffer for his cheap opinion of her.

  And she knew just the way.

  Antonio had told her about the Venice grapevine.

  ‘Whisper a secret at one end of the Grand Canal and it’ll reach the other end before you do,’ he’d said.

  Now she put it to the test.

  Returning to the Illyria, she headed back to the information desk, where the same young man was still on duty.

  ‘I’ve had the most wonderful day,’ she enthused. ‘Isn’t Venice just the loveliest city? And to think I own a little part of it!’

  She bubbled on, making sure that he knew she was the widow of Antonio Veretti and the new owner of Larezzo Glass. He understood precisely, as she could tell from the way his eyes were popping. As she danced into the elevator she was sure he was reaching for the telephone.

  In her room she settled down to make enjoyable decisions. This dress? No, too blatant. That one, then-black, elegant, slightly severe. But she didn’t know when their meeting would occur. It might be daytime, so perhaps something more businesslike would be suitable. In the end she laid out several outfits, ready for her final dec
ision.

  As she got out of the shower the telephone rang. She answered cautiously, meaning to disguise her voice, but the man at the other end wasn’t Salvatore.

  ‘Am I talking to Signora Helena Veretti?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘I am secretary to Signor Salvatore Veretti. He asks me to say that he was very glad to hear of your arrival in Venice, and looks forward to a meeting.’

  Helena assumed her most formal voice to say,

  ‘How kind of Signor Veretti.’

  ‘Would this evening be too soon?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘He suggests dinner at the Palazzo Veretti. His boatman will call for you at seven-thirty.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  She hung up, and sat still for a moment, caught off-guard by something happening inside her.

  The invitation was exactly what she’d wanted, so it was illogical that she was assailed by doubt, but she had the sudden shocking feeling of confusion. It made no sense, she told herself. She had nothing to fear from this man. The power was in her hands, not his.

  Hands. The word seemed to leap out at her. His hands on the nape of her neck, caressing fingers touching, retreating, touching again. And herself trying to breathe through the storm that had engulfed her without warning.

  Never, never again! She’d promised herself that long ago as a child of sixteen, when the brutal end to her first love had left her hostile to men and frozen to their caresses.

  They didn’t know. Stupid as they were, there wasn’t one of them who could see past the façade of sexual availability that had been her trademark, to the bleak, icy truth within. She’d played them off against each other, used them to climb to the pinnacle of her career, made money out of them. And she’d slept alone.

  In all those years she’d never again known the dizzying, irresistible desire that had once carried her to disaster. Once or twice a faint whisper of pleasure had troubled her but she’d controlled it, fleeing the man, never letting him suspect. With time, those occasions had grown rarer.

  Looking down the vista of her future life, she’d been prepared for loneliness. Instead she’d found Antonio, a man who’d adored her without being able to risk a physical relationship. They had been perfect for each other. And his true legacy wasn’t wealth, but the fact that he’d made her strong, strong enough to face an uncertain future.

  ‘Hell!’ she thought, exasperated with herself. ‘I’m thirty-two. Next stop, middle-age. I’ve managed so far. I can manage the rest.’

  So, the black dress, one of Antonio’s last gifts to her, chosen for its allure. It was silk, tight-fitting, with a neckline that dropped just a little. The hem came to just above her knees, not high enough for immodesty, but high enough to show off her long legs. And after a day in sensible shoes it was a pleasure to don high heels.

  She let her luxuriant hair hang loose, not drawn back as during the day, but free-flowing over her shoulders.

  Her jewellery was restrained. Apart from her wedding ring she wore only a dainty gold watch, two tiny diamond studs in her ears and Antonio’s glass heart. Unlike the blue shading of Salvatore’s gift, this one was dark red, sometimes lightening to deep pink, but always returning to a hue that was like red roses.

  ‘Right,’ she told the mirror. ‘Let battle commence.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  S HE waited downstairs, and at last the doorman came to escort her out to the waiting boat, which turned out to be a gondola. The gondolier bowed as he handed her in, saw her comfortably settled and moved off.

  Early evening was the best time to see the Grand Canal. Lights blazed from the windows of the buildings lining the banks, and the April sun was setting, casting a glow on the water with its throng of boats. At this time of day they were mostly gondolas, conveying tourists to dinner, sightseeing, music, romance. The air was alive with the anticipation of pleasure.

  ‘Is it very far?’ she called up and over her shoulder to where the gondolier was standing behind her, plying his single oar.

  ‘Very little distance, signora. The Palazzo Veretti is further along the Grand Canal. It is magnificent. Everyone admires it.’

  A moment later she saw what he meant as they turned the canal’s curve and the building came into sight. It was, as he’d said, magnificent, pale grey marble, ornately decorated in the Renaissance style, rising four storeys, each with ten windows facing the canal, all lit up.

  She drew an admiring breath at its beauty, at the same time noting the message of dominance that came from every line. This was the home of a man who was powerful, and wanted everyone to know it.

  The gondola was turning, heading for the landing stage at the front of the palazzo. And there, standing in readiness, his eyes fixed on her approach, was Salvatore.

  She watched his face and saw that in the evening light he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. As the gondola drew up to the landing stage he reached out to help her from the boat. She felt the strong clasp of his hand, drawing her up until they were level. His hand tightened as he saw her face, but there was a shadow of doubt in his eyes. Was she? Wasn’t she?

  She gave him a deliberately challenging smile, full of amusement at his expense, calculated to annoy him.

  ‘Good evening, Signor Valetti,’ she said sweetly. ‘How kind of you to invite me here tonight.’

  ‘You?’ he said slowly. ‘Did I invite-you?’

  ‘You invited Signora Helena Veretti,’ she said, ‘and I am she. I hope I don’t come as a disappointment.’

  His eyes narrowed.

  ‘Not a disappointment, signora. A surprise perhaps.’

  ‘You mean a shock, don’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps I do,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Ah, that little trick I played on you this afternoon. Was it very bad of me? Are you angry?’

  ‘Of course not. I hope I can appreciate a joke as well as the next man.’

  He was lying, Helena knew. His smiling civility was for the boatman’s benefit. Beneath it he was furious at being wrong-footed.

  Good!

  He paid the gondolier, who seemed pleasantly surprised by the amount, and made himself scarce.

  Offering her his arm, Salvatore led her into the brightly lit downstairs hall, with its sweeping staircase. Only then did he look at her closely enough to see what she was wearing around her neck. He drew a sharp breath as he saw the glass heart, so like the one he’d given her that afternoon, but deep red.

  ‘A gift from my husband,’ she said, touching it.

  ‘I congratulate you, signora, a very clever performance. No wonder you wouldn’t tell me your name.’

  ‘It would have been a pity to spoil a good joke.’

  ‘It would indeed. But let us leave that matter for later. I’ve brought you here to enjoy the very best meal of your life.’

  You’ve brought me here to crush me, she thought, amused. Now you need a delay to regroup your forces.

  He led her into a large room, ornately furnished with items that seemed several hundred years old. In her first confused impression she could only tell that everything here was costly.

  Antonio had told her the history of the palazzo, which had once belonged to a noble family called Cellini.

  ‘But they spent all their money about a hundred years ago. Then along came the upstart Verettis, with no title but plenty of money, and bought them out at a rock-bottom price-which is how they always prefer to buy. Remember that when you’re negotiating with Salvatore.’

  Oh, yes, she thought. I’ll remember.

  Salvatore showed her to a sofa and turned to the drinks table.

  ‘I think I can offer you something a little better than this afternoon,’ he said.

  ‘But this afternoon you were only a surrogate host for the real owner,’ she reminded him gaily.

  ‘How true,’ he said, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I suppose I owe you an apology.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. I’ve never been so entertained
in my life.’

  She saw a flash of real anger in his glance, suppressed so quickly that anyone less alive to his reactions might have missed it. It was dangerous to taunt him, but that only made it all the more exciting.

  The wine was excellent, almost a statement of superiority in itself. She sipped it slowly for a brief moment, then set it down.

  ‘A little more?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thank you. I’m keeping my wits about me tonight.’

  ‘In that case, why don’t we eat?’

  He led her to a table by a tall window that opened onto a balcony looking down onto the Grand Canal, and politely held out a seat for her.

  At first the Venetian cuisine held her silent, being too delicious to interrupt. But at last she glanced up, smiling, to say,

  ‘This really is the best food of my life, just as you said.’

  ‘Signora-’

  ‘Why don’t you just call me Helena? Surely we’re already beyond the need for formalities?’

  ‘I agree. Helena-’

  ‘I expect we’re ready to get down to business now. We’ve both had time to get our thoughts in order.’

  ‘Ah, business. You’re right. Name the price.’

  She stared.

  ‘Did I hear right? You dare say that to me-after everything I heard you say today?’

  ‘You tricked me.’

  ‘Just as well, or I wouldn’t have known what you were really thinking.’

  ‘You were enjoying yourself, weren’t you?’ he accused.

  ‘Well, can you blame me? You were so certain you could make me dance to your tune that you were an irresistible target.’

  He made a wry face, conceding her point.

  ‘Perhaps I was a little incautious,’ he agreed. ‘I naturally assumed that you’d be glad to sell for the best price you could get.’

  ‘Why naturally? Perhaps I want to stay and enjoy my husband’s legacy.’

  He made a sound of impatience. ‘Please, let’s not have that pretence.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course, you’re so sure you know the truth about me.’ She began to quote, speaking in the Venetian she’d heard him use earlier that day. ‘“Some smart miss on the make who married Antonio just before he died, to get her hands on his money. She may have fooled him, but she won’t fool me.”’