The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  Gracie was excited. If the first painting was a Johannes Cornelisz Verspronck, what were the other ones going to be? Rutger gave her his ledger and pencil and dictated notes, which Gracie dutifully took down in her neat hand. Bagwis entered with a tray of glasses and a jug of lemonade and placed it on the floor, away from the paintings, for there was no table available. But Gracie and Rutger were much too engrossed in their work to notice.

  They had been toiling for a couple of hours when the door opened and a man stepped into the chapel. Gracie assumed it was Bagwis and didn’t even look up from the ledger. Rutger glanced over the rim of his spectacles and stopped what he was doing.

  ‘Buon giorno, Signor Janssen,’ said the man and Gracie’s pencil broke onto the paper. She looked up. Standing in the doorway was Count Bassanelli. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to say hello,’ he said and strode across the chapel to introduce himself to Rutger. It was as if he hadn’t seen Gracie, sitting on the chair with her face in her ledger. ‘Quite a collection, eh?’ he said after the pleasantries, and Rutger laughed and took off his glasses to wipe his eyes.

  ‘A lot of work for a man who is no longer young,’ he chuckled. ‘But I like to be busy.’

  ‘I suspect some of these will need restoring.’

  ‘They will.’

  ‘You may even find one or two old friends,’ said the count. ‘I gather Signor Hollingsworth sold my grandfather the odd painting.’

  ‘I haven’t come across them yet.’

  ‘Perhaps they are in my uncle’s collection. My grandfather left half to him and half to my mother.’ Gracie noticed a bitter edge sharpen his tone as he mentioned his uncle. It was subtle, so subtle that the count would not have noticed it himself even if it had been pointed out to him, but Gracie heard it. She missed nothing as she sat there quietly observing the man she had loved from afar for so long.

  ‘The countess tells me you paint,’ Rutger continued, speaking with the assurance of a man who is unimpressed by titles and wealth.

  ‘Very badly,’ Tancredi replied.

  ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ Rutger said wisely.

  ‘It would take an exceptional beholder to see beauty in mine,’ Tancredi replied.

  As they talked Gracie watched the count from her chair. He was just as handsome up close, but he seemed diminished somehow, as if a little of his glitter had worn off. In spite of his graciousness he was subdued, unlike the man she had watched at the wedding whose smile had been broad and insouciant. He took an interest in the paintings they had already studied and when Rutger called Gracie over, to show him her ledger, he said a polite hello, but gave her no more attention than that. Gracie was relieved he didn’t talk to her because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to reply without saying something gauche, or without getting her tongue in a twist.

  Tancredi looked at her ledger and discussed the paintings with Rutger. Gracie tried not to stare, but she noticed everything. The wavy hair that curled at his collar, the shadow of bristle on his chin and jaw, the long dark lashes that framed eyes so blue God must have used the same colour with which to paint the sky. He was much taller than her, but most men were, Gracie was only five feet six inches and he must have been well over six feet. His hands were clean, his nails trimmed short, but his cuticles were rough, especially on the thumbs, as if they had been relentlessly chewed. It was those ragged cuticles that made her realise, suddenly, that he wasn’t a fantasy but a real person with fears and anxieties like everybody else, and her heart went out to him. As soon as she noticed one flaw, she began to see others: the lines on his brow; the downturn of his lips when he wasn’t smiling; a heaviness behind the eyes that belied the humorous twinkle in them. He must have loved his grandfather very much, Gracie thought and she felt a gentle wrench on her heartstrings. She understood loss and how it leaves a hole in the soul that can never be filled.

  After a long while he left them to their work. He handed Gracie the ledger, thanked her and left. Rutger made no comment on the man Gracie could have discussed until sunset. He returned to the painting he had been analysing when the count entered and Gracie sharpened her pencil and began to write again.

  It wasn’t until the following day that she saw him again. Rutger was sitting on a bench in the shade, eating his packed lunch, while she sat on the terrace in the sunshine, gazing out over the hills that quivered like mirages in the midday heat. She was thinking of Tancredi, imagining him in the tower, painting, when he marched onto the terrace. She was so surprised to see him that she leapt to her feet. She was about to tell him where to find Rutger, for she was certain it wasn’t her he wished to speak to, when he shook his head apologetically and put his hands on his hips. ‘I am a very rude man,’ he said and his face creased into a bashful frown. ‘I never introduced myself yesterday and my mother tells me you are Signor Hollingsworth’s niece.’

  ‘Gracie,’ she said and smiled, because he looked so ashamed of himself she felt sorry for him.

  ‘Tancredi. Please accept my apology.’ He shook her hand and the touch of his skin was almost too intimate to be comfortable. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you. You deserve a break.’

  ‘Not at all. I was admiring the view.’

  ‘Isn’t it magnificent? One never grows tired of it.’ He stood beside her, tall and charismatic, and looked out. ‘You know the colours change every day.’ Then he chuckled. ‘Of course you know, you’ve lived here for seven years. My mother told me that too. She makes it her business to know everything about everyone.’

  ‘As an English girl I appreciate the changing colours every day. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of them either. I think I could travel the world and never find a place more beautiful.’

  ‘I have travelled the world and I can tell you that you won’t.’ He laughed and seemed relieved to be doing so. Then he sighed, as if expelling something heavy. ‘Would you like to look round the gardens?’

  She hesitated a moment, fearing they’d bump into Donato. But then her longing got the better of her. She wanted more than anything to extend their meeting, even though he must have only wanted to be kind to make up for having ignored her. ‘I would love to,’ she said.

  ‘My mother is very proud of the gardens,’ he said as they set off. ‘She has a team of gardeners who do all the work for her. She just gives orders and shows it off.’ Gracie did not mention that one of those gardeners was her boyfriend.

  They wandered slowly from terrace to terrace and Gracie admired the trimmed box hedges, the rows of lavender, climbing roses, jasmine, periwinkles and violets. The loveliness of the flowers and the abundance of them touched her heart and she heard herself say, ‘I’m sorry your grandfather died.’

  Tancredi looked surprised. The muscles in his face tightened and Gracie realised she had touched a nerve and wished she hadn’t been so forward. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘He was a very special man and I miss him.’

  ‘My grandmother died last year,’ she said softly. ‘She was special too.’

  His expression softened when he realised that she, too, had suffered loss. ‘Then we are both grieving,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I feel I have crossed a bridge and can never go back to where I was before.’

  He looked at her with an intensity that told her he had crossed it as well. ‘Did she live in Italy, your grandmother?’

  ‘She was Dutch, but she lived in London with my mother. I left home when I was thirteen to come and apprentice Rutger. I regret that I spent so many years away from her, but if I went back in time I would make the same choice.’ That sounded silly to Gracie, but Tancredi seemed to understand and not think her silly at all.

  ‘You must not regret anything. I could regret many things if I allowed myself to, but one has to live in the moment and not lament the past. It is what it is. One has to accept it and look forward.’

  ‘Very true,’ she said.

  ‘That’s what my grandfa
ther would say.’

  ‘He sounds like he was a wise man.’ Tancredi smiled and Gracie sensed the sadness in it and couldn’t look at him. She fixed her eyes on the gardens and changed the subject. ‘It must be lovely to live in such a beautiful place . . .’ but Tancredi wanted to talk about his grandfather.

  ‘There was a painting in my grandfather’s house in Rome which I especially loved. It was by an artist called Piero Bartoloni. Have you heard of him?’

  ‘Of course, I have. A Baroque painter,’ Gracie replied and Tancredi was impressed.

  ‘He is not very well known,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps, but art is my business,’ she replied with a shrug. ‘What was the subject?’

  ‘A voluptuous woman in a beautiful garden, faced with a snake in a tree, entitled The Temptation of Eve. As a child, I found it fascinating. For a start, Eve’s body was so sensual and beautiful, I was spellbound, and then the snake was so menacing. It stirred in me a mixture of delight and fear. Light and dark. Sweet and sour. It also stirred something in me which was beyond the understanding of a child.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful. I’d like to say I am familiar with it, but I’m not. Where is it now?’

  ‘My grandfather promised me he would leave it to me when he died.’

  ‘But he didn’t,’ said Gracie. She looked at him and saw the tension in his profile. ‘He forgot.’

  ‘How do you know that when I didn’t tell you?’ he asked, astonished.

  ‘I don’t know. A good guess? Intuition? If he had given it to you, you wouldn’t look so sad.’

  He sighed, venting frustration. ‘He either forgot, or he didn’t want me to have it. I suspect the former, but my uncle, who now owns it, suspects the latter, which is why he will not give it to me.’ He chuckled bitterly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Perhaps because you are nothing to do with my family. It is easier to confide in a stranger than in someone you know well.’

  ‘Is there no way your uncle will give it to you? A Bartoloni would not be very valuable right now, though, of course, that might change. The Baroque period goes in and out of fashion. Why don’t you buy it off him?’

  ‘He won’t sell.’

  Gracie grinned. ‘Is he an unpleasant man?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tancredi laughed. ‘To put it as bluntly as you, he is a very unpleasant man. He will hold on to it just to spite me.’

  ‘I’m sorry you can’t have the painting you want. But it is only a painting. That’s what my grandmother would say.’

  ‘And she’s right, of course. But I hazard a guess that you don’t believe that any more than I do. To me, it’s more than a painting. It’s part of my childhood. Part of a time when I was very happy. And my grandfather wanted me to have it.’ He shook his head as if berating his own folly. ‘I don’t want to bore you with my woes.’

  ‘You’re not. And your guess is correct. If it has sentimental value, then it’s priceless. Perhaps your uncle will change his mind one day.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied, but Gracie could tell that he didn’t believe it.

  They returned to the chapel. ‘I must not take up any more of your time,’ he said, hovering at the door.

  ‘Rutger will be wondering where I got to,’ she said.

  ‘You’d better go inside then and open that ledger of yours.’

  ‘Thank you for showing me the gardens.’

  ‘It was a pleasure.’ He walked away and Gracie entered the chapel with a bounce in her step. Rutger looked up at her over the top of his spectacles. He didn’t ask where she’d been. Perhaps he knew. He began to tell her about the Picasso he had just uncovered.

  That evening Gracie told Gaia that she had met the handsome count. Gaia was fascinated and wanted all the details and Gracie told her. ‘Lucky you to be given a private tour of the gardens by him. Do you think Donato saw you? He’ll be very jealous.’

  ‘I didn’t see him, but he has no reason to be jealous. It was hardly a romantic walk. The count was just being gracious.’

  ‘Of course, but Italian men are very possessive, Gracie, and Donato has a high opinion of himself. Probably the only man capable of making him jealous would be Tancredi Bassanelli.’

  ‘Then I will use him if I need to.’

  ‘You won’t need to,’ said Gaia. ‘Donato is besotted with you.’

  ‘I can’t think why. If he could have anyone, why does he want me?’

  ‘Because you are out of reach.’

  ‘I’m his girlfriend,’ Gracie protested.

  ‘But you’re still out of reach.’

  ‘I have so much work to do.’

  ‘I know, so I tell him. Perhaps that is what keeps him keen.’ She grinned. ‘If you want to marry him, keep working.’

  Gracie felt uneasy. The idea of marriage hadn’t occurred to her. ‘I’m too young to marry,’ she said.

  ‘No, you’re not. If Filippo doesn’t ask me soon, I’ll be too old.’

  ‘He will ask you,’ said Gracie, watching Gaia picking her nails anxiously.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And you’ll have a wedding like the Montefosco wedding and the whole town will come out to watch.’

  Gaia laughed. ‘I hope you’re right. I love Filippo.’ She narrowed her dark eyes at Gracie. ‘Don’t you love Donato?’

  ‘I’m very fond of him,’ Gracie replied carefully.

  ‘That’s not the same.’

  ‘I know. But not everyone will find the kind of love you have for Filippo. For some people being fond is enough to make a life together.’

  ‘I’m too romantic,’ said Gaia. ‘I would always hold out for love. Fond would never be enough for me.’

  ‘But it’s enough for me. I’m not saying I want to marry Donato, but I could be happy with a man like him. I don’t expect the earth to move. I don’t think it does for girls like me.’

  Gaia looked appalled. ‘What do you mean for girls like you?’

  ‘For ordinary girls.’

  ‘Why ever do you think you’re ordinary? Why ever do you think you won’t fall madly in love with someone?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt that I will fall madly in love, I just doubt that the man I fall in love with will fall madly in love with me.’ She couldn’t confess that she was referring to Tancredi.

  ‘Do you think men are so shallow that they only fall in love with great beauty? If you’re beautiful on the inside it will shine on the outside, however plain or pretty the features. You doubt yourself too much, Gracie. Someone has told you that you are undeserving and they are wrong. If Donato is not the man for you, there is someone out there somewhere who is and he will find you.’

  Gracie laughed cynically. ‘You really are a romantic,’ she said.

  ‘But I believe it.’

  ‘If we all believed it like you, most of the girls in the world would never marry. We’d all be holding out for Rhett Butler. But I’m not a beauty like Scarlett, Gaia. I will settle for less and I’ll be content. One can’t ask for more than that.’ But she did, in the heart of her heart, ask for more than that.

  Chapter 10

  Over the next four days Tancredi visited the chapel often. He looked at the paintings he had known from childhood and discussed them with Rutger and Gracie. Rutger was able to expand on the knowledge Tancredi already had and Tancredi listened to the Dutchman with interest. Once he discovered that they brought their lunches to eat in the garden he asked them to join him and his mother and any guests she had invited for lunch on the terrace. The countess always had guests. At first Gracie was embarrassed. She felt awkward in the company of grand and important people, but Tancredi introduced Rutger as one of the finest art restorers in Europe and Gracie as the niece of the well-known art dealer Hans Hollingsworth, and Gracie discovered that the countess’s friends were well-educated, cultured people who enjoyed talking about art. They discussed history and politics too, and gossiped, which thrilled the countess, and if ever Gracie felt shy Tancredi grinned at her ac
ross the table and made her smile.

  As Gaia predicted Donato was jealous. Gracie reassured him that a man like Tancredi would never look at a girl like her, and even though Donato believed her, it didn’t prevent him from spying on them from the garden where he worked with his father. He watched them having lunch and he made sure he was weeding and dead-heading around the chapel when Tancredi happened to be in there.

  When, on the seventh day, they came to the final painting Gracie was sorry. It would mean they would no longer be coming up to the castle. She would no longer have the opportunity to see Tancredi. Rutger had chosen fifteen paintings to be cleaned and five to be restored. Bagwis agreed to have them crated up and driven round to La Colomba. The countess swept into the chapel in a cloud of linen and tuberose and shook their hands, thanking them for their trouble. Tancredi appeared just as they were climbing into the car. He bent down and peered in through Rutger’s window to say goodbye. He didn’t linger, but waved as Rutger started the engine, then walked back through the portone into the castle. Gracie felt wretched. She knew he would never love her like she loved him, but it didn’t matter. If she could be near him, that would suffice. She wished she worked for the countess like Donato. If her job took her to the castle she would see Tancredi and that would be enough.

  That evening Gracie stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and studied her face. If she were beautiful like Damiana and Gaia he might be attracted to her. She unpinned her hair and let it fall about her shoulders. It was the colour of a mouse, bleached on the top by the intense Italian sun. Her skin was tanned, which accentuated the one asset she had, her eyes. They were large, almond-shaped and grey-green. She knew they were unusual, not just because she had been told so, but because she could see for herself. She wished her nose was smaller and prettier and that her mouth was more sensual, like the countess’s.