The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  The following morning Gracie started working on the Baroque painting of the girl in the green dress. It was quiet in the studio and dim, for the shutters were drawn. Outside, birds could be heard cheeping in the umbrella pines. Rutger was busy looking through his magnifying lenses at a very valuable Renaissance painting. Neither talked as they worked. They both needed silence in order to concentrate. Gracie loved the peace. She enjoyed the challenge of her job and the excitement of seeing what lay beneath the yellowed varnish.

  Engrossed in her toil, Gracie was released from her compulsive thinking about Tancredi. It was a relief to focus on something else. But, at the end of day when she packed up her tools, her mind was once more filled with him. It made her morose. She didn’t want to go out, she didn’t want to see Donato; she just wanted to lie beneath the stars and think of him.

  A few weeks later Hans returned from Paris with good news. He had sold Gracie’s forgery for a very large sum of money. Gracie, who received a small salary from her uncle, was now rewarded with a bonus. He didn’t tell her how much the painting had gone for and she didn’t ask. The bonus was more money than she had ever seen. She decided she would share it with her mother and Joseph. If her brother did indeed marry, it would pay for his wedding and give him a good start in his new life.

  Uncle Hans was very interested in the countess’s paintings. He looked through the five that Rutger and Gracie were restoring and had a long conversation with Rutger in Dutch. Gracie was used to them slipping into their mother tongue and thought nothing of it. They both decided that Gracie should finish work on the countess’s paintings before starting another forgery. Uncle Hans disappeared into his studio again and locked the door behind him.

  On the weekend Gracie bicycled into town to see Donato. She knew she had to accept what she had and not crave a man who was so totally out of her reach. Donato was happy to see her. He held her hand as they wandered up the cobbled streets, browsing in shop windows, and he swung her round to kiss her at every opportunity, like a dog marking his territory, she thought cynically. They passed the church of Maria Maddalena and Donato pulled her inside. She had never crossed the threshold before because she was not Catholic and Uncle Hans was not a religious man. The church was very old, with faded frescos painted onto the walls and a mosaic on the floor. Behind the altar was an enormous statue of Christ on the Cross, the crimson blood on his hands and torso painted brightly, which Gracie found alarming, and on the altar candles burned in silver candlesticks. Gracie let Donato take her round, wondering why he wanted to show her the church. She had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, which she tried to ignore. Well aware of what that feeling suggested, she talked incessantly out of nerves. They weren’t alone, old ladies in black sat on chairs like crows, and a young couple were talking to the priest in low voices in a little chapel to the left of the altar.

  Suddenly Donato dropped to one knee and Gracie’s fear was confirmed. He was going to ask her to marry him. ‘Gracie, I love you,’ he said, taking her hand and gazing up at her with pleading eyes. ‘You are the only woman for me. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?’ Gracie blanched. She knew she should say yes. She knew she wouldn’t do better. It was absurd to hold out for a man she couldn’t have. Donato was kind. Perhaps he had a roving eye, but didn’t all Italian men? He would make a good husband. Give her children. She knew she’d be content. She loved Italy, she loved Colladoro, did it really matter that she didn’t love him? Wasn’t being fond of him enough? She hesitated. ‘Come on, Gracie,’ he cajoled. ‘Are you going to leave me waiting here on one knee? The floor is very hard.’ He grinned raffishly and Gracie wanted her heart to leap. She wanted her stomach to lurch, she wanted to cry with emotion, but she couldn’t. She felt nothing but awkwardness.

  ‘Give me time to think about it,’ she said, trying to let him down gently.

  ‘That is as good as a no,’ he replied sulkily. Then, swiftly changing tactic, he added in a wheedling tone, ‘Gracie, we are good together. Come on, baby. You know we’re good together.’

  ‘We are,’ she agreed. After all, it was true, they were good together. She knew it was foolish to refuse marriage on account of Tancredi – that was as good as holding out for a ghost. But what could she do?

  ‘You like the way I kiss you.’ He smiled and she couldn’t help but give a little smile in return.

  ‘I do,’ she replied.

  He stood up and whispered in her ear. ‘You will like the way I make love to you, I promise.’ Gracie didn’t doubt that and yet, the idea of marrying Donato felt like a dead end.

  ‘Give me time,’ she asked, kissing him. But she felt him stiffen.

  ‘All right. But not too long, eh?’ Although he smiled his lips now curled with resentment rather than mirth. ‘You don’t want me to start looking somewhere else, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. I’m a patient man, Gracie, but I’m not an idiot.’

  He took her hand a little roughly and walked towards the entrance of the church. Gracie’s gaze was on the mosaic floor as her mind clamoured with questions she couldn’t answer. She felt miserable. Miserable for disappointing Donato and miserable because the love she secretly harboured was an impossible one. Not looking where she was going she didn’t see the tall man striding in the opposite direction and bumped straight into him. She drew back with a start. ‘I’m so sorry . . .’ she stammered and lifted her eyes to see that the man now regarding her with amusement was none other than Tancredi.

  ‘Gracie,’ he said and smiled.

  ‘Tancredi, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking—’

  ‘Please, don’t worry.’ He turned to Donato. ‘Signor Fabbri.’

  ‘Buon giorno, Conte Bassanelli,’ Donato replied. ‘I have just asked my girlfriend to marry me,’ he blurted and Gracie knew why he had said it and wished he hadn’t.

  Tancredi’s smile widened. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, patting Donato in the way that men do. ‘This is a beautiful church to marry in,’ he added.

  ‘I know, I was just showing it to Gracie.’

  The manner in which he said ‘Gracie’ was a way of marking his territory too, Gracie knew. She wanted to let go of his hand, to explain to Tancredi that she hadn’t said yes and that she probably wouldn’t. But she didn’t. She just hid her misery behind her smile. After all, Tancredi looked delighted. If he had had any feelings for her at all he would have looked disappointed.

  Tancredi didn’t talk for long. He bade them a good day and walked on into the church. Gracie felt sick in the heart. Donato’s grip tightened and he led her into the piazza. ‘Let’s have something to eat,’ he suggested. Gracie tried to be cheerful, but it was a challenge. Donato was dispirited because she had in effect rebuffed his proposal of marriage and Gracie felt guilty. I’m a fool in love, she thought bleakly, and yet I can’t stop myself being a fool. She wished she could talk to someone about it, but there was no one. Her mother was miles away and knew little of her life anyway and Uncle Hans had no experience of women.

  It was only when she was in the studio the following week with Rutger that she found herself taking advice from him. ‘You are not happy, Gracie,’ he said, without pausing in his work. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Donato asked me to marry him,’ she replied, pausing hers.

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘That I would think about it.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ he grunted. ‘If you have to think about it, it is not right.’

  ‘I should have said yes,’ she replied.

  ‘But you have to think about it, so you didn’t,’ he said with a shrug.

  Gracie sighed. ‘I don’t know why I have to think about it,’ she said, annoyed with herself.

  ‘Because it isn’t right,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘But why isn’t it right?’

  ‘Because your heart is elsewhere.’

  This astonished Gracie. Was it so obvious? ‘It is?’

 
He grinned and peered at her around his easel. ‘I have watched you blossom before my eyes from a plain young woman into a beautiful one. A woman in love glows. She beams. She transforms. She is made lovely by love. How could I not see that?’

  ‘What can I do?’ Gracie asked.

  ‘Because one loves you and the other doesn’t?’

  Gracie’s chin trembled. It sounded harsh when said out loud. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, that is the question. Are you a gambler or are you not?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘A sensible person would tell you to marry the one who loves you and be grateful for that. A gambler would tell you to win the heart of the one who doesn’t, but there is always a risk that you will not win it. Then you will be left with neither.’

  ‘That’s not very helpful, Rutger,’ she said.

  ‘Then you have to think about it.’

  ‘Which is where we were at the beginning of this discussion.’

  ‘I cannot think about it for you.’

  ‘But if you could, what would you advise?’

  He peered around his easel again. ‘I am not a gambler, but I am a risk taker. I would sit on the fence and wait. If you marry Donato you close the door for ever on love, if you wait, you leave a gap and love might shine into it. If it doesn’t, then you can close the door.’

  ‘You’re telling me to wait?’

  ‘In a philosophical way, yes.’ He smiled. ‘Keep your options open. You are young. There is no need to rush into marriage and Donato will wait.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t?’

  ‘He will, because he loves you. After all, isn’t that why you are waiting for Tancredi?’ Gracie took a sharp breath at the mention of his name. ‘Some wait a whole lifetime,’ he added. ‘Some believe it is worth waiting for. I suspect that is the sort of woman you are.’

  Gracie returned to her work. ‘I didn’t think I would be that sort of woman, Rutger.’

  ‘Of course, you didn’t. Nobody thinks they’re going to waste their lives pining for someone they can’t have, but love takes them over and they are incapable of doing otherwise.’

  ‘What about you, Rutger? What sort of man are you?’

  ‘If I was young I would be the sort of man who waits, but’ – he brushed aside the idea with a click of his tongue – ‘I am old and tired of waiting, so I have given up. I work, I eat, I sleep and I dream. I am happy this way. Acceptance, that is the key. When you are old you will understand.’ Gracie wanted to press him further, but somehow she knew she would get no more out of him.

  She would wait. She would think and she would sit on the fence and hope, although it clearly hadn’t worked for Rutger.

  Gracie and Rutger finished cleaning four of the paintings at the beginning of September. Bagwis sent a van to pick them up. Gracie wished she could accompany them up to the Castello, just to see Tancredi, on the off-chance that he was there, but no invitation was forthcoming.

  Gaia married Filippo in the church of Maria Maddalena in the golden light of an early autumn evening. Gracie and Damiana were bridesmaids. Donato looked handsome in his suit and Gracie thought she was an idiot for not wanting to marry him. Damiana had told her as much and everyone in town knew and disapproved of her hesitation. No one could understand why she refused the best-looking man in Colladoro.

  A few weeks later Rutger came across an exciting discovery. He had had a hunch that one of the countess’s portraits was in fact a Gainsborough, not, as catalogued, a portrait by an inferior artist. The head was painted with the hand of a master but the body was ungainly. It was as if it belonged to an entirely different picture. Rutger hadn’t said anything to Gracie, because he hadn’t been entirely sure, but now, having found that the body of the gentleman had been overpainted to hide damage and discolouration, he was certain. He showed Gracie. ‘When one comes across a discovery like this, it is thrilling. It makes my job worthwhile.’ He wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘All the hours labouring in this studio reach a beautiful climax. You must inform the countess at once.’

  ‘You should telephone her.’

  ‘I spoke to Bagwis and as luck would have it she is there. I have told her that you will go at once. I am too tired. You are young and strong. You can bicycle.’ He grinned at her and there was a mysterious glint in his eye.

  Gracie cycled up the track. The air was chilly but the evening light was soft and pink, shining onto the castle and the houses below it. When the road got steeper she climbed off her bike and pushed it up the hill. By the time she reached the castle gates she was in a sweat. She had taken off her cardigan and wrapped it round her waist. To her horror she noticed she still had paint on her hands and in her nails. She wondered whether she should have changed out of her dungarees. But she doubted Tancredi would be there. She remembered Donato telling her that he only came to the castle in the summer months and it was now October. Surely, he’d be in Rome. For the first time she did not wish to see him. Not like this. Not looking dishevelled and wearing her least flattering painting clothes.

  She rang the bell and waited at the gate, but no one came. It was after working hours so Gracie knew that Donato and his father would have gone home, as would the other gardeners. She left her bike on the grass verge and pushed the gate enough to give her a small gap to squeeze through. She walked up the drive, beneath the towering cypress trees which looked like feathers dipped in gold as the final rays of sunlight caught them before disappearing behind the hills. When she reached the castle she rang the doorbell. She waited. When no one came she rang it again. Still no one came. With a rising sense of unease she crept round to a window and put her hands to the glass and peered inside. To her surprise there were dust sheets thrown over the furniture. It looked like the contessa had left for Rome and it didn’t appear as if she was planning on coming back until next summer.

  Gracie was baffled. However, Rutger had assured her that he had spoken to Bagwis, so somebody must be in the castle. Perhaps the countess was round the back. She set off for the terrace where she had first met her. But when she got there she found the chairs as abandoned as the castle, the cushions having been taken away and stored for the winter. Only the birds twittered in the branches as they squabbled over the best places to roost. Confused, she didn’t know what to do. Rutger would be cross if she returned having said she couldn’t find her. He’d say she hadn’t looked hard enough. But where could she possibly be? Gracie didn’t want to be caught snooping around the property and she certainly wasn’t going to shout.

  Just then Tancredi appeared in the doorway of the tower. Gracie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as he stared at her in astonishment. He clearly hadn’t been warned of her arrival. Her instinct was to turn and run, but that would have been rude, not to mention a little over-dramatic. Instead, she walked towards him, lifting her chin to hide her mortification.

  As she neared him she saw that he was wearing an old, paint-spattered shirt, and dusty trousers. His hair was dishevelled and the bristle on his face looked like it was a few days old, at least. She realised he had not been expecting to see anyone. ‘I’m sorry to turn up unannounced,’ she said. ‘Rutger sent me to speak to the countess.’

  ‘My mother is not here,’ he replied.

  ‘Rutger spoke to Bagwis . . .’

  She noticed him running his eyes over her dungarees. She wished she had worn a pretty dress. But he smiled as he had done at the lunch table when she had needed reassurance, and rested his gaze on her face. ‘Aren’t we a pair,’ he chuckled. ‘You look like you’ve been at the easel all day, and so do I.’

  Relieved that he wasn’t furious, she smiled back. ‘You’re painting?’ she asked.

  ‘Come, I’ll show you. I’m not very good. It’s just a hobby.’ He walked back into the tower. It was round, with a spacious, whitewashed room and a primitive wooden staircase leading to the levels above. The floorboards were bare and splattered in paint and against the walls were canvases, frames and other paraphernalia common to
any artist’s studio. On an easel was the painting that Tancredi was currently working on. It was of a man at a table, slumped over an empty glass. The colours were drab greys, browns and blues. Gracie hadn’t expected to see something so depressing.

  ‘Who is he?’ she asked. There was a long pause. Tancredi studied her face. She could feel his eyes burning through her skin. She knew she looked uneasy, but she couldn’t hide her reaction; there was something very raw about the painting that she found disturbing.

  ‘It’s me,’ he replied at last, putting his hands on his hips. ‘At least, it was me.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve lived many lives, Gracie.’

  ‘He looks miserable. Inconsolable. Lost.’

  Tancredi shrugged. ‘Still me.’ He laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

  She gazed at it for a long while, wondering what misery had inspired it. At last she pulled away. ‘It’s dark, Tancredi. Terribly dark. But it’s good.’

  ‘Coming from you, that’s a compliment.’

  She smiled. ‘Is all your work as dark?’

  ‘Not all. Look, I’ll show you a light one.’

  They spent a long time discussing his paintings and Gracie forgot about her unattractive dungarees. They talked like old friends, laughing at the moderate paintings and admiring the good ones, although Tancredi was quick to shrug off her compliments with a self-deprecating remark. For a man so handsome and charismatic, he was very unsure of himself. This only made Gracie love him more.

  ‘Let’s have a drink,’ he suggested when they had finished. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘I don’t want to take up your time,’ she said, remembering suddenly why she had come. ‘Rutger sent me to tell the countess that his work has revealed a Gainsborough beneath one of the paintings.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, it’s very valuable. She’ll be happy to hear that.’

  ‘No, I mean, Rutger sent you up here to tell my mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But my mother left for Rome in September. She hasn’t been back since.’