The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  It wasn’t long before he drew up at the foot of an umbrella pine. The moon was sufficiently bright for Anastasia to glimpse the house through the trees. It was a farmhouse, built on one level, with a tiled roof and stone walls. There were a few other buildings in the vicinity, still like sleeping beasts, and it was towards one of these that Giovanni led her.

  He pushed open the big wooden door and stepped inside. It was completely dark. Anastasia could smell the scent of hay. Giovanni pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and switched on the torch. The barn revealed itself in the light. There were stacks of hay bales and pieces of farm machinery lying about. Rakes and brooms and other farm equipment Anastasia didn’t recognise were propped up against the walls. Hoses, ropes and twine hung on hooks. There was a wooden ladder leading up to the hay loft and Giovanni took her hand and guided her towards it.

  She climbed the ladder to the top. Giovanni shone his torch onto the place he had prepared for her. She gasped at the romance of it. He had laid blankets on the hay and positioned hurricane lamps on the beams which he now lit with his cigarette lighter. When he switched off his phone the candlelight illuminated the loft with its warm, flickering glow. He took her hand again and lay down on the soft bed he had made for them. If Anastasia had been nervous, his kiss reassured her. She closed her eyes and savoured the taste of him as he explored her mouth with his tongue. His hand caressed her cheek and her neck, travelling down to her breast, feeling her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. Anastasia writhed with pleasure like a cat, growing hot beneath his touch as an aching feeling began to grow in the bottom of her belly. Giovanni was in no hurry, in fact, her impatience aroused him. He took his time, kissing her tenderly, whispering ‘Ti amo’ over and over again, as he slipped his hand beneath her dress and ran it softly over her stomach.

  He stopped kissing her and lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. She stared up at him and he stared down at her and she believed she saw love there, burning in the reflection of the candles that glimmered in his eyes. With deft fingers, he unbuttoned the front of her dress. She lifted her ribcage to give him access to her bra, which he unhooked with the dexterity of a man who has unhooked many, and moaned as his mouth descended onto her breast. The sensation of his tongue was almost too exquisite to bear. She thought she would go crazy with the strange intensity mounting in her core.

  Then he was kissing her belly, his hands on her waist, and travelling lower. He hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties and pulled them down her legs and over her feet. Anastasia was exposed, but it didn’t frighten her. She was so overcome with desire that she was no longer thinking but following her impulses, helpless beneath Giovanni’s experienced touch, thrilled by her own rampant lust.

  He parted her thighs and Anastasia closed her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as his tongue found her most intimate place and a sensation more thrilling than anything she had experienced before gradually began to build. Her body drifted on wave upon wave of pleasure. Her mind became lost in it so that she was aware only of the delicious feelings that had taken her over. She was not conscious of the noise she was making until Giovanni brought her to a climax and she slowly came back to her senses.

  He grinned at her triumphantly. Her gratification was his success. He hastily wriggled out of his jeans and shirt, releasing himself for her to admire, and opened his hand to reveal a condom. His eyes shone. ‘Now I make you woman,’ he said, and lay down upon her.

  Chapter 13

  Italy, 1963

  Gracie could barely see the road for the tears in her eyes. She freewheeled her bicycle down the hill, impatient to reach the privacy of La Colomba so she could sob in private. Inside her chest her heart was about to burst with unhappiness, but she held it together until she was out of Colladoro and in the open countryside. Then, when she was sure that she was alone, she surrendered to misery.

  How could Tancredi have deceived her? He had led her to believe that he loved her. How could he have been so cruel? How could his mother have colluded with him, because over the past months the contessa had witnessed them together at the Castello and yet she had said nothing. The image of Tancredi’s wife floated then before her eyes. Tall with an angular body, a long neck, an imperious nose and the coldest blue gaze Gracie had ever seen, Tancredi’s wife was everything that Gracie was not. The woman had barely cast her a glance – she was clearly the sort of person who did not take trouble with those she deemed beneath her. ‘I would like to speak with my husband,’ she had said and Gracie had been left swaying, like a tree that has just survived a tornado. Gracie had remained, rooted to the ground, as Tancredi had blanched. His wife had marched off in the direction of the castle, expecting him to follow, and he had looked at Gracie with anguished eyes. His stricken face had done nothing to compensate for the lie, however, and Gracie had turned on her heel and hurried off towards the gate where she had left her bicycle. She had wanted to be as far away from him as possible. She hadn’t glanced back. She did not know whether he had hesitated, whether he had considered running after her. All she knew was that she was alone.

  As she cycled up the farm track towards La Colomba she thought of Donato and was overcome with regret. She should have accepted his proposal rather than hold out for a dream, which she now knew had been nothing but a mirage. She should have taken the opportunity when it was offered and been grateful for a chance of happiness. She should have listened to Gaia and Damiana who had both told her about the count’s hedonistic ways. Why had she thought she was special? How had she allowed him to persuade her that she was? Now she had nothing, just a broken heart and an empty future. She discarded her bicycle on the lawn and ran into the villa. She’d never love anyone again, she resolved. She’d grow old here at La Colomba, like Rutger, and throw all her energy into her work, which seemed to be the only thing she could control.

  The house was quiet. Uncle Hans was in Paris, Rutger in Amsterdam. Only the servants were there, creeping quietly about the shadows like mice. Gracie ran to her bedroom and closed the door. She flung herself onto the bed and sobbed into her pillow. How could she not have known he was married? How could he have kept such a monumental secret from her? The questions rose and fell like waves on a tormented sea and there was nothing Gracie could do to dispel them. And all the while, Tancredi’s wife dominated like a formidable ship, mighty and strong, steaming through her happiness.

  At length, there came a knock on the door. A light tap-tapping that Gracie immediately recognised. She sat up and wiped her eyes. ‘Come in, Gaia,’ she said. The door opened and Gaia stepped into the room.

  ‘What has happened?’ she asked. The concerned look on Gaia’s face made Gracie cry again. Gaia sat on the side of the bed and drew her into her arms. They remained in silence for a while as Gracie released her sorrow onto Gaia’s chest. Finally, when she found her voice, she confided in her friend. Gaia did not comment until Gracie reached the end of the tale and then she brushed the stray hair off Gracie’s face and smiled at her tenderly.

  ‘I wish you had shared your secret earlier for I could have told you that he was married,’ she said.

  ‘When did he marry?’

  ‘A couple of years ago. I don’t know. In Rome, I think. I just remember hearing about it. There are people in Colladoro who look on the Montefosco family as royalty and want to know everything about them. I’m not like that, but I must have heard it mentioned somewhere. Personally, I think Count Bassanelli has always been trouble. He is one of those wealthy, entitled men who believe they can have anything they want.’

  ‘I can’t believe I didn’t know.’

  Gaia shrugged. ‘You’re detached down there in the valley. And you’ve been busy working. No one works harder than you.’

  ‘I feel like a fool. I thought he loved me,’ Gracie said in a small voice.

  ‘I’m sure he does. He probably wishes he wasn’t married. But it wasn’t kind to lead you on. He wasn’t thinking about you and your future. He was only
thinking about himself.’ She smiled with compassion. ‘Men like him never leave their wives. Not because they don’t want to, but because they can’t. Society and religion make it impossible. Don’t ever be the fool who believes the empty promises of a married man! It’s lucky you discovered he was married early enough to move on and find someone who is free to love you.’

  ‘I don’t have a future now.’ Gracie wiped her face with her hand. ‘I will be an old maid, gathering dust on the shelf, while the sensible girls like you marry and have families.’

  Gaia laughed. ‘Darling girl, you are so young! There is plenty of time to fall in love again.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone else.’

  ‘Not now. Of course you don’t. But you will, in time. Lots of people have their hearts broken and they survive. They grow a little wiser and a little more cautious, perhaps, but they find happiness with someone else eventually. And you will too.’

  ‘No one will compare with Tancredi.’

  ‘He’s not so wonderful, Gracie. You’ll look back in twenty years and say, “I’m so happy I never married him. Now he’s fat and sweaty, with a paunch.” ’ Gracie had to laugh at that. ‘You see, I bet you didn’t think you’d ever laugh again a few minutes ago, and here you are having a good laugh. He will be fat and sweaty, with a paunch. I know his type. Too much money, too much food, too much alcohol and too much self-indulgence. Plus, his wife will make him unhappy. I know that type, too. Spoilt and ungrateful. It’s gratitude and humility that are the secrets to happiness. Rich people don’t know that.’

  ‘If he comes to the villa, will you tell him I don’t want to see him? I don’t want to hear his excuses. There is no justification for lies.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m not going to sit in a heap and let this defeat me. I’m going to work.’ Gracie knew if she remained on her bed any longer she might never get up.

  ‘Why don’t we go for a walk? The air will do you good.’

  ‘No, I want to paint. I will be in Uncle’s studio. Work is the only thing that will take my mind off him.’

  ‘Very well. I will bring you a coffee and guard the door with my life.’

  The two women went downstairs. Gaia to the kitchen to make the coffee and Gracie to her uncle’s studio to continue working on the Matisse forgery.

  In Hans’s studio, the spring sun shone through the windows with its usual enthusiasm. Gracie wondered how it could possibly shine so jubilantly in view of her broken heart. She closed the door behind her, stepped out of her shoes and changed into overalls. The familiar smell of paint and canvas was reassuring and the routine of her work immediately soothed her aching spirit. She tried to put Tancredi out of her mind and concentrate on the painting. This she could not do, but the focus required to forge a great master was so intense that as the hours went by she did manage at least to diminish him.

  She was disturbed by a sudden commotion. There came a tirade of raised voices and the sound of running feet. She sat up in alarm, paintbrush poised, and listened. One of the voices belonged to Gaia. She was shouting at someone and her staccato Italian sounded like a round of gunfire. Gracie put down her brush and went to the door to listen. When Gaia gave her adversary a moment to speak, Gracie recognised Tancredi’s voice and froze.

  She pressed her ear to the door and her eyes filled with tears. He had followed her after all. She imagined he had come as soon as he had been able to get away from his wife. However, the heroic image of him racing across the countryside to reach her was weakened by the reality of his lie. There was nothing he could do to make up for his deceit, nothing he could say to justify the fact that he had kept his marriage secret, and Gracie knew it. She longed for him to have an excuse worthy of her forgiveness, but there was none. He was married, and even if he was unhappily married, married in name only, or even married but separated, he was still married in the eyes of God and he should have told her.

  The voices got louder as Tancredi raged around the house in search of her. Gracie could hear her heartbeat pounding against her bones. She longed to open the door and see him, but she was aware how foolish that would be. She did not want to give him the opportunity to persuade her of his innocence. For her own good, he must leave now and never return.

  Suddenly the door handle rattled. It took her so much by surprise that she gasped and leapt back in panic. Just as she did so she tripped on her shoes which she had discarded so as not to cover them in paint. She stumbled, reached for a stool in an effort to save herself, but only managed to knock it over. Both she and the stool landed on the wooden floorboards with a crash. ‘Gracie, are you in there?’ Tancredi shouted from the other side. ‘I can hear you, Gracie. I know you’re in there. Don’t hide. Please. Hear me out. Gracie!’

  Gracie wasn’t sure now whether she was crying because she had truly hurt herself, or because she loved him and wanted so badly to be given a good enough reason to forgive him. She sat on the floor, nursing her bruised hip and elbow, and said nothing. Gaia’s voice set off another round of bullets. ‘You can’t go in there. That’s Signor Hans’s studio. It’s private. Leave Gracie alone. She’s hurt. You hurt her. The least you can do is leave her alone. Go on! Get out!’

  Tancredi ignored her. Gracie could hear his voice so clearly it was as if he were in the room. ‘Gracie, listen to me. I can explain. I never wanted to hurt you, but I wanted you so badly I couldn’t risk losing you. I knew if I told you the truth you’d leave me. I need you. You’ve brought sunlight into my life. Before you, it was so dark.’ He paused and then his voice broke and with it, Gracie’s heart all over again. ‘Gracie, I can’t live without you. I won’t live without you. My marriage means nothing to me. You mean everything. Please, let me come in.’

  Gracie was so confused she didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to tell him to go away, but she didn’t want him to go away. ‘I can’t,’ she said at last. Gaia fired a few more bullets but they were less certain now, as if she, too, was moved by him.

  ‘Then I’m coming in!’ he declared and before Gracie could get to her feet he had kicked the door and forced the lock. He stood in the doorway, staring down at her. She stared back at him in horror. He was standing in Uncle Hans’s secret studio which only she and Rutger were permitted to enter. It was testament to Hans Hollingsworth’s authority that Gracie was, at that moment, more concerned about the broken lock than Tancredi’s betrayal. She scrambled to her feet, anxious to get him out of the studio as fast as possible. But Tancredi did not move. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and from the distraught look on his face Gracie knew that he meant it. ‘I never intended to hurt you. I was going to tell you, but I kept putting it off. The more I put it off the greater the betrayal was going to be, but I just couldn’t do it. I’m a coward, Gracie. But you make me strong. Please, Gracie, forgive me.’

  ‘Let’s go outside,’ she suggested firmly, her thoughts now as clear as crystal. However, there was something in the sudden officious tone of her voice that made Tancredi aware of her eagerness to get him out of the room. He shifted his eyes from her face to the canvases. Then he narrowed them suspiciously.

  ‘My God, you are restoring a Matisse,’ he said, spotting the large canvas she was working on.

  ‘I need some air,’ she said, almost pushing him through the doorway.

  ‘But you’re not restoring it,’ he said, moving past her to view it more closely. ‘You’re painting it.’

  ‘I copy, for American buyers, nothing special,’ she explained weakly.

  ‘I’m not a fool, Gracie. That’s not a copy. That’s a brilliant fake.’ He laughed and put his hands on his hips. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one keeping secrets.’

  Gracie glanced at Gaia, who was still standing in the next-door studio listening to everything they said. Gracie felt as if she were drowning. Uncle Hans’s business had been, up until now, watertight, but she had allowed cracks to appear and water was now seeping out at an alarming rate. ‘I paint fakes, but they are always s
old as fakes. I would never dupe a buyer and besides, I’m not good enough. Not to an expert eye. Gaia, would you leave me to speak to Tancredi alone?’

  ‘If you are sure,’ Gaia replied and Gracie hoped she had believed her explanation.

  Gracie pushed the door shut and turned to face him. ‘Okay, you are now being honest with me so I will be honest with you,’ she said in a solemn voice.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘My uncle is a master forger and so am I.’

  Even though he had accused her of forging the Matisse Tancredi was stunned by her confession. ‘Good God!’ He shook his head and turned back to the painting. ‘What a mysterious woman you are, Gracie, and how talented. This is a work of genius.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she said, standing beside him.

  ‘How much will this make you?’

  She shrugged because she didn’t really care about money. ‘I don’t know. My uncle takes charge of the business side. I just paint the pictures.’

  ‘I hope he gives you your fair share.’

  ‘I don’t really mind if he doesn’t. I give most of it to my family back in London anyway and they are doing well enough. I need little for myself.’

  Tancredi pulled her into his arms with a sudden passion. ‘I wish I had married you. Petronella thinks only of money. I’m sorry, Gracie.’ He kissed her with ardour and she was powerless to resist. She closed her eyes and felt nothing but what was familiar and right. ‘I’ve hurt you and I will never forgive myself. I will make it up to you somehow. I will divorce my wife. Yes, that’s what I will do. I will divorce her and then I will marry you.’ Gracie believed him, yet, even if she hadn’t, she would not have been able to leave him, such was the strength of her attachment. It would have been like ripping out her heart.