The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  From that moment, their romance grew into an affair. Instead of being lied to, they lied to the world together. Instead of an imbalance in their relationship there was equilibrium. Gracie knew Tancredi was weak and yet it was his vulnerability that touched her where she was most tender, in the heart of her heart where she had suffered loss. Tancredi needed her and she responded to his need with the willingness of a mother with an uncertain child. As for her, Gracie needed him too. She loved the man, but she also loved the woman she was when she was with him. He made her feel beautiful. Whenever he looked at her she saw a better version of herself reflected in his eyes. She saw the woman she wanted to be.

  Under the guise of his art teacher she was able to continue as before. It never occurred to his wife that her husband would look at a girl, who, in her opinion, was ordinary. The rare times Petronella came to the Castello she dismissed Gracie as ‘staff’ even though Gracie sat at the lunch table, invited by the countess, who enjoyed nothing more than intrigue and deception. After all, she was the mistress of both. Tancredi gazed at Gracie across the table, his eyes brimming with amusement and affection, and only the countess was aware of it. Sometimes, she placed them beside each other, so that they could press their legs together beneath the table and touch hands as they reached for their wine glasses.

  Tancredi never discussed his wife. It was as if he didn’t want his joy ruined by her negative energy. From what little Gracie saw of Petronella she was spoilt and entitled, her beauty ruined by the permanent scowl on her face. She found fault in everything – mostly her husband whom she put down at every opportunity, and was bored by the countryside, claiming it lacked excitement. She was clever, impatient and intolerant of fools. The only things that seemed to give her pleasure were jewellery and fashion. Her long, tapering fingers sparkled with gems and her lean figure was draped in expensive clothes. Gracie wondered why Tancredi had married her. What had he found in her to love, besides her beauty? Gracie wondered whether it was possible for someone with so little appreciation for the simple things in life to find any kind of real happiness.

  Fortunately, Petronella did not often show up at the Castello. Tancredi divided his time between Rome and Colladoro. He was trying to start a business dealing in art, but preferred to spend his time with Gracie, pretending to learn how to paint. As for Gracie, she continued to work on the Matisse. Uncle Hans returned to La Colomba at the end of May and Rutger shortly after. Gaia had arranged for the lock on the door to be mended and Uncle Hans was none the wiser. If Gaia knew the truth about what went on in there she never said. The only other person to know about her affair was Rutger, after all, he had enabled it to begin, but besides the odd subtle remark delivered from behind his canvases, nothing was said. Life seemed to go back to normal. Then Gracie set into motion a series of events that would alter the course of her life for ever.

  She devised a plan for Tancredi to get back the painting he had so loved as a child.

  It all started one evening in June when Tancredi and Gracie were lying in bed at the top of the tower above the studio where he liked to paint. The contessa was in Rome, the gardeners had all gone home, including Donato who still worked there with his father, and they were alone. Only Bagwis remained in the castle, but he could be relied on to be discreet. It was hot up there at the top of the tower, and airless. No breeze entered through the windows, only the golden summer sunshine and the sound of crickets. Gracie lay in Tancredi’s arms, sleepy after making love, her heart full to the brim with happiness. It was then that she brought up her idea, because she so wanted to please him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she began. ‘You know The Temptation of Eve that you love so much?’

  She felt him grow tense at the mention of it and her excitement mounted. ‘What of it?’ he asked.

  ‘I have a plan that might interest you . . .’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘If you can somehow get the painting to me, I could copy it. Then you could give your uncle back the fake and keep the real one.’

  There was a long pause. Gracie was beginning to doubt the brilliance of her plan when he eased her gently off him and sat up. ‘Gracie, I don’t know what to say. You’re a genius!’ He looked at her and grinned, and her excitement returned.

  She drew the sheet over her naked body and knelt beside him. ‘You really think so?’

  ‘I don’t doubt that you can pull off a Bartoloni. I saw the Matisse you painted. If I can just engineer a way to get the painting to you for restoration—’

  ‘Where does your uncle live?’

  ‘In Rome.’

  ‘Can you invite him here? Perhaps the countess can invite him. Then you can tell him about the restoration work Rutger and I have done—’

  ‘It’s his wife we need to convince.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, we. If I get them down here, it’s Livia we need to work on. She knows nothing about art but considers herself highly cultured. You will have to persuade her to have the Bartoloni restored.’

  ‘How will I do that without seeing it?’

  ‘You’re the mastermind. You’ll think of something.’ Tancredi put his hand beneath her chin and kissed her. ‘After all, I can’t suggest it. My uncle is not a fool. He knows I want that painting. It has to come from his wife and you have to say something to sow the seed in her mind. She has to think it’s her brilliant idea.’

  ‘Not a challenge then?’ she quipped.

  Tancredi smiled affectionately. ‘Not for you.’

  Getting Bruno and Livia to come to the Castello was easy. Tancredi told Gracie that he had made the suggestion to his mother, explaining that he felt it was now time to bury old resentments, and she had been delighted. After all, Bruno was her only sibling and it had grieved her to have been in the middle of the feud between her brother and son. The olive branch was duly put out and received with enthusiasm. The date was set for a weekend in August. Now all Gracie had to do was work out a way of getting Livia to give her the Bartoloni to restore. She had no idea how she was going to do it without raising suspicion, but Tancredi wanted that painting so badly she knew she couldn’t fail.

  Gracie had always known she was a good forger; she was about to discover that she was a good manipulator as well.

  Chapter 14

  The much anticipated weekend in August arrived and Gracie still wasn’t sure how she was going to convince two people she had never met to send a painting she had never seen for restoration, with restorers they had never heard of. The plot was so piecemeal it was laughable. Yet, Gracie knew how important it was to Tancredi that they get their hands on his painting in order for her to copy it. Although she hadn’t worked out the finer details of the plan she hoped she would somehow improvise on the day. She would be introduced to his uncle as a restorer, the countess would rave about the works she had restored for her and then Gracie would bring the subject round to the Baroque period, which she would claim was coming back into fashion. All Bruno then had to do was list the Baroque paintings he had in his possession and the rest was up to her.

  Tancredi and Gracie had discussed the plot at great length and believed themselves very clever for having devised it. Were it to succeed the horrible Bruno would have a brilliant fake and Tancredi the sentimental original that meant so much to him. However, they had not taken into account Tancredi’s unpredictable mother. No sooner had Tancredi suggested he invite Gracie for lunch on the Saturday of his uncle’s visit than the countess declared that she would like to include Hans and Rutger as well. Tancredi told Gracie that it was because she wanted to show off her arty friends to her brother. The siblings were notoriously competitive. As it happened both Hans and Rutger were at La Colomba, and in very good spirits having sold Gracie’s Matisse to a collector in Japan. Gracie was none too happy. She couldn’t lie about the Baroque period having come into fashion with her uncle and Rutger within earshot, but there was nothing she could do. Both men had accepted the invitation with enthusiasm.

 
; On the Saturday morning Gracie awoke with her stomach in knots. The sun streamed in through the linen curtains bringing with it a chorus of birdsong and yet her nervousness prevented her from taking pleasure from the Tuscan dawn as she usually did. So much depended on today. She didn’t want to disappoint Tancredi but she feared she wouldn’t be able to pull it off, after all. She had been rash to have suggested such an ambitious plan in the first place. His belief in her only heightened her anxiety. What if she didn’t get a chance to speak to Livia on her own? What if the subject of restoring paintings never came up? What if Uncle Hans and Rutger scuppered her plan? She felt out of control and inadequate. She wished she could back out, but she couldn’t. Tancredi was depending on her.

  Gracie slipped into a red-and-white sundress embellished with a bold strawberry design and tied her hair into a ponytail. Uncle Hans, holding his panama hat, admired her when she came down the stairs into the hall. ‘Don’t you look good enough to eat!’ he exclaimed, referring to the strawberries. Gracie pulled a face which made him chuckle. ‘You haven’t grown tired of my jokes, have you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she answered with an affectionate smile. ‘I’d be lost without them.’

  ‘Good. Now, I want to talk about your mission today, Gracie.’ He put the hat on his head and his arm around her and led her into the garden. The smell of his spicy cologne drowned out the scents of the garden. To Gracie it was the smell of home and she loved it even more than gardenia and honeysuckle. ‘Do you know who you are going to meet today at lunch?’ he asked.

  ‘The countess’s brother,’ she replied.

  ‘Yes, you are going to meet Count Bruno Montefosco. Now, as you will no doubt remember, he inherited the other half of his father’s art collection. There must be many paintings in his collection which need cleaning and restoring. It is your mission to convince him that we are the best people to do it.’

  Gracie’s heart gave a leap. Uncle Hans was playing right into her hand without even realising it. ‘I will do my best,’ she said, suddenly feeling a little more positive about the day ahead.

  ‘Perhaps then he might wish to increase his collection.’ He scratched his chin and gave Gracie a meaningful look. Gracie knew exactly what that meant.

  ‘Yes, you never know,’ she added.

  ‘His father, Count Gaetano Montefosco, bought a few of my very best works.’

  Uncle Hans began to whistle a jolly tune, no doubt reflecting on the fakes he had painted for Tancredi’s grandfather, Gracie thought. In a sky-blue shirt with a blue-and-yellow silk cravat around his neck he looked dapper and cool in spite of the heat. Rutger stepped out of the house in a crumpled jacket and shabby-looking tie, his greying hair curling about his ears and sticking up in thinning tufts on the dome of his head. The three of them set off in Uncle Hans’s recently purchased silver sports car, with the roof down and the sun on their faces, and the knots in Gracie’s stomach grew tighter.

  When Gracie saw the shiny cars parked on the gravel in front of the castle the knots began to give her pain. She wondered how many people the countess had invited. Having initially wished that Uncle Hans and Rutger had not been invited, she was now grateful that they had. It was reassuring to know that she wasn’t going to have to walk round to the terrace and confront the strangers on her own.

  No sooner had the car drawn to a halt on the gravel than Bagwis appeared with his serene, patient smile to escort them to where the party was sitting in the shade, enjoying a drink before lunch. As they approached, Gracie noticed Tancredi at once. He raised his eyes and smiled, but she detected an uneasiness in his smile that made the knots in her stomach grow even tighter. However, she felt immediately reassured by the sight of him, handsome in a linen jacket and open-neck white shirt, sunglasses glinting in the light, and thought that maybe he was just anxious, as she was. The tall, dark-haired man who stood to meet them was obviously Count Bruno Montefosco, because he resembled his sister, the countess, with his shiny black hair, aquiline nose and predatory gaze. His wife, diminutive and as scrawny as a bird who has endured a lean winter, turned her head but did not get up. She had thin, pale lips and the wan face of a woman who is never satisfied. Then Gracie’s heart stalled as her gaze settled on a third woman, one she had not expected to see, and she realised why Tancredi’s smile was so tense. It was his wife, Petronella, whom she knew Tancredi had not invited. Gracie wondered whether the countess had asked her just to cause trouble. She was perched stiffly on one of the wicker sofas with the countess, who now got to her feet and glided over the paving stones to meet them.

  There was nothing rushed about the countess. She seemed to dwell in a world where time ran at a more leisurely pace. She put out a hand with a slow, languid movement, and smiled politely as Rutger shook it. ‘It is so lovely to see you again, Signor Janssen.’ Uncle Hans took off his hat and sunglasses and complimented her straw sombrero that was threaded with flowers from the garden. She gave him her hand and he bowed and kissed it, as gallant as a knight. Her dark eyes shone with pleasure as she responded to Uncle Hans’s charm with the graciousness of a woman who is used to flattery but nonetheless thrilled by it. When she welcomed Gracie, she gave a knowing smile and said under her breath, ‘No painting lessons today, then?’ and Gracie felt her cheeks burn. ‘Come, Signor Janssen and Signor Hollingsworth, allow me to present you to my family.’ Gracie caught eyes with Tancredi and he gave a little nod, which immediately put her at ease and connected them as the pair of conspirators that they were. It didn’t matter that the countess was now ignoring her as she gave Rutger and Hans her full attention, introducing them proudly as the most famous art restorers in Europe.

  Petronella’s face grew suddenly animated when she was introduced to Uncle Hans. Gracie noticed her smile widen as he complimented her with the same easy charm with which he had complimented the countess, bowed and kissed her hand as well, tickling her flawless skin with his moustache. The woman who had dismissed Gracie coldly now radiated beauty and charm as if she were always thus. Her mouth was no longer thin and twisted with fury but full and pouting. Uncle Hans, who was a master at making people feel special, had won her over with a few well-chosen sentences and a chivalrous kiss. When he was introduced to Livia Montefosco Gracie was reminded once again of just how handsome her uncle was. The uninspiring woman’s pallor turned positively rosy as he worked his magic on her too, and the laugh that escaped her throat was entirely out of keeping with her dour, humourless demeanour.

  It did not surprise Gracie that Petronella barely remembered having ever met her. She nodded politely then turned her attention back to Uncle Hans who took the place beside her on the sofa, where the countess had been sitting. Rutger had already formed a tight group with Count Bruno Montefosco, Tancredi and the countess. Gracie found herself alone with Livia Montefosco, who was now sitting frostily on her sofa, watching Petronella with envy. Gracie had no choice but to talk to her. After a few gauche attempts at conversation, to which Livia responded with a bored air and the minimum of words, Gracie dried up. There was no way she was ever going to be able to convince this woman to send them their paintings. She was not even attempting to hide the fact that she would rather have been talking to Uncle Hans.

  Then Gracie was struck with a flash of inspiration. She looked at her uncle and said to Livia in a quiet voice, ‘I’m surprised the countess invited my uncle here today.’ That caught Livia’s attention.

  She looked at Gracie as if she were seeing her for the first time and said, ‘Why?’

  Gracie chuckled in order to appear without guile. ‘Because he is her secret find,’ she said. ‘She’s very possessive of him. She usually only invites him up here when she’s alone. But then I suppose you and your husband have your own restorer in Rome.’

  Livia looked doubtful. ‘My husband has never thought of restoring his collection.’

  ‘Really? I’m surprised. You know Hans discovered a Gainsborough in the countess’s collection. What looked like a very ordinary painting
turned out to be a very valuable one. But that is Hans’s genius. He and Rutger are like a pair of detectives. It would be indiscreet of me to tell you about the other amazing finds they discovered in her collection, but I can safely say that she was very pleased.’

  Livia was now staring at her with interest. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘You mean, paintings of little worth turned out to be valuable treasures?’

  ‘Yes, Hans and Rutger are the best.’

  ‘And you are Hans’s niece?’

  ‘Yes, I’m an apprentice,’ she lied, hoping that Livia would put her indiscretions down to naivety and not to malice or manipulation. ‘It takes years to learn the trade, but decades to gain the experience and wisdom that those two men have. I hope that one day I will be as accomplished as they are.’

  ‘I’m sure you will be,’ said Livia, looking over with a distracted air at Hans who was now talking to both the countess and Petronella. ‘I understand your uncle is also an art dealer.’

  Gracie was now getting into her stride. By the gleam in the woman’s eyes Gracie could tell she had her attention, all she had to do to complete her mission was to slowly reel her in like a fish. ‘Yes, he’s like a truffle pig of the art world,’ she continued. ‘He’s found some extraordinary works in the least likely places. It’s rare that unknown works from the great masters come to light, but when they do Uncle Hans finds them. He’s sold paintings to some of the greatest collectors in the world. But he’ll never discuss them with anyone. He’s a paragon of discretion. Sometimes he even keeps that information from me.’