The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Does he really?’ said Livia, narrowing her eyes, and Gracie could feel her energy, for it was prickly and competitive.

  ‘I know that your father-in-law, Count Gaetano Montefosco, was a client, which is why the countess was so keen to use him.’ Gracie laughed, then, certain that she had done right by both Tancredi and Uncle Hans. ‘Perhaps she knows that her brother is not very interested so she need not worry about sharing her secret with him.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Livia.

  Lunch was served at the long table on one of the lower terraces, beneath trellising interwoven with vines of ripening grapes. Gracie was seated at the opposite end of the table to the countess, with Tancredi on her left and Bruno, the countess’s brother, on her right. The countess presided over the meal at the head, with Hans on her right and Rutger on her left. She had generously given Hans to Livia, who was thrilled, leaving Rutger to humour Petronella, who was less thrilled. Petronella barely glanced in her husband’s direction, but Gracie was nervous of talking to him in case something in her demeanour gave them away. Instead, she talked to Bruno, while Tancredi pressed his knee against hers and heightened her anxiety. To her surprise Bruno was not the mean-spirited ogre Tancredi had made him out to be. She had expected him to ignore her, as everyone else had, but he treated her like an equal, asking her questions about her life and listening intensely, as if she was the only person at the table with whom he was really interested in talking. She began to wonder, as the spaghetti alle vongole and wine relaxed her and the afternoon sunshine made her drowsy, whether it wasn’t Bruno who refused to give up the painting, but his wife. She glanced at Livia, who was deep in conversation with Hans, her head inclined, her expression attentive and serious as if Hans were divulging the secrets of the universe, and thought it entirely possible. She had the face of a woman who was difficult to please. Bruno had the face of a man who was keen to find the best in everyone.

  Tancredi was polite to his uncle but Gracie detected the coolness beneath his civility. For all his good intentions he was unable to disguise his feelings, even though he had engineered the invitation supposedly in order to make friends. If Bruno noticed he did not let on. He conversed with his nephew as if they had never quarrelled. Gracie found herself compensating for Tancredi’s reticence, filling the silences when he answered in monosyllables and steering the subjects away from paintings and childhood. She wondered whether Bruno and Livia would have given Tancredi the painting if they hadn’t known how much he wanted it. She sensed that Livia was holding on to it out of spite, because she was jealous of her sister-in-law, the flamboyant Countess Bassanelli. The more she observed the couple the more convinced Gracie became that the withholding of the painting had nothing to do with Tancredi and everything to do with his mother.

  At the end of lunch, as coffee was served by Bagwis and a stout woman in a pink uniform with a white apron, Petronella and Livia lit cigarettes and the conversation became a general one. Bruno didn’t say much. He sat back in his chair, coffee cup in hand, and listened as Hans dominated, as he always did. The countess flirted with him and he in turn flirted back. If their energy had been visible it would have been as sparks flying from one to the other in a magnificent display. Gracie watched, amused, as Petronella and Livia were forced to yield to the greater power. They puffed sulkily on their cigarettes as the countess threw back her head and laughed throatily, her Italian melodious and fluid like the sound of a stream bubbling over smooth rocks, her elegant long fingers with their manicured scarlet nails moving about her like exotic birds as she entertained with ease and elegance. She was mesmerising and Gracie felt sorry for her sister-in-law and daughter-in-law because they were thrown into shade, probably quite deliberately, by this mighty woman, greedily stealing all the attention for herself.

  Tancredi’s knee was still pressing against Gracie’s. It felt natural there, as if his leg were an extension of her own. She glanced at him to find that he was watching her, a look of admiration on his face for all to see, were they minded to notice. Appalled that his affection should be so carelessly exposed, she pushed out her chair and put her napkin on the table and quietly excused herself. Tancredi watched her go. She could feel his eyes on her back. Perhaps the wine had made him reckless, she thought, as she made her way to the ladies’ room.

  It occurred to her as she retreated downstairs that she did not belong in Tancredi’s world. As much as she wanted to be with him, she feared she did not want to be amongst his kind. These people, these wealthy, well-educated, privileged people, held no attraction for her. If anything they made her feel inadequate. She wondered whether his friends were like that. She feared they were for why else would he have married Petronella were she not the sort of woman he was used to? Gracie imagined that all the women in Rome were just like her; lofty, indulged and superior. The idea of having to be among them filled her with panic. Here in Colladoro the women were soft around the edges, not hard like Petronella and Livia. They had embraced her as one of them while Petronella and Livia had barely acknowledged her. As for the countess, she undoubtedly knew of Gracie’s affair with Tancredi and had no problem with it, in fact, she readily encouraged it, but Gracie doubted she would approve of her son divorcing his wife and marrying her. Gracie knew she did not qualify for the position of wife. Mistress was all that was acceptable for a girl of her class.

  As she wandered through the library on her way back to the terrace she was suddenly grabbed by the hand and pulled into the shadowy recess behind the door, pressed up against the wall. Tancredi’s mouth was on hers, kissing her deeply and passionately. She could taste the wine on his tongue and the figs on his breath and feel the warmth of his hands through her thin dress. The weight of his body was hot, the vigour in it arousing. She forgot about Petronella and Livia and her sense of inadequacy. Nothing mattered but him and the growing desire in her loins that demanded gratification.

  He lifted her knee and swiftly unbuttoned his trousers. ‘You’re mad!’ she hissed as he pulled aside her panties and entered her.

  ‘You love me mad,’ he replied, laughing into her neck.

  ‘But you have no protection,’ she protested, suddenly anxious.

  ‘I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘What if . . . ?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. Gracie laughed because she didn’t care either. As he moved his hips the pleasure began to build and slowly flooded her mind and all reason in it. She wound her legs around his hips and he slowed down to a gentle rhythm.

  ‘I love you, Gracie,’ he said.

  ‘I love you too, Tancredi,’ she replied. Then she closed her eyes and let the warm feeling spread throughout her belly.

  When they were spent Gracie returned to the table first, having smoothed down her dress and tidied her hair, so that they did not arouse suspicion by arriving together. However, she needn’t have worried for the guests had now moved to the garden, where the countess was showing the party the newly acquired statue of a Cupid which she had placed at the end of a rose-lined walkway. Gracie joined them, hanging back a little out of shyness.

  Bruno turned round and smiled encouragingly. ‘Ah, there you are, Gracie. You wouldn’t want to miss the garden tour,’ he said.

  She hoped he did not see signs of what she had just been up to. ‘Every time I come here there is something new,’ she replied.

  ‘Yes, my sister loves nothing more than spending money.’ His tone exposed his disapproval.

  ‘She has beautiful taste,’ Gracie said diplomatically. ‘If I had her taste I would want to embellish my home too.’

  He chuckled and she knew what he was thinking, that beautiful taste was one thing, but extravagance quite another. They walked on. Hans had all three women in his thrall, while Rutger shuffled along behind like a dishevelled dog, stopping every now and then to admire the view or the flowers. He was used to Hans being the showman. It was their dynamic and a very efficient dynamic at that. Gracie knew that Uncle
Hans was cultivating all three ladies and, in her own way, she was part of their dynamic too. While they were reeling in the women, she was reeling in Bruno. The fact that she was also on a mission for Tancredi made her feel like a double agent and she felt a little guilty when Uncle Hans caught her eye and winked.

  However, there was no guarantee that their charm offensive would pay off. They said their farewells at the end of the afternoon. The countess was clearly fond of Hans for she giggled like a girl when his moustache prickled her hand and lingered there a little longer than it should have. Gracie wondered whether she had ever tried to seduce him in the pavilion next to the tennis court. She wondered how far her uncle would go for business. From the way he was flirting with the countess Gracie decided he would go as far as necessary in order to complete a sale. He flirted with Livia too – Hans Hollingsworth was no fool! He made sure he charmed Petronella as well. The competitive air smouldered between the women, and Gracie could almost see it like heat quivering over hot stones. She said her goodbyes and everyone was very cordial, except Bruno whose farewell was almost affectionate. Tancredi kissed her cheek briskly and no one would have guessed they had made love behind the door in the library. They set off back down the track in Uncle Hans’s dashing sports car with a triumphant air.

  Yet as the weeks went by there was no word from either the countess or Livia Montefosco and Gracie began to worry that her plan had failed. That she had failed Tancredi. And then, at the beginning of November, Uncle Hans received a very interesting letter.

  Chapter 15

  Italy, 2010

  ‘So, what did the letter say?’ Anastasia asked, greedy for more of her grandmother’s story.

  They were sitting on a bench that was placed at the far end of the garden, overlooking the hills and the misty ocean that sparkled in the distance. It was dusk. Carina and the other guests were getting ready for supper and the grounds of the castle were quiet. The sound of crickets and roosting birds was a gentle melody they were now accustomed to.

  ‘It was from Bruno’s wife Livia,’ said Gracie. ‘She wanted Hans to come to their house in Rome to see their collection of paintings with a view to restoring the ones that needed restoring, and to talk about the possibility of adding to it.’

  ‘How could you be sure that Hans would choose Gaetano’s painting?’ Anastasia asked.

  ‘I couldn’t be sure,’ said Gracie with a smile.

  ‘So you went with him?’

  Gracie chuckled. ‘You’re always one step ahead of the game, just like I was,’ she said, looking at her granddaughter with affection. ‘I had never gone anywhere. I’d spent eight years at La Colomba, working with Rutger. I knew if I asked my uncle, he would agree to take me with him.’

  ‘And he did?’

  ‘Yes, he did.’ Anastasia was grinning broadly, her grey-green eyes shining with excitement. It delighted Gracie that her granddaughter should be so interested. And, by telling her the story, Gracie was able to wander back down the avenues of her past and relive it. ‘So, off we went to Rome in Uncle Hans’s fabulous car. Rutger remained at La Colomba and neither of them had an inkling of why I wanted to go and what I intended to do when I got there. With hindsight I know that they would have discouraged me if I had told them. And of course I should have told them. But I was in love and I’d have done anything for Gaetano. Anything at all.’

  ‘So, did you manage to convince Livia that Gaetano’s painting needed to be restored?’

  Gracie did not answer directly. She didn’t want to rush through the details. She wanted to savour this part of the story, before it all went wrong. ‘We arrived in Rome, which was the first time I had ever been there. What a beautiful city it is. We stayed in the famous Hassler Hotel, which was the first time I’d ever stayed in a hotel. Goodness, if you can imagine where I came from, Anastasia, a tiny house in London with an outside loo, and then imagine the glamour of this hotel, you will understand how excited I was to be there. La Colomba had impressed me, but the hotel put Uncle Hans’s villa in the shade. It was like a palace. And everywhere I looked I saw ancient sculptures and buildings and magnificent works of art. It was like dying and arriving in heaven, it truly was. Well . . .’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to take you there one day? I would love you to see it. But, I digress. Where was I?’

  ‘You were about to tell me about Livia,’ Anastasia answered, a little impatiently, because she wanted to know whether her grandmother managed to get Gaetano’s painting to La Colomba.

  ‘Ah, yes, we went to the palazzo, which was a grand palace in a square dominated by a gorgeous fountain. It was evening and the building looked pink. I remember that.’

  ‘Did Livia know you were coming? Was she furious when she saw you?’

  ‘No, she wasn’t expecting me, but she was not furious at all. She was quite a different person on her own turf. She was gracious and warm, nothing like the frosty woman she had been at the Castello. She was excited to show Uncle Hans their collection. And my instincts had been right. She wore the trousers in that relationship. The reason Gaetano had not been given his grandfather’s painting was entirely down to her. The seeds I had planted at that lunch had taken root. Livia was jealous of the countess, which I had sensed, and it gave her pleasure to steal what she believed to be one of her secret treasures: Uncle Hans. How she worked on him. She flirted and batted her eyelashes and treated him to a lavish meal. Me too, of course, but she wasn’t interested in me. She was polite because I was his niece, but she was determined to make him like her more than her sister-in-law. That was never going to happen.’ Gracie chuckled. ‘She had nothing of the countess’s charisma or charm. But she tried. Uncle Hans played along. He knew what she was up to. Uncle Hans was a master manipulator. No one recognised a schemer better than him.’

  ‘Did you see Gaetano’s painting?’

  ‘I did and it was just as I had imagined it to be. It was exquisite. I could see exactly why it had appealed to the boy he had once been and why he wanted it so badly.’

  ‘Did it need restoring?’

  ‘Not really. A little surface cleaning perhaps,’ Gracie replied. ‘But Uncle Hans wasn’t going to argue with me. He was so busy studying the collection – and there were many, many paintings hanging on every wall of the palazzo – he didn’t hear me making the suggestion to Livia. I got her on her own and told her confidentially that Baroque was going to be in big demand again, following a famous pop star tipping the market by buying up furniture and paintings from that period. I told her in a whisper that my uncle had been personally chosen by the pop star to source the paintings. Her greedy eyes lit up. I assured her that this little picture would soon be very valuable and it would be worth cleaning it. It was as easy as that. Of course I couldn’t resist asking her whether she would ever sell it.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That it was sentimental so she never would.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Interesting, but not surprising. The fact that her husband’s nephew wanted it so badly was reason enough to hold on to it. Had he not wanted it, I’m sure she would have sold it at the drop of a hat.’

  ‘What a horrid woman.’

  ‘Yes, I felt sorry for Bruno. Both he and Gaetano had married very unpleasant women.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m afraid the truth is rather unsavoury.’

  Anastasia loved an unsavoury truth and looked eagerly at her grandmother. ‘Do tell, Granny!’ she said.

  ‘Money.’

  Anastasia frowned. ‘I thought the family were very rich.’

  ‘Gaetano’s grandfather came from a long line of illustrious collectors. They had once been one of the wealthiest families in Europe. But buying art is an expensive business. Gaetano’s grandmother had had nothing. His grandfather had married her for love, going against the wishes of his family. I discovered that later – I wish I had known that at the time. Gaetano’s grandfather was extravagant. He was determined to match
his famous ancestors and add to the family collection. By the time he died he had run up terrible debts. His son, Bruno, had to sell a villa he had in Tuscany and prime property he and his sister had inherited in Rome. Of course they had the paintings, but men like Bruno and Gaetano would rather cut off their limbs than sell what their families have acquired over generations. They are very proud.’

  ‘And very foolish!’ Anastasia exclaimed.

  ‘In our eyes, yes. But one has to try to understand their culture. I believe Bruno, who had grown up with his father’s extravagance, had married Livia for her money. Her family were wealthy industrialists. It was a perfect match. He gave her class and she gave him money so he could continue to live in style, surrounded by treasures.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just sell a Michelangelo?’

  ‘I doubt he ever had a Michelangelo, dear. Bruno would rather have married money, however unpleasant it was, than sell one of his treasures. However, his sister was different. Gaetano’s mother later fell on hard times and sold much of the collection she had so blithely restored, but I’m jumping ahead of myself . . .’

  ‘Do you think Gaetano had married for money too?’

  ‘I’m certain of it. Petronella was moneyed. I cannot think of another reason for marrying her. She didn’t make him happy, otherwise he would not have come looking for me!’

  ‘So, what did he say when you returned with the painting?’

  ‘I had a few nerve-racking weeks while Livia had everything packed up and sent down to La Colomba. I wasn’t sure she would include it in the list of paintings Uncle Hans had chosen for restoration.’

  ‘But she did.’

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘What did Gaetano say?’

  ‘He held the painting in his hands and wept.’

  ‘He cried?’ Anastasia grinned, considering it embarrassing for a grown man to cry.