The Temptation of Gracie

by Santa Montefiore

  It was just after midnight when Anastasia hurried down the path towards the pool. She had chosen her prettiest yellow dress over which she wore a faded denim jacket. On her feet she wore sparkly sandals and she could feel the dew now, wetting her toes as she walked. Moonlight spilled through the gaps in the cloud, shining a spotlight onto the gardens, and the scent of roses was carried on the breeze. Anastasia’s heart was thumping wildly with anticipation. She knew Giovanni would be waiting for her down on the track, beside his scooter, ready to whisk her off to the barn for another night of lovemaking in the den he had prepared for her. The mere thought of it sent tremors across her skin, as if her nerves were oblivious of his betrayal, or simply disinterested. If she was like Madeleine she wouldn’t care and she’d enjoy him regardless. But she wasn’t. She was in love and she had believed he loved her too.

  The pool house came into view, bathed in the moon’s milky white radiance. The pool itself was black lacquer, reflecting the night. Anastasia circled it, treading lightly over the paving stones between which little flowers had seeded themselves and flourished, thanks to Giovanni’s idleness. She could make out the path that wound through the long grasses and shrubbery to the track below. She sensed Giovanni down there. She could feel him like a predator feels her prey.

  She took a deep breath and set off down the bank. A glimmer of moonlight bounced off the metal of his scooter and caught her eye. She then noticed the glowing red tip of his cigarette as he put it to his lips and took a drag. He must have heard her footsteps for he turned to face her and his white teeth shone as he smiled. Anastasia fell into his arms as she always did and he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her passionately. She tasted the cigarette on his tongue and in his breath and her loins started to ache regardless of what was in her head, conditioned as she was, like a Pavlov dog, to anticipate pleasure. He wound his hand beneath her hair, round the back of her neck, and Anastasia had to muster all her energy to pull away, take his hand, and lead him up to the pool. At first he resisted. He wanted her to come with him, to the barn, where it was comfortable and there was no danger of being discovered. But Anastasia had other ideas. She smiled at him with promise and said the word ‘Surprise’, which he understood.

  Once inside the pool house she pushed him playfully against the wall and kissed him. His mouth curled into a grin as he realised that she was going to take the lead. This clearly delighted him. His hands dropped to his sides and he lifted his chin, willingly allowing her to undress him. Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt. Little by little his chest was exposed. She ran her fingers over it, tracing the outline of his muscles and the hair that grew there. He was indeed very fit. When his shirt was off and discarded on the floor, she started on his jeans. She unbuckled his belt, making sure she took her time, then unbuttoned his flies and pulled down the zip. He murmured in Italian and closed his eyes. She drew the trousers down his legs and he stepped out of them, kicking off his canvas shoes at the same time. She could see from the swell beneath his underwear that he was excited. This gave her a gratifying sense of empowerment. She stood up and kissed him, but when he tried to touch her she put his hands back against the wall. ‘Let me pleasure you,’ she said, and hooked her thumbs over the waistband of his underwear. Gently, she removed these too so that he was standing before her, completely naked. She looked him over, regretful that she would now have to leave him.

  With a swift movement she gathered his clothes and tossed them out of the open window where Madeleine was waiting for them. Then she ran out of the pool house. Bursting into a fit of nervous giggles the two plotters ran up the path towards the castle. Anastasia dared to look back just as they turned the corner. She saw Giovanni in the doorway of the pool house, staring after them in bewilderment. He was no longer excited.

  ‘Did you hide his scooter?’ Anastasia asked Madeleine as they reached the castle out of breath.

  ‘Of course,’ Madeleine replied. ‘He will have great trouble finding it, but he will of course, eventually. First, he will have to walk home naked.’ She grinned, dropping the clothes onto the ground. ‘That will teach him.’

  ‘I think that’s what Granny calls karma,’ said Anastasia.

  ‘And what we call revenge,’ Madeleine added. ‘How does it feel?’

  Anastasia pulled a face. ‘He is very handsome . . .’

  Madeleine nudged her with her elbow. ‘Don’t start!’ she said, pretending to give Anastasia a stern look. ‘Come on. The job is done. We need to go to bed!’ And the two walked into the castle with a bounce in their step.

  Chapter 25

  Anastasia and Carina awoke at the same time. They lay in bed, luxuriating in the sound of birds and in the lyrical rise and fall of Italian as a couple of retainers chatted excitedly in the garden below their window. It wasn’t until Anastasia picked up the name Giovanni that she realised what they were talking about. ‘They’re talking about Giovanni,’ she said, sitting up. ‘I wonder how he got home.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t get home. Perhaps he’s still in the pool house,’ said Carina with a smile. She had waited up and been told the whole story when Anastasia fell into the bedroom in a frenzy of excitement.

  Anastasia grinned. ‘We made sure there was nothing in there for him to clothe himself with,’ she said. ‘He would have had to find a leaf in the garden and wear it like Adam.’ They both laughed.

  ‘I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him,’ said Carina.

  ‘He deserved it. Someone had to teach him a lesson.’ Anastasia wandered into the bathroom. ‘He’ll regret the day he ever lured Madeleine into the tennis pavilion.’

  ‘I hate to say it, darling, but I think it was Madeleine who lured him into the pavilion.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who lured who, the fact is he has now been punished. With any luck the whole of Colladoro knows and he is suitably humiliated.’ She emerged a moment later and began to dress. ‘We’re taking Granny to La Colomba today,’ she said.

  ‘It’s going to be very emotional for her.’

  ‘I saw the room where her uncle hanged himself. I knew something horrid had happened in there. It felt creepy.’

  ‘What a terrible thing to have witnessed. My poor mother,’ said Carina.

  ‘And to think she bottled it up all these years,’ Anastasia added.

  ‘You think you know someone,’ Carina mused, climbing out of bed and padding into the bathroom.

  ‘We have to find Gaetano,’ Anastasia reminded her.

  ‘I don’t think she’s come back for him, after all. She’s come back to lay ghosts to rest.’

  ‘You mean, facing that room?’

  ‘Facing the past, which remains in that house. By sharing her story with us and visiting La Colomba after forty-odd years, she will finally be able to let it go.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s curious to see what became of Gaetano?’

  ‘No, you can’t still love someone more than forty years later. That’s the sort of thing you only read in romantic novels—’

  ‘And in the newspapers,’ said Anastasia, who was inclined to be more romantic than her mother. ‘They’re always printing stories like that.’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s unlikely. This is about Uncle Hans, not Gaetano.’

  But Anastasia didn’t agree. She sensed her grandmother’s attachment to Gaetano. She didn’t feel that the years had, in any way, diminished it. ‘We’re talking about two people who never stopped loving each other, Mum. Two people torn apart by tragedy, not because one cooled off and left the other broken-hearted. I think she longs for him. Just because she’s old now doesn’t mean her heart is.’

  Carina laughed and zipped up her Capri trousers. ‘I think you’re going to be a writer of romantic novels,’ she said.

  Anastasia flicked her hair off her shoulders. ‘If Granny lets me write her story, perhaps I will.’

  ‘Good, then you can keep me in my old age.’

  ‘I won’t have to. You’ll have Granny’s money to do that!
’

  ‘Today we are going to enjoy our final lesson,’ Ilaria began. ‘We are not going to be sad, because we are not going to say goodbye tomorrow, but farewell. Castello Montefosco will always be here, ready to welcome you back.’

  Rex had noticed that Gracie had been upset the evening before, but was too polite to mention it. Instead, he took the stool next to hers and talked to her with tenderness, as if she were a wounded thing who needed looking after. Gracie noticed and was grateful, for she felt tired and raw, having not slept very well due to the emotions she had stirred up in divulging the final chapter of her story. She was anxious about going to La Colomba and what she would find there. She knew Uncle Hans would not be hanging from that beam, but in her mind he was there still, his feet grey, his face white and his lips blue.

  ‘I hope we won’t say goodbye tomorrow, but farewell,’ said Rex, blue eyes twinkling with implication that was not lost on Gracie.

  ‘Of course, we won’t,’ she replied. ‘I hope to remain in touch with all the new friends I have made here.’

  ‘I’d like you to see my ranch,’ he said, lowering his voice as if he wasn’t going to extend the invitation to anyone else. ‘For a woman who appreciates nature, I think you’d find it magical.’

  ‘I’m sure I would,’ she agreed.

  Seeing her agreement as an indication of her enthusiasm, he grinned, causing the crow’s feet to deepen into his temples. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s settled then.’

  Anastasia sat beside Alex. ‘What’s going on between you and Madeleine?’ he asked, just before the lesson started.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You keep looking at each other and grinning, like you’ve been up to a load of no good.’

  Anastasia laughed. ‘Let’s just say we dealt with the snake,’ she replied. ‘It won’t be bothering anyone any more, I don’t imagine.’

  Carina turned to Lauren. ‘We’ll keep in touch, won’t we?’ she said.

  ‘You bet,’ Lauren replied. Then she laughed and nodded towards their children. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid each other, do you?’

  Carina smiled, glad that Giovanni was now out of the picture, leaving the way clear for Alex. ‘The best relationships have their beginnings in friendship,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens, I have a feeling that those two will always be friends.’ Anastasia sensed she was being talked about. She glanced at her mother, who was watching her, and smiled quizzically.

  The lesson began. The conversations stopped. The students, who had become very attentive and conscientious, took up their pencils and began to write the last notes on the final page on their clipboards.

  ‘Today we are going to learn how to cook gnocchi alla sorrentina. Gnocchi with tomatoes and mozzarella. Then we will cook something special: coniglio con pomodori e olive. Rabbit with tomatoes and olives.’ Ilaria glanced at Anastasia and smiled. ‘You don’t need to look so sad, Anastasia. We are not going to cook Peter Rabbit. He is quite safe in the Beatrix Potter books.’ Anastasia caught Alex’s eye and they both laughed. ‘Rabbit is a delicious meat and, because we look after our rabbits here at the Castello, the meat is juicy and full of flavour.’ She put her fingers to her lips and kissed them. ‘Delicious! And for dessert, we will make crostata di mele, apple tart. All the apples are from our gardens. They are sweet, but don’t tell them or they’ll blush! And finally, because you are my favourite pupils, I am going to teach you how to make limoncello, lemon liqueur. Then you can spend the afternoon sleeping it off.’ She looked at her mother and grinned.

  ‘Ready, Mamma Bernadetta?’ The old lady nodded and turned her back to the group to wash her hands in the sink. Carina watched her. There was something very dear about the way she stood there, shoulders rounded, head inclined, her dress revealing thick ankles and wrinkled stockings. Carina knew she was going to miss her. She was going to miss them both. ‘Let us begin,’ said Ilaria, and she took a large saucepan and added to it one cup of tomato sauce.

  After lunch the taxi Carina had ordered arrived at the Castello just as Rex was about to invite Gracie on a walk. Gracie climbed into the front seat and folded her hands in her lap. She picked at the cuticle around her thumb and chewed her bottom lip anxiously. She wondered whether this really was a good idea. Perhaps it would be better to leave the past in the past and not muddy the water. She had survived forty-four years, hadn’t she? Why bring it all up again? Yet, before she could convince herself to abort the plan Carina and Anastasia had got into the back seat and the driver was already setting off down the track, swerving to avoid the odd pothole and bumping over the stones.

  The three sat in silence, ruminating on their thoughts, and the driver assumed that none of them spoke Italian and drove in silence too. At last the crumbling villa could be seen, peeping out forlornly between cypress trees and oleander, and Gracie caught her breath because she hadn’t imagined it to have deteriorated so. Just as she was about to waver, she felt the soft pressure of a hand on her shoulder. She looked round to see her daughter smiling at her with encouragement. ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ she said. ‘We’re here with you.’

  The taxi rattled up the track, bouncing over the uneven ground, testing the suspension, which wasn’t very well tuned even on the tarmac road. The driver was cautious, tentative even, unsure why they wanted to come here, to this desolate place. It had been a shell for as long as he had been alive.

  As they got nearer, Gracie’s heart began to throw itself against her ribcage in protest. ‘Please stop,’ she said in Italian. The driver glanced at her in surprise, but put his foot on the brake and drew the taxi to a halt. ‘I’d like to walk the rest of the way. Perhaps you can wait here. We’ll be an hour or so, I should think.’

  ‘Sì, signora,’ the young man replied, startled because the old woman looked so English yet she spoke Italian like a local.

  Gracie opened the door and climbed out. Carina and Anastasia did the same. Gracie stood a moment, staring at the building, now visibly derelict, in horror. She put a hand on her heart. It was like seeing an old friend gone to ruin. The once manicured gardens were overgrown with weeds, ground elder had taken over the borders and smothered the plants, and bindweed was climbing all over the hedges, gradually strangling the life out of them. She remembered how proud Uncle Hans had been of his gardens. He’d be turning in his grave if he could see them now.

  Slowly, she began to walk towards it. Memories crept out from every corner like fragile wisps of light, restoring a little life to the place, if only in her mind. She could see Gaia in the doorway and Rutger sitting at the breakfast table beneath the fig tree. She could smell the lavender and jasmine and hear the birdsong. She remembered what it felt like to be young, to be in love, to see this astonishingly beautiful world through the eyes of a child. And she felt sad because loss wasn’t something that had happened to her, but something she had brought upon herself. Who knows how things might have turned out had she not forged that wretched painting?

  They walked on in silence. Carina knew her mother was deep in thought and she didn’t want to intrude. Anastasia swept her eyes over the place as the story her grandmother had told her brought it to life. She, too, could see Hans smoking and drinking a glass of wine on the terrace beneath the pergola. She could see her grandmother cycling up the track after having spent the day with Gaetano. She could just imagine what it had been like when it had been magnificent. Glancing at her grandmother she was sure that she still saw it like that. That she could see beyond the rot.

  As they reached the door Gracie’s face went pink. She was very hot. She wasn’t sure whether it was on account of the sunshine, being the hottest part of the day, or whether she was simply overcome. This had been her home for ten years and she had been very happy here. Uncle Hans and Rutger had been her family. She felt as if she was walking among ghosts, trying to grasp hold of something lost long ago, like clutching at wood to find it turns to ash in one’s hand. It was gone. All of it. There was nothing left but memory,
and the one memory that frightened her the most was entombed in this building and embalmed in her imagination. Perhaps that, too, would turn to ash if she was brave enough to venture inside.

  Gracie pushed the front door. It opened without a struggle. There was little of interest inside. Everything had rotted. The garden and the weather had invaded over four decades, season after season, and birds had built their nests in the corners of the rooms, animals in the upholstery, and without anyone taking care of the place it had become feral. Gracie wandered around, remembering the way it had been when it was a beloved home, and Carina and Anastasia followed behind her, trying to imagine.

  They couldn’t go upstairs to Gracie’s old bedroom because the staircase looked too fragile. Some of the steps had completely broken and the banisters had fallen off and lay embedded in weeds on the ground. So they explored the sitting room and kitchen instead, and in some places there was no ceiling at all, just holes that exposed the skies above and the ivy falling in. As Gracie went from room to room she knew she was just marking time before she had to go to the studio, Uncle Hans’s studio; the scene of his death. She knew she must go, she had come this far it would be cowardly not to. But she was gripped with fear. Her palms were sweating and yet she now felt strangely cold. The studio pulled at her as it always had, for the room where she and Rutger had worked had been the heart of the house. It had been forty-four years and yet she had been so deeply conditioned that her body wanted to go there by default. It was almost impossible to stop it. She could have closed her eyes and allowed her feet to find the way without her guidance. She put a hand on the wall and took a breath.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Carina asked. Her mother looked worryingly pale. She had shrunk too, like a wizened old lady, as if the weight of memory was bearing down on her shoulders and crushing her.

  ‘It’s okay, Granny,’ said Anastasia, taking her hand. She knew why her grandmother was afraid. ‘I’ve been in that room already. There’s nothing in there but a chair.’ She gently squeezed her hand. ‘Come, I’ll take you. You don’t need to be afraid with me.’ Gracie did not reply, but she let her granddaughter lead her slowly through the villa to the studio.