Seduced by Innocence

by Lucy Gordon

  Terri knew a moment of disappointment. Elena was undoubtedly a beautiful woman but she wasn’t Terri’s idea of a mother. Then Leo’s words came back to her. “I was disappointed at first,” he’d said when he called home to describe his first meeting with Elena. “She seemed too young to be our mother. But when you look into her eyes—she’s magic, so kind and sweet.”

  Maurizio led Terri toward them. “Francisco, Elena,” he said with professional affability. “Nice to see you here again. The party is never complete without you. Allow me to introduce Signorina Teresa Wainright.”

  Terri’s eyes were fixed on Elena intently enough to catch the faint frisson that passed over her features. It was barely perceptible, little more than a variation of stillness, but it was there on the lovely face that looked on her daughter for the first time. Of course, she was reacting to Leo’s surname, Terri thought. That was all. As far as she knew, Leo had never revealed his true identity to Elena.

  Someone else was also watching Elena for her reaction. Maurizio’s eyes were hard as he studied her, missing nothing, noting the brief silence before she smiled and said graciously, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, signorina.”

  “Indeed it is,” Francisco seconded at once. “A friend of Maurizio’s is a friend of ours.” He took Terri’s hand and bent low to touch it with his lips. It was an elegant gesture, smooth, practiced and almost meaningless. But when he raised his head, a change had come over him. His eyes on Terri had suddenly become as hard as Maurizio’s, lit from deep within by a cold, appraising gleam.

  “You must join me for some champagne,” Maurizio said, guiding them to a little bay, slightly apart from the main room.

  “Have you been in Venice for very long, signorina?” Francisco inquired politely when they were seated around a low table.

  “Only a day.”

  “You’re here on vacation?”

  “Partly,” Terri responded cautiously. “I work as an Italian translator and I thought I should see something of the country.”

  “You’ve chosen a strange time to come to Venice. Winter is drawing near and the tourists are going home.”

  “Yes, I saw that a great many of the hotels were closed, but the Midas seems busy enough.”

  “The luxury hotels are full all the year,” Francisco said. “When the tourists go, the business conventions arrive. Fortunately, although the conferences fill the expensive hotels, they leave the streets fairly uncluttered. We Venetians like to have our city to ourselves again.”

  “Yes, I should think all those people tramping over it must hide the city,” Terri responded. “I haven’t had a chance to see much, but it must be fascinating when it’s quiet.”

  Francisco looked at her with new interest. “Hide the city,” he echoed. “That’s exactly how I feel. They come in their millions to see Venice, and all they see is one another. Welcome to my city, signorina. I’m glad that you’ll see it at its best.”

  Terri looked across at Elena who’d been listening to this conversation. “And you, Contessa? Do you like Venice best at this time of year?”

  “No,” Elena admitted with a little shudder. “In winter it seems to me to be a sinister place, full of shades and dark corners.”

  “You’re being fanciful, my dear,” Francisco told her coolly. “You see shades where there are none.”

  “Perhaps it’s because the contessa is an artist,” Maurizio said. “Artists are always a little fanciful.”

  “I own an art gallery in this city,” Francisco explained to Terri. “My wife supervises it very ably.”

  “And I’m sure you’ve done the contessa an injustice,” Terri told Maurizio. “You don’t have to be fanciful to be an artist. My brother is artistic, and through him I’ve met several artists. Most of them struck me as very tough and practical.”

  “That’s true,” Elena agreed, smiling at her as if grateful for the young woman’s support. “The artists I deal with all seem to have eyes like hawks for the last penny. Or their agents do.”

  “I’m sure you deal with them very efficiently, my dear,” Francisco said. “Your own ability to spot the last penny has frequently earned my respect.”

  It was said with a smile and might just have passed for a compliment. But there was something faintly disagreeable about Francisco’s manner that chilled Terri. It seemed that Elena felt the same because a wan smile crossed her face.

  Guests were arriving fast. Maurizio toasted the trio in champagne before excusing himself. Elena’s attention was immediately claimed by several men at once and she vanished in an eager group, leaving Terri with Francisco. “Do you play?” he asked.

  “I’m not a gambler,” she confessed with a laugh. “I played for the first time tonight, using the complimentary chips we were all given.”

  “Ah, yes. How clever of Maurizio to do that. Of course, he knows he’ll get it all back with interest before the evening’s over.”

  Terri realized this was true, but something in Francisco’s arrogant manner made her feel like being contrary. “Perhaps he won’t. Some people do get lucky.”

  “One or two,” Francisco conceded with a shrug. “But overall, the casino always emerges the winner. To be more precise, Maurizio is always the winner—in play and in life. He makes sure of that.”

  “In play and in life,” Terri echoed.

  “No man in Venice is more ruthless or more feared. Has nobody told you that?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “Well, you’ll discover it for yourself.”

  “Why are you trying to turn me against him?”

  “But I’m not. I’m a Venetian and so is he. Venetians respect exactly those qualities that have made Maurizio what he is.” With a smooth gesture, he lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handed it to her. “Why don’t we take a little fresh air?” he said, indicating the terrace.

  A ripple of laughter from behind them made Terri turn her head. Elena was in the center of a group of admirers, laughing merrily, and she looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “She’s so beautiful,” Terri said wistfully.

  “Yes, indeed. Everybody says so,” Francisco agreed. “Sometimes I have to compete for her attention. I’m a proud—though somewhat neglected—husband.” But he didn’t sound proud.

  “I’m sure she doesn’t really neglect you,” Terri said.

  “But of course she does. Husbands and wives ought to neglect each other. To live in each other’s pockets would be very boring. A few—how shall I put it delicately?—’outside interests’ add spice to a marriage.” He laughed. “Have I shocked you?”

  “Of course not,” she disclaimed hastily, feeling gauche and provincial. She was less shocked than embarrassed by the feeling that Francisco was deliberately trying to shock her. Glancing up, she saw that he was watching her in a way that made her uncomfortable. She became intensely aware of how provocatively she was dressed, not pleasantly aware as with Maurizio, but as though she were revealing something to Francisco’s sharp eyes that ought to be kept hidden.

  “I visited England once,” Francisco said. “I found Englishwomen intriguing. They say one thing, look another and mean something entirely different.”

  “That’s the only way to keep men on their toes,” Terri responded lightly.

  He gave her an amused flirtatious smile. “How right you are. And what would life be if women always said what they thought?”

  “Are you on that subject again?” a musical voice asked behind them. Countess Elena had detached herself from the crowd and swayed gracefully onto the terrace to join them. “Don’t let him bore you, signorina. Francisco never believes that anyone means what they say or says what they mean.”

  “I’ve found very few people who can be relied on,” her husband replied, his eyes fixed on his wife.

  The words were spoken lightly enough, but again Terri sensed the tension between husband and wife. The next moment, she’d forgotten Francisco as Elena turned the full beam of her cha
rm on her. “So you’ve never gambled before tonight? Then you must gamble with me. I’m lucky. Everybody says so.”

  Brooking no refusal, she took Terri’s hand and led her firmly to the nearest roulette table. Several men cheered and made way for her as she approached, but some of them had curious eyes for Terri, too.

  Elena played according to what she called her method, but as far as Terri could make out, it was simply chance dressed up to look like logic. Elena would stake a number because the fancy took her and invent a multitude of reasons for her choice afterward. Once, she actually won, then proceeded to lose every chip trying to repeat the trick. She greeted triumph and disaster with the same merry laugh. “I don’t think you really care whether you win or lose,” Terri said.

  Elena shrugged. “True. What difference does it make? In fact,” she added, looking around her at the noisy throng, “what difference does anything make?” She sighed. “I envy you for being English.”

  “Envy me? Why?”

  “The English are serious. They know what matters and what doesn’t. I used to think it was terrible to be serious, but now—” She shrugged.

  Terri was intrigued by her. Elena seemed to have a different mood for every moment. If only she could get her alone for a real talk!

  But there seemed no chance of it. Terri began to feel apprehensive as the night slipped away without her achieving anything.

  Elena gave a brittle laugh. “Now I don’t know what I think, or why I’m talking like this.”

  “You’re tired, my dear,” Francisco said, appearing at her side.

  “Yes,” Elena agreed. “And I’m even more tired when I think of all I have to do tomorrow. So many letters to write and phone calls to make.”

  “Perhaps you need a secretary,” Terri suggested.

  “I have one—or rather I had. Denise is French and very efficient, but a few weeks ago she had to go and nurse her sick mother. I promised to keep the job open, but while she’s gone I don’t know what to do.”

  “Employ someone for a short time only,” Francisco said. To Terri he added, “As well as having an—interesting—social life, my wife is involved in many charity works, plus the art gallery. Some form of organization is imperative.”

  Terri’s heart was hammering. Out of the blue it seemed she was being offered the chance of her dreams. “I wonder if I might be allowed to help,” she ventured. “I need to do some work when I’m in Venice, and I’m very organized.”

  Maurizio had appeared in time to hear the last part of the conversation. He was standing strangely still, as though his life depended on the words he was hearing. To Terri’s surprise, he frowned. “I don’t think you should rush to do this,” he said. “The contessa‘s work covers a wide area. It needs someone who’s familiar with this country, and especially with Venice.”

  “I disagree,” Francisco said. “I believe Signorina Wainright would be an excellent choice, and so does my wife.”

  “Of course,” Elena said. She was still smiling but there was a strange quenched air about her, as though a light had gone out. And suddenly Terri knew that Elena was afraid of her husband.

  “Look,” she said quickly, “forget I suggested it. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that. Maurizio is quite right.”

  “But please, I want you,” Elena said. She’d regained her composure and managed a warm smile. “I need you to keep me in order.”

  “So it’s an arrangement that suits everybody,” Francisco said, ignoring Maurizio’s scowl. “You can move into our house tomorrow signorina.”

  “Move in?” She was startled.

  “Why live at the Midas when you can live with us for nothing?” Francisco asked. “It makes no sense.”

  “I think it makes no sense for you to live with your employers until you’ve learned whether you all suit one another,” Maurizio said. “Don’t rush into this, Teresa.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “I’d like to take the job, but it’s better if I continue to live here just now.”

  Francisco shrugged. “As you please. My only thought was for your comfort.” He spoke coldly, as if he’d taken offense at having his suggestion rejected.

  The party was breaking up. Maurizio’s attention was occupied in bidding goodbye to people. The Calvanis were making preparations to leave. Elena suddenly seized Terri’s hands in both of hers. “You’ll come to me tomorrow,” she said, “and we—we will be very well together,” she finished in a hurry.

  Francisco offered Elena his arm and inclined his head toward Terri. As she returned the salutation, Terri became aware that he was watching her with a strange expression in his cold, hard eyes. It was watchful and appraising, yet held a curious, unpleasant kind of satisfaction. She gave him a polite smile and watched with relief as he escorted his wife away.

  In spite of her discomfiture over Francisco, she was in a delighted daze at the chance to get so close to Elena. She glanced across at Maurizio but he was knee-deep in people and plainly wouldn’t be free for some time. She caught his eye long enough to smile a good-night, and left.

  *

  The Calvanis made the return journey to their palazzo in silence. Nor did they look at each other. There had been no quarrel. This was their normal behavior.

  As soon as they reached home, a servant murmured a message to Francisco, who received it with a slight note of dismissal. “My mother wishes to see me before I retire,” he informed his wife. “Perhaps you, too, would like to pay her your respects?”

  “You know better than to think I’d like to do any such thing,” Elena observed wearily. “Nor does your mother truly wish it. She detests me.”

  “Then oblige me by doing this because I wish it,” Francisco said firmly.

  Elena shrugged and fell into step beside him on the stairs. “Very well. Although why you should insist on us all going through this farce, I can’t imagine.”

  “I’m sure you can’t,” he replied. “A woman of my own background would have understood that some proprieties have to be maintained without needing it explained to her.”

  Elena winced, as though years of such snubs hadn’t blunted their power to wound her. A small pleased smile was her husband’s only response. Together they made their way to the apartment of Lisa, the old contessa.

  She greeted them sitting up in a huge, old-fashioned bed, where she spent most of her time. She was eighty, extremely thin and had been a semiofficial invalid ever since collapsing a week before her son’s wedding eighteen years ago. Anxious doctors had treated her for heart trouble, nerve trouble and anything else they could think of, but none of them had dared voice what all knew to be the truth, that Francisco’s mother was suffering from a severe bout of displeasure at her son’s choice of bride. It had persisted until the present day.

  Reclining on satin, lace-edged pillows, she watched the approach of her son and daughter-in-law. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, including Elena’s smile, held on by willpower. “You’re looking well, Mama,” Elena said brightly. “I hope that means you’re feeling better.”

  “I’m as well as I ever am,” Lisa informed her sourly. “My visitors exhausted me, but one has one’s obligations.”

  “I’m glad you had company, Mama,” Francisco observed. “Who was it?”

  “Antonio brought his new wife to visit me. Such a pleasure to meet her. Only four months married and pregnant already, which is exactly right. The first child should always be secured quickly, especially when there is a great inheritance to be considered.”

  “I just came in to say good-night,” Elena said in a strained voice. “I won’t stay. I’m rather tired.”

  “Good night,” Lisa responded distantly, presenting her cheek for Elena’s dutiful kiss. She waited until Elena had departed, then turned to look at her son. A significant glance passed between them. “How much longer will you allow this to go on?” she demanded in a rough voice that contrasted with her frail appearance. “You’re fifty-five and time is running out. Where ar
e your sons? Why aren’t you doing something to get them?”

  “You make it sound so easy, Mama, but things are complicated.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve got to get rid of her, and quickly. Doesn’t she give you any excuse?”

  “Unfortunately no. My wife is infuriatingly discreet. She has occasional romances, but she never goes beyond playing the kind of games all society plays.”

  “Surely there must have been more?”

  Francisco shrugged. “There was one young man a few months ago, during Carnival, but nothing came of it.”

  “You’ve been clumsy. She knows you’re watching her, so of course she’s discreet. Well, it’s your own fault. I warned you against marrying her but you wouldn’t listen. You were hot to get her into your bed, she held out for marriage and like a fool you capitulated.”

  Francisco gave a wintry smile. “I believe you caught by father by much the same methods.”

  Lisa cackled. “Yes, but on the wedding night, he was rewarded for his patience. Was your Elena worth waiting for?”

  “You know very well that she wasn’t,” Francisco said coldly. “All that waiting, putting me off, all that exaggerated modesty. She seemed to be made of ice, and acted as though the sight of a man would make her swoon. And what did I find? It was all a cynical performance to fool me. She’d already been with a man.”

  “You should have got rid of her then.”

  “It’s easy to say that now,” Francisco told her irritably, “but she never admitted it, and I had no idea who to suspect. A man she knew in England probably. Even then she could have redeemed herself by giving me a son. But she’s barren, and the years are hurrying by.”

  Lisa took his arm with a clawlike grip. “Be careful that she doesn’t dismiss you. Your ‘hobbies’ are too well-known, and unlike your wife, you’re not always discreet.”