by Lucy Gordon
“This is fantasy,” he said, speaking desperately because her voice was like the voice of his own conscience. “You see everything through a distorting mirror. You call me cold and heartless. You must have forgotten a great deal to say that, Teresa.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” she said, coming closer to him and regarding him from behind the silver mask. “Nothing, do you hear? But I remember it in my own way.”
“And the last time we met, in the mortuary on New Year’s Eve, when we spoke without hate and walked together, and held each other for comfort—how do you remember that?”
“As an aberration,” she said after a tense moment. “As a betrayal of Leo. While he’s lost, I had no right to speak to you without hate. I told you that when we parted, we’d be enemies again.”
“I’ll never be your enemy.”
“But you were my enemy from the moment I arrived, Maurizio. You just forgot to tell me about it.”
“Is that really why you came here tonight, Teresa? To prove your enmity? To let me see you wearing pearls that he gave you?”
“These?” She touched the necklace. “These are nothing.”
“Nothing? You accept a gift worth a king’s ransom from your mother’s husband and you say it’s nothing?”
“Nonsense. I know they’re expensive, but to talk about a king’s ransom is ridiculous.”
“I saw that very necklace on sale for the equivalent of fifty thousand English pounds,” he said flatly.
She gasped. “I don’t believe it.”
“Francisco is a man who pays high for what he wants. If he’s set his heart on you, you’d best beware.”
Her face flamed at the thought. “That’s a disgusting thing to say.”
“Is it? You’re the one who insists on living under the same roof with him.”
“Who introduced me to him, Maurizio?”
“In another world,” he said desperately. “When I was another man.”
“Just who were you? Who are you now? The man I thought you were didn’t exist. You don’t exist, not really—”
The last word was cut off. Driven beyond endurance, Maurizio had hurled his tumbler so that it smashed against the wall. He seized her shoulders, pulled her around to face him and tore off the necklace, tossing it aside. Then his hands were hard on her bare skin, pulling her close against him so that she was forced to look up into his glittering eyes. “You can’t dismiss me so easily,” he growled. “Who holds you this minute if I don’t exist? Whose heart beats against yours? Who is this?”
On the last word he crushed her mouth with his own. She’d known it was going to happen, had told herself she was ready, but the feel of his lips still came as a shock. She tried to pull away but he held her against him while his lips moved over hers. There was both purpose and seduction in those movements, as though he was trying to remind her of what had once been between them and also trying to take her back to the days when he had dominated her for his own ends. But those days were gone. She wrenched herself free.
“Stay away from me,” she gasped. “That’s over, Maurizio. Over forever.”
“It’ll never be over as long as we’re alive,” he said harshly. “What’s between us can’t be denied. Why do you try?”
“Perhaps because there’s nothing between you,” came a freezing voice from the doorway.
Shocked, they both looked up to see Francisco standing there, a sardonic expression on his face. His eyes kindling, he moved quickly forward to put himself between them. “My apologies,” he said to Terri. “If I hadn’t neglected you, you’d never have gone aside with this man.”
“Get out of here,” Maurizio ordered him savagely.
Francisco ignored him and offered his arm to Terri. “Come, cara,” he said. “Let me escort you from this place, and I promise that you’ll never be troubled by this ruffian again.”
Her head still swimming, Terri missed the nuances of his attitude. She only knew that every inch of her was ablaze with awareness of Maurizio, that Maurizio was her enemy and that she must escape from danger.
“Why, you’ve lost your pearls, cara,” Francisco exclaimed, lifting the necklace from the floor where Maurizio had tossed it. “How careless of you. Let me put this back on.”
Too dazed to think clearly, Terri turned slightly so that he could fix the pearls about her neck. She could feel the air vibrating from Maurizio’s tension. “Thank you,” she said when the clasp was secured.
“And your cloak. I’ve brought it with me. I’ll put it about your shoulders. There.”
“Teresa.” Maurizio’s voice was full of bitter agony. “Why are you doing this to me?”
She just had the strength to look back and meet his eyes. “Per vendetta,” she said softly, and saw him go deathly pale as she left the room on Francisco’s arm.
Chapter Twelve
The three days and nights of revelry were drawing to a close. On the last night of Carnival, there was scarcely an occupied house left in Venice. All the city tumbled out of doors to join the festa in St. Mark’s Square.
Terri leaned from Elena’s window to watch the boats on the Grand Canal, and listen to the sound of singing and laughter that drifted up from them. Although it was still February, the night was unseasonably mild and most of the revelers stood out in the open so that as the boats passed, the costumes caught the lights, making the spangles throw off a multicolored glitter.
Everywhere, Terri saw outlandish masks, either worn or painted on. There were pale deathlike faces, features covered in spangles, Punchinello masks with long noses, clown faces that wept or laughed and sometimes both. Now and then, Terri noticed the traditional Venetian baùtta. This was a voluminous black cloak that enveloped the figure from neck to floor. Over it was a half cape that came down to the elbows. The hat was a black tricorne from the inner rim of which fell a curtain of material that covered the head all around, except for the face, which was hidden by a white mask. The effect was all-concealing and sinister.
Elena had bought an extravagant costume of gold. She sat regarding herself in the mirror as her maid applied the finishing touches to the countess’s makeup, but occasionally Elena glanced at Terri and made a face of disappointment. “I wish you’d let me buy you a new dress,” she mourned.
“I’m not letting you buy me another thing,” Terri declared, turning in from the window. She wanted nothing more. She’d grown increasingly convinced that Elena knew the truth, and her heart longed for her mother to acknowledge her, not publicly but in private. She’d gone out of her way to reassure Elena that she didn’t want to harm her, yet there was no response, and inwardly she’d withdrawn a little. She would accept no more gifts if Elena felt unable to give the only one that mattered.
Tonight she had on the white eighteenth-century dress that she’d worn to confront Maurizio at the casino, but she’d left off the wig in favor of her own natural hair. About her neck she wore the pendant that Leo had given her. She no longer had Francisco’s pearls. She’d packed them up in their original box and given them to his valet to return to him.
Elena closed her eyes while the maid dusted her with powder. “Perfetto,” she declared at last. Then she gave a little scream. “Oh, but look how everything is covered in powder.” She pointed to an art book that was lodged casually on the edge of her dressing table and which had received a liberal dusting of powder. Terri brushed the green-and-gold leather cover with her handkerchief. The Calvani crest on the spine proclaimed that it had come from the ancient library downstairs. “Francisco will be so cross,” Elena said worriedly. “He hates me to bring books in here. He says I don’t take proper care of them.”
“How could he think that?” Terri asked mischievously, and the two women laughed together.
“Cara, will you—?” Elena held out her hands in plea.
“I’ll take it back right now, before anything else happens to it,” Terri said.
“It goes at the far end, just behind the desk.” Elena looked
at the leather cover, whose cracks still bore traces of powder that nothing could remove. “Make sure you put it right back between the other books,” she said conspiratorially.
Terri grinned. “Don’t worry. There’ll be nothing to give you away.”
She hurried down the stairs to the huge room at the back of the palace that housed the Calvani book collection and the family archives. It was dark and silent as she gently pushed open the door and fumbled with the bank of switches. At last she found the one that cast a glow over the far end, and went to find the shelf.
She could see the empty space just above her head and climbed up the small ladder to push aside the glass panel. But it wouldn’t move. “Damn!” she muttered. “It’s locked.”
Descending quickly, she began to hunt around the desk for the keys, but there was no sign of them. She hesitated before searching further; she knew that Francisco often used this desk to work, and was unwilling to pry. But thinking of Elena, she plunged on, pulling open drawers, flicking through them in search of the heavy bunch of keys, but not finding it.
The last drawer of all was stuck and she yanked at it in exasperation, certain that she could hear the clink of keys inside. It came away so suddenly that she lost her balance and sprawled on the floor, the contents of the drawer all around her. With a mutter of triumph, she seized the keys and shinned up the ladder. It only took a moment to replace the book and lock the cabinet again, then she set herself to gather up the things that had fallen from the drawer.
The chief item was a large notebook that had fallen open, spilling out a few sheets of paper. Terri tried to collect them without looking at them, but as she lifted the last one, the words Elena, my love, my beloved… seemed to stand out. She averted her eyes, not wanting to read Elena’s love letters, even while she wondered what such letters could be doing in Francisco’s desk. But she couldn’t look away fast enough to avoid seeing the signature at the bottom.
Rufio.
Terri knelt there for a long time, trying to decide what she should do. Many voices shouted in her head, but the one that shouted loudest said that there was something here that threatened Elena, and Elena had the right to know. Slowly she flattened the sheet of paper and read the contents.
Elena, my love, my beloved,
You tell me to forget you, but that’s impossible. How can you think for a moment that you could blight my life? To me you are always young. But the truth is that you don’t love me. Every moment is torture without you, thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting you. I’m sending this to you from the boat. Come away with me and let us live our lives only for each other. If you don’t come I shall set sail alone. Without you, my life means nothing to me. Let the sea have it.
Rufio
Terri expelled a long breath. Here was the answer: Rufio’s letter threatening suicide, a letter that Elena had never seen, because Francisco had intercepted it.
She piled everything back into the drawer and hurried off, taking the letter with her. She must see Elena without delay. But before she could leave the library, the door opened and Francisco, wearing a black waistcoat and knee breeches, entered and closed it behind him, barring her way.
“I came to look for a book,” she said, horribly conscious of the damning letter in her possession.
But he ignored her words. He was holding the pearls. “It wasn’t very kind of you to return my gift,” he said coldly.
“I wouldn’t have accepted them if I’d known how much they were worth.”
Francisco’s voice had a cutting edge. “And it was even less kind of you to embarrass me by sending them through a servant.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to return them at once and I didn’t know where you were—”
“I’ve been in the house all day, Teresa. How strange that you couldn’t find me.” His eyes snapped. “I don’t think I’ve ever been treated in such a way by an employee before.”
“That’s exactly it, Signor Conte,” she said firmly. “I’m an employee, and such a valuable gift was not appropriate.”
“You didn’t adopt these proper airs last night when we went to the Midas. Or were you playing with me to score a point off Maurizio?” He moved a step closer. “I won’t allow that, Teresa. It’s not—polite.”
She drew a deep breath. “Will you please let me pass?”
“Not until you’ve accepted my pearls again. You will wear them tonight.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”
“But I insist.” He put out a hand to her neck but Terri struck it aside. Francisco’s eyes glinted.
“How very proper you are, Teresa. How very suitable such propriety would be—under some circumstances.”
“I—will—not—wear—your—pearls,” she said emphatically. At that moment, there was a shout from outside the door and a chatter of male voices. “Your guests have arrived, Signor Conte. Let me pass at once or I’ll scream for help.”
A chilly admiration came into Francisco’s reptilian eyes. He stood aside and made no further attempt to touch her as she escaped. She reached the hall in time to see Elena descending the staircase in all her golden glory. A court of gallants had gathered at the bottom and were vying for the honor of taking her arm. She gave a teasing smile that encompassed them all and seemed to be trying to decide between them. Terri hesitated, knowing that she would have to wait until later to show Elena the letter.
Some of the young men noticed her arrival and diverted to her. Elena laughed and winked at Terri, not at all put out by the loss of her cavaliers. She still had four to herself.
“Who’s going to escort you in the boat?” one of them asked.
“Nobody,” Elena declared. “I’m going to walk. It’s not far to St. Mark’s Square, and we can all go together.” She glanced at Terri, surrounded by spirited young men, and said impishly, “Take the rest of the night off, cara. I shall be perfectly all right without you.” She allowed one sighing swain to adjust a cape about her shoulders, handed her fan to another and took the arms of the remaining two to make a splendid exit.
There was nothing for Terri to do but follow suit. They made a merry party as they covered the short distance to St. Mark’s Square. Terri laughed and flirted from the surface of her mind, but her thoughts were on the letter, safely hidden in her reticule.
The huge piazza was full of colored lights and bizarre costumes. Music filled the air. People danced and sang, and drank and romanced, for it was the last night of Carnival, the last chance to enjoy forbidden pleasures. One of Terri’s admirers proposed a drink at Florian’s, the old coffeehouse where Casanova himself had once drunk and wooed. She agreed, but the next moment a movement of the crowd gave her the chance she needed. Two eager young men, seeking to put their arms about her waist, found themselves embracing each other, instead. Terri had slipped away and was running as if the Furies were after her.
She raced through the back streets to the Midas, as surefooted now as a Venetian. The first person she saw when she arrived was Bruno. “Where’s Maurizio?” she gasped.
“He’s gone out with a party of guests. But he left only a short while ago. You might still catch him. He’s wearing a baùtta.”
“Then how will I know him?” she asked frantically. “There are so many.”
“One of the guests is a very fat man in a scarlet Pantalone costume. You’ll know him without any trouble. That way.” He came to the door and pointed. Terri sped away.
Luck was with her. She saw the fat Pantalone after only a few minutes, and there was Maurizio beside him, tall and elegant in the black cloak and white mask. He tensed as he saw Terri and drew apart from his party. “Have you come to torment me some more?” he asked harshly, pulling off his mask.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve brought you the worst torment of all, Maurizio—the knowledge that you were wrong. Elena isn’t responsible for Rufio’s death. She never knew he was planning suicide and I can prove it. Here.” She pulled him into a brightly lit doorway and thrust the lette
r into his hands. “He didn’t tell her he wanted to die. He wrote it to her. I found this letter among Francisco’s things. He must have intercepted it. Elena never saw it. Do you understand that? She never knew.”
Maurizio leaned again the wall, his shoulders sagging as if he’d received a stunning blow. “It’s Rufio’s writing,” he murmured. “He wrote this to her…”
“But she never received it,” Terri repeated. “Francisco had it all this time. You’ve been avenging yourself on an innocent woman. If anyone is guilty of Rufio’s death, it’s Francisco.”
“Dear God!” he whispered. “What have I done?”
“Unless Leo is found, we may never know what you’ve done,” Terri said bitterly.
He bent his head. “You’ve every right to punish me with that.” A shudder went through him and he pulled himself together. “This isn’t the time. There are things to be done first.”
“Hey, Maurizio.”
The shout came from the scarlet Pantalone who’d turned back to see where his host was. “Wait a moment,” Maurizio said, replacing his mask. “I’ll talk to them, then we’ll—”
His words were cut off by a crowd of brightly dressed revelers that surged against them. For a few moments, there was confusion. Terri was knocked off-balance and fell halfway through the doorway of a little café. She was rescued by a Pulcinella coming out, who caught her and grinned through his mask. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said breathlessly. She looked around for Maurizio but the crowd was thickly packed and pouring along the narrow street like a river in flood. She was knocked sideways again, flung out her hands to steady herself and felt them gripped in another pair of hands. Looking up she was relieved to see the white mask looking down at her. “Thank you,” she said again. “Now I want us to go and find Elena.”