Seduced by Innocence Page 7

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Lisa made a sound of exasperation. “Don’t pretend with me. I lived too many years with your father to be deluded. His favorite pastime was debauchery of the young and innocent—and the younger and more innocent, the more he enjoyed it. It was my fate to bear him a son who’s his mirror image. And I know how many little ‘unofficial’ Calvanis there are in this city.”

  Francisco shrugged. “At least there’s no doubt that it is my wife, not I, who’s barren.” He strode restlessly about the room, pausing at last before an ornate gilt mirror that reflected the room behind him, and his mother, dominating everything from her huge bed, like a spider. “Young and innocent,” he mused. “An ice maiden. That’s how I saw her—that’s what she made me believe she was—and all the time—”

  “Enough,” Lisa said imperiously. “It’s useless to dwell on the past. What you need now is a wife that can give you sons. Forget about ice maidens, or keep them for your fantasies. In real life they don’t exist.”

  “Now, there you’re wrong, Mama,” Francisco said, speaking to her in the mirror. “They do exist, and I think—yes, I really think I’ve met one.”

  *

  Later that night, Francisco stopped outside his wife’s room. Putting his ear to the door, he listened to a muffled noise coming from within. After a moment, he quietly turned the handle and opened the door a crack. Now he could clearly hear the sound of violent sobbing coming from Elena’s bed. The hardest heart might have been touched by those sobs with their message of anguish suppressed for too long, of wretchedness hidden by a brilliant smile, of an aching, desperate loneliness.

  After listening for a moment longer, Francisco grunted, closed the door and went away.

  Chapter Five

  The Palazzo Calvani lay at the opposite end of Venice to the Midas Hotel, around the huge bend of the Grand Canal. On the first day, Maurizio escorted her onto the vaporetto, the big water bus that plied its way slowly along the canal, stopping on alternate sides.

  “You didn’t wait for me last night,” he reproached her as they stood in the boat, watching the ancient buildings slip by.

  “You were going to be hours with your guests, otherwise I’d have waited,” she said. “There was something I wanted to say.”

  “Yes?” He leaned his head close to her.

  “Why did you try to stop me from taking this marvelous job?”

  Maurizio made a wry face as if reluctantly appreciating a joke at his own expense. “Was that all you wanted to say to me?”

  “Of course.”

  He sighed. “Of course.”

  “It’s important. The contessa knew Leo. If I can be close to her day by day, I may learn something of his whereabouts.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Careful? Of what?”

  “Say rather of whom. Francisco Calvani is—” He hesitated. “Well, anyway, be careful.”

  “You speak of him much as he speaks of you,” she said, amused. “He said you were always the winner, in play and in life.”

  “Damn his nerve!”

  “Isn’t it true?” she asked, looking up at him merrily. This morning she wanted to sing with joy for no other reason than that he was here, with her, giving her all his attention.

  Maurizio didn’t answer at first. He was looking into her face, trying to believe that this natural, laughing young woman with the breeze in her hair was the same person as the cool siren who’d driven him wild the day before. Did she know how many men’s eyes had followed her in the roulette room? Did she care? Or did she think only of her brother?

  “What—what did you say?” he asked, aware that his wits were wandering.

  “I said, is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “You’re not listening to a word I say.”

  No, he thought. I’m not listening to your words but I can’t take my eyes from your mouth and the delightful way it moves, especially when you smile. In another moment, I shall yield to temptation and kiss you in public. What’s happening to me? When did I go mad?

  “I said, is it true that you’re always the winner?”

  He gathered his wits. “No, that’s just what I want people to believe.”

  “He also said that no one in Venice was more ruthless or more feared. But I didn’t believe that.”

  “Why not?” he asked quickly.

  “I don’t know. I just…don’t.” She felt awkward. The conversation was suddenly too intimate and revealing.

  “I wonder who knows me best, Teresa. Francisco or you?”

  “Why does he say such things of you?”

  He shrugged. “I could say the same of him. We’re old enemies.”

  “But why?”

  “We’re Venetians. Enmity is natural. This is our landing stage.”

  He alighted with her. As they neared the palazzo Francisco was just stepping into his motorboat. He glanced up, saw them and immediately came up the steps. “What a pleasure to see you, signorina,” he said. “My wife will be delighted. Maurizio, do you wish to come inside for a moment?” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  “Thank you, no,” Maurizio said. “I must return to work.”

  He vanished into the rabbit warren of streets and Francisco led Terri inside. The next moment Elena had appeared at the top of a flight of stairs and was hurrying down to enfold her in a scented embrace. Francisco melted away, leaving his wife to take charge of Terri and draw her upstairs to the contessa‘s private apartments.

  Last night, in the soft lights of the casino, Elena had looked little more than a girl. In the brilliant morning sunshine, Terri could see signs of strain, and even a slight redness, as though Elena had been weeping. But then she smiled, the strain vanished and the illusion of youth was almost restored. Although it was early in the day, Elena was perfectly and glossily groomed, with elegantly coiffured hair and flawlessly applied makeup.

  Terri’s Italian blood spoke up for Elena in tones of warm admiration, but she’d been reared as an Englishwoman and something puritanical in her looked askance at a woman who gave so much attention and energy to her own appearance. She knew what Elena had sacrificed to become the gorgeous Contessa Calvani. So in her heart she stood a little aside, even while part of her succumbed to Elena’s charm.

  “Contessa, I’m afraid I was foisted on you,” Terri said impulsively. “I really hope I can make you glad I’m here.”

  “But I’m glad already,” Elena said warmly. “I have so much to do and I’m so scatterbrained. Look at all this.” She indicated a beautiful marquetry desk covered with papers. “They built up while I was away, and now I must go through them all.”

  “Then the sooner we start the better,” Terri said.

  By the end of the first day, Terri had changed her mind about Elena. She was far from scatterbrained, and worked with a brisk efficiency that covered a lot of ground in a short time. She divided her time into three: her charity work, the art gallery and the considerable effort of maintaining her position as a society dazzler. At first, her charity work appeared impersonal, a matter of committees and fund-raising events. But then, she spent nearly two hours on the telephone arguing for the rights of a disabled child, refusing to give up until the child was given a government grant Elena felt he deserved. Her last call was to his mother to announce gleefully, “We won.” She was like a child herself, enjoying an unexpected present, and Terri, who’d heard her harrying officials unmercifully, was intrigued at the many-sided personality unfolding before her.

  They lunched at the art gallery where Elena criticized her assistant for a piece of mismanagement while she’d been away, but sweetened her reproof with a smile that brought him back under her spell. “I thought he was going to walk out at first,” Terri observed when the man had left the office. “But you had him wagging his tail like a puppy.”

  “Of course.” Elena shrugged. “I don’t like to hurt people, even when I have to be cross with them.” She glanced
at Terri. “What are you looking at?”

  Terri lifted some drawings that were lying in a tray. “I thought I recognized my brother’s hand.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Leo Wainright. I believe he did some work for you here?”

  “Yes—yes, he did. Of course, you mentioned a brother….”

  “And he really did work here? You knew him?”

  Elena unlocked a small cabinet and took out some jewelry. “This piece is about four hundred years old and I’m afraid it’s falling to pieces. The stones need resetting, and Leo and I were going to do it together. Those drawings are his initial designs. I thought they were so beautiful, but one day he must have lost interest because he never came back to finish work.”

  “When was that?”

  “Late September, I think. Did he ever tell why he didn’t return?”

  “I haven’t heard from him since then,” Terri said. She kept her voice casual as she repeated her prepared story. “He always liked not knowing what was going to happen tomorrow, so he’d jaunt off without telling anyone where he was going. But I know he loved Italy, so I thought I’d come out to see if I liked it, too.”

  “Yes, Leo was very happy-go-lucky,” Elena agreed with a touch of relief. “He’d forget appointments—but it didn’t mean anything. Did it?”

  “Not a thing,” Terri agreed cheerfully. She didn’t want to frighten Elena. Nothing would be achieved by that.

  The latter part of the afternoon was taken up by a visit to Vilani, Elena’s dressmaker, because the contessa had discovered that her winter wardrobe was too small. She was an exacting customer and Terri spent two hours taking notes of her detailed requirements so that these could later be compared with what Vilani produced. This was accomplished with shrewd efficiency concealed behind a seemingly vague charm. There was a lot more to Elena than met the eye.

  They returned to the palazzo to have cake and a glass of sparkling white wine. Then Elena went off to take a nap, in preparation for an evening of gaiety, and Terri bid her goodbye. As she was crossing the hall Francisco appeared and hailed her. “Before you leave, signorina, perhaps you will do me a small favor.”

  “Of course, if I can.”

  “My mother would like to meet you. She’s bedridden and never leaves her own apartments. It’s easy for her to feel left out of things. She would greatly appreciate your going to visit her.”

  “Of course. I should be delighted.”

  He led her up two floors, knocked and stood waiting until a cool voice said, “Enter.”

  Terri’s first impression of the old contessa was that she was enthroned. She lay in the center of a huge bed, propped up by satin pillows. Above her head was a canopy, gathered up into a coronet. The occupant of the bed was tiny and birdlike, yet she easily dominated everything in the room. Terri had to resist the desire to curtsy.

  “Signorina Wainright has come to pay her respects to you, Mama,” Francisco declared.

  The little hand that clasped Terri’s was strong despite its delicacy, and the contessa pulled her down until she was sitting on the bed. “How kind,” she said. “I see so few people. Let me take a better look at you.” She raised a lorgnette and studied her visitor as if Terri were a creature under a microscope. Terri was a bit put out, but clearly this old woman felt free from the code of manners that governed lesser mortals. “Very nice,” she said at last. “Tell me about yourself, young woman. My son says you are English.”

  Terri gave her a few carefully chosen and unrevealing details. It sounded bland and dull to her own ears but the old woman nodded as if satisfied. “How long do you plan to stay in Italy?” she asked at last.

  “I don’t know. It might be some time.”

  “And your family? Don’t they mind?”

  “I have no family except my brother, and he, too, is traveling in Italy.”

  A cynical smile flickered across the contessa‘s face. “But surely you have a lover somewhere at home? You modern young women all have lovers.”

  Trying not to be embarrassed, Terri said, “I have no lover.”

  “I don’t believe you,” the contessa said bluntly. “You’re so pretty, you must have a lover.”

  “But I don’t,” Terri said, definitely disliking her now. “I guess I’m just not very modern.”

  “So it would seem. Well, I don’t like you the worse for it.”

  “Thank you,” Terri said, trying to keep the irony out of her voice.

  Suddenly, the old contessa cackled. “You don’t care whether I like you or not. No, don’t deny it. Good for you. But don’t be too independent, will you? I can be a good friend. I could even show you how to achieve great things.”

  “You’re very kind,” Terri said, wondering what on earth the old woman was talking about.

  The contessa lay back wearily against her pillows. “You’d better leave now,” she said.

  Francisco showed her down to the front door. “Forgive my mother’s abrupt manners,” he said. “She belongs to another generation, another world.”

  “Please don’t think anything of it,” Terri begged.

  “I knew I could rely on your kindness. I think you’re a very understanding person, signorina. I was sure of it from the first moment.”

  Terri murmured something polite, but she was longing to escape. As she descended the stairs, a surprise awaited her. Maurizio was standing in the hall below.

  “I had business in this part of town,” he explained. “I thought I’d escort you home in case you get lost.”

  “There was no danger of that,” Francisco said. “I was about to send Signorina Wainright home in my own boat.”

  “You’re all consideration, Count,” Maurizio responded smoothly. “Fortunately, it won’t be necessary.”

  He stood back while Terri passed outside, then followed her. Then he bid Francisco good-night, and closed the door. Francisco stood looking at the door, his face a cold, expressionless mask. After a moment, he turned and went slowly back upstairs to his mother’s room. “Well?” he demanded.

  The old contessa nodded. “This time your instinct is excellent,” she said. “She will do very well.”

  *

  “You’re cold,” Maurizio said when they’d walked a little way. “Perhaps we should take the boat.”

  “No,” Terri said quickly. A boat would get them home too quickly. She wanted to enjoy this time with Maurizio.

  “Let’s have a coffee, then.”

  He took her into a small café. The man serving grinned and greeted him by name. Maurizio responded, addressing him as Giorgio. “He knows you,” Terri exclaimed.

  “Why are you so surprised?”

  “It’s just not the sort of place I associate with you. It’s not a bit like the Midas.”

  “When I was sixteen years old, and very poor, I boarded here with Giorgio and his wife. They didn’t charge me anything. I earned my keep by serving in the evenings and cleaning up when the customers had gone home. They’re kind people and I was happy—or rather I would have been happy if I hadn’t been ambitious. Every night before I went to sleep, I would promise myself that for me Venice would one day be a city of gold. I would be like King Midas, making gold of everything I touched.”

  “And you succeeded,” Terri said, hoping he would continue.

  “Yes, I succeeded.” He made a face.

  “But you’re still not happy. Losing Rufio spoiled everything for you.”

  “Gold is nothing without someone to share it with,” he agreed quietly.

  “Was Rufio with you then?”

  “Yes. Giorgio’s wife used to care for him with her own children during the day, but he slept in my room. I used to confide all my dreams and ambitions to him. He didn’t think I was crazy, like everyone else did. He was two years old and we understood each other.

  “When at last I made money, I could give him all the things I would have liked when I was his age. I suppose I spoiled him, but he never became spoilt. He never l
ost his sweet temper or his faith in people. He believed that the world was good—” Maurizio checked himself abruptly.

  “Then to him it was good,” Terri said gently, pitying his pain.

  “He is dead. Did a good world do that to him?”

  She shook her head. There was no answer. “How did he die?”

  “He committed suicide. If you’ve finished, we should be going.”

  She followed him out of the café in silence. After a while, he slipped an arm around her shoulder. “I’m an ill-tempered bear,” he said remorsefully.

  “I should be sorry for prying.”

  “You weren’t prying. It’s me. I have no manners.” He looked down and suddenly tightened his arm and kissed her. “What is it?” he asked as he felt her stiffen.

  “People will see us.”

  “Is that bad? In Venice, people kiss in public all the time. I believe it even happens in chilly England.”

  “Perhaps, but the English don’t approve of it,” she said, remembering Madge.

  “But you aren’t English. You’re Italian, and it’s about time you learned to approve of it,” he responded firmly, tightening his arm again.

  Her head began to spin, almost enough to overcome her embarrassment. The touch of his lips was magic and the magic became part of her, spreading right through her until she was humming with pleasure from head to foot. If only she could be alone with him, there was so much more she wanted. “Maurizio, please—not here—”

  His eyes were alight with laughter, something she hadn’t seen before, and her heart turned over. “Maurizio—”

  “Wait,” he said, covering her mouth once more. “When I’ve kissed you again, we’ll talk—if anything’s that important.”

  Nothing was that important, she realized. Nothing in the world mattered but being in his arms, holding him closely. And with that realization came alarm. No other man had ever brought her so close to throwing caution to the winds. And in public. Slut. Slut.

  “No, please,” she protested breathlessly. “Not here, not now.”

  To her relief, he released her. “When and where then?” he said. The demon of mischief was still in his eyes.