Читать книгу The Autumn Of The Witch - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

AS Stephanie came down the stairs she could hear them arguing. They were in the library and her stepmother’s voice, inherent of her theatrical training, carried easily to the girl as she stood silently gripping the banister rail. The deeper, more resonant tones of her father were raised in protest, but Stephanie knew that Jennifer would eventually wear him down by sheer persistence. She sighed and descended the rest of the stairs, halting uncertainly in the hall, wondering what they were arguing about now. They always seemed to be arguing these days and although Stephanie knew that her father’s temper was shortened by his anxieties over the company that didn’t altogether account for the situation.

She sighed and crossed the panelled hall to the lounge. Afternoon sunlight filtered through venetian blinds on to the warm polished mahogany of the china cabinet which had been her mother’s, and dappled the tapestry-covered chairs and settee. It was a room which had changed little over the years since her childhood even though from time to time Jennifer changed the curtains, splashed new rugs and cushions about, and begged her husband to get rid of the three-piece suite. But in this Robert McMaster was adamant, the room retained the character of his first wife; and so the rest of the house was rife with Swedish wood and glass, but the lounge remained the same.

Now Stephanie walked to the wide windows which overlooked the sweep of lawn at the back of the house and hoped desperately that Allan would arrive soon and take her away from the sound of their voices.

Allan Priestley was a pilot working for her father’s airline. He was an attractive young man in his middle twenties, and they had been going about together for almost a year, since Stephanie’s eighteenth birthday party, in fact. Stephanie liked him tremendously and she knew that they were gradually drifting into a situation where he would ask her to marry him. It was already an accepted thing among their friends that they were always asked places together. Allan earned a good salary and Stephanie was quite prepared to work for a while after their marriage. She enjoyed working in the children’s ward of a psychiatric hospital and she did not want to give it up without reason. Besides, it was an accepted arrangement these days for a young wife to have employment and certainly there would not be enough to do about the house to interest her until they had a family of their own. She sighed. Wasn’t she being a little precipitate thinking like this? She was only eighteen when all was said and done and she wondered whether if her mother had still been alive she would have contemplated leaving home so soon. She turned away from the window and caught a glimpse of herself in the framed oval mirror above the fireplace. Was that troubled countenance really hers? Why did she, like her father, allow Jennifer to get under her skin? She wasn’t afraid of the woman, after all. It was simply that her attitude was such that unless one wanted a continual state of contention one avoided open confrontation.

With a deliberately firm shake of her shoulders, Stephanie regarded her image critically. The trouser suit which at first had seemed a little too modem looked rather attractive now, and as it was a cold September afternoon the trimming of fur at the collar and cuffs and around the bottoms of the trousers looked just right. She left her hair loose, and it caught on the fur collar as she moved her head, falling in silky tendrils about her face. Its tawny brilliance was startling against the olive green suiting and yet it blended with the amber fur trimming. She wore little make-up, accentuating only the strange liquid chartreuse of her eyes, and in consequence they were the first thing anyone noticed. She was not beautiful, she knew that, and yet there was something more than mere good looks in her small face. She had a tantalizing allure that denied all formal designation. Maybe it was the slight tilt of her eyes at the corners, or maybe it was the thick luxuriant softness of her hair, or even the gentle fullness of the curves of her body that showed none of the angular lines of a model. Or perhaps it was simply the invariably bubbling personality that reached out and enveloped her admirers. In any event, she had never found any shortage of male admirers and in consequence she knew quite a lot about the opposite sex.

The doorbell suddenly pealed and she started. She must have been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she had not heard the sound of Allan’s car. Leaving the lounge, she walked out into the hall just as her stepmother came out of the library. Jennifer regarded her with unveiled mockery, raising her eyebrows critically.

‘Well, well,’ she remarked sardonically. ‘That’s new, isn’t it? I haven’t seen that – outfit – before, have I?’

The deliberate hesitation before the word outfit was not lost on Stephanie, but she refused to be drawn. Instead, she said: ‘No, you haven’t seen it. I just bought it last week. Out of my salary!’

She had the pleasure of seeing Jennifer’s lips tighten angrily, and she felt a momentary twinge of conscience. It was a moot point that her father had ordered Jennifer not to run up any more bills on clothes for the time being unless she could pay for them herself. The older woman was extravagant to a degree and this adjuration had not been taken lightly.

Stephanie saw Miller, the maid, coming to answer the door and waved her away and went to answer the door herself. Allan stood on the threshold and his eyes darkened admiringly as they surveyed her trim appearance. Then he smiled warmly at her before stepping past her into the hall where Jennifer still stood draped against the banister watching them.

‘Well, Allan,’ drawled Jennifer. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. McMaster. You’re looking well.’

‘Am I?’ Jennifer heaved a sigh. ‘I feel positively drained.’

‘Oh!’ Allan glanced inquiringly at Stephanie, but she turned away abruptly, going to the hall closet to get her gloves.

‘Yes,’ Jennifer went on, determinedly retaining his attention. ‘Robert’s having one of his regular purges and at the moment I’m being subjected to his strictures!’

‘I – see.’ Allan looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s a jolly cold afternoon, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’ Jennifer moved impatiently. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

Stephanie came back at that moment. ‘I’m ready,’ she said, looked purposefully at Allan, and he nodded. ‘Okay, let’s go,’ he said, and with a polite smile at Jennifer they both went out.

Allan’s Triumph sports car stood outside with the hood up, and he helped Stephanie inside before walking round to get in beside her. The powerful little car shot away, churning up the gravel on the drive, and Stephanie lay back and relaxed. Allan glanced her way understandingly, and said: ‘Jennifer getting up your back again?’

Stephanie sighed. ‘That’s the understatement of the year. Oh, Allan, I just wish there was something I could do to stop that woman from killing my father!’ There was a fierce determination in her voice and Allan shook his head helplessly.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘this business with Ventura is getting everyone down. Once everything is settled, one way or the other, things will sort themselves out, you’ll see.’

Stephanie grimaced. ‘I wish I was as certain,’ she said glumly. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether things will ever sort themselves out again.’

‘That’s a pretty defeatist attitude!’ exclaimed Allan. ‘Your father knows that sooner or later he’s got to accept Ventura’s offer.’

Stephanie looked mutinously at him. ‘Does he?’ She shook her head. ‘He’ll hang on to the business as long as he possibly can. I know him better than you do and I know it would kill him if he were thrust aside by Ventura’s management. He’s an active man, Allan, he’s been active all his life. You can’t throw a man like that on the stockpile!’

‘Nobody’s suggesting you should. This deal with Ventura was to be a merger. Your father would retain control. At least that’s how I heard it.’

‘But for how long?’ Stephanie stared at him. ‘Oh, these big syndicates know what they’re doing all right. They agree to merge with a small company like W.A.A. and then gradually they introduce their own ideas and their own management until in the end it’s more of a takeover than a merger. My father knows this and that’s why he’s fighting – and not only Ventura. The board as well.’

‘You mean the board are against him?’

Stephanie flushed. ‘Well, Jennifer is, for sure. And Aunt Evelyn. When that man was here – that Signor Bastinado—’

‘Pietro Bastinado?’

‘That’s right. Did you meet him?’

‘Not exactly. I saw him at the office when he was with your father. You realize who he is, don’t you?’

‘Of course. He’s a member of this syndicate.’

‘He’s Ventura’s personal assistant. Anyway, go on. I interrupted you.’

Stephanie frowned. ‘Oh, yes, well, when Signor Bastinado was here he asked a lot of questions about shares and controlling interests. Oh, he did it very cleverly. Jennifer was easy to gull. She enjoys talking to any attractive man, but Aunt Evelyn …’ Stephanie sighed. ‘You see – it means little to them who controls the company, so long as they get a return. But to my father it’s something else – it’s his life!’

Allan sighed now. ‘I see what you mean. But surely this could have been avoided. I mean your father must have known things were going downhill …’

‘Yes, but there was nothing he could do. The big airlines have such a tremendous advantage. They can fly their planes half empty and still talk about cutting their fares. W.A.A. relies on its charter services, but we need new planes – you know that – new equipment! But we can’t afford them without backing.’

Allan patted her hands as they lay in her lap. ‘You really will have to let your father fight his own battles,’ he said.

‘I know that. But it’s Jennifer—’ She sighed again. ‘You know how extravagant she is—’

‘But your father married her. He chose to marry a woman half his age. It’s not your responsibility, Stephanie.’

‘But that doesn’t make it any easier to take, Allan.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry. You must get sick of hearing my troubles.’

Allan smiled tenderly. ‘Not at all. In fact I’m glad you feel you can share them with me. It means you regard me as something more than just a friend.’

Stephanie looked at him quickly, sensing what he was about to say, and suddenly she didn’t want to hear it. For a brief moment, sheer panic shot through her being as she realized that whatever feelings she had for Allan they were not yet strong enough to contemplate a serious commitment. She burst into speech, chattering stupidly about one of the spastic children she was caring for, telling him about a film she had watched on television the night before, and the moment passed. She sensed his pain, for he was not an insensitive man and he must have guessed why she suddenly behaved so carelessly. But there was nothing she could say to alleviate it. Maybe it was this trouble with her father, or maybe it was her own immaturity, but whatever it was she needed more time before placing herself in a situation she could not control.

They had a pleasant afternoon out together. They had arranged to go to an exhibition of paintings and sculpture by a young artist friend of Allan’s and afterwards they attended a cocktail party given by the gallery’s owner who had sponsored the showing. Most of the young people there were known to both of them and they were invited to a party that evening to be held at the apartment of another young artist. Stephanie demurred, but with Allan’s encouragement finally agreed on the understanding that she must be allowed to go home first to change and to see her father.

It was about seven-thirty when Allan dropped her at her father’s house, a tall Georgian-fronted building which stood in its own grounds overlooking one of those small squares that abound near Regent’s Park. As she climbed out of the sports car she noticed a long, sleek continental limousine parked to one side of the front door and she frowned curiously. Certainly it was not a car she had seen before or she would have remembered its elegance.

‘I’ll call back in an hour,’ Allan was saying, and she turned absently to him.

‘What? Oh, yes, yes, all right, Allan.’ She smiled and raised a hand as he drove away with his usual ebullience, and then turned to enter the house.

She shed her gloves in the hall and hesitated as she heard voices emanating from the library. Surely her father and Jennifer weren’t arguing again, particularly as they obviously had guests, and yet she could hear her father’s voice raised in anger and she wondered with trepidation who could be arousing such antagonism. Could it possibly be something to do with the proposed merger? Had Pietro Bastinado come back with some new proposition?

She moved compulsively towards the library door and then halted. It was nothing to do with her after all, and yet if Jennifer was in there perhaps her father would be glad of an ally.

With sudden determination she turned the handle and opened the door. The library seemed full of people, but she realized that was because they all seemed to be standing instead of relaxing in the comfortable leather chairs. Jennifer was there and so was Harold Mortimer, her father’s chief accountant. Robert McMaster was leaning heavily on his desk and Stephanie’s heart went out to him before she looked at the man who faced her father across the desk; a man she had never seen before, although the man behind him was familiar; it was Pietro Bastinado.

Her intrusion caused all eyes to turn in her direction and as she met the gaze of the stranger her whole being seemed to suffuse with colour at the insolent penetration of his dark eyes. He was a man like no man she had ever previously encountered. Tall and lean, with a kind of latent virility about him, he was not a handsome man, and yet the carved planes of his face and the grim lines about his mouth and eyes were disturbingly attractive. His hair grew thick and black, low on his neckline so that it brushed the collar of his immaculate white shirt. His clothes fitted him closely and accentuated his masculinity, and from the deep tan of his skin she guessed he was no Englishman. It was an effort to drag her gaze away from that intensive appraisal and she looked back at her father.

Robert McMaster straightened from his stooping position and said: ‘You’re back, Stephanie. You might as well come in. This affects you just as much as any of us.’ He ran a tired hand over his forehead and sank down wearily into his chair. ‘It seems – I can’t go on.’

Stephanie’s brows drew together disbelievingly and she closed the door quickly and advanced towards the desk. Her gaze flickered over Harold Mortimer’s troubled countenance and the compassionate gaze of Pietro Bastinado before reaching again the sphinx-like remoteness of the stranger. With an impatient gesture she looked at her father. ‘What are you talking about?’ she exclaimed.

Jennifer, who had been standing to one side of the door, now spoke. ‘Robert is dramatizing the situation as usual,’ she observed coolly. ‘Signor Ventura has simply been outlining to us your father’s actual position.’

Stephanie’s brain refused to function. So that was who the stranger was, she thought frantically. Santino Ventura himself. The brains behind the organization that wanted to merge with W.A.A. No wonder his presence had caused her to feel apprehensive. But even so, what had been said?

She looked again at Robert McMaster. ‘Please, Father,’ she said. ‘As you said – I have a right to know if this concerns me.’

Santino Ventura moved now. He had been standing with his arms folded, regarding them all broodingly, but now he spoke:

‘Your father has sought to raise money on the strength of the proposed merger. That is to say, he has used the name of my organization in an effort to bluff his way out of an impossible situation. I can only say that I should have thought a man who has been in business as long as your father has been in business should know better than to try those kind of tactics with me.’

Stephanie listened in silence and then looked down at her father’s bent head. ‘Is this true?’

Robert McMaster, looked up. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he replied bleakly.

‘But it does!’ Stephanie stared at him. ‘I thought you intended to fight! I thought there was some way—’

‘There is no way,’ replied her father heavily. ‘Signor Ventura is giving me no choice. He has the choice to make, and for the sake of my employees I hope he makes the right one, that’s all.’

‘What do you mean?’ Stephanie was puzzled.

McMaster looked up at Santino Ventura with defeated eyes. ‘Signor Ventura has threatened to withdraw from the deal altogether.’

Stephanie gasped. ‘But – but – you’ve already – I mean—’

‘Exactly, Miss McMaster!’ Santino Ventura’s tones were cold. ‘Your father has borrowed on the strength of my name, because he hoped I would allow the deal to hang fire for a while, giving him time to show whether he was capable of making W.A.A. a going concern. But I regret that is not how I do business.’

‘But if you back out now the firm will collapse,’ she cried hotly.

‘I am quite aware of that.’

Stephanie turned desperately to Harold Mortimer, but he moved uncomfortably before saying: ‘I’m sorry, Stephanie.’

Stephanie shook her head incredulously. ‘But the firm is my father’s life!’ she exclaimed fiercely, turning back to Santino Ventura.

‘It was not my intention to create this situation,’ said the Sicilian expressionlessly.

‘And the alternatives?’ Stephanie caught Harold Mortimer’s attention.

The accountant glanced down at the file he was holding. ‘Signor Ventura could take over the airline,’ he replied heavily.

‘Take over!’ Stephanie spread her hands. ‘But how? I mean even allowing for the fact that the business could collapse, surely McMasters are the majority shareholders?’

Jennifer spoke now. ‘It’s a question of doing what is right for the airline,’ she observed coolly. ‘And as there seems no question that your father is incapable of carrying on without—’

‘You mean you would sell your interest?’ Stephanie interrupted her angrily.

Jennifer shrugged. ‘Why not?’

Stephanie compressed her lips ‘Even so—’

Robert McMaster heaved a sigh ‘Your aunt feels as Jennifer does. Better to make something than lose everything,’ he said slowly. ‘Oh, leave it be, Stephanie. There’s nothing you or I can do now. It’s in Signor Ventura’s hands.’

Stephanie shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said helplessly.

She felt, rather than saw, Pietro Bastinado make an involuntary gesture as though he would have spared her father this final humiliation, but then Santino Ventura straightened and with indolent grace walked to the door and Pietro had to follow him. At the door Ventura turned to regard them all with sardonic appraisal. ‘I think our discussions are over for the moment,’ he observed smoothly. ‘I will return to my hotel and consider the situation. I will let you know my decision in due course.’

Robert McMaster merely nodded, making no attempt to rise or say anything further. Harold Mortimer moved to the door as well. ‘I’ll go, too, Robert,’ he said, with awkward movements of his hands, and McMaster made no answer. Jennifer went out with them to accompany them to the door and silence reigned in the library until the heavy doors were heard to close behind them. Then, as Jennifer strolled back across the hall to join them, Stephanie burst out: ‘How could you? Jennifer, how can you do this to my father?’

Jennifer closed the door, leaning back against it with bored negligence. ‘My dear Stephanie, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve done nothing to your father. Everything that has happened is the result of his own stupidity. My God! I agree with Ventura. Your father should have had more sense than to attempt to play games with him.’

‘Give it a rest, both of you,’ exclaimed McMaster, supporting his head on his hands. ‘I can do without your opinions.’

Stephanie sighed. ‘But, Father, is there nothing you can do?’ She spread her hands. ‘Why couldn’t the merger go through as planned?’

‘Because Ventura has decided he doesn’t want to play it that way any longer,’ replied her father.

‘But why did you do it?’ Stephanie stared at him. ‘Why couldn’t you just have accepted the merger in the first place if things were so desperate? You must have had a motive for refusing. You’re over fifty, Father. Does retiring really mean that much to you?’

‘No – no, not exactly.’ Her father sounded weary of the subject. ‘But consider my situation, Stephanie. I have a wife who expects a certain standard of living. How long do you think we …’ he indicated Jennifer, ‘… how long do you think we could live on capital if I was thrown aside eventually for one of Ventura’s men?’

Jennifer gave an impatient grimace. ‘Oh, Robert, you’re beginning to bore me, do you know that? All you preach these days is economy! Why should I be forced to economize when I have a perfectly legitimate holding in the company that’s worth a lot of money to me? Ventura’s offer is more than generous; in fact it’s positively extravagant.’ She gave an excited little laugh. ‘Perhaps he considers that an attractive woman should not have to scrimp and save!’ Stephanie turned on her angrily. ‘You fool!’ she snapped contemptuously. ‘You don’t even have the sense to realize that Ventura knows perfectly well that as McMaster’s wife you wouldn’t accept anything but a tempting figure! After all, whatever he’s paying you, it’s chickenfeed to an organization like his!’

Jennifer stepped forward and slapped Stephanie full on the face impulsively. ‘Don’t you dare to speak to me like that, you priggish little chit!’ she spat out furiously. ‘You McMasters! You think you own the earth!’

Stephanie fell back a step, one hand pressed to her burning cheek, and her father was at last aroused from his lethargy. ‘For God’s sake, Jennifer!’ he muttered. ‘Let’s at least attempt to behave like civilized human beings! Whatever you feel about it, I will not stand by and allow you to treat my daughter as a whipping boy for your frustration. You know she’s right. You know Ventura is using you against me!’

Jennifer’s face hardened. ‘Maybe he is, maybe he is. Just don’t try to get me to change my mind, that’s all.’

‘I wouldn’t try,’ returned McMaster grimly, and sank back down in his seat.

With a muffled word of departure, Stephanie wrenched open the door, brushing past Jennifer without even looking at her. She ran up the wide staircase and in the sanctuary of her room she flung herself miserably on the bed. Her smarting cheek meant less than the realization that things had finally come to a head and now her father was little more than a puppet to be moved at will by his masters. There seemed no escape from the inevitable and her heart bled for the man who had tried so desperately to hang on to the firm that he had himself started so many years ago. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t the incisive thrust that was necessary to be successful in business today, and Jennifer had known what she was doing years ago when she had suggested he make her a director of the firm. Only Aunt Evelyn could prevent the certainty of a take-over and Stephanie knew only too well that she would not raise a finger to stop it. She had cut off her brother when he married Jennifer only eighteen months after the death of his first wife, and the breach had never been healed. Besides, no doubt she was being paid well for her shares as well.

Stephanie sighed and slid off the bed, taking off the trouser suit and hanging it away in her fitted wardrobe. Then she turned back to the bed and as she did so the scarlet telephone on the bedside table caught her eye. With determination, she flung herself on her stomach on the bed and lifted the receiver. Then she dialled the number of Allan Priestley’s apartment and waited as the ringing tone began. Presently the receiver was lifted and Allan’s voice came through to her.

‘Oh, Allan! Hello, love. This is Stephanie. Look, I’m afraid I can’t go to that party with you this evening.’

Allan sounded annoyed. ‘Why ever not?’

Stephanie hesitated. ‘Well, I can’t really explain over the telephone.’

‘Why not? Has something happened? Is it to do with your father?’

‘Sort of. Anyway, Allan, I do have a bit of a headache, and quite honestly I didn’t want to go in the first place. You can still go—’

‘I don’t want to go without you!’ Allan snorted impatiently.

‘Well, I’m sorry, Allan, but that’s how it is. Give me a ring tomorrow, hmn?’

There was silence for a moment and then Allan said: ‘Oh, all right, Stephanie. But I do wish you wouldn’t make it sound so mysterious. Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Of course. I told you, I just have a bit of a headache, that’s all. ‘Bye for now.’

‘G’bye.’ Allan sounded reluctant, but Stephanie rang off before he could say anything else. Then she lay for a moment looking at the phone, seeing again the dark, unrelenting features of Santino Ventura. It didn’t seem fair that one man should possess this power over her father, albeit power that Jennifer and Aunt Evelyn between them had placed into his hands. With a sigh, Stephanie got up and went into her bathroom. Maybe a shower would rid her of this awful feeling of despondency.

She was bathed and dressed in velvet pants and a lounging sweater of fine wool when she heard the telephone ringing. She did not bother to answer it. It could be no one for her. And so it was a surprise when Miller tapped at her bedroom door to advise her that a Signor Bastinado was on the telephone.

Thanking her, Stephanie dashed across the room to the telephone and lifted the receiver with hasty fingers. ‘Hello. This is Stephanie McMaster.’

‘Hello, signorina.’ Pietro’s voice had an unmistakable accent. ‘I hope I did not disturb you.’

‘Oh, no – no.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘What can I do for you?’

Pietro seemed to hesitate, and then he said: ‘I wondered if you might have dinner with me this evening.’

Stephanie sank down on to the bed. ‘Dinner?’ she echoed, slowly, thinking hard. Why was he asking her out for dinner? Dared she go, knowing she had just told Allan she had a headache? And yet might this not be an opportunity to fraternize with the – enemy? She frowned. Pietro Bastinado must have some influence with Ventura.

Without further hesitation, she said: ‘Why – yes, I think I could manage that.’

‘Bene! I was afraid you might have some previous engagement, and it is rather late.’

“I – I was going out, but I – I changed my mind,’ she said, carefully.

‘I’m so glad you did.’ Pietro sounded gratifyingly eager. ‘I’ll pick you up in say thirty minutes. Is nine o’clock all right?’

‘Fine.’ Stephanie felt a twinge of excitement, and when he rang off she sat for a few moments wondering whether she was doing the right thing. It would not do for her father or Jennifer to find out where she was going and with whom, and she must speak to Miller and warn her not to say who had called her.

With haste, she changed into a plain chiffon cocktail dress in black, with an edging of sequins at the cuffed collar and sleeves. She secured her hair in a pleat at the back of her head and added long diamond earrings. Then, with a silver fur cape about her shoulders, she went downstairs. She encountered Miller in the hall and was speaking to her when her father emerged from the library. His face brightened a little at the sight of her and he said: ‘Going out, my dear?’

‘Yes.’ Stephanie managed not to colour guiltily. ‘We – er – Allan and I have been invited to a party.’

‘I see. Is he calling for you?’

Stephanie bit her lip. ‘Er – no – I’m meeting him – there.’

‘Oh.’ Her father looked surprised and with a feeling of betrayal Stephanie gave him a light kiss on his cheek and hurried to the door. She was just in time. As she stepped outside a cab halted at the entrance to the drive and she saw Pietro himself climbing out and speaking to the driver.

When he saw Stephanie he came hastening towards her and she ran a little to prevent their being noticed from the windows of the house. Not until she was inside the cab did she relax, and Pietro glanced at her curiously. ‘You did not tell your parents you were meeting me?’ he hazarded dryly.

‘That’s right.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘My father – wouldn’t understand.’

‘I see.’ Pietro was silent for a moment and then he drew out his cigarettes and offered her one. When she refused, he lit one himself and said: ‘Why did you come, signorina?’

Stephanie coloured now, but he could not see the telltale brilliance in the darkness. ‘Because I wanted to,’ she said.

Pietro drew on his cigarette. ‘With what motive?’ he queried. ‘Or am I to believe that it was my scintillating company you sought?’

Stephanie bent her head. ‘Why did you ask me?’ she countered.

Pietro smiled. ‘Because you are a beautiful young woman and you must know that all Italians appreciate beauty in their women.’

Stephanie stared at him, trying to see if he was teasing her. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘Why not? You are a beautiful woman, signorina. And I am only human, after all. You interest me, you intrigue me. And your reasons for accepting my invitation intrigue me even more.’

Stephanie ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘Why do you think I accepted your invitation?’

Pietro shrugged. ‘I think you had several reasons,’ he said at last. ‘But we will leave them until later, shall we, Stephanie? May I call you that?’

Stephanie nodded rather indifferently. ‘If you like.’

‘Thank you. I do.’ He smiled and she sank back into her corner feeling suddenly afraid. It was all right imagining herself capable of manipulating this man in the warmth and light of her bedroom and quite another considering it here, alone with him. Why had he invited her to dine? What possible advantage could he gain that he had not gained already?

They dined at a small Italian restaurant on the fringes of Soho. It was not a place Stephanie had previously visited although it was gradually gaining in popularity. Pietro was greeted like a long-lost cousin and their service was impeccable. The food was slightly rich for Stephanie’s taste, but the wine was exquisite and she commented upon it.

Pietro smiled, handling his glass within his two hands, holding it up to the level of his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘This wine comes from Sicily. From the vineyards of the Castello di Strega.’

‘The Castello di Strega,’ echoed Stephanie curiously.

‘That sounds an unusual name.’

‘It is. The castle of the witch. It is the home of my employer and brother-in-law, Santino Ventura.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Stephanie’s glass landed on the table with a little thud.

‘You do not like my brother-in-law, signorino?’

‘I scarcely know him.’ Stephanie was abrupt.

‘But you disapprove of his actions?’

‘Naturally. It’s my father who is involved.’

‘Ah, yes, your father.’

Stephanie leaned forward. ‘Why did you invite me out this evening?’ she asked.

Pietro brought out his cigarettes and lit one slowly. ‘What do you think of this place?’ he inquired, waving a casual arm at the decor.

Stephanie compressed her lips. ‘It’s very nice.’

‘It belongs to one of my brother-in-law’s companies.’

‘Indeed?’ Stephanie was getting impatient. ‘Signor Bastinado—’

‘Oh, make it Pietro, please.’

‘Very well, then, Pietro.’ Stephanie sighed. ‘I want to know why you invited me to dine with you.’

Pietro tapped ash into the ashtray. ‘You haven’t told me why you came yet,’ he countered, rather mockingly.

Stephanie sighed again. ‘It doesn’t seem important now.’

‘Oh, but it is.’ Pietro leaned towards her. ‘Believe me, Stephanie, I want you to know, what happened this afternoon was not of my choosing.’

Stephanie moved back. ‘I – I find that hard to believe.’

‘Why should you? Am I my brother-in-law’s keeper? What Santino does he does because he wants to do it. I have no control over his actions.’

‘None?’ All of a sudden Stephanie felt deflated.

‘None.’ Pietro shook his head, ‘If you imagine that by humouring me you stand some chance of influencing Santino, I regret you are to be disappointed. I can do nothing.’

Stephanie bent her head and her attitude was one of defeat. Pietro sighed. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘If it’s any consolation to you, I did try. I did not want this to happen, believe me. You and your father have offered me your hospitality and I must be honest. I wanted Santino to leave everything to me, but unfortunately I showed my feelings and he would not allow me to continue. He took the affair out of my bungling hands …’

Stephanie looked up. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me,’ she said. ‘It was kind of you to try and help us …’

Pietro’s eyes darkened. ‘Not your father, Stephanie – you! And it was not kind at all.’ His hand closed over hers as it lay on the table. ‘My reasons for wanting my position made clear concern you and me. I do not want you to hate me, not when I find you so disturbingly attractive. Do you understand?’ His eyes burned into hers passionately.

Stephanie felt horrified. She had not thought, she had not dreamed that Pietro might imagine there was more to this assignation than a desire to help her father. She tried in vain to tug her hand away from his, but his hold was unyielding and he leaned towards her urgently.

‘Pietro!’ she exclaimed. ‘I appreciate what you’ve tried to do for us – for me, but this – this is impossible! I – I – you’re making a terrible mistake—’

‘I would agree with you, signorina!’

The harsh accented tones almost startled Stephanie out of her seat and Pietro released her hand abruptly to rise and face the grim angry countenance of the man he had told her was his brother-in-law …