Читать книгу The Autumn Of The Witch - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

SANTINO VENTURA stood beside their table looking darkly vengeful and the epitome of male arrogance aroused to dangerous intensity. Stephanie, weak and trembling from the shock of this sudden confrontation, wondered how he had known where to find them and how long he had been standing there behind their table, listening. She felt she ought to say something, but before Ventura’s blazing rage she stood no chance of a hearing. No more did Pietro. His employer was lashing him with his tongue, speaking to him in low yet violent tones, and as it was in their own language, Stephanie could not follow what was being said. Pietro tried to interject a word here and there, spreading his hands in typical continental appeal for reason, but to no avail, and he knew it.

Stephanie stood up. She felt that this was an opportune moment for her to make her escape. Surely neither of these men would notice her departure. But she was mistaken. As she lifted her evening bag and gathered her cape about her shoulders, a lean brown hand shot out and caught her forearm before she could move away. The hard grip of those fingers bit into her arm cruelly and she winced in pain.

‘You will stay, signorina!’ commanded the low, compelling tones of Santino Ventura.

Stephanie felt her breast rising and falling in uneven haste, and she tried desperately to regain her composure.

‘Will you please let go of my arm, Signor Ventura?’ she requested in a jerky little voice. ‘I am not part of your organization and you cannot intimidate me!’

‘Can I not?’ Santino Ventura’s brilliantly smouldering gaze turned in her direction for a moment before flickering back contemptuously to Pietro. ‘Do you think you are unique, signorina? That you possess some especial powers which make you immune from dominance?’ He turned back to her scornfully. ‘Believe me, Signorina McMaster, you are just as vulnerable as Pietro, your so-gallant champion, and twice as irresponsible!’

Stephanie stared at him tremulously. ‘What do you mean?’

Santino Ventura’s lip curled. ‘I wonder what your father would say to learn that his so-loyal daughter has kept a secret assignation with my assistant.’

Stephanie gasped. ‘My reasons for accepting Pietro’s invitation were not personal ones—’

‘No?’ Santino Ventura half smiled, but it was without amusement. ‘And who will believe that statement? Your father? Your stepmother, perhaps?’

‘Do you intend to tell them?’ Stephanie’s voice shook a little.

Santino Ventura shrugged indolently and released her wrist. ‘I will think about it,’ he conceded grimly.

‘Ma che, diamine, Santino—’ Pietro began desperately, only to be silenced by a look from his employer.

‘Come,’ went on the other man, ‘let us sit down again. We have matters to discuss.’

Without waiting for their reactions, Santino drew out a chair, swung it round and straddled it with casual ease. Then he beckoned the wine waiter and as Stephanie and Pietro reluctantly took their seats he ordered some champagne. The waiter bowed low. If he had been deferential to Pietro he practically genuflected before his master. A few moments later a bottle of champagne appeared in a bucket of ice and the waiter extracted the cork with care and poured some into the wine glass he had set before Santino Ventura. Santino tasted it experimentally and then nodded abruptly and the waiter filled all three glasses, his hands visibly trembling as he did so.

‘Is all right, padrone?’ he inquired at the finish, and Santino looked up and nodded.

‘Bene, Luigi. Tell me; your mother – she is well?’

‘Oh, si, padrone, she is fine,’ exclaimed Luigi, nodding his head vigorously. ‘She would be most honoured if you were to pay her a visit while you are here, padrone.’

Santino smiled. ‘Some other time, Luigi,’ he said, and Luigi nodded again and withdrew, bowing ceremoniously.

Stephanie, who had watched this interchange with only transitory interest, felt a shiver of apprehension slide along her spine as Santino’s attention reverted to herself. There was an indomitable air about him that defied analysis, and she realized as she had done in the library that here was a man who would never forget or be forgotten.

‘So, signorina,’ he said. ‘You thought to influence me through Pietro, is that it?’

Stephanie saw no point in trying to deny it and she moved her shoulders indifferently. Santino drew out a case of cigars and placed one between his teeth. When it was lit and the smoke exhaled aromatically into the air above her head, he said:

‘Why does it trouble you so that your father may be put out of business?’

‘That’s a ridiculous question,’ Stephanie snapped angrily, angry with herself for putting herself in this impossible situation. She was no match for this man and she knew it.

‘Is it? Why? Other men – I may say, stronger men – than your father have succumbed to my organization. Besides, had he not been so foolhardy, the merger would presently be taking place.’

Stephanie pressed the palms of her hands together. ‘My – my father did not want a merger. He wanted a chance to raise money – to put the company back on its feet. He knows that if he allows you to merge with W.A.A. sooner or later the shifting of authority will begin and he will become nothing but a figurehead.’

Santino shook his head slowly. ‘And is that so terrible? Does your father wish to work all his life? Surely most men look forward to their retirement. He is not a young man, signorina.’

‘I know that. But you don’t know my father as I do. Retirement – in his circumstances – would kill him!’

Santino put his cigar between his teeth. ‘What are these special circumstances?’

Stephanie moved her shoulders helplessly. ‘My father has a wife, signor, and she is much younger than he is—’

‘I know that.’ Santino was abrupt.

‘Then surely you can see that there could be difficulties—’

Santino frowned. ‘Your stepmother is an extravagant woman, signorina. Is that what you are trying to say?’

Stephanie flushed. ‘Jennifer doesn’t care about the company—’

‘But the deal I have offered her is more than acceptable.’

Stephanie’s eyes clouded. ‘I know that. She has already taunted my father with your offer.’

Santino sighed now. ‘It would seem that your father’s troubles stem from a more personal relationship than merely W.A.A.—’ He chewed his lower lip. ‘I cannot be held responsible for the vagaries of his wife.’

Stephanie clenched her fists. ‘I expected you to say that.’

Santino’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then you were not disappointed, were you, signorina?’ He snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘I am not a marriage guidance counsellor, I manage a syndicate of companies who rely on me to make the right decisions. Sentiment is no part of my make-up, signorina.’

‘Obviously.’ Stephanie’s nails bit into the palms of her hands.

Santino studied the glowing tip of his cigar. ‘So now we return to the reason why you are here this evening. You were hoping perhaps to persuade Pietro to intercede on your father’s behalf, si?’

Stephanie made no reply, but her silence was enough and he went on: ‘It seems to me that your inclinations were not very strong, signorina. From the way you were pleading with him to let you go when I so rudely interrupted you, I did not think you intended to allow your good intentions to lead you into difficulties.’

Stephanie flushed. ‘I don’t have to sit here and listen to your derision, signor—’ She half rose to her feet.

Pietro banged his fist on the table. ‘Santino, can’t you see the girl is innocent? She’s only concerned for her father, that’s all. Is that so unusual? Wouldn’t you expect Lucia to do the same for you—’

Santino’s cold eyes surveyed his assistant. ‘I have told you before, Pietro, not to get involved. You speak like a lovesick fool. No one is in any doubt as to your motives for behaving like this, so be silent! I care not for your mawkish sensitivity!’

Pietro’s tanned cheeks turned red and Stephanie felt embarrassed for him. ‘If you’ll excuse me—’ she began, but Santino silenced her with a cold stare.

‘Wait!’ he commanded. ‘I have not finished, and I am not used to having to repeat myself.’ He glanced at Pietro. ‘You mentioned Lucia, Pietro. Might one ask why?’

Pietro shook his head. ‘Just as a comparison,’ he said defensively.

‘Hmnn.’ Santino put his cigar between his teeth as he poured himself some more champagne, raising his eyebrows when Stephanie put her hand over her glass preventing him from refilling it. ‘Maybe, Pietro, your comparison has given me the ghost of an idea.’

Pietro shrugged indifferently. ‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes.’ Santino took his cigar out of his mouth and savoured a mouthful of the sparkling liquid from his glass. ‘Yes, indeed.’ He ran a long finger round the rim of his glass. ‘You yourself said that Lucia needed someone.’

Pietro’s brows drew together and he stared at Santino in astonishment. His mouth fell open and he gazed at his employer as though he could not believe his hearing. Then he gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘You can’t mean—’ he shook his head in a stupefied way – ‘you don’t seriously imagine that – that Stephanie—’ He raised his hands in an involuntary gesture. ‘What game is this, Santino?’

Santino regarded Pietro tolerantly. ‘No game, Pietro.’ Stephanie, who had been listening to this interchange with a rising sense of apprehension, felt a feeling akin to panic invade her system. There was about the Sicilian a disturbingly bland air of provocation, and while as yet she had no idea what he was suggesting she sensed it boded no good for her. And who was this woman, Lucia, that Pietro had mentioned? Was she his wife? His sister? His daughter, perhaps? She racked her brain trying to remember what her father had told her about Santino Ventura. Had he said he was married? She couldn’t honestly recall.

Now Santino’s attention was focused on herself and she felt her cheeks begin to burn under that appraising scrutiny. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, tipping his head insolently to one side. ‘You may do very well, signorina.’

Stephanie took a deep breath. ‘Very well for what, signor?’

Santino stubbed out the cigar. ‘I have a daughter, signorina. Her mother is dead and she is but four years of age. She requires a companion, a young companion, to whom she can turn in times of trouble. It is difficult to find anyone suitable in Sicily. Young girls marry and old women grow tired. Besides, it pleases me that she should learn English and I think you as her teacher would do very well.’

Stephanie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the ludicrousness of his suggestion. She stared at him incredulously, amazed that he should imagine he could sit there and calmly issue instructions that she should become companion to his daughter. How dared he imagine that she would even consider such a proposition? She shook her head. Whatever women were like in Sicily, certainly he was mistaken if he thought he could command an English girl in this way.

‘Signor Ventura,’ she said at last, speaking very clearly and very carefully, ‘I don’t think I have understood you aright.’ She wet her lips with her tongue tentatively. ‘I do not recall at any time during this conversation that I have intimated that I might require another occupation to the one I have now.’ She tried to relax her features, but they persisted in remaining taut. ‘Besides which, I might add, you are the last person I would accept employment from.’

Santino let her finish, lighting another cigar with annoying deliberation. ‘My dear Miss McMaster,’ he said, at the end, ‘if you have not understood my proposition then that is my fault. As to whether you accept it or otherwise, I would suggest you consider its terms very carefully before refusing.’

Stephanie pressed her lips together. ‘Obviously I have not understood you,’ she said in a tight little voice. ‘What else is there?’

Santino inhaled on his cigar. ‘Your father needs money. You said so yourself. I am considering preparing a contract in which I guarantee your father sufficient funds to modernize and expand his airline on the understanding that the concessions granted to W.A.A. should also be granted to Western International. I shall not interfere in his management, providing he accepts the conditions. I do not intend that he should be competing with W.I. but rather running an additional service for a different clientele.’

Stephanie felt weak all over. An awful trembling sickness had invaded her stomach and she hardly heard Pietro’s angry remonstrance or Santino’s cool rejoinder. All that possessed her mind and body was the realization that she was being given the chance to give her father back his self-respect and remove once and for all the threats Jennifer was presently holding over him. But at what cost to her?

The colour seemed to be draining from her face and Pietro, noticing her pallor, snatched up the wine glass and held it to her lips. The bubbling liquid revived her and she sank back in her chair, gripping the edge of the table tightly.

‘Are you all right?’ Pietro was all concern, drawing his chair round to hers, regarding her with tender solicitude.

Stephanie managed to nod, the vaguely ruthless expression on Santino Ventura’s face arousing her more strongly than the wine. With determination, she straightened her shoulders and said: ‘Could I have a cigarette, please?’

Pietro put one into her hand and flicked his lighter while Santino watched them closely, and then when Stephanie had inhaled rather jerkily several times, he said: ‘If you have recovered from your vapours, do you think we could continue?’

‘Santino, for God’s sake—’ Pietro clenched his fists.

Santino gave an impatient gesture. ‘If you cannot be quiet, Pietro, you must leave us. This matter concerns only Signorina McMaster and myself.’

Pietro pressed his lips together mutinously, but he made no move to go and Stephanie felt relieved. Somehow she did not feel capable of coping with this man alone.

Gathering her composure, she said faintly: ‘You would finance W.A.A. if I agree to become your daughter’s companion?’

‘Something like that,’ replied Santino expressionlessly.

Stephanie shook her head bewilderedly, glancing helplessly at Pietro. But he merely gave an involuntary gesture which could have meant anything and she realized she could expect little assistance from him. He was completely under the other man’s dominance.

‘But surely,’ she exclaimed, making a final bid for sanity, ‘you could finance my father and employ an agency to find you a companion for your daughter! Good heavens, I should imagine there are dozens of English girls who would jump at the chance of living in Sicily.’

‘I have made my proposition, signorina.’ Santino was without emotion. There was no way of appealing to him.

Stephanie spread her hands. ‘But how could I come to Sicily?’ she exclaimed.

‘That is what you must ask yourself, signorina.’

‘But you don’t understand, signor; I – I have a job here, I work in a hospital! I can’t just leave it like that!’

‘That is up to you, signorina.’

Stephanie heaved a sigh. ‘But what about my home – my family?’ She ran a hand over her hair nervously. ‘I – I have a boy-friend, too. We – we expect to get engaged at Christmas.’

That wasn’t strictly true, but she saw no reason to withdraw the statement, particularly as Santino merely shrugged his shoulders indifferently and made no comment.

Pietro however found her final remark disturbing. ‘You did not tell me you were almost betrothed!’ he accused her shortly.

Stephanie held up her head. ‘I didn’t think it was any of your business,’ she retorted, unwilling to accept his dissension as well.

Santino seemed vaguely amused by Pietro’s annoyance and Stephanie thought with a grim sense of foreboding what a cruel devil he could be. How could she place herself in this man’s hands, miles from anything or anyone she knew?

Now she lifted her shoulders in an expressive gesture and said: ‘I shall need time to think – to consider your proposition, signor.’

Santino considered her unsmilingly. ‘I do not have a lot of time, signorina.’

Stephanie took a deep breath. ‘You can’t expect me to decide something like this on the spur of the moment.’

‘Why not? It is a simple question: can you allow your father to be ruined when you have the power to prevent it?’

‘But that’s not fair—’ she broke out tremulously.

‘Nothing in life ever is, I am afraid,’ he observed coldly. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I will allow Pietro to escort you back to your father’s house. I will give you …’ he consulted the thick gold watch on his wrist – ‘I will give you twelve hours. I shall expect your answer at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. You may telephone me at this number. Just say yes or no. That will be enough.’

‘But, signor—’

Santino swung his leg across the chair and straightened. ‘Arrivederci, signorina. Pietro!’

Pietro rose too, and excusing himself to Stephanie he accompanied Santino across the restaurant to the door. He seemed to be listening to something the older man was saying and Stephanie, watching them, felt the beginnings of despair. What could she do? How could she refuse? She knew she would never forgive herself if by her indifference she drove her father to desperate lengths.

When Pietro came back she got immediately to her feet and said: ‘I want to go home – now.’

‘Of course.’ Pietro stood back and allowed her to precede him across the room. Once outside, the chill evening air struck her face like an icy blast and she realized she was numb with cold. But it was an inner coldness, one which Santino Ventura had inspired, and she wondered if she would ever be free of it again.

Pietro hailed a taxi and once inside, he said: ‘I’m sorry,’ rather inadequately.

Stephanie glanced at him. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she managed tautly.

Pietro said nothing for a few minutes and then he went on: ‘What will you do?’

Stephanie gave him a tremulous look. ‘Don’t ask me that. I just don’t know.’

‘Will you tell your father tonight?’

‘No!’ The word was tom from her. ‘No, I couldn’t do that. I have to make the decision on my own.’

Pietro nodded, a strange expression in his eyes, and Stephanie had the oddest feeling that he had wanted that answer from her.

When the taxi reached the house, she slid out without waiting for him to help her. ‘Good night, Pietro,’ she said shortly. ‘It’s – it’s been – very edifying!’ and as her voice broke she fled up the drive to the doors, leaving him standing there.

To her intense annoyance, she encountered Jennifer in the hall. The older woman was wearing a crimson velvet house-gown that accentuated her dark beauty, and she was beautiful, Stephanie had to acknowledge.

‘Well, well, the prodigal’s return!’ she observed dryly, as Stephanie closed the front door. ‘Where have you been?’ Stephanie chose not to answer, walking swiftly across the hall to the stairs. But Jennifer’s next words halted her. ‘Allan has been here this evening. He wanted to know how you were. Your father told him that you had said you were meeting him at some party. Obviously, someone was mistaken.’

Stephanie swung round dejectedly. ‘And what did Allan say?’

Jennifer sighed. ‘He was rather annoyed, naturally. After all, he thought you were unwell.’

Stephanie chewed bitterly at her lip. ‘Damn!’ she exclaimed. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’

‘Such language,’ remarked Jennifer mockingly, and yawned. ‘God, I’m tired! Exactly where have you been anyway?’ She frowned.

Stephanie shook her head. ‘Out,’ she replied sharply.

Jennifer’s eyes glittered. ‘Charming!’ she murmured indifferently. ‘In any case, I could hazard a guess.’

Stephanie stared at her. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Jennifer was annoyingly tormenting.

Stephanie turned and began to mount the stairs. ‘Good night, Jennifer,’ she said quietly.

‘How about that Bastinado man?’ Jennifer called after her. ‘That young Italian. What was his first name? Peter – Pietro! That’s it, isn’t it? Pietro Bastinado. Ventura’s assistant. He couldn’t take his eyes off you earlier this evening. I bet that’s who you’ve been with, isn’t it?’ Jennifer looked at her triumphantly. ‘Poor old Allan!’

Stephanie stopped again and turning looked down at her stepmother. Jennifer regarded her mockingly and chuckled, ‘You can’t deny it, can you?’

Stephanie would not allow Jennifer to get away with it. She might tell her father and Stephanie could not risk that. ‘You’re making a mistake, Jennifer,’ she said tautly. ‘I’m not interested in Pietro Bastinado.’

Jennifer raised her eyebrows. ‘No?’ Her lips thinned. ‘Then who have you been with? You don’t know anyone else, other than that crowd you go about with, and it couldn’t be one of them, not one of Allan’s friends.’ She wrapped her gown closer about her and then her eyes flickered curiously back to her stepdaughter, a sudden thought manifesting itself in her mind. ‘You couldn’t possibly – I mean – you haven’t tried to see Ventura—’ She halted, staring at Stephanie intently.

Stephanie’s reactions were not quick enough to prevent Jennifer from seeing the guilt in her eyes, and the older woman stared at her furiously. ‘For God’s sake, Stephanie,’ she snapped, ‘you haven’t attempted to bargain with Ventura on your father’s behalf, have you?’

Stephanie shook her head slowly, but from the suspicion in Jennifer’s face it was obvious she didn’t believe her. Jennifer grasped the banister and stared angrily up at her and with an exclamation Stephanie turned and ran up the stairs. She heard Jennifer following her, calling her to stop, but she ignored her, running along the wide landing to her room, locking the door so that when Jennifer turned the handle it would not give.

‘Stephanie!’ Jennifer’s voice was taut with anger. ‘Open this door at once! I want to speak to you.’

‘Go away, Jennifer. I’m taking a bath.’ Stephanie stood in the entrance to her bathroom trembling a little.

Jennifer hammered on the door. ‘Stephanie, if you’ve seen Ventura and you’ve said or done anything to jeopardize those shares—’

Stephanie pressed her lips together and went into the bathroom fully, slamming the door so that Jennifer could hear her and turning on the bath taps to drown the sound of Jennifer’s knocking. Then she sat down on the wicker clothes basket and buried her face in her hands. Oh, God, she thought, whatever am I going to do?

She hardly slept at all. Tossing and turning in her comfortable bed, when sleep did come to claim her it was plagued with nightmares of demons and witches and castles engulfed in flame, and she awoke sweating with fear, the bed clothes a tortured mass at her feet. She rose in the early hours and went to the window, looking out on the still sleeping city. Somewhere in that mass of shops and offices and hotels, Santino Ventura was sleeping, no doubt dreamlessly, uncaring that he was probably going to destroy her life … Did nothing ever disturb him emotionally? Would no appeal reach that callous heart of his? Had he no thought at all for the humanity of the situation? She shook her head helplessly, recalling with piercing clarity everything he had said. Why had he chosen her? What possible difference could there be between herself and a qualified nanny? In fact practically anyone would be more suitable. She had had no experience of teaching, other than simple practices for the use of the patients in the psychiatric ward. She knew little Italian, and the child apparently did not speak English. It seemed an impossible situation.

She turned back from the window and flung herself on to her bed, staring at the scarlet telephone. She wondered if Allan was awake yet. She wondered what he thought of her disappearance last evening. It seemed doubly traitorous when she had told him she had a headache, and would he believe that she had not had any plans for going out when she had telephoned him? And more important, would he believe that her motives for accepting Pietro’s invitation were not personal ones?

Then she rolled on to her back and stared up at the ceiling. What did it matter anyway? If she did, what it seemed she was being forced to do, and went to live at the Castello di Strega in Sicily she might never see Allan again …

She remained in her bedroom until late in the morning, wanting to avoid the eventual confrontation with Jennifer and her father. No doubt Jennifer would have told her father what had happened the night before, but after her stepmother had gone away no one else had come to her door, so perhaps not. In any event, sooner or later the crunch would come, and she needed all her strength to face that.

It was five minutes past eleven when she telephoned the number Santino Ventura had given her. A strange man’s voice answered the telephone and he insisted on knowing her identity before putting her through to Ventura. When eventually Ventura came on the line it was almost a relief, and she wondered what capacity the other man served. Was he servant – or bodyguard? The latter seemed likely.

Ventura’s voice was as cold and indifferent as she remembered it to be and a chill struck her being as he said: ‘You have made a decision, signorina?’

‘Y – yes, signor.’

‘That is your decision?’

‘Yes, signor.’ Stephanie swallowed hard. ‘You won’t change your mind—?’

But all she heard was the dialling tone. He had rung off.

She replaced her receiver as though it had bitten her, a frown marring the smoothness of her brow. He was an insensitive animal, not a man, not a human being. Her lips trembled and she bit them to prevent them from doing so. She was committed now, and she must go and tell her father what she had done …

Unlocking her bedroom door, she went slowly down the stairs. Miller was in the hall and she looked up in surprise. ‘Oh, you’re awake, miss. Do you want some coffee?’

Stephanie swallowed again. ‘Maybe later, thank you, Miller,’ she said faintly, and the servant regarded her strangely.

‘Are you all right, miss?’

Stephanie managed a faint smile. ‘Of course. I – I had rather a restless night, that’s all. Er – where is my father?’

‘In the library, miss. But he’s on the telephone at the moment. A – a Signor Ventura, is that right?’

Stephanie stared at her for a moment. ‘Signor Ventura?’ she echoed.

‘Yes, miss. The call came through a few moments ago.’

‘I see.’ Stephanie wet her lips with her tongue. ‘And – and Mrs. McMaster? Where is she?’

Miller frowned. ‘She went out, miss, about an hour ago. She didn’t say where she was going.’

‘I see.’ Stephanie nodded. ‘Thank you, Miller. You may bring coffee to the library for my father and myself.’

‘Yes, miss.’

As Miller walked away, Stephanie crossed the hall to the library, and after a light tap on the panels of the door, she went in. Her father was still on the telephone and he regarded her intently as she entered the room, obviously listening closely to what Santino Ventura was telling him. His brows were drawn together with some degree of incredulity, and he patted the desk beside him, indicating that Stephanie should come to sit there. Then he looked at her with expressive eyes, shaking his head in a stunned way.

Stephanie guessed that she was not going to have to tell her father what Santino Ventura had suggested. She might have known he would not allow her to give such information. He would want his position making perfectly clear.

At last her father ran a weak hand over his forehead which was visibly perspiring and said: ‘I find all this just – just too much, signor.’

Stephanie heard the blur of Santino’s voice going on and her father nodded his head rapidly several times. ‘Yes, yes, yes, I know, I know. But I just find it hard to accept. I – I never suspected—’

Stephanie frowned. Suspected what? What was there to suspect? She wished there was an extension in the room so that she could hear what was being said. She tapped her father’s arm to attract his attention, but he shook off her hand impatiently, obviously intent on what the other man was saying.