Читать книгу Veretti's Dark Vengeance - Lucy Gordon, Lucy Gordon - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

SHE waited downstairs, and at last the doorman came to escort her out to the waiting boat, which turned out to be a gondola. The gondolier bowed as he handed her in, saw her comfortably settled and moved off.

Early evening was the best time to see the Grand Canal. Lights blazed from the windows of the buildings lining the banks, and the April sun was setting, casting a glow on the water with its throng of boats. At this time of day they were mostly gondolas, conveying tourists to dinner, sightseeing, music, romance. The air was alive with the anticipation of pleasure.

‘Is it very far?’ she called up and over her shoulder to where the gondolier was standing behind her, plying his single oar.

‘Very little distance, signora. The Palazzo Veretti is further along the Grand Canal. It is magnificent. Everyone admires it.’

A moment later she saw what he meant as they turned the canal’s curve and the building came into sight. It was, as he’d said, magnificent, pale grey marble, ornately decorated in the Renaissance style, rising four storeys, each with ten windows facing the canal, all lit up.

She drew an admiring breath at its beauty, at the same time noting the message of dominance that came from every line. This was the home of a man who was powerful, and wanted everyone to know it.

The gondola was turning, heading for the landing stage at the front of the palazzo. And there, standing in readiness, his eyes fixed on her approach, was Salvatore.

She watched his face and saw that in the evening light he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. As the gondola drew up to the landing stage he reached out to help her from the boat. She felt the strong clasp of his hand, drawing her up until they were level. His hand tightened as he saw her face, but there was a shadow of doubt in his eyes. Was she? Wasn’t she?

She gave him a deliberately challenging smile, full of amusement at his expense, calculated to annoy him.

‘Good evening, Signor Valetti,’ she said sweetly. ‘How kind of you to invite me here tonight.’

‘You?’ he said slowly. ‘Did I invite—you?’

‘You invited Signora Helena Veretti,’ she said, ‘and I am she. I hope I don’t come as a disappointment.’

His eyes narrowed.

‘Not a disappointment, signora. A surprise perhaps.’

‘You mean a shock, don’t you?’

‘Perhaps I do,’ he said slowly.

‘Ah, that little trick I played on you this afternoon. Was it very bad of me? Are you angry?’

‘Of course not. I hope I can appreciate a joke as well as the next man.’

He was lying, Helena knew. His smiling civility was for the boatman’s benefit. Beneath it he was furious at being wrong-footed.

Good!

He paid the gondolier, who seemed pleasantly surprised by the amount, and made himself scarce.

Offering her his arm, Salvatore led her into the brightly lit downstairs hall, with its sweeping staircase. Only then did he look at her closely enough to see what she was wearing around her neck. He drew a sharp breath as he saw the glass heart, so like the one he’d given her that afternoon, but deep red.

‘A gift from my husband,’ she said, touching it.

‘I congratulate you, signora, a very clever performance. No wonder you wouldn’t tell me your name.’

‘It would have been a pity to spoil a good joke.’

‘It would indeed. But let us leave that matter for later. I’ve brought you here to enjoy the very best meal of your life.’

You’ve brought me here to crush me, she thought, amused. Now you need a delay to regroup your forces.

He led her into a large room, ornately furnished with items that seemed several hundred years old. In her first confused impression she could only tell that everything here was costly.

Antonio had told her the history of the palazzo, which had once belonged to a noble family called Cellini.

‘But they spent all their money about a hundred years ago. Then along came the upstart Verettis, with no title but plenty of money, and bought them out at a rock-bottom price—which is how they always prefer to buy. Remember that when you’re negotiating with Salvatore.’

Oh, yes, she thought. I’ll remember.

Salvatore showed her to a sofa and turned to the drinks table.

‘I think I can offer you something a little better than this afternoon,’ he said.

‘But this afternoon you were only a surrogate host for the real owner,’ she reminded him gaily.

‘How true,’ he said, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I suppose I owe you an apology.’

‘Don’t apologise. I’ve never been so entertained in my life.’

She saw a flash of real anger in his glance, suppressed so quickly that anyone less alive to his reactions might have missed it. It was dangerous to taunt him, but that only made it all the more exciting.

The wine was excellent, almost a statement of superiority in itself. She sipped it slowly for a brief moment, then set it down.

‘A little more?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you. I’m keeping my wits about me tonight.’

‘In that case, why don’t we eat?’

He led her to a table by a tall window that opened onto a balcony looking down onto the Grand Canal, and politely held out a seat for her.

At first the Venetian cuisine held her silent, being too delicious to interrupt. But at last she glanced up, smiling, to say,

‘This really is the best food of my life, just as you said.’

‘Signora—’

‘Why don’t you just call me Helena? Surely we’re already beyond the need for formalities?’

‘I agree. Helena—’

‘I expect we’re ready to get down to business now. We’ve both had time to get our thoughts in order.’

‘Ah, business. You’re right. Name the price.’

She stared.

‘Did I hear right? You dare say that to me—after everything I heard you say today?’

‘You tricked me.’

‘Just as well, or I wouldn’t have known what you were really thinking.’

‘You were enjoying yourself, weren’t you?’ he accused.

‘Well, can you blame me? You were so certain you could make me dance to your tune that you were an irresistible target.’

He made a wry face, conceding her point.

‘Perhaps I was a little incautious,’ he agreed. ‘I naturally assumed that you’d be glad to sell for the best price you could get.’

‘Why naturally? Perhaps I want to stay and enjoy my husband’s legacy.’

He made a sound of impatience. ‘Please, let’s not have that pretence.’

‘Ah, yes, of course, you’re so sure you know the truth about me.’ She began to quote, speaking in the Venetian she’d heard him use earlier that day. ‘“Some smart miss on the make who married Antonio just before he died, to get her hands on his money. She may have fooled him, but she won’t fool me.”’

‘What?’

‘“If she thinks she’s going to take over here, she’s mistaken,”’ Helena continued quoting. ‘“And if she thinks I don’t know the kind of woman she is, she’s even more mistaken.”’

She waited for him to reply but he only watched her with eyes as hard as stone.

‘I went to the factory in all innocence,’ she continued. ‘I just wanted to see it after Antonio had told me so much. It was sheer chance I happened to pass the office while you were on the phone. I’m glad I did. When somebody has a cruel and insulting opinion of you, it’s always best to know.’

Salvatore rose sharply and strode away from the table as though he couldn’t bear to be near her. Turning, he stared as though he’d just seen her for the first time, and didn’t like it.

‘You—speak—Venetian?’ he said slowly.

‘Antonio taught me. He bet me that I couldn’t learn that as well as Italian. And there’s something else you’d better get straight. Here.’

Opening her bag, she took out a paper and held it out to him. It was her marriage certificate.

‘Look at the date,’ she said. ‘If Antonio had lived a little longer we’d have celebrated our second anniversary. I did not marry him “at the last minute”.’

She had the satisfaction of seeing him redden.

‘And nor do I need his money,’ she finished. ‘I didn’t marry him for money and I don’t need a quick sale now. Please understand that.’

‘All right.’ He held up his hands. ‘We got off on the wrong foot—’

‘No, you got off on the wrong foot, jumping to conclusions about me and spreading inaccurate rumours all over Venice. I could probably sue you for slander.’

‘Have you finished?’

‘No, I’ve barely started.’

‘Suppose I don’t want to listen?’

‘Did I ask what you want?’ Helena saw his surprise and moved in for the kill. ‘It isn’t nice being bullied, is it? Not that I suppose I do it as well as you, but give me a little time to practise.’

‘And I’m sure you’ll take every opportunity,’ he observed, regarding her ironically.

‘Do you blame me?’

‘Not at all. In your position I should do exactly the same. Always kick the enemy when he’s down. It’s the most efficient way.’

‘So you don’t deny that you’re my enemy?’ she said.

‘I’d look rather foolish denying it now, wouldn’t I? Why expose myself to your derision by trying?’

Before she could reply the door opened and the maid appeared with the next course. He returned to the table and they both remained silent until they were alone again.

‘I could always apologise,’ Salvatore said carefully.

‘For everything?’

‘Everything I can remember. If I forget anything I dare say you’ll remind me.’

‘I can forgive everything except that last remark—“the kind of woman she is”. What kind of woman am I, Salvatore?’

‘Please—do we have to go into that?’

‘I think we do. Surely you’re not asking me to spare your blushes. Or is it mine you’re trying to spare? “A smart miss on the make—married him for his money.” Why don’t you just call me a prostitute and have done with it?’

She had the pleasure of seeing that her frankness made him uneasy.

‘Let’s say instead a very clever lady,’ he said.

‘No, let’s say prostitute because that’s what you meant. Have the courage of your convictions. If you’re going to call me names, do it to my face.’

‘You’re right, signora, I don’t like being bullied—’

‘No, you prefer doing the bullying.’

‘Silenzio!’ he snapped in a voice like a whip crack. ‘If you don’t mind I’d like to speak without being interrupted and without having words put into my mouth. I did not call you a prostitute—’

‘It was what you meant.’

‘Kindly don’t tell me what I mean. I will tell you what I mean. If you were married to Antonio for two years then I must respect that, but it doesn’t change my opinion that you saw a good thing and secured it for yourself. Why else does a young and beautiful woman marry a man in his sixties?’

‘There are a dozen reasons, none of which you would understand.’

‘To be sure, anyone who doesn’t see the matter through your eyes is an ignorant buffoon—’

‘Your words—’

‘But you know the truth about yourself, although for some reason you pretend not to. If I say you’re beautiful I’m not paying you a compliment. Beauty like yours is a trap, a menace. You see it every time you look in the mirror and work to bring it to perfection so that your snares are laid and your victims are helpless.’

‘And you think Antonio was my victim?’

‘No doubt of it. He was a lover of beauty, and an even greater lover of sexual allure. You must have found him easy prey. Did you look for him the way you look now?’

‘Yes, he liked me this way. The more I flaunted myself before other men the more he enjoyed it, because it made them jealous of him.’

‘And did he also tell you to go on flaunting yourself when he was dead?’ Salvatore demanded ironically.

‘Oddly enough he did. He actually bought me this dress and ordered me to wear it because he said, “Don’t you dare hide yourself behind widow’s weeds. I want the world to see you as I knew you.” You were wondering why a widow of only a few weeks dresses in this fashion, well, now you know. I’m obeying my husband’s command.’

He was about to make a sound of disbelief when it came to him that this was exactly the kind of thing Antonio would have said. The old reprobate had a way of coming out with things no other man would have said.

‘I wonder why you obey this particular command right now,’ he mused. ‘Am I supposed to become a helpless victim?’

‘You don’t seem very helpless to me,’ she remarked.

‘That’s because I’m protected. I know women like you. I know how you think, and calculate, what you want and how you go about getting it. You don’t even try to hide it, I’ll give you that.’

‘You flatter yourself if you think I’m trying to add your scalp to my collection. Why would I want to do that?’ Helena asked incredulously.

‘Because I’m an enemy, of course. What could be more satisfying? Since you prefer honesty, let’s be honest. Subdue the enemy first, then make your demands.’

His voice was cold and dangerous. Recklessly she upped the ante.

‘And just what do you think I want from you, Salvatore? I hold all the cards, which means I make the terms. I don’t even need to “subdue” you, the way you imply.’

He drew a sharp breath. ‘You’re a very courageous woman.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m just the woman who’s got something you want and isn’t going to meekly hand it over. Why would I need courage for that?’

‘For several reasons that I can think of but you probably can’t. You’re a stranger here. You should ask around. There are many who will tell you that I always get what I want, because my methods are—irresistible.’

‘I’m shaking in my shoes—I don’t think.’ In a deliberately provocative voice she added, ‘If I don’t choose to sell there isn’t a thing you can do about it.’

‘There’s a great deal I can do about it.’

‘Oh, yes, now I remember! You were going to drive me to the wall and buy me out for peanuts. How could I possibly have forgotten that? Probably because I was in a fit of laughter.’

His face darkened as though he was containing his fury with difficulty, but she was on a high, and nothing would make her stop now.

‘And don’t count on me not knowing what Larezzo is worth,’ she went on. ‘You’ve told me what a powerful man you are in Venice, but powerful men have enemies. I’ll bet there are a dozen people willing—no, eager to tell me about the value, and give me tips on your weaknesses.’

He was on his feet, looking down into her eyes.

‘So you think you can find my weaknesses?’ he said.

She moved a little closer so that her breath brushed his face.

‘I think I’ve found one now,’ she whispered.

He took hold of her arms and she knew at once that she was right. He was trembling. How far, she wondered, did she dare push him? Just a little further?

But she was thwarted by the sound of footsteps, and broke away from him just as the door opened. It was the maid.

‘Signor Raffano is on the telephone.’

Salvatore was pale, but his voice was calm. ‘I’m just coming.’ To Helena he said, ‘Will you excuse me a moment? I must just deal with this.’

‘Of course.’

In the next room Salvatore picked up the phone. ‘Pronto!’

‘I just had to find out how you were doing,’ came Raffano’s voice. ‘Have you set the price yet?’

‘No, this is going to take time.’

‘Difficult, is she?’

‘Let’s just say she’s not what I expected.’

‘What does that mean?’

Salvatore ground his teeth. ‘It means that she wrong-footed me.’

‘Heaven help her!’

‘It might be heaven help me,’ Salvatore admitted reluctantly. ‘This is one very clever lady. I made the mistake of underestimating her.’ In a reflective voice he added, ‘Which I won’t do again.’

Left alone, Helena began to explore the room, which, at one end, became a picture gallery, and she walked slowly along the portraits. Many were of the Cellini family, as the notes beneath them proclaimed. But the last ones were Valettis, stern-faced makers of money in the nineteenth century.

More recently the pictures weren’t paintings but large photographs, one of which made her pause and regard it fondly.

There was Antonio, years before she’d met him, probably in his late thirties, before his hair had turned from black to grey and started to fall out. She’d known him as a ruin, but once he’d been this fine young cavalier. Some of his wickedly handsome looks had remained to the end, and she could still see the Antonio she’d known.

Salvatore, coming to find her, found her standing before Antonio’s picture, so lost in it that she didn’t hear him. From this angle he could just make out the fond look on her face, the tenderness of her smile. As he watched she raised her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss. She might, or might not, have given a little sigh. He couldn’t be sure.

Helena seemed to become aware of him.

‘Look at his eyes,’ she said, indicating the picture. ‘He was a real devil, wasn’t he?’

‘He was in his youth. What about when you knew him?’

‘We—ell,’ she mused, remembering Antonio’s frailty, and thinking that a man didn’t have to be physically capable to be a devil. There were other ways, charming ways that ended in laughter. Remembering those times, she smiled, her eyes fixed on the distance.

Salvatore, watching intently, saw what he’d expected. She had seduced Antonio into action, driving him beyond his strength until he reached the inevitable end. Suddenly he was angry with himself for forgetting so easily that she was an experienced temptress. Her smile, with its hint of a secret history, told him everything he needed to know.

It was a useful reminder not to forget again.

She passed on and he stood for a moment, considering the soft seductiveness of her walk, the way one part of her body moved against another, which could drive a man to distraction.

Or to death, he thought.

He caught up with her as she paused before a wedding picture.

‘My parents,’ he said.

It was the bride who held Helena’s attention; young, beautiful, glowing with joy and love, she couldn’t tear her gaze from her groom. The man was clearly Salvatore’s father, yet there was something missing. His features were similar, but he lacked the driven intensity of his son, an intensity that would always make Salvatore stand out in the world.

Near-by was a picture that showed more of the family. There was Salvatore, seemingly in his early teens, surrounded by older people, presumably aunts and uncles.

‘And there’s Antonio,’ she said, peering. ‘Who’s the woman sitting beside him?’

‘That’s my mother.’

‘What? But she—?’

Astounded, Helena stared, trying to believe that this middle-aged woman was the same person as the glorious bride of the earlier picture. She was too thin, her whole aspect was tense and strained, and Helena had the feeling that she was putting on a brave, defiant face for the world. She stood just behind the young Salvatore, her glance turned slightly towards him, her hand possessively on his shoulder, as though he was all she had.

She looked back and forth between the two pictures, horrified.

‘How did it happen?’ she asked. ‘She’s so changed.’

‘People do change with the passing of time,’ he observed.

‘But it can’t have been many years after the wedding, and she looks as though some dreadful tragedy had happened to her.’

‘My mother took her duties very seriously, not only in the home but also in the many charities she supported.’

He spoke in a distant voice that made Helena feel he was warning her off the subject. She was dissatisfied. There was more here than simply passing years. Yet she supposed she had no right to ask further. She took one last look at the picture.

‘Poor woman,’ she sighed. ‘How sad she seems!’

Salvatore didn’t answer, and she guessed he was offended by her continued interest. But when she glanced at his face she saw it strangely softened.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘She was. Shall we go back?’

It was almost a surprise to discover that there was still food on the table from their abandoned meal. So much had happened since, not outwardly but inwardly. They had confronted each other from behind carefully erected barriers of mistrust and dislike, but neither had allowed for the random chance of physical attraction.

It defied belief. It was unexpected, unwanted, but undeniable. As malign and frisky as a jester, it danced between them, laughing at them both, caught in its trap.

Helena had no doubt that he was as trapped as herself. She knew it, not through vanity, but through her senses, fiercely alive as they hadn’t been for years, not since—She shut the thought off there.

Her mind swung obediently into action. Stay cool. Stay in charge.

She sat down, aiming a smile at him like a missile.

‘Now I must finish this cake. It’s delicious.’

‘Some coffee?’

‘How delightful!’

They were back behind their defences, looking out, keeping watch, big guns primed, ready for anything.

‘So,’ he said at last, ‘you’re going to make me wait for the factory?’