Veretti’s Dark Vengeance (11 page)

They make it look so simple, she sighed to herself. But it isn’t simple at all.
She wondered where Salvatore was now, and what he was thinking. She tried to picture him walking home through the dark calles, rejoicing in his easy victory, saying he’d always known she was just like the others.
But the picture didn’t fit. It faded before the memory of the concern in his voice as he’d asked if she was all right.
She reached out, to switch off the beside light, rolled over and buried her head under the clothes.
Down below, Salvatore stood by the landing stage, watching her window, trying to sort out his thoughts, but they were too much for him. Nothing in the world made any sense.
She had been like a woman experiencing passion for the first time. Helen of Troy, whose lustrous body was a byword for sexual allure and delightful sin, had made love with an air of astonishment and discovery that had stunned him. Prepared for skill and experience, he’d found instead something shockingly like innocence.
He’d always avoided innocence. It caused too many complications. Helena’s attraction had been that she seemed like himself, cynical, wary, well able to take care of herself. Her own words, ‘A woman who knows the rules and doesn’t ask for more,’ had seemed to bear that out.
But it was false. Her caresses had been eager but simple and artless, with none of the calculation he’d expected. He’d known women with those very skills, who’d taken him to the extremes of physical pleasure, but then shrugged when the time had come to part. Not one of them had inspired the concern he’d felt for Helena.
‘What mystery are you hiding?’ he murmured. ‘Who are you lying to-me or yourself? And why?’
He stood watching for a while longer, listening to the soft lapping of the little waves, until her light went out. Only then did he walk slowly, thoughtfully, away.
Business in Milan kept Salvatore away for the next few days. When it was complete he remembered further business in Rome, and it was a week before he returned to Venice to find a large parcel waiting for him.
‘It came by special messenger the day you left,’ his grandmother told him.
She was a thin, hard-faced woman, expensively dressed. The daughter of impoverished nobility, she had married for money and borne one child, Lisetta, the daughter who had been Salvatore’s mother. Guido, her son-in-law, had been the object of her hatred, often with good reason. Now that both he and Lisetta were dead she haunted the palazzo, urging Salvatore to remember ‘his position’, and disappointed when he didn’t live up to her pompous expectations.
He opened the parcel in front of her and then wished he hadn’t. It was the devil head Helena had created.
Inside was a brief note:
‘I promised you this. Thank you for mine. It’s beautiful. Helena.’
He concealed the note quickly, but his grandmother had seen the head and exclaimed sharply, ‘So it’s true! There was a rumour that she’d insulted you but I couldn’t believe she would dare.’
‘She hasn’t insulted me,’ Salvatore said, examining the object with interest. ‘It’s a very fine piece. If I’m not much mistaken it was designed by Leo Balzini, a young designer I’ve been pursuing for months.’ He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘He’s even managed to make it look like me.’
‘Don’t be absurd. Who could think that a devil looks like you?’
‘Anyone who could see into me as far as she…’ His voice faded and he took a deep, unnerved breath.
‘What’s that you’re mumbling?’
‘Nothing,’ he said hastily. ‘Just take my word that it’s not an insult.’
‘Hmm! I find that hard to believe. A woman like that-’
‘Please don’t call her that,’ Salvatore said quickly.
‘I’ve heard you say it yourself.’
‘But she is technically part of the family and bears the Veretti name,’ he reminded her in a voice that would have warned a more sensitive person.
‘But we don’t have to accept her, surely. Have you any idea of the spectacle she’s been making of herself this last week?’
‘She’s a model. Naturally she draws admiring eyes.’
‘She’s been seen out in the company of a different man every night, including Silvio Tirani.’
Since Tirani was a buffoon who pursued one woman after another, vainly fancying that his wealth could compensate for his vulgarity, this did not elicit the reaction she’d wanted.
‘I’ll bet she sent him about his business,’ Salvatore said with a grin.
‘I know there was a scene in a restaurant, the last thing this family needs. We must ignore her, however hard that becomes.’
‘I seem to recall that you were fond of Antonio,’ Salvatore observed.
He heard her give a sharp intake of breath and recalled, too late, that these were unlucky words. Despite being fifteen years older than Antonio, the signora had become infatuated with his boyish charm, and been unable to hide it. Rumour said that was why he’d fled Venice, and it had become part of the family legend. But Salvatore had spoken innocently, and now he hastened to add, ‘How would he feel about you ignoring his widow? I think it’s time she met the whole family. It should have been done before.’
‘You mean invite her here?’ the signora almost shrieked. ‘Never. I won’t consider it.’
‘There’ll be no need for you to do so,’ Salvatore said coldly. ‘In my own house I extend the invitations.’
When he spoke like that she knew better than to argue. She walked away in a furious temper, turning at the door to hurl back the words, ‘I think you must have taken leave of your senses.’
He waited until she’d stormed out before murmuring, ‘I’m beginning to think I have.’
It was easy to be indifferent if you worked at it. Helena had discovered this in her past life, and surely, she reasoned, it was simply a matter of being strong-minded again.
The problem of what to do after her night with Salvatore had been solved by discovering that she still had the glass head she promised him. She packed it up and sent it over with a note that was friendly but not effusive, then waited for him to contact her.
As the days passed without a word from him she faced the bleak facts: Salvatore had taken what he wanted, proved his worst prejudices right to his own satisfaction, and snubbed her by way of making his point.
Day after day she went to the factory and concentrated all her might on learning the business, managing for hours on end not to think of him. It was only at night that there was no protection from memories of his body against hers, inside hers, and the humiliation of wondering what he’d been thinking all the time.
The brief moments afterwards, when he’d seemed concerned for her, had been an illusion. Since then he’d shown his true contempt by his silence.
At last she learned through the Venice grapevine that Salvatore had left the city early next morning. The trip seemed to take everyone by surprise.
‘It came out of the blue,’ Emilio said as they shared a snack at the factory. ‘Apparently his secretary had to cancel several meetings.’
‘Does anyone know when he’s coming back?’ Helena asked indifferently.
‘It seems not. He could be gone for ages. Let’s hope so, because then we’ll be safe from any action he could take against us. Always look on the bright side.’
‘Yes,’ Helena said tonelessly. ‘Let’s look on the bright side.’
She would stay late at work, stretching the day as long as possible, but eventually she had to face the evening. Her fame had grown throughout the city, and there was always someone to dine with, if she wished. But then it would be time for her to go to bed, hoping to sleep, but often lying awake, trying to blot out the picture show in her head.
It didn’t work. The tormenting images were always there, and the memory of even more tormenting sensations. She would shut her eyes and curl up into a ball, shivering.
But she never wept. Never.
The heavy, embossed invitation was glittering and formal.
Signora Helena Veretti was invited to be Signor Salvatore Veretti’s guest on the vessel Herana for the Festa della Sensa, in two weeks’ time.
‘It’s an honour,’ Emilio told her. ‘Did Antonio ever tell you about this festival?’
‘A little. Let’s see-’ she pressed her fingers to her forehead ‘-it goes back several hundred years, to the days when the doge took a ceremonial barge out into the lagoon, and tossed a gold ring into the water to mark Venice’s marriage to the sea.’
‘That’s right. These days it’s recreated every year. A fleet of boats goes out, and an actor plays the role of the doge. All the great men of Venice take part, including the cardinal, otherwise known as the Patriarch of Venice. You’ll be in fine company.’
‘Assuming that I accept.’
‘People commit murder to get these invitations. Think of all the networking you can do.’
‘Yes, of course, I must think of that.’
While she was planning whether to call Salvatore or write a reply, the phone rang.
‘Did you receive my invitation?’ he asked.
At the sound of his voice all the good work of the last few days went out of the window. What had happened between them might have been last night.
‘I was about to call you,’ she said.
‘I expect you need to know a little more before you give me your answer.’
‘No, I’d decided to-’
‘We’ll have lunch. Meet me in an hour at-’ He named a café two streets away.
A click and he was gone.
The café was small, cheap and cheerful, a world away from the elegant eating places she was used to. Salvatore was waiting for her at a table outside, overlooking a small canal, busy with boats delivering supplies. He poured her a glass of light white wine, which he’d already ordered.
Her first view of him gave her an eerie sensation of looking into a mirror. If his eyes told a true story he’d had as many sleepless nights as she.
He rose as she appeared and drew out a seat.
‘I’d have been in touch before, but I was called away suddenly,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the head. I’ve locked it away safely to prevent my grandmother smashing it. She’s indignant that anyone should see me as the devil. I told her that you’d explain it to her when the two of you meet.’
‘You did what?’ she demanded, shaken out of her composure. ‘What am I supposed to say to her?’
He shrugged, grinning. ‘That’s for you to decide. I’ll just act as referee.’
His smile lit up the world, although she tried not to admit it. For a week her thoughts about him had been bitter. Now she was happy just to be here with him.
‘I was right when I made you a devil,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the cheek of one.’
‘So I take it you accept my invitation? Good.’
‘Hold on, I haven’t said that.’
‘Why should you refuse? Because it comes from me?’
He said it quizzically, making his face charming. She tried not to be charmed, but failed.
‘Let’s just say I’m deeply suspicious of you for asking me,’ she said.
‘But you’re a celebrity now. Naturally I want to be seen with you as often as possible, for the sake of my reputation.’
‘Will you stop talking nonsense?’
‘I’m being serious. As a man of position I have to make sure that you’re seen in my company rather than any other man’s. I couldn’t risk competition from-say-Silvio Tirani.’
‘Yes, of course. I might swoon into his arms at any moment.’
‘I live in fear of it. All Venice is talking about how you sent him out of the restaurant with a flea in his ear.’ He added wryly, ‘To be honest, I have a certain fellow feeling.’
‘Oh, really!’ she said with deep scepticism.
‘You’ve given me a flea several times. Perhaps Tirani and I should set up a society, Helen of Troy’s Venice Rejects.’
They burst out laughing together, and the warmth came flooding back, not just the fierce sexual heat but the gentler warmth of minds in harmony.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, echoing the words he’d used before, wondering if she would remember them.
She remembered at once, and nodded. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I ask because-’
‘I know. I was in a strange mood that night.’
‘I didn’t harm you in any way, did I? Because if I did I’ll never forgive myself.’
His voice was gentle and concerned. So were his eyes, she noticed with a catch of the breath. Briefly the battle was in abeyance. This was Time Out, when they could be just people reaching out tentatively to each other, not combatants.
‘You didn’t harm me,’ she insisted firmly.
‘But something troubled you,’ he said, still gentle. ‘I wish you’d tell me.’
For a moment he thought she would confide in him and his heart lifted. But then she gave him a beaming, confident smile and he knew he was shut out again. The smile was her armour. He’d learned this much about her by now.
‘The only thing that’s worrying me is the fact that you won-for the moment,’ she said slightly.
‘I haven’t noticed you going out of business,’ he observed.
‘I wasn’t talking about business. You told me-how much I’d enjoy our time together. And I did.’ She raised her wine glass. ‘Congratulations on your victory.’
‘Shut up!’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t talk like that.’
Once he would have triumphed in her words. Now they tortured him.
She shrugged and set down the glass, looking at him from behind her armour.
For the moment he gave up, knowing that in this mood she was beyond his strength.
‘So you’ll be my guest on my boat for the festa,’ he said, ‘and then at my home for the banquet afterwards.’
‘Well, actually-’
‘And if you’ve accepted anyone else’s invitation you can just tell them you’ve changed your mind.’
‘That’s better,’ she said with relish. ‘Now you sound like you again.’
He was troubled, a feeling he was reluctantly finding familiar. It had been that way with him ever since he’d risen from her bed after a union that had disconcerted him in ways he didn’t understand.
Salvatore was used to being the one who made love only with the body, while keeping his heart to himself. His experience of desire was that no matter how mysterious a woman seemed before they went to bed her mystery vanished when he’d brought her to climax. Then she said and did the same as every other woman, grasping hold of him when he wanted to leave, trying to prolong the relationship when it was dead, speaking of love to a man who didn’t want to hear, refusing to recognise reality.
But Helena had turned away, content to let him go, seemingly indifferent. He’d found himself with thoughts that had never troubled him in the past, and had left the city to escape them. During his absence she’d sent the glass head with a polite note, but apparently made no other attempt to contact him at work or at home. He was puzzled.
She’d said she had no heart to give, and he was beginning to wonder if it was the truth. It had never mattered before.
‘My family have a great desire to meet you,’ he said. ‘After all, you’re one of us now. Yes, I understand why you give me that disbelieving look, but there are a lot of Verettis and they’re not all as bad as me. At least give them the chance to welcome you.’