Affair In Venice Part 3

a.s.suming his remark to be one of departure, she bent down to look at the necklace, but the man remained beside her, and she was uncomfortably aware of him. He was taller than any Italian she had met, and looked far more austere than most of his countrymen. His features were less sensuous, but there was no doubting the controlled emotion of the hooded dark eyes and the firmly closed mouth.

'Are you as interested in that necklace as you are pretending to be?' he asked silkily.

She continued to look at it 'I'm not pretending.'

'You said you preferred antique jewellery.'

'Signora Botelli wishes me to make some modem pieces for her.'

'Ah.' The sound was satisfied. Tell me, Miss Rayburn, is it possible to buy any of your work?'

Aware that she could not keep looking at the necklace, she lifted her head. She had not imagined the amus.e.m.e.nt in Conte Rosetti's voice, for it was borne out by his expression. For some reason best known to himself he was trying to bait her.

'I am completing a necklace at the moment, for which the Signora has already received an offer.'

'But you will be making other pieces?'

'Of course.'

'Then I will arrange to see them.' He paused as if waiting for her to thank him, and when she did not do so, his look became speculative. 'You consider yourself a good designer?'

'I am pleased with what I do,' she said slowly.

'Then you must be good. I do not think you are a person who is easily satisfied.'

Uncertain whether this was a compliment, she hesitated, and with perception he guessed her doubt.

Unlike most of your s.e.x, Miss Rayburn, you are not fooled by the third-rate merely because it is expensive.'

'I don't think many women are.'

His eyes sparkled. 'You serve them every day!'

Instantly Erica remembered Claudia Medina. Pet.i.te, curvaceous and startlingly elegant, she was every inch the type to which he was referring, and inconsequentially Erica wondered if playing the role of mistress disqualified the woman from becoming the Contessa.

'Was it an interesting thought?' he asked. 'The one that is making you smile.'

'It was an unimportant one.'

'Then perhaps I can replace it with something more interesting. If you admire antique jewellery perhaps you would care to prepare some designs for me? I have a few pieces that need re-setting.'

'It would be desecration to break up something that is really old.'

'I do not need to be told that, Miss Rayburn.' Once more he was austere. 'The pieces I have in mind were left to me by an aunt some years ago. The stones are perfect, but they are ruined by the heavy settings. I am sure you can design something more suitable.'

'But you haven't seen my work.'

'You could hardly design anything worse,' he added.

She chuckled. 'That's a dubious compliment. But I'm preparing some sketches for Signora Botelli and I will ask her to show them to you. If they meet with your approval, we can take it from there.'

'In the meantime perhaps you would care to see the Rosetti Collection in its entirety? It is a chance given to few people. The more important pieces are usually kept in my bank in Rome, but as the jewellery is going on show in America, it is all being brought to the Palazzo.'

'I'd love to see it.' She was too delighted to pretend otherwise. 'I hope you have it well insured? Forgive me,' she apologized before he could reply. 'I didn't mean to pry, it's just that the thought of so much jewellery in one place gives me the shudders.'

'Me too,' he said sincerely if ungrammatically. 'But at least one recompense will be my ability to show them to you. I will call you if I may and arrange a time.'

A week pa.s.sed without any word from Filippo Rosetti and Erica presumed he had either forgotten his invitation or regretted it. Either way it was chastening, and with a need to bolster her morale she went shopping during the week-end and spent far more than she should have done on summer clothes.

As always the understated colours were the ones that appealed to her, and encouraged by a fas.h.i.+on-conscious boutique owner, she chose several dresses in subtle coffee, lemon and cream shades.

'Bright colours swamp you,' the woman had a.s.sured her. The secret of looking beautiful is-'

'Being beautiful,' Erica interposed.

'No, no, signorina, that is where women make a mistake. To appear beautiful is to be beautiful. And that means making the best of what you have.'

'I'll have to learn how to do that,' Erica smiled.

'You don't need to try,' the woman a.s.sured her. 'With your looks and figure and my clothes, you are already there!'

The admiring male glances that followed her to work on Monday morning in one of her new dresses decided Erica that perhaps the boutique owner had not been flattering her after all. Six months of living alone in this enchanted city had done more than give her a linguistic ability; it had also given her a confidence which had increased her poise and allowed her personality to blossom. Living with her father in a small university town she had been swamped by his life style and needs, and because she loved him, she had put these before her own. Her work as a jeweller had not helped her to escape from the onerous duties of being an only child to a widowed father, for she had learned her craft at the excellent night school which the town boasted, and had then gone on to work part-time in an old-fas.h.i.+oned jewellery shop in the town centre. This had given her some earning power, but had not helped her to lead her own life.

She had met Signora Botelli by chance. The woman's nephew was studying archaeology with Erica's father and halfway through his second term his aunt - in London on business - travelled north to see him. Her delighted nephew had brought her to meet his professor and daughter, and from this had sprung the offer for Erica to work in the Signora's Venice shop and study the Venetian craftsmen.

At first Erica had refused, unable to see how her father could manage without her. But his reaction to this had been surprisingly angry.

'I'm not a child, Erica. I can manage perfectly well on my own. If I hadn't been such a selfish man I would have sent you packing long ago, instead of letting you keep house for me.'

'I'm quite happy staying here,' Erica had a.s.sured hint, 'I've been toying with the idea of renting a stall in the antique market and-'

'Designing copper necklaces for arty women? Rubbis.h.!.+'

Rarely had she known her father so vehement, but it was a vehemence which led her to accept the Signora's offer, though she made it clear that she must be free to leave at a moment's notice should her father need her back.

Four months after arriving in Venice, Professor Rayburn married a visiting American archaeologist attached to the university for a sabbatical year. Erica had met her when she had flown back to England for the wedding, and had returned to Venice rea.s.sured by the knowledge that her father was no longer a responsibility, though saddened by the fact that she must now make her own life alone.

Signora Botelli's suggestion that she use the extra commission she earned from the sale of her necklace to move into a better apartment was something she had carefully considered. Yet it seemed pointless to waste her money on bigger rooms in a better position. No matter how happy she was in Venice, she could not envisage living here permanently - certainly not if she remained single - for the life of a middle-aged spinster in an Italian town had little to commend it. At least in England there were social clubs, evening cla.s.ses and a host of concerts and lectures one could attend alone. But Italy was still a patriarchal society, where women were regarded as second-cla.s.s citizens, and where those unlucky enough to remain unmarried and without families to whom they could devote themselves were treated with even less consideration. At twenty-three it was easy for her to enjoy her life here, but it would be unwise to consider it as permanent.

She skirted San Marco Square enjoying, as she always did, her brief glimpse of it, and turned down the narrow street that led to the shop. As she unlocked the front door she saw a large silver-grey envelope on the mat. Her name was typed on it, and a.s.suming it to be another invitation to an exhibition, she opened it.

Expecting the card inside to be printed, she was surprised to see firm black writing. At once she knew it was from the Conte Rosetti. Quickly she read it: it was an invitation to lunch with him next Sunday and apologized for not having been in touch with her earlier, explaining he had been in America to satisfy himself as to the security which would be given to the Rosetti Collection when it arrived there.

Here at last was an explanation for his silence. Happy to think that her judgment of him had been wrong, and that he had not forgotten his offer to show her his jewellery, she immediately penned him a note of acceptance and was addressing the envelope when her employer walked in.

Nothing escaped her sharp black eyes and she immediately saw the card. 'From the Conte Rosetti, eh?'

Erica couldn't stop herself from flus.h.i.+ng. 'How can you recognize his writing upside down?'

'I didn't - I recognized the crest!'

'He has invited me to see his collection,' Erica explained, forestalling the next, most obvious question.

'Of course you will accept! It is a wonderful opportunity.' The Signora smiled. 'The Conte has an interest in a pretty face.'

'Then that's a guarantee for my safety!'

'What a thing to say! You are a lovely girl.'

'It's my new dress that's lovely,' Erica replied. 'I bought it on Sat.u.r.day.'

'It suits you. I am glad you are taking an interest in your appearance. What will you wear for your dinner?'

'It's lunch.' Erica looked mischievous. 'Sorry to spoil your romantic illusion!'

'What is wrong with the afternoon?' the Signora retorted, and laughed throatily as she saw Erica blush. 'Seriously, child, beware of him. He is very much a man of the world and I do not wish to see you hurt.'

'I'm only being invited to see the collection,' Erica reiterated, anxious not to let her employer's imagination affect her own.

'A man in the Conte's position does not usually invite shop a.s.sistants to lunch with him in his palazzo.'

'He could hardly bring the collection round to the local coffee shop!'

'You know what I mean, Erica. I feel responsible for you and-'

'The days of the bold black knights are over, signora. Damsels don't remain in distress for long. They all know how to do the karate chop!'

'Do you?'

'Actually I don't; but I've a marvellous high kick!'

The Signora chuckled and turned her attention to business. The necklace Erica had been working on was finished, and had been sent to Signor Bruno who had immediately bought it for his wife. His delight had prompted Erica to design several more pieces, and from these Signora Botelli chose a couple of rings and three brooches.

'Make the sapphire and diamond ring first. The others you may do in any order you wish.'

'I'll need a large sapphire,' Erica warned.

'I'll bring you a selection from Rome.' The woman picked up the design in question. 'A bracelet and necklace to match this ring would be ideal. We could get a good price for a whole suite.'

'Let me do the ring first.'

'Would you like someone to help you?'

Erica shook her head and the Signora let the matter drop.

But in the ensuing days she went out of her way to keep her young a.s.sistant tied to the work bench, even though this meant she herself had to spend more time in the shop.

By Friday night Erica was beginning to wish she had never submitted the designs, for her eyes ached as much as her fingers, and she vowed that come what may, on Sat.u.r.day she was going to serve in the shop and not look at a soldering iron, let alone touch it.

Luckily there was an influx of American tourists, and both she and her employer were kept busy serving, too busy even for Erica to give much thought to her visit to the Palazzo Rosetti the next day. It was only as she opened the safe to take out a pair of earrings to show a honeymooning American couple, and caught sign of an aquamarine pendant which Claudia Medina had brought in to have repaired, that she realized she would be seeing the Conte in a matter of hours. Had the pendant been one of his gifts to the beautiful widow, or had it come from another admirer? Quickly she pushed the thought away.

At closing time Signora Botelli asked Erica if she would like to borrow some jewellery for the following day. But Erica declined, explaining that she would feel uncomfortable wearing something that did not belong to her.

'Have you decided on your dress?' Signora Botelli asked.

'It depends if it's warm.'

'No cardigan,' the Italian woman a.s.serted. 'Always the English wear the cardigan.'

Erica chuckled. 'A twin set and pearls, you mean! No, I won't wear that. But please don't talk about it any more, or you'll make me so nervous that I won't go.'

'How could you refuse?' came the shocked response.

'By telephoning and saying I have a headache.'

The Conte would know it was an excuse.'

'Then that should make him all the keener,' Erica retorted, hiding a smile.

'I do not think so. He is not used to chasing women. It is more the other way around.'

'Well, if he doesn't do any chasing, perhaps you'll start to believe that his invitation is purely a business one.'

'Business, possibly,' said the Signora, 'pure, never!'

'You're incorrigible,' Erica scolded, and bidding her employer good night, went home.

It was well after eight o'clock and she accepted the fact that from now until the end of the tourist season they would rarely close before this hour. Late afternoon and evening was their busiest time, for most tourists gave the morning and afternoon over to sightseeing or leisurely tours, only getting down to the serious business of buying when the galleries and museums were shut Evening in Venice was the best time as far as Erica was concerned, and definitely the most beautiful time in which to see San Marco Square. The facade of the cathedral gleamed pale and beautiful in the radiance of floodlighting, while the glittering shops that ranged the three other sides of the square glowed like Aladdin's cave from behind the graceful columns that went to form the arcade beneath which one walked. Resisting the urge to stop and treat herself to a coffee, she returned to her apartment where she made herself a light supper, too tired to do more than eat it quickly and then relax in a chair beside the narrow balcony.

Tomorrow she would be seeing Filippo Rosetti. It was a nerve-racking thought and she tried not to let it worry her. She would only be with him for a couple of hours. Nothing momentous could happen to her in that short s.p.a.ce of time.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Erica's first waking thought was that in a matter of hours she would be lunching in a palace. Her second was the rueful one that had she not been reluctant to feed Signora Botelli's imagination, she would have asked that good lady for more information about the Rosetti family and their home.

All she had managed to glean was that the Conte lived there with his sister and niece - his sister having been widowed two years previously - and that he had been the sole heir to the Rosetti fortune, though there were a couple of uncles, aunts and many cousins all anxiously waiting to see if he would marry and produce a son. It seemed surprising that, for this reason alone, the Conte was still single. He must love his freedom if he was not willing to give it up in order to ensure that his name and possessions remained within his own branch of the family. Most Italian men were married long before they reached his age, which she guessed to be in the middle thirties.

Unwilling to continue thinking of the Conte, she washed and set her hair, and by the time she had showered and changed it was time to leave for the palazzo.

It stood on the Grand Ca.n.a.l; a vast mansion which she had pa.s.sed many times on the water-bus without knowing to whom it belonged. Unlike many similar Venetian buildings, this one was in excellent repair, and even though the outer walls of the ground floor were green from the dampness of the ca.n.a.l water which lapped its sides, it was a discoloration that came from natural causes and not from lack of money. The rest of the palazzo was in splendid, almost ostentatiously excellent condition, with gilded decoration round the innumerable narrow, arched windows and black-lead paint resplendent on the ornately carved balconies and railings.