Dark Venetian Page 12

  ‘You tell me,’ he said, his tone sardonic, and Emma winced. She was unaware that Cesare was angry with her for acting like the upstairs maid caught out with the master of the house, when all he had wanted to do was to send Celeste packing and keep Emma beside him. As it was, she looked guilty, and he felt furious with Celeste for thinking she could move into his room without invitation.

  Emma herself was plagued with thoughts of a different nature. Why had Celeste come in like that? Without knocking? Had she been expected? Were they in actual fact lovers? Was this merely a nightly ritual? It nauseated her in the circumstances, and with a muttered cry she ran out of the room, cannoning straight into the Contessa.

  ‘Oh, signora,’ she exclaimed. ‘Excuse me’.

  ‘Calm down, child, calm down,’ said the Contessa soothingly. ‘But stay. Cesare, what is going on here? Doors are opening and shutting continually … Celeste!’

  Celeste was furiously angry. Far from appearing ashamed, Vidal seemed undisturbed at any construction she might put on this affair, and Celeste could not bear to be ridiculed.

  ‘Contessa,’ she said, putting a sob in her voice and producing a handkerchief from the pocket of her quilted gown, ‘I’ve had a most terrible shock! I heard … voices, and went to find Emma, but she was not in her room. Then I realized the sounds were coming from here!’

  Emma’s mouth went dry.

  Celeste continued: ‘I … I have to tell you, Contessa. Your grandson … and Emma!’ her voice broke convincingly. ‘They were making love –’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Cesare, in a cold, hard voice.

  The Contessa looked horrified, and Cesare sighed heavily. ‘Grandmother, sit down, before you fall down,’ he said impatiently. ‘Are you going to stand there and listen to such arrant nonsense, or do you want the truth?’

  The Contessa looked at Emma’s drawn, white face. ‘Why, the truth, of course,’ she said shakily. ‘But Celeste would not lie to me …’

  ‘Of course not …’ began Celeste, only to be silenced by a look from Cesare.

  ‘Emma did come to my room, I admit,’ said Cesare, ‘and I also admit that I lost my head. I’ve been drinking, she’s an attractive girl, I am only human, as you know so well.’

  ‘They were on the bed!’ said Celeste triumphantly.

  ‘Yes, we were,’ agreed Cesare, ‘but nothing happened. Nothing at all!’

  ‘Do you really expect your grandmother to believe that?’ Celeste sounded scornful.

  The Contessa frowned. ‘I must confess, Cesare, knowing you as I do, the whole story sounds improbable.’

  ‘Improbable, but not impossible,’ retorted the Count. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, why am I arguing about it? I don’t particularly care what you believe!’

  ‘Cesare!’ His grandmother sounded hurt.

  ‘Well! Go away, all of you! We’ll discuss this in the morning.’

  He firmly put Celeste outside the door, and closed it with a click, and they all heard the sound of the key being turned. The Contessa looked first at Celeste, and then at Emma.

  ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘This must be discussed more fully in the morning. Emma, my child, will you help me back to my room?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Emma, gathering her scattered wits, and taking the old lady’s arm.

  The Contessa’s room was smaller than Celeste’s and very neat and tidy. Emma helped the old lady into bed, and then said:

  ‘Is there anything you want, signora?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ replied the Contessa, her fingers catching Emma’s wrist as she would have drawn away. ‘Emma, dear child, you are not making a fool of yourself over my grandson, are you?’

  Emma’s cheeks burned.

  ‘Oh, my dear, don’t you see how foolish that would be?’ She sighed. ‘Despite the enormous difference in your ages, he is not the kind of man to … how can I put it? … make one woman happy.’ She tried to study Emma’s expression. ‘My dear, if he marries Celeste their marriage will be a success. She will not expect him to make vows he cannot keep, and I have no doubt she will take full advantage of the freedom he gives her. My grandson is marrying her for her money; Celeste knows this, and is prepared to accept it because she wants the title. Ours is an old established family. She will get her full share of the bargain.’

  Emma began to protest weakly, but the Contessa shook her head. ‘No, let me finish. It may seem sometimes that I am old and a little stupid perhaps, but having Celeste here has been quite revealing for me. I have realized she is selfish and avaricious, and not at all as I had imagined her to be. But it is the Palazzo that is important, and …’ she lay back weakly on her pillows, ‘… I am getting too old to care any longer, so long as the money is there.’

  Emma drew her wrist away, and rubbed it awkwardly. ‘Contessa, do you not love your grandson?’

  ‘Love him? Cesare? My child, there is nothing I would not do for him.’

  ‘Then how can you expect him to marry Celeste?’ Emma sighed. ‘Money is not everything.’

  ‘The arranged marriage is usually entirely successful,’ replied the old lady wearily. ‘My own was an arranged marriage, and we were happy, Vittorio and I. I do not pretend that I was always the only woman in his life, he had his weaknesses, but he always came back to me.’

  Emma turned to the door. ‘I must go,’ she said.

  ‘You would not have this kind of marriage? I am curious.’

  Emma shook her head. ‘No, signora. When I marry it will be for love, and love only. And my husband will love me … and only me!’

  ‘I hope you find this love you seek,’ said the Contessa tiredly.

  ‘I will,’ said Emma with more confidence than she felt. ‘And do not worry, signora. I won’t prevent your grandson’s marriage to Celeste. I rather think she might do that for herself.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Emma slept badly that night. Her thoughts were too disturbed for her to relax completely, and she dreaded the morning and its unknown outcome. She was stupidly vulnerable where Cesare was concerned, and she knew that whatever Celeste might do to try and stop her, she must leave the Palazzo at once, preferably without seeing Cesare again.

  She rose early, breakfasted alone, and asked Anna whether Giulio was free to take her to the main railway terminal. She had hurriedly thrown most of her clothes into a suitcase, and it was waiting now just inside her bedroom door.

  Anna folded her arms and stared curiously at her. ‘Si, Giulio is free. But I do not understand, signorina. Why are you going to the railway terminal?’

  Emma ran a tongue over her dry lips. ‘Oh, Anna, please don’t ask questions. I … I have to get away.’

  ‘And the Signor? Does he know of this decision?’

  ‘Of course not. Anna, surely you can see that I must get away?’

  ‘Si, I understand why you are doing this. I am not blind, and the Signor is very dear to my heart, also. But are you sure this is the right thing to do? It may be that….’

  ‘It’s the right thing to do,’ averred Emma firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Anna. But I can’t take any more. I have a little money, sufficient I think to get me back to England, and then … well … I can take up my life at the hospital. You didn’t know that, did you, Anna? I was a nurse, before I came here.’

  ‘Then you are not the Signora Celeste’s stepdaughter?’ exclaimed Anna, aghast.

  ‘Oh, but I am,’ returned Emma swiftly. ‘It’s just our circumstances that are different, but our relationship is the same as ever, unfortunately.’

  She rose to her feet, swallowing the last of the coffee in her cup. ‘That was delicious, Anna, but now I must go.’

  ‘Delicious! What nonsense!’ Anna uttered an angry expletive. ‘You have eaten nothing!’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Emma brushed down the navy slacks she was wearing, and brushed back her hair a trifle wearily. ‘Will you tell Giulio I’ll be ready in a couple of minutes?’

  There was nothing left to do. It was too earl
y for the Contessa to rise, or Celeste either for that matter. And the Count … who could tell what his movements might be?

  She sighed, and walked out on to the loggia. The sun was gilding every spire in the city, and the canals were like rivers of molten gold in the burnished light. She would never be able to rid her mind of the beauty of this place, she thought. Always Venice would hold a special place in her heart.

  She looked down to the canal below the loggia, seeing the courtyard, and beyond it the landing stage, and the launch rocking gently on its mooring. This would be the last time she stood here; she had not wanted to come, but now she did not want to go.

  She turned away, her eyes glazed with tears, and saw the man standing below beckoning to her vigorously. Hastily she thrust a handkerchief to her eyes, and hurrying to her bedroom she collected her case and without waiting to see whether Anna was coming to say goodbye, she let herself out of the apartments and ran down the stairs quickly, not looking back.

  The gloom of the hall struck a chill through her thin blouse, and she was glad to emerge into the sunlight again. Through the courtyard with its overlay of weeds and moss, and out on to the poled landing stage. There was no sign of Giulio now, and Emma compressed her lips impatiently, and looked about her. Where had he gone? Oh, please, she begged, let me get away!

  She looked down at the launch, and then, without warning, she was struck a sharp blow from behind and fell senselessly into the bottom of the boat. The painter was silently released, and the craft pushed out into the current as two men leapt aboard. They allowed the launch to drift a little downstream before starting the motor and turning into a side canal out of sight of the Palazzo.

  When Emma came to she was lying on something hard and unyielding and she felt she ached in every bone of her body. Her head throbbed painfully and it was difficult to focus on anything. Then, as memory returned slowly to her, she turned her head slightly to look about her and found she was in the launch but lying on the hard boards of the floor. Frowning, she tried to struggle upright, then sank back nauseously as the world swam around her dizzily.

  A man’s voice became audible to her, speaking in rapid Italian, and then another voice said in English:

  ‘Ah, she’s coming round. Buon giorno, signorina!’

  Emma struggled up a second time, forcing the dizziness back, and gaining a sitting position. Swallowing hard, she saw two men seated in front of her, one of whom she vaguely recognized as being the man with the knife who had attacked her in that alley several days ago now.

  Shivering, she had to force herself not to become hysterical as she asked:

  ‘Wh … where are you taking me?’

  The man she recognized spoke to her in English. ‘Signorina, we used you once before as a warning to your friend the Signor Count. He has not heeded our warning, and so we have been forced to use you again.’ He shrugged eloquently. ‘Only this time there will be no mistakes. The Signor Count is going to pay for his errors in full.’

  Emma bit hard on her lips. ‘You realize I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘Oh, yes, we understand that, signorina. It was not difficult for us to find out that your background is hardly that of the Count’s. No, but you provide the bait for the trap we mean to set for our friend, and whether you get out of this alive or not is a matter of little interest to us. For the present your life is not in danger. We are not sadists, signorina. We have no quarrel with you. But if the Count Cesare fails to obey our final demands, then you may have to pay the price as well as him!’

  Emma shook her head. ‘I will be missed.’

  ‘Yes, you will be missed,’ agreed the man calmly. ‘That is the whole idea.’

  Emma rubbed her head, wearily, and then another thought struck her. Would she be missed? Or would Anna think she had decided to go alone?

  ‘Signore,’ she exclaimed, ‘it may not be as simple as you think. I may not be missed!’

  The man looked sceptical. ‘Do not attempt to play any games with me, signorina!’

  ‘But I’m not, signore! You don’t understand! I was running away this morning. Only Anna, the maid and Giulio, her husband, know of my plans. I … I wanted to get away … to escape from the Palazzo. I had decided to leave before anyone was awake. Anna knew this. She will in all probability tell the Signor Count that I have returned home to England. I am nothing to him. Why should he care that I have gone? He will not worry!’

  The men exchanged glances, obviously weighing up her story and wondering whether she was telling the truth.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ exclaimed Emma. ‘You don’t suppose I would lie to you about a thing like that!’

  The men shrugged and talked together impatiently in Italian. Their conversation was too fast for Emma’s ears, and besides, her head ached so badly she had no opportunity to concentrate and try and understand them. Just then she didn’t much care what they said, if only she could lie down again and close her eyes. But this was one thing she couldn’t do, so she sat staring dully at the water-lapped stonework of the houses that edged the canal they were negotiating. It was not a particularly pleasant part of the city through which they were passing, and Emma wondered however she would find her way out of this maze should the chance be offered to her.

  A few minutes later the launch turned under a low archway, and the men had to bend their heads until they emerged into a cellar, similar to the cellar below the Palazzo Cesare. The launch was tied up, and Emma was roughly advised to climb out.

  She did so, on shaking legs, and waited while the men had a muffled conference, and then, after eloquent shrugs of their shoulders, they motioned to her to climb the steep steps leading up to a door high in the wall above them.

  Emma climbed despite the jelly-like feeling in her legs, and the sickening plunging she was feeling in her stomach. She had never dreamed she would ever be involved in a situation like this, but despite its dreamlike quality, she knew it was all too real, and that was why she felt so terrified. Whatever the Count and these men were involved in was not legal, and therefore there was every reason to be scared. The canals of Venice were too useful to would-be murderers for the absolute disappearance of a body.

  At the door they all stopped, and one of the men beat a rapid tattoo upon it, as though it provided some sort of signal to whoever was inside. The door opened, and a bearded man stepped back to allow them entrance.

  Emma found herself in a huge room, down the centre of which was a long scrubbed table set with long continental loaves of bread, slabs of butter and meat, and bottles of vino. Around the table were seated several men, most of whom wore beards, while at the end was seated a clean-shaven man dressed in the long flowing robes of a Moor, his eyes small and set deep in the thickly-fleshed skin of his face. He was very fat, with thick fingers lavishly covered with rings drumming an impatient beat on the wood of the table.

  When he saw Emma, his eyes brightened considerably and then he said in a completely toneless voice: ‘Is this the girl?’

  The Italians spoke in English now. It seemed that the Moor did not speak their language and English provided the common link.

  ‘Yes,’ said the man who had spoken to Emma. ‘This is the girl. Unfortunately circumstances may not be as simple as we think.’

  The Moor frowned. ‘Why?’

  The Italian sighed. ‘She was running away, apparently. The servants knew she was going, and will probably tell the Count that she has returned to England.’

  ‘So?’ The Moor shrugged. ‘Someone must tell him the truth.’

  One of the other men at the table spoke. ‘Yes, but the idea was that the Count should try to rescue the girl, surely, and in so doing walk into our trap. Do you honestly imagine he will walk into a baited trap when he knows it for what it is?’

  The Moor slammed his fist on the table. ‘Silence! I make the decisions here.’ He gnawed at his fist for a moment. ‘I am not sure whether or not you are right,’ he went on grudgingly. ‘Damn
you, woman, why did you have to choose today to run away?’

  Emma said nothing. She did not trust herself to speak anyway, and there was nothing she could contribute to this conversation. She was too conscious of her own vulnerability. She had counted the men around the table, the man at the door, and her own two captors, and altogether they made fifteen. Even if Cesare tried to come to her rescue he wouldn’t stand a chance. One man, or possibly three, thinking of Giulio and Doctor Domenico, against so many! They obviously considered her no risk. She had not even been bound or gagged as she had grown used to reading in thrillers. She was merely left to stand alone and shivering, wondering what her fate would be.

  At last the Moor came to a decision. ‘We will have to take the chance,’ he said at last. ‘There is no point in sitting around here waiting. Count Cesare must know with whom he is dealing. I never completely trusted him. A man who will sell his integrity for the sake of a few old relics must be insane!’ He laughed scornfully. ‘But to imagine he could take over this organization, which I, Sidi Ben Mouhli, have built up from nothing! It’s ludicrous!’ His eyes turned to Emma. ‘Whatever happens, my dear, we must get to know one another better.’

  Emma glanced round frantically. If only she could get away! Death in the cold waters of the canal might be better than this.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Count Vidal Cesare dressed slowly after his bath, wondering what in heaven’s name he was going to do now. He had not slept at all the night previously. He had merely lain on his bed, going over everything in his mind until his senses reeled with the intricacies of it all. If, if, if! If his grandmother did not depend on him so utterly for the restoration of the Palazzo; if he had not allowed Marco Cortina to involve him in a net of intrigue and conspiracy that threatened to destroy them all; if he had not met Emma Maxwell and behaving completely out of character for him, fallen in love with her! For that was what he had done. There was no doubt about it now. No matter how he tried to evade it, the prospect of a life without Emma filled him with misery. He didn’t care any more about the difference in their ages and backgrounds; she was warm and soft and loving, and completely feminine, and the natural mother for his sons. But how on earth was he ever to disentangle himself from this mess he had got himself into? He could see no way out, and between them Celeste and his grandmother were going to manoeuvre him into a position where he would be forced to marry Celeste because it was what was expected of him.