The Autumn of the Witch Read online

  Stephanie turned back to the pans. She would not think about Santino’s reactions. For the present there was plenty of other things to think about, a thousand and one things that until now had been thought of by someone else. Tomorrow there would be the stove to clean out, beds to make, dusting and cleaning to be done, meals to be planned and made, and food to be bought.

  Shaking her head, she scrubbed determinedly at a pan. First things first. Take everything as it came, and for the moment the immediate problem of dinner presented itself.

  In the event, they ate in the kitchen because it was easier that way. Pietro had talked with Maria and she had agreed to stay on despite the departure of the rest of the staff. Stephanie was relieved. She did not know how she could have managed if she had had to cope with Lucia as well as taking on the running of the castello.

  Lucia herself seemed to think the whole affair was quite a novelty, and although Stephanie was tired she handed the child a cloth after the meal and showed her how to dry dishes. Although she was small Lucia was quite competent, and she didn’t drop anything, although Maria watched her with undisguised trepidation.

  By the time Stephanie went to bed that evening, she felt completely exhausted. And yet she had the satisfaction of knowing that the stove had been stoked up and the table laid for breakfast. Even so, she wished she had an alarm clock to ensure her early awakening, for she felt sure she could sleep for a week.

  * * *

  In fact she need not have worried, for Lucia woke her next morning. She came to her room as she had done that first morning almost a week ago, carrying with her the paintings that Stephanie had admired the previous day.

  So it was that at seven a.m. Stephanie was sitting up in bed, with Lucia beside her, looking at the paintings and nodding with satisfaction as the child successfully related the words Stephanie had taught her the day before.

  During the days that followed a lot of things happened.

  As was to be expected the castello did not run smoothly at all to begin with. Despite the fact that Pietro deserted his usual duties and looked after the stove and dug up the vegetables and helped Maria with the heavy work there was still a lot to be done. Stephanie tackled all the bedmaking and the dusting and the cooking and kitchen chores. She had always liked cooking and the actual making of the meals was not difficult.

  The hardest task she found was making herself understood to Maria and to Lucia, but as in all things the crisis served to precipitate their friendship and consequently Lucia began to pick up English phrases just as Stephanie herself learned a little more Italian.

  Lucia, too, had taken to copying everything Stephanie did with endearing persistence, and although sometimes this slowed Stephanie’s progress as she stopped to show the child what to do she nevertheless found the whole affair quite gratifying. If nothing else, there was a spirit of camaraderie about the place which had not been there before.

  Stephanie discovered that there were three cars standing idle in the garages to the side of the castello and having gained Pietro’s approval she drove into Palermo one day to do some shopping. She took Maria and Lucia with her, the older woman to take care of the child while she completed her purchases, and then afterwards they had lunch in one of the attractive ristorantes that overlooked the sweep of coastline, quiet now that the tourist season was practically over. They walked along the palm-fringed promenade and saw the sails of the yachts like white sheets against the vivid aquamarine coverlet of the strait, and felt the first faint touches of coolness in the breeze off the water.

  Lucia, a hand in Stephanie’s and the other in Maria’s, looked bright and excited, and Stephanie thought with a thrill of possession that gradually Lucia was coming to accept her as part of her life. What might happen when Santino got back, Stephanie didn’t care to think. It was sufficient for the present that the child should have lost her suspicion of the stranger.

  As they drove back to the castello Stephanie tried not to speculate on what was to happen so far as the staff was concerned. How long would Pietro wait before cabling Santino what was going on? How long would he permit her to give him orders and neglect his proper duties? How long indeed before Santino’s business was concluded and he came home?…

  One evening, about a week after the start of the crisis, Pietro and Stephanie were sitting in the small dining room, lingering over their coffee, when he said: ‘I saw Sophia today, Stephanie.’

  Stephanie, who was speculating on the success of the beef risotto she had prepared for dinner that evening, looked up in surprise at his words and felt the familiar twinge of apprehension she felt at the realization that sooner or later something was going to have to be done regarding the staff problem. Although they were managing to eat satisfactorily, and although no major problems had presented themselves, she knew that gradually the castello was being neglected, and it was several days since a vacuum cleaner had been pushed across the landing carpet or anyone had entered the spare rooms which though not used had previously been kept in spotless condition. Now she said:

  ‘Where did you see her? Did she come to the castello?’ Pietro shook his head. ‘Oh, no, not to the castello. She wouldn’t do that. No, I saw her in the village. She’s presently staying with her brother and his wife.’

  ‘I see.’ Stephanie tried not to sound too interested. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She didn’t actually comment upon what had happened. I was the one who mentioned it. I told her you and Maria were managing between you.’

  Stephanie felt a surge of impatience at his words. She half wished Pietro had said nothing, that Sophia had been left to speculate upon how they were managing instead of having the information delivered to her effortlessly. Her expression revealed a little of her frustration, for Pietro leant towards her and said. ‘Don’t be so bitter! Sophia is only human, you know. I would hazard a guess that she regrets what happened just as much as you do.’

  Stephanie frowned. ‘You mean she would like to come back?’

  Pietro pressed his lips together. ‘I didn’t say that exactly. I simply think she regrets the impulse that made her walk out in the first place.’ He sighed. ‘You must admit it would be easier all round if she did come back and bring the others with her.’

  Stephanie had to concede this was so. In spite of her efforts she knew they could not go on indefinitely. Aside from the personal issues involved, she was beginning to feel the strain of tackling so many jobs herself, and her back ached from the unaccustomed amount of standing she was having to do. Even so, she was not going to give in now and have the whole household laughing at her behind her back. Gathering the empty plates and cups and saucers together, she began to load them on to a tray.

  ‘Tell me something,’ she said, voicing a question which had hovered on her lips for several days now, ‘how long do you think it will be before Santino comes back?’

  Pietro stubbed out the cigarette he had been smoking. ‘In my opinion he should be back within the next few days,’ he said indifferently. ‘You realize that my not informing him of what has been going on will cause me an immense amount of trouble.’

  ‘Why should it?’ Stephanie stopped what she was doing to look at him. ‘It wasn’t your fault that Sophia and the others left, and I took on the responsibility of not informing him myself.’

  Pietro gave her a wry glance. ‘You think that will appease him?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘My dear girl, this is the Castello di Strega, home of the Ventura family for generations! Such—such irresponsible behaviour is not acceptable here! There is never—but never—any trouble at the castello.’ ‘Well, that’s ridiculous!’ Stephanie rose abruptly to her feet. ‘And if you feel so strongly about your position here you’d better cable him right away!’

  Pietro rose too, his eyes reproachful. ‘Stephanie!’ he said. ‘Have I shirked my duties at any time so far as you are concerned? Haven’t I done everything you asked me? Haven’t I shovelled coke and cleaned out the stove and dug up the vegetables and done a
dozen other jobs without a qualm?’

  Stephanie looked a little shamefaced now. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose so,’ she agreed moodily. ‘But honestly, I don’t see what else we could have done in the circumstances.’

  Pietro shrugged. ‘You could have apologized to Sophia…’ and then as she looked indignantly at him, he held up a reproving hand. Or we could have cabled Santino and had him come back and deal with it.’

  Stephanie picked up the loaded tray. ‘It seems to me,’ she said carefully, ‘that far too much emphasis is placed on the power of one man! He’s not a god, you know! He’s only human, and I for one prefer to solve my own problems.’

  * * *

  It was a very hot afternoon, unseasonal in its intensity, and Stephanie, who had had Pietro build up the stove before leaving for a business trip to Palermo, was sweating profusely as she endeavoured to stone a pound of cherries in order to make a cherry meringue pie for dinner that evening. Lucia was taking her rest, relaxed and peaceful in her room, while Maria dozed lazily on the terrace. There was an almost somnolent air about the castello and Stephanie longed to leave everything and escape to the sun-warmed waters of the ocean below them. She could almost feel the creaming silkiness of the surf as it washed across her hot body, and she tipped her head on one side, brushing back some loose strands of hair with a raised shoulder. Although she was only wearing thin cotton trousers and a knitted cotton shirt, opened at the throat, her clothes seemed to be sticking to her and she determined to take a shower as soon as this chore was done.

  In the stillness the sound of a car’s engine sounded loud and penetrating, and Stephanie sighed. Pietro was back earlier than he had expected. Maybe he would take her swimming instead of using the shower. Very occasionally they had found time to swim from the rocks early in the morning, but Stephanie did not care to go down the steep path unescorted.

  She looked down at her hands. They were stained with the juice from the cherries, but thankfully she was almost finished. She pressed the stone out of the last one, and gathered up all the stalks and stones ready to put into the bin. She was in the process of washing her hands when footsteps sounded in the corridor, and she turned round, drying her hands on a towel. The ready smile that curved her lips, however, froze as the man came through the heavy door. It was not Pietro at all, but her husband, and he looked positively thunderous!

  ‘What is going on?’ he snapped violently, glaring at her with furious eyes.

  Stephanie felt suddenly weak and in need of support, but there was nobody to support her here.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ she began unsteadily, only to halt uncertainly at the enraged expression on his face.

  ‘Si! I would agree with you! Too long! Eleven days too long, to be precise!’

  Stephanie stared uncomprehendingly at him. ‘E1—eleven days?’ she faltered. That was the exact number of days since Sophia and the others had departed.

  ‘Si, eleven days. That is correct, is it not?’ His eyes raked her mercilessly, noting the untidy knot of her hair, the smudges of juice on her cheeks and the flour-spattered cotton jeans with obvious distaste. ‘You realize you have made a laughing stock of yourself—and of me!’

  Stephanie’s waning courage seemed to reassert itself at his scathing words, and realizing there was nothing to be gained by attempting to reason with this man, she said: ‘I suppose that is all you are worried about, isn’t it? Your household; your reputation!’

  Santino took a threatening step towards her and then halted himself, imposing the iron self-control she knew so well. ‘I will not stand here and barter words with someone who looks and acts like a fishwife!’ he said bleakly. ‘You will please to tidy yourself and present yourself to me in my study in fifteen minutes!’

  Stephanie noticed how his accent thickened when he was angry, and there was no doubt about it, he was furiously angry right now. But she was damned if he was going to have it all his own way, ordering her about like a servant, and she deliberately turned her back on him and began to run water through the cherries in the colander. Even so, the uppermost question in her mind was how had he learned what had been going on, and how had he known the exact number of days since Sophia and the others walked out. Had Pietro done what he had said he would not do, and cabled his employer? There seemed no other explanation and yet surely Pietro would have told her if he had done such a thing, if only to prepare her for what would surely come…

  ‘Stephanie!’ The cold precise voice stung her into awareness of the immediate situation. ‘Do not make me any angrier than I am at present!’ He took a deep breath. ‘I want an explanation, and damn you, I shall have it!’ And with that he swung on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, banging the door behind him.

  Immediately Stephanie sank down weakly on to a stool and allowed her arms to hang limply by her sides. She felt absolutely drained and totally incapable of facing him in his study with or without his commands. She looked round the kitchen. She had almost completed her preparations for dinner. The chicken she was cooking in oil and herbs was simmering on the stove; the base for the meringue pie was cooled and waiting for its filling; and the vegetables they were to have with the meal were simply to be cooked. She could afford to leave things now and go and wash and change, but why should she? She knew that verbally she was no match for his cutting sarcasm and as he knew so much about what had happened already why should she tell him more? Let him find out the rest from whomever it was who had advised on her in the first place.

  Even so, she refused to remain in the kitchen and simply wait for him to return for her, and with determination she put the colander aside, dried her hands again, and left the room. There was no sign of Santino in the hall and she guessed he was already in his study, checking over the pile of mail which had arrived in his absence and which Pietro had endeavoured to deal with in between his other chores.

  In her bedroom, Stephanie stripped off the offending shirt and jeans, and walked into her bathroom, securing the door behind her. She decided to run herself a bath, instead of taking a shower, and as she stepped into the scented depths she thought how relaxing and restoring a bath could be. It was so pleasant just to lie there allowing the water to soothe away her aches and pains, soothing her mind as well as her body so that when she emerged she felt like a different woman. She had washed her hair the night before, but it was dampened by the heat of the water, and wrapping a towel sarongwise round her body, she went into the bedroom to get some rollers with which to secure the ends. As she brushed her hair at the dressing table mirror she saw the time on her wrist watch and a shiver of apprehension ran over her. It was almost half an hour since Santino had come to her in the kitchen and the thought of his anger was sufficient for her to dread the moment when she must go downstairs again and face him.

  An unexpected sound behind her caused her to swing round in surprise, and she expelled a gasping breath when she saw Santino standing arrogantly in the opened doorway to her room, his fingers still gripping the handle. His expression mirrored his anger and Stephanie shrank back from the glittering fury of his eyes.

  ‘Are you stupid as well as irresponsible?’ he inquired, in a voice like broken ice, ‘or do you desire me to demonstrate my ability to be obeyed?’ He stepped into the room, flicking the door closed behind him.

  Stephanie was horrified. She had not dreamed that he might come to her room, let alone find her in such a state of undress. ‘Will you get out of my room?’ she demanded, in rather unsteady tones. ‘You—you can’t intimidate me!’

  ‘Can’t I? You think not?’ He shook his head grimly. ‘Maybe you will change your mind.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake!’ Stephanie’s voice almost broke under the strain. ‘What do you want of me? Obviously someone has taken it upon themselves to inform you what has been going on in your absence! What more is there to say? I did the only thing possible in the circumstances—I endeavoured to run the castello with Maria and Pietro’s help!’ She put out a hand towards him as though
warding him off. ‘No harm has been done. Lucia has been adequately cared for, and at least I can say in all honesty she treats me as a friend now!’

  Santino halted, folding his arms, his legs slightly apart. ‘Go on!’

  ‘What more is there to say?’ She ran a bewildered hand over the tangled brilliance of her hair as she spoke. ‘Perhaps I should be questioning you, questioning how you found out about—about—’ She bent her head, biting her lips tightly. unable to go on meeting that piercing gaze any longer.

  Santino studied her bent head for a long time and then he said harshly: ‘And how do you think I got to know? You did not care to inform me what had happened. Pietro did not inform me what was going on. How am I supposed to behave when the knowledge that my wife—I repeat, my wife—is behaving like an unpaid domestica comes to my ears?’

  ‘You’re making it sound sordid!’ she protested.

  ‘And isn’t it?’

  ‘No, of course not. In—in England I would have expected to look after a house after I was married!’

  ‘This is not a house. It is a castle. You can hardly compare a suburban semi-detached with the Castello di Strega!’ The arrogance in his voice incensed her more than his actual words, and Stephanie raised her head with as much dignity as she could gather.

  ‘You may not think so,’ she retorted coolly, ‘but the truth is the situations are exactly the same—’

  ‘You have more than a dozen bedrooms in this semi-detached of yours?’ he inquired sarcastically. Then, with more emphasis: ‘There are things here that require the care of experienced hands, paintings and furniture that cannot be allowed to be left to the destructions of lice and woodworm simply because they have been neglected. Have you polished that chest in the hall, for example, which is, by the way, a genuine antique?’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There hasn’t been time—’

  ‘Exactly.’ He was triumphant. ‘You have not had the time. And nor will you have so long as you persist in this ridiculous game of housekeeping—’