The Autumn of the Witch Page 20

  Stephanie moved to the back of an armchair, resting her hands upon it. ‘I—I don’t know anything any more,’ she said unsteadily. ‘But you still haven’t told me why you’re here, or how you could let yourself in.’

  Santino’s eyes regarded her intently. ‘I telephoned earlier, as soon as my plane landed, and spoke to Mrs. Lacey.’

  ‘To Aunt Evelyn?’ Stephanie was astounded. ‘But—but she didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I particularly asked her not to do so,’ replied Santino, tersely. ‘I—I thought you might not agree to see me. Hence the key!’

  It was so unusual to hear a tremor of uncertainty in Santino’s voice that Stephanie stared at him in astonishment. ‘I—I see,’ she said, ‘but why should you want to see me? What have we to say to one another? I left my solicitor’s address. I thought all the details of the annulment could be arranged through him.’

  Santino chewed bitterly at his lower lip. ‘I—I’ve changed my mind,’ he said huskily. ‘I don’t want an annulment!’

  Stephanie’s fingers gripped the back of the chair so tightly that her knuckles showed white through her skin. ‘Wh—what do you mean?’

  Santino took a step towards her and then halted. ‘We need to discuss this more,’ he said tautly. ‘I—my decision was made too hastily. This time in Japan has given me time to think. I think—I think we should try again.’

  Stephanie stared at him in bewilderment. ‘What do you mean?’ she repeated weakly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Santino turned and paced restlessly to the window and back again. ‘Your aunt tells me you’re living with her at the moment.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, I am,’ Stephanie quivered.

  ‘My first instincts told me to contact your father in Paris. I expected to find you there. When I did not, I guessed you must be here.’

  ‘I see.’ Stephanie’s voice was faint.

  ‘Obviously, as you’ve been here since you left Sicily, you have no intention of living with your father in Paris, and as you can’t stay here indefinitely, I want you to come back to the castello.’

  ‘No!’

  The word was tom from Stephanie, and she turned away breathing swiftly. Whatever his reasons for contacting her here, she had no intention of accepting any charity from him. For that was what it was, however you looked at it. He must have decided this when he discovered she was staying with Aunt Evelyn.

  ‘No—what?’ His tone was harsh now.

  ‘No—I won’t come back to Sicily.’ Stephanie did not look at him; she was turned away staring desperately at a hunting print on the wall. ‘I don’t need your charity—’

  He uttered a fierce exclamation and she heard him move as he came towards her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the storm of his anger to wash over her, but instead she felt his body close behind hers, and his arms slid round her waist drawing her roughly back against him. His mouth sought the soft curve of her neck, as he muttered:

  ‘Does this feel like charity? Or this—’ He twisted her round in his arms and found her parted lips with his mouth.

  Stephanie resisted strongly, pressing against his chest with the palms of her hands, but gradually the warmth and urgency of his passion communicated itself to her and she could not go on resisting him when she so desperately wanted to respond. Her fingers slid up his chest to his shoulders and she allowed them to tangle themselves in the thick darkness of his hair as she pressed closer against him.

  When Stephanie was no longer in command of her emotions, Santino pressed her gently away from him, looking down into her face searchingly. ‘Oh, Stephanie,’ he muttered huskily, ‘don’t you know I love you? I think I always have.’

  Stephanie’s lips trembled. ‘You love me?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘But—but—before you went away—’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Santino’s eyes darkened. ‘I had my reasons for speaking as I did. And even now, I am not sure I am doing the right thing, but I can’t help myself any more. I want you, I need you, and I can teach you to want me!’

  Stephanie clung to him weakly. ‘Oh, Santino,’ she said, softly, ‘I don’t need any teaching. I want you now.’

  Santino’s fingers slid over her hips in a possessive movement. ‘Are you serious? After the way I have treated you?’

  Stephanie pressed her lips together. ‘Women are unpredictable creatures, Santino. They don’t always love wisely.’ She half smiled. ‘Is this why you came? Or were you so angry that I should have disobeyed you that you decided to teach me another lesson?’

  Santino gathered her close against him. ‘When I hold you close against me like this, I can’t think coherently,’ he muttered thickly. ‘I just want to love you…’

  His mouth sought hers again, and then as their kisses grew more urgent he had to thrust her away from him. ‘Your aunt,’ he said, huskily. ‘She said she would be home soon after nine.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, did she?’ Stephanie put up a hand to her tangled hair, looking appealingly young and attractive, and very desirable. Santino nodded, his eyes dark and passionate, and then reaching out a hand he drew her down beside him on the couch.

  ‘We must talk,’ he murmured, raising her hand to his lips and kissing the palm warmly. ‘There are things to be said.’

  Stephanie snuggled against him, contentedly as a kitten, and he had to control himself with difficulty. ‘What things?’ she asked sleepily.

  Santino’s fingers strayed in her hair. ‘I told you once before my feelings when Sancha died,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes?’ Stephanie nodded.

  ‘They were the reasons I did not tell you of my feelings before I left for Japan.’ He bit his lip. ‘At that time, I did not know what I was going to do. I told you I was letting you go because I wanted you to stop thinking badly of me, and maybe I thought that when I got back…’ He shrugged. ‘But no matter, things did not turn out as I expected. The operation was an unscheduled delay that I could ill afford when I so desperately wanted to get back to Sicily to see you again. You cannot imagine my anguish when I discovered it might be several weeks before I was free to leave, and then when Sophia’s letter arrived—’

  Stephanie lifted her head from his shoulder. ‘Sophia wrote to you?’

  ‘Yes. She told me you had left on a proposed visit to England, and that you had not come back and she had had no word from you. She was worried. No more so than I, believe me.’

  Stephanie felt a twinge of apprehension. ‘Was that all she said?’ she asked swiftly.

  ‘Of course. What more was there?’ Santino frowned.

  ‘Oh—oh, nothing.’ Stephanie subsided again, and after a moment Santino continued.

  ‘It was impossible for me to leave immediately. The negotiations were at a critical stage so I sent Pietro to Paris to see your father. I expected you to be there, also, but of course you were not. I was desperate. Eventually, I abandoned the negotiations altogether and flew back to Sicily to see Sophia before coming on here.’

  ‘Oh, Santino!’ Stephanie slid her arms round his waist, inside the warmth of his jacket. ‘I’m sorry!’

  Santino took a deep breath before going on. ‘So now I have found you and I want to know why you left the castello as you did.’

  Stephanie hesitated, and then she sighed. ‘Can’t you guess?’ she murmured huskily.

  ‘No.’

  She lifted her head. ‘Because I loved you, of course. I couldn’t allow you to come back and possibly discover my feelings when I thought you—’

  ‘Is that all?’ He tipped her chin gently. ‘Oh, Stephanie, what a terrible few weeks you have given me.’ He touched her nose with his lips. ‘But I will make up for lost time, believe me.’

  Stephanie coloured and he kissed her lips gently, before drawing back again. ‘There is one other thing,’ he said carefully.

  Stephanie sighed luxuriously. She would let him finish what he was saying and then she would tell him her news. She hoped he would not mind that there would soon be another additio
n to his family.

  Now Santino seemed to be having difficulty in finding the words to say what he had to say, and Stephanie sat up again, looking at him curiously. ‘What is it?’ she queried gently.

  Santino sighed. ‘Stephanie, you are so dear to me! Losing Sancia as I did was a terrible thing, but I got over it. I do not think I could bear to live if anything happened to you.’

  Stephanie felt the familiar twinges of apprehension again. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked, with enforced gaiety.

  Santino sighed. ‘Now it is your turn to be perceptive,’ he said, quietly. ‘Surely you can understand a little of my feelings? I could not go through such a time again—with you.’

  Stephanie’s cheeks paled. ‘You mean—you’re trying to tell me you don’t want us to have any children?’

  Santino held her face between his two hands. ‘Will it be so hard to bear? Can you accept it? We have each other. Is not that enough?’

  Stephanie stared at him for a long moment, seeing the agony in his eyes, and then she released herself and slid off the couch out of his reach. His words had chilled her to the core of her being and she could not bear to look at him and allow him to read what must be in her face.

  Santino turned, one arm along the back of the couch, looking after her curiously, and Stephanie was tempted to turn and rush back into his arms and promise him anything he wanted. But how could she when…?

  Santino stood up, sensing her mental disturbance, and came to stand behind her. ‘Stephanie,’ he murmured huskily, ‘there are so many things in life we can share. I want to show you so many places; I want to take you with me wherever I have to go. When I am with you, nothing else matters, not even my daughter—’ There was agony now in his voice as he admitted this to her.

  Stephanie twisted her hands together, bending her head. She knew if she looked at him again she would be lost.

  ‘I—I don’t think I can come to Sicily with you after all,’ she said at last.

  What?’ His hands gripped her shoulders painfully. ‘What are you saying, Stephanie?’

  ‘I—I can’t accept what you’ve said,’ she said carefully, swallowing hard. ‘I—I can’t accept it.’

  ‘Stephanie, for God’s sake!’ He tightened his grip, bruising her shoulders cruelly. ‘Stephanie, don’t do this to me!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Santino, but it’s impossible.’

  He uttered an oath. ‘You would destroy both our lives for a whim?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘Aren’t you doing the same?’ She turned now, twisting out of his grasp. ‘Aren’t you allowing what happened to Sancia to escalate out of all proportion?’

  Santino’s eyes surveyed her with disturbing intensity. ‘You think so?’ he asked fiercely. ‘You can have no conception of the anguish I went through at that time.’

  ‘But unnecessarily,’ she protested urgently. ‘What happened to Sancia has happened to hundreds, thousands of women. That doesn’t mean it would happen to me!’

  ‘I cannot take that risk!’ he snapped harshly.

  ‘Then I cannot risk our marriage,’ retorted Stephanie heatedly, drowning her aching heart in anger. ‘I want—I want—’ She broke off bitterly, unable to go on.

  Santino stared at her for a few moments longer, and then he snatched her into his arms, burying his face in the softness of her neck. ‘Oh, Stephanie,’ he groaned achingly, ‘don’t let us argue like this. I cannot bear it. Do you think I want to say these things? Do you not think I want to place the seed of my child inside you and watch you bear our son?’ His mouth sought hers hungrily. ‘Of course I want these things,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘I am only human, Stephanie, and I love you very much.’

  Stephanie clung to him weakly, unable to resist the surge of his passion. Then, as his mouth lifted from hers, she said: ‘I’m pregnant, Santino. That’s why I cannot deny motherhood—’

  ‘What!’ He stared down into her face in amazement.

  Stephanie cupped his face in her hands. ‘Oh, don’t be angry, Santino, please. I want this child, I want it so desperately, and I want you to want it, too.’

  Santino continued to stare at her incredulously. ‘You mean—that is why you left Sicily?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, Stephanie, what a fool I’ve been!’

  ‘I was afraid,’ she whispered, trembling a little even now. ‘I couldn’t tell you when you seemed not to want me. I didn’t want your pity, or your charity.’

  His eyes dropped disturbingly down the length of her slender body and a warming gleam was in their depths. ‘Our child,’ he murmured huskily. ‘When?’

  ‘In the early summer,’ replied Stephanie, colouring at that possessive look in his eyes. ‘Oh, please, Santino, tell me you’re not angry with me!’

  ‘Angry? With you?’ He shook his head. ‘How could I be angry?’ Then he frowned. ‘Am I the last to know?’

  Stephanie smiled. ‘Apart from Aunt Evelyn, nobody knows.’

  Santino shook his head. ‘And were you not going to tell me? If I had not come after you as I did, was I never to know?’

  Stephanie shivered. ‘How could I tell you? I thought you hated me.’

  ‘Hated you?’ he echoed. ‘Why?’

  ‘The way you looked when Lucia found us together,’ said Stephanie huskily.

  ‘I despised myself, not you!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘And afterwards—after I made love to you,’ his voice deepened, ‘I wanted to die! I thought I had destroyed everything between us, once and for all.’

  ‘Oh, Santino!’ Stephanie allowed him to take her hands and draw her to the couch, his lips seeking the inner curve of her wrist.

  ‘Tell me,’ he murmured caressingly, ‘do you suppose your aunt will allow me to stay here tonight?

  Stephanie tilted her head to one side. ‘I should think she might,’ she remarked tantalizingly. ‘This couch is very comfortable—’

  ‘The couch?’ Santino gave her a wry look and she laughed.

  ‘Well, my bed is quite big, if you don’t mind sharing,’ she confessed charmingly.

  * * *

  Their son was born six months later at the Castello di Strega, in the same bed where Santino had been born so many years before.

  Although Santino had wanted her to have the baby in the expensive nursing home he had singled out for her, Stephanie had begged to be allowed to have the baby at home, and as the doctors agreed that there was absolutely no reason why she should not, Santino had eventually given in to her appeals.

  In consequence, the birth was very much a family affair, and Stephanie received all the care and consideration she could have wished for. A midwife had been installed in the castello a week before the baby was due, but Roberto Santino Ventura surprised them all in arriving so quickly that the doctor was not even present when he came into the world.

  Santino himself put the baby into Stephanie’s arms for the first time and knelt beside the bed, raising her hand to his lips. Stephanie looked down at her son with pride, and then looked up at her husband.

  ‘Well,’ she said, gently challenging, ‘was it so bad?’

  Santino shook his head. ‘You ask me that! How do you feel?’

  ‘I feel marvellous!’ confessed Stephanie contentedly, and smiled as the midwife came to take the baby away to bathe him and dress him in one of the exquisitely sewn linen nightgowns which Sophia had made him.

  ‘When you are well enough, we will go away for a few days just you and I,’ said Santino determinedly, rising to sit on the side of the bed, her hands still in his.

  ‘I’m not ill, you know,’ said Stephanie, propping herself up on one elbow so that she could touch his cheek. ‘Oh, Santino, you look so strained! Was it so terrible for you? Was I so unthinking, having the baby here where you had to share—and see—everything?’

  Santino shook his head. ‘At least having you here I could be with you and know everything possible was being done.’ He bent and touched her lips with his. ‘Are you su
re you’re all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Stephanie nodded. ‘The midwife says I can get up for a while tomorrow and have a bath—’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ Santino was aghast.

  ‘Of course. I expect to be up and about again in a week. Besides,’ Stephanie chuckled, ‘lying in bed makes you fat, and I shall have to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘Your aunt telephoned an hour ago,’ said Santino suddenly. ‘I said I would ring her as soon as it was all over.’

  Stephanie nodded contentedly. ‘Oh, yes, you must. She’s been so wonderful to us.’

  They both felt they owed a dept of gratitude to the woman who had played such a part in bringing them together again.

  ‘She must come over for the baptism,’ said Santino now.

  Stephanie frowned. ‘Yes. Perhaps she could be godmother.’ She sighed reminiscently. ‘At least your parish priest won’t find anything extraordinary in baptizing a baby as he did in marrying us at Christmas.’

  Santino’s dark face relaxed. ‘I think he disapproved of our living together after only a civil ceremony,’ he remarked softly.

  Then he rose to his feet. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said huskily. ‘Do you feel well enough to see Lucia just for a moment, before you rest?’

  Stephanie lay back against her pillows. ‘Of course. And she’ll want to see her new brother. Does she know?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I told her,’ Santino nodded. ‘She’s very excited.’

  ‘Do you think she minds very much?’

  Santino shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Your having the baby here was the ideal arrangement so far as she is concerned. She feels part of it.’

  ‘Well, she is,’ said Stephanie, reaching for his hand suddenly.

  Santino bent towards her urgently. ‘Did I tell you I adore you?’ he asked, rather thickly.

  Stephanie relaxed again, a satisfied smile lifting the comers of her mouth. ‘Yes,’ she said, looking particularly beautiful in that moment, ‘but you can tell me again…’

  ISBN-13: 9781460348345

  THE AUTUMN OF THE WITCH

  © 1978 Anne Mather

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