Affair in Venice Read online

  It could not be easy to live with an uncle who regarded himself as the arbiter of right and wrong. She was curious to know what had happened to the girl's father and felt a fleeting interest in the unknown young man who had the temerity to court a girl whom the uncle at least felt to be out of his reach. What made the young man unsuitable? His lack of position or his lack of wealth? She felt that the Conte would be more concerned with social standing than money. Irritably she bent over the pendant. The sooner she forgot this whole incident the better.

  Three days later Signora Botelli received an invitation to the opening of a modern jewellery exhibition. She would be in Milan at the time and she asked Erica to go in her place.

  'In any case, you are the expert,' she said. 'You might see something there that will inspire you to design something else for me. I have already had an offer for that necklace of yours. Signor Bruno wants to buy it for his wife. If he pays me the price I have asked, your commission will be enough for you to move into a better apartment'

  She mentioned a sum of money that took Erica's breath away. 'That's far too generous.'

  'How foolish of you to say so! If I thought you had sufficient business acumen - or even ambition - I would suggest you start up on your own. But you are the worst thing of all, my dear child, a gifted amateur! If you could, you would give away your fabulous creations and put hardworking people like myself out of business!'

  'It would take more than my great production line to do that!' Erica laughed. 'But you are wrong about my lack of ambition. My real trouble is that by the time I finish a piece I can't bear to sell it.'

  'Work on several at a time. In that way you will be like a mother with ten children. You will love them all, but you won't miss one if it goes away!'

  'Does that apply to men too?' Erica quipped.

  'That is a question no moral woman would dare answer!' Signora Botelli chuckled. 'But such a problem will never concern you, I think. You are the type to love only one.'

  It was a comment Erica was to remember with bitterness and pain not many months later.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Erica went to the Modern Jewellery Exhibition on Saturday afternoon.

  In a city that teemed with exhibitions, this one at the Mendoza Gallery had nonetheless received a great deal of praise. Some of the most important modern designs had been gathered together to show new forms of workmanship and a less stylized use of precious and semi-precious stones. It was the latter which were made into the most eye-catching pieces and amethysts, garnets and even pyrites - little chunks of metal that could gleam like gold - were fashioned into brooches, necklaces and a particularly outstanding paperweight. Modern jewellery, so the Mendoza Gallery proclaimed, should not only be used for the admornment of one's person but also of one's home.

  The two long rooms in which the exhibition was housed were filled with people, mostly the elite of the city, and Erica was glad she had taken special pains with her appearance. Though a discerning woman would immediately guess that the honey beige suit had been bought off the peg, she knew that an admiring male would only know that the colour of it almost exactly matched her hair and gave a warm glow to her skin. Tall and slender, she looked like a stalk of corn; not that a corn stalk was noticeable when placed in a vase with tiger lilies and roses, which was the best way of describing the bejewelled and scented females chattering round her. Amused by her fanciful imagination, she went to get a better look at a bracelet. As she did so she became aware of a small group coming through from the other room. Recognizing the Conte Rosetti, she stepped back, unwilling for him to see her. But he was totally absorbed with his own party, and his dark head was lowered attentively towards a sad-faced woman in her early forties, who bore such a striking resemblance to the girl who had come into the shop that Erica guessed her to be the Conte's sister. This was confirmed by the sight of the girl herself. She was walking immediately behind them and talking in a bored manner to a young man in his twenties.

  Remaining hidden behind a large urn of flowers, Erica watched as the party moved past the displays, the younger man studying each one with such thoroughness that she sensed him to be looking at it from a professional viewpoint He was either a jeweller or a display artist. At last they reached the far end of the room, and with a feeling of relief Erica stepped out to continue her own tour. As she did so, the group turned from the door as though to look at something they had missed, and in turning, the Conte came face to face with Erica. For a split second he looked at her blankly, then recognition dawned and he gave a slight bow.

  'Good afternoon, Miss -er—' he hesitated and she was reluctantly forced to give him her name. 'Miss Rayburn,' he repeated, and turned to introduce her to the rest of his party. 'My sister, Mrs. Charters; my niece Sophia, whom I believe you have already met, and Donald Phillips who is organizing the Rosetti Exhibition in America.'

  Erica smiled her way through the introductions, but when she went to move away found her retreat barred by the Conte. Deciding that to try and leave when he did not want her to do so would only make him more obstinate, she turned her attention to the American.

  'I wondered why you kept moving round each display case,' she said. 'Was it to see the lighting?'

  'Yes. Italians are past-masters when it comes to display.'

  'They are good at every kind of design. I've lived here six months and I'm still astonished at their virtuosity.'

  'You work in Venice?' He did not hide his surprise, and hearing it, Conte Rosetti intervened.

  'Miss Rayburn sells jewellery at Botelli's.'

  'I make jewellery too,' Erica said, ignoring the Conte and speaking to the American.

  'So you are also at the Exhibition as a professional?' Donald Phillips commented.

  'Yes. Signora Botelli thought it might give me some inspiration.'

  'Do you prefer modern jewellery to antique?' the Conte's sister inquired. Her soft voice gave an impression of nervousness, though it was not apparent in her demeanour, which held all the confidence one would expect from a member of the Rosetti family.

  'If I have any preference at all,' Erica replied, 'it is for very old pieces.'

  'Then you shouldn't bother coming to this kind of exhibition.' The Conte's niece spoke for the first time, her words and tone distinctly unfriendly. 'If you don't genuinely care for modern jewellery you'll never be good at designing it.'

  Erica gave a non-committal murmur and went to move away. But again the Conte forestalled her, putting out a hand to grip her arm.

  'Before you go, Miss Rayburn, my niece would like to apologize to you.'

  'Would I?' his niece asked.

  'Without question, Sophia. You surely haven't forgotten the inconvenience you caused Miss Rayburn when you left her the Rose Diamond to repair?'

  'So-you are the one who had the brooch?' Donald Phillips exclaimed. 'Conti Rosetti wanted to show it to me the other night and Sophia had to confess she'd taken it to you.'

  'Luckily I was able to retrieve it from Miss Rayburn before she'd had a chance to touch it,' the Conte said smoothly. 'Sophia had not realized that to repair a brooch of such antiquity requires particular skill.'

  Erica lowered her lids. How cleverly the Conte had explained the disappearance of the brooch to his guest. The only trouble was that in doing so he had made her look over- eager for work and foolish.

  'Come now, Sophia,' the Conte continued. 'Apologize to Miss Rayburn for causing her so much trouble.'

  Erica's annoyance with the girl lessened at the taunting cruelty in the Conte's voice. He might be angry with his niece, but there was no reason for him to be so spiteful. After all, she had wanted to sell the brooch in order to run away with the man she loved; not commendable behaviour but at least understandable in one so young.

  'There's no need for you to apologize, Miss Charters,' she said swiftly. 'If anyone should do so, it is your uncle.'

  The girl looked astonished. 'My uncle?'

  'Certainly. For he has taken it fo
r granted that I am incapable of repairing the Rose Diamond!'

  'Could you have done it?' Donald Phillips asked.

  Discarding her usual modesty, Erica nodded. 'Repairing antique jewellery is my hobby.'

  'What exactly needs doing to it?' the Conte inquired, eyes gleaming with malice.

  Erica was delighted she had examined the brooch carefully when it had been left with her. If this supercilious man hoped to catch her out, he was in for a surprise. 'The hasp at the back has worn thin,' she explained, 'and the bed of gold on which the rose diamond is lying has partly worn away.'

  His mouth twitched. 'You have a sharp eye, Miss Ray- bum. You make it sound serious.'

  'It is serious.'

  Sophia giggled, and the look she gave Erica was far more friendly.

  Ignoring the sound, the Conte spoke again. 'Perhaps I will give you the opportunity of repairing it after all.'

  'I would feel happier if you took it to an expert,' Erica said.

  'You have just assured Mr. Phillips that you are one.'

  'I know that,' she said gravely, 'but I'm not sure you do.'

  This time the twitch of his mouth was unmistakable. 'You have a sharp tongue as well, Miss Rayburn. I must remember to be careful of it.'

  'Filippo!'

  The exclamation came from behind Erica and caused the Conte to look over her shoulder. He gave a wide smile of greeting as two men advanced towards him, and as he turned to introduce them to his own party, Erica took the opportunity of moving into the next room.

  Her meeting with the Conte and his family had left her unexpectedly edgy, and she had to force herself not to look around and see if they had followed her in here. Her second encounter with the man had in no way altered her opinion of him; indeed it had intensified it, for it showed him to be not only overbearing but sarcastic too. She glanced over her shoulder. From where she was standing she had a good view of the entire gallery, and saw that the Rosetti family had gone. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief and continue her way round the exhibition. Yet she could not concentrate on it, her mind too occupied with thoughts of a man whose self-confidence she would dearly like to shatter. Many women must have come and gone in his life and she wondered if any of them had had the opportunity of piercing his armour of conceit. Somehow she doubted it. He was a law unto himself.

  She moved over to another display and her foot trod on something soft. It was a glove and she bent and picked it up. It was of finest calf and looked extremely expensive. There was an attendant in the corner of the room and she gave it to him and walked on.

  She was examining a necklace which she personally thought far less well made than the one she herself had just finished, when she became aware that a man had come to stand beside her. Without looking round she knew who it was. No one else exuded that same smell of Havana cigar smoke and subtle blend of after-shave lotion.

  'I came to thank you for finding my sister's glove,' the Conte Rosetti murmured.

  There was no help for it but to turn and face him. 'I didn't know it was your sister's.'

  'So I gather. The attendant said it was given to him by a blonde foreigner.'

  'I thought I'd spoken to him in impeccable Italian!'

  He smiled, looking instantly relaxed, and she realized this was the first humorous remark she had made to him. But likely to be the last too, for he looked grave again.

  'You appear to have a habit of finding things that my family lose, Miss Rayburn. Perhaps I should engage you as duenna to my womenfolk?'

  'I am sure you are protector enough!'

  'I will be needing one myself if you keep attacking me!' His head tilted sideways. 'What have I done to offend you, signorina?'

  'Nothing,' she said swiftly. 'I'm sorry if my - if you think I've been attacking you. It's just my way of speaking.'

  'Now you are lying to me,' he reproached. 'I am certain your usual way of speaking is as gentle and subtle as your appearance.'

  The colour came and went in her cheeks and she knew he was aware of it, for he gave a slight smile. 'Come, Miss Rayburn, tell me what I have done to offend you.'

  Knowing he was not the sort of man to be put off by prevarication, she said, 'I didn't like being accused of knowingly receiving stolen property.'

  'I have already apologized for that mistake. I am sorry you cannot accept it'

  'It didn't feel like a genuine apology.'

  His eyes narrowed. 'I never say what I do not mean, Miss Rayburn. As I explained to Signora Botelli, I have been under a great strain recently. I had hoped she would have explained that to you.' He came a step closer. 'What must I do to make you look on me more kindly?'

  'Nothing,' she said, and recognizing the effort it must have cost him to be contrite^ had no choice but to accept his plea for forgiveness. 'Let's forget it, Conte. I'm sure my ruffled feelings will be smoothed down in time. By next week I will have forgotten the whole thing.'

  'Including myself?'

  'You're not the sort of man one can easily forget,' she said truthfully. 'But I will remember you with less and less annoyance.'

  'I can see I will have to be content with that reply. For such a gentle-looking creature you have a will of iron!'

  Assuming 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 amusement 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 sex, 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. Petite, 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 passed 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 fashion-conscious boutique owner, she chose several dresses in subtle coffee, lemon and cream shades.

  'Bright colours swamp you,' the woman had assured 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 assured 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-fashioned jewellery shop in the town centre. This had given her some earning power, but had not helped her to lead her own life.