Veretti’s Dark Vengeance

CHAPTER NINE

NOW the demand for Helen of Troy’s services was building up. She made a flying visit to England for a photo shoot that offered too much money to be turned down. On her return she gave every worker a generous bonus, with an especially generous one for Emilio, whose loyalty had brought the factory through to its present strength.

The only flaw in her pleasure was that Salvatore had been called away on business, and couldn’t celebrate with her. She’d planned that celebration all the way home, relishing every imagined detail. To be deprived of it had a souring effect on her mood.

She wondered if Salvatore too had become grumpy, and hoped that he had. But in their one phone call since his return it was hard to be sure of anything except that he was feeling tense.

‘I look forward to seeing you at the festa tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘My secretary, Alicia, will call for you in the morning.’

Helena was waiting in the lobby next day.

‘I’ve been looking out of my window watching the boats congregate,’ she told Alicia. ‘That big, elaborate one is glorious.’

It was a huge wooden craft, painted gold, the bow built high to accommodate honoured guests. Further back and lower were the rowers in medieval costume, and behind them the stern was also built high for visitors.

‘It’s called the Bucintoro,’ Alicia told her, ‘and it’s where the mayor and the patriarch will travel.

‘What are all the others?’ Helena asked, for the waters next to St Mark’s Piazza were alive with more colourful boats.

‘Some are historical, some belong to Venetian sporting associations, plus a few military craft. Everybody wants to be seen at the festa.’

Salvatore was waiting for her by his boat, which was almost as fine as the Bucintoro, also gold-painted with rowers in historical dress. It was already loaded with people that she took to be his family, and who regarded Helena with interest, especially the younger ones. One of the young men whistled softly.

‘Manners!’ Salvatore reproved him.

‘But I meant no disrespect,’ the boy protested. ‘Only a great compliment.’

Helena laughed. ‘I’m not offended.’

Salvatore did not seem to be placated by her easy acceptance. If anything he scowled more.

‘This lady is our guest and you will treat her with honour,’ he declared. ‘There’ll be time for introductions later.’

He handed her aboard and led her to a seat near the front of the boat. He seemed tense, almost angry, and she was puzzled. She wondered if he was sorry he’d invited her, and was sure of it a moment later when a photographer appeared on the quay and started snapping.

A blast of music in the distance indicated the appearance of the procession heading for the Bucintoro. Leading it were the mayor of Venice, with the patriarch walking beside him, waving blessings at the cheering crowd. The music followed them all the way to the boat. They climbed aboard and stood acknowledging the cheers for a moment. Then it was time to depart.

The rowers bent to their oars. The boat trembled, and they were away, followed by the other boats and the musicians, who had hastily scrambled aboard, and who played enthusiastically all the way across the lagoon.

Salvatore handed an elderly woman up into the bow.

‘This is my grandmother,’ he said. ‘She has been looking forward to meeting you.’

The old lady was like a bird with her sharp face and brilliant eyes. She studied Helena critically and greeted her in Venetian. When Helena responded in the same language the signora looked displeased, as though she had been trying to wrong-foot her, and failed.

There followed a procession of nephews, cousins, sons. Helena lost track. All of them wanted to take her hand, gaze at her admiringly, then return to their womenfolk and explain themselves awkwardly. The women followed, looked her wryly up and down, then rejoined their men with the air of gaolers.

Exhilarated, she stood up in the bow so that she could see ahead to the lagoon, fast slipping away beneath them, and feel the wind in her hair. She wanted to throw up her arms to the heavens like a nymph offering herself to the sun, but she guessed that would be a little too melodramatic, so she contented herself with shaking her head, luxuriating in the feeling on her hair streaming behind her in the wind.

Looking up, she saw Salvatore’s eyes fixed on her with an unguarded expression. She wondered if he was aware of it, but perhaps he was because he turned away at once, as though reluctant to reveal his thoughts.

But she knew them, she thought with a surge of pleasure. There were some things he couldn’t conceal from her.

Now he was gazing at the horizon, as though unaware of the rest of the world. How well he fitted this ceremony, with its roots in Venetian dominance. Watching his profile, she had the strange sensation of seeing every proud Venetian grandee for a thousand years, asserting his superiority over the waves, over the world, knowing that he was beyond challenge.

Except by one person, she thought with secret delight. She had challenged him, astonished him, made him doubt himself. And he knew it. Standing there in the bow, confronting the wind and waves, he seemed the master of the universe. Only the two of them knew that the master had a mistress, that in her arms he became eager and longing, even if only for those few dazzling minutes.

Suddenly there was a cry of delight from a small motor boat near-by, and the frantic click of cameras.

‘Damn them!’ Salvatore snapped. ‘What are they doing here?’

‘What they’re always doing here,’ said an elderly man beside him. ‘The local paper always follows the festa, so does the television station. And this time they have something special to focus on.’

He winked at Helena, who winked mischievously back.

‘Salvatore, introduce me to my cousin,’ the man demanded.

‘You aren’t precisely cousins-’ Salvatore began.

‘Oh, it’s a useful term, covers a good deal,’ the old man chuckled. ‘I came today to see what all the fuss was about, and I’m glad I did. Signora, since Salvatore is determined to keep you to himself, I am Lionello. Your husband was very dear to me, and I welcome you to the family.’

‘But how nice to meet you,’ she exclaimed. ‘Antonio told me about you and all the wicked things you did together.’

This delighted him. He introduced his wife and they all three sat down. Lionello flirted with her while his wife looked on with benign exasperation.

‘How kind of the family to accept me,’ Helena murmured to Salvatore.

‘One part of it at any rate,’ he said wryly. ‘Every woman here would cheerfully throttle you. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.’

‘Nonsense; what harm can come to me with you to protect me?’

She leaned back against the golden rail, smiling-no, laughing at him. In his present mood it seemed deliberately provocative. He could not have said precisely what that mood was. She had spoken of protection and that was how he’d started the day, as her defender. But had any woman ever been less in need of defence?

He wondered exactly how things had been between her and Antonio. Suddenly it mattered more than he could have found words to describe.

The Lido Island could be seen on the horizon. Soon they were going around it to the far side, the place where the ceremony would be performed. When the boats were gathered the mayor took up the ring and cast it into the sea with the words, ‘Ricevilo in pegno della sovranità che voi e i successori vostri avrete perpetuamente sul mare.’

‘Did you understand that?’ Salvatore murmured to Helena.

‘He said, “Receive this ring as a token of sovereignty over the sea that you and your successors will be everlasting.”’

But the mayor had more to add. Spreading arms wide, he cried, ‘Lo sposasse lo mare sì come l?omo sposa la dona per essere so signor.’

‘Hm!’ Helena said wryly.

‘I take it you understood that too,’ Salvatore observed.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Marry the sea as a man marries a woman and thus be her lord,’ Lionello declared with a flourish, adding gallantly, ‘But I’m sure that Antonio never lorded it over you.’

‘He never even tried,’ Helena declared, her eyes softening for a moment as she remembered the husband she’d loved in a way that most people would never understand.

‘I expect you were the one in charge,’ Lionello ventured with a wink.

‘Of course,’ she told him. ‘Those were my terms. Complete submission on his part.’

‘That’s the modern woman for you,’ Lionello stated. ‘Personally I’ve always insisted on being the lord and master in my marriage.’

‘Come away, you old fool,’ said his wife, firmly removing him.

‘Yes, dear. Coming, dear.’

When they had gone Helena looked up to find Salvatore regarding her sardonically.

‘Complete submission?’ he enquired.

‘But you’ve always known that,’ she said provocatively.

‘Perhaps I have.’

She smiled, inviting him to share the joke, but his returning smile was stiff and formal. Wryly she reminded herself that he had no sense of humour, and then she knew a flicker of annoyance. This was a lovely day. Why couldn’t he just enjoy it?

And yet she partly understood his edgy mood, it so closely reflected her own.

‘Antonio would have appreciated the humour,’ she said.

‘While he was being submissive?’ he asked ironically.

‘Don’t be silly. We took it in turns. He’d laugh and tease and I usually ended up doing what he wanted.’

‘Usually?’

‘Not always, but often enough. I loved his teasing. You know something, if more men realised how women love a good laugh-’

‘More of them would play the clown to suit you?’ he finished coolly.

She sighed and gave up. There was nothing to be done with him in this mood.

The crowds began to disembark, heading for the church. As the service began Helena looked around, remembering how Antonio had spoken of these occasions.

‘Us kids used to get bored during the service and misbehave until we were thrown out. Then we’d spend the rest of the time playing on the beach. I was always a bad lad.’

‘You haven’t changed,’ she’d told him, not once but many times. And he never had. Right to the end the perky devil in him, that she’d loved so much, had teased her.

Tears stung her eyes and she closed them, averting her head. When she opened them again Salvatore was looking at her, with a shocked expression.

As they left the church he came closer, murmuring, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I was just thinking of Antonio suddenly. You think I don’t miss him just because I laugh and fool around-but you’re wrong. If you only knew how wrong you are.’

‘Perhaps I’m beginning to understand,’ he said gently.

‘He used to talk to me about this place, the lovely beach and how we’d walk along it together some day. Would you mind if I didn’t come back in the boat with you? I’d like to stay here for a while.’

‘I don’t like leaving you alone,’ he said, frowning.

‘I’ll be fine. I’ll join you at the palazzo tonight.’

‘All right.’ She could tell he was unhappy about it, but he had to yield.

She bid everyone goodbye, promised to see them again that evening, and let Lionello kiss her hand. Then she stood watching as the boats drew away.

Although she’d never been there with Antonio she found that the beach was a wonderful place to remember him. Here she could be alone, walking along the golden sand that seemed to stretch for miles, listening to the tiny waves, carrying him in her heart.

I wish you were really here with me, she told him. How we’d enjoy the looks your male relatives are giving me. You’d just love that, and you’d egg me on to flirt with them, but then we’d sweep out together at the end, and you’d enjoy that more than anything. Oh, caro, I miss you so much.

It was strange, she thought, how the passion she’d found with Salvatore, after waiting so long, had done nothing to diminish her longing for Antonio. There was more than one kind of love.

Love. The thought halted her. She’d loved Antonio. With Salvatore she resisted the word, although it somehow crept up on her.

No, she didn’t love him. He had merely shown her how to enjoy another side of life. It wasn’t love, and there was no need to worry about it.

Having settled that, she made her solitary way across the island to the landing stage and caught the next ferry back to Venice.

At the Palazzo Veretti the banqueting hall was set out in splendour. Two long tables ran down the centre of the great room, set with the finest china and crystal.

Helena had dressed conservatively for tonight, in a gown that was long and black with a modest neckline. It was intended to be respectable, but it didn’t hide any aspect of her beauty because nothing could do that.

She was seated between Salvatore and his grandmother, from whom she could sense a barely veiled hostility. The signora professed great affection for Antonio’s memory and great pleasure in meeting his widow, but her eyes were cold as they flickered over Helena. She did her duty gamely, but she was glad when the dancing began and she could escape.

She gave the first dance to Lionello, then to his son, then to one of his grandsons, a nineteen-year-old youth who sighed over her so blatantly that she wanted to laugh. He was followed by an endless stream of others, all competing for the right to hold Helen of Troy in their arms. Franco, the man who’d taken bets at the auction, glided past, saying, ‘I’m going to make a fortune out of this.’

‘Franco, don’t you dare!’ Helena told him.

‘I can’t help myself,’ he pleaded outrageously.

‘Well, make sure you give something to the hospital,’ she called as he danced away.

She wasn’t sure exactly how he managed it but he was soon surrounded by a little crowd.

Antonio seemed to be haunting her today. He’d been there on the Lido Island and now he was here again, reminding her of evenings like this when he’d glowed with the pride of ownership.

‘And I did you proud, didn’t I?’ she whispered.

‘What was that?’ her partner asked sharply.

Startled, she looked up and found herself in Salvatore’s arms.

‘I excused your last partner who was making an exhibition of himself, and you,’ he said crisply. ‘You barely noticed.’

‘I’m sorry-I was thinking about something else,’ she said hastily.

‘Something or someone?’

The cool authority in his voice annoyed her.

‘Don’t interrogate me,’ she snapped. ‘My thoughts are my own, although you don’t seem to think so. You’ve been in an odd mood today.’

He knew it and was annoyed with himself for letting his feelings show, something he normally found it easy to avoid. All day he’d sensed people looking at her, and then at him, enviously, for everyone knew of their association. Once he would have taken those looks as his due, and enjoyed escorting the most beautiful woman. Now he hated to see other men gazing at her. He knew what they were thinking, how they were imagining making love to her, and as far as he was concerned they were trespassing on his private property.

‘Why are you scowling at me?’ she asked, trying to speak lightly.

‘Because I’m not Antonio.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Unlike him I don’t relish the sight of you flaunting yourself before other men.’

‘How dare you?’

‘Don’t act the injured innocent. You know what you’ve been doing.’

‘If I have, I’ve been doing it for him, as a kind of farewell.’

‘A very cunning excuse, but not good enough. He might have put up with it but I won’t.’

‘You won’t what? You have no property rights over me, Salvatore. I do as I like, with your permission or without it. Don’t try to order me about, because I won’t stand for it.’

His grip tightened, drawing her closer. ‘You won’t-?’

‘It’s been a long day. I think I’ll be going soon.’

His mouth hardened. ‘Thus snubbing me in front of everyone.’

‘Nonsense. It’s late, I’m tired. I couldn’t stop Franco taking bets, but I told him to give some to the hospital-’

‘After, or before, your cut?’

Helena stopped sharply. ‘How dare you? I’m leaving right now.’

‘I would prefer it if you didn’t.’

‘Tough! I’m going, now!’

‘Do you think I’ll allow you to do that?’

It was an unwise thing to say and he knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She knew it too, for she surveyed him, a wry smile playing on her lips.

‘Why don’t we put it to the test?’ she asked. ‘I’ll head for the door, you try to turn me back and we’ll see which one of us comes off worst.’

‘Strega!’ He’d called her a witch before, but then it had been a compliment. Now it was venomous.

‘Goodnight, Signor Veretti. Thank you for a pleasant evening, but I must go now. I’ll say my goodbyes to your family, and then I’ll leave.’

‘You will not!’

‘How are you going to insist?’

For a moment she almost believed that he would make a fight of it there and then, but his control exerted itself just in time, warning him not to allow fascinated onlookers to sense any division between them. But his eyes were full of another warning, to her. This wasn’t over, and she had better beware.

Formally he offered her the use of his boatman to convey her to the hotel.

‘No, thank you,’ she said gaily. ‘I fancy the walk.’

‘I’ll escort you-’

‘No, I will-’

‘I offered first-’

The clamour of young men was loud, and Salvatore seized her arm, drawing her close to mutter in her ear.

‘Are you mad to go with them? They’re all hot for you.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she chuckled, ‘there’s safety in numbers. If any one of them gets too near me the others will toss him into the canal. Goodnight.’

Waving over her shoulder, she sauntered off, pursued by an eager crowd.

As she’d predicted, her admirers behaved themselves, and once in the hotel she rewarded them by sharing a drink in the downstairs bar before retiring to her room, adamantly refusing all requests to accompany her.

An orchestra was playing in St Mark’s Piazza, just out of sight. It was a sweet, aching tune and she listened to it with a faint smile, wondering how long Salvatore would be.

Exactly an hour later the bell on her door rang as though someone was leaning against it. She opened to find Salvatore, his shirt wrenched open, his hair awry. He was through the crack in a moment, locking the door behind him.

‘I take it you knew I’d be coming,’ he grated.

‘I had a feeling you might be dropping in.’

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

‘Being a good guest, entering into the spirit of things, having a good time.’

‘You had a good time all right, and so did everyone else, with you putting it all on display.’

‘If you mean that as an insult, Salvatore, you’re way off the mark. It’s my trade. It’s how I earn my living, putting it all on display.’

That drove him mad, she was glad to see. She might be taking a risk, provoking him, but she didn’t care. She was high on excitement, dizzy with power, desperate to provoke him further and then further. It had been too long.

‘Of course,’ she added, nudging him on, ‘you have to know exactly how to do it-subtly is best.’

She was pulling at the fastening of her skirt, which was separate from the top. It came away easily and she tossed it aside-perhaps it had been designed that way. Salvatore was watching her, breathing hard. She backed further, reaching for her top.

But he beat her to it, reaching out to grasp the black silk and yank it away. A ripping sound, and it was gone. Then he was throwing off his own clothes, seizing her and tossing her down onto the bed.

‘Suppose I asked you to leave?’ she demanded.

‘How are you going to insist?’ he echoed her words from earlier.

His fingers were working at her black slip, tearing it off, revealing the naked breasts. Her delicate panties went the same way and at last he was there, between her legs, inside her, not seeking permission, just entering, completing her, owning her.

Something that had been raging inside her during the days apart came up to meet him, exploded then yielded, melting but ready again at once. Later she would regain her independence, challenge him, defy him. For now this was all that mattered.

‘So now,’ he growled in her ear, ‘now what do you say?’

Slowly she turned her head on the pillow, meeting his eyes, her own full of mocking humour, murmuring, ‘I say-what took you so long?’