Veretti's Dark Vengeance

CHAPTER TWO

HELENA slipped quietly back into the group, relieved that nobody seemed to have noticed her absence. Rico, the guide, was announcing the end of the tour.

‘But before we take you back, you will please honour us by accepting some refreshment. This way please.’

He led them into a room where a long table was laid out with cakes, wine and mineral water, and began to serve them. As he was handing a glass to Helena he looked up suddenly, alerted by someone who’d just come in and was calling him in Venetian.

‘Sorry to trouble you, Rico, but do you know where Emilio is?’

Helena recognised the name. Emilio Ganzi had been Antonio’s trusted manager for years.

‘He’s out,’ Rico said, ‘but I’m expecting him back any moment.’

‘Fine, I’ll wait.’

It was him, the man she’d seen in the office, and now Helena had no doubt that this was Salvatore. She stayed discreetly back, taking the chance to study her enemy unobserved.

He bore all the signs of a worthy opponent, she had to admit that. Antonio had said he was a man who expected never to be challenged, and it was there in the set of his head, in an air of assertiveness so subtle that the unwary might fail to see it.

But she saw it, and knew exactly what Antonio had meant. Salvatore was tall, more than six foot, with black hair and eyes of a dark brown that seemed to swallow light. Helena wondered if he worked out in a gym. Beneath his conventional clothing she sensed hard muscles, proclaiming a dominance of the body as well as the mind.

His face told two different stories; one of sensuality just below the surface, one of stern self-control. He would yield nothing except for reasons of his own. Remembering the angry frustration in his voice so recently, and comparing it to the civilised ease of his manner now, she guessed that the control was in full force.

Yet, despite being masked, the sensuality asserted itself in the slight curve of his mouth, the way his lips moved against each other. There was an instinctive harmony in his whole being, a sense of power held in reserve, ready to be unleashed at any moment.

He was moving among the group, discovering that they were English and switching easily to that language, asking politely why they had wanted to visit a glass factory, and why this one in particular. His manner was friendly, his smile apparently warm. Under other circumstances Helena would have found him charming.

When he noticed her he grew still for a brief moment, which was what men always did, noticing her beauty, only half believing it. For a moment she contemplated her next move.

Why not have some fun?

Driven by an imp of wickedness, she gave him an enticing smile.

‘Can I get you a glass of wine?’ he asked, approaching her.

‘Thank you.’

He produced it, took one himself, and walked aside with her, enquiring politely, ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

She preserved a straight face. He had no idea that she was the enemy that he was so confident of defeating. As a model she’d often needed acting skills. She used them now, assuming a note of naïve enthusiasm.

‘Oh, yes, I really am. I’m fascinated by places like this. It’s wonderful being able to see how things work.’

She gave him the full value of her eyes, which were large and deep blue, and had been known to make strong men weep. He rewarded her with a wry half-smile, clearly saying that he liked her looks, he wasn’t fooled by her methods, but he didn’t mind passing the time this way, as long as she didn’t overdo it.

Cheek! she thought. He was appraising her like a potential investment, to see if it was worth his time and trouble.

Helena was as free from conceit as an accredited beauty could well be, but this was insulting. After the remarks she’d overheard it was practically a declaration of war.

But she had also declared war, although he didn’t know it. Now it was time to discover the lie of the land.

‘It’s just a pity that the tours of this place are so short,’ she sighed. ‘No time to see all I wanted to.’

‘Why don’t I show you a little more?’ he asked easily.

‘That would be delightful.’

Envious looks followed her, the woman who’d captured the most attractive man in the room in two and a half minutes flat. As they departed a voice floated behind them.

‘We could all do that if we had her legs.’

She gave a soft choke of laughter, and he smiled.

‘I guess you’re used to it,’ he murmured.

He didn’t add, ‘A woman who looks like you.’ He didn’t have to.

The trip was fascinating. He was an excellent guide with a gift for explaining things simply but thoroughly.

‘How do they get that wonderful ruby-red?’ she marvelled.

‘They use a gold solution as a colouring agent,’ he told her.

Another marvel was the row of furnaces, three of them. The first contained the molten glass into which the tip of the blowpipe was dipped. When the glass had been worked on and cooled a little it was reheated in the second furnace through a hole in the door, known as the Glory Hole. This happened again and again, keeping the glass up to the ideal temperature for moulding. When the perfect shape had been achieved it went into the third furnace to be cooled slowly.

‘I’m afraid you may find it uncomfortably hot in here,’ Salvatore observed.

But she shook her head. True, the heat was fierce, but far from being uncomfortable it seemed to bathe her in its glow. She stood as close as she dared to the red-white light streaming from the Glory Hole, feeling as though her whole self was opening up to its fierce radiance.

‘Get back,’ Salvatore said, taking hold of her.

Reluctantly she let him draw her away. The heat was making her blood pound through her veins and she felt mysteriously exalted.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, keeping his hands on her shoulders and looking down into her flushed face.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she murmured.

He gave her a little shake. ‘Wake up.’

‘I don’t want to.’

He nodded. ‘I know the feeling. This place is hypnotic, but you have to be careful. Come over here.’

He led her to where a man was blowing glass through a pipe, turning it slowly so that it didn’t sag and lose shape. Watching him, she felt reality return.

‘It’s incredible that it’s still done that way,’ she marvelled. ‘You’d think it would be easier to use a machine.’

‘It is,’ he said. ‘There are machines that will do some kind of job, and if “some kind of job” is what you want, that’s fine. But if you want a perfect job, lovingly sculpted by a glass worker who’s put his soul into his art, then come to Murano.’

Something in his voice made her look at him quickly. Until now their conversation had been a light-hearted dance, but his sudden fervour made the music pause.

‘There’s nothing like it,’ he said simply. ‘In a world where things are increasingly mechanised, there’s still one place that’s fighting off the machines.’

Then he gave a brief, self-conscious laugh.

‘We Venetians are always a little crazy about Venice. To the outside world most of what we say sounds like nonsense.’

‘I don’t think it’s—’

‘There’s something else that might interest you,’ he said as though he hadn’t heard her. ‘Shall we go this way?’

She followed him, intrigued, not by whatever he had to show her, but by the brief glimpse behind his eyes that he discouraged so swiftly.

‘The glass isn’t all blown,’ he said, leading into the next room. ‘Figurines and jewellery take just as much art of a different kind.’

One piece held her attention, a pendant in the shape of a heart. The glass seemed to be dark blue, but with every movement it changed through mauve and green. She held it in her hand, thinking of one just like it, except for the colour, safely tucked away in her jewel box in the hotel. It had been Antonio’s first gift to her.

‘From my heart to yours,’ he’d said, smiling in a way that had moved her, because he seemed almost shy.

She’d worn it for their wedding, and again as he lay dying, just to please him.

‘Do you like it?’ Salvatore asked.

‘It’s really beautiful.’

He took it from her. ‘Turn around.’

She did so, and felt him pull her long hair aside, put the chain around her neck and clasp it. His fingers barely brushed her skin but suddenly she wanted to clench her hands and take deep breaths. She wanted to take flight and run as far away from him as possible. She wanted to press closer and feel his hands on the rest of her body. She didn’t know what she wanted.

Then it was over. His touch vanished. She returned to earth.

‘It looks good on you,’ he said. ‘Keep it.’

‘But this belongs to the firm. You can’t give it to me, unless—oh, my goodness, you’re the manager.’ She put her hand over her mouth in simulated dismay. ‘You are the manager, and I never realised. I’ve been taking up your time—’

‘No, I’m not the manager.’

‘Then you’re the owner?’

The question seemed to disconcert him. He didn’t reply and she pushed her advantage.

‘You do own this place, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘At least, I will soon, when some trivial formalities are cleared up.’

Helena stared at him. This was arrogance on a grand scale.

‘Trivial formalities,’ she echoed. ‘Oh, I see. You mean the sale is agreed and you’ll take over in a few days. How wonderful!’

He made a wry face.

‘Not quite as fast as that. Sometimes things take a little negotiating.’

‘Aw, c’mon, you’re kidding me. I bet you’re one of those—what do they call them?—speculators. You see, you want, you’re sure to get. But someone’s being awkward about it, right?’

To her surprise he grinned.

‘Maybe a little,’ he conceded. ‘But nothing I can’t cope with.’

It was marvellous, she thought, how amusement transformed his face, giving it a touch of charm.

‘What about the poor owner?’ she teased. ‘Does he know it’s “in hand,” or is that delightful surprise waiting for him as he steps around a dark corner?’

This time he laughed outright.

‘I’m not a monster, whatever you may think. No dark corners, I swear it. And the owner is a woman who probably has a few tricks of her own.’

‘Which, of course, you’ll know how to deal with.’

‘Let’s just say that I’ve never been bested yet.’

‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘You think so?’

Helena regarded him with her head on one side, her eyes challenging and provoking.

‘I know your kind,’ she said. ‘You think you can “cope with” anything because you’ve never learned different. You’re the sort of man who makes other people long to sock you on the jaw, just to give you a new experience.’

‘I’m always open to new experiences,’ he said. ‘Would you like to sock me on the jaw?’

‘One day I’m sure I will,’ she said in a considering voice. ‘Just now it would be too much effort.’

He laughed again, a disconcertingly pleasant sound, with a rich vibrancy that went through her almost physically.

‘Shall we store it up for the future?’ he asked.

‘I’ll look forward to that,’ she said, meaning it.

‘Do you challenge every man you meet?’

‘Only the ones I think need it.’

‘I could make the obvious answer to that, but let’s have a truce instead.’

‘As long as it’s armed,’ she reminded him.

‘My truces are always armed.’

He stopped a passing young woman and spoke to her in Venetian. When she’d departed he said,

‘I asked her to bring us some refreshment outside, where we can sit down.’

Outside was a wooden seat on a terrace that overlooked a small canal with shops along the bank. It was pleasant to sit there drinking coffee.

‘Is this your first visit to Venice?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’ve thought about it for years but never got around to it before.’

‘Do you travel alone?’

‘Quite alone.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I wonder why.’

‘Let us not play games. You don’t need me to say that a woman as beautiful as you need never lack company.’

‘But perhaps you need to hear that a woman may prefer to be alone. It isn’t always the man’s choice, you know. Sometimes she consults her own preferences and consigns men to the devil.’

He gave a wry smile. ‘Touché! I suppose I asked for that.’

‘You certainly did.’

‘And have you consigned us all to the devil?’

‘Some of you. There are men who are fit for nothing else.’

He nodded. ‘You must have met quite a few of them.’

‘A fair number. The virtues of solitude can be very appealing.’

‘And so you travel alone,’ he said slowly.

‘Alone—but not lonely.’

That seemed to disconcert him. After a moment he said quietly, ‘Then you must be the only person who isn’t.’

‘To be enough for yourself,’ she answered, ‘safe from the onslaughts of other people, and happy to be so—it isn’t really very hard.’

‘That’s not true, and you know it,’ he replied, looking at her intently. ‘If you’ve achieved it, you’re one in a million. But I don’t believe that you have achieved it. It’s your way of fooling the world—or yourself.’

She felt as if a hand had been laid on her shoulder, halting her in her tracks. It was a moment before she drew a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t know if you’re right. Perhaps I never will.’

‘But I would like to know,’ he said in the same quiet tone. ‘I’d like to see behind that mask you keep so firmly in place.’

‘If I removed it for everyone, there would be no point in having it,’ she pointed out.

‘Not everyone. Just me.’

Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. It was as though a cloud had crossed the sun, throwing the world into shadow, making complex things that had seemed simple only a moment before.

‘Why should I tell you what I tell nobody else?’ she managed to say at last.

‘Only you can decide that.’

‘That’s true. And my decision is…’ She hesitated. Something in his eyes was trying to make her say what he wanted to hear, but it had to be resisted. ‘My decision is that I’ve kept my secrets safe so far, and I’ll go on doing just that.’

‘You think your secrets are safe, do you?’

Something in his voice filled her with the conviction that nothing in the world was safe, her secrets, her heart, herself—nothing.

‘I think—I think I shall work hard to keep them safe.’

‘And woe betide intruders?’

‘Exactly.’

‘But don’t you know that your attitude is, in itself, a challenge to intruders?’

She smiled. She was beginning to feel at ease again.

‘Of course I know. But I’ve fought this battle before, and I always win.’

He raised her hand and brushed the back of it with his lips. She took a long, shaky breath.

‘So do I,’ he assured her.

‘Do you know, that’s twice you’ve told me you’re invincible, once about business and once about—well, whatever?’

‘Why don’t you give it a name?’ he asked.

She met his eyes. ‘Perhaps names don’t matter.’

Before he could reply her attention was caught by the sound of a motor. Turning her head, she just made out the boat that had brought her here, appearing around the edge of the building and streaking away across the water.

‘Hey, they should have waited for me,’ she protested.

‘I told them not to. I said I’d take you back myself.’

‘You told them to go without me?’ she said slowly. ‘Without asking me first?’

‘I was sure that you would agree with me.’

‘No you weren’t. That’s why you didn’t tell me. You’ve got a cheek!’

‘In that case I apologise. I meant no harm.’

‘Of course not,’ she said affably. ‘Just to get your own way with the least inconvenience. Where’s the harm in that?’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’

‘I suppose the poor idiot who owns this place is going to get the same treatment until she gives in.’

‘Don’t pity her; she’s no idiot but a very clever woman who got her hands on Larezzo by cunning and will sell it for the highest price she can extort.’

‘And since you want the place, she’s laughing.’

‘I doubt she’ll be laughing when I’ve finished. Let’s not talk about her further. She isn’t interesting and you still haven’t told me your name.’

She was saved from having to answer by the sight of Rico appearing behind him.

‘I think you’re wanted,’ she said.

Rico was anxious to let him know that the manager had now returned and awaited his pleasure. Salvatore thanked him and turned back to Helena.

She was gone.

‘What the—? Did you see where she went?’

‘Round that corner, signor,’ Rico said.

But when Salvatore followed he found himself facing a small piazza with no less than four exits and nothing to show which one she had taken. He made a token pursuit, hurrying from one little street to another, peering vainly down the narrow length of each, but knowing it was useless.

At last he stopped, furious at how easily she’d given him the slip on his own territory. Before returning he adjusted his expression so that he could say casually to Rico,

‘Do you happen to know who she was?’

‘No, signor. She just came as one of the group. Is it important?’

‘No, not important at all,’ he said heartily. ‘Let’s get back to business.’

Helena found that it was simple to return to Venice. Taxis were as easy to come by as in any other city, except that they moved on water. Soon she was streaking back across the lagoon, trying to sort out her conflicting emotions.

Satisfaction warred with annoyance. She’d bearded the enemy in his lair, looked him over, assessed him, been intrigued by him, and come off best in their parting. All that remained now was to make him suffer for his cheap opinion of her.

And she knew just the way.

Antonio had told her about the Venice grapevine.

‘Whisper a secret at one end of the Grand Canal and it’ll reach the other end before you do,’ he’d said.

Now she put it to the test.

Returning to the Illyria, she headed back to the information desk, where the same young man was still on duty.

‘I’ve had the most wonderful day,’ she enthused. ‘Isn’t Venice just the loveliest city? And to think I own a little part of it!’

She bubbled on, making sure that he knew she was the widow of Antonio Veretti and the new owner of Larezzo Glass. He understood precisely, as she could tell from the way his eyes were popping. As she danced into the elevator she was sure he was reaching for the telephone.

In her room she settled down to make enjoyable decisions. This dress? No, too blatant. That one, then—black, elegant, slightly severe. But she didn’t know when their meeting would occur. It might be daytime, so perhaps something more businesslike would be suitable. In the end she laid out several outfits, ready for her final decision.

As she got out of the shower the telephone rang. She answered cautiously, meaning to disguise her voice, but the man at the other end wasn’t Salvatore.

‘Am I talking to Signora Helena Veretti?’

‘You are.’

‘I am secretary to Signor Salvatore Veretti. He asks me to say that he was very glad to hear of your arrival in Venice, and looks forward to a meeting.’

Helena assumed her most formal voice to say,

‘How kind of Signor Veretti.’

‘Would this evening be too soon?’

‘Not at all.’

‘He suggests dinner at the Palazzo Veretti. His boatman will call for you at seven-thirty.’

‘I look forward to it.’

She hung up, and sat still for a moment, caught off-guard by something happening inside her.

The invitation was exactly what she’d wanted, so it was illogical that she was assailed by doubt, but she had the sudden shocking feeling of confusion. It made no sense, she told herself. She had nothing to fear from this man. The power was in her hands, not his.

Hands. The word seemed to leap out at her. His hands on the nape of her neck, caressing fingers touching, retreating, touching again. And herself trying to breathe through the storm that had engulfed her without warning.

Never, never again! She’d promised herself that long ago as a child of sixteen, when the brutal end to her first love had left her hostile to men and frozen to their caresses.

They didn’t know. Stupid as they were, there wasn’t one of them who could see past the façade of sexual availability that had been her trademark, to the bleak, icy truth within. She’d played them off against each other, used them to climb to the pinnacle of her career, made money out of them. And she’d slept alone.

In all those years she’d never again known the dizzying, irresistible desire that had once carried her to disaster. Once or twice a faint whisper of pleasure had troubled her but she’d controlled it, fleeing the man, never letting him suspect. With time, those occasions had grown rarer.

Looking down the vista of her future life, she’d been prepared for loneliness. Instead she’d found Antonio, a man who’d adored her without being able to risk a physical relationship. They had been perfect for each other. And his true legacy wasn’t wealth, but the fact that he’d made her strong, strong enough to face an uncertain future.

‘Hell!’ she thought, exasperated with herself. ‘I’m thirty-two. Next stop, middle-age. I’ve managed so far. I can manage the rest.’

So, the black dress, one of Antonio’s last gifts to her, chosen for its allure. It was silk, tight-fitting, with a neckline that dropped just a little. The hem came to just above her knees, not high enough for immodesty, but high enough to show off her long legs. And after a day in sensible shoes it was a pleasure to don high heels.

She let her luxuriant hair hang loose, not drawn back as during the day, but free-flowing over her shoulders.

Her jewellery was restrained. Apart from her wedding ring she wore only a dainty gold watch, two tiny diamond studs in her ears and Antonio’s glass heart. Unlike the blue shading of Salvatore’s gift, this one was dark red, sometimes lightening to deep pink, but always returning to a hue that was like red roses.

‘Right,’ she told the mirror. ‘Let battle commence.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE waited downstairs, and at last the doorman came to escort her out to the waiting boat, which turned out to be a gondola. The gondolier bowed as he handed her in, saw her comfortably settled and moved off.

Early evening was the best time to see the Grand Canal. Lights blazed from the windows of the buildings lining the banks, and the April sun was setting, casting a glow on the water with its throng of boats. At this time of day they were mostly gondolas, conveying tourists to dinner, sightseeing, music, romance. The air was alive with the anticipation of pleasure.