Deep and Silent Waters (12 page)

Sebastian went towards him. They stared at each other, then began talking in rapid Italian, shook hands, smiled.

It was a shock to Laura to see how alike they were, at least in their colouring and build, both of them tall, dark men of much the same age with similar faces. They could be brothers.

Her breath caught. Brothers. She slid a furtive look at the Contessa, who was intent on watching them and did not catch Laura’s stare. Sebastian couldn’t be this woman’s son, too? Could he? He had never spoken about his mother to her, except to say that she had died before he left Venice at the age of six. It would explain so much.

Then her common sense reasserted itself. No, it couldn’t be. She had only just met the Contessa, but there was no mistaking the pride and arrogance in that face under the bland smiles. This was not a woman likely to have had a love affair with one of her own servants. She mustn’t let her imagination run away with her.

She was so busy staring at his mother that she missed the moment when Niccolo d’Angeli turned in her direction and suddenly found him standing in front of her, looking intently at her with those liquid dark eyes so like Sebastian’s.

He was saying something, but his Italian accent was so strong that for a moment she didn’t realise he was speaking English and gazed at him without understanding, only thinking that he was much taller than herself – which she always noticed because she was often conscious of being taller than some of the men she met. They always hated that: you saw it in their eyes, in their reluctant, sulky smiles. Men liked women who were smaller than they were, little women they could feel protective about, pet, patronise.

‘Delighted to meet you,’ she heard, and then he reached out, took her limp hand and lifted it to his mouth, the kiss so soft and brief she could hardly believe it had happened until he had released her hand. Then she felt herself blushing.

‘How do you do?’ she mumbled, looking down, in the old child-like belief that if you didn’t meet someone’s eyes they couldn’t see you.

He smelt of a strange mixture of fragrances: turpentine and paint, woodsmoke and a fresh, astringent pine aftershave.

‘I recognised you at once from your films, and you were a model, weren’t you? The camera loves you – it’s those high cheekbones and that wonderful mouth.’ He lifted one long index finger and brushed it along her lips, making her shiver. Sebastian had done that once; the gesture had been identical, her own sensation too.

‘Please,’ Nico said, in his deep, foreign
voice
, waving a hand towards the yellow sofas. ‘Shall we sit down? Will you have a drink? Some wine?’ He walked to a tray standing on a table near the piano, pulled a bottle out of a bucket of ice and held it up to the dying light from the window. ‘This is a very good Soave, from Verona, not far from here. I know the vineyard it comes from, it is last autumn’s vintage, and you know, they say with white wine drink the youngest wine you can – I can promise it is good.’ It was pale yellow with a green tinge to it. He poured glasses, handed them to his mother and Laura, who had both sat down, then to Sebastian, who still stood as if he couldn’t wait to get away, his brows creased in a faint frown.

Raising his glass in a toast, Niccolo said, ‘
Cin cin … salute
!’

Laura took a sip. It tasted faintly almondy, quite pleasant. She took another mouthful, self-conscious under the two pairs of eyes, wishing that Niccolo and his mother would stop staring at her.

‘How long are you staying in Venice, Miss Erskine?’ Nico asked.

‘Please, call me Laura.’ The formality of the house was unnerving enough; having him use her surname made it worse. ‘Just two days, we leave the morning after the award ceremony.’

‘Do you have to? Couldn’t you stay a little longer?’

‘I’d love to, but our flight is booked.’

‘Have you been to Venice before?’

She shook her head.

‘Then you must change your flight and stay a few more days – it would be a crime for you to leave so soon. There is so much to see here that a month wouldn’t be long enough, let alone two days. I would love to show you my city, a guided tour of some private houses as well as the usual tourist places.’

‘That’s very kind but I have to get back.’ Laura jumped as something moved behind her on the sofa. She twisted her head to look and broke out into laughter as she saw a tiny black kitten curled up on one of the cushions. ‘Oh, how sweet!’ She put her wine glass on the floor, then turned to pick up the kitten and put it on her lap, stroking the small head with one finger; a slender crimson leather collar encircled its throat. ‘I didn’t see it there. How lucky that I didn’t sit on it. I might have injured it, as it’s so small. How old is it?’

Niccolo knelt down beside her and caressed the kitten too. ‘Just six weeks, his mamma is our kitchen cat, a stray who wandered in here one day.’ She was beginning to understand his English now that her ear had grown accustomed to his strong accent, or perhaps she was so interested in the kitten that she was listening more intently.

‘Lucia adores cats, and she has a soft heart, but my mother was not pleased when these kittens arrived. One died and we’ve managed to find homes for two, but not for this one yet.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘If you would like him we’d be very happy to let you have him.’

Her face fell with regret. ‘Oh, I wish I could take him back with me, but we have such strict laws about animals coming into Britain. They would insist on him staying in quarantine for six months and that would be cruel to such a very young cat.’

‘Yes, too cruel, I agree. Well, while you’re here you can visit him whenever you like, then,’ Nico said softly, and his long, sensitive fingers brushed against Laura’s as they both fondled the kitten. A prickle ran up her arm, awareness, attraction, a rare sensation for her.

She looked round involuntarily and found Sebastian watching them, a smouldering anger in his eyes, a darkness she had seen before.

Glancing back hurriedly at Nico she said, ‘Your mother told us you are a sculptor. I would love to see some of your work.’

‘Nothing easier. Come along to my studio now.’ He got to his feet and Laura did so, too, still holding the kitten.

‘I’m sorry. We don’t have time. We have to get back to the hotel for dinner,’ Sebastian said, abruptly.

Laura looked at her watch, sighed, put the kitten down on the sofa and said regretfully, ‘I’m afraid he’s right, I can’t be late.’ She smiled at the Contessa. ‘Thank you for letting me see your lovely home, and for the wine, it was delicious.’ Risking a little Italian she added shyly, ‘
Grazie, tante grazie, lei e molto gentile
.’

The Contessa smiled. Her son said, ‘
Benissimo
! So you do speak some Italian?’

‘A few words, that’s all,’ she said ruefully.

She began to walk towards the door and Nico caught up with her while Sebastian was saying goodbye to the Contessa.

He said quickly, ‘What about tomorrow? Could you come for lunch and see my studio? Would you pose for me? I have an idea – I won’t tell you about it now, we can talk tomorrow.’

She would have loved to, but she had to say, ‘I’m afraid I’m busy all day.’

‘Try. Come for lunch – we’ll eat out in the garden. You know Sebastian’s father was our gardener? His pride and joy were the lemon trees. We still have their descendants – the ones Giovanni planted all died during a very bad flood. They drowned in their pots, or withered with salt-burn, but luckily we had taken cuttings, which were inside, on the upper balcony, and they survived.’

‘Did you know Sebastian’s mother?’

They had reached the end of the long, shadowy hall and started down the marble stairs. Laura heard the Contessa’s dress rustling and looked back in time to see her coming out of the salon alone, walking across the hall into another room and vanishing. Sebastian came out of the salon, too, hurried after Laura and Nico. He looked angry. What had the Contessa said to him?

She suddenly caught what Nico was saying, and her eyes opened wide. ‘Didn’t Sebastian tell you? Gina was my wet-nurse when I was a baby. Sebastian is a few months older than me. My mother had a bad time in labour, she was ill for a while afterwards and her milk dried up. She couldn’t breastfeed me, but Sebastian’s mother had enough for both of us so she took care of me along with her own baby. She and Giovanni had rooms on the upper floor at the back, a private little apartment. One room was a nursery for me and Sebastian. I saw more of Gina for the first few years of my life than I did of my own mother. Mamma was always so busy running the house, visiting people.’

Standing at the door of the palazzo Laura looked out into the soft dusk at the gleaming waters of the canal. The gondola that had brought them was no longer tied up at the painted poles of the landing-stage. Sebastian was running down the stairs and Laura swung round to look at him, her head whirling with what she had just discovered. She had realised at last why Sebastian had always thought of Ca’ d’Angeli as home. He had spent his first six years upstairs in it, in his parents’ apartment.

‘Sebastian, the gondola has gone! How will we get back?’

‘The Contessa is ringing for a water-taxi now.’

They walked out on to the landing-stage. Nico said, ‘Will you come tomorrow?’

Sebastian looked sharply at her. She avoided meeting his eyes, and said, ‘I’m afraid my agent may have fixed up meetings for me. As so many important film people are here, you see, it is a chance to make valuable contacts. Can I let you know? I could ring you.’

‘I’ll ring you—’

Sebastian interrupted, ‘Why don’t you come to us? Have breakfast with us at the hotel, Nico, in my suite – around eight?’

‘But I wanted to show Laura my studio and some of my work.’

‘Of course, but tomorrow will undoubtedly be difficult for her. I have an idea I want to talk to you about, and it involves Laura.’

Nico stared at him. ‘Idea? What sort of idea?’

‘I’ll tell you tomorrow. Eight o’clock at our hotel, then.’

A motor launch chugged towards them, slowed, and drew up beside them. Nico took Laura’s hand and kissed it again, then helped her down into the boat. ‘Until tomorrow morning, then.’

She nodded, sat down, and Sebastian joined her. Laura waved goodbye to Nico as the boat moved away slowly from Ca’ d’Angeli and he waved back, his black hair ruffled by a faint breeze. She put her hand down into the water, as she had when they arrived; the sun had set now but there was still plenty of light, and the reflections of the palazzi floated along beside the boat.

Something else floated there, too. For a second she didn’t identify the wet black fir, and then she gave a stricken cry as she noticed the crimson leather collar around its neck.

‘Nico’s kitten!’ She leant over the side making the boat rock, and just managed to touch it, but the instant she did she knew it was dead.

Melanie was furious. ‘Where on earth have you been all this time? I waited around for hours and then decided I’d missed you somehow, so I came back to the hotel, thinking I’d find you here. I was worried stiff. I thought you might have got lost. I was just about to get the hotel to ring the police and organise a search for you.’

‘I’m sorry, I ran into Sebastian.’

As she had expected Melanie exploded at the news. ‘You’re kidding! You’ve been with that bastard? Are you crazy? No, don’t bother to answer that, I know you are. What have you been doing with him all this time? No, don’t answer that, either – I suppose you’ve been in his room.’

Laura felt herself go scarlet and was angry enough to snap back, ‘We weren’t here at the hotel and we weren’t alone. He took me to see the house where he was born.’

Melanie blinked furiously, her shoulders moving as if she was ruffling feathers, which made her look like an agitated parrot. ‘You mean he really was born here? And I always thought that must be a myth he invented for himself. Film people are always doing that, building their own legend because the truth about them is really pretty ordinary. So, what was the place like?’

‘Extraordinary. He hadn’t exaggerated by a hair, honestly. It was what he said it was, a palazzo, right on the Grand Canal, medieval. They call it Ca’ d’Angeli, the house of angels, because the outer walls are covered with them, such beautiful carving, little cherubs and tall stone archangels with these wonderful wings – it took my breath away.’

‘I thought nothing would ever surprise me again,’ Melanie said. ‘But it seems I was wrong.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Hang on, did you actually go inside? I mean, how do you know he wasn’t just spinning a line? How do you know he really was born there?’

‘You’re so cynical! We did go inside. I met the people who own it, the d’Angeli family. They’ve always lived there, since it was built, they’re Venetian aristocrats. His father worked for them – Sebastian isn’t one of the family. He just lived there with his parents.’ Laura saw the curiosity stirring in Melanie’s shrewd eyes and knew what questions were coming next so she hurried on before her friend could interrupt. ‘I met the two who are left, the Contessa d’Angeli and her son, Niccolo. He’s fabulous-looking, tall, dark and very sexy. He’s a sculptor. You should see the rooms, full of the most wonderful antiques and paintings and tapestries. Priceless, all of them. I was afraid to touch anything in case I broke it.’

‘I wish I’d been able to see the place,’ Melanie said discontentedly. ‘I suppose you just forgot you promised to meet me.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go with him but Sebastian kind of kidnapped me. I bumped into him and he persuaded me to go for a gondola ride with him and we ended up at Ca’ d’Angeli, which wasn’t what I’d intended at all.’

Melanie stared at her. ‘Laura, have you forgotten what happened to his wife? Do you want to end up the same way?’

Luckily they were in Laura’s room with the door shut, but Laura couldn’t help looking nervously around in case Melanie’s raised voice could be overheard. She lowered her own, scolding softly, ‘Mel, you mustn’t say things like that! Whatever you suspect, the inquest cleared Sebastian—’

‘On the evidence of that creepy secretary of his! She wouldn’t think twice about lying for him, you know that. I wouldn’t believe anything she said. No. He chucked his wife out of that window – everybody thinks he did it.’