Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (41 page)

Never mind the Duchessa or her black-browed, hatefully arrogant stepson
who had grown up thinking that all women were whores and deceivers! By tomorrow
all this will be nothing to me, Sara thought fiercely. By tomorrow she would be
returned to a safe and civilised world where she could be her ordinary,
practical self again; escaping from this strange Arabian Nights fantasy that
had somehow enmeshed her. Everything that had happened to her, everything she
had let herself do with an almost mesmerised abandon had been part of a fantasy
- all make-believe. And it was something she had to remember!

Almost by habit, Sara found her eyes travelling to the portrait of the
Duchessa di Cavalieri who had been mother to both Marco and Angelo. Poor,
smiling Duchessa who wore the wolf's-head insignia with all the casual
assurance of a woman who thought the wolf had been tamed. The wolf had had her
in the end!

'She was a shallow, selfish and completely immoral woman - and not
particularly intelligent either, even if she did keep my poor Giancarlo quite
infatuated by her. But that's beside the point. It was to talk about you that I
climbed all those miserable steps!'

Spinning around on her sneakered feet Sara met the steel-blue eyes of
the present Duchessa, that seemed to bore through that particular part of her
midriff that was exposed by the short white shirt, before they moved upwards;
lingering on her rather carelessly done-up braids.

'Oh -I would have come down if I'd known! I did want to explain that I
didn't mean to upset your friend by anything I said ... I mean I do realise
that lots of older women get crushes on Marco . . .'

Quite unexpectedly, shocking Sara, the Duchess laughed.

'As you intended her to, poor Lucia insisted on leaving! And were you
hoping to fool me with your Little Miss Teenage look after your carefully
contrived contretemps this afternoon? Luckily, I never did particularly care
for Lucia ... Yes, please do sit down, and so will I.' Sara hadn't been able to
help sitting down, and now she eyed her formidable adversary warily as the
Duchess in her turn sat down opposite her, crossing slender, elegantly shod
feet at the ankles.

'Where were we? Oh, yes. What on earth is all this about? And what are
you doing here? You're not Marco's usual type... but you do appreciate
frankness, I take it? There was also something you said about Carlo, who
happens to be my son . . .'

By the end of about five minutes, Sara had begun to feel as if she, and
the Duchessa had reached a somewhat cautious rapport; or at least an understanding.
Beginning with a surprising statement by the Duchess, as she repeated: 'Yes,
Carlo - who, when I last heard from him, was happily married to a woman he
called "Delight" and expecting to be a father any day. It was one of
the things I came here to talk to Marco about. He tends to take his role of
head of the
 

family rather seriously, and he and my poor Carlo are always bumping
heads! But what is this about Carlo? And Marco taking you from him? I must tell
you, my girl, that I happen to know both my son and stepson very well, and you
don't fit. If Carlo was serious about you he would have told me - and it is not
like my cynical, serious Marco to bring a young woman here, to his home. So...
shall we talk about it?'

Sara hadn't really felt like talking about anything - all she wanted was
to escape from the interrogation she was being put through.

'Well. . . Carlo and I used to have a thing going - '

'Really? When? He's been seeing his present wife for at least a year, as
far as he's told me — and I also happen to know that Marco did not approve .,.
Heavens, I've felt as if 1 was nothing more than a buffer between the two of
them for ages now! What does Carlo look like?'

That was the question that had undone her. Sara's mind went blank, even
while it groped for the memory of the portrait Delight had showed her once. All
she could see in her mind was the image of the one man she detested most of all
- black hair, black eyes, black nature!

'Well. . . he's got dark hair, of course . . .'

'I thought as much!' the Duchess retorted, giving Sara smother look that
reminded her too vividly of Miss Illingsworth — school — and being caught
raiding the orchard with cherry stains all over her fingers and mouth. 'And
that eliminates Carlo, of course; so you can either think up another improbable
lie or tell me the truth, which might really be much simpler, you know, unless
you happen to be one of those unfortunate people who cannot, For
 
psychological reasons.'

'I am not a pathological liar!' Sara hated to find herself on the
defensive.

"Thank you, that was exactly the phrase I was looking for. And I'm
glad to hear you're not, my dear. Please do feel free to tell me the truth, and
I just might be able to prevent Marco from ... becoming violent. He has a very
nasty temper when it's aroused, or have you already found that out?'

Looking into the Duchessa's implacable face, Sara decided that she might
as well give in; especially since she was expecting Angelo in just a few hours.
She wasn't a very good liar anyway - not unless she was really angry! And
somehow, she didn't care to dwell on the thought-picture of Marco angry.
Furious, in fact, as he would be when he finally found everything out,
including the fact that he'd been duped. She'd rather tell the Duchessa than Marco
...

'Well... the real truth is that I'm Delight's sister, and she ... I
agreed to pass myself off as her to put Marco off while she and Carlo . . .'

The Duchessa nodded approvingly. 'Now that story makes more sense! Shall
we have some wine while you tell me the rest of it? I should tell you that I
was quite angry with you until Serafina came to your defence . . . quite
surprisingly, because she's a very strait-laced old woman who usually
disapproves of everyone! But in your case . . . do go on, please. Even if it
isn't all true, I'm sure you'll make it a most interesting story!'

Chapter 37

It could have been worse, Sara was to think later; and the Duchessa
might have turned out to be really nasty instead of just politely questioning,
and leaving her with the impression that final judgement had been withheld.
Sara hadn't told her everything, of course - only as much (or as little) as she
felt she had to - but it had been with a feeling of utter relief that she had
seen her elegant tormentor rise to leave.

'Well, I suppose the final outcome of all this will depend on Marco and
upon you, won't it? But I should warn you, my dear, he is not the kind of man
who easily accepts being fooled! And you had better get yourself prepared for
the worst if he's been reading any newspapers recently. The wedding of Carlo
and your sister — even if he didn't tell me until afterwards - by an Indian
cardinal was much publicised!'

Marco . . . Marco! Why should she care, or fear, what Marco's reactions
might be? He must know already . . . Pretending, for Serafina's benefit, that
she had decided to go to bed early, Sara turned out all the lights and lay
under the covers fully clothed with her body as tense as a bow. She had to keep
calm, and she had to stay single-minded. She had to escape before he came back
and walked into her room without announcement to seize her and to use her and
make her forget pride and dignity and hate and revenge -everything but the way
he could make her feel in spite of herself. She had to go — she bad to go! She
had to be free, and belong wholly to herself again.

'Hey! Let's go!' Angelo's voice - and somewhere in the background,
softly at first before it assaulted the still air with its machine-gun rattle,
Sara heard the sound of the helicopter returning.

She must have moved quite mechanically, like an automaton driven by the
survival instinct. And following Angelo hadn't been easy, although she was
thankful at the time that it took all of her concentration and her balance.
Afterwards - and it had seemed like hours - Angelo congratulated her.

'You know what, you're really great! "Something else", as
they'd say back in the US. You ridden a motor cycle before?'

The sound of the chopper was still in her ears; the thought of Marco's
anger was like a goad at her back. To escape this particular dark avenger she'd
dare anything!

'No, never. But I learn fast. Just tell me what I must do.'

Hurry, hurry, hurry! her mind kept repeating urgently as she mounted
behind Angelo and wrapped her arms around his waist as he instructed her.

'Remember to watch where you put your feet, kid! Those pipes can burn
and leave scars. Keep tight hold of me, and let your body kind of lean easy the
way mine does — you'll get the knack of it pretty soon. And remember, you don't
have to worry about a thing! I know every road and every dirt trail and every
bump - light or dark. There's no way he's going to catch up with us, not even
with that goddamn helicopter of his!'

The motor cycle went downhill, coasting for a while before Angelo
started it up. After that, even if the helicopter had swooped down upon them,
Sara thought she would not have heard it over the roar of the powerful motor
cycle and the rush of the wind in her ears. In any case, she found that all her
concentration was centred upon not being thrown off, and she clung to Angelo
with her face against his broad shoulders and her eyes tightly closed.

Time seemed to rush by as quickly as the miles they must have covered,
and not thinking remained easy as long as she concentrated upon the. feeling of
this mad ride through the darkness of a Sardinian night, that seemed to go on
forever, with a rhythm that repeated 'forget - forget - forget' like a
metronome beat in her head.

'Listen you don't have to worry; there's no way he's going to find us
now! How could he know where we'd be heading for, anyway? He probably thinks
...' Angelo gave a laugh that sounded harsh enough to be Marco's - 'Yeah,
knowing the way his mind works, he probably has us all snuggled up in bed
together by now! Not that it wouldn't be a fun idea begging your pardon, Miss
Sara, except it would be difficult right now - only my uptight brother doesn't
know that, does he?"

Her words in reply would only get carried away by the wind. Sara
remained silent and was glad of Angelo's tireless chatter that carried them out
of darkness into the gradually spreading pinkish light of dawn. Slowly they
moved down from the mountains towards the sea. Soon the roads they travelled
became wider and more congested with traffic that he cut in and out of with a
careless ease and swiftness that made Sara close her eyes and keep them closed.

If she survived, she would never accept a ride on the back of a motor
cycle again! If she could only live through this mad, crazy ride she would be
happy to go back to a sedate and better-planned and organised way of life. She
had had her adventure and Mama would laugh as she hugged her with that rich
life-loving chuckle of hers - glad to see her and glad that her solemn little
Sara had finally broken out of the mould she had been positively encased in for
all this time. Encased - stifled. It had taken Delight to help her emerge. And
then she had discovered all on her own what fun it was not to bother with
restrictions and conventions. Some of the things she'd done! It was just as if
she'd stepped out of one world and into another where the memory of her other
self, her other dimension, could make her face grow hot with embarrassment.

'You were doing fine all this time,' Angelo commented mildly, even while
he continued to drive like a maniac. 'You don't have to clutch so tightly
again, kid, even though I could take it as being kind of flattering, you know?
But we're almost there, so just hang loose and stay relaxed because you know
you're in safe hands for a change. And if I've got my timing right like I
usually do, we should get to the place where they're supposed to be filming -
it's called the Castello - at just about the time they'll be ready for a coffee
break.'

The number of kilometres on the road signs that said Cagliari seemed to
diminish within minutes, together with her heady feeling of excitement at
having escaped in the nick of time. Escaped or run away? Sara didn't want to
think about it. Each kilometre that brought them close to Cagliari also took
her further from the palazzo and her silken prison. Further from the wrath of
her erstwhile captor who ought, by now, to have realised that tennis wasn't the
only game he could be beaten at. He hadn't tried to follow her - thankfully, of
course! By now he must positively hate her. The Duchessa would be annoyed, and
Serafina would purse her lips and shake her head — comparing her to the late
Duchess, no doubt. She'd had to leave all of her clothes - would they send them
back to her or would he personally destroy them, one by one? Not that the
clothes mattered - no doubt there would soon be another occupant of the suite
she had dubbed the Seraglio who might be able to wear them - another victim he
would enjoy playing with and tormenting.

'Well, here we are at last, and all safe and sound like I promised you!'
Angelo's voice sounded cheerful in spite of all the miles they had travelled.
'They have a bunch of barricades up, and watchful carabinieri who obviously
don't like the looks of me, so it's up to your powers of persuasion now, kid!'

The policemen didn't quite approve of the looks of her either, as Sara
discovered; and it was only her fluent Italian and her positive insistence,
coupled with Angelo's suggestion that she unbraid her hair, that finally got
them past the suspicious guards - two of whom actually accompanied them to the
makeshift dressing-room that had Mona Charles's name emblazoned across the
door.

Mona was never surprised — not by anything; not even the sight of the
daughter she hadn't set eyes on for over two years or her male companion.