Seduced by Innocence (7 page)

“Then to him it
was
good,” Terri said gently, pitying his pain.

“He is
dead.
Did a good world do that to him?”

She shook her head. There was no answer. “How did he die?”

“He committed suicide. If you’ve finished, we should be going.”

She followed him out of the café in silence. After a while, he slipped an arm around her shoulder. “I’m an ill-tempered bear,” he said remorsefully.

“I should be sorry for prying.”

“You weren’t prying. It’s me. I have no manners.” He looked down and suddenly tightened his arm and kissed her. “What is it?” he asked as he felt her stiffen.

“People will see us.”

“Is that bad? In Venice, people kiss in public all the time. I believe it even happens in chilly England.”

“Perhaps, but the English don’t approve of it,” she said, remembering Madge.

“But you aren’t English. You’re Italian, and it’s about time you learned to approve of it,” he responded firmly, tightening his arm again.

Her head began to spin, almost enough to overcome her embarrassment. The touch of his lips was magic and the magic became part of her, spreading right through her until she was humming with pleasure from head to foot. If only she could be alone with him, there was so much more she wanted. “Maurizio, please—not here—”

His eyes were alight with laughter, something she hadn’t seen before, and her heart turned over. “Maurizio—”

“Wait,” he said, covering her mouth once more. “When I’ve kissed you again, we’ll talk—if anything’s that important.”

Nothing
was that important, she realized. Nothing in the world mattered but being in his arms, holding him closely. And with that realization came alarm. No other man had ever brought her so close to throwing caution to the winds. And in public.
Slut. Slut.

“No, please,” she protested breathlessly. “Not here, not now.”

To her relief, he released her. “When and where then?” he said. The demon of mischief was still in his eyes.

“I think we should be going home,” she said rather breathlessly.

Instantly he stopped and leaned against the wall. “But I want to remain here,” he said, grinning.

“Then I’ll return to the Midas alone.”

“Do you think you can do it without getting lost?”

“Watch me.” She slipped away around the corner and darted into a souvenir shop. The window was crowded with a display of goods and she was able to hide behind it, peering through a small gap between two masks. After a moment, she saw Maurizio appear around the corner and stand scratching his head, staring down the street. To Terri’s delight, he ran to the far end, glanced in both directions and returned, looking worried.

When he dived into a café on the other side, she took pity on him and emerged, positioning herself by the café door and leaning against the wall in an exact imitation of his earlier pose. When he hurried out, she laughed. “If you’re lost, perhaps I can show you the way home,” she offered when he turned to see her.

“You little wretch,” he said in exasperation. Then the ire disappeared from his eyes as he saw her teasing expression. He put his hands on the wall, one on each side of her. “So you want to play games, do you? I can’t afford to spend time like this. I have work to do.”

“Then why are you here?”

The question echoed in his brain. Why was he here being entranced by her mischief when he had serious things to attend to? Every moment that he let her cast her spell on him was a betrayal of Rufio.

“Why am I here?” he repeated. “I don’t know. We should have been home minutes ago.”

The moment was over. Terri watched as something died in his eyes, leaving them blank and unreadable. Without another word, she took the arm he offered and let him lead her home.

* * *

Over the next three weeks, Terri became part of life in the palazzo. Elena relied on her totally, and often asked her to remain in the evenings to help out with the many parties she gave. Because of these extra duties exacted of Terri, she gave her a generous dress allowance and told her to shop with Vilani. Terri’s wardrobe quickly grew more extensive and more glamorous, and she looked less and less like her old self.

If Francisco was at home, he would join them for coffee in the afternoon and make serious attempts to engage her in conversation. These were seldom successful because Terri felt awkward with him, but he didn’t seem to mind. Often she would look up and find his eyes fixed on her as though he were sizing her up for some purpose. She reflected that he was an art dealer and this was probably his manner of looking at everyone, but it made her uncomfortable.

Occasionally, she would be summoned by the old
contessa,
and their conversation would follow the same pattern as at their first meeting. The old woman would ask personal questions in her sharp voice and seem satisfied with the answers. Afterward, Francisco, who was always present, would apologize but assure Terri how much his mother really liked her. “She sees great possibilities in you,” he said once. “I wonder if you’ve realized that.”

“Well—no,” Terri replied awkwardly.

“No, of course not. It’s part of your charm,
signorina,
to be unaware of the effect you have on others.”

She was summoned again two days later, and this time she displeased the countess. “I don’t understand why you’re still living at the Midas,” the old woman said. “You should be staying here. Francisco, see to it.”

“Signorina Wainright has her own ideas about that, Mama,” her son said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I prefer to remain at the Midas,” Terri said.

“Nonsense. It isn’t a suitable place for a young woman. You must come here at once.”

“I think not,” Terri said firmly.

“What did you say?”

“You’re very kind but I don’t consider it a good idea to live and work in the same building.”

The old
contessa
‘s eyes narrowed. “At one time, if I had deigned to show my friendship to a young woman, moreover a young woman without background or lineage, whose prospects would otherwise be—”

“That was in the past, Mama,” Francisco interrupted quickly. “These days, young women are independent.” A look passed between him and his mother, almost as if he was warning her about something. “We can discuss this another time.” Then, he hurried Terri out of the room.

“What difference does it make to your mother where I live?” Terri demanded wrathfully as they went downstairs.

“I’m afraid she’s rather domineering. She likes to have people where she can bully them. Please forgive her.”

“Very well, but I don’t think I ought to visit her again if I’m just going to make her angry.”

“Oh, but she likes you very much. You must believe that. Not everyone wins my mother’s favor. My wife, I’m afraid, was quite unable to do so, which is a pity. But that favor isn’t something to be lightly thrown away.”

Terri made some polite response and escaped. She disliked both Francisco and his mother and couldn’t see why she should be expected to be pleased at such “favor.” She meant to ask Elena about their curious attitude, but the next day a crisis blew up at the art gallery and in the chaos she forgot all about it.

One evening, she stayed to help Elena with a late-afternoon charity function that went on until nine o’clock. When it was over, Francisco tried to insist on taking her home in his motorboat, but she managed to evade him, and slipped away before he could think of more arguments.

She knew the way home by now and enjoyed exploring the shops on the route. Most of them were closed at this hour, but one souvenir shop had gamely stayed open, and on impulse she went in, drawn by the huge array of masks that hung all over the walls: full face and half face; plain white and multicoloured; masks of normal faces and masks with enormously elongated noses. She took down a clown’s mask and tried it on. It covered her face completely and she was regarding herself in the mirror with fascination when a cheerful voice said, “Good evening, Teresa,” and there stood Bruno, smiling at her. She laughed.

“You weren’t supposed to know it was me,” she protested, removing the mask.

“Of course I knew,” he said at once. “There are some people that nothing can disguise because they’re so much themselves. You’re one of those people.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? Well, perhaps. And perhaps I know you better than Maurizio, who thinks he knows everything.”

She was going to ask what he meant by this but Bruno was going through the masks as eagerly as a child. “Look at them,” he said happily. “How I look forward to Carnival, the time of anarchy and lawlessness. Now
that’s
the true spirit of Venice.”

“I thought the spirit of Venice was supposed to be love,” Terri teased.

“And what is more lawless than love?” he demanded cryptically. “Does passion choose its object with an eye to propriety and convenience? Certainly not. Since passion obeys no laws, it’s the ultimate and most beautiful anarchy.”

There was a rare light in his eyes, making her realize that Bruno’s frail body, much abused by tobacco and alcohol, had also been shaken by beautiful anarchy, and he would seek it again as long as he had strength. “Long live anarchy!” he declared, reading comprehension in her face.

“Long live love,” she replied.

“If you wish. At your age, one believes in love. At my age—let’s say that a lifetime’s experience has taught me about masks.”

“You mean that lovers are always playing parts and wearing masks?” she hazarded.

“It goes deeper than that. Long ago, people believed that if you donned a mask, you weren’t pretending to be another person—you actually
became
that person. Think of it! The power to
be
anyone you liked, and then be someone else—the variety of life, the old scores you could settle, the love affairs you could enjoy. Ah, think of it!” His expression was radiant and Terri smiled. She was deeply fond of Bruno and she wondered if perhaps he reminded her a little of her father. Not in looks, but in a gleam of memory she’d sometimes seen in Carlo’s eyes without understanding it. He, too, had known beautiful anarchy and had never been the same again.

“What is it?” Bruno asked quickly.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You sighed.”

“Did I? I didn’t notice. Tell me more about the masks. What do they all represent?”

If Bruno noticed her quickly covering her tracks, he didn’t mention it. “Some of them are based on the old commedia dell’arte characters,” he said, beginning to hold them up. “Harlequin, part devil, part clown. Columbine, his female counterpart but far more cunning. Pulcinella, who comes from the underworld. Pantalone, the old merchant. Or these, covered in tinsel and sequins, which a pretty lady can use to conceal her interest in a man while keeping him under observation.”

With a swift movement, Bruno gathered up a dozen masks and indicated to the hovering assistant that he would buy them. A few moments later, he was carrying them out of the shop, one arm around Terri’s shoulders, talking ceaselessly as he guided her through the streets.

“Just wait until you see Carnival,” he said. “Hundreds of years ago, the wearing of disguises was forbidden because they made it so easy for criminals to escape detection. The law was relaxed during Carnival, so for those few days everyone went crazy.”

He steered her into Giorgio’s café, sat her down and bought her a coffee. For himself, he obtained a bottle of red wine, which he proceeded to consume at an alarming rate. “The owners here are friends of Maurizio’s,” he observed.

“I know. He brought me here once before. He told me he boarded out with them years ago, and they were very kind to him.”

“He’s returned the kindness a hundredfold. When Giorgio got into financial difficulties a few years back, Maurizio simply bought the café and made them a present of it.”

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“He wouldn’t. Maurizio never tells anyone about himself if he can help it.”

“He’s told me a little—about Rufio.”

Bruno regarded her curiously and for a moment he didn’t speak.

There was something strange about him, Terri reflected, as though he didn’t really belong here or anywhere. He was like the clown-devil Harlequin, jumping into situations, staying just long enough to say something illuminating, then jumping out again. But there was kindness in that cynical, battered face, and she felt instinctively that she could trust him.

At last Bruno said, “If Maurizio has talked about Rufio, then he’s allowed you close to his heart. It’s very strange that—” He checked himself.

“Strange that what?”

“Nothing. I’m only his uncle. I don’t really understand him at all.”

“Did you know him when he was living here?”

“Slightly. I wasn’t in Venice much. I kept having to leave to escape various people—creditors, angry husbands, that sort of thing.” His gesture implied a whole world of outraged authority, and Terri chuckled. “But whenever I returned, there was Maurizio, always a little richer, a little closer to being King Midas, a little more formidable. He studied business, persuaded the banks to lend him money by a process I think must have been akin to hypnotism. He was a terrible risk but they handed over whatever he wanted, anyway.” Bruno yelled suddenly, “Hey, Giorgio, what do you mean by giving me an empty bottle, you dog?”

“It wasn’t empty when I gave it to you,” Giorgio said, grinning as he replaced it.

When he’d drained half the new bottle in a gulp, Bruno continued his story. “Then a man called Torelli, a hotel owner, cheated him on a deal. Maurizio went to him and asked him politely to put the matter right. Torelli laughed in my nephew’s face and got his strong-arm men to rough him up. I’ll never forget the sight of Maurizio when he staggered home. He was bleeding and covered with bruises, and his eyes were full of a terrible light as he said, ‘Let him beware.’ Within a year, he’d bankrupted Torelli and bought his hotel at a knock-down price. Today it’s the Midas.”

Terri gave a slight shudder. “What a frightening story.”

“It is,” Bruno agreed. “But Maurizio can be a frightening man. He broke Torelli with a cold, single-minded purpose that I still remember in my nightmares. He never forgets a friend who’s been good to him, but he never forgives an enemy, and his vengeance is merciless. I take care not to get on his wrong side because I’m a coward. If I were a brave man—” He broke off and shrugged.