The American Contessa (3 page)

Her
Grandfather had chosen the hotel
Relais
San Domenico
for not only its close proximity to the Villa Manetti, but
also for its reputation for being frequented by the wealthy, the famous, and
persons who pretended, but fit into neither category.
 
Its luxury was well-known throughout
Europe.
 
But, unfortunately its price tag
reflected the opulence and grandeur of its hallowed halls.

He
had also insisted on her flying first-class, explaining that appearances were
everything in upper society.
 
By doing
this, he had pretty much guaranteed Gaby going through with the scheme.
 
According to her bank account, the option to
back out was all but over, financially speaking.

Gaby
had argued that no-one she met in Italy would have the slightest notion that
she’d flown coach, but in retrospect her Grandfather’s idea was spot-on.
 
She would never have met David Whittaker if
she had been in coach.

Of
course, she was using him to gain access to the party thrown by the Manetti’s,
and that bothered her immensely.
 
But it
bothered her more that she had no qualms about using him.
 
The man was a terrible bore, but that didn’t automatically
entitle her to manipulate him in such a way.
 

She
walked over to the antique armoire doubling as a closet and started hanging her
clothes on the hangers provided.
 
The
hotel provided a maid service to unpack for her, but every penny, or rather
euro, was staying firmly in her pocket for essentials only.
 
This was no holiday; this was …
what
?
 
A scheme, a caper, a foolish endeavour, or was it really just an old
man’s last stand against the system –living vicariously through his
Granddaughter to do one last
job
.

Putting
the last of her clothes away, Gaby made her way to the room’s small balcony
that overlooked a quiet piazza below.
 
A
fountain featuring a man and woman embracing caught her eye; the water spilling
over them erotically.
 
Smiling at its beauty,
she couldn’t believe it.
 
She was in
Italy.
 
And she was actually going
through with Gran-pop’s crazy plan; even though it went against everything
she’d ever believed in.
 

Her
face fell at the thought.
 
There was no
way that Gaby had ever imagined herself a saint,
 
but what she was planning to do was so
fundamentally against her grain, it had her questioning her ethics.
 
Morally, it was totally reprehensible and she
should be ashamed of herself.
 
But surprisingly,
she wasn’t?
 
The words of her Grandfather
repeated in her head, “You, Gabriella, are the most like me”.
 
Was it true?
 
Was she more like him than she cared to admit?

Pushing
the disquieting thoughts from her head, Gaby quickly showered and got into her
pajamas.
 
She would hardly be mistaken
for a Victoria’s Secret model in her modest attire, but comfort beckoned after
such a long and tiring trip.

Lying
on the super-soft mattress, she gazed at the frescos on the ceiling.
 
According to the guest handbook they were
original to the building.
 
For centuries
they had graced this bedchamber, now a hotel room for the elite traveller.

She
wondered who had lain in the very same spot and looked as she did at the angels
floating above.
 
Did a mother give birth
while the angels watched?
 
Did a woman
see them over her lovers shoulder while he made passionate love to her?
 
Or did an old man lie dying and think the
angels were welcoming him through St Peters gates?

Gaby
closed her eyes and thought of her Grandfather. There was a lot to do
tomorrow.
 
Two days till the party.
 
She’d call Gran-pop in the morning, tell him
about her luck at getting an
In
so
quickly, and go over it all once again.
 
If all went to plan, she’d be in and out of Italy much sooner than she
had anticipated.

He’d
told her before she left, “Quit worrying! Nothing will go wrong”.
 
And she had to believe him on this point, for
she knew he loved her dearly.
 

Clinton
Walker may have been many things.
 
A
notorious thief, a bad husband and an equally bad father, but there was no way
he would put his granddaughter in harm’s way.
 
Or so she hoped.

*****

Gaby
breathed a sigh of relief as the Villa came into view.
 
Thank goodness they’d arrived.
 
Having fought off David Whittaker’s wandering
hands the entire ten minutes it took to get from her hotel to the party, Gaby
was eager to escape him at the first opportunity. He was almost as much a lech
as a bore!
 

Upon
entering Villa Manetti on David’s arm, she noticed that unlike other historical
buildings, this one had a decidedly modern feel. Although the structure was
definitively 16th century in its architecture, the furnishings were either eclectically
modern or antiques that had been updated with boldly coloured geometric
upholstery.
 
It could all have been quite
over the top, but whoever had a hand in the design, managed to strike the
perfect balance of old and new.

From
the looks of it, it had been redone quite recently and Gaby hoped the library
remained untouched.
 
If not, it could
throw one gigantic spanner in the works.

“David!”
A beautiful, elegant blonde dripping with diamonds rushed over and hooked her
arm with his. “You bad boy, how dare you be in town and not look me up!”

“But
baby, I only just got into Florence,” he drawled. “We have plenty of time to
catch up.”
 
Ignoring Gaby, it was obvious
that after rejecting his advances in the limousine, the blonde was now the
focus of his amorous attentions.

Gaby
smirked. There’s nothing quite like being invisible.
  
Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to spend
the night trying to shake him.
 
All the
better for her to scope out the Villa and not have to listen to the
Chronicles of Whittaker
!

Edging
her way over to the corner of the room, Gaby observed the mix of people
drinking and socializing before her.
 
The
dress she chose for the evening may not have been the latest in haute couture,
but at least it suited her body type.
 
What looked good on the runway didn’t necessarily translate to the
average woman.
 
A fact that most of the
society matrons seemed to have missed from what she could see. The men were all
decked out in Savile Row and Italian designer suits of the finest quality.
 
It was all so glamorous and intimidating at
the same time.

She
looked down at her dress from Macys and wondered what they’d all think if they
knew she’d gotten it on sale for $99.99 last year.
 
Thank goodness, she’d ignored her
Grandfather’s request to splurge.
 
As far
as she was concerned, she looked fine.
 
The
green strapless silk cocktail dress hugged her curves, but was hardly a
memorable fashion statement.
 
She’d let
her hair hang loose in soft waves, cascading down her back to her shoulder blades.
 
Simple, classy, but not flashy.
 
No attention seeking get-up tonight.
 
Standing out was not a good idea considering
she wanted to slip unbeknownst around the Villa, locate the library, the hiding
place
and
the necklace and get out
without detection.
 
She only hoped she
had the time and opportunity to be able to do what she needed.

The
party was being held in the main reception room and Gaby tried to remember its
exact placement on the palm-sized map her Grandfather had sketched for
her.
 
She needed to look at the map again
and get her bearings.
 
A copy was safely
stashed down the front of her dress, but a ladies room would be required to
retrieve it.
 
    

Grabbing
a glass of champagne from the nearest waiter’s tray, she wandered through the
crowd, listening to bits and pieces of conversation as she went.
 
For the most part, Italian and French was
being spoken, and she found that she could still understand what was being
said.
 
Gran-pop had said her linguistics
would come in handy.
 
But so far, just
fashion, investments and parties were the topics of conversation.

“Wonder
where Whittaker picked up his latest conquest.
 
From the looks of it, his taste is slipping!” a woman chuckled in
Italian.
 

Gaby
spun around.
 
Were the couple with their
backs to her talking about her?
 
She
quickly ducked behind a column near the door to the terrace, where she could
hear, but not be seen in the shadows.
 

“His
taste is slipping?
 
Did he ever
have
any?” said the dark-haired man
disgustedly. “She’s
Americano
, I’m
sure.
 
Heaven help us from the social
climbing American. A more classless and tasteless group of people I’ve yet to
meet.”

“But
I thought the American, Whittaker, was your friend?”

The
man snorted. “I do business with him Anna Maria, that’s all.
 
A necessary evil, I assure you.”

“Have
you seen the woman he’s with tonight?” she asked with venom.

“From
a distance.
 
Looks pretty enough.
 
But I haven’t the slightest interest in one
of Whittaker’s cast-offs.
 
I’m not that
desperate.”
  

Gaby
had heard enough. Her Italian may be rusty but there was no mistaking the
meaning and the insulting tone of their words.
 
Storming onto the terrace, she silently fumed.
 
How dare they?
 
Of all the arrogant, conceited,
superior…
 
Who did they think they
were?
 

Not
only did the jerk insult her Nationality, which was bad enough, he’d taken one
look at her and decided she was most definitely lacking in appeal.
 
Of course, the woman had been just as rude,
but catty women were nothing new; she’d known her fair share of them in the
past. But for some apparent reason, the man’s cruel words had hurt her
deeply.
 
His voice had been deep,
resonant, dangerous …sexy.
 
She’d never
forget it as long as she lived.
 
Classless! Tasteless! Looks pretty enough! Damn him!

The
terrace was empty and she was inordinately glad for it.
 
As the laughter spilled out from within the
reception room, Gaby frowned at the hollow sound of it.
 
All of a sudden, the sparkle seemed to dim on
the elegant surroundings.
 
The beautiful
people weren’t so beautiful, and the champagne in her hand was bitter and
flat.
 
The necklace was forgotten and
escaping this party was not just an option but a necessity.

“Oh
God, I’ve got to get out of this place!” she swore to herself, still trying to
settle her frayed nerves.

“I
couldn’t agree with you more.”

From
out of the darkness, a petite, redheaded young woman emerged and came to stand
beside her on the balcony.
 
Her large,
doe-like brown eyes were warm with understanding. “You took the words right out
of my mouth,” she smiled, extending her hand in greeting. “
Piacere.
 
How do you do?
 
I’m Carmina Dottri.”
 

“Gabriella
Walker,” she replied, taking her hand, a little unsurely. “Gaby for short.”

“Very
nice to meet you Gaby.
 
From the sounds
of it, it seems you’re not quite enjoying the hospitality of Villa Manetti,”
she said with an arched brow.

Gaby
exhaled heavily. “Let’s just say, that although the Villa is beautiful, the
hospitality could use some
work.
”

“Brava!”
Carmina clapped her hands.
 
“An honest answer.
 
That’s something the walls of this Villa
haven’t heard in a long time!”

Gabby
chuckled.

Sighing
loudly Carmina continued, “I dread these affairs, but my
Nonna
makes me attend.
 
Says
I will meet the right people.
 
Unfortunately I’ve found, the right people are not always the most
pleasant people.”

Gaby
grinned at her.
 
She liked Carmina
immediately.
 
It was nice to know she
wasn’t the only one who found the guests at this party shallow and totally
self-absorbed.
 
Not to mention rude and arrogant,
such as a certain dark haired stranger and his feline co-hort.
 
“How about we blow this popsicle stand?”