Count Valieri's Prisoner

chapter ELEVEN



DINNER WAS AN awkward meal, interspersed with silences that neither of them seemed to wish or be able to break.

But when, at the end of the meal, Eustacio, following a signal from his master, brought a bottle of grappa to the table and placed it beside him, Maddie hastily finished her coffee and excused herself.

And tried to ignore the soft taunt, ‘Running away, mia bella?’ which followed her as Eustacio conducted her to the hidden door and back to her room.

The bed had been turned down, on one side only, she saw with relief, while her own lawn nightdress had been fanned out across the coverlet.

But she still felt uneasy about the unlockable door which was all that separated them, especially if it was Andrea’s intention to drink himself to extinction on that potent Italian spirit before coming to his room.

Her brave words about fighting him off might just come back to haunt her, she thought, biting her lip.

But her rest was untroubled, and the next time she opened her eyes, she found sunshine filling the room and the ever-smiling Luisa bringing her a breakfast tray.

On which was a note in a familiar hand.

She fortified herself with coffee and hot rolls spread with honey before opening it.

‘Forgive me for last night,’ it began abruptly. ‘I spoke churlishly. But this is a new and beautiful day and I shall be driving to the coast later this morning. I hope that you allow me to make amends by agreeing to be my companion, and joining me downstairs at eleven o clock.’ It was signed with his initials.

Maddie read it twice, her brows creased. Was ‘I shall be driving’ to be taken literally, or would Camillo once again be behind the wheel?

Common sense told her that to spend a whole day in Andrea’s sole company would be playing with fire.

On the other hand, refusing his invitation was tantamount to admitting as much. Telling him she was scared of being alone with him.

And not because she feared he might break his word and try to make love to her, she thought unhappily. On the contrary, it was because she couldn’t trust herself.

Something that, for her own piece of mind, she couldn’t allow him to suspect. Ever...

So when Eustacio came for the tray, she handed back the note saying quietly, ‘Please thank Count Valieri and tell him I shall look forward to it.’

He repeated the words carefully, bowed slightly and left.

Leaving Maddie to review her limited wardrobe.

In the end she chose a plain white linen skirt teamed with a black tunic-style top, fastening her hair at the nape of her neck with a silver clip.

Neat and businesslike rather than seductive, she reassured herself as Luisa conducted her downstairs to meet him.

Andrea, in cream chinos and a dark red polo shirt, was standing in the hall, clearly issuing some last-minute instructions to Eustacio, but he broke off at Maddie’s approach, looking up at her, the smile in his eyes jolting her like a sudden electrical charge.

For a second she hesitated, telling herself it was not too late to change her mind and scurry back to her room for a dull but safe day reading.

Except that this was probably her only chance to see something of Italy. She could not imagine Jeremy permitting her to return any time soon, if ever.

So, she completed her sedate descent, just as if her heart was not hammering fit to break out of her ribcage, and walked across the tiled expanse of the entrance hall to join him.

She said, ‘Isn’t this rather a risk?’

His brows lifted. ‘In what way?’

‘By inviting me to go with you, back into the real world.’ Maddie swallowed. ‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away again?’

He gave a faint shrug. ‘There is certainly that possibility. But will you?’

They looked at each other, Andrea’s gaze intense, questioning as it locked with hers.

And she heard herself say, ‘No.’

He gave a slight nod. ‘Then let us go.’

It was a car she had never seen before, a sleek open-topped sports model, instantly confirming that Camillo would not be with them, either as driver or chaperon.

Maddie settled herself into the passenger seat, tying a scarf over her hair and hoping she looked more composed than she felt as the engine purred into life like a waking lion.

They took the road that snaked down into the valley. She found that he drove well, if rather faster than she was used to, but this was, after all, a familiar road with only local traffic, and very little of that.

She said, ‘I’m glad the storms have gone.’

‘They will return.’ He shrugged a shoulder. ‘But not too soon, I hope.’

‘Or at least until I’ve gone home.’ She kept her tone light but positive. Making it clear that was her real focus. Her main concern.

‘Naturalmente.’ Andrea’s voice was silky. ‘Yet who knows when that will be?’

‘And how my life will be when I get there.’ She spoke half to herself as all the doubts and fears of her first days at Casa Lupo suddenly returned. As she pictured Nigel Sylvester’s fury at having to pay to rescue her, and felt cold inside.

‘What do you mean?’ He was frowning.

Maddie bit her lip, vexed at that involuntary moment of self-revelation. ‘For one thing—will I have a job to go back to? I vanish off the face of the earth for days on end and come back empty-handed. That’s hardly a good career move.’

‘But you are going to be married,’ he said. ‘Therefore such considerations can hardly matter.’

She gasped. ‘I can’t believe you just said that—that blatant piece of male chauvinism. You should be ashamed.’

‘But I was just echoing a familiar viewpoint, certamente,’ he said softly. ‘Or are you going to tell me that your fidanzato approves of your becoming a working wife? Because I warn you, Maddalena, I shall not believe you.’

She turned her head sharply, staring at him. When she could control her voice, she said, ‘Is there anything about me that you don’t know?’

‘Sì,’ he said. A smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘One last secret that I have yet to make mine. As you are already aware, mia bella, so let us not pretend.’

‘At least,’ she said huskily, ‘there is something that I can keep from you.’

‘Forse sì, forse no. I would say, carissima, it is all in the lap of the gods. And I can still hope.’ He paused. ‘Tuttavia, there is so much you could learn about me, so much I wish to tell you, yet you never ask.’

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to conceal the fact that they were trembling. ‘I would prefer to change the subject.’

‘Certamente. What would you like to discuss?’

‘You said—the coast.’ Geography should be safe enough. ‘But I know very little about this area,’ she went on brightly. ‘So, where exactly are you taking me?’

‘Oh, did I not say?’ He shot her an amused glance. ‘I have business in Portofino.’ He added, mockingly, ‘Private business.’

There was silence. Maddie sat staring straight ahead of her, rigid with temper and disbelief.

What in hell was he trying to prove? That the women in his life were so amenable they didn’t mind sharing his favours turn and turn about?

And was that what he’d had planned for her too—if she’d committed the ultimate folly and become his lover?

Well, she thought, her throat tightening, at least she’d been spared that particular humiliation. But being forced to meet his current mistress was quite another story. And cruel to them both.

A sharp unfamiliar pain was twisting slowly inside her, tying her into trembling knots. At the same time, she was aware of an almost uncontrollable desire to scream, hit him, and burst into tears.

My God, she thought incredulously. I’m jealous. For the first time in my life, I’m jealous. This is how it feels, and I hate it. I hate myself. After all, it isn’t as if—as if...

And closed her mind as the inner pain deepened, intensified.

One day she would be leaving all this behind, forgetting it as if it was a bad dream. That’s what she had to believe. To cling to.

And if it taught her to value the happiness waiting for her even more, well—that was all to the good too.

Just the same, she would have given anything to be able to order him to turn the car round and take her back to the house, but she knew any such request would be laughed at then ignored.

So, she dug her nails into the palms of her hands and prepared to endure.

* * *

It was a quiet journey.

Apart from asking once or twice if she was comfortable, Andrea said nothing, and it occurred to Maddie, as she replied politely and briefly in the affirmative, that he too might be having second thoughts about the wisdom of this trip.

At first, she’d been able to concentrate fiercely on the spectacular scenery. When they eventually joined the major road, there was little to absorb her but the busy and fast-moving traffic. And it wasn’t enough.

Her anger had subsided, leaving a deep, aching hollow in its place, with tears never too far away. She could feel them pricking at her eyes, and burning in her throat, but she wouldn’t allow as much as one drop to fall.

At the same time, she knew she had no right to feel so wretched—so desolate, and she was disturbed by the intensity of her own emotions, and reluctant to contemplate what this might signify.

Knowing only this trip was a mistake, and she wanted it to be over.

Portofino occupied the edge of a small peninsula, and the road leading to it was narrow and twisted like a snake.

Just as if she wasn’t nervous enough already, thought Maddie.

‘There is no need for concern.’ He must have noticed the tense clasping of her hands in her lap. ‘I know this road well.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ She instantly regretted the slight snap in her tone, adding with cool if inaccurate civility, ‘And I’m not at all worried.’

‘Certo che no!’ he returned. ‘Of course not.’ He paused. ‘Cars are not allowed into the village, so we will have to park and walk a little way.’

‘A walk would suit me very well,’ she said. ‘A long one, perhaps, while you transact your private business.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘But for that, mia bella, I need you at my side. Did I not make that clear?’

She gave him a bitter look. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I hoped for everyone’s sake that you might have changed your mind.’

‘But mine is not the mind that needs to change, Maddalena.’ There was an oddly harsh note in his voice. ‘As I intend to prove to you very soon.’

He turned the wheel and swung the car into a small crowded parking area overlooking the bay, slotting it expertly between two four-wheel drives. He walked round to the passenger side and opened the door for her to alight, extending a helping hand which she ignored.

She stood for a moment, straightening the creases in her skirt, and smoothing her hair, released from the scarf, with unsteady fingers.

‘Andiamo.’ Andrea’s hand was firm on her arm.

She tried to hang back. ‘Please—I can’t do this. I’m not ready...’

‘Ready or not, it is time you knew the truth. Learned why you were brought here.’ He paused. ‘And some of the reasons why I have not let you go.’

They set off down the steep hill, but turned off after a couple of hundred yards on to a lane, little more than a track.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To pay a visit to the Villa Gabriele.’

She said hoarsely, ‘Do you realise how cruel you’re being—to her?’ Almost adding, ‘And to me,’ but stopping herself just in time.

‘This is not cruelty,’ he said. ‘But necessity.’

They rounded a bend, and the house was in front of them, honey-coloured in the sunshine behind its wrought iron gates. Large, too, and surrounded by flower gardens, and with charming balconies to its upper floor windows.

No expense spared, thought Maddie, a fist clenching in her chest. And is this trip designed to show me what I’m missing by turning him down as a lover? Is there another villa, somewhere, waiting for a mistress? The new name on the list?

Andrea took her up the path, and the short flight of steps to the front door, where he rang the bell.

Almost before Maddie could draw breath, the door opened and she found herself confronted by Domenica. She greeted Andrea with a bob of her head and a polite murmur, but for the astonished Maddie there was just the usual unfriendly glance.

What on earth is she doing here? Maddie asked herself as they walked through an airy hall into a large salone at the rear of the house, and out on to a terrace overlooking Portofino and the sea.

A woman dressed in black was standing by the stone balustrade, and she turned quickly. But this was not the sexy blonde or the voluptuous brunette of Maddie’s imagination.

This woman was older, her dark hair, drawn back into a heavy chignon, streaked with silver. Her face was still beautiful because of its exquisite bone structure but at the same time it was strained, even haggard, her wide amber eyes fixed on Maddie with the same inimical expression used by Domenica.

She turned towards Andrea speaking rapidly in Italian, the sun creating sparks of fire from the diamonds on her slender hands as she gestured angrily.

He said gently, ‘Mammina, it had to be. You know this. Now speak English or Maddalena will not be able to understand.’ He looked down at Maddie standing like a statue beside him. ‘Carissima, I wish you to meet...’

‘But I know who it is,’ she said hoarsely. ‘It’s Floria Bartrando. The missing opera singer I came to Italy to interview. I—I can’t believe it.’

‘She is also my mother,’ he said. ‘The Contessa Valieri.’

Maddie felt as if she’d been winded. ‘How—how do you do,’ she managed.

But her greeting was not returned, and the Contessa did not offer a hand to be shaken.

‘I had no intention of ever speaking to you, signorina.’ It was a rich, lovely voice still, in spite of its overt hostility. ‘We meet now only at my son’s insistence. I do not willingly receive a young woman who openly allies herself with my enemies.’

Maddie’s stunned astonishment was fading fast to be replaced by indignation as she registered the contempt in the older woman’s tone.

‘Enemies?’ she repeated. ‘What do you mean? If you’re talking about my fiancé and his father, they knew exactly why I was coming here, and it was obvious they’d never heard of you.’

Yet, at the same time, hadn’t Jeremy told her that his father was violently opposed to the idea of her visiting Italy...

‘No,’ said the Contessa icily. ‘Andrea’s father took great care that they should not do so. He knew trouble was coming and he was afraid of how it might end, so he insisted our secret must wait for better times in order to protect me. To protect my reputation. My career.’

‘I don’t understand any of this,’ Maddie protested. ‘What trouble?’

‘Perhaps it would be better to start at the beginning,’ Andrea suggested quietly. ‘This is a time for explanation, not to create further misunderstandings.’ He took his mother’s hand and kissed it. ‘Mammina, please try to accept that Maddalena is innocent of all blame in this affair.’

‘All blame?’ The Contessa pursed her lips. ‘I wonder. But let us deal with the matter, figlio mio, as you suggest.’

She waved to a table and chairs set under a striped awning. ‘Shall we be seated?’

Maddie hesitated. She didn’t want to be here, she realised. She didn’t want to hear what they might be going to say. She felt suddenly scared, as if she was standing at a door which might lead to a bottomless abyss, where only one unwary step could lead to her destruction.

Turn back, an inner voice was prompting her. You don’t have to hear these things. You’re the innocent party in all this, as he’s just said. So, refuse to listen and turn back to safety.

Yet in her heart, she knew she had forfeited safety from the moment she’d decided to research the story of a lost soprano. From that moment on, she’d simply been a puppet, manipulated by forces she had never encountered before like hatred and revenge.

And, if she was to be wholly honest, haunted—torn apart by a sexual desire that was also totally outside her experience.

I have to know, she thought, a faint shiver running through her in spite of the sun’s warmth. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering why this happened to me.

When they were seated, Domenica appeared carrying a tray with glasses and a tall jug of fresh lemonade, clanking with ice cubes.

She’s like a different person, Maddie thought, observing the warm smile that transformed the other’s features when she spoke to the Contessa. But not with me, she added ruefully, finding herself once more on the receiving end of another surly glare as Domenica retreated indoors.

Accepting the lemonade Andrea had poured for her, she said, ‘I’m ready to listen.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘I must begin with a question,’ he said at last. ‘During your time with the Sylvesters, have you ever heard the name Marchetti?’

Maddie frowned. ‘Yes—once. Jeremy was saying that Sylvesters used to have foreign directors on the board. I’m sure that was one of the names.’

He nodded unsmilingly. ‘It was. The last to serve was Benito Marchetti, but his poor health did not allow him to play an active part. That role was taken by his son Tommaso. He had spent much of his boyhood in England, and had even been to school with Nigel Sylvester, with whom he had become friends. Great things were expected of him. Accordingly, when he was told there were problems with the branch in Milano, he decided to investigate personally.’

He paused again. ‘While he was there, he met a girl, a young soprano who was also making a name for herself, and who had come to the city for some specialised coaching by a Maestro Benzano before returning to Rome to sing the role of Gilda in “Rigoletto”.

‘We fell in love,’ said Floria Valieri. The harshness had gone. Her gaze was remote, tender. ‘It should not have happened. It was madness. We were too young, just starting our careers. Yet suddenly nothing mattered but each other. We were overwhelmed by our feelings, our need for each other.

She shook her head. ‘I had never realised that sometimes it can be like that. That in a moment two lives can change forever.’

She smiled faintly. ‘We told no-one, but Tommaso’s great friend who had introduced us guessed somehow, and promised to keep our secret. He did so his whole life long.’

Maddie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘You mean—Count Valieri?’

‘Sì.’ Andrea took up the story. ‘They decided that when her season in Rome was over, they would be married. But Tommaso returned to London in order to make enquiries into some of the things he had learned in Milano.’

‘What kind of things?’ Maddie’s heart was beating an alarm.

‘Sums of money,’ he said. ‘Lost in a labyrinth of transactions that led nowhere. Currency deals that could not be traced. Other apparent irregularities. All the evidence suggested that one person was responsible, but Tommaso could not—did not want to believe it.’

He sighed. ‘He told Cesare Valieri, who warned him to be careful. But it was too late. Soon after his return to London he himself was arrested and charged with embezzlement. All those strange elusive deals he had discovered were suddenly being traced back to him.’

‘How much was he supposed to have stolen?’ Maddie’s mouth was dry.

He shrugged. ‘In the region of half a million pounds. At his first hearing, bail was refused and he had to await trial in prison. While he was there, he wrote a letter to his fidanzata, telling her that he had been framed and promising he would prove his innocence very soon. He told her that she must not go to England or become involved in any way, that she must continue with “Rigoletto” and write to him only through his lawyer.

‘He also wrote to Cesare, imposing the same sanctions and begging him to take care of his beloved, if the worst happened.

‘He told them both that he had no doubt that the case against him would be dismissed and the real embezzler brought to justice. He also told them the culprit’s name.’

Maddie stared at the Contessa. She said thickly, ‘I know what you’re going to say, and I can’t—I won’t believe it.’

‘Nor did Tommaso—at first.’ The Contessa sipped some lemonade. ‘The man had been his friend. It seemed impossible that he should steal and lay a trail to a false bank account so my Tommaso would be blamed. Tuttavia, it was the truth.’

She looked back at Maddie, her gaze unwavering. ‘Understand this, signorina. Nigel Sylvester is a criminal. A thief—and, in the eyes of God, a murderer too.’