Lucy Gordon - Veretti’s Dark Vengeance

S HEwaited downstairs, and at last the doorman came to escort her out to the waiting boat, which turned out to be a gondola. The gondolier bowed as he handed her in, saw her comfortably settled and moved off.

Early evening was the best time to see the Grand Canal. Lights blazed from the windows of the buildings lining the banks, and the April sun was setting, casting a glow on the water with its throng of boats. At this time of day they were mostly gondolas, conveying tourists to dinner, sightseeing, music, romance. The air was alive with the anticipation of pleasure.

‘Is it very far?’ she called up and over her shoulder to where the gondolier was standing behind her, plying his single oar.

‘Very little distance, signora. The Palazzo Veretti is further along the Grand Canal. It is magnificent. Everyone admires it.’

A moment later she saw what he meant as they turned the canal’s curve and the building came into sight. It was, as he’d said, magnificent, pale grey marble, ornately decorated in the Renaissance style, rising four storeys, each with ten windows facing the canal, all lit up.

She drew an admiring breath at its beauty, at the same time noting the message of dominance that came from every line. This was the home of a man who was powerful, and wanted everyone to know it.

The gondola was turning, heading for the landing stage at the front of the palazzo. And there, standing in readiness, his eyes fixed on her approach, was Salvatore.

She watched his face and saw that in the evening light he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. As the gondola drew up to the landing stage he reached out to help her from the boat. She felt the strong clasp of his hand, drawing her up until they were level. His hand tightened as he saw her face, but there was a shadow of doubt in his eyes. Was she? Wasn’t she?

She gave him a deliberately challenging smile, full of amusement at his expense, calculated to annoy him.

‘Good evening, Signor Valetti,’ she said sweetly. ‘How kind of you to invite me here tonight.’

‘You?’ he said slowly. ‘Did I invite-you?’

‘You invited Signora Helena Veretti,’ she said, ‘and I am she. I hope I don’t come as a disappointment.’

His eyes narrowed.

‘Not a disappointment, signora. A surprise perhaps.’

‘You mean a shock, don’t you?’

‘Perhaps I do,’ he said slowly.

‘Ah, that little trick I played on you this afternoon. Was it very bad of me? Are you angry?’

‘Of course not. I hope I can appreciate a joke as well as the next man.’

He was lying, Helena knew. His smiling civility was for the boatman’s benefit. Beneath it he was furious at being wrong-footed.

Good!

He paid the gondolier, who seemed pleasantly surprised by the amount, and made himself scarce.

Offering her his arm, Salvatore led her into the brightly lit downstairs hall, with its sweeping staircase. Only then did he look at her closely enough to see what she was wearing around her neck. He drew a sharp breath as he saw the glass heart, so like the one he’d given her that afternoon, but deep red.

‘A gift from my husband,’ she said, touching it.

‘I congratulate you, signora, a very clever performance. No wonder you wouldn’t tell me your name.’

‘It would have been a pity to spoil a good joke.’

‘It would indeed. But let us leave that matter for later. I’ve brought you here to enjoy the very best meal of your life.’

You’ve brought me here to crush me, she thought, amused. Now you need a delay to regroup your forces.

He led her into a large room, ornately furnished with items that seemed several hundred years old. In her first confused impression she could only tell that everything here was costly.

Antonio had told her the history of the palazzo, which had once belonged to a noble family called Cellini.

‘But they spent all their money about a hundred years ago. Then along came the upstart Verettis, with no title but plenty of money, and bought them out at a rock-bottom price-which is how they always prefer to buy. Remember that when you’re negotiating with Salvatore.’

Oh, yes, she thought. I’ll remember.

Salvatore showed her to a sofa and turned to the drinks table.

‘I think I can offer you something a little better than this afternoon,’ he said.

‘But this afternoon you were only a surrogate host for the real owner,’ she reminded him gaily.

‘How true,’ he said, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I suppose I owe you an apology.’

‘Don’t apologise. I’ve never been so entertained in my life.’

She saw a flash of real anger in his glance, suppressed so quickly that anyone less alive to his reactions might have missed it. It was dangerous to taunt him, but that only made it all the more exciting.

The wine was excellent, almost a statement of superiority in itself. She sipped it slowly for a brief moment, then set it down.

‘A little more?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you. I’m keeping my wits about me tonight.’

‘In that case, why don’t we eat?’

He led her to a table by a tall window that opened onto a balcony looking down onto the Grand Canal, and politely held out a seat for her.

At first the Venetian cuisine held her silent, being too delicious to interrupt. But at last she glanced up, smiling, to say,

‘This really is the best food of my life, just as you said.’

‘Signora-’

‘Why don’t you just call me Helena? Surely we’re already beyond the need for formalities?’

‘I agree. Helena-’

‘I expect we’re ready to get down to business now. We’ve both had time to get our thoughts in order.’

‘Ah, business. You’re right. Name the price.’

She stared.

‘Did I hear right? You dare say that to me-after everything I heard you say today?’

‘You tricked me.’

‘Just as well, or I wouldn’t have known what you were really thinking.’

‘You were enjoying yourself, weren’t you?’ he accused.

‘Well, can you blame me? You were so certain you could make me dance to your tune that you were an irresistible target.’

He made a wry face, conceding her point.

‘Perhaps I was a little incautious,’ he agreed. ‘I naturally assumed that you’d be glad to sell for the best price you could get.’

‘Why naturally? Perhaps I want to stay and enjoy my husband’s legacy.’

He made a sound of impatience. ‘Please, let’s not have that pretence.’

‘Ah, yes, of course, you’re so sure you know the truth about me.’ She began to quote, speaking in the Venetian she’d heard him use earlier that day. ‘“Some smart miss on the make who married Antonio just before he died, to get her hands on his money. She may have fooled him, but she won’t fool me.”’

‘What?’

‘“If she thinks she’s going to take over here, she’s mistaken,”’ Helena continued quoting. ‘“And if she thinks I don’t know the kind of woman she is, she’s even more mistaken.”’

She waited for him to reply but he only watched her with eyes as hard as stone.

‘I went to the factory in all innocence,’ she continued. ‘I just wanted to see it after Antonio had told me so much. It was sheer chance I happened to pass the office while you were on the phone. I’m glad I did. When somebody has a cruel and insulting opinion of you, it’s always best to know.’

Salvatore rose sharply and strode away from the table as though he couldn’t bear to be near her. Turning, he stared as though he’d just seen her for the first time, and didn’t like it.