Anne Mather - Dark Venetian

The Contessa despaired of the life he led, nights spent gambling or wenching, as she put it, and he was used to accusatory lectures in the light of the morning.

At eighteen Vidal Cesare had been orphaned, and pushed unceremoniously into his position as Count Cesare, and head of the Cesare family, and with a fortune at his finger tips he had gone a little mad.

But all that was in the past. There was no way of redress, and the future was, as ever, nebulous. Such experience as he had gained had stood him in good stead over the years that followed, and the Count of today had no illusions about the world in general and women in particular. He had learned to play the game so skilfully pursued by his contemporaries, and had in his turn become skilled and sometimes unscrupulous in his dealings with the kind of society that seemed at times to resemble the complex laws of the jungle.

He entered a small ante-room which gave on to a large light room furnished as a lounge, whose wide windows gave a picturesque view of the quiet canal outside, and its meeting with the wider, more important waterway which wound round the maze of alleys, palaces, tiny squares, churches and market places.

The lounge with its amber-coloured carpet and dark furniture was neither modern nor antique in design. Comfortable low green velvet-covered armchairs and couches, were placed beside examples of sculpture, retained by his grandmother from an original collection of sculpture and paintings which had long since been sold. A charming full-length statue of a Roman prince occupied a prominent position, an appealing marble relief of two heads by a sculptor famous in the late sixteenth century, and a bust of a priest which Count Cesare personally abhorred. The walls, hung with tapestries, mocked a twentieth-century television set and cocktail cabinet, while the low coffee table was definitely French. In the window embrasure was a dropleaf table in polished wood and it was here that the Count, when he was at home, and his grandmother ate their meals, and at this early hour of a little after five-thirty, it had been laid in readiness for the Contessa’s breakfast by Anna, the housekeeper, whose husband, Giulio, was the general handyman around the Palazzo. They were the only two servants to be retained, and they were nearing retiring age. The Contessa would never dream of asking them to leave and getting younger staff; they had been with her for over forty years and had known Count Cesare since his birth.

Count Cesare loosened his tie a trifle wearily, and crossed the lounge to the door of his dressing-room. He undressed, showered, and then slid lazily between the silken sheets of the enormous four-poster bed in the massive bedroom which had been the master’s bedroom since time immemorial.

He fell asleep almost immediately, and was awakened at eleven-thirty by Anna swishing back the long velvet curtains unceremoniously, letting in a stream of sunlight which caused Count Cesare to groan and turn over, burying his face in the soft pillows.

‘Anna!’ he exclaimed in exasperation. ‘What are you doing?’

Anna, small and fat and good-natured, and dressed in her usual black, swung round and smiled at him, cheerfully.

‘The Contessa is waiting to speak to you,’ she replied, folding her hands over her white apron. ‘She has something of importance to tell you, and she can wait no longer.’

Count Cesare ran a lazy hand through the thick darkness of his hair, and then reluctantly levered himself up in the huge bed.

‘The coffee is on the table beside you,’ said Anna, pointing, ‘and there are rolls and butter, still hot from the oven, if you want them.’

‘Dear Anna, what would I do without you?’ remarked Count Cesare sardonically, as he poured himself a cup of black coffee from the silver jug, and added two lumps of sugar.

Anna shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘I have run your bath, and placed a change of clothes in your dressing-room,’ she continued, as though he had not spoken. ‘Is there anything else you require, signore ?’

Count Cesare shook his head. ‘No, thank you, Anna. As always you have anticipated my every wish.’ There was a smile in his light blue eyes and Anna allowed a gentle indulgence to appear momentarily. For her, the Count Vidal Cesare could do no wrong.

‘Very well, signore .’ She withdrew and Count Cesare slid out of bed, wrapping a dark blue silk dressing-gown about him. Pouring another cup of coffee, he walked into the adjoining bathroom to take his bath unhurriedly.

When he emerged into the lounge some time later, he found his grandmother seated at her bureau writing some letters. Although the Contessa was almost eighty she was as agile-minded as ever, despite the fact that her body would no longer obey her every command. Crippled periodically by rheumatism, she still managed to maintain the air of a grand duchess, and no one who came into contact with her could fail to be intimidated by her sometimes forbidding manner. And yet, to those to whom she took a liking, she could prove to be a good friend, and although her grandson caused her many hours of concern, he was still the most important person so far as she was concerned, and his happiness, and the necessity of providing the Cesare family with an heir were always uppermost in her mind.

She was dressed today in a pale mauve silk two-piece, with several strings of pearls about her rather sinewy throat. Small, and slender, until one saw her eyes one would not consider her at all formidable, but those pale blue orbs revealed the flame within, and could wither one with a glance.

As Count Cesare entered the room, she moved round in her chair to look at him, her eyes bright and piercing in their scrutiny.

‘Well, Cesare,’ she said bleakly. ‘So you have decided to honour us with your presence at last!’

Count Cesare shrugged his broad shoulders and reached for a cigarette before replying. ‘As always, Grandmother, you attempt to intimidate. What can be so urgent that I must be aroused from my bed at this hour of the morning?’

As he had anticipated, his provocative remarks infuriated the old lady. ‘It is almost lunchtime,’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘If you did not spend all your nights wasting your time in some nightclub or casino or other you would not need to lie in bed until this time! Your way of life appals me, Cesare, and I dare not think what might happen if I should die leaving you to manage your own affairs….’

‘I manage my affairs very well, thank you,’ remarked Count Cesare indifferently, and flung himself into a low armchair, lifting a copy of the daily paper.

‘Cesare! Listen to me!’ The Contessa clenched her fists angrily. ‘Have you no conception of the honour of your family? Have you no decency? Don’t you care for me at all?’

Count Cesare flung aside the paper. ‘Very well, Contessa, what is it you have to say?’

The Contessa rose to her feet, drawing herself up to her full five feet two inches. Folding her hands, she said:

‘We are to have visitors at the Palazzo.’

‘What!’ At last she had aroused his interest. Count Cesare’s eyes were narrowed, and he looked not at all pleased.

‘Yes, Cesare, visitors.’ The Contessa looked rather smug now. She had taken his attention completely, and ever the dramatist, she intended to hold the stage for just a little longer. ‘You will not perhaps recall Joanna Dawnay. She and I attended school in Paris together many, many years ago. We were great friends, and even after our schooldays were over we corresponded regularly. Then, when I married your grandfather, Joanna was one of my attendants.’

Count Cesare began to look a little bored. ‘So? This woman … she is coming to stay here?’

‘Ah, no. Joanna I am afraid died, some fifteen years ago.’