Anne Mather - The Autumn Of The Witch

She turned back from the window and flung herself on to her bed, staring at the scarlet telephone. She wondered if Allan was awake yet. She wondered what he thought of her disappearance last evening. It seemed doubly traitorous when she had told him she had a headache, and would he believe that she had not had any plans for going out when she had telephoned him? And more important, would he believe that her motives for accepting Pietro’s invitation were not personal ones?

Then she rolled on to her back and stared up at the ceiling. What did it matter anyway? If she did, what it seemed she was being forced to do, and went to live at the Castello di Strega in Sicily she might never see Allan again …

She remained in her bedroom until late in the morning, wanting to avoid the eventual confrontation with Jennifer and her father. No doubt Jennifer would have told her father what had happened the night before, but after her stepmother had gone away no one else had come to her door, so perhaps not. In any event, sooner or later the crunch would come, and she needed all her strength to face that.

It was five minutes past eleven when she telephoned the number Santino Ventura had given her. A strange man’s voice answered the telephone and he insisted on knowing her identity before putting her through to Ventura. When eventually Ventura came on the line it was almost a relief, and she wondered what capacity the other man served. Was he servant – or bodyguard? The latter seemed likely.

Ventura’s voice was as cold and indifferent as she remembered it to be and a chill struck her being as he said: ‘You have made a decision, signorina ?’

‘Y – yes, signor .’

‘That is your decision?’

‘Yes, signor .’ Stephanie swallowed hard. ‘You won’t change your mind—?’

But all she heard was the dialling tone. He had rung off.

She replaced her receiver as though it had bitten her, a frown marring the smoothness of her brow. He was an insensitive animal, not a man, not a human being. Her lips trembled and she bit them to prevent them from doing so. She was committed now, and she must go and tell her father what she had done …

Unlocking her bedroom door, she went slowly down the stairs. Miller was in the hall and she looked up in surprise. ‘Oh, you’re awake, miss. Do you want some coffee?’

Stephanie swallowed again. ‘Maybe later, thank you, Miller,’ she said faintly, and the servant regarded her strangely.

‘Are you all right, miss?’

Stephanie managed a faint smile. ‘Of course. I – I had rather a restless night, that’s all. Er – where is my father?’

‘In the library, miss. But he’s on the telephone at the moment. A – a Signor Ventura, is that right?’

Stephanie stared at her for a moment. ‘Signor Ventura?’ she echoed.

‘Yes, miss. The call came through a few moments ago.’

‘I see.’ Stephanie wet her lips with her tongue. ‘And – and Mrs. McMaster? Where is she?’

Miller frowned. ‘She went out, miss, about an hour ago. She didn’t say where she was going.’

‘I see.’ Stephanie nodded. ‘Thank you, Miller. You may bring coffee to the library for my father and myself.’

‘Yes, miss.’

As Miller walked away, Stephanie crossed the hall to the library, and after a light tap on the panels of the door, she went in. Her father was still on the telephone and he regarded her intently as she entered the room, obviously listening closely to what Santino Ventura was telling him. His brows were drawn together with some degree of incredulity, and he patted the desk beside him, indicating that Stephanie should come to sit there. Then he looked at her with expressive eyes, shaking his head in a stunned way.

Stephanie guessed that she was not going to have to tell her father what Santino Ventura had suggested. She might have known he would not allow her to give such information. He would want his position making perfectly clear.

At last her father ran a weak hand over his forehead which was visibly perspiring and said: ‘I find all this just – just too much, signor .’

Stephanie heard the blur of Santino’s voice going on and her father nodded his head rapidly several times. ‘Yes, yes, yes, I know, I know. But I just find it hard to accept. I – I never suspected—’

Stephanie frowned. Suspected what? What was there to suspect? She wished there was an extension in the room so that she could hear what was being said. She tapped her father’s arm to attract his attention, but he shook off her hand impatiently, obviously intent on what the other man was saying.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.