Anne Mather - The Autumn Of The Witch

Pietro raked a hand through his hair, looking rather young and innocent suddenly. ‘I don’t understand. What do you intend to do?’

Santino regarded him with his grave dark eyes. ‘Why, draw out of the deal, of course.’

Pietro stiffened. ‘You mean you intend to bankrupt him?’

Santino gave an expressive gesture. ‘Oh, no, not that. Frighten him a little, that’s all. He’s caused us enough trouble. He’s wasted us enough time, don’t you think? Don’t you think he deserves a little trouble of his own?’

‘But, Santino, you’re already planning to take him over, with or without his consent. Isn’t that enough?’

Santino tugged absently at the silken cords which laced the front of the cream silk shirt he was wearing. ‘This is a game, Pietro, nothing more. We will not cheat him over the price. In fact, I think I am being overly generous. I could destroy him if I wanted.’

Pietro sighed. ‘But; why should you?’

‘Exactly. There are so many more interesting targets, are there not?’ Santino gave a quirk of his eyebrows. ‘Come. You think I am despicable. So we will leave it for now, and go and see Lucia. Yes?’

Pietro shook his head helplessly. ‘You amaze me, Santino. One minute you are considering the destruction of a man who has attempted to thwart you in business, and the next you expect me to accept you as Lucia’s loving father. The transition is too much!’

Santino smiled now, the relaxation of his features dispelling the deep lines that etched his eyes and mouth. ‘What would you have me do, Pietro? Allow McMaster to waste me literally millions of lire ? I am not so careless of the organization’s money. I can only assume that the enchanting Mrs. McMaster is responsible for this softening of your attitudes.’

Pietro coloured hotly. ‘I hardly know the woman,’ he denied swiftly. ‘Your knowledge of her is much greater than mine.’

‘Ah, yes, but you must admit she is considerably younger than her husband, and perhaps deserves a – shall we say – more active man?’

Pietro’s colour deepened. ‘I know nothing about that. But in any case, she must have realized McMaster’s age when she married him. She is his second wife, after all.’

‘Is she?’ Santino listened with interest. ‘And how did you learn this? From her?’

‘No.’ Pietro was brief. ‘Fron – from McMaster’s daughter, by his first marriage.’

‘I begin to see.’ Santino’s eyebrows lifted. ‘It is not this Jennifer McMaster who causes you so much soul-searching, but the daughter, McMaster’s daughter …’

Pietro gave an impatient shrug. ‘Oh, let’s change the subject, Santino. I am not interested in McMaster or his daughter!’

Santino gave a gesture of dismissal respecting Pietro’s appeal, but he was quite aware that to some extent his assistant’s involvement with the McMaster family was not wholly impersonal.

Lucia Ventura was a delightful child. At four years of age she was small and slender and extremely feminine. Her colouring matched that of her father, but her hair was long and luxuriant and invariably tied with a satin ribbon. Her eyes were enormous in her small face and her features, while resembling Santino’s, had none of the severity and all of the charm. She was the one being in his eyes who could do no wrong and yet she had not been spoiled. On the contrary, Pietro considered her a rather lonely child, relying constantly on the company of the members of Santino’s staff. Santino was away a lot and it was difficult to keep anyone youthful in a household so remote from the rest of the island, and consequently her companions were usually elderly women who stayed for a while and then returned to their families. It was unfortunate that her mother had died, for Sancia Ventura had loved the isolation.

Lucia was in the nursery with her present companion, Maria Vitali, and when her father opened the door her eyes darted to his with great excitement. Then she left what she was doing to fling herself across the room and into his arms.

Santino caught her up in his strong arms, swinging her high into the air before allowing her to fall against his chest where she wound her arms around his neck and hugged him.

‘Hey, Lucia,’ he exclaimed, disentangling her arms from his neck goodhumouredly, ‘your Uncle Pietro is here. Do you have nothing to say to him?’

Lucia lifted her head from her father’s shoulder and her eyes twinkled at Pietro. ‘Hello, Uncle Pietro,’ she said smilingly. ‘Have you come to stay?’

Pietro glanced wryly at Santino. ‘For a little while,’ he conceded gently. ‘But you are looking particularly pretty today, Lucia. Is that a new dress?’

Lucia glanced down at the printed nylon. ‘Maria made it for me,’ she said, looking across at the elderly nursemaid. ‘Did you not, Maria?’

Maria who had risen to her feet at their entrance stood with folded hands, smiling benevolently, and Santino gave her a brief nod indicating that she should be seated again. Then he said: ‘And your lessons, Lucia? You have been learning your numbers and your letters?’

Lucia wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes, Papa,’ she said reluctantly.

Santino frowned at her crumpled face. ‘Is that true, Lucia?’

Lucia pressed her lips together. ‘But it is so difficult,’ she exclaimed. ‘I cannot make these letters.’

Pietro glanced at his brother-in-law. ‘Surely she is too young for a formal education, Santino,’ he commented swiftly.

Santino shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘They are not formal lessons, Pietro. They are simple little exercises for simple little minds. My daughter should not find them difficult.’

Pietro shook his head. ‘And Maria is teaching her?’

‘Let us say that when I am away Maria supervises her,’ said Santino carefully. ‘Oh, come, Pietro! Do not look so serious. It is not important. Lucia needs something to occupy her brain. She is an intelligent child. Children of her age attend school in England.’

Pietro sighed. ‘Nevertheless, Maria is not qualified to teach her.’ He chewed at his lower lip. ‘If only Sancia—’

Santino’s eyes darkened. ‘We will not discuss Sancia here, Pietro,’ he said, and Pietro’s eyes fell before the command in his.

Lucia who had listened to this interchange with some concern, now said: ‘Can I give up my lessons today – now that Uncle Pietro is here?’

Santino’s face softened. ‘Of course, Lucia,’ he said, nodding firmly. ‘I tell you what – we will all go out for the day together. You and I and Uncle Pietro! How is that?’

‘Oh, Papa!’ Lucia’s face beamed and Pietro glanced in amazement at his employer.

‘But – McMaster—’ he began, and Santino smiled mockingly at him.

‘Who is McMaster?’ he questioned lightly. ‘Like Lucia, I am putting aside my problems for today. Come, Pietro! Do you not find the prospect of taking out my yacht appealing on such a beautiful morning?’

Pietro relaxed. ‘Of course. I can think of nothing more delightful.’

‘Good. Then we will ask Sophia to make us some lunch and put it in a picnic hamper and we will go. Yes?’ He looked at Lucia smilingly.

‘Oh, yes, Papa!’

It was not until late afternoon when the yacht lay idling out in the bay that Santino spoke again of the McMaster deal. With Lucia wearing her harness, which was secured to the central body of the vessel, pottering about happily with buckets of water, the two men stretched out lazily on the engine housing.

‘Tell me,’ said Santino, sliding his dark glasses down his nose, ‘what would you do with McMaster?’

Pietro rolled on to his stomach and reached for his cigarettes. He hesitated a minute, lighting a cigarette with thoughtful deliberation. Then he said: ‘I honestly don’t know.’