Shadows of the Past (17 page)

Arriving back at the stables she was surprised to see Renata coming from the pool house. She called her name but Renata either did not hear her or did not want to.

Leaving Carlo to help the stable boy unsaddle her horse she went to the pool house herself. Pushing open the door she looked inside. There was nothing of interest, just the huge empty swimming-room and pool furniture that was covered with a white cloth.

The dilapidated building next door looked as if someone had been and cleaned the windows, peering in she saw it had been tidied up since she had last been there.

Going to the door she pushed it open. It was completely empty and had indeed been swept clean. In various corners there was some blue chemical stuff; obviously it was to kill any rats. Thoughts of rats had her slamming the door and walking quickly across the courtyard.

In the hallway she all but bumped into Antonio. She rarely saw the man and was glad about that. Now, as she came on him again, she wondered how everyone had assumed that they were friends. Even now he was frigidly polite, merely inclining his head and murmuring her title. There was nothing there to hold on to, nothing about him awoke memories or that happy feeling when you met someone you really liked. Somehow she had given the wrong impression to someone about the man.

‘Have you been to see the conte?’ she asked.

‘I delivered something for the conte,’ the man said. ‘I think the conte is visiting tenants.’

‘Alone? He didn’t take you with him?’

‘Why should he do that, Contessa?’

‘I don’t know, I just thought he might have liked company.’

‘He had Guido drive him today. Usually he goes alone; it is merely a social call to see if anyone has problems that they might like to share with him. He is very generous with his time.’

‘Yes, I know that. Thank you.’

She turned and left him, swinging into the library. Sure enough, there was a parcel on the conte’s desk. She went to examine it, not because she was curious but because she wanted to see what it was that Antonio had had to go and bring to her husband. However, the brown-paper-wrapped parcel gave no clues. Touching it, she discovered it was soft to the touch. Probably something that he had ordered from his tailor and Antonio had taken the launch to collect it from the mainland.

For a moment she looked around the library, seeing the shelves of books, some doubtless priceless. There were pictures on the opposite wall, even more of the severe-looking ancestors who graced the walls on the staircase. There was one she particularly liked; it was of a girl with long red hair, sitting on a balcony wearing some kind of medieval shift. Her luxurious hair was spread over her hand, her fingers splayed holding up a bunch of it, and obviously she was drying it in the sun. Alva knew of the tradition of Venetian ladies colouring their hair red and allowing it to dry this way, letting the sun naturally bleach their hair even lighter.

‘It isn’t an old painting.’

The voice caused her to leap up from the desk, but it was Renata.

‘It is one of my mother’s — see here is the signature — this “s”, shaped like a snake. Appropriate don’t you think?’

Alva ignored the statement. She felt as if somehow she was being set up to say something derogatory. It was an unsettling feeling but it lay heavily there in the centre of her stomach like an undigested piece of food. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Yes, it is … hardly original — there are lots of paintings of this kind by old masters and their assistants. The bold ladies of Venice were a favourite subject.’

‘I haven’t seen a painting quite like that though.’ Alva went closer to it. The oil painting was exquisite. What a clever and talented woman Luca’s first wife must have been and yet he never spoke of her talent. He rarely spoke of Silvia, but that was hardly surprising given how she had been to him.

‘My wife is dead,’ he had told her when they had first gone out. But she had known that because she had checked with Tony whether he was married or not. ‘She was killed in an automobile accident … ’ Rarely after that had he spoken about Silvia.

Only as recently as yesterday had he hinted that the marriage was over and that he had not loved his first wife. A marriage for the family, he had said.

‘She squandered her talent,’ Renata went on. ‘But it was her choice. You know what they did — what she did? Those paintings in the gallery, they are fakes you know. They sold the originals to a private buyer. Papa needed money so she copied them. Only an expert would tell the difference.’

‘I thought they were genuine,’ Alva said, showing her surprise. ‘Your mother was a genius but I suppose it was her choice not to do anything about it.’

‘She preferred to do what she did best,’ Renata said, with a little laugh. ‘And I guess you can guess what that was. Tell me, Alva don’t you remember anything about when you were here before?’

The question was said so lightly that Alva felt she could have just shaken her head, but she had the feeling that more was implied. Again, it was that instinctive feeling that Renata was not saying exactly what she intended. That there was more behind everything she said just then. Something had happened to change her slightly. There was the faintest hint of that arrogance that the girl had had before her confession.

‘No, I don’t. I wish I did … ’

‘You don’t remember what happened when Alessandro died?’

Darts, straight for the heart. Little pinpricks that really hurt.

‘No, Renata, I don’t even remember Alessandro.’

‘It’s as well,’ the girl said. ‘You would suffer if you knew. You might even end up like me.’

Before she could say anything the girl ran from the room, swinging the door closed behind her, leaving Alva feeling weak and wounded and able only to sink into the chair.

End up like her? Renata was riddled with guilt, her opinion of herself torn to ribbons but Alva knew she would never be like that. Alva was certain, no matter what they all thought, that she had not deliberately thrown herself down the stairs. It was clear that Renata believed the story. It might even offer a slight balm to the girl’s own guilt to know that her stepmother had done something wicked, too. Renata blamed herself for her mother’s death; it would take wiser counselling than either she or Luca could offer to rid the girl of that feeling.

Feeling low, the exhilaration that her ride had brought about, fast ebbing, she ordered coffee and went to sit by the fire.

Claudia came at once, lightening Alva’s mood slightly. Alva kept the woman chatting, for Claudia, if only she knew it, brought normality and light into Alva’s life. The woman’s warm and sunny personality did her more good than any pill would have done.

Before she finished her coffee Luca arrived. Immediately, she ordered coffee for him and then went and lowered herself on to his knee, running a finger over the tiny lines that had formed across his brow. His worry lines she mentally called them.

‘You shouldn’t have to put up with all this, you have enough suffering of your own,’ he said, meaning, of course, Renata.

‘I’m glad to help — it helps take my problems from my mind and to tell the truth, my concern for Renata always chases away the terrible thing that happened to Rosa. Does that make me sound shallow, Luca?’

‘You could never be shallow, Alva.’

She slid from his knee and waited until the coffee came, standing by the fireplace. Luca watched her, admiring the lean lines of her body in the riding breeches. The suede jerkin she wore left room for him to admire the rounded curve of her hips, clearly outlined in the tight-fitting clothes. He felt an overwhelming desire for her and recalled how that had always been there. Of course he had tried to drive it away, even at one time to pretend it never was, but his body and its reaction to the physical Alva, always betrayed him.

That was how it had been at first, purely physical and it was later that he realized how her personality soothed and pleased him too. Alva and he fitted together in every way which was why it had been so devastating when it had gone awry. She had done a wicked thing — but perhaps there was justification, everything then was unwinding between them. She had been making a nuisance of herself and he had tried to control her. Alva was not a woman who would accept control. Now, now things were different. They had a second chance. She had forgotten so much and was more …
malleable
.

Had he forgiven her? He was not sure that forgive was the right word but he had accepted that she could not help herself. That was a huge step for him to take mentally but he was making himself do that. One thing was for certain, when she had disappeared this time, when he knew she was in danger, it was as if his heart had been wrenched from inside him. He had never wanted
her
to be in danger.

‘Luca,’ she said, and her husky voice sounded troubled. She turned to look at him, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jerkin. ‘Do you think it was because we had to get married that … ’

‘
Cosa
?’

‘With me being pregnant, we married and then.’

He held up a hand. ‘No, no, you are wrong, so wrong.’

‘Luca? I had a dream; it came to me that we had to get married. I was pregnant and … ’

‘No,
bella
… come here, sit beside me, you are confusing things.’

‘I am?’

‘Of course.’

She sat beside him, her mesmerizing green eyes looking deeply into his own. Her lashes were long and thick and far darker than her hair. He used to think that she dyed them only to find out that they were naturally dark, as were her well-shaped brows.

Nothing about her was artificial, that much he knew.

He smiled at her confusion. It was an easy thing for her to do with the muddled jumble that her mind was.

‘No, it was not how you think. Let me explain to you. You thought you were pregnant at one time. I wanted us to marry right away but you wouldn’t, you said it was all for the wrong reasons. You were so stubborn. Oh, my dear, you imagine that was Alessandro, that you were here such a short length of time?’

‘Of course … but what happened? I know I’m confused but … ’

‘Of course, you have partial recall of things, I think. The psychiatrist warned this might happen that things would not come back, if they ever did, all at once, but in fits and starts. Those were the words he used to me on the telephone, fits and starts — and I will tell you what happened:

‘It was a mistake, you were not pregnant, it was just one of those things — you were late, and that was all. I told you there was no longer then any excuse for us not to marry.’

She gazed up at him, trying to see beyond his words. He saw the light dawn; it came in her eyes, that warm glow.

‘Yes, I wanted to marry you not for any reason of a child or because it was the thing to do. Oh, Alva, I wanted to be with you all the time. I wanted you to be my contessa and not my mistress.’

‘Gosh,’ she put a hand up to her forehead, pushing back the silvery fringe of hair. ‘Then I was here longer than … than months.’

‘Of course. You were here a little over two years.’

‘I see.’

He drew her to him, resting her head against his chest. Her hair smelt of meadow sweet, it always had and against his lips, felt like spun silk.

‘You must really think me stupid.’

‘Alva, of course I don’t. You can’t help your memory loss. But if things come back to you I want you to promise to come to me right away, find me, call me, it is important that you don’t go down the wrong path.’

‘I promise and today something else came to me … ’

She told him what she had remembered of summer holidays in Chianti with Chloe’s parents. How they had always had the most perfect time. She even remembered the name of the lady who had first taught her Italian. Maria Granelli. ‘I remember how her name sounded like music … ’

‘There, little bits come and stay and more will come, I am sure of it … He bent his head and captured her ear, kissing it gently. She whispered a sigh of pleasure. Lifting her head, she slid fully on to his knee, wrapping herself around him, seeking out his mouth.

He thought of the day ahead, of the appointments he had. The people he had to see, the problems that needed sorting out. He said to her. ‘To the devil with the day … ’

CHAPTER NINE

Christmas came and went quietly. Alva had ordered a tree and dressed it. She made arrangements for the Christmas lunch and bought gifts for the servants and for Renata.

Renata moved like a girl in a trance through most of it, saying little and spending a lot of time alone but she was never unpleasant any more. Her quietness was worrying; it was as if she was now nursing all her problems to herself. She refused resolutely to be coaxed into sharing her thoughts. She had had two sessions with a psychiatrist and had more booked. She admitted that it helped but said nothing else. However, she ate, although sparingly, so she obviously was not starving herself.

Trusting Claudia, Alva had instructed only her to clean Renata’s room. She would report anything that looked bloodied to her. Alva knew that once trusted, Claudia would not betray that trust by telling the other servants about Renata’s cutting herself.