The Contessa's Vendetta (15 page)

“
Oh, certainly. I was told that I would die a violent death by the hand of a friend known to me. Of course, I never believed the absurd prediction. It’s nothing more than an old wive’s tale. In fact, it is now more ridiculous than ever, considering that the only friend I have ever had, or am likely to have, is dead and buried, namely, Carlotta Mancini.” And she sighed slightly.

I raised my head and looked at her. Beneath the shelter of my dark spectacles, she could not see the scrutiny of my gaze.

A faint tinge of melancholy shadowed her face. She seemed deep in thought, almost sad.

“
You loved her well then, in spite of her foolishness?” I asked.

She
came out of her reverie and smiled. “Loved her? No! Absolutely not. Nothing so strong as that. I liked her, but only until she married.”

“
Ah, then her husband must have come between you?”

She flushed slightly and drank down what remained of her coffee.
“
Si
, he came between us. A woman changes after marriage. But we have been sitting a long time. Shall we walk a little?”

For some reason, she did not wish to talk about Carlotta anymore. I rose slowly as befit someone whose joints had stiffened with age.
“It is getting dark. I will dismiss my carriage and driver so we can walk and enjoy the night air. It would please me if you would accompany me to my villa. I need to retire early, for I suffer from a chronic complaint of the eyes.” I touched my spectacles. “We can talk on our way. Then I will have my driver take you home. I can pay you for your company if you wish.”

“
Thank you, but no payment is required. In six months time I shall be comfortably wealthy,” she answered gayly.

“
Indeed! Are you inheriting a small fortune?” 

“
Well, not exactly. I am going to marry a wealthy man. That is almost the same thing, is it not?”

“
Congratulations!” My heart pulsed with a torrent of pent up anger. I knew very well what she meant. In six months time, she planned to marry my husband. According to social etiquette, six months was the minimum waiting period before a man should remarry, and even that was considered so short as to be barely decent. Six brief months. Much could happen in that span of time. Unimaginable things. Undesirable things. Carefully measured tortures. Punishments rapid and harsh.

I asked
Paolo to follow us home. Wrapped in dark thoughts, I strolled beside her. The moon had risen and now shone brilliantly above us. The evening exuded splendor, harmony and serenity, but my hands trembled with a curtailed desire to strangle the cheat who promenaded so boldly beside me Ah, if she only knew my inner thoughts! Her face would lose its slipshod smile. Her manner would not be so lighthearted, so fearless. I studied her as she hummed a tune, but when she realized I was looking at her, she looked at me. “You have traveled far and seen much, contessa?”

“
I have.”

“
And which country has the most handsome, wealthiest men?”

“
The business of life has kept me away from male society,” I answered coldly. “I devote myself solely to protecting my wealth. Gold is the key to all things; far more important than a man’s love. I could have had love if I had desired it, but I didn’t. Now, I cannot tell the difference between a handsome face from an ugly one. I was never interested, nor attracted to men. At my age, I am set in my ways, and I refuse to change my life to accommodate any man.”

Beatrice laughed.
“You remind me of Carlotta! She used to say exactly the same things before she married, though she was young and had none of the life experiences which have made you sceptical, but she certainly changed her point of view very quickly when she met her husband, and it did not surprise me.”

“
Why? Because he is so very handsome?” 

“
Si
, he is a ruggedly good-looking man. But you will soon see him. As a friend of his late wife’s mother, you will call upon him, will you not?”

“
Why should I? I have no desire to meet him. Besides, a grieving widower will likely not receive visitors.”

My show of utter indifference was genius. The less I appeared to care about meeting
Signore Gismondi, the more anxious Beatrice wanted to introduce me to him, my own husband. And thus she worked towards her own demise.

“
Oh, but you must go to see him! I know he will be happy to receive you. Your age and your familiarity with his late wife’s family will garner his most cordial courtesies. Besides, he is not really inconsolable—” She paused suddenly.

We had arrived at the entrance of my rented villa.

I looked at her steadily. “Not inconsolable? What do you mean? Is he not grieving for his wife?”             

Beatrice broke into a forced laugh.
“Why no. He is young and light-hearted, and in the fullness of good health. One cannot expect a young, virile man like him to mourn very long, especially for a woman he never cared for.”

We had arrived at the villa
’s front steps. “Please come inside. We can share a glass of wine before my driver takes you home.” I paused and gestured for her to follow. “You say he he did not care for her?”

Buoyant because of my
sociable invitation and pleasant manner, Beatrice seemed to relax, and linking her arm through mine, we ascended the steps together. “My dear contessa, how can a man love a woman whom he is forced to marry? His father thrust Carlotta upon him because of her wealth. That is the only reason. As I stated earlier, my late friend was utterly blind to the handsomeness of her husband. She was cold as marble and preferred her books. Naturally, no man could love a woman like that.”

By this time we had reached the front door and as I threw open the door, I saw that Beatrice took in
the costly fittings and luxurious furniture with a discerning eye. I gave her a chilly smile. “As I said before,
carissima
, I do not understand men and care nothing about their interests, who they love and who they hate. Try this wine. I am told it comes from the finest vineyards in the Veneto region.”

She accepted the glass and sipped the wine as if she were an expert.
“Superb!” she murmured, taking another sip. “You live like a princess, contessa. I envy you!”

“
Please do not say that. You have youth and health and beauty, and, as you have hinted, love! All these things are far superior to being rich. At any rate, I do not believe in love. As for me, I prefer luxury, comfort, and ease. I have suffered much in my life. Now that I am older, I have earned my rest and the right to enjoy whatever is to come in my future.”

“
How very sensible of you.” Beatrice leaned back against the satin cushions of the chair in which she sat. “Do you know, contessa, now that I look at you, I believe you must have been a great beauty when you were young. You have a lovely figure for a woman of your age.”

I smiled stiffly.
“You flatter me. Of course, I was never considered hideous, but I believe that a woman’s attractiveness always ranks second to her courage and strength, and of both, I have plenty.”

“
I do not doubt it.” She regarded me with an expression of faint unease. “It is a strange coincidence, but I think there is an astonishing resemblance between you and my late friend, Carlotta. You are both tall and your figures are similar.”

I poured myself some
wine and took a long sip to steady my hand. “Really? I am glad that I remind you of her, if the reminder is a pleasant one.”

Beatrice frowned and didn
’t respond to my remark. She studied me hard, and I returned her look steadily, without embarrassment. Finally she smiled, and finished drinking her glass of wine. Then she rose to go.

“
You will permit me to mention your name to Signore Gismondi, I hope? I am certain he will receive you, should you wish to meet him.”

I faked vexation.
“The fact is, I dislike conversing with men. They are always too logical, and their seriousness wearies me. You have been so kind that I will give you a message for the signore, if you don’t mind delivering it. However, if you do not plan to see him soon, please do not trouble yourself.”

She blushed a little.
“On the contrary, I will be seeing him this evening. It will be my pleasure to convey your greeting to him.”

“
Oh, it is no greeting.” I noted her discomfort with a careful eye. “It is a mere message, which will help you understand why I was so anxious to see the young woman who is dead. When I was young, the elder Contessa Mancini did me a tremendous service. I never forgot her kindness. You see, I never forget a good or a bad deed, and I have always wanted to repay her in some manner. I am getting old, and I own many fine jewels of almost priceless value. I collected them all these years and reserved them to present as a gift to the daughter of my old friend, as an expression of gratitude. Her untimely death has prevented me from fulfilling my intention. Because the jewels are of little use to me, I would like to present them to Signore Gismondi to give to his daughter one day. They would have come to her anyway, had her mother survived; so they should be hers now. If you will discuss this with him and learn his wishes with respect to this matter, I shall be indebted to you.”

“
I am more than delighted to do so.” Beatrice rose and prepared to leave. “What a pleasant errand. Beautiful young girls love jewels, too.
Arrivederci
, contessa! I hope that we may meet again soon.”

“
I have no doubt we will,” I answered, quietly, but with the coolness which I had so painstakingly practiced, and we parted. From the window I watched her approach the awaiting carriage. 

How I cursed her as she stepped jauntily in! How I hated her composed, easy manner! I watched the poise of her delicate head and shoulders and noted her confident steps, her mindful arrogance. Her entire
demeanour showed off her sense of superiority and utter confidence in the future that awaited her once the stipulated six month mourning period for my sudden death ended.

Just before she entered the carriage, I saw her turn and pause. She looked back and then raised her face to the sky, to the cool breeze. The light of the moon fell full on her features. She appeared like a finely-cut cameo against the dense dark-blue background of the evening sky.

I gazed at her with the enthrallment of a hunter watching a stag just before an arrow is shot to kill it. She was in my power and had deliberately entered my trap. Now, she lay at the mercy of someone who had no mercy. She had said and done nothing to deter me from my plans. Had she spoken with the least bit of tenderness for Carlotta Mancini, her friend and benefactor, had she uttered one generous word to revere my memory, had she expressed even a solitary regret for my loss, I might have changed my course of action so that my retribution against her would have been lighter than his. For I knew very well that Dario, my husband, was the worst sinner of the two. Had Beatrice shown the least sign of regret or affection for me, her supposed dead friend, the scales would have turned in her favor. Despite her treachery, and how he must have encouraged her, I would have spared her any torture. But she gave me no sign, had spoken no word, had shown neither hesitation nor pity, and I secretly rejoiced because of it.

These were my thoughts as I watched her standing beneath the moonlight, on her way to see my
husband. That much, I knew for certain. She was going to console him, to soothe his aching heart.

She stepped into the carriage and I watched as it drove out of sight. I waited until I caught the last glimpse of it, and then I left the window satisfied.
My vendetta had begun.

Early the next morning, while I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast in the dining room, Beatrice called on me. Paolo escorted her to me, and then he silently left us. I let her stand awkwardly before me as I waited for her to break the awkward silence. 

“
I apologize for disturbing your meal, contessa, but Signore Gismondi bid me to come and see you with an urgent request I was compelled to obey,” she said. “We women often find ourselves the servants of men, do we not?”