Part 9 (1/2)

'Many,' he agreed. 'But I have never met one whom I loved sufficiently to give up my freedom.'

'Not even for the sake of an heir?'

'I wish my son to have a mother whom I love with all my heart.' His eyes were dark and brooding, and despite the fact that they were sitting in a well-lit restaurant with people close by, he created the impression of being alone with her, as if his emotions were cloaking them from everyone else.

'You make love sound very significant,' she murmured.

'Do you not find it so?'

'I don't know. I've never been in love.'

That answers my next question. I was going to ask why a beautiful girl like you is still single.'

'I don't consider myself beautiful.'

'Then you are blind! You are like a pearl. And one must look at a pearl with searching eyes in order to appreciate all it can offer. Hold it at a distance and all you can see is a round milky white object. But wear it against your skin and it takes on colour and warmth. It absorbs the radiance around it and gives it back to you with intensified richness.'

'You have an excellent line in compliments, Conte Rosetti.'

'I am being serious,' he said sharply. 'And will you please be so good as to call me by my name.'

'I'll try,' she said, and concentrated on the last part of his sentence in an effort to forget the first.

'Do it now.' He slid forward in his chair and stared at her.

'Filippo,' she said coolly. 'It isn't hard to p.r.o.nounce.'

'Your tongue rests on each vowel as if you were chewing an ice cube - and you give my name the same degree of warmth!' Elbows on the table, he leaned closer still. 'Say it with feeling, Erica, the way I say your name.' He repeated her name in a whisper, stressing the second syllable and giving it a foreign intonation. 'Now do the same for mine,' he commanded.

An imp of mischief that surprised her as much as it surprised him, made her utter his name in a languorously husky tone. 'Filippo... Does that satisfy you?'

His eyes gleamed. 'I hope you learn other things as quickly!' Scarlet-cheeked, she lowered her lashes.

'Let us go,' he said abruptly, and pushed back his chair.

No bill was given to him, though the proprietor appeared at his side to bow them out. The dampness had gone from the air and it was summery again. Draping her stole around her shoulders, she walked beside him. It had been a wonderful evening and she would remember it for a long time to come, even though it was difficult to know exactly what had made it so memorable; not their conversation, for that had been spasmodic and brittle; more for the atmosphere perhaps, and for her own tremulous awareness of him. Light-heartedly she had found him full of s.e.x appeal, but she could no longer be light-hearted about it, and she was filled with a longing to throw herself into his arms, to have him hold her tightly and feel the touch of his hands... She stumbled and he put his hand on her arm to steady her. He kept it there, making her even more conscious of his closeness and her own vulnerability. What on earth was happening to her? Was she allowing Signora Botelli's obvious awe of him to affect her own att.i.tude? Certainly she had never before experienced nor enjoyed such male dominance.

Once again they were in a part of Venice she did not know well, but the muted sound of music coming from one of the houses prepared her for a night club, and she followed Filippo into a dimly lit vestibule that led into a flower- decked pavilion. A three-piece band throbbed soulfully into the night and a black-skinned singer did the same into a microphone.

Erica's earlier belief that Filippo was trying to hide his evening with her was dispelled as they edged their way towards a banquette some distance from the music, for at every step he was loudly and cheerily greeted by someone he knew. Even in the subdued light she recognized the flash of real jewellery and the cut of couture clothes. These were not people who would appreciate the subtle splendours of Emilio's table, though they were undoubtedly the kind who would recount to the world that Filippo had been seen escorting an unknown blonde. There was no question about it getting back to Signora Medina. Carrier pigeons would be used should the telephone give out! Didn't Filippo care if the woman knew he was dining with someone else, or wasn't it considered necessary to be faithful to one's mistress? The thought of Filippo alone with Claudia Medina made her burn with such jealousy that she searched for something cruel to say.

'I'm tired, Filippo. I'd like to go home.'

'We've only just arrived.'

'I didn't know you were going to take me dancing.'

'It's only eleven o'clock.'

'It might be early for you,' she replied, 'but I work for a living. I open the shop at half-past eight.'

'I work too,' he said, and pushed her down into the seat 'I thought your work was keeping women happy,' she said pointedly.

His eyes glinted. 'Never more than one at a time, Erica. And tonight you are the one.'

'No,' she protested, and made to rise. But it was impossible for her to move; he was sitting close beside her and his long legs blocked her exit.

'Stay where you are and be quiet,' he said menacingly, then turned with a smile to greet the waiter who set the inevitable bottle of champagne in front of them.

'It's so phoney here,' she said vehemently, looking round with distaste. 'Everyone is shouting at the top of their voices and pretending to have fun.'

'They are having fun - and so will you if you stop working yourself into a rage about nothing. What have I done to upset you now?'

'I'm sorry, but-' She bit her lip and then plunged on. 'I just find the whole thing a pretence: your taking me out and flirting with me... the way you brought me here so that your friends could see us and - and-'

'Finish it,' he hissed.

'And report back to Signora Medina! Is that why you asked me out tonight - because you quarrelled with her? You said you only have one woman at a time and if-'

'Be quiet!' he ordered. 'If you go on like this I will hit you.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Don't try me.' He leaned close, his wide shoulders blocking out the room.

He went on staring into her face and the anger in her died, making her see the futility of her outburst and frightening her with the knowledge that she might have given herself away. He knew she was attracted to him - she was convinced of that - but he must never know how much. Never.

'I'm sorry, Filippo.' Her voice was ragged. 'I know you find my behaviour odd, but I - I'm not used to the continental way of doing things.'

'In what way are we different from the English?'

In every way.'

'I think you mean in our att.i.tude to love.'

She nodded, and knew she had to explain. 'Your marriages are often family arrangements and you see nothing wrong in having a mistress. There are many other differences too.'

'Such as? Tell me, Erica, I am curious to know.'

'What's the point? You won't change and neither will I.' She stared past his shoulder at the dancers on the floor. 'Anyway, it doesn't matter if we have different opinions and values.'

'It matters very much indeed.' He pushed her further back against the wall by the hard pressure of his thigh. 'As you say, in some ways we are more prosaic about marriage than the English, but in other ways we are far more romantic. We appreciate the importance of marrying the right woman - and by that I mean someone who will fit into our family and our circle of friends. But once a man has chosen his woman he will remain with her for the rest of his life. No matter what other amours he might have, his wife and children will always come first. You will not find the deserted wives and children in Italy that you find in England and America! Some of our womenfolk may wish that their husbands were more amorous towards them, but they never have to wish for him to be a good father or a good provider. The Italian man is always that.' He rubbed the side of his face. 'As for our mistresses... Here I find it difficult to answer you.'

'I thought you would,' she said drily.

'But only because you are so childish in your beliefs! Don't you think that some Englishmen also have other women? And do you find it impossible to believe that there are as many faithful Italian husbands as English ones?'