The Medici Lover

It was a solid little article, standing squarely on an inch-thick base, probably used to decorate some wealthy Egyptian’s home thousands of years before. The animal’s head was lowered slightly, as if ready to charge, its horns projecting wickedly.

‘Aren’t you afraid someone might steal it?’ she exclaimed, looking up at him, forcing herself to return his stare.

Mazzaro shrugged. ‘I should be sorry if he disappeared, naturally,’ he said. ‘But sometimes I wonder whether I am right to hold on to such an object. Why should I be permitted to possess something which is, in fact, no more mine than anyone else’s?’

‘But your family must have owned it—’

‘—for many years. Yes, I know,’ he agreed dryly. ‘But that does not alter the situation. No doubt my ancestors were no better than profiteers, taking advantage of those less knowledgeable than themselves.’

Suzanne looked down at the statuette, stroking the arc of its tail. ‘Not everyone appreciates such things.’

‘Are you defending my ancestors—or my honour, Miss Hunt?’

Suzanne moved her shoulders impatiently. ‘I’m sure that whatever you say, you would not like to think of him in the hands of some unfeeling dealer,’ she persisted. She looked up. ‘Would you?’

Mazzaro’s eyes shifted to her hands, moving lovingly over the heavy object. ‘It would seem that already my selfishness has been rewarded,’ he commented. ‘Will you be as sympathetic to everything that is mine, Miss Hunt?’

His words had a dual edge, and she leant forward quickly and replaced the small bull on his desk. She wished he would not say such things to her. She wished she was not affected by them as she was. Of what possible interest could her approval be to him?

‘Now what is wrong, Miss Hunt?’ he inquired, as her eyes sought the open spaces of the courtyard. ‘If it is of any consolation to you, the insurance company demands that I seal the gates electrically at night. Then we have installed an ultrasonic sound-wave transmitter. Any movement by an intruder distorts the waves coming to the receiver, and triggers an alarm system on the premises.’

Suzanne frowned. ‘A sort of—neonic beam?’

‘No. This is a more sophisticated system. Beams can be avoided. Sound-waves cannot.’

‘I see.’

Suzanne was impressed. All the same, she had opened her balcony doors the night before without experiencing any difficulty. Couldn’t an intruder enter that way? She shivered involuntarily. She would make sure she closed the doors in future.

‘You are frowning, Miss Hunt.’ Mazzaro reached for his sticks and got to his feet again, and Suzanne had to steel herself to remain where she was. ‘Are you perhaps concerned about something?’

Suzanne bit her lip. Here was her chance again. Was she to let it slip a second time. ‘I—I was wondering what—what would happen if some member of the—household happened to forget about the alarm system and—and stepped outside?’

Mazzaro came round the desk towards her, his eyes disturbingly intent. ‘You mean, as you did last night, Miss Hunt?’ he queried softly, and she gazed up at him in dismay, the initiative taken out of her grasp.

‘You—you know?’ she stammered.

‘That you were walking on your balcony at two o’clock this morning? Yes, I know, Miss Hunt.’

Suzanne could feel the back of her neck growing damp. ‘But then—you must know that I—that I—’

‘—saw me walking without these?’ He lifted one of the sticks from the floor. ‘Yes, Miss Hunt.’

Suzanne wished she could get up, but to do so would bring her that much closer to Mazzaro di Falcone, and right now he was quite close enough. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ she murmured faintly.

‘No.’ He inclined his head. ‘How could you?’

‘Don’t you need those sticks at all?’ she cried.

‘Not now. Not really. Although there are occasions when I am tired and walking is an effort.’

Suzanne pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘But—don’t you care that I know? Why did you let me see?’

He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t deliberate. The alarm sounded on the panel beside my bed. I had stepped into the courtyard before I realised what it must be. After that, I had to reassure myself.’

‘But if it had been burglars!’ she protested, and he half smiled.

‘Your concern is touching, Miss Hunt, but I was armed.’

Her skin prickled. ‘You don’t want me to—to tell Pietro?’

‘I can’t stop you from doing so.’

‘But why haven’t you done so yourself? Surely your wife would be delight—’

But something in his sudden stiffening made her realise she had gone too far. ‘My wife’s feelings need not concern you, Miss Hunt,’ he stated harshly, moving away from her again. He had not straightened or attempted to walk without the aid of the sticks, and the ridiculous notion came to her that whatever he said she had imagined the whole thing.

‘Would—would you rather I kept this knowledge to myself, then?’ she probed, as he halted by the long windows, his back towards her.

He was silent for so long, she had begun to think he could not have heard her, when he said quietly: ‘Let us say I have my reasons for remaining silent at this time, Miss Hunt. However, if you feel you cannot keep my secret, I will not reproach you for it.’

Suzanne pushed back her chair and got to her feet, linking her fingers tightly together. ‘Why did you send me the rose, signore?’ she ventured, finding the question easier than she had expected.

He turned then, more lithely than he could have done had the sticks been needed, and surveyed her with a wryly mocking amusement. ‘Of course. It was presumptuous of me, was it not?’ he conceded. ‘That a man like myself should overstep the bounds of his limitations and show himself vulnerable to admiration for a beautiful woman!’

Suzanne took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I may be disabled, Miss Hunt, but I am not blind. And besides, I wanted us to have this talk, which has proved most satisfactory, I think.’

‘But …’ Suzanne hesitated. ‘What has your—appearance to do with whether or not you sent me a rose?’

Mazzaro’s expression hardened. ‘Please do not insult me by pretending naïveté,’ he retorted stiffly.

Suzanne sighed. ‘I’m sorry if you think I was being insulting. I just don’t happen to see the connection between the two.’ She paused. ‘I don’t believe that a person’s appearance has a great deal of bearing on their personality.’

‘Your inexperience is showing, Miss Hunt,’ he returned cynically, but his features were less severe. ‘You will find that appearances count for a lot. A beautiful woman has the confidence that a less favoured contemporary has not. Looks frequently determine an individual’s course in life, and those less fortunate often become morose and bitter.’ He shrugged eloquently. ‘Like roses, we are judged on our overall composition, no?’

‘No!’ Suzanne was vehement. ‘You are not morose and bitter!’

‘And you think I should be?’

‘No!’ Too late, she had realised what she was saying. ‘I—I should feel sorry for someone who—who deserved—’

‘Pity?’ He inserted, as she hesitated once more. ‘But you don’t think I deserve pity, is that it?’

Suzanne looked across at him uncertainly, aware of the cleft stick into which he had steered her. ‘No,’ she said at last, slowly and distinctly. ‘I don’t feel sorry for you, Count di Falcone.’

There was a moment’s silence, and her conscience pricked her. Had she been unnecessarily harsh? Had he taken offence at her clumsily-worded beliefs?