The Count's Blackmail Bargain

Laura had been listening with a kind of horrified fascination. She thought, I should not be hearing this.

Aloud, she said quietly, ‘Paolo—isn’t there somewhere else we could stay? A hotel, perhaps.’

‘In the height of the tourist season?’ Paolo returned derisively. ‘We would be fortunate to find a cellar. No, it will have to be my cousin’s villa. And at least it will be cooler in the hills,’ he added moodily. ‘When do we leave?’

‘I thought tomorrow,’ said the Signora. She rose. ‘You must be tired after the flight, Signorina Mason. I shall ask Maria to show you your room so that you may rest a little.’

And so you can give your son your unvarnished opinion of his latest acquisition, thought Laura. But then this was only what she’d been led to expect, she reminded herself. She supposed she should be grateful that the Signora hadn’t made a hysterical scene and ordered her out of the apartment.

The bedroom allocated to her was on the small side, and the bed was narrow, and not particularly comfortable. She had been shown the bathroom—a daunting affair in marble the colour of rare beef, but she was glad to find that the still-unsmiling Maria had supplied a jug of hot water and a matching basin for the washstand in her room.

She took off her shoes and dress, and had a refreshing wash. The soap was scented with lavender, and she thought with faint self-derision that it was the first friendly thing she’d discovered so far in Rome.

She dried herself with the rather harsh linen towel, then stretched out on top of the bed with a sigh.

The regrets she’d experienced on the plane were multiplying with every moment that passed. Back in London, Paolo had persuaded her that it would be easy. A spot of acting performed against a backdrop of some of Europe’s most beautiful scenery. Almost a game, he’d argued. And she’d be paid for it.

Well, she was fast coming to the conclusion that no amount of cash was worth the hassle that the next two weeks seemed to promise. Although most of her concerns about Paolo’s future behaviour were largely laid to rest. The Signora, she thought with wry amusement, would prove a more than adequate chaperon. And if she had been in love with him, she’d have been faced with a frustrating time.

Her head was beginning to ache, and she reached down to her bag by the side of the bed for the small pack of painkillers she’d included at the last minute, and the bottle of mineral water she’d bought at the airport. It was lukewarm now, but better than nothing, she thought as she swallowed a couple of the tablets, then turned onto her side, resolutely closing her eyes.

The deed was done. She was in Italy, even if it wasn’t turning out to be a dream come true.

Whatever, she thought wearily. There was no turning back now.

Dinner that night was not an easy occasion. Paolo had announced plans to take Laura out for a meal, but the Signora had pointed out with steely insistence that this would be unwise, as they would be making an early start in the morning to avoid travelling in the full heat of the day.

So they ate in the formal dining room, at a table that would have accommodated three times their number with room to spare. It did not make for a relaxed atmosphere, and conversation was so stilted that Laura wished Paolo and his mother would just speak Italian to each other, and leave her out of the situation.

She realised, of course, that she was being grilled. Remembered too that she and Paolo had agreed to keep her actual personal details to a minimum. As far as the Signora was concerned, she was a girl who shared a flat with several others, and who enjoyed a good time. Someone, she hinted with a touch of coyness, who had not allowed for the sudden entry of Mr Right into her life. And she sent Paolo a languishing look.

And whatever slights and unpleasantness might come her way, Laura knew she would always treasure the memory of the expression on the august lady’s face as she absorbed that.

She had rehearsed the invented story of how and when she and Paolo had met so often that she was word-perfect. After all, she needed to give the impression that theirs was an established relationship of at least two months’ standing, which deserved to be taken seriously, and might be ready to move on to the next stage.

For Steve, she thought with wry regret, substitute Paolo.

She even managed to turn some of the Signora’s more probing queries into her background back on themselves by ingenuously asking what Paolo had been like as a small boy, and whether there were any childhood photographs of him that she could see.

She had to admit the food was delicious, although she’d had little appetite for it. And when dinner was over they returned to the salotto, and listened to music by Monteverdi.

And that, thought Laura, was by far the most pleasant part of the evening, not just because her late father had loved the same composer, but because conversation was kept to a minimum.

She was just beginning to relax when the Signora announced in a tone that did not welcome opposition that it was time to retire for the night.

Paolo wished her a very correct goodnight outside the salotto, but when Laura, dressing-gown clad, returned from the bathroom, she found him waiting in her room.

She checked uneasily. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wished to speak to you in private.’ The grin he sent her was triumphant. ‘You are completely brilliant, carissima. Dio mio, you almost convinced me. And Mamma is in such a fury.’ He shook his head. ‘I have just overheard her on the telephone, and she was incandescente. She must be speaking to her old friend Camilla Montecorvo, because she mentioned the name Vittoria several times.’

‘Does that mean something?’ Laura felt suddenly tired, and more than a little bewildered.

‘Vittoria is the nuora—the daughter-in-law—of Signora Montecorvo,’ Paolo explained, his grin widening. ‘She causes big problems, and Mamma has heard all about them. Always, she has been the one to give advice to Camilla. But now it is her turn to complain,’ he added gleefully. ‘And she insists that her friend must listen, and help her.’

He almost hugged himself. ‘It is all going as I hoped.’

‘I wish I could say the same.’ Laura bit her lip.

‘You are regretting Tuscany?’ Paolo shrugged. ‘It was an unwelcome surprise for me also. And Alessio has other houses he could have lent Mamma that are not as remote as Besavoro,’ he added, grimacing. ‘For instance, he has a place near Sorrento where he keeps his boat, but no doubt he will be using that himself. He would not choose to stay anywhere near Mamma, so calm yourself on that point.’

‘You’re not a very close family,’ Laura commented.

‘Alessio likes to go his own way. Mamma tries to interfere.’ He shrugged again. ‘Maybe he is hoping she will stray too far from the house, and be eaten by the wolves.’

Laura stared at him. ‘You mean there are such things..actually running wild?’ Her tone held a hollow note.

‘Yes, and they are on the increase. And there are bears too.’ He laughed at her expression. ‘But they are mainly found in the national parks, and I promise you that they prefer orchards and beehives to humans.’

‘How—reassuring.’ Laura took a deep breath. ‘But it’s not just disappointment over Tuscany, Paolo. Or the thought of moving to some Italian safari park either.’

She gave him a steady look. ‘We shouldn’t have started this. If your mother’s so genuinely upset, it isn’t a game any longer. I feel we should rethink.’

‘For me, it has never been a game.’ Paolo smote himself on the chest. ‘For me—it is my life! I need my mother to know that my future is my own affair, and that I will not be dictated to by her or anyone. And that I am not going to marry Beatrice Manzone.’ He lowered his voice. Made it coaxing. ‘Laura—you promised you would help me. We have an agreement together. And it is going well. Just two weeks—that is all. Then you will be free. You will have had your Italian vacation, and also been paid. This is so easy for you.’

He dropped a hand on her shoulder, making her move restively. ‘After all,’ he went on persuasively, ‘what can possibly happen in two short weeks? Tell me that.’ He smiled at her, then moved to the door. ‘I tell you there is nothing to worry about.’ His voice was warm—reassuring. ‘Nothing in the world.’

CHAPTER THREE

LAURA did not sleep well that night. She was constantly tossing and turning, disturbed by a series of fleeting, uneasy dreams. Or, she wondered as daylight imposed itself at last, was she simply troubled by finding herself under the roof of a woman who cordially detested her—and with no reprieve in sight?

It was no particular surprise to find that the early start to Besavoro did not transpire. The car arrived punctually with Giacomo, its uniformed chauffeur, and there the matter rested while the Signora, after a leisurely breakfast, issued a stream of contradictory orders, made telephone calls, and wrote a number of last minute notes to friends.

Laura had discovered to her dismay that Caio was to accompany them and more time was wasted while Maria hunted the apartment for the special collar and lead he wore on holiday, and the new cushioned basket specially bought for the trip.

By the time the luggage was finally put in the car, Paolo looked as if he was about to become a basket case himself, Laura thought without particular sympathy.

It was one of the most luxurious vehicles she’d ever travelled in, but, seated in the back with the Signora and her dog in the opposite corner, she found it impossible to relax.

She’d expected another barrage of questions, and steeled herself to fend them off, but it didn’t happen. The Signora seemed lost in thought, and, apart from lifting his lip in the occasional silent snarl if Laura glanced at him, Caio seemed equally detached.

There were numerous stops along the way—comfort breaks for Caio featuring frequently. But there were also pauses to buy coffee, chilled mineral water, and, once, some excellent rolls crammed with ham and cheese, at the busy roadside service stations. The Signora did not deign to leave the car on these occasions, but Laura was glad to stretch her legs in spite of the heat outside the air-conditioned car.

Her back was beginning to ache with the tension of trying to remain unobtrusive, she realised wryly.

She’d chosen her thinnest outfit for the journey—a loose-fitting dress in fine cream cotton with cap sleeves and a modestly square neckline. She wore low-heeled tan sandals, and a broad brimmed linen hat that could be rolled up in her bag when she was in the car. Apart from the obligatory sunblock, she’d put nothing on her face but a shading of mascara on her lashes, and a touch of light coral lustre to her mouth.

She tried to comfort herself with the reflection that the Signora might loathe her, but she couldn’t truthfully complain about her appearance. Still it seemed small consolation.