Count Valieri's Prisoner

While one gingerly downwards glance told her that below the window was a sheer drop to heaven knows where.

And there was no sign of Trimontano, or any other human habitation apart from the prison she was standing in.

She left the shutters open, and went back to lie on the bed, heaping the pillows up behind her as she began a serious attempt to evaluate her equally serious position.

Her only hope seemed to lie with Count Valieri himself, who surely could not know that an actual crime was being perpetrated in his name. Not unless the younger man had some hold on him too and was forcing him into it.

If this was the case, then maybe they could work together to stop things before they went too far. Unless of course the Count was older and feebler than his portrait at the theatre suggested.

But that couldn’t be true. His handwriting suggested a forceful and determined personality, so he might well be acting against his better judgement for some reason.

So, she would simply have to talk him round, she thought. Tell him frankly that Nigel Sylvester was also a forceful and determined man, and certainly not someone you would wish to have as an enemy, and to treat him as prey would undoubtedly have a dangerous backlash.

She could also warn the Count that she wasn’t Nigel Sylvester’s favourite person and, if it was left to him, he probably wouldn’t give a brass farthing to get her back.

Perhaps not in those exact words, she thought ruefully. But at least I can let him know that if this madness continues, he’ll have a fight on his hands that he can’t possibly win.

While I, she thought, her throat tightening nervously. I could end up caught helplessly in the middle. And what will happen to me then?

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE SEEMED TO have lost all track of time. But maybe that was a deliberate policy of disorientation on the part of her captors.

Eventually, of course, she had rung the bell, unable to ignore her stomach’s wistful rumblings any longer, and recognising, too, that she needed to keep her strength up.

A maid had appeared so promptly she might have been waiting outside the door, and carrying a small table which she placed beside the bed. She was followed by another girl in a starched white overall, her hair covered by a cap, and carrying a laden tray. After which they nodded, smiled, wished her ‘Buon appetito’ and left.

And this time, she actually heard the key turn in the lock.

And they’d behaved as if it was perfectly normal to serve a strange girl locked in a bedroom, wearing nothing but a nightdress in the middle of the day. A realisation which did nothing to lift her spirits.

Sighing, Maddie investigated the tray and found a tureen of vegetable soup, steaming and aromatic with herbs, a linen napkin containing freshly baked rolls, a plate of cold meats, and, in a covered glass dish, a scarily rich dessert that seemed to be composed from chocolate truffles. There was also a small jug of red wine, a bottle of mineral water and a pot of excellent black coffee.

It would have been more dignified to pick at the food, but Maddie fell on it as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.

Last night’s dinner was a long time ago, she told herself as she wiped out the few final delicious drops from her soup bowl with a crust, and tonight’s confrontation was unlikely to be relaxed or festive. So she’d make the most of what there was, although she was sparing with the wine, knowing that later she would need to keep her wits about her.

But it took a very long afternoon to get to that point. When the maid returned for the tray, she brought with her a lamp with a pretty glass shade which she placed on the table. But when Maddie asked if she could have a book to read, the girl murmured an apologetic ‘Non capisco,’ and left.

So there was nothing to do except allow the same weary thoughts turn like a treadmill in her brain, and watch the afternoon light begin to fade from the sky.

She even took a bath, just to break the monotony, but the warm water failed to have its usual soothing effect.

It was disturbing to consider how carefully her capture must have been planned and executed. And know it was her connection with the Sylvesters that had condemned her to this nerve-racking experience.

But I shall be blamed for it, she told herself. Because I insisted on coming to Italy.

Suddenly she had lost control of her life, she realised as trailed back into the bedroom, swathed in a towel. And the knowledge made her feel vulnerable. And scared.

Although the Count’s henchman had said she would be returned ‘unharmed’. And that was the word she had to cling to, hoping against hope that her captors meant it.

But all those trick doors were a reminder of how completely she was trapped. And if she was going to be left to vegetate all day and every day, she’d be stark raving mad by the time the ransom was paid. If indeed that ever happened …

The next time the real door opened, it was already quite dark and she’d lit the lamp. She sat up nervously, wishing she was wearing more than a towel, but it wasn’t her kidnapper but another maid, a short stocky girl, who’d brought with her Maddie’s own hairbrush and cosmetics bag.

But nothing else.

The girl gave her an unsmiling nod as she walked into the bathroom, emerging a moment later, her face set in lines of disapproval as she shook non-existent creases from the nightgown Maddie had left on the floor after her bath. She placed it carefully on the bed, then fetched the matching robe which she laid beside it.

She said, ‘You dress please, signorina.’ Her English was halting and heavily accented, but at least it was communication, thought Maddie, wishing it had been the girl who smiled.

‘Willingly,’ she returned. ‘When I get my clothes back.’

The girl pointed at the gleaming blue silk on the bed. ‘This—clothes for you. Is time to eat, so please hurry.’

‘Of course, the Count doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I almost forgot.’ Maddie’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Perhaps it would cause less inconvenience if I left him to dine alone.’

‘E impossibile.’ The other spoke firmly. ‘He asks for you. Not good to make angry, signorina.’

‘You mean he might send his enforcer to fetch me?’ Maddie saw the girl’s bewildered look and shook her head. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

Besides, she needed to talk him round not provoke his anger, she reminded herself as she went into the bathroom to change. So she would do as she was told—at first, anyway.

Once it was on, she discovered that the robe was cut on severe lines with high lapels and a full skirt, which revealed very little. Once Maddie had wound its long sash twice round her slender waist and fastened it with a secure bow, she felt rather better about her unorthodox appearance. She used no make-up, and simply brushed her hair loose on her shoulders.

She looked pale, she thought, wrinkling her nose, as she turned away from the mirror. But it would be impolitic to go in with all guns blazing, and besides, with a subdued approach, the Count might see her as a victim and take pity on her.

‘Some chance,’ she muttered under her breath as she returned to the bedroom, where the maid was waiting with ill-concealed impatience.

‘Fa presto, signorina,’ she said, leading the way to the door.

Following, Maddie saw a bunch of keys attached to the girl’s belt, half hidden by her apron. She considered the chances of snatching them and running, and decided they were poor. Even if she took the girl by surprise, her adversary’s sturdy build would make her difficult to overpower, while the other side of the door was unknown territory.

Be patient and bide your time, she told herself. It will come.

At the door she paused. ‘What is your name?’ she asked.

‘Domenica, signorina.’ The reply was brusque. ‘Andiamo.’

Maddie walked out into a long passage, dimly lit, with a short flight of steps at its end, and a curtained archway at their foot.

Domenica set a brisk pace, and Maddie, in her trailing skirts, struggled to keep up with her. At the end, the girl waited, tight-lipped, holding back the curtain for Maddie to pass in front of her.

She stepped out on to a wide galleried landing, and found herself looking down at a room as large as a medieval hall, panelled in wood, and reached by a broad, curving staircase.