'You are upset because I have been behaving strangely with you since you came to Rome,' he said. 'But you have completely misunderstood my reasons. I was attracted to you from the moment I saw you at Botelli's, and when you came to my home I was even more strongly aware of it. I tried to tell myself it was your fragile body and your long fair hair: that it was only physical, the need I had for you. Even our evening in Venice didn't make me alter that opinion, though it did confirm that I was losing my ability to keep you at arm's length. You see, I've never been under any illusion that you would let me be your lover. You carry your virginity ahead of you like a banner,' he said with a slight smile. 'No matter how deep my desire for you, it never made me foolish enough to imagine I could change your beliefs.'

Amazement at all he had said made it hard for her to see beyond the words to the future they might be implying. Besides, she was scared to think of the might-be's, for to do so could bring false hope and even greater disillusion.

'I was glad when I had to come to Rome,' he continued, 'and I deliberately did not allow myself to call you for the entire week. I wanted to see if I could forget you - and I tried,' he said loudly. 'I must be honest with you, Erica, I tried. I worked like a maniac each day and I played like a maniac each night.'

'I don't want to hear,' she said quickly.

'You must. I went out with some of the most beautiful women I knew. I was determined to find peace in other arms, to find a way of forgetting big grey eyes and a childish mouth. And I succeeded,' he said ruthlessly. 'I found women to excite me and fulfil me; to make me feel their master and-'

'Then why bother with me?' she cried.

'Because it didn't last! I had an hour of oblivion and twenty-three hours of hatred for myself. And each time it grew worse. Finally even the hour of oblivion wouldn't come. All I was left with was an aching despair that only you could satisfy.'

The words were dramatic and would never have been said by an Englishman. If only Filippo had not said them either, Erica thought brokenly, for the image they invoked was more than she could bear.

'Yes,' he went on remorselessly,'I made love again and again and again! But each time it was your face I kept seeing, your body I longed to hold.' He pressed against her backing her up against the wall. His thighs were hard and unyielding and the desire she aroused in him could not be doubted.

'You don't know what power you have over me,' he said pa.s.sionately. 'Nor are you fully aware of your own emotions. You still see things in a cloud of innocence.'

'I can't help being young,' she protested.

'I know, and that's why I feel I'm taking advantage of a child.'

'A child?' she cried, and unable to bear any more, pulled his head down till she could touch his lips.

With a murmur he pulled her away from the wall, but only in order to wrap his arms around her and to press her body against the length of his. She had never been held so close to another person, for the thin silk of Filippo's suit was no barrier. Her hands dropped away from his shoulders and came up beneath his jacket. His shirt was so fine it was like touching his skin and her fingertips moved over the fabric. He shuddered at her touch and the pressure of his lips increased, his kiss deepening.

Feeling her abandonment, he shuddered again and his hand came up along the spine to undo the zip of her dress. The bodice slipped down and his fingers moved over her smooth skin to curve round her breast. As he continued to caress her she began to tremble and feel an unexpected emptiness that clamoured to be filled.

'I love you,' she cried. 'I love you!'

With a convulsive movement he pulled away his hands and stepped back. 'Be careful of me,' he said thickly. 'I am only human.'

'So am I,' she murmured, and went to draw him closer again.

But he shook his head and placing his hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly turned her round. 'Let me do up your dress, Erica.'

Blushing, she remained quiescent as he pulled on the zip. She heard him give a sharp intake of breath and then he caught her back against him and slipped his hands inside her bodice to cup both her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His touch was like a flame and she burned with desire; so sharp and intense was it that her knees threatened to give way and she would have fallen had his hold not tightened.

'Darling,' he groaned, and lowered his head till his mouth came to rest on the side of her throat. She tried to turn to face him, but the movement reminded him of his original intention and he lifted his hands away with a sharp gesture pulled up her zip. Only then did he allow her to swing round.

'Behave yourself,' he teased.

'You're making it easy for me to do so.'

'Then reciprocate, cara mia, and make it easy for me. Or have you decided you want to be my mistress after all?' His smile was sharp as he saw the colour come into her face, but when he spoke again it was to say that lunch was already waiting for them.

The dining room, like the salon, was ultra-modern, with steel and gla.s.s tables and chairs and walls of shining dark blue metal with an iridescent gleam. The food was superb, though she had no appet.i.te and had to force herself to eat. Filippo too only toyed with the meal, and seemed relieved when they left the table to go and sit on the terrace.

'I have made no plans for the rest of the day,' he told her, drawing her down beside him on a hammock. 'I thought we would laze and relax, unless you would rather do something else?'

Erica could think of nothing she would like to do more than to sit close to Filippo. Her sigh of contentment must have given him his answer, for he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Slowly the time pa.s.sed. The heat of the afternoon was intense though the tubs of greenery and miniature trees gave the illusion of a garden and some coolness. From far below there was the muted sound of traffic - even on a Sunday Rome was not silent - while above their heads in the distant blue came the infrequent drone of a jet. Erica closed her eyes. Her limbs were heavy and she was overcome with lethargy. She started to count the seconds; when she reached twenty she would open her eyes and sit up, otherwise she would fall asleep. Five... six... seven. Next to her she heard Felippo's even breathing. Eleven... twelve... Erica slept too.

When she awoke she found herself lying full length on the hammock, her feet up and her shoes off. She turned her head and saw Filippo sitting in a chair a few yards away.

'You should have woken me,' she protested. 'Have I been sleeping long?'

'Not very. But I was sleeping too, so you needn't look so guilty.' He turned round as a maid appeared with a trolley. On it was a pitcher of fruit and a delicate china teaset.

'Tea time already!' Erica exclaimed, and glanced at her watch. 'I've been asleep two hours! Really, darling, you should have told me.'

'And have you feel more guilty than you do already?' He half smiled. 'You should learn, cam mia, that if one has anything unpleasant to say, it is less painful to say it by degrees.'

'I think that's much worse.' She looked at him speculatively. 'I can't see you being patient enough to take your time doing something unpleasant. I think you'd want to get it over and done with.'

'When I deal with men, yes, but not with the fairer s.e.x.'

He pushed the trolley towards her and without being told she poured him a gla.s.s of fruit juice and herself a cup of tea. This was one difference that could easily be resolved. If only it were possible to overcome all their other differences so painlessly. She longed to say this to him, but a glance at his face told her his thoughts were miles away, and instead she sipped her tea in silence.

The evening pa.s.sed as effortlessly as the afternoon. They stayed on the terrace until dusk when Filippo put on some music, only stopping it as they went in to supper. They both had more appet.i.te and she was also able to take cognisance of her surroundings. Everything looked as if it had been made especially for this one home, with no expense spared. Even the silver cutlery had the Rosetti coat of arms and the same blue enamel design as the dining room walls. She wondered if Filippo took his heritage for granted or whether he ever gave thought to the luck which had made him the son of such an ill.u.s.trious house. It would be interesting to know the history of his family and she determined to look up some reference books when she returned to Venice. The thought of leaving Filippo was a painful one and she felt her throat constrict.

'I'll soon have to leave for the airport,' she murmured.

'Not for a couple of hours yet. I will drive you there myself.'

It was only as she stood on the aluminium steps ready to board the jet that Filippo again caught her close.

'Don't work too hard while I'm away, Erica.'

'When are you coming back to Venice?

'In a few days - I am not quite sure. I will let you know.' He gave her a little shake and pushed her upwards.

At the top of the steps she turned and waved good-bye, then hurried to her seat and looked at him through the window. He stood on the tarmac waving for a moment, then turned and walked away. As he did so, the jet slowly moved to its take-off position and within seconds they were airborne.

At midnight Erica was back in her own apartment. Looking round the small sitting room it was hard to believe that a few hours earlier she had been in Filippo's sumptuous one. How easily money could diminish distance and make travel a pleasure instead of a ch.o.r.e. With a jet of his own Filippo could commute from Rome to Venice daily. She wished he would do so now and hated the thought of not seeing him tomorrow.

'Filippo.' She spoke his name aloud, but it echoed forlornly around the room, leaving her more lonely for him than she had been before.

Expecting Signora Botelli's curiosity about her week-end in Rome, Erica was agreeably surprised when no questions were asked. It was only as she pondered on it that she realized the woman's silence stemmed not from lack of interest but from the awe with which she regarded Filippo. Did the Signora think she and Filippo were lovers? Even if she didn't, Erica felt sure the woman had not considered that there might be something more lasting between them. How surprised she would be when she learned the truth! Erica hugged the knowledge to herself, and went contentedly through the rest of the day, not even worrying when there was no call from Filippo.

On Tuesday she waited anxiously for the post, half expecting a letter from him. But there was nothing, nor was there a telephone call. It was not so easy to remain contented and though she did not feel anxiety, she was nonetheless sufficiently edgy to find it hard to relax.

On the way home she b.u.mped into Johnny and, unwilling to stay alone in her apartment all evening, accepted his invitation to dinner.

'I thought we had a date for last Sat.u.r.day,' he said as they munched their way through heaped plates of ravioli in a small bright restaurant near to the Opera House.

'I was in Rome for the week-end.' She was reluctant to say more and was glad when he did not question her about it, though he looked peeved when she refused to make another date with him.

'I'm not sure what I'll be doing for the rest of the week,' she apologized. 'Please let me take a raincheck on it.'

'I have no choice,' he smiled. 'Just don't forget me.'

But Erica had other things to think about, for Wednesday also pa.s.sed without any word from Filippo. It was hard to go on finding excuses for his silence. The first and second day it could have stemmed from pressure of work, but she could see no reason why it should have prevented him from calling her today. Her reluctance to telephone him and see if anything was wrong showed her how much in awe of him she still was and made no sense of her belief that mutual love could eradicate fear.

But was it mutual love? Did Filippo feel for her what she felt for him? Of course he did. It had been implicit in the way he had held her; the way he had resolutely resisted her offer of surrender. But he had never spoken of their future. He had said he did not see her as his mistress, but he had not told her in what other way he saw her. Held close to his heart she had a.s.sumed it had been as his wife, but now, with distance and time between them, she was not so sure.

Doubts which she had thought dead proved only to have been dormant and rose like a phoenix to threaten her. Deliberately she went over everything he had said to her on the terrace last Sunday afternoon, but all she could recollect was what she herself had said. How clearly she had declared her love for him; how resolutely she had proclaimed her unwillingness to live in the background of his life and how honestly she had admitted that she did not believe he wanted her to hold any other place.

With a vehemence as strong as hers he had a.s.serted that he had never seen her living in the shadows. Yet though he had said how he did not see her, he had not explained how he did, and her own imagination had filled in the words he had left unstated.

She could see the picture with painful clarity. Soon after she had arrived in Rome Filippo had realized she would never agree to become his mistress, and because of this he had withdrawn from her. It was this withdrawal that had precipitated their discussion on the Sunday afternoon and had led him to say much more than he might otherwise have done.

Naively she had seen his desire for her as a declaration of love and had made no secret of her own love for him. But at no time had he been sufficiently carried away to ask her to become his wife. Perhaps he still believed - despite all he had said to the contrary - that in time he could make her change her mind and live with him.

She looked at the telephone on the counter: the silent hated telephone. If Filippo had not called her then his silence could mean something far worse: that he no longer even wished to try and seduce her. Why should he bother when there were so many women eager to give themselves to him?

It was an enormous effort to work through the rest of the afternoon and when she finally left the shop she was a ma.s.s of nerves. To meet Sophie and David Gould was the last thing in the world she wanted, but seeing them come towards her as she crossed San Marco Square there was no way - short of pretending to be blind - that she could avoid the encounter.

'We were on our way to see you,' David Gould said. 'I promised to let you read my thoughts on meditation.' He thrust a book at her. 'Here they are.'

Surprised, she stared at the book in her hands. The cover was shiny and the cellophane band on it was sealed. But turning it over she saw David Gould's face smiling at her from the back cover.

'You wrote this?' she asked.

'David only got the copies today,' Sophie interrupted with a rush. 'But it came out in London last week and has had sensational reviews. His publisher has already cabled him to come back to London. He's been asked to talk on T.V. shows, on the radio and-'

'Erica doesn't want to hear all about that,' David interrupted.

'But I do,' Erica replied, delighted for him.

'Then join us for supper,' he said, 'and I will give you the low-down oh success and David Gould!'

Knowing it would be better to eat with this young couple than to be left alone with her own miserable thoughts, Erica went with them to an unpretentious restaurant where she learned that Sophie had not been exaggerating in her account of the furore caused by David's book. It was considered a tour de force in philosophical circles yet was couched in language simple enough to be understood by the layman.

'I've already been asked to write a sequel,' he admitted, 'and been offered a fantastic advance to keep me in style while I'm doing it.'

'Will you accept?' Erica asked.

'No. I don't want to alter the plans I've made for my future. If it did that, it would nullify the philosophy I'm trying to promote!'

'David's going to take the engineering job he's already got lined up,' Sophie put in, 'and I've persuaded Mother to take a flat in London for six months so that David and I can go on seeing each other.'

'My literary success has convinced Sophie's uncle that I'm not entirely unsuitable,' David murmured.

Erica swallowed convulsively. 'Is Filippo - is the Conte in Venice?'

'No, he's still in Rome,' Sophie replied. 'But Claudia went there yesterday and I asked her to give him a copy of David's book. When I telephoned my uncle this morning I told him he couldn't say a famous author wasn't a suitable boy-friend for me.' The girl giggled. 'You can imagine how well that remark went down! But at least he promised he wouldn't object to my continuing to see David.'

'That's as much of a climb-down as we can expect,' David said. 'Take things slowly, Sophie. The harder you push, the more resistance you'll find.'

Sophie flung him a grin and Erica was glad the two of them were too preoccupied with each other to pay much attention to her. The discovery that Claudia was in Rome with Filippo showed her how logical her earlier thoughts had been. Regardless of what Filippo had said about Claudia he was still seeing her. Erica's cheeks burned. She had made her jealousy of the Italian woman so clear that Filippo would never have seen her again had he not wanted to make his position quite clear.

Aware that David was now watching her, she forced herself to join in the conversation, but after an hour she was exhausted by the effort and glad when the time came to go'

'We'll see you before we move to London,' Sophie promised. 'I'll call you next week.'

'Fine,' Erica smiled, though she had no intention of seeing either of them again. She wanted nothing whatever to do with anyone a.s.sociated with Filippo. It was the only way she would be able to forget him.

That night she did not sleep at all and at three in the morning she gave up trying and went into the sitting-room to work on some jewellery designs. Even doing this reminded her of the man she loved and she flung down her pencil in disgust. It was incredible that after knowing Filippo for such a short time he was already so much a part of her that she could not stop thinking of him.

Her intelligence told her that eventually his image would dim, but she knew that nothing would completely eradicate his memory. Like Mary Tudor, she too would have a name forever engraved upon her heart.

CHAPTER NINE.

It was a relief to see dawn brighten the sky and long before her usual time Erica was in the shop working at her jeweller's bench.

Signora Botelli arrived at mid-morning accompanied by a plain-clothes detective whom she always hired when she was bringing valuable jewellery from her workshop. She showed the pieces to Erica, but they were ba.n.a.l in design and relied for their customer appeal on the size of the stones rather than the beauty of the setting.

'You must hurry up and complete the sketches for Signora Medina,' the woman said. 'We must strike while the iron is hot.'

Uncomprehending, Erica looked blank.

'It is difficult to know how long the Conte will be interested in her,' the Signora explained. 'An affair like this can die quickly.'

'It might go from strength to strength,' Erica replied, marvelling that she could continue the conversation without giving herself away. It was almost as if she were trying to see how far she could go before reaching the end of her emotional tether. 'The Conte might marry her.'

The plump face was quizzical. 'You are in a better position to a.s.sess that than I am. After your week-end in Rome I naturally saw the end of Signora Medina's reign.'

Erica knew she went scarlet, but she made a superhuman attempt to ignore it. 'I went to Rome on a foolish impulse - as foolish and impulsive as the Conte's invitation. It meant nothing - and nothing happened!'

'You owe me no explanations.'

'I don't want you to jump to the wrong conclusions.'

'But you like the Conte'? I will not believe you are unmoved by him?'

'I like him,' Erica said carefully, 'but no more than that I could never let myself become - become involved with him.'