'So I noticed.' The beady black eyes were appraising. 'You made no effort to hide your dislike. Yet he was very charming to you.'

'Only when he was apologizing. You should have heard how rude he was before you came in.'

'He is a worried man. He told me he has a great problem with his niece.' The Signora lowered her voice as though afraid that even in the empty shop someone might hear her and tell the Conte she was speaking of his private life. 'The girl is in love with someone totally unsuitable and has threatened to run away with him.'

'Are you talking of the girl who brought the brooch in?'

'Yes. Apparently the Conte allows her to wear some small pieces from his collection. It was a great shock to him to discover she was prepared to sell one of them. Not merely because she could do so with something that did not belong to her, but because the piece itself is an heirloom.'

This at least was an att.i.tude Erica could understand, and it partially lessened her dislike of the man. 'How did he find out about it?' she asked. He said he knew before you had called him.'

'He came home last night - earlier than expected - and brought a couple of business colleagues with him. He asked his niece to dine with him and to wear the Rose. When she didn't do so, he-'

'You mean he told her what to wear?'

'Why shouldn't he?'

'I'd like a man telling me what to wear!' Erica snorted.

'You probably would.' The Signora deliberately misunderstood Erica's meaning. 'Most women appreciate a masterful man.' Long distant memories of long-distant pa.s.sions warmed the plump face. 'Especially if the man combines mastery with tenderness.'

'I'm sure the Conte is br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with tenderness!'

'You don't think so?' The little eyes were sharp. 'You have a lot to learn, my child.'

'But not from him!' Erica picked up the gold necklace and continued to work on it 'I'm surprised he told you his niece had taken the brooch. I thought he'd do anything to keep his family name untarnished.'

'He knows that what he has told me will go no further.'

'He is very trusting of a woman's discretion!'

'He knows that if the story of his niece's behaviour leaked out, it could only come from us.'

'Don't worry about my discretion,' Erica a.s.sured her. 'I've forgotten it already.'

'Good. If he wished, the Conte could do my business a great deal of harm.'

The woman went out, and Erica thought about the Conte Rosetti's niece. She could not help feeling sorry for the girl.

It could not be easy to live with an uncle who regarded himself as the arbiter of right and wrong. She was curious to know what had happened to the girl's father and felt a fleeting interest in the unknown young man who had the temerity to court a girl whom the uncle at least felt to be out of his reach. What made the young man unsuitable? His lack of position or his lack of wealth? She felt that the Conte would be more concerned with social standing than money. Irritably she bent over the pendant. The sooner she forgot this whole incident the better.

Three days later Signora Botelli received an invitation to the opening of a modern jewellery exhibition. She would be in Milan at the time and she asked Erica to go in her place.

'In any case, you are the expert,' she said. 'You might see something there that will inspire you to design something else for me. I have already had an offer for that necklace of yours. Signor Bruno wants to buy it for his wife. If he pays me the price I have asked, your commission will be enough for you to move into a better apartment'

She mentioned a sum of money that took Erica's breath away. 'That's far too generous.'

'How foolish of you to say so! If I thought you had sufficient business ac.u.men - or even ambition - I would suggest you start up on your own. But you are the worst thing of all, my dear child, a gifted amateur! If you could, you would give away your fabulous creations and put hardworking people like myself out of business!'

'It would take more than my great production line to do that!' Erica laughed. 'But you are wrong about my lack of ambition. My real trouble is that by the time I finish a piece I can't bear to sell it.'

'Work on several at a time. In that way you will be like a mother with ten children. You will love them all, but you won't miss one if it goes away!'

'Does that apply to men too?' Erica quipped.

'That is a question no moral woman would dare answer!' Signora Botelli chuckled. 'But such a problem will never concern you, I think. You are the type to love only one.'

It was a comment Erica was to remember with bitterness and pain not many months later.

CHAPTER THREE.

Erica went to the Modern Jewellery Exhibition on Sat.u.r.day afternoon.

In a city that teemed with exhibitions, this one at the Mendoza Gallery had nonetheless received a great deal of praise. Some of the most important modern designs had been gathered together to show new forms of workmanship and a less stylized use of precious and semi-precious stones. It was the latter which were made into the most eye-catching pieces and amethysts, garnets and even pyrites - little chunks of metal that could gleam like gold - were fashioned into brooches, necklaces and a particularly outstanding paperweight. Modern jewellery, so the Mendoza Gallery proclaimed, should not only be used for the admornment of one's person but also of one's home.

The two long rooms in which the exhibition was housed were filled with people, mostly the elite of the city, and Erica was glad she had taken special pains with her appearance. Though a discerning woman would immediately guess that the honey beige suit had been bought off the peg, she knew that an admiring male would only know that the colour of it almost exactly matched her hair and gave a warm glow to her skin. Tall and slender, she looked like a stalk of corn; not that a corn stalk was noticeable when placed in a vase with tiger lilies and roses, which was the best way of describing the bejewelled and scented females chattering round her. Amused by her fanciful imagination, she went to get a better look at a bracelet. As she did so she became aware of a small group coming through from the other room. Recognizing the Conte Rosetti, she stepped back, unwilling for him to see her. But he was totally absorbed with his own party, and his dark head was lowered attentively towards a sad-faced woman in her early forties, who bore such a striking resemblance to the girl who had come into the shop that Erica guessed her to be the Conte's sister. This was confirmed by the sight of the girl herself. She was walking immediately behind them and talking in a bored manner to a young man in his twenties.

Remaining hidden behind a large urn of flowers, Erica watched as the party moved past the displays, the younger man studying each one with such thoroughness that she sensed him to be looking at it from a professional viewpoint He was either a jeweller or a display artist. At last they reached the far end of the room, and with a feeling of relief Erica stepped out to continue her own tour. As she did so, the group turned from the door as though to look at something they had missed, and in turning, the Conte came face to face with Erica. For a split second he looked at her blankly, then recognition dawned and he gave a slight bow.

'Good afternoon, Miss -er-' he hesitated and she was reluctantly forced to give him her name. 'Miss Rayburn,' he repeated, and turned to introduce her to the rest of his party. 'My sister, Mrs. Charters; my niece Sophia, whom I believe you have already met, and Donald Phillips who is organizing the Rosetti Exhibition in America.'

Erica smiled her way through the introductions, but when she went to move away found her retreat barred by the Conte. Deciding that to try and leave when he did not want her to do so would only make him more obstinate, she turned her attention to the American.

'I wondered why you kept moving round each display case,' she said. 'Was it to see the lighting?'

'Yes. Italians are past-masters when it comes to display.'

'They are good at every kind of design. I've lived here six months and I'm still astonished at their virtuosity.'

'You work in Venice?' He did not hide his surprise, and hearing it, Conte Rosetti intervened.

'Miss Rayburn sells jewellery at Botelli's.'

'I make jewellery too,' Erica said, ignoring the Conte and speaking to the American.

'So you are also at the Exhibition as a professional?' Donald Phillips commented.

'Yes. Signora Botelli thought it might give me some inspiration.'

'Do you prefer modern jewellery to antique?' the Conte's sister inquired. Her soft voice gave an impression of nervousness, though it was not apparent in her demeanour, which held all the confidence one would expect from a member of the Rosetti family.

'If I have any preference at all,' Erica replied, 'it is for very old pieces.'

'Then you shouldn't bother coming to this kind of exhibition.' The Conte's niece spoke for the first time, her words and tone distinctly unfriendly. 'If you don't genuinely care for modern jewellery you'll never be good at designing it.'

Erica gave a non-committal murmur and went to move away. But again the Conte forestalled her, putting out a hand to grip her arm.

'Before you go, Miss Rayburn, my niece would like to apologize to you.'

'Would I?' his niece asked.

'Without question, Sophia. You surely haven't forgotten the inconvenience you caused Miss Rayburn when you left her the Rose Diamond to repair?'

'So-you are the one who had the brooch?' Donald Phillips exclaimed. 'Conti Rosetti wanted to show it to me the other night and Sophia had to confess she'd taken it to you.'

'Luckily I was able to retrieve it from Miss Rayburn before she'd had a chance to touch it,' the Conte said smoothly. 'Sophia had not realized that to repair a brooch of such antiquity requires particular skill.'

Erica lowered her lids. How cleverly the Conte had explained the disappearance of the brooch to his guest. The only trouble was that in doing so he had made her look over- eager for work and foolish.

'Come now, Sophia,' the Conte continued. 'Apologize to Miss Rayburn for causing her so much trouble.'

Erica's annoyance with the girl lessened at the taunting cruelty in the Conte's voice. He might be angry with his niece, but there was no reason for him to be so spiteful. After all, she had wanted to sell the brooch in order to run away with the man she loved; not commendable behaviour but at least understandable in one so young.

'There's no need for you to apologize, Miss Charters,' she said swiftly. 'If anyone should do so, it is your uncle.'

The girl looked astonished. 'My uncle?'

'Certainly. For he has taken it for granted that I am incapable of repairing the Rose Diamond!'

'Could you have done it?' Donald Phillips asked.

Discarding her usual modesty, Erica nodded. 'Repairing antique jewellery is my hobby.'

'What exactly needs doing to it?' the Conte inquired, eyes gleaming with malice.

Erica was delighted she had examined the brooch carefully when it had been left with her. If this supercilious man hoped to catch her out, he was in for a surprise. 'The hasp at the back has worn thin,' she explained, 'and the bed of gold on which the rose diamond is lying has partly worn away.'

His mouth twitched. 'You have a sharp eye, Miss Ray- b.u.m. You make it sound serious.'

'It is serious.'

Sophia giggled, and the look she gave Erica was far more friendly.

Ignoring the sound, the Conte spoke again. 'Perhaps I will give you the opportunity of repairing it after all.'

'I would feel happier if you took it to an expert,' Erica said.

'You have just a.s.sured Mr. Phillips that you are one.'

'I know that,' she said gravely, 'but I'm not sure you do.'

This time the twitch of his mouth was unmistakable. 'You have a sharp tongue as well, Miss Rayburn. I must remember to be careful of it.'

'Filippo!'

The exclamation came from behind Erica and caused the Conte to look over her shoulder. He gave a wide smile of greeting as two men advanced towards him, and as he turned to introduce them to his own party, Erica took the opportunity of moving into the next room.

Her meeting with the Conte and his family had left her unexpectedly edgy, and she had to force herself not to look around and see if they had followed her in here. Her second encounter with the man had in no way altered her opinion of him; indeed it had intensified it, for it showed him to be not only overbearing but sarcastic too. She glanced over her shoulder. From where she was standing she had a good view of the entire gallery, and saw that the Rosetti family had gone. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief and continue her way round the exhibition. Yet she could not concentrate on it, her mind too occupied with thoughts of a man whose self-confidence she would dearly like to shatter. Many women must have come and gone in his life and she wondered if any of them had had the opportunity of piercing his armour of conceit. Somehow she doubted it. He was a law unto himself.

She moved over to another display and her foot trod on something soft. It was a glove and she bent and picked it up. It was of finest calf and looked extremely expensive. There was an attendant in the corner of the room and she gave it to him and walked on.

She was examining a necklace which she personally thought far less well made than the one she herself had just finished, when she became aware that a man had come to stand beside her. Without looking round she knew who it was. No one else exuded that same smell of Havana cigar smoke and subtle blend of after-shave lotion.

'I came to thank you for finding my sister's glove,' the Conte Rosetti murmured.

There was no help for it but to turn and face him. 'I didn't know it was your sister's.'

'So I gather. The attendant said it was given to him by a blonde foreigner.'

'I thought I'd spoken to him in impeccable Italian!'

He smiled, looking instantly relaxed, and she realized this was the first humorous remark she had made to him. But likely to be the last too, for he looked grave again.

'You appear to have a habit of finding things that my family lose, Miss Rayburn. Perhaps I should engage you as duenna to my womenfolk?'

'I am sure you are protector enough!'

'I will be needing one myself if you keep attacking me!' His head tilted sideways. 'What have I done to offend you, signorina?'

'Nothing,' she said swiftly. 'I'm sorry if my - if you think I've been attacking you. It's just my way of speaking.'

'Now you are lying to me,' he reproached. 'I am certain your usual way of speaking is as gentle and subtle as your appearance.'

The colour came and went in her cheeks and she knew he was aware of it, for he gave a slight smile. 'Come, Miss Rayburn, tell me what I have done to offend you.'

Knowing he was not the sort of man to be put off by prevarication, she said, 'I didn't like being accused of knowingly receiving stolen property.'

'I have already apologized for that mistake. I am sorry you cannot accept it'

'It didn't feel like a genuine apology.'

His eyes narrowed. 'I never say what I do not mean, Miss Rayburn. As I explained to Signora Botelli, I have been under a great strain recently. I had hoped she would have explained that to you.' He came a step closer. 'What must I do to make you look on me more kindly?'

'Nothing,' she said, and recognizing the effort it must have cost him to be contrite^ had no choice but to accept his plea for forgiveness. 'Let's forget it, Conte. I'm sure my ruffled feelings will be smoothed down in time. By next week I will have forgotten the whole thing.'

'Including myself?'

'You're not the sort of man one can easily forget,' she said truthfully. 'But I will remember you with less and less annoyance.'

'I can see I will have to be content with that reply. For such a gentle-looking creature you have a will of iron!'