Ignoring the temptation to take a private gondola, Erica queued for the water-bus, feeling rather solitary among the crowd of vociferous Italian families, the men plump and suave in pale suits and paler ties, the women matronly in black. With her shining pale gold hair and simple shantung dress and jacket, Erica looked ludicrously different, though it was a difference that the men appreciated, if the scowling looks of their womenfolk were anything to go by.

She had no difficulty obtaining a seat in the bus, for several gallants offered her their own, and though she would have preferred to stand and enjoy the breeze on deck, sitting down at least saved her from the ignominy of having her bottom pinched, an act which seemed - as far as she was aware - to be a national disease that gripped most Italian males between the age of seventeen and seventy.

Long before they reached the palazzo she saw it gleaming ahead of her, the gaily painted wooden stakes to which visiting gondolas were tied standing like bright sentinels in the dark green water. The bus stopped some twenty yards away from it, and she walked slowly along the side of the Grand Ca.n.a.l, only realizing - as she drew nearer - that the main entrance lay down a side turning.

The palazzo was so vast that it occupied one complete section of the block and though the front of it gave on to the water, its east and west sides were bordered by trees and a flower-filled garden. It was a garden that Erica missed most since living in Venice, and she would have loved to linger on the small but lush lawns that lay either side of the grey stone path that led up to the two shallow steps and the ma.s.sive wooden door which, a few seconds after her ring, swung back as though on well-oiled casters.

A servant, resplendent in dark blue and silver livery, ushered her in to what, at first glimpse, appeared to be a slightly smaller version of Westminster Abbey but which, as her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she saw to be a hall of vast but n.o.ble proportions. Its stone walls were lined with magnificent tapestries and a range of windows faced the Grand Ca.n.a.l, with another vast door lying between them. It was shut and bolted, though she a.s.sumed it was used when large receptions were held here. What a magnificent sight it must be when all the wooden stakes had gondolas moored against their sides and brilliantly garbed men and women entered the hall the way they had done for hundreds of years past.

Aware of the footman waiting for her - he could not be designated as anything less - she followed him up the stone staircase to the first floor. Here was another hall, half the size of the one below, yet still enormous - one shuddered to think of the heating bills - with ma.s.sive wooden doors leading off both sides of it. The footman opened the second one and Erica entered a high-ceilinged room filled with people. Her first feeling was of intense and illogical disappointment that she was not to be the only guest. Then quickly her mind took control of her emotions and she knew that she should be pleased that the Conte would not be able to focus his full attention on her. Yet oddly enough she had been looking forward to sparring with him; showing him that though she looked what he had called a gentle creature, she was also an intelligent one.

He came towards her, more handsome than she had remembered in a light grey suit that made his skin look olive. The people around her were equally well dressed, and she wondered if Italians were ever casual when they entertained. More than any other race they loved the opportunity of showing off.

'I am delighted you were able to come.' The Conte lightly touched her hand with his own and led her further into the room, introducing her to several of the guests.

She did not attempt to remember their names beyond being aware that most of them had t.i.tles of one sort or another and seemed to come from varying parts of Europe. There were barons and baronesses, condes and condesas, lords and ladies. Only as he reached his sister did her host stop his introductions.

'I think I will leave Miss Rayburn with you, Anna,' he said, and turned to look directly at the girl beside him. 'Forgive me for leaving you, signorina, but as you see, I am not alone.'

'I'm sure I'll be well taken care of,' she smiled, and was both glad and disappointed when he moved away.

'This was going to be a quiet Sunday lunch,' Mrs. Charters said, and Erica forced herself to pay attention. Today the woman looked less tired, though she still gave the impression of being under a strain.

'You aren't telling me all these people just dropped in?' Erica smiled as she accepted a gla.s.s of champagne from a magnificent silver tray held out by another liveried servant.

'Not quite that,' the older woman replied. 'Apart from the family and yourself there were only going to be two other guests. Then a couple telephoned to say they would be in Venice for the week-end and some more friends of Filippo's arrived unexpectedly in their yacht.'

'So, like Topsy, the party just growed,' Erica responded.

'A tendency that my brother's parties generally have!' Mrs. Charters' sad eyes were filled with humour, making her look both prettier and younger. 'Filippo is renowned for his entertaining.'

Among other things, Erica added to herself, and looked around as she sipped the delicious champagne. No non-vintage plonk for the fabulously wealthy Conte. This was French and bore a name as famous as his own.

It was two o'clock before they sat down to lunch and well after three before they rose from it. As Mrs. Charters had said, the Conte offered a wonderful table, and for the first time in her life Erica tasted caviar, mounds of it being served with a total disregard to its exorbitant cost. This was followed by consomme and then by individual baby chickens served on an aromatic bed of rosemary, the whole garnished with a succulent a.s.sortment of fresh spring vegetables. Large thick spears of Italian asparagus brought the meal to a close, and coffee and liqueurs were served in the drawing- room.

Only when the last of the cups had been cleared away did two men in dark suits appear. Erica knew at once that they were detectives, and sure enough their arrival heralded the showing of the Rosetti Collection. It was wheeled in on four long wooden trolleys, each one covered with hand-tooled leather boxes. The guests crowded around, but as if by common consent - though it might have been the warning looks given to them by the two plain-clothes men - they remained some two feet away, as the Conte himself moved along each trolley and lifted the lids.

Erica had never seen such a breathtaking display. The best in Florentine craftsmanship was disclosed to her, and gold work of an intricacy she had never imagined was visible not in one but in a hundred different pieces. And not just magnificent craftsmanship but magnificent jewels too: emeralds, diamonds, rubies and sapphires brought the colours of the rainbow into the room. Here was not merely a king's ransom but a kingdom's ransom. She longed for a closer more leisurely inspection of some of the articles, and watched with regret as the boxes were closed and the trolley wheeled away.

This was the signal for the luncheon party to break up, and in twos and threes the guests departed. Erica saw it as her own signal to leave, but moving over to make her farewells to the Conte, found him shaking his head at her.

'Go and talk to my sister,' he said softly. 'I do not wish you to leave yet.'

'But everyone else is going.'

'All the more reason for you to stay.'

'But-'

'You wanted to see my collection.'

'I have.'

He shook his head but was prevented from explaining by several more of his guests coming to say good-bye. Erica returned to sit next to his sister, who was looking extremely pale.

'Aren't you feeling well, Mrs. Charters?'

'I'm tired. I've been ill, you know, and I still tire easily. I'll go and lie down as soon as everyone has gone.'

That might not be for another half hour.'

'Oh no, Filippo hates protracted good-byes. Sometimes I tell him he makes people leave too abruptly, but he won't listen to me. He says that when someone decides to go, they should go quickly.'

'I agree with him.'

'Most people do,' his sister smiled. The thing about Filippo is that he is so frequently right!'

Erica remained silent, unwilling to enter into a discussion of the Conte's habits. She had not seen his niece and to change the subject she asked Mrs. Charters where her daughter was.

'She had an argument with her uncle this morning and is staying in her room. You know about the brooch, of course, so you can imagine how furious he still is with her. She just has to do the slightest thing wrong and he jumps on her.'

Have you lived with your brother for long?'

'Since my husband was killed.'

*Killed? I'm sorry, I didn't know.'

He was shot. We were living in Bolivia at the time - my husband was a diplomat - and there was a skirmish at the Emba.s.sy.'

*How awful for you!' The words were totally inadequate, but the woman seemed gratified by them.

'I'm just beginning to recover from the shock. My brother has been wonderful: so kind and understanding. Men normally don't have patience with a woman who suffers from nerves.'

Erica found it difficult to believe that the Conte could ever be kind and understanding - let alone in such a situation. She would have thought a nervous woman would be the quickest thing to arouse his temper.

The room had now emptied and with only the three of them there, it seemed enormous. There were at least a dozen settees in varying shades of gold and green brocade, with twice as many armchairs and a preponderance of the small gilt and marble tables beloved by Italians. The furniture did not have the flashiness usually found in the antique shops of Venice and Rome. The carving had been done by hand: the gold leaf was genuine and not gilt, and the ormolu that decorated the heavier pieces bore the dulled patina of age. The walls were lined with damask and hung with recognizable Old Masters. A Bellini, a magnificent t.i.tian, a group of priceless Bernini drawings, their lines still clear and pure despite their great age, and a splendid Ca.n.a.letto above the marble fireplace.

'You like the paintings?' the Conte said, and she realized he had been watching her for the last few minutes.

'Very much,' she replied, and wished her voice did not sound so nervous. Just because she was sitting in one of Venice's most resplendent palaces, being stared at with interest by one of its wealthiest sons, was no reason to buckle at the knees. What had happened to her true British socialism?

"Will you forgive me, Filippo, if I go to my room and rest?' the Conte's sister asked him.

'Of course,' he replied, and escorted her to the door. He remained there until she disappeared down the hall, then he closed it and came back to stand by the fireplace. It was a warm day, but the logs in it were blazing.

'I suppose it's always chilly in a palazzo,' Erica murmured.

'We have excellent central heating!'

'That doesn't overcome the damp, though.'

That is one of the penances of living in Venice. I always say that in my next incarnation I will return as a duck!'

'A swan,' she corrected, and went scarlet as he smiled widely.

'Thank you for the compliment, Miss Rayburn, though I do believe that ducks are better-natured. Swans have a tendency to bite the hand that feeds them.'

'You would give them a very aristocratic bite!'

He laughed outright 'You at least know that my bark is much worse!'

It was her turn to laugh and he nodded, as though pleased by the sound, and came to sit beside her. She was aware of his nearness and noticed again how impeccably dressed he was.

'It was kind of you to invite me here to lunch.' She broke the silence, finding its continuation oppressive.

'I promised you that I would.'

'I know you did. But when I didn't - I mean when you - er... I'm surprised you remembered,' she finished flatly.

'I cannot imagine any man forgetting a promise he made to you?

'Please don't flirt with me, Conte Rosetti!' She jumped to her feet, unaware that she had done so until she saw him below her. He was still sitting down, his dark head leaning against the bade of the settee, one leg crossed nonchalantly over the other.

'I am not flirting with you, Miss Rayburn, I am stating a fact You are a charming young woman: cool and clear as water.'

'Cold and transparent?' she added.

*Deceptively calm and penetrating everywhere without a sound!'

'I suppose that's some sort of a compliment,' she said doubtfully.

'You have asked me not to give you any,' he reminded her. 'And again let me hasten to add that I was merely stating a fact.' With a suddenness that took her by surprise he jumped up, showing that despite his air of ease he was as tightly coiled as a spring. 'I promised that I would show you my collection. Come with me.'

'But I've already seen it.'

'From a distance and surrounded by people? Credit me with more understanding than that.'

Not waiting to see if she were following him, he went down the hall to a door at the far end. This led to a small ante-room and thence to a library with ma.s.sive mahogany furniture, leather armchairs and book-lined walls.

In the centre of the room stood the trolleys, still guarded by the two men she had seen earlier. The Conte signalled them to go, and as they did, he lifted the lids of the calf- bound boxes and beckoned Erica forward.

Nervously she stepped closer, and then forgot her nervousness as she feasted her eyes once more on this most priceless collection.

'You may pick up anything you like,' he said.

She shook her head, but within a moment succ.u.mbed to the temptation and lifted out one piece after the other. As she came to the Rosetti Rose she paused, but a strange reluctance to touch it made her turn instead to the emerald brooch that lay beside it. It was a perfect stone, flawless and of a deep, clear green.

'Do you like it?' the Conte asked.

'I love emeralds.'

'It isn't your stone. You should wear pearls; pink ones for preference. Emeralds and diamonds are too hard for you.'

'You have very definite likes and dislikes.' She stared down at the brooch.

'I know the sort of things that you should wear.' He came close to her. Tor example, I admire your clothes. They are inexpensive, but they show excellent taste.'

He was so serious that she could not be annoyed with him. Nevertheless she did not feel inclined to let his words go unremarked. 'Most women would object to that sort of comment'

'I would not make such a comment to "most women".'

Once again he had had the last word and she concentrated on the brooch she was holding. This hasp is broken. When was the last time you bad every piece examined?'

'Not for many years. Most of the jewellery is never worn, and as long as it remains in the vaults it is pointless to do any repairs to it.'

'What a pity that it's all locked away. I feel jewels only come alive when they're being worn.'

'I agree with you. But they need to be worn by a beautiful woman for them to look their best!'

He took the emerald brooch from her, and as his fingers touched hers it was as though an electric current went through her. It was not surprising really, for he had a magnetic quality that had nothing to do with his wealth or position. Undoubtedly his name and rank added to his aura, but even without such trappings he was not a man one could overlook.

'I refuse to believe that you don't know any women beautiful enough to wear these things,' she said, turning away to look at the leather cases.

'I know many beautiful women,' he replied, 'and all of them eager to wear this collection. But my ancestors made it a rule that only Rosetti women could do so, and at the moment there are only two who qualify; my sister and my niece.'

'Then you have an excellent motive for getting married.'

'When I do, it will not be to provide a background to the jewels but a jewel to the background!'

She smiled and he smiled back, looking younger and less aloof. 'Nevertheless you have a point about my keeping the jewellery in good repair,' he continued. 'When it comes back from America I will arrange for you to examine each piece and decide what needs to be done.'

'That would involve a lot of work.' At random she picked up a necklace: a ribbon of ruby fire. 'Just examining the collection will take a week, and doing the repairs could be a six months' job. I might not be here that long.'

"You are thinking of leaving Venice?' he asked sharply. 'Do you not like it here?'

'I love it.'

'Then why do you talk of leaving?'

'Because Italy isn't my home. I can't stay here for ever.' Made nervous by the intensity of his gaze, she put down the ruby necklace and backed away from him. 'It's getting late, Conte, I must go.'

'We will have tea first and then I will take you home.'

That isn't necessary.'

'What isn't? The tea or my taking you home?'

'Both. I'm sure you don't normally have tea - and it isn't necessary for you to take me home. I can quite easily go on the bus.'