Do you not wish me to accompany you?'

'Of course I do, but...'

Then why do you make such a fuss?'

She drew a deep breath. 'I'm not making a fuss. I just don't want to be a bother to you.'

'You are only a bother when you keep arguing. We will have tea and then I will escort you home.'

Back in the salon he rang for a servant while Erica wandered round the room, admiring the many beautiful and priceless objects in it. Half a dozen Faberge boxes were arranged on the gla.s.s shelves of a tall cabinet, while in another one reposed a similar number of jewelled Faberge eggs, some closed and some open to show the unusual interiors.

'It must be a great responsibility to take care of all this,' she remarked.

'It is. I often think I'd be far happier if I were a self-made man. If you make your own wealth, you have the choice of deciding how to spend it But if one inherits so much...' His black head tilted as his eyes ranged the room. 'Sometimes I feel it to be a ball and chain.'

*What stops you from selling everything?'

'And deny my heritage? Such a thing would be impossible. Besides, most of the time I enjoy it. It is only occasionally that I feel I would prefer to be poor and unknown. At least if I were, I would never have any doubts about the sincerity of my friends.'

Without being told, she knew he was really referring to women. Sympathy for him warmed her, melting some of her reserve. To think of the Conte as a man looking for genuine friendship made him less frightening than to see him as the head of one of Italy's leading families.

The door opened and two servants came in carrying a small table which they set in front of the settee nearest to the fireplace. On it was a silver tea-set and a beautifully worked Florentine coffee pot in gold.

'The coffee is for you?' she surmised.

There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. 'When I said we would have tea together, I meant the partic.i.p.ation of the ceremony, not the liquid!'

She laughed and poured him a cup of coffee, trying to keep her hand steady. It was no easy task, for he watched her every movement and, even when she had given him his cup, he continued to watch her as she served herself. The tea was surprisingly strong and milk as well as lemon was provided. Gratefully she added milk and sipped.

'Delicious,' she said. 'It's real English tea.'

'I have it sent from London. My sister prefers it to coffee. It is a legacy left from her marriage.'

'I understand Mr. Charters was killed?'

'Yes. It was a most tragic business. My sister is only now beginning to recover from it. That is why it is so important for her to have no worries.'

Erica found it hard to imagine what worries a member of the Rosetti family could have. Not monetary ones in any event; and other worries could frequently be cushioned by wealth.

'Money doesn't solve one's problems,' he said as though aware of what was going through her mind. 'Frequently it creates them. In Sophie's case, for example. She has-' He stopped as the door opened and a pet.i.te, dark-haired woman came in.

With a sense of shock Erica recognized Claudia Medina. The woman was holding out her hands to the man, her face tilted to receive the kiss which he placed on her cheek.

'Filippo, forgive me,' she said in a husky voice. 'I know we weren't supposed to meet till later, but Uncle Otto caught the earlier plane to Paris and it left me free.'

'I thought he was staying until this evening?'

'We finished our discussion during lunch and he was afraid we'd start to quarrel again if he remained any longer! He is even worse than usual. Anyone would think he is still my guardian!'

'He brought you up,' the Conte reminded her.

'But I have been married and widowed since then.' Claudia tossed her head. 'It is foolish of him to treat me as if I were still a single girl. He as good as told me that if I'm not remarried within a year, he'll cut my allowance.'

'I am sure you will find a way of getting around him.'

She shrugged and looked at Erica. 'We have met before somewhere,' she smiled, 'but I cannot quite place it.'

'I work for Signora Botelli,' Erica said.

Instantly the smile thinned and Erica could almost hear the woman's mind working. What was a jewellery a.s.sistant doing at the palazzo? More important still, why was she taking tea with its owner?

Unwilling to be in the way, Erica stood up. 'Thank you for a delightful afternoon, Conte.' She spoke directly to him, but avoided looking into his face.

'There is no need for you to go yet,' he replied.

Ignoring the comment, she smiled good-bye at Claudia Medina, who stood in front of him, noticing in the split second she focused on them what a handsome couple they made: both dark and olive-skinned; both with black flashing eyes. But where the man was wide-shouldered and full of animal strength, the woman was feminine and fragile.

Swiftly Erica left the room, not even giving the Conte a chance to reach the door and open it for her. Across the long hall she sped and down the flight of stone steps that led to the vast lower hall. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows overlooking the Grand Ca.n.a.l and sent golden shafts across the grey stone floor. The heavy wooden front door was locked and her fingers fumbled at the ma.s.sive iron bolts. Slowly they slid back, but as she went to open the door itself a long-fingered hand came out to cover her own.

'Why such a precipitate flight?' Filippo Rosetti asked.

Startled, she looked into his face. He was smiling slightly, but she knew he was angry. 'It is late, Conte, and I must be getting back.'

'A little while ago we agreed that I would take you home.'

'That was before Signora Medina arrived.'

'What has Claudia's arrival got to do with it?'

'You can't leave her now.'

'I did not ask her to come so early.'

Dumbfounded, she stared at him.

'There is no need to look so concerned,' he continued. The fact that Claudia decided to call here much earlier than arranged does not alter the plans I made with you.'

'You made no plans with me.'

'Indeed I did.' He held open the door and inclined his head for her to go ahead of him.

'Please don't bother seeing me home,' she protested. 'I'm perfectly capable of going on my own.'

'So you said before. Be careful, Miss Rayburn, or you could become that most obnoxious of all women - an argumentative one! Now please give in gracefully.'

'I've no intention of giving in. Do go back to Signora Medina.'

'I am not a parcel to be sent where you wish,' he retorted.

The simile was so unexpected that she giggled. How ridiculous they must look, standing here quarrelling like a couple of children.

'What have I said that amuses you?' he inquired stiffly.

*Nothing - everything.'

'Make up your mind.'

"You're trying not to let me have one!'

He caught his breath, then expelled it slowly. 'I am used to giving orders,' he said, and as if to prove it, put his hand under her elbow and guided her through the gardens.

They were more extensive than she had realized and appeared even larger because of their beautiful landscaping. In actual area the ground they covered was small, but numerous sections were divided into secluded bowers, each with its own distinctive decor both as to plants and shrubs and statuary. One held a small fountain which spouted a silver mist of water over idly swimming goldfish; another was a mosaiced area filled with flowering urns and a rustic bench; a third was an arbour of white trellis with trailing plants overhead and gra.s.s underfoot.

They came to a door set in the wall and the Conte opened it and stepped out on to a small quay. Here were moored two gondolas and a sleek motorboat, on its prow a small flag bearing what she took to be his coat of arms. He helped her into the boat, untied the rope that held it moored and switched on the engine.

Gently they glided along a dark green waterway with tall houses looming either side of them. Erica watched him manipulate the craft He did it with practised ease, steering it skilfully round corners that seemed too tight for them to turn. At no time did he let out the full throttle but seemed content to move at a leisurely pace through the water. Though she had lived here for six months she was seeing a part of Venice she did not recognize, and only as they emerged from a narrow ca.n.a.l did she discover they were by the harbour. As it was Sunday there was little activity, and large ships, some gleaming white, some dark and rusty, lay on the water like sleeping albatrosses.

'You've brought me the longest way round,' she accused.

'I thought it would give us a chance to cool off. When I quarrel with a woman I prefer it to be over something important.'

Uncertain how to answer this, she pretended to be absorbed in the scenery. No matter from what viewpoint one saw the city it was always beautiful, its uniqueness adding to its charm. Nowhere else was squalor and dirt so magnificently intermingled, nowhere else could one find ruins crumbling so gracefully.

'Occasionally I toy with the idea of living elsewhere,' the Conte said behind her, 'but no matter where I go, I am always glad to come back here.'

'I can understand that.'

'Yet you say you are going to leave?'

'That doesn't mean I want to go. Merely that all things come to an end. To be young and foreign in a country is difficult enough, but to be old and foreign is impossible.'

He flung her a look of astonishment. 'What is this talk of being old? You are still a child.'

'Children grow up,' she smiled. 'Anyway, I only came here to break out of the rut. I couldn't make it my permanent home.'

'Could you do so if you had a family here?'

She shrugged and turned back to look at the water gliding past them. Her entire body was quivering as if all her nerve ends were exposed. She knew it came from the strong impact this man was making on her and she tried to a.n.a.lyse it away. She was not unused to male companionship or admiration. Living in a university town where her home had been the focal point for many students, she had become accustomed to compliments. Yet here she was acting like an ingenue to the ones Conte Rosetti was making. But complimentary was not the right way to describe his manner of talking to her. He was too subtle; and it was this which disarmed her, making her see how vulnerable she was. The Conte was a man of the world, used to women of the world, a description which she knew she could never fulfil. A picture of Claudia Medina came into her mind and she wondered if the woman was truly his mistress or whether only gossip made her so. Yet according to Signora Botelli the Conte paid her jewellery bills, a gesture he would scarcely do for someone who was merely a friend. What a dangerous and disarming lover he would make, demanding total obedience yet - because he was too intelligent to be satisfied with a compliant female - wanting the woman to have a mind of her own. The thought was disturbing and she tried to depersonalize it, forcing herself to think only of man and woman, rather than of this particular couple.

Because of her upbringing Erica had never been able to envisage herself as someone's mistress. It seemed to be a degrading position that demanded more from the woman than the man. Yet most of the girls she knew did not agree with her. They believed that a woman's love-life could be as unrestricted as that of a man's. They saw no stigma in an unmarried s.e.xual relationship, and the fact that she herself still did was a mark of her immaturity. Would she feel the same sense of repugnance about it if she fell significantly in love? She had been attracted to several men in the past three years, but for none of them had she experienced the feeling which would have made her consider the world well lost for love. If she ever did, then perhaps she too might behave like many of her girl friends.

'Come back to Venice, Miss Rayburn. Your thoughts are miles away!'

The Conte's voice broke into her reverie and she turned swiftly and apologized. They had reached a more familiar part of the city and were approaching a bridge which, if she crossed it, would bring her into the street where she lived.

He lessened speed and drew the motorboat into the side. With a lithe movement he jumped out and bent to help her. The step was slippery and he caught her round the waist and lifted her bodily from the launch. His hands were like steel around her and she knew it had required enormous strength to have lifted her up from such a position. Yet he gave no sign of exertion and looked as relaxed as ever as he jumped back into the c.o.c.kpit 'Arrivederci,' he called, and turning the engine full throttle, roared away.

His quick departure left her unaccountably let down. But what else had she expected him to do? Stand there and mutter inanities? He had already given her far more of his time than she had antic.i.p.ated. Besides, Claudia Medina was awaiting his return.

The knowledge was depressing and briskly she crossed the bridge and turned towards her apartment. She had spent a wonderful afternoon with interesting people in magnificent surroundings, and had concluded the expedition by being escorted almost to her front door by the city's most handsome, aristocratic member. What more could a twenty- three-year-old English girl with an ordinary background and no pretensions expect?

CHAPTER FIVE.

As Erica had antic.i.p.ated, she was required to give Signora Botelli a complete account of the afternoon she had spent at the Palazzo Rosetti. This included not only a description of the guests, but also the food and furnishings down to the last minute detail.

'It is said to be the best preserved palazzo in Venice,' the woman informed her.

'It's certainly the most opulent. There's a t.i.tian in the salon which is worthy of a museum, and some Bernini drawings that must be absolutely priceless.'

'They are the only ones in private hands,' the Signora said.

'What does the Conte do?' Erica asked casually, as she dusted one of the gla.s.s-topped counters. 'I know he doesn't need to work, but I can't see him being idle.'

'He is never idle. He has an insurance company and a bank.'

Erica made a face. 'I'm not sure I approve of so much power. It's wrong for one family to have so much.'

'There is also the Rosetti Foundation. They give millions away to all kinds of charities.'

'Conscience money!' Erica retorted.

'I don't think the Conte has any guilt about his money. If he helps others, he does it from a sense of duty. Anyway,' the Signora smiled, 'you mustn't be derogatory about one of our clients.'

'He's never bought a thing here!'

'Signora Medina has! Which reminds me - she's coming in this morning. Is her pendant repaired?'

'I finished it on Friday.'

Erica was giving the pendant a final polish when the young widow came in. Although it was early morning she was elegantly dressed, her beige silk suit matching her beige crocodile bag and shoes.

'Of course I remember you now.' She greeted Erica with a smile. 'What a pity I didn't know you were coming to the Palazzo yesterday, or you could have brought the pendant with you.' She took it from Erica and put it on. 'I understand you saw Filippo's collection,' she went on. 'Did you like it?'

'It was magnificent. One doesn't often get the chance to look at such pieces so closely.'

'Filippo thought you would appreciate that best of all. That's why he invited you. He didn't know how else to repay you for the trouble Sophie caused.'

'Miss Charters caused no trouble,' Erica said quickly, surprised that Claudia Medina should know about it. Yet why shouldn't the Conte confide in her? After all, she was a close friend of the family as well as his.

Signora Botelli came out of the office and greeted her customer with friendly deference. 'We will be producing some new designs in about a month. If you are interested in anything particularly...'