'A bracelet and earrings to match my pendant.' Claudia Medina looked at herself in the full-length mirror that took up most of the end wall. She lifted her thick, glossy black hair to disclose two sh.e.l.l-like lobes. 'Something dangling, I think.'

'You will need to wear your hair drawn back,' the Signora advised.

'Of course. The Conte likes it that way.' Through the mirror Claudia Medina smiled at the woman. 'He is a man of definite tastes.'

'He knows his mind,' the Signora agreed.

Claudia Medina delicately lowered her eyes, though watching her, Erica felt that the modesty was false, a.s.sumed only to create the image she wished to project. For all her air of fragility, Claudia Medina had a will of iron. If she gave in to a man it was because it paid her to do so. Watching as she tried on several more pieces and postured in front of the mirror, Erica marvelled that any man - particularly one like the Conte - could be taken in by such false gentleness. Surely he was intelligent enough to see the wilfulness in the full mouth, the hardness in the large eyes? But perhaps he did not care to see beyond the facade.

Excusing herself from the shop, Erica went to work at the jewellers' bench. But long after the lovely widow had left, her perfume lingered behind, souring the rest of the day. The jealousy Erica felt for the woman both astonished and frightened her, the more so because she knew it stemmed from the strange emotions which the Conte Rosetti was arousing in her.

Anxious to disprove them, she went out to dinner with Johnny Rogers, a young man from the American Express office who had been pursuing her for months.

He was delighted at her change of heart and set out to be as entertaining as possible. To begin with she found it hard to stop being self-conscious. She had the strange feeling that Filippo Rosetti was hiding behind every corner and that whenever she looked up she would find his dark eyes watching her. The notion was ludicrous, born out of her inability to forget him, and it was not until she had drunk half a bottle of Chianti that the image of him began to dull and she was able to look into her escort's blunt features without seeing narrow patrician ones.

'We must do this more often,' Johnny said as he took her home. 'How are you fixed for the week-end?'

She longed to say she was busy, but resolutely told him she was free, and before bidding him good night, agreed to see him on Sat.u.r.day evening.

Alone again in her apartment she felt such a blessed relief that she could understand why she had been foolish enough to have gone out with Johnny in the first place, nor why she had promised to go out with him again. He was charming and intelligent, yet all the while she had kept comparing him with Filippo Rosetti. The knowledge filled her with dread. She hardly knew the Italian yet she could not stop thinking about him. How much of this stemmed from the awe with which Signora Botelli referred to him, she did not know; all she did know was that the man had mesmerized her.

Slowly the week pa.s.sed. Johnny telephoned her twice at the shop and would have done so more frequently had she not told him, after his second call, that he was incurring Signora Botelli's wrath.

'Far be it for me to upset the dear old pouter pigeon,' he chuckled, and promised not to call again until Sat.u.r.day.

His description of the Signora was so apt that she was smiling as she put down the receiver, and felt very guilty when her employer - seeing the smile on her face - said happily: 'I am so pleased you have found yourself a boy-friend. I do not think that having lunch with the Conte Rosetti did you much good. You have been pale and sad ever since.'

'Green with envy, perhaps,' Erica said quickly.

'You are not the jealous type; at least not over money or possessions.' The plump chin quivered. 'Over a man you might be different. But even then you are the type who would suffer in silence rather than fight for what you wanted.'

'My character isn't as milky as my colouring!'

'I do not mean you lack spirit,' the Signora hastened to a.s.sure her. 'But you have pride. And that will not allow you to fight for a man.'

'Then I'd better not fall for one with a roving eye!'

'One cannot fall in love to order.' The Signora glanced at the telephone. 'The American boy who calls - he has lost his heart to you?'

'We're just good friends,' Erica said flatly.

'In today's language that means lovers! When Signora Medina calls the Conte her friend, she is-'

The entry of two customers put an end to further conversation, and by the time they were alone again the Signora's mind was working on another tack.

But Erica could not forget what had been said, and later that evening as she sat in her room she tried to a.s.sess ' Claudia Medina's character from all she had gleaned from Signora Botelli. Married at seventeen to a wealthy Milanese industrialist, the woman had been widowed three years ago. Her family was a well-known Roman one with more pride than money, and though she did not appear to be short of money herself, it was rumoured that she had not been left as well off as she pretended.

The Conte would solve all her problems,' Signora Botelli had stated, 'both financially and emotionally! He is a real man, that one.'

How much of a man, Erica knew all too well. Her body tingled at the mere thought of him; his presence was like an aura around her, heightening her senses and disturbing her peace of mind.

To Combat it, she went out frequently with Johnny during the following week. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not see him as anything more than a friend.

As celebration of their fifth meeting he took her to the Danielli for dinner and went to great pains to make sure they had a table on the terrace. It gave them a panoramic view of Venice, though the diners around them - either American or English - made it hard to believe they were abroad. Had it not been for the menu and the waiters they could have been in any smart restaurant in any cosmopolitan city.

'I wish I'd been born in an era when travelling abroad was still a great adventure,' she commented.

'What a thing to say to me,' Johnny grinned. 'Don't you know I'm the king of the package tour? A couple of years from now and I'll have my own agency.'

'Do you want that sort of responsibility?'

'Sure. You can't make big money working for someone else.'

'And you consider big money important?'

'I like the nice life, honey, and you can't have that without bread. 'His grey eyes appraised her. 'Aren't you ambitious?'

'Not for money. I love designing jewellery, but I don't particularly want to own it.'

"Yet you make beautiful things for rich women. Don't you envy their ability to buy anything they want?'

'I never envy anyone their possessions.' She bit her lip, I'm making myself sound too good to be true!'

'You are too good,' he grinned. How about showing me some of your vices?'

'My only vice is that I'm a prude.'

He raised his brows. Is that a vice?'

'Most men seem to think so,' she smiled. 'I doubt if you'll be any different!'

'Ouch!' he said plaintively. That remark hurt. But probably because it fits me!'

She laughed at his honesty and liked him all the more for it, though not enough to change her mind when he tried to turn their goodnight kiss into a more lengthy one.

'I'm still going to try and seduce you,' he said, 'so be warned.'

That's as good as being forearmed,' she replied, and heard him laugh as she closed the door on him.

Sunday was the hottest day she had known since her arrival in Venice, and she regretted her refusal to go with Johnny to the Lido beach. It was too sultry to remain indoors, and at lunchtime she went to a local restaurant and treated herself to ravioli and scampi, then debated whether to go to the Lido for a swim. Knowing the interest her silvery-blonde colouring would arouse, she decided against it, and instead went for a stroll in the Piazza San Marco.

The shops were closed, but the cards were open, their tables packed with tourists and Venetians all enjoying the Sunday afternoon. Hundreds of pigeons weaved and circled overhead, swooping to the ground to be fed corn seeds and crumbs. Erica felt she must be the only person without anyone to share the day, and experienced such a pang of self-pity that she decided to overcome it by treating herself to an icecream.

After some effort she managed to find a vacant table, shaded from the sun by the arcade yet still giving her a good view of the square. A few yards away came music from another cafe: Franz Lehar waltzes that epitomized Venice as much as they did the Vienna where they had originated. A gla.s.s of water and a vanilla ice were set before her and she picked up a spoon and began to eat. In a pale yellow cotton dress that highlighted her softly tanned skin, she looked as cool as an ice herself. Because of the heat she had held her hair away from her face with a narrow circlet of gold, a gift from Signora Botelli. Unsoftened by her hair, her features were thrown into relief: her eyes large and limpid and marked by delicately arched brows; her nose small and straight and her mouth looking soft and tremulous and the warm pink of a rose.

All around her people were talking to friends and family, and again self-pity threatened to engulf her. She forced herself to concentrate on the beautiful facade of the church. Her eyes moved over the statues that stood in marble and gilded splendour along its length, then came down to the entrance, where a flock of nuns hovered.

A young couple caught her attention, not so much because the girl was young and pretty but because the man looked like one of the Apostles He was tall and thin, with light brown hair, worn long and straight, and a full beard. Even as she watched he put his arm around the girl's waist and drew her away from the church. It was only then that Erica realized that the girl was the Conte Rosetti's niece. Startled, she stared at the bearded man again. From his colouring she did not think he was Italian, while from his strange appearance - apart from his long hair and beard he wore a long white shirt embroidered with blue and gold motifs - it was highly improbable that he was on the Rosetti visiting list.

She was still watching the couple when the girl turned in the direction of the Grand Ca.n.a.l. As she did so she stopped and glanced apprehensively at the man beside her. Then she caught his hand and began to walk swiftly towards the arcade.

It was only as she came abreast of Erica's table that she stopped, her smile so wide that it was difficult to believe this was the same unfriendly girl she had met at the palazzo a fortnight ago.

h.e.l.lo, Miss Rayburn, how wonderful to see you!'

Surprised by the warmth of the greeting, Erica was even more so when the girl asked if she could join her and sat down without waiting for confirmation.

'David, go!' she cried, 'Quickly!'

'You're wrong, Sophie.' The man's voice was low and gentle. 'Let me stay.'

'I know what I'm doing. For goodness' sake, go!'

The man melted into the crowd and Sophie gave a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair, at the same time reaching out for Erica's half-finished icecream.

'I'm not mad,' she said hurriedly as she saw the look on Erica's face. 'I can't explain yet Just play along with me. Please.'

"What do you want me to do?'

'Personally I'd sell all my uncle's paintings for a couple of Jackson Pollocks,' Sophie said brightly. 'We'll just have to agree to differ when it comes to art.'

'Still talking like a Philistine?' a deep voice inquired, and Erica had no need to turn to know who had come to stand beside them. She also knew the reason for Sophie's illogical conversation and behaviour. The girl had obviously seen her uncle in the square and did not wish him to guess she had been with a man. Hence her sudden dash to this table and her pretence that she was in the middle of a conversation with Erica - as well as an icecream!

Annoyed at being made use of in this way, Erica was in half a mind to make her anger known. But the look of pleading in Sophie's brown eyes kept her silent, and she watched wordlessly as the Conte pulled out the vacant chair beside her and sat down.

'I did not know you had a rendezvous with Miss Rayburn,' he said pleasantly to his niece.

'I didn't realize I had to tell you all my engagements,' the girl replied.

'Of course you don't. But had I known your plans, I would have joined you earlier.' He smiled at Erica. 'You are well?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'But somewhat pale. May I get you a drink?'

She shook her head, forbearing to explain that her pallor was due to his niece's behaviour.

Accepting her refusal, he ordered a coffee for himself. It was exactly a fortnight since she had seen him, yet she felt it was only yesterday, so constantly had he been in her mind. It angered her that she should have been so aware of him when he was so apparently unaware of her. If he had given her half as much thought, he would have telephoned her or come to the shop days ago. Obliquely she looked at him. As always he was fastidiously dressed, this time in blue-grey, with a slightly paler shirt. A gold watch glinted on his wrist, where the hairs grew thick and black, though the hands themselves were pale and smooth, the fingers supple and strong. Moving her eyes upward, she studied his face. He looked unconcerned as he sipped his coffee, but there was a narrowing of the thin mouth that indicated that he was holding himself under control, and the sharp glint in his eyes suggested the same thing. Was he angry because his niece was spending the afternoon with a shop a.s.sistant? She dismissed the thought at once. The Conte might be a sn.o.b, but he was not a fool, and having already invited her to his home he could not object if a member of his family wished to renew the acquaintance.

His head turned swiftly and Erica found herself looking directly into black pupils. She lowered her lids, her long lashes resting on cheeks that were pink with embarra.s.sment.

'What were you and Sophie talking about?' he asked softly.

'Art,' Erica replied. 'Your niece likes the moderns.'

'Ah yes, Jackson Pollock. And what about you?'

'My taste is eclectic - in art as well as jewellery.'

'I understand you are designing some modern pieces for Signora Medina?'

Erica's heart missed a beat, but she managed to nod her head. 'She wants a bracelet and earrings to match a pendant she bought from us.'

'It is a lovely pendant,' he said. 'Did you make it?'

'I designed it, but it was made in Signora Botelli's own workshop.'

'What about designing something for me?' Sophie came into the conversation saucily.

'Time enough for that when you have a husband to pay your bills,' her uncle chided.

'You're not Claudia's husband!'

The Conte caught his breath and for an instant looked furious, but when he spoke his voice was soft. 'You have no need to buy jewellery, Sophie. You may choose to wear anything from my collection.'

'It's too much bother. Anyway^ aren't you scared I might be tempted to sell it?'

'You will not make the same mistake twice.' His tone was even more gentle. "Not because you would worry about my anger, but because you know it would break your mother's heart.'

'I hate you for telling her what I did!'

'It was the only way of making sure you didn't repeat the act.' He pointed to the icecream melting in front of her. 'Finish it up, your mother is approaching.'

Sophie jumped up as Anna Charters stopped beside the table.

At once her brother went to pull a chair forward for her, but she shook her head. 'I am afraid I cannot stay, Filippo. I'm meeting the Frascattis at four o'clock and I am already late.'

'It is unwise to hurry in this heat,' the Conte warned. 'It is better for me to telephone and say you have been delayed.'

'There won't be any need if I go now.'

'I'll come with you,' Sophie offered.

Her mother nodded and looked at Erica. 'I'm delighted to see you, Miss Rayburn. I hope we meet again soon.' 'Come on, Mother,' the younger girl said impatiently. 'You said you were late.' She beamed at Erica. 'Thanks for the icecream. I'll be in touch with you!'

Mother and daughter wended their way through the crowded tables and were soon lost from sight. Erica glanced nervously at the man beside her and wished he would do the same.

'Don't you have an appointment?' she blurted out.

'I am in no hurry.' He looked at her gla.s.s of water and without asking her, ordered two fresh coffees. He did not speak again until they were placed in front of them, then he leaned forward and looked fully into her face. 'It was kind of you not to give my niece away.'

'Wh-what do you mean?'

'You know very well. I saw Sophie with Mr. Gould several moments before she saw me.'

'You mean you knew she wasn't with me?'

'Si. You were sitting here by yourself. I saw you. That is why I was walking in this direction.'