'Many,' he agreed. 'But I have never met one whom I loved sufficiently to give up my freedom.'

'Not even for the sake of an heir?'

'I wish my son to have a mother whom I love with all my heart.' His eyes were dark and brooding, and despite the fact that they were sitting in a well-lit restaurant with people close by, he created the impression of being alone with her, as if his emotions were cloaking them from everyone else.

'You make love sound very significant,' she murmured.

'Do you not find it so?'

'I don't know. I've never been in love.'

That answers my next question. I was going to ask why a beautiful girl like you is still single.'

'I don't consider myself beautiful.'

'Then you are blind! You are like a pearl. And one must look at a pearl with searching eyes in order to appreciate all it can offer. Hold it at a distance and all you can see is a round milky white object. But wear it against your skin and it takes on colour and warmth. It absorbs the radiance around it and gives it back to you with intensified richness.'

'You have an excellent line in compliments, Conte Rosetti.'

'I am being serious,' he said sharply. 'And will you please be so good as to call me by my name.'

'I'll try,' she said, and concentrated on the last part of his sentence in an effort to forget the first.

'Do it now.' He slid forward in his chair and stared at her.

'Filippo,' she said coolly. 'It isn't hard to p.r.o.nounce.'

'Your tongue rests on each vowel as if you were chewing an ice cube - and you give my name the same degree of warmth!' Elbows on the table, he leaned closer still. 'Say it with feeling, Erica, the way I say your name.' He repeated her name in a whisper, stressing the second syllable and giving it a foreign intonation. 'Now do the same for mine,' he commanded.

An imp of mischief that surprised her as much as it surprised him, made her utter his name in a languorously husky tone. 'Filippo... Does that satisfy you?'

His eyes gleamed. 'I hope you learn other things as quickly!' Scarlet-cheeked, she lowered her lashes.

'Let us go,' he said abruptly, and pushed back his chair.

No bill was given to him, though the proprietor appeared at his side to bow them out. The dampness had gone from the air and it was summery again. Draping her stole around her shoulders, she walked beside him. It had been a wonderful evening and she would remember it for a long time to come, even though it was difficult to know exactly what had made it so memorable; not their conversation, for that had been spasmodic and brittle; more for the atmosphere perhaps, and for her own tremulous awareness of him. Light-heartedly she had found him full of s.e.x appeal, but she could no longer be light-hearted about it, and she was filled with a longing to throw herself into his arms, to have him hold her tightly and feel the touch of his hands... She stumbled and he put his hand on her arm to steady her. He kept it there, making her even more conscious of his closeness and her own vulnerability. What on earth was happening to her? Was she allowing Signora Botelli's obvious awe of him to affect her own att.i.tude? Certainly she had never before experienced nor enjoyed such male dominance.

Once again they were in a part of Venice she did not know well, but the muted sound of music coming from one of the houses prepared her for a night club, and she followed Filippo into a dimly lit vestibule that led into a flower- decked pavilion. A three-piece band throbbed soulfully into the night and a black-skinned singer did the same into a microphone.

Erica's earlier belief that Filippo was trying to hide his evening with her was dispelled as they edged their way towards a banquette some distance from the music, for at every step he was loudly and cheerily greeted by someone he knew. Even in the subdued light she recognized the flash of real jewellery and the cut of couture clothes. These were not people who would appreciate the subtle splendours of Emilio's table, though they were undoubtedly the kind who would recount to the world that Filippo had been seen escorting an unknown blonde. There was no question about it getting back to Signora Medina. Carrier pigeons would be used should the telephone give out! Didn't Filippo care if the woman knew he was dining with someone else, or wasn't it considered necessary to be faithful to one's mistress? The thought of Filippo alone with Claudia Medina made her burn with such jealousy that she searched for something cruel to say.

'I'm tired, Filippo. I'd like to go home.'

'We've only just arrived.'

'I didn't know you were going to take me dancing.'

'It's only eleven o'clock.'

'It might be early for you,' she replied, 'but I work for a living. I open the shop at half-past eight.'

'I work too,' he said, and pushed her down into the seat 'I thought your work was keeping women happy,' she said pointedly.

His eyes glinted. 'Never more than one at a time, Erica. And tonight you are the one.'

'No,' she protested, and made to rise. But it was impossible for her to move; he was sitting close beside her and his long legs blocked her exit.

'Stay where you are and be quiet,' he said menacingly, then turned with a smile to greet the waiter who set the inevitable bottle of champagne in front of them.

'It's so phoney here,' she said vehemently, looking round with distaste. 'Everyone is shouting at the top of their voices and pretending to have fun.'

'They are having fun - and so will you if you stop working yourself into a rage about nothing. What have I done to upset you now?'

'I'm sorry, but-' She bit her lip and then plunged on. 'I just find the whole thing a pretence: your taking me out and flirting with me... the way you brought me here so that your friends could see us and - and-'

'Finish it,' he hissed.

'And report back to Signora Medina! Is that why you asked me out tonight - because you quarrelled with her? You said you only have one woman at a time and if-'

'Be quiet!' he ordered. 'If you go on like this I will hit you.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Don't try me.' He leaned close, his wide shoulders blocking out the room.

He went on staring into her face and the anger in her died, making her see the futility of her outburst and frightening her with the knowledge that she might have given herself away. He knew she was attracted to him - she was convinced of that - but he must never know how much. Never.

'I'm sorry, Filippo.' Her voice was ragged. 'I know you find my behaviour odd, but I - I'm not used to the continental way of doing things.'

'In what way are we different from the English?'

In every way.'

'I think you mean in our att.i.tude to love.'

She nodded, and knew she had to explain. 'Your marriages are often family arrangements and you see nothing wrong in having a mistress. There are many other differences too.'

'Such as? Tell me, Erica, I am curious to know.'

'What's the point? You won't change and neither will I.' She stared past his shoulder at the dancers on the floor. 'Anyway, it doesn't matter if we have different opinions and values.'

'It matters very much indeed.' He pushed her further back against the wall by the hard pressure of his thigh. 'As you say, in some ways we are more prosaic about marriage than the English, but in other ways we are far more romantic. We appreciate the importance of marrying the right woman - and by that I mean someone who will fit into our family and our circle of friends. But once a man has chosen his woman he will remain with her for the rest of his life. No matter what other amours he might have, his wife and children will always come first. You will not find the deserted wives and children in Italy that you find in England and America! Some of our womenfolk may wish that their husbands were more amorous towards them, but they never have to wish for him to be a good father or a good provider. The Italian man is always that.' He rubbed the side of his face. 'As for our mistresses... Here I find it difficult to answer you.'

'I thought you would,' she said drily.

'But only because you are so childish in your beliefs! Don't you think that some Englishmen also have other women? And do you find it impossible to believe that there are as many faithful Italian husbands as English ones?'

'I doubt it.'

'You speak from ignorance,' he said coldly. 'You will find more happy wives here than in your own home town! And do you know why? Because we don't leave them and spend hours in a public house or in a football stadium! We treat them as companions. We talk to them about our feelings, our ambitions, our s.e.xual needs.'

'I knew you'd get around to s.e.x!'

'Does s.e.x frighten you?' he said savagely. 'Are you going to spend your life as Sleeping Beauty waiting for an emasculated Prince Charming to lead you into a platonic marriage?'

'There's no need to be insulting!' she flared.

'Then why did you insult me? Or didn't you think I would object to being accused of bringing you here to spite Claudia? When I have a mistress,' he grated, 'I escort no one else until such time as I have left her.'

'Does that mean you've left Signora Medina?' Erica asked bluntly.

'One cannot give up what one has never had.' His thigh pressed harder against her. 'Claudia's husband was like an uncle to me. As a boy I was devoted to him, and when he died I felt it my duty to help his widow. Claudia was not left well provided, and I made it my business to put her affairs in order. But she herself has not been my affair. She is a friend: nothing more.'

'That isn't the impression she gives,' Erica said stiffly, remembering Signora Botelli's comments about the jewellery bills. 'You buy her things,' she added. 'She has come to our shop several times.'

'I buy her a few odd pieces,' he shrugged. 'So what? Money is relative, Erica. A few million lire means nothing to me. It costs me far more to have you look at me with contempt.'

'Don't talk like that,' she said swiftly.

'I am telling you the truth. From the moment I saw you I wanted to be with you.'

'You didn't give that impression.' Knowing she could not get up and run, she decided to do the only possible thing: confront him with his words and make him see it was useless for him to go on flirting with her. 'You didn't fall over yourself inviting me to have lunch with you, and you took another two weeks before you-'

'I told you I went abroad after the luncheon party. And the reason I waited a week before actually inviting you to the Palazzo was because . .He pulled at his lower lip. 'I will be honest and admit that I was fighting my feelings. I wanted to see if I could stop thinking about you.' He caught her hand, squeezing her fingers so tightly that she was hard put not to cry out. 'Do you think I wanted to fall in love with a frigid English girl who would look at me with contemptuous eyes and accuse me of having a mistress!'

'Now you are joking!'

'Only because I dare not be serious. If I am, I will disgrace myself by making violent love to you in front of half of Venice!' He jumped up. 'Come. You are right, we should not have come here. I will take you home.'

Not giving her a chance to speak, he bustled her out and walked her speedily along the quiet streets to her apartment house. Still in silence he escorted her up the steps to her front door, looking oddly out of place in the narrow hallway.

She opened her bag and fumbled for her key. Her fingers seemed all thumbs, but at last she found it and put it into the lock. It turned and she opened the door and then swung round to say good night to him.

'Oh no, you don't,' he muttered, and stepping inside, knocked the door shut with his foot and pulled her violently into his arms.

She tried to draw back, but he was too strong, and he pulled her closer still, so that her body was pressed tightly against his. She felt the warmth of him through the thin silk of her dress, and the heavy pounding of his heart as his arms squeezed her ribs.

'You're hurting me!' she cried.

'Then stop fighting me. I want you and you want me.'

'I don't!'

'You're lying. You do want me, Erica. I have seen it in your eyes all evening. You want me as much as I want you!'

He lowered his head and rested his mouth on hers. She kept her lips closed and was surprised when he did not try to force them apart, content instead to rub them gently.

'You have no need to be frightened of me, little one. I will never wittingly do anything to hurt you.'

'What about unwittingly?' she asked, and felt him draw back slightly, though not enough for her to escape his hold. 'We come from different worlds, Filippo - I know you deny it, but it's true - and because of that, we think differently. You won't be able to help hurting me.'

'You may hurt me too. What about that?'

'Could I hurt you?' she asked slowly. 'You are so strong and self-sufficient.'

He groaned. 'If only you knew how insufficient you have made me!'

Once more his lips were on hers and this time she did not stop herself from responding. Her arms went around his neck and the tenseness left her mouth and body. Feeling her relax, he gave a murmured endearment and then rained quick little kisses along her cheek and down the smooth line of her throat, coming to rest where a pulse beat in the delicate hollow beneath her collar-bone. His hand stroked the silky skin of her shoulder, his fingers as light as the touch of a b.u.t.terfly's wing. She shivered and pressed closer still, feeling him tremble as she did so.

'Erica,' he said urgently, and tilted her face up until her mouth was just below his. His eyes were glazed and so dark that there was no difference between the pupil and the iris. Then the heavy lids lowered and his mouth came down to cover hers.

Desire and fear warred within her and fear won. Her hands moved away from his neck and clenched against his chest as she tried to push him away, at the same time twisting her head to escape his hungry demands. For an instant she thought he was not going to let her go, then he took his mouth from hers and released his tight hold.

'One day you will not be afraid of me,' he said huskily, and catching her hand, raised it to his lips. 'You are an innocent child pretending to be a grown-up young woman.' His eyes lowered to the curve of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and then lifted again to meet her own. 'Sleep well, my little one, and think of me.'

Before she could collect her wits he had gone, and only as she heard his steps swiftly descending the stairs did she run to the window and peer down into the street. She waited for him to turn and wave to her, but he did not look up. Instead he walked swiftly away, disappearing almost at once into the shadows.

Dejected, she turned back to the living room. It had been foolish of her to expect him to wave to her like a lovesick swain. He was too sophisticated to be bowled over by a few kisses, and though she knew he had desired her, she knew also that he could just as easily forget her when they were apart. Yet he had not spoken as if he wanted to forget her, nor as if their evening together had merely been a single, flirtatious interlude. He had gone out of his way to let her know that he felt they had a future together, though he had made no reference as to the terms of it.

She began to undress and, seeing herself in the wardrobe mirror, wondered what Filippo would think if he saw her now. Though slender and fine-boned, she was delicately curved, with small but tip-tilted b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a tiny waist curving out to smooth firm hips. She was as different from the average, well-endowed Italian girl as it was possible to be, and fleetingly wished for more obvious charms, thinking of Claudia Medina as she did so.

How adept the woman had been in insinuating an intimate relationship with Filippo, and how cunningly she had established her desire to please him; even to the extent of asking Erica to design long earrings for her to wear because Filippo liked to see her with her hair drawn back.

Had Filippo been speaking the truth when he said that Claudia was no more than a family friend, and that his care for her financial well-being stemmed only for his affection for her late husband? If this were untrue and he was lying, it could only be for one reason: to make her believe she was not usurping another woman's place nor stepping into a position still warm from someone else's occupancy.

Her cheeks burned at where her thoughts had taken her, and she hurriedly put on her nightdress and slipped between the cool sheets. Would she see Filippo tomorrow? She knew he was going to Rome the day after. But when he had telephoned her today he had given her the option of seeing him tonight or tomorrow evening. Of course this didn't mean he was still free; he could well have made arrangements to see someone else. If only he had made some reference to it or said he would call her when he returned from Rome. But he had left without a word, only his dark eyes speaking a message that was open to so many interpretations that she was afraid to consider them. Perhaps it would be as well not to think of them at all; to take each event as it came.

Inexplicably David Gould came into her mind, and the reference he had made to fate bringing Sophie into his life. It was fate that had brought Sophie into her life too, for the girl's encounter with her in the shop had led to her meeting with Filippo.

Erica sighed and turned deeper into the pillow. Fate had not done badly so far, she mused; she might as well leave the rest to fate too.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

For the whole of the next day Erica waited to hear from Filippo, and when he did not telephone her at the shop, she felt certain she would find a message from him waiting for her at her apartment. But there was no letter on the mat inside her front door and, still believing he would get in touch with her, she did not venture out again, but made herself an omelette and coffee which she took to eat on the small balcony outside her room.

Only as ten o'clock came and went did she admit he was not going to contact her that day, and she went to bed depressed by her disappointment. Tomorrow he was going to Rome and the earliest she could hear from him would be later in the afternoon. Even as she told herself this, she knew she was being childish; Filippo had no reason to call her and he was too much a man of the world to behave like a lovesick schoolboy. Yet though logic told her one thing, her heart led her to believe another.

'Stop kidding yourself,' she said aloud. 'Even if he's attracted to you, he won't let it interfere with his work.' Indeed this was exactly what frightened her. Filippo had such strength of character that he might well be able to compartmentalize his life and put her into one small section of it; whereas she had already made him the whole of hers. This knowledge made her see how vulnerable she had become, and how ready for love she must be if she could have fallen for this man so quickly.

'Am I in love with him or just in love with love?' she asked herself. 'Is it the magic of Venice that has made me so susceptible or would I love Filippo no matter where I had met him?'