Veretti’s Dark Vengeance

head.

It didn’t work. The tormenting images were always there, and the memory of even more tormenting sensations. She would shut her eyes and curl up into a ball, shivering.

But she never wept. Never.

The heavy, embossed invitation was glittering and formal.

Signora Helena Veretti was invited to be Signor Salvatore Veretti’s guest on the vessel Herana for the Festa della Sensa, in two weeks’ time.

‘It’s an honour,’ Emilio told her. ‘Did Antonio ever tell you about this festival?’

‘A little. Let’s see-’ she pressed her fingers to her forehead ‘-it goes back several hundred years, to the days when the doge took a ceremonial barge out into the lagoon, and tossed a gold ring into the water to mark Venice’s marriage to the sea.’

‘That’s right. These days it’s recreated every year. A fleet of boats goes out, and an actor plays the role of the doge. All the great men of Venice take part, including the cardinal, otherwise known as the Patriarch of Venice. You’ll be in fine company.’

‘Assuming that I accept.’

‘People commit murder to get these invitations. Think of all the networking you can do.’

‘Yes, of course, I must think of that.’

While she was planning whether to call Salvatore or write a reply, the phone rang.

‘Did you receive my invitation?’ he asked.

At the sound of his voice all the good work of the last few days went out of the window. What had happened between them might have been last night.

‘I was about to call you,’ she said.

‘I expect you need to know a little more before you give me your answer.’

‘No, I’d decided to-’

‘We’ll have lunch. Meet me in an hour at-’ He named a cafe two streets away.

A click and he was gone.

The cafe was small, cheap and cheerful, a world away from the elegant eating places she was used to. Salvatore was waiting for her at a table outside, overlooking a small canal, busy with boats delivering supplies. He poured her a glass of light white wine, which he’d already ordered.

Her first view of him gave her an eerie sensation of looking into a mirror. If his eyes told a true story he’d had as many sleepless nights as she.

He rose as she appeared and drew out a seat.

‘I’d have been in touch before, but I was called away suddenly,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the head. I’ve locked it away safely to prevent my grandmother smashing it. She’s indignant that anyone should see me as the devil. I told her that you’d explain it to her when the two of you meet.’

‘You did what?’ she demanded, shaken out of her composure. ‘What am I supposed to say to her?’

He shrugged, grinning. ‘That’s for you to decide. I’ll just act as referee.’

His smile lit up the world, although she tried not to admit it. For a week her thoughts about him had been bitter. Now she was happy just to be here with him.

‘I was right when I made you a devil,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the cheek of one.’

‘So I take it you accept my invitation? Good.’

‘Hold on, I haven’t said that.’

‘Why should you refuse? Because it comes from me?’

He said it quizzically, making his face charming. She tried not to be charmed, but failed.

‘Let’s just say I’m deeply suspicious of you for asking me,’ she said.

‘But you’re a celebrity now. Naturally I want to be seen with you as often as possible, for the sake of my reputation.’

‘Will you stop talking nonsense?’

‘I’m being serious. As a man of position I have to make sure that you’re seen in my company rather than any other man’s. I couldn’t risk competition from-say-Silvio Tirani.’

‘Yes, of course. I might swoon into his arms at any moment.’

‘I live in fear of it. All Venice is talking about how you sent him out of the restaurant with a flea in his ear.’ He added wryly, ‘To be honest, I have a certain fellow feeling.’

‘Oh, really!’ she said with deep scepticism.

‘You’ve given me a flea several times. Perhaps Tirani and I should set up a society, Helen of Troy’s Venice Rejects.’

They burst out laughing together, and the warmth came flooding back, not just the fierce sexual heat but the gentler warmth of minds in harmony.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, echoing the words he’d used before, wondering if she would remember them.

She remembered at once, and nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

‘I ask because-’

‘I know. I was in a strange mood that night.’

‘I didn’t harm you in any way, did I? Because if I did I’ll never forgive myself.’

His voice was gentle and concerned. So were his eyes, she noticed with a catch of the breath. Briefly the battle was in abeyance. This was Time Out, when they could be just people reaching out tentatively to each other, not combatants.

‘You didn’t harm me,’ she insisted firmly.

‘But something troubled you,’ he said, still gentle. ‘I wish you’d tell me.’

For a moment he thought she would confide in him and his heart lifted. But then she gave him a beaming, confident smile and he knew he was shut out again. The smile was her armour. He’d learned this much about her by now.

‘The only thing that’s worrying me is the fact that you won-for the moment,’ she said slightly.

‘I haven’t noticed you going out of business,’ he observed.

‘I wasn’t talking about business. You told me-how much I’d enjoy our time together. And I did.’ She raised her wine glass. ‘Congratulations on your victory.’

‘Shut up!’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t talk like that.’

Once he would have triumphed in her words. Now they tortured him.

She shrugged and set down the glass, looking at him from behind her armour.

For the moment he gave up, knowing that in this mood she was beyond his strength.

‘So you’ll be my guest on my boat for the festa,’ he said, ‘and then at my home for the banquet afterwards.’

‘Well, actually-’

‘And if you’ve accepted anyone else’s invitation you can just tell them you’ve changed your mind.’

‘That’s better,’ she said with relish. ‘Now you sound like you again.’

He was troubled, a feeling he was reluctantly finding familiar. It had been that way with him ever since he’d risen from her bed after a union that had disconcerted him in ways he didn’t understand.

Salvatore was used to being the one who made love only with the body, while keeping his heart to himself. His experience of desire was that no matter how mysterious a woman seemed before they went to bed her mystery vanished when he’d brought her to climax. Then she said and did the same as every other woman, grasping hold of him when he wanted to leave, trying to prolong the relationship when it was dead, speaking of love to a man who didn’t want to hear, refusing to recognise reality.

But Helena had turned away, content to let him go, seemingly indifferent. He’d found himself with thoughts that had never troubled him in the past, and had left the city to escape them. During his absence she’d sent the glass head with a polite note, but apparently made no other attempt to contact him at work or at home. He was puzzled.

She’d said she had no heart to give, and he was beginning to wonder if it was the truth. It had never mattered before.

‘My family have a great desire to meet you,’ he said. ‘After all, you’re one of us now. Yes, I understand why you give me that disbelieving look, but there are a lot of Verettis and they’re not all as bad as me. At least give them