Veretti’s Dark Vengeance

She rose to her feet, her expression grim.

‘Now I know what to do.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THERE was another day to wait until Salvatore returned. He called her at once.

‘I’d like us to meet immediately,’ he said. ‘There’s something we need to talk about.’

‘I agree. I’m on my way-’

‘I’d rather-’

But the line was dead. Helena had hung up.

A brief, hurried walk brought her to the palazzo.

‘Signor Veretti is in his study,’ the maid said.

Salvatore opened his door as she approached and closed it behind them. The newspaper lay open on his desk.

‘I know what you’re thinking-’ he began.

‘If you really knew what I thought of you, you’d shrivel and die,’ she informed him.

‘I don’t blame you for being angry. Since I saw that thing in the paper I’ve been trying to think how to explain to you-’

‘But why bother? We both know how things stand. I’m really glad to have been useful to you.’

‘Helena, I swear that piece was designed weeks ago, before I knew you.’

‘Just an unfortunate coincidence! Please, Salvatore, don’t insult my intelligence.’

Anger flashed in his eyes.

‘I’m telling you the truth. You own a glass works yourself, you know how long these things take to produce.’

‘I know I produced the devil’s head in two days, and you also produced a head in two days.’

‘Of course, it can be done in exceptional circumstances, but that was a one off. This-’he indicated the pictures in the paper ‘-was part of the line, created weeks before I met you. There’s no connection.’

‘And the name-Helen of Troy?’

‘That didn’t come from me. Some stupid journalist tacked it on, thinking he was being clever. After that everyone took it up. It was inevitable after we’d been seen together, but it wasn’t my doing. It was just a malign trick of fate.’

‘Malign? I don’t think so. Since when were profits malign? It is true, isn’t it, that this is outselling everything else?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s true. But I didn’t arrange it that way. I ask you to believe me, Helena. Please.’

She gazed at him, wondering if she’d really heard him say please.

‘I’m begging you,’ he said quietly.

Suddenly she knew she was at a crossroads, seeing two directions. She could take the road of believing him, loving him, taking him on trust with the terrible risk of a betrayal that would destroy her. Or she could take the other direction, call him a liar to his face, walk away, safe forever from his machinations.

Safe and dead.

What had happened to her in his arms was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, offering joy as nothing else could ever do. If she left now she would never be hurt again, but there would be no joy, only a frozen desert. All she needed was the courage to take the risk.

‘How can I believe you?’ she asked in agony. ‘You’ve always boasted that you’ll stop at nothing to get the better of me, and you seem to have done so very thoroughly. If I believe in your innocence after this-well, you’ll have got the better of me again, won’t you?’

She faced him. He was very pale.

‘You could think that,’ he said slowly, ‘or you could remember some of the things that-recently-well-we each remember what we want to.’

‘I don’t want to,’ she cried. ‘But I don’t have any choice. You did this, it happened-’

‘But other things happened too,’ he said harshly. ‘We both know that. Did they matter less?’

‘I don’t know. But I can’t believe something just because I want to. Perhaps it’s better to stick to what I can bear to remember. You said it wasn’t safe to cross you, and I’d find that out. Well, I did, didn’t I? And once a lesson is learned, it’s learned. I can’t unlearn it. I wish I could, but I can’t.’

‘Do you know what you’re saying?’ he said quietly.

‘I’m saying that I understand what you’ve been trying to make me understand from the start. And I accept it. I don’t want to, but I must.’

His eyes kindled.

‘And when I tell you this was an unlucky accident-you won’t even try to trust me?’

‘No,’ she said in a voice of defeat. ‘I don’t trust you. You’ve given me too many reasons not to.’ She gave a sudden harsh laugh. ‘Better to have it out in the open. Now we can stop deceiving each other. War to the death. So much simpler.’

‘War to the death,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps it was always inevitable. Gloves off, no holds barred.’

Something had changed in him. The gentleness that had briefly been there when he begged her now gave way to a look that his enemies would have recognised and feared.

Salvatore couldn’t see how his face reflected the change. He only knew that he had done for this woman what he’d done for no other. He’d said please. He’d even begged. It chilled him to remember that he’d begged, that she’d seen him do it and scorned him. If he could have wiped her from the face of the earth at that moment he would have done so.

‘No holds barred,’ she repeated. ‘You talk of me trusting you, and there, in that picture, is the proof that you’re lying.’

‘Don’t say that, I’m warning you-’

‘Yes, you’re warning me. How typical. You play the innocent but all the time you’re making money out of me.’

‘Only out of your body, which you’ve been doing yourself for years,’ he said coldly.

‘Because it’s mine!’

‘Ah, yes, of course,’ he said in a tone of sneering discovery. ‘I’ve infringed your copyright, haven’t I? Your body is your property. It can be loaned or rented out for the evening, but the only one allowed to make money from it is you.’

‘Exactly. And you can be sure that I’m going to do so. I’m going to take every offer, and believe me, there are plenty. Some of them go further than I’ve ever been before-’

‘But they’re the ones with the most cash attached,’ he said with a derisive grin. ‘Every garment removed has its price. You should certainly take every chance. I apologise for being so remiss about the fee. Here.’

He handed her a cheque he’d been scribbling.

‘What’s that?’ she demanded, aghast.

‘Royalties. After all, I’ve made use of your body without paying for it as your other clients do, so now we’re even. I hope it’s the correct amount.’

For a moment everything in the world was the colour of her agony. When the mist cleared she realised that she must have struck him. There was a livid weal across his face, just touching his mouth.

Then the murderous rage died as swiftly as it had flared, and there was only the numbness of despair.

‘I’ll put this in the bank at once,’ she said calmly. ‘And, of course, I’ll send you a proper invoice so that it can go through the books.’ She gave him a brilliant smile. ‘Just be careful which column you enter it in.’

‘Helena-’

But she’d gone.