The Autumn Of The Witch

Stephanie sighed and slid off the bed, taking off the trouser suit and hanging it away in her fitted wardrobe. Then she turned back to the bed and as she did so the scarlet telephone on the bedside table caught her eye. With determination, she flung herself on her stomach on the bed and lifted the receiver. Then she dialled the number of Allan Priestley’s apartment and waited as the ringing tone began. Presently the receiver was lifted and Allan’s voice came through to her.

‘Oh, Allan! Hello, love. This is Stephanie. Look, I’m afraid I can’t go to that party with you this evening.’

Allan sounded annoyed. ‘Why ever not?’

Stephanie hesitated. ‘Well, I can’t really explain over the telephone.’

‘Why not? Has something happened? Is it to do with your father?’

‘Sort of. Anyway, Allan, I do have a bit of a headache, and quite honestly I didn’t want to go in the first place. You can still go—’

‘I don’t want to go without you!’ Allan snorted impatiently.

‘Well, I’m sorry, Allan, but that’s how it is. Give me a ring tomorrow, hmn?’

There was silence for a moment and then Allan said: ‘Oh, all right, Stephanie. But I do wish you wouldn’t make it sound so mysterious. Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Of course. I told you, I just have a bit of a headache, that’s all. ‘Bye for now.’

‘G’bye.’ Allan sounded reluctant, but Stephanie rang off before he could say anything else. Then she lay for a moment looking at the phone, seeing again the dark, unrelenting features of Santino Ventura. It didn’t seem fair that one man should possess this power over her father, albeit power that Jennifer and Aunt Evelyn between them had placed into his hands. With a sigh, Stephanie got up and went into her bathroom. Maybe a shower would rid her of this awful feeling of despondency.

She was bathed and dressed in velvet pants and a lounging sweater of fine wool when she heard the telephone ringing. She did not bother to answer it. It could be no one for her. And so it was a surprise when Miller tapped at her bedroom door to advise her that a Signor Bastinado was on the telephone.

Thanking her, Stephanie dashed across the room to the telephone and lifted the receiver with hasty fingers. ‘Hello. This is Stephanie McMaster.’

‘Hello, signorina.’ Pietro’s voice had an unmistakable accent. ‘I hope I did not disturb you.’

‘Oh, no – no.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘What can I do for you?’

Pietro seemed to hesitate, and then he said: ‘I wondered if you might have dinner with me this evening.’

Stephanie sank down on to the bed. ‘Dinner?’ she echoed, slowly, thinking hard. Why was he asking her out for dinner? Dared she go, knowing she had just told Allan she had a headache? And yet might this not be an opportunity to fraternize with the – enemy? She frowned. Pietro Bastinado must have some influence with Ventura.

Without further hesitation, she said: ‘Why – yes, I think I could manage that.’

‘Bene! I was afraid you might have some previous engagement, and it is rather late.’

“I – I was going out, but I – I changed my mind,’ she said, carefully.

‘I’m so glad you did.’ Pietro sounded gratifyingly eager. ‘I’ll pick you up in say thirty minutes. Is nine o’clock all right?’

‘Fine.’ Stephanie felt a twinge of excitement, and when he rang off she sat for a few moments wondering whether she was doing the right thing. It would not do for her father or Jennifer to find out where she was going and with whom, and she must speak to Miller and warn her not to say who had called her.

With haste, she changed into a plain chiffon cocktail dress in black, with an edging of sequins at the cuffed collar and sleeves. She secured her hair in a pleat at the back of her head and added long diamond earrings. Then, with a silver fur cape about her shoulders, she went downstairs. She encountered Miller in the hall and was speaking to her when her father emerged from the library. His face brightened a little at the sight of her and he said: ‘Going out, my dear?’

‘Yes.’ Stephanie managed not to colour guiltily. ‘We – er – Allan and I have been invited to a party.’

‘I see. Is he calling for you?’

Stephanie bit her lip. ‘Er – no – I’m meeting him – there.’

‘Oh.’ Her father looked surprised and with a feeling of betrayal Stephanie gave him a light kiss on his cheek and hurried to the door. She was just in time. As she stepped outside a cab halted at the entrance to the drive and she saw Pietro himself climbing out and speaking to the driver.

When he saw Stephanie he came hastening towards her and she ran a little to prevent their being noticed from the windows of the house. Not until she was inside the cab did she relax, and Pietro glanced at her curiously. ‘You did not tell your parents you were meeting me?’ he hazarded dryly.

‘That’s right.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘My father – wouldn’t understand.’

‘I see.’ Pietro was silent for a moment and then he drew out his cigarettes and offered her one. When she refused, he lit one himself and said: ‘Why did you come, signorina?’

Stephanie coloured now, but he could not see the telltale brilliance in the darkness. ‘Because I wanted to,’ she said.

Pietro drew on his cigarette. ‘With what motive?’ he queried. ‘Or am I to believe that it was my scintillating company you sought?’

Stephanie bent her head. ‘Why did you ask me?’ she countered.

Pietro smiled. ‘Because you are a beautiful young woman and you must know that all Italians appreciate beauty in their women.’

Stephanie stared at him, trying to see if he was teasing her. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘Why not? You are a beautiful woman, signorina. And I am only human, after all. You interest me, you intrigue me. And your reasons for accepting my invitation intrigue me even more.’

Stephanie ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘Why do you think I accepted your invitation?’

Pietro shrugged. ‘I think you had several reasons,’ he said at last. ‘But we will leave them until later, shall we, Stephanie? May I call you that?’

Stephanie nodded rather indifferently. ‘If you like.’

‘Thank you. I do.’ He smiled and she sank back into her corner feeling suddenly afraid. It was all right imagining herself capable of manipulating this man in the warmth and light of her bedroom and quite another considering it here, alone with him. Why had he invited her to dine? What possible advantage could he gain that he had not gained already?

They dined at a small Italian restaurant on the fringes of Soho. It was not a place Stephanie had previously visited although it was gradually gaining in popularity. Pietro was greeted like a long-lost cousin and their service was impeccable. The food was slightly rich for Stephanie’s taste, but the wine was exquisite and she commented upon it.

Pietro smiled, handling his glass within his two hands, holding it up to the level of his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘This wine comes from Sicily. From the vineyards of the Castello di Strega.’

‘The Castello di Strega,’ echoed Stephanie curiously.

‘That sounds an unusual name.’

‘It is. The castle of the witch. It is the home of my employer and brother-in-law, Santino Ventura.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Stephanie’s glass landed on the table with a little thud.

‘You do not like my brother-in-law, signorino?’

‘I scarcely know him.’ Stephanie was abrupt.

‘But you disapprove of his actions?’

‘Naturally. It’s my father who is involved.’

‘Ah, yes, your father.’

Stephanie leaned forward. ‘Why did you invite me out this evening?’ she asked.

Pietro brought out his cigarettes and lit one slowly. ‘What do you think of this place?’ he inquired, waving a casual arm at the decor.

Stephanie compressed her lips. ‘It’s very nice.’

‘It belongs to one of my brother-in-law’s companies.’

‘Indeed?’ Stephanie was getting impatient. ‘Signor Bastinado—’

‘Oh, make it Pietro, please.’

‘Very well, then, Pietro.’ Stephanie sighed. ‘I want to know why you invited me to dine with you.’

Pietro tapped ash into the ashtray. ‘You haven’t told me why you came yet,’ he countered, rather mockingly.

Stephanie sighed again. ‘It doesn’t seem important now.’

‘Oh, but it is.’ Pietro leaned towards her. ‘Believe me, Stephanie, I want you to know, what happened this afternoon was not of my choosing.’

Stephanie moved back. ‘I – I find that hard to believe.’

‘Why should you? Am I my brother-in-law’s keeper? What Santino does he does because he wants to do it. I have no control over his actions.’

‘None?’ All of a sudden Stephanie felt deflated.

‘None.’ Pietro shook his head, ‘If you imagine that by humouring me you stand some chance of influencing Santino, I regret you are to be disappointed. I can do nothing.’

Stephanie bent her head and her attitude was one of defeat. Pietro sighed. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘If it’s any consolation to you, I did try. I did not want this to happen, believe me. You and your father have offered me your hospitality and I must be honest. I wanted Santino to leave everything to me, but unfortunately I showed my feelings and he would not allow me to continue. He took the affair out of my bungling hands …’

Stephanie looked up. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me,’ she said. ‘It was kind of you to try and help us …’

Pietro’s eyes darkened. ‘Not your father, Stephanie – you! And it was not kind at all.’ His hand closed over hers as it lay on the table. ‘My reasons for wanting my position made clear concern you and me. I do not want you to hate me, not when I find you so disturbingly attractive. Do you understand?’ His eyes burned into hers passionately.

Stephanie felt horrified. She had not thought, she had not dreamed that Pietro might imagine there was more to this assignation than a desire to help her father. She tried in vain to tug her hand away from his, but his hold was unyielding and he leaned towards her urgently.

‘Pietro!’ she exclaimed. ‘I appreciate what you’ve tried to do for us – for me, but this – this is impossible! I – I – you’re making a terrible mistake—’

‘I would agree with you, signorina!’

The harsh accented tones almost startled Stephanie out of her seat and Pietro released her hand abruptly to rise and face the grim angry countenance of the man he had told her was his brother-in-law …

CHAPTER THREE

SANTINO VENTURA stood beside their table looking darkly vengeful and the epitome of male arrogance aroused to dangerous intensity. Stephanie, weak and trembling from the shock of this sudden confrontation, wondered how he had known where to find them and how long he had been standing there behind their table, listening. She felt she ought to say something, but before Ventura’s blazing rage she stood no chance of a hearing. No more did Pietro. His employer was lashing him with his tongue, speaking to him in low yet violent tones, and as it was in their own language, Stephanie could not follow what was being said. Pietro tried to interject a word here and there, spreading his hands in typical continental appeal for reason, but to no avail, and he knew it.

Stephanie stood up. She felt that this was an opportune moment for her to make her escape. Surely neither of these men would notice her departure. But she was mistaken. As she lifted her evening bag and gathered her cape about her shoulders, a lean brown hand shot out and caught her forearm before she could move away. The hard grip of those fingers bit into her arm cruelly and she winced in pain.

‘You will stay, signorina!’ commanded the low, compelling tones of Santino Ventura.

Stephanie felt her breast rising and falling in uneven haste, and she tried desperately to regain her composure.

‘Will you please let go of my arm, Signor Ventura?’ she requested in a jerky little voice. ‘I am not part of your organization and you cannot intimidate me!’

‘Can I not?’ Santino Ventura’s brilliantly smouldering gaze turned in her direction for a moment before flickering back contemptuously to Pietro. ‘Do you think you are unique, signorina? That you possess some especial powers which make you immune from dominance?’ He turned back to her scornfully. ‘Believe me, Signorina McMaster, you are just as vulnerable as Pietro, your so-gallant champion, and twice as irresponsible!’

Stephanie stared at him tremulously. ‘What do you mean?’

Santino Ventura’s lip curled. ‘I wonder what your father would say to learn that his so-loyal daughter has kept a secret assignation with my assistant.’

Stephanie gasped. ‘My reasons for accepting Pietro’s invitation were not personal ones—’

‘No?’ Santino Ventura half smiled, but it was without amusement. ‘And who will believe that statement? Your father? Your stepmother, perhaps?’

‘Do you intend to tell them?’ Stephanie’s voice shook a little.

Santino Ventura shrugged indolently and released her wrist. ‘I will think about it,’ he conceded grimly.

‘Ma che, diamine, Santino—’ Pietro began desperately, only to be silenced by a look from his employer.

‘Come,’ went on the other man, ‘let us sit down again. We have matters to discuss.’

Without waiting for their reactions, Santino drew out a chair, swung it round and straddled it with casual ease. Then he beckoned the wine waiter and as Stephanie and Pietro reluctantly took their seats he ordered some champagne. The waiter bowed low. If he had been deferential to Pietro he practically genuflected before his master. A few moments later a bottle of champagne appeared in a bucket of ice and the waiter extracted the cork with care and poured some into the wine glass he had set before Santino Ventura. Santino tasted it experimentally and then nodded abruptly and the waiter filled all three glasses, his hands visibly trembling as he did so.

‘Is all right, padrone?’ he inquired at the finish, and Santino looked up and nodded.

‘Bene, Luigi. Tell me; your mother – she is well?’

‘Oh, si, padrone, she is fine,’ exclaimed Luigi, nodding his head vigorously. ‘She would be most honoured if you were to pay her a visit while you are here, padrone.’

Santino smiled. ‘Some other time, Luigi,’ he said, and Luigi nodded again and withdrew, bowing ceremoniously.

Stephanie, who had watched this interchange with only transitory interest, felt a shiver of apprehension slide along her spine as Santino’s attention reverted to herself. There was an indomitable air about him that defied analysis, and she realized as she had done in the library that here was a man who would never forget or be forgotten.

‘So, signorina,’ he said. ‘You thought to influence me through Pietro, is that it?’

Stephanie saw no point in trying to deny it and she moved her shoulders indifferently. Santino drew out a case of cigars and placed one between his teeth. When it was lit and the smoke exhaled aromatically into the air above her head, he said:

‘Why does it trouble you so that your father may be put out of business?’

‘That’s a ridiculous question,’ Stephanie snapped angrily, angry with herself for putting herself in this impossible situation. She was no match for this man and she knew it.

‘Is it? Why? Other men – I may say, stronger men – than your father have succumbed to my organization. Besides, had he not been so foolhardy, the merger would presently be taking place.’

Stephanie pressed the palms of her hands together. ‘My – my father did not want a merger. He wanted a chance to raise money – to put the company back on its feet. He knows that if he allows you to merge with W.A.A. sooner or later the shifting of authority will begin and he will become nothing but a figurehead.’

Santino shook his head slowly. ‘And is that so terrible? Does your father wish to work all his life? Surely most men look forward to their retirement. He is not a young man, signorina.’

‘I know that. But you don’t know my father as I do. Retirement – in his circumstances – would kill him!’

Santino put his cigar between his teeth. ‘What are these special circumstances?’

Stephanie moved her shoulders helplessly. ‘My father has a wife, signor, and she is much younger than he is—’

‘I know that.’ Santino was abrupt.

‘Then surely you can see that there could be difficulties—’

Santino frowned. ‘Your stepmother is an extravagant woman, signorina. Is that what you are trying to say?’

Stephanie flushed. ‘Jennifer doesn’t care about the company—’

‘But the deal I have offered her is more than acceptable.’

Stephanie’s eyes clouded. ‘I know that. She has already taunted my father with your offer.’

Santino sighed now. ‘It would seem that your father’s troubles stem from a more personal relationship than merely W.A.A.—’ He chewed his lower lip. ‘I cannot be held responsible for the vagaries of his wife.’

Stephanie clenched her fists. ‘I expected you to say that.’

Santino’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then you were not disappointed, were you, signorina?’ He snapped his fingers impatiently. ‘I am not a marriage guidance counsellor, I manage a syndicate of companies who rely on me to make the right decisions. Sentiment is no part of my make-up, signorina.’

‘Obviously.’ Stephanie’s nails bit into the palms of her hands.

Santino studied the glowing tip of his cigar. ‘So now we return to the reason why you are here this evening. You were hoping perhaps to persuade Pietro to intercede on your father’s behalf, si?’

Stephanie made no reply, but her silence was enough and he went on: ‘It seems to me that your inclinations were not very strong, signorina. From the way you were pleading with him to let you go when I so rudely interrupted you, I did not think you intended to allow your good intentions to lead you into difficulties.’

Stephanie flushed. ‘I don’t have to sit here and listen to your derision, signor—’ She half rose to her feet.

Pietro banged his fist on the table. ‘Santino, can’t you see the girl is innocent? She’s only concerned for her father, that’s all. Is that so unusual? Wouldn’t you expect Lucia to do the same for you—’

Santino’s cold eyes surveyed his assistant. ‘I have told you before, Pietro, not to get involved. You speak like a lovesick fool. No one is in any doubt as to your motives for behaving like this, so be silent! I care not for your mawkish sensitivity!’

Pietro’s tanned cheeks turned red and Stephanie felt embarrassed for him. ‘If you’ll excuse me—’ she began, but Santino silenced her with a cold stare.

‘Wait!’ he commanded. ‘I have not finished, and I am not used to having to repeat myself.’ He glanced at Pietro. ‘You mentioned Lucia, Pietro. Might one ask why?’

Pietro shook his head. ‘Just as a comparison,’ he said defensively.

‘Hmnn.’ Santino put his cigar between his teeth as he poured himself some more champagne, raising his eyebrows when Stephanie put her hand over her glass preventing him from refilling it. ‘Maybe, Pietro, your comparison has given me the ghost of an idea.’

Pietro shrugged indifferently. ‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes.’ Santino took his cigar out of his mouth and savoured a mouthful of the sparkling liquid from his glass. ‘Yes, indeed.’ He ran a long finger round the rim of his glass. ‘You yourself said that Lucia needed someone.’

Pietro’s brows drew together and he stared at Santino in astonishment. His mouth fell open and he gazed at his employer as though he could not believe his hearing. Then he gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘You can’t mean—’ he shook his head in a stupefied way – ‘you don’t seriously imagine that – that Stephanie—’ He raised his hands in an involuntary gesture. ‘What game is this, Santino?’

Santino regarded Pietro tolerantly. ‘No game, Pietro.’ Stephanie, who had been listening to this interchange with a rising sense of apprehension, felt a feeling akin to panic invade her system. There was about the Sicilian a disturbingly bland air of provocation, and while as yet she had no idea what he was suggesting she sensed it boded no good for her. And who was this woman, Lucia, that Pietro had mentioned? Was she his wife? His sister? His daughter, perhaps? She racked her brain trying to remember what her father had told her about Santino Ventura. Had he said he was married? She couldn’t honestly recall.

Now Santino’s attention was focused on herself and she felt her cheeks begin to burn under that appraising scrutiny. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, tipping his head insolently to one side. ‘You may do very well, signorina.’

Stephanie took a deep breath. ‘Very well for what, signor?’

Santino stubbed out the cigar. ‘I have a daughter, signorina. Her mother is dead and she is but four years of age. She requires a companion, a young companion, to whom she can turn in times of trouble. It is difficult to find anyone suitable in Sicily. Young girls marry and old women grow tired. Besides, it pleases me that she should learn English and I think you as her teacher would do very well.’

Stephanie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the ludicrousness of his suggestion. She stared at him incredulously, amazed that he should imagine he could sit there and calmly issue instructions that she should become companion to his daughter. How dared he imagine that she would even consider such a proposition? She shook her head. Whatever women were like in Sicily, certainly he was mistaken if he thought he could command an English girl in this way.

‘Signor Ventura,’ she said at last, speaking very clearly and very carefully, ‘I don’t think I have understood you aright.’ She wet her lips with her tongue tentatively. ‘I do not recall at any time during this conversation that I have intimated that I might require another occupation to the one I have now.’ She tried to relax her features, but they persisted in remaining taut. ‘Besides which, I might add, you are the last person I would accept employment from.’

Santino let her finish, lighting another cigar with annoying deliberation. ‘My dear Miss McMaster,’ he said, at the end, ‘if you have not understood my proposition then that is my fault. As to whether you accept it or otherwise, I would suggest you consider its terms very carefully before refusing.’

Stephanie pressed her lips together. ‘Obviously I have not understood you,’ she said in a tight little voice. ‘What else is there?’

Santino inhaled on his cigar. ‘Your father needs money. You said so yourself. I am considering preparing a contract in which I guarantee your father sufficient funds to modernize and expand his airline on the understanding that the concessions granted to W.A.A. should also be granted to Western International. I shall not interfere in his management, providing he accepts the conditions. I do not intend that he should be competing with W.I. but rather running an additional service for a different clientele.’

Stephanie felt weak all over. An awful trembling sickness had invaded her stomach and she hardly heard Pietro’s angry remonstrance or Santino’s cool rejoinder. All that possessed her mind and body was the realization that she was being given the chance to give her father back his self-respect and remove once and for all the threats Jennifer was presently holding over him. But at what cost to her?

The colour seemed to be draining from her face and Pietro, noticing her pallor, snatched up the wine glass and held it to her lips. The bubbling liquid revived her and she sank back in her chair, gripping the edge of the table tightly.

‘Are you all right?’ Pietro was all concern, drawing his chair round to hers, regarding her with tender solicitude.

Stephanie managed to nod, the vaguely ruthless expression on Santino Ventura’s face arousing her more strongly than the wine. With determination, she straightened her shoulders and said: ‘Could I have a cigarette, please?’