Indiscretions (38 page)

The massive wooden doors of the palazzo stood wide open to the day’s sunshine, ready to welcome its guests. Paola di Montefiore, delicate in lavender linen, paused in the hall to adjust the huge vases of flowers that stood on the equally massive hall tables. She patted her hair into place in the mirror and emerged onto the front steps just as the Chrysler with Fabrizio and the children pulled to a stop.

“Hello, hello.” She waved. “How lovely to see you. Ah, just look at you children, you’ve grown so much! Fabrizio”—she kissed him affectionately—“I can’t bear it. They become bigger and bigger and it reminds me that I’m getting older.”

“You never get older, Paola,” said Fabrizio gallantly. His daughter clasped the Contessa’s hand, beaming up at her engagingly.

“Can we swim now?” she asked, resting her head against Paola’s hand.

“Of course not,” Fabrizio replied for her. “You’ve only just arrived. After lunch and after your rest, that’s when you can swim.”

Fabiola’s eyes widened into tragedy at the idea of waiting.

“Oh, Papa, how cruel you are,” she moaned. “That’s ages and ages.”

Paola laughed. “You’re right, Fabiola. Why not go on inside and see our new puppies instead? They’re so sweet.”

“Puppies!” Fabiola and Giorgio were up the steps in a flash, disappearing down the hall, followed by their nurse, just as Renata’s car appeared in the drive.

Marisa was immaculately turned out, as usual. Why was it that she never had the knack of appearing completely
casual? wondered Paola. Even in a summery dress and sandals she looked attired for Ascot.

“Ciao, Marisa, Renata. Thank you for bringing the children. You don’t know how much good it does me to have them around. It wakes this old place up.”

“I should make the most of the peace and quiet while you can,” said Marisa as they walked into the house. “When the conversion is complete and it becomes a hotel, you might find it busier than you’d like.”

“But I shall enjoy it,” replied Paola. “I’m sure these old palazzi must have been run like hotels when they were first built—otherwise why have so many rooms? Fabrizio, you know that India is doing a splendid job. Aldo says you should be proud of her.”

Marisa’s ears pricked up, and she glanced sharply at Fabrizio.

“I’m glad to have the chance to see what progress has been made,” he replied calmly.

“And where is Aldo?” Marisa settled herself on a chair in the salon, watching critically as the young village girl who was helping out for the weekend carried in a laden coffee tray. Feeling Marisa’s eyes on her the girl put down the heavy tray shakily, spilling a drop of coffee onto the immaculate linen napkins. Blushing, she excused herself and departed. “You’ll have to get these village girls properly trained, Paola,” she remarked, flicking at the stain. “Your guests will expect the best.”

“I don’t doubt, Marisa, that my
paying
guests will find the local people who work for us charming and friendly as well as very willing. If I remember from my last visit to New York years ago, it will make a nice change for them.”

Why, wondered Paola, did Marisa always cause that sense of unease in people? She seemed to have a positive talent for it.

“You didn’t tell us where Aldo was,” reminded Renata.

“He went into Naples this morning. He should be back in time for lunch. India went too. Wait, I believe I hear a car now.”

“Was Aldo in Naples with India, then?” asked Renata jealously.

“India went to pick up another guest, her sister.…”

India’s familiar Americanized Italian accent came from the hall as she spoke to the man who was bringing in the luggage, and Marisa looked toward the door expectantly. Now she would know—India’s face when she saw Fabrizio so unexpectedly would tell the truth.

India strode into the salon, her sister behind her, stopping abruptly as she saw them—Renata and Marisa, and Fabrizio.

“Mama, Mama.” Giorgio pushed past India, laughing as he struggled to keep a hold on the squirming puppy in his hands. “Look, Mama, look what I’ve got.”

India bent to help Giorgio with the puppy and the moment was lost.

Damn, thought Marisa. Oh, damn it.

“Take the puppy back to the kitchen, Giorgio,” she commanded. “It doesn’t belong in here.”

“But, Mama—”

“At once, Giorgio.”

“I’ll go with you.” Fabrizio took the puppy from his son, smiling hello to India.

“How are you?” He kissed her on the cheek. “Is everything going well?”

“Yes, yes … very well. Fabrizio, I’m glad you’re here. There are one or two points Aldo made that we should discuss.”

“Fine. After lunch, then.”

Paris waited, wicker cat basket in her arms, to be introduced. In her simple jacket and skirt that were obviously
not new, she had a striking, casual chic that Marisa would have paid dearly to achieve. And with the wild haircut and jutting cheekbones Paris was, thought Marisa, astonishingly beautiful. Now, this she could have considered a rival!

India introduced her sister.

“Contessa, may I present my sister. Marisa, this is Paris.” Marisa and she kissed the air at the side of each other’s face. “And I remember Renata from your party. What a surprise to find you all here—and the children.”

“Yes. Quite a surprise, I should think.” Marisa eyed Paris up and down and couldn’t fault her. “Then you must be the fashion designer,” she said. “I read about your show in the papers. Too bad it was at the same time as Mitsoko’s. Was that the reason it didn’t succeed?”

India felt herself blushing for Paris. Marisa was such a bitch!

“If one chooses to think so,” replied Paris evenly.

“Well, I assure you that whatever you designed, it couldn’t be worse than Mitsoko’s. God, those dreadful shapeless garments.” Marisa shuddered delicately.

“I think that anyone who looks the way Paris does must understand fashion,” said Renata kindly. “I’m sure your collection was excellent, and it was just bad luck to show it on Mitsoko’s day. I remember he changed it at the last moment, didn’t he?”

Marisa glared at Renata in surprise and Renata smiled back calmly. She was tired of Marisa always getting at people.

The Contessa watched the little scene in silence. There were so many undercurrents in this room; it promised to be an entertaining weekend. Yes, very entertaining, she thought with a smile.

India couldn’t wait to get Paris alone.

“God, what a shock!” she said, closing the door of her
room behind her. “I didn’t expect to see Fabrizio and Marisa. And cousin Renata! Well, what do you think?” She sat on the bed and gazed expectantly at Paris. “Of Fabrizio, I mean?”

“He’s very attractive, of course, but I haven’t had time yet to know what he’s really like.”

India sighed. “It’s over, you know, truly over. My heart didn’t give even one little bump when he kissed my cheek.”

“That’s probably just as well,” said Paris, unlocking Alice from her cage. “I thought Marisa was looking very suspicious when he kissed you.”

“Do you really think so? I wondered …” India frowned. “Well, there’s nothing more to be suspicious about. If she’s here to check on me and Fabrizio she’ll find me entirely innocent. Oh, Paris, I know you’ve always thought me crazy, but do you think it’s possible to fall out of love with one man and directly into love with another? It’s Aldo. I mean, I tried to keep it all on a business basis because he has to marry cousin Renata—the family needs the money, you see, they must keep up this old estate … for his grandchildren.”

Paris stared at her sister in astonishment. “Did
Aldo
tell you that?”

“Well, no, not in so many words. I guess it was Marisa who told me first, and then Aldo said that about his grandchildren.…”

“India, I’ve met a thousand women just like Marisa. They tell you what they want you to hear—not the
truth
. Don’t you know that?”

India sighed. It would be nice to believe Paris, and truly, the way Aldo had been behaving this past week he couldn’t be in love with Renata. He had gone out of his way to be with
her
as much as possible. They’d jogged together along the beach in the early morning, they’d lunched every day at the Café-Bar Ricardi, he’d been
attentive and amusing at dinner each night, and then later, when the Contessa had retired to her rooms, they had walked through the scented gardens and he’d kissed her, and maybe a bit more than just kisses … maybe quite a lot more. But she didn’t want to be another little “episode” before Aldo Montefiore settled down in marriage with Renata. She couldn’t stand that.

“Paris, I don’t know what to do, really I don’t. Perhaps I should just hand this job over to someone else and go away from here.”

“Certainly not. You must never jeopardize your career for any man! Your work is important, India, and you are doing well at it. Don’t underestimate that.”

Oh, God, thought India, here I am, moaning on about my own problems, and it’s poor Paris who really needs help.

“I should be worrying about you,” she cried, “not myself.” She remembered Marisa’s unkind remark. “Paris, don’t let Marisa upset you about the show. You know she’s just being bitchy. Your designs were wonderful and you know it … and there will be a second chance, believe me. We’ll find a way.”

Paris was watching the cat, who was sniffing around, inspecting her new surroundings.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m over that. It’s just that, working at Mitsoko, it was impossible to get away from the constant fashion-business hype. It’s good to be out of the city and here with you. Alice thinks so too—look.” Alice was sprawled across the bed, enjoying the warm rays of sun coming in through the open window.

India laughed. “I know just how she feels. Okay, Paris, you and I’ll take on Marisa together.”

“And what about Fabrizio? I mean, does he still care about you?”

India pondered the question. “We’ll always care about
each other,” she decided finally, “but it was really finished long ago. I just was too stupid to understand that.”

Aldo was late. He sped up the driveway in his little black VW and pulled to a halt in a spurt of gravel. Climbing out of the car he took the steps two at a time, smoothed down his hair, shrugged on his jacket, and presented himself at the salon.

“Please forgive me,” he called, smiling. “I got held up at the carpenter’s in Naples. India, they’ll have the new shutters ready next week.” He kissed her, taking her hand in his.

India blushed as all eyes in the room riveted on her.

“I’d like you to meet my sister Paris,” she said, pulling back her hand.

Paris was dazzling, thought Aldo, and six feet tall!

“I’m happy to meet you,” he said. “I knew India had a beautiful sister, but I didn’t realize quite how lovely. Welcome to Montefiore.” Paris towered over him as he kissed her hand.

“Marisa, Renata.” He kissed them equally—lightly. “And Fabrizio, it’s good to see you. I can’t tell you what a fantastic job India is doing … in fact, I won’t tell you, I’ll show you. We’ll go through the place together this afternoon.”

“Surely you’re not going to mix business with pleasure, Fabrizio,” snapped Marisa. “I thought you wanted to spend time with the children.”

“But,
cara
, you said yourself what a good opportunity it would be to see how things were progressing,” said Fabrizio mildly, “and anyway, where are the children?”

“They had an early lunch,” Marisa said curtly. “Now they’re taking a rest so that they can be with their father later.”

At the long refectory table in the vaulted dining room Aldo placed India opposite Fabrizio, seating Renata between
Fabrizio and his mother at the end of the table, and Marisa on his left with Paris on his right. Catching Marisa’s glare of surprise that she hadn’t been seated on the right, he turned to Paris.

“I’m very happy that you could come to us.” Aldo smiled warmly at Paris. “It’s good sometimes to get away from the city. India tells me you were modeling for Mitsoko. Isn’t that a tedious occupation for someone like you?”

Aldo had tuned in perfectly to what was wrong with Paris’s life. Without the excitement of her designing and with no other creative outlet, just striding around a salon looking beautiful held no appeal. She found herself chatting easily with him while Marisa ate her melon in stony silence, ignoring India on her left.

Renata was talking to the Contessa and Fabrizio caught India’s eye.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Fine, just fine … sending me here was the best thing you could have done. It was you, wasn’t it, Fabrizio,” she added in a lower voice, “not Marisa?”

“A little of both,” he admitted. “I had no choice, India.”

India was aware of Marisa tuning in to their conversation. “Thank you, Fabrizio, for everything.”

“And you.”

What a way to end a love affair, at the lunch table with five other people present—one of whom you were already falling in love with. But it had been over long ago, even before he sent her to the palazzo; this was just a formality.

“What are you thanking Fabrizio for, India?” Marisa’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“I was thanking him for trusting me with this job, for giving me a free hand, and allowing me the opportunity to be here, at the Palazzo di Montefiore.”

“It’s we at the palazzo who should be thanking you,” said Aldo. “Your work will probably change the fortunes of the Montefiore family.”

“Then I suggest you make the most of your stay, India, said Marisa nastily. “You won’t be able to afford Aldo’s prices once he opens his hotel, and he’ll be so busy he won’t have time for any of us, especially after he’s married.”

“Are you planning marriage soon, then, Aldo?” Fabrizio’s voice was innocent.

Aldo beamed happily at them.

“Yes,” he said positively, “yes, I hope to get married very soon.”

The silence in the room was total as all eyes suddenly focused on him.

“Well, Aldo,” said Fabrizio, breaking the spell, “let us know who the lucky lady is when you get around to it, won’t you?” He smiled at Renata opposite him. “I don’t suppose we need to look too far for her, though.”

“Not too far,” agreed Aldo.