Deep and Silent Waters (26 page)

The door opened and she stopped talking, her face glowing with excitement as she smiled at the man who stood facing them. ‘Oh … I hope we didn’t interrupt you. This is Laura Erskine – she’s just arrived from London. Could she see the room you’ve given her?’ Carmen made a confused introduction. ‘Count Niccolo d’Angeli … Laura Erskine.’

‘Hallo, Nico,’ she said, holding out her hand with the same sense of pleasure she had felt the first time they met.

‘Oh, you know each other already, then,’ Carmen said, watching them with the same curiosity she showed every time Sebastian’s name came up. Film companies were always hotbeds of gossip.

Laura had forgotten how tall Nico was: she had to tilt her head a little to meet his eyes. There was something so familiar about his long face, olive skin, dark hair and eyes – seeing him again, after this long gap, made his likeness to Sebastian seem stronger, irrefutable.

He took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. ‘
Ciao
, welcome back, Laura, I’ve been waiting impatiently for you.’ He gave Carmen a smiling nod,
‘Grazie
, Carmen,’ then drew Laura through the doorway, closing the door on the other girl, who looked distinctly glum at being excluded. She obviously fancied him – and who wouldn’t? thought Laura.

He asked, ‘Did you have a good flight? What was the weather like in London? When do you have to start work on the film?’

‘The flight was trouble-free and it was much warmer in London. I don’t start work here until tomorrow.’ She had the impression that he barely listened to her polite replies.

Eagerly he asked, ‘Then will you have time to sit for me today? I’ll have to push ahead at once, and if I could just take some photos of you to begin with? It wouldn’t take long.’

They were moving through one tapestried room after another. Laura gaped at the ornate furniture, the high, painted ceilings, the gilt on ormolu clocks glittering under the crystal blaze of chandeliers, highly polished walnut and satinwood tables and chairs, rich brocade sofas, paintings of landscapes, Venetian scenes, portraits of the family.

She recognised Niccolo in some paintings and in the fading tapestries; that face of his, which looked as if it came from another period, like the horsemen in those sixteenth-century landscapes with their frozen stares, their sense of life stilled, men going somewhere, busy with killing animals, riding home, or going off to war. He did not belong to today, he came from the past.

The snow blowing outside the windows made strange reflections on ceilings and mirrors. The rooms had the unreal beauty of a troubled dream she had had. Laura felt she was being led through a maze to a place she had known in another life.

‘This is your room,’ he said, opening a door and standing back to watch her face.

Her first impression was that she had wandered into a hall of mirrors: they hung all around the room on the rich green-silk-covered walls, with sensual, blatantly erotic paintings of naked women hung between them. The mirrors were of all sizes, gold-framed, some ornate, some a plain gilded wood; they reflected the snowy light from the high windows, and, as she and Nico walked right into the room, reflected them, too, back and forth, like an army of shadows flowing through the chamber.

A huge four-poster bed, with baroque carving on the oak columns supporting the canopy, dominated the room, the green-silk hangings around it drawn back to show the matching coverlet. The canopy had a pleated edging of dark green silk but its main fabric was delicate white lace that cast a dappled light over the coverlet.

‘That’s unusual. I’ve never seen a lace canopy over a four-poster bed.’

Nico gave her an odd look. ‘Once there was a mirror on the ceiling above the bed.’

Laura looked startled, then giggled. She studied the sumptuous bed and imagined what that mirror had once reflected – scenes like those depicted on the ceiling above, where gilt cartouches held pictures of gods and goddesses making love, a bearded Jupiter with dark, slanting eyes kneeling between the thighs of a full-breasted Juno.

‘Really? Well, I’m glad you had it taken down before I moved in. It would have made me very self-conscious.’

‘Oh, it came down years ago.’ His face had a sombre shadow across it. ‘I hope the room’s warm enough now. It was like a refrigerator a couple of days ago, but we’ve had a fire going since this morning and electric heaters, too.’

She walked over to the huge, carved white stone hearth in which a great pile of logs burned spitting resin and giving off a scent of pine. Holding out her cold hands, she sighed with pleasure as warmth invaded her for the first time since she had arrived. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Lovely to have a real fire, on a day like this. You’re very thoughtful.’

‘I wish I was a painter, to capture the firelight on your skin,’ Nico said. ‘It makes your skin almost transparent. I can see the blood moving through your veins.’ He walked over to a white, serpentine-fronted, dressing table in a corner of the room, the thin, elegant legs gilded, ending in tiny bird-like feet. He picked up a little pile of clothes that lay on it and came back to Laura. ‘Could you put these on now so that I can take a roll of film of you?’

Laura looked at the pale cream straw hat, a wreath of pink and yellow flowers around the base of the crown, the calf-length boots made of bronze leather, which had a fringe around the top, the thin gauze tunic.

‘That looks transparent!’

‘I’ve seen photos of you wearing less.’

She couldn’t deny it. ‘That was years ago, when I was a model.’

‘In a British film I saw, you wore just bra and panties! Black lacy ones, very sexy.’ His eyes were wicked; she couldn’t help giggling. ‘Oh, what you are wearing now is elegant …’ He stared at the jade green sweater, the warm, chocolate brown woollen pants. ‘But you’ll look gorgeous in this tunic. Please put it on. The Donatello
David
is naked – Renaissance statues generally are – and this tunic will show me the shape of your body.’

‘Yes,’ she said drily, but took the pile of clothes and looked around the room. ‘Is there a bathroom?’

He gestured to one of the long wall hangings. ‘Behind there. While you’re changing I’ll set up my tripod. First I’ll take a few Polaroids to check the lighting and background, then we’ll get down to work. Oh, yes. I nearly forgot – here’s Goliath’s head.’ He held out a string bag.

‘Well, at least it isn’t a real one!’ Laura said wryly. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

The bathroom was as ornate and splendid as the bedroom, and as chilly as a tomb. It had a high ceiling, an arched window, looking down on to a deserted back canal, a white marble floor and green marble walls. The free-standing bath was enamelled dark green with gilt taps, gilt legs and gilded lion’s feet.

An oil heater stood in one corner but it looked so old-fashioned that Laura was reluctant to switch it on in case it blew up, so she stripped off quickly, shivering, and put on the tunic, the boots and the hat.

When she went back. Nico was adjusting his camera on the tall tripod. He straightened to look round, eyes bright. ‘Ah … yes … perfect … Pity your hair isn’t longer, but never mind. Maybe it’s better short, to underline the symbolism.’

‘That bathroom is a morgue. After two minutes in there I feel like a corpse!’ Laura said, accusingly, and rushed over to stand in front of the hearth.

‘My God, if
only
I was a painter,’ Nico said, as he had earlier. He wandered over to her and put out a hand to smooth down the hem of the tiny tunic. His fingers lingered on her upper thigh for a second too long. ‘The firelight is making that tunic totally transparent – your body’s perfect. You look wonderful standing there with your Titian hair and those cat’s eyes spitting temper at me.’

‘It’s my cat’s claws you need to watch out for, if you touch me like that again,’ she warned him, but he merely smiled at her.

‘Film directors never come over to shift your position, when you’re working on set?’

‘Well, yes … but—’

‘And when you modelled, you never allowed the photographer to push you into poses?’

‘Is that what you were doing?’

He nodded. ‘Put this hand on your hip.’ He watched her, shook his head. ‘No, like this.’ He adjusted her wrist, then took the football out of its string bag, knelt down, lifted her right foot and placed it on the ball. ‘Yes, that’s about it. Now I want you to bend this left knee, hitch your right hip a little, camp it up – yes, that’s the look I want. Tilt your head slightly, half close your eyes, half smile, a sleepily triumphant look. Great. Now, don’t move.’

He backed away, picked up a camera and took some Polaroid shots from different places in the room.

After a minute or two, Laura began to feel the heat of the fire burning her right side. ‘Can I move soon? I’m too close to the fire.’

‘Okay. I’ve got enough of these.’ He inspected the photos, and Laura walked away from the fire and climbed up on to the bed to sit, her hands clasped around her smooth, bare knees, the tiny tunic showing most of her long legs, reflecting on how alike he and Sebastian were. Was it just that they were both Italian – or something more?

The idea had been on her mind ever since she had first seen Niccolo, but she didn’t dare bring it up – how could you phrase such a question?

He walked over to her, dropped the handful of Polaroids on the bed. ‘What do you think?’

She picked up the pictures and looked at them. The gauze tunic in firelight concealed nothing. She might as well have been naked. Nico sat on the bed beside her, staring over her shoulder.

‘You are so lovely. What a body! I can’t wait to make it.’

She looked sideways through her lashes. ‘I hope you’re talking about your statue. You won’t make
me
, Nico. Get it into your head that I’m not here as a plaything for you.’

He ran a hand up her sleek, bare leg, fingering the muscles in her calf, her thigh. ‘You go to a gym regularly? I can tell – you’ve got such good muscle tone.’ He slid his hand down her spine, like a violinist practising his fingering. ‘Your bones are terrific. I love them.’

She laughed. ‘Will you stop that? I’m not a doll.’ Then she flinched.

‘What is it? Are you ill?’

‘Oh, nothing … A ghost walked over my grave.’

‘Oh, this house is full of ghosts. Any house as old as this would be, and my family were pretty violent over the centuries. Murders, suicides, natural deaths – every room has had a death in it, and this room more than any other.’

She shuddered and slid off the bed, saying, ‘Shall we shoot the rest of your pictures now, then?’

‘So professional,’ he mocked, but with warmth in his eyes. ‘Okay, let’s go. This time I want you to hold this.’ He turned and picked up a sword, which had been leaning against the wall. ‘Be careful, only hold it by the pommel. The edge is sharp.’

She was reluctant, but warily let him put it into her hand. Her wrist gave way under the weight as she tried to lift it. ‘It’s very heavy.’

‘Lean on it, make it part of your pose, okay?’

‘Like this?’

‘Beautiful! The Donatello statue is androgynous, faintly perverse. Can you get something of that in your expression?

‘I’ll try,’ she said, amused. ‘You don’t ask much, do you?’ She felt weird, modelling again, but she fell into it without difficulty and hardly noticed half an hour go by, unaware when Nico switched cameras and went on shooting more film of her, in the transparent gauzy tunic, the boots, the flower-decked hat, leaning on the heavy sword.

They both jumped at a tap on the door.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ Sebastian exploded into the room towards them, face rigid, skin an angry red.

Nico said coolly, ‘What does it look like? She’s posing for photos I can work with while she’s acting – I told you I wanted her to model for me.’

‘You didn’t tell me it would be porno stuff!’

Nico’s eyes were contemptuous. ‘Look at her again, you moron! She’s dressed as the Donatello
David
. Surely even you recognise that?’

‘She looks pretty undressed to me!’ Sebastian’s eyes raked over her body in the flimsy tunic, which showed everything from her breasts to the curly red-gold hair above that cleft between her thighs.

‘The hat’s cute, though,’ Laura tossed at him, so furious she wanted to hit him but hiding it under a bright, phoney smile. ‘And the boots are very sexy.’ She put one foot up, posing. ‘Don’t you think so?’

Without looking at Nico, Sebastian said, through tight lips, ‘Get out of here before I smash that camera. She’s under contract to me and I need to talk to her. When I need her, she can’t work for anyone else.’

‘This isn’t work, it’s fun,’ Laura said, offering the sword back to Nico.

His eyes smiled. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘Get out, will you?’ Sebastian grated.

Ignoring him, Nico told Laura, ‘I’ll take the sword, but keep the rest of the costume up here for the moment. Let me know next time you have a few free hours to work with me.’

He began to dismantle his equipment without hurry; Sebastian watched, eyes smouldering, and opened the door for him when he left, carrying his tripod over his shoulder, cameras strung around him.

Laura walked towards the bathroom, intending to change out of the costume, but Sebastian caught her arm. ‘What was really going on in here before I arrived?’

‘I was posing. He was taking pictures.’ She looked down at the curled fingers around her arm. ‘Will you let go of me? And don’t grab me like that again. I’m not some piece of meat and I’m not your property. If I want to pose for Nico, I will.’

‘He wants you! Are you blind? If you let him into your bedroom he’ll be in your bed next.’ His mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘Or is that what you want? Do you fancy him, too? And I thought you were different!’

She hated the way he was looking at her. It made her feel dirty. Pulling free she tried to run to the bathroom, but he caught her again before she had got to the door, his hands on her waist.

Her hat fell off and she struggled helplessly, but he lifted her into the air and carried her to the bed where she sprawled, heart beating so fast that she was gasping for breath. Sebastian got on to the bed and knelt over her, taking her face between his two hands and gazing down at her.