Lessons of Desire (7 page)

"If it does not require extending my visit long, perhaps I will take your advice."

After dinner Signora Roviale led the women away from the loggia, leaving the men to discuss and debate antiquity. Phaedra did not relish forcing conversation with critical Mrs. Whitmarsh. She begged off any further social obligations, claiming fatigue.

A servant brought her to the chamber she would use. Square and white, with the same marble floors seen throughout the villa, it had long windows that gave out on a shallow balcony that stretched above the loggia. A servant had already unpacked her garments into the dark wood wardrobe. Water waited at the washstand in a ceramic jug painted with red flowers and blue leaves. Similar colors decorated the tiles around the fireplace and the sill of one window.

She opened her doors to the breeze coming off the sea and the final glow of twilight. Sounds drifted up from the loggia, of Matthias intoning and Elliot laughing and long rumbles of conversation. She wondered if her mother had ever really been accepted into those male discussions. When the Dilettanti paid homage, was it always that of men to a woman, with all that implied?

Chairs scraped and farewells flew. Silence slid over the villa. She rose to undress for bed. She began to unhook her dress when the smallest sound outside her door caught her attention. A slice of golden light streaked across the balcony and into the night. She went over and peered out.

Lord Elliot stood at the other end in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. She was sure Hint she had made no noise, but he looked in her direction as if she had.

"I wondered if Matthias had put you in that chamber," he said.

She stepped onto the terracotta tiles of the balcony. The light came from another set of doors beside hers. Two rooms shared this terrace.

"It appears our host misunderstood," she said.

"Possibly. However if I have to share a balcony, I prefer it be with you rather than Mrs. Whitmarsh."

She ventured out a bit farther but stayed on her side of the space. Standing near the stone balustrade one could see down on the water, sparkling now with a million tiny reflections of stars.

"Mr. Whitmarsh said the Dilettanti paid homage to my mother. I am glad to hear her abilities were recognized."

"An honest man had to admit to her brilliance. Of course, there were those who were less honest and discounted it."

"Of course. Did you ever meet her?"

"I was still at university when she passed away. I had heard of her, and I had seen her in town, but I did not have the stature to call on her."

"What did you think of her?"

He turned and rested his hips against the balustrade and gazed through the night at her. She wished he did not look so handsome and appealing. She wished the light would burn out so his face was obscured.

"I was raised in a household of men and my father did not comprehend women well. So learning about your mother was a revelation. There was much discussion about her among schoolboys. Some fell in love with her, others thought her unnatural, but mostly she made one question the order of things. As for me, I thought she was beautiful, interesting, intelligent, and probably dangerous."

"I expect she
was
dangerous. If the world were filled with Artemis Blair’s, men could not remain as they are. They would all have to question the order of things as you did."

"That was my thinking, but I was a boy then and did not appreciate the real danger. I had to meet her daughter to understand that part of it."

It was her turn to laugh. "I am hardly dangerous to you."

"You misunderstand, just as I did. The danger does not come from you."

No. it didn't. That was apparent out here in the night. A power flowed from him, carrying those masculine impulses. That did not surprise or frighten her. The way her own feminine instincts reacted did, however.

"Do not blame me for your worst inclinations. Lord Elliot."

"They do not strike me as even among the bad, let alone the worst, lovely Phaedra. Instead they seem natural and inevitable and even necessary."

His quiet, sure voice cast out velvet ropes to encircle her. Her heart rose to her throat and her pulse raced. He had not moved. He stood not one inch closer, but it felt as if he had reached out and slid his hand down her whole body.

"I want to take you." His leisurely, calm tone stirred her blood much like the breeze teased her hair. "I want you helpless to the pleasure and begging for me. I want you naked and trembling and stripped of your—"

"Enough, sir. If that is how you think of women—"

"Only you, dear lady. You throw down a gauntlet to every man you see. Do not be surprised if one picks it up."

"How dare—"

"Oh, I would dare. I am halfway to daring right now. You know that, but here you are. If you did not want me to dare, you would never have stepped out that door"

She opened her mouth to deny it but no words came out.

With a vague smile, he pushed away from the balustrade. Her heart jumped and her legs felt weak.

"This danger you incite in me—it excites you." He walked toward the light and his chamber. "Who is doing the buzzing now, Miss Blair?"

"An odd name to give a daughter, Phaedra." Matthias mused aloud. He and Elliot drank coffee early the next morning in the loggia. Down below them Positano was coming to life with the dawn.

"I doubt there is another woman with the name in England, considering the reference," Matthias added. "Just like Artemis Blair to decide the source did not matter and to actually prize its uniqueness."

Since in ancient mythology Phaedra had an affair with her stepson, it
was
an odd choice. Elliot doubted that Miss Blair and her mother's beliefs in free love went that far.

"I suspect it was a mailer of the sound. It is a lovely name," he said.

"I could have thought of five or six better ones. No, her carelessness on this first motherly duty suggests she was indifferent to that part of her life."

"You spoke well of her when I was your student, and Miss Blair idolizes her memory. Let us not say things now that she might overhear."

"She is still abed and will not overhear my allusions to her mother's lack of feminine impulses, but your admonishment is well taken."

She
was
still abed, sleeping soundly. Elliot had walked over and peered in before coming down. Her doors were still open, like a repudiation of his last words
I0
her
See, you are not dangerous to me at all. Your honor and the law protect me from the worst, and my own self-possession will deal with the rest.

He had seen copper hair flowing over pillows and creamy skin twisted in a sheet. One lovely, tapered, naked leg stretched atop the mound of bedclothes. The temptation to go in, to just watch her, prodded him, as did his annoyance that she slept so damned deeply. He certainly hadn't.

He was thinking about her too much. Wondering too frequently. Wanting too often. He trusted that the company of others and the call of his work would dilute her presence and return his mental state to something more normal.

"You are living like a king here, Greenwood," he said, to distract himself from images of Phaedra so ethereally erotic in her repose. "The improvements since my last visit are impressive."

Matthias beamed. "I assume you refer to the building, and not my mistress, although I am hard pressed to say which pleases me more. Getting the stone in was hell, but worth it. You should join me, Rothwell. Buy an old villa and see how far your English money goes on this coast."

"It goes far because it is so inaccessible one must sail miles to get to a town a stone's throw behind this hill. I need city life more often than twice a year, but if you are happy in your isolation I am glad for you."

"Not isolated at all. I always have company. They come to me from England and Rome and Naples and even Pompeii. I entertained the superintendent of the site last month. He does not mind riding a donkey over that hill behind us."

"I would appreciate a letter of introduction," Elliot said. "I would like to see every tiling new that they have excavated the last few years, not merely the things on the tourist map."

Matthias arched an eyebrow. "Want to see the frescoes revealing the delights of the night, do you? They will not allow Miss Blair in, no matter what letters I write."

"I will be researching other things. Before I go, I would like some time to discuss the direction I am taking with you."

"Let us decide now that tomorrow morning we will lock ourselves in my study and go to it. I miss being the tutor sometimes. Then I remember how dim-witted most of my students were, and I dismiss the nostalgia."

"Playing tutor and student will be useful. It will clarify my thoughts. Oh, and I am obliged as a gentleman to say that I believe you misunderstand my friendship with Miss Blair."

"Do I? That is a damned pity."

The lady in question joined them then, looking like a beautiful Celtic witch in her black flowing dress and unbound hair. Matthias saw her down at the table. He poured her coffee and made a fuss that revealed the stimulation he found in her company.

"I hope you slept well in my humble home. Miss Blair"

"It is anything but humble, and I slept very well. The sound and breeze of the sea is most soothing." She turned in her chair to look down on the town. "What are they doing down there? That big red thing by the water?"

"Ah, that would be the wagon for the procession. They must be painting it. Three days hence is the feast of San Giovanni, St. John the Baptist. It is a major holy day in these parts. No boats will pull out to sea that morning."

"There will be a procession?"

"A procession, a mass, a festival—among other rituals they collect walnuts in the hills to press for oil."

"It is interesting that it coincides with the solstice," she said. "It may be another example of Christians taking over a pagan festival."

"Miss Blair is achieving a reputation in mythological studies that rivals her mother's in Roman letters," Elliot said. "She published a book on the subject that is well regarded."

"How commendable," Matthias managed to dismiss the achievement even as he admired it. "This common dale is a coincidence. The sun god was not even a major figure in Greek and Roman mythology. Apollo is associated with him, but the sun himself. Helios, plays a minor role. Perhaps that is because there is so much sun in these lands that there was no need to appease its god."

"There is sun aplenty in Egypt and their sun god still reigned supreme," Elliot said. "I think Miss Blair is correct about the feast of San Giovanni."

"Possibly," Matthias said. "And the symbolism of the walnuts would be?"

Phaedra laughed. "I will think of one before I depart. Mr. Greenwood, since you are willing to be pliable in your opinions."

"For a
beautiful
woman, I can be too pliable. Miss Blair. Il is my great failing." He gazed out of the loggia. A man approached on a path from the north. "Here is Whitmarsh, back from his dawn hike. I promised lo show him a new treasure I found. Would you like to see my humble but prized collection of artifacts, Miss Blair?"

"Most certainly, Mr. Greenwood."

She took his offered hand to rise. Whitmarsh fell into line as they filed into the house.

Elliot was curious lo see if Phaedra could maintain the pose of indifference toward him that she had adopted this morning. Not a blush. No fluster al all. She acknowledged his presence boldly and blankly. Her manner only provoked the darker side of the desire that plagued him.

That side was saying that he should have seduced her on the balcony last night like he had wanted to. The argument was making more sense by the minute.

It is a modest collection." Matthias beamed with pride
,
despite his words. "I keep it here to imitate the example of a Renaissance
studiolo.
This is my retreat within my home, full of my favorite things."

His
studio
was a large cube of a room, frescoed with ancient-looking urns and foliage on the plaster walls. In addition to a large writing desk strewn with books and papers, it contained bits of artifacts. The capital of a Corinthian column perched on the desk's corner. An ancient portrait bust looked down from the top of a high bookcase. Glass cases on legs, such as one saw in bookshops in England, held other bits and pieces of antiquity.

Phaedra strolled along them, peering in. Randall Whitmarsh accompanied her, pointing out the coins bearing the likenesses of Julius Caesar and Tiberius, and the little flat glass bottles.

"Here is the great find," Matthias announced. He opened a drawer, lifted out a cloth-wrapped bundle, and began unwinding the material.

A little bronze statuette emerged, of a nude goddess in a relaxed stance.

"Some boys were diving in the cove and there she was at the bottom in the sand. She must have been there for fifteen hundred years. She is Greek. I am sure. Classical period. Probably part of a hold of Greek loot on its way to feed the collectors of imperial Rome."

Whitmarsh lifted the statue. "No doubt a ship went down offshore here. There is probably more where it sank, if it could be found."

"The water gets dangerously deep fast," Matthias said. "If there is more it will not be found until the tides do their work. I have carefully removed the barnacles that grew on her, and she polished up wonderfully."

Elliot took the statue in his hands. "It is beautiful. Do you intend to sell it?"

"I have not decided. If so, Whitmarsh here could flog it form in Rome. Eh, Whitmarsh?"

"Or I could flog it in London," Elliot said. "You would get a better price there, wouldn't you?"

Matthias smiled with a tutor's indulgence. He slid the statue out of Elliot's hands. "And taint your blood with trade? I could not allow it."

"There is no trade if I merely refer a collector to you. Easterbrook might even be interested."

The men began debating its time of creation and its value. Phaedra wandered away to finish her little tour of the glass cases.

Matthias's collection was very eclectic, like that of a schoolboy who brought home bits and pieces of the world that fascinated him. One case contained pottery shards of little value but fascinating, primitive decoration. Swirls and geometric shapes crowded the reddish surfaces. A fine, intact Greek drinking cup held pride of place in another case, displaying the god Dionysus in a ship in its round, shallow interior.

She moved on past old daggers and bits of incised Roman armor, to a case holding other metal objects. This case was locked, and she saw why. Strewn inside were gold and silver and enameled items, some classical but others from later times, when the Normans and the Saracens were in this land. Tiny images of Roman gods vied with dense interplays of lines and arabesques for her attention.

The whole case glittered. Purse clasps and ear bobs and strands of glass beads.

"I have decided that I will keep my little goddess," Matthias announced. "Where should she go, Miss Blair?"

Phaedra made suggestions for spots to display the little bronze nude, but her thoughts remained on her host's varied collection. She wondered if he knew anything about old cameos.

That afternoon Mr. Whitmarsh decided he wanted to go fishing so the gentlemen walked down the hill to hire a boat after the town's siesta. That left Phaedra with Signora Roviale and Mrs. Whitmarsh.

The ladies sat in the drawing room and tried not to bore one another. When Mrs. Whitmarsh excused herself to go write a letter, Signora Roviale broached the one subject she thought she had in common with her remaining guest.

"He is an impressive man, your Lord Elliot. I am not so fond of all of Signore Greenwood's English friends. They are too often pale and very dull in their reserve, and their wives and mistresses without color and depth too. But Lord Elliot is both handsome and interesting.
Un uomo magnifico."

"Lord Elliot is brother-in-law of a good friend of mine, and escorts me at her request. I am not his mistress, however."

"Veramente?"
She gave Phaedra a cool examination. "Perhaps, if you wore more attractive garments
...
Matthias says you are not in mourning and here black is more common among old women
...
and your hair, my woman could dress it so you do not look like a child, or a
puttana."

"Puttana" was a word Gentile Sansoni had used during his interrogation. It meant whore. Since Signora Roviale was not married to Matthias she was drawing a very fine line.

"I choose my dress and hairstyle for good reasons,
signora.
It means I am not encumbered by servants and hours of preparation before I start my busy day."

"Ahhh,
capisco.
I understand." She gestured expressively, her hand making a wide arc that included them both, and the house "But your day is empty now, not busy, no? We have nothing to do while these Englishmen fish like peasants. I offer the loan of my servant, so you will remain, how do you say, not
encumbered."

"I am quite content, thank you. As for filling my empty day, I will go to my chamber and read, if you will excuse me."