Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (38 page)

'What is it. . .? Is that all? Or has "II Duca" deigned to
return yet?' She could not keep the caustic note from her voice as she made her
small, sarcastic pun. When the woman said nothing, she continued in the same
defiantly light way, 'If he's back you must be sure to tell him that I arn more
than ever bored! I don't like being kept a prisoner against my will. Or does he
do this with all his women?'

'You, signorina, are the first woman that II Duca has ever brought here
to the palazzo. Si, we have all known from an occasional newspaper and
 
giornale of some of his other ...

interests, but never has he brought one here. Never . . , Forgive me,
signorina, for speaking so openly, but sometimes it is better so. I am an old
woman, and I have seen much, but..."

'I'm sorry, Serafina.' Sitting up reluctantly, Sara wished suddenly for
something to cover herself with; accepting with gratitude the Indian-patterned
cotton wrap-around the woman handed her without a word. Her mind felt bemused;
as much from the sun as from Serafina's sudden burst of confidence. Whatever
was she trying to say? And how should she reply?

Sara found a temporary respite while she knotted the light-textured
cotton sarong over her breasts. But her mind burned without her quite knowing
why. 'His interests . . .' Serafina had said in that totally accepting voice!
Damn it, never would she accept a man who would casually keep a positive legion
of mistresses whoever took his roving eye, in fact. And was still hypocrite
enough to deny his younger brother the right to marry the woman he loved, while
he took and used the same woman — or so he thought — without caring about her
will, or the consequences of his high-handed actions.

'Serafina... what are you trying to say? I am getting very tired of
facing evasions or brute force. I think I need to leave here soon, surely you
understand that?'

It was as if Serafina deliberately refused to understand, seizing on
unimportant matters instead. 'You have had too much sun, what did I say? It
could be dangerous, too . . . Please to come inside with me, signorina.'

It took Serafina a long time to come to the point, even t hough she had
obviously come here with the intention of saying something., Sara thought
impatiently, as she allowed herself to be scolded and clucked over like a
child; and even shepherded into her bath, with all its perfumed marble luxury.
A sunken bath, indeed! Symbol of decadence, built for pampered odalisques whose
only function was to please their arrogant masters. And with that thought Sara
was able to tear her mind away from an unwanted, unnecessary flash of memory of
strong brown fingers soaping her back — soaping her all over . . .

Why wasn't there a shower included in the otherwise luxurious
appointments of this enormous bathroom? He had one, after all!

'Serafina . . .?'

The straight-backed old woman with her severely knotted hair and her
dark clothing would normally have left Sara to her bath, but this afternoon she
had seemed to seek excuses to stay, as she carefully checked the huge heap of
fluffy towels that were always kept ready, and the levels of bath oils and bath
powders in their crystal jars. Now Serafina looked almost relieved that Sara
had chosen to speak to her.

'Si, signorina?'

'Serafina, when was this . . . this inordinately large tub put in here?
And why isn't there a modern, practical shower?'

'It was a former Duca, I think, signorina. The title is very old, and
this is a very old part of the palazzo. But when the first Duchessa saw these
rooms she wanted them for herself - I remember my madre telling me so, and she
worked here in my present position at the time. I myself was young, but I had
come to work here at the age of fifteen. I remember the Duchessa - both the
Duchessas - very well. Long before there was modern heating I used to help
carry up the big kettles of heated water. Acb! And how many it took!'

Now that she had begun to speak, the usually taciturn housekeeper had
become almost garrulous, and it was all Sara could do to stop herself from
arching her eyebrows in disbelief. Why, Serafina actually had a very human side
to her after all, although it was still hard to imagine her as a young girl of
fifteen, toiling up innumerable steps with heavy kettles of hot water. Poor
thing, had she ever had a normal, carefree girlhood?

'Perhaps I am boring the signorina . . . these things all happened many
years ago, and some of them are better forgotten!'

'Oh - no, no!' Sara said hastily, with curiosity coming to the fore.
'Please! There are so many things that I've 'wondered about, particularly the
first Duchess, because were her rooms, and her picture still hangs here,
instead of in the portrait gallery. She must have been ... a very beautiful
woman! And she was Spanish, wasn't she?'

'Ah, yes - Spanish she was, and very beautiful, very young. II Duca, her
husband could deny her nothing. Anything she asked for - jewels, fine clothes -
she must

have . And those were hard times for our country, signorina. Very hard
times! There was not as much money in the family as there is now, thanks to the
present Duca, and
 
it was sometimes
difficult — but indeed the Duchessa had only to wish, that was all. She had
everything!'

' Except her freedom, I suppose!' Sara felt herself almost impelled to
interject somewhat dryly. What a different story from the one Serafina herself
had related to her earlier! A poor, captive young bride kept as a plaything for
a tyrannous Duke who belonged, like his elder son, in the Middle Ages! 'And
what about all the times he left her alone in this vast palazzo while he
travelled about and, no doubt, visited his favourite mistresses? Perhaps this
magnificent palazzo and these magnificent rooms with their marble bath and sun
terrace and wide soft bed had begun to feel like a prison to her, poor woman!'

For a moment, as Serafina's face seemed to tighten, Sara thought that
she might not say anything more — and wondered why she almost held her breath.
But it seemed as if the older woman had said too much and gone too far to stop
with what she had already said; even though her next few words sounded like a
reproach.

'The signorina doesn't understand at all! It was not like that; although
it was true the Duchessa became pregnant soon after marriage. It was then that
she asked for these rooms - it was then that her husband the Duca began to
travel so often on business, although there was a dottore here in residence all
the time. Money had to be made, signorina. And in those days there were no
noisy flying machines capable of landing here. Travel by road was very, very
rough — and dangerous as well, with banditi everywhere to prey on travellers.
The Duchessa was in no condition - '

'But what about afterwards? Sara persisted, even while she wondered why
she did. The unfortunate young Duchess had died - one might almost say she had
been murdered— for want of simple medical care denied to her by her vengeful
husband. If he had truly loved her he would have forgiven her!

'If you had a young child who needed nursing and a mother's care, -would
you have wanted to travel away from your infant, signorina?'

Touche, Serafina! Almost unwillingly, Sara shook her head. 'No, I
suppose not! But I'm sure that she didn't either, did she? And was he here when
the child was born? Couldn't he stay with her after that?'

The child they were talking about was Marco - what a strange thought,
and how impossible to imagine him as a child, much less a helpless infant!

Serafina too was shaking her head, and her weathered brown face bore an
almost brooding expression.

'II Duca was here, of course, although she - the Duchessa - did not want
to see him. She screamed — in spite of the fact that the dottore had tried to
prepare her, she was not ready for the reality of the pain of childbirth, and
how she screamed! I remember covering my ears from the sound of those screams
and the words of hate and of anger until my madre sent me away. And even
afterwards ..."

'Yes?'

'Afterwards she did not want to see either her husband or the child,
signorina. My mother had quite a time, and so did the dottore. It was only
because her breasts began to ache so with the milk that she finally permitted
her son to be brought to her for feeding. And then she would turn her head away
- she would not hold him, she would not touch him — and she would cry and
scream and rage until at last a wet nurse was found, a woman from the mountains
whose brother..." Serafina's lips pursed almost angrily, but before Sara
could ask another question she went on quickly in the same wooden voice — 'But
even if her child was taken care of, she had a husband, signorina. She turned
away from him too, in spite of everything he tried to do, everything he
continued to give her in spite of the fact that she would not share his bed and
did not wish him to share hers. She demanded more and more as the price for
having borne a son who would be the heir and the next Duca, and he gave her
everything, still hoping, perhaps, that with time she would change. It was in
those days, signorina, that he would go on journeys that took longer and longer
. . . And once I myself overheard him say to a friend of his who had come to
visit that he could no longer put up with the hate that she had begun to feel
for him — and that she showed him, whenever he tried to ... reason with her.'

Her bath water was cooling — almost automatically Sara's hand turned the
spigot that would send more hot water in. In spite of herself, the story that
Serafina had surprisingly revealed to her with all its intimate details had
held her attention so completely that she had almost forgotten the present, and
the reality of her predicament. Forgotten to wonder why Serafina had chosen
this time and this moment to disclose family secrets to an outsider like
herself.

'So he stayed away for longer and longer periods at a time, while she
...' Sara said the words
 
musingly and
almost to herself while she tried to adjust her mind to a different story. It
was quite like the Japanese movie Rashomon, she told herself. How many facets
were there to truth, with everyone seeing it from a different viewpoint? Had
anyone really tried to understand the poor little Spanish Duchess before they
condemned her as a spoiled and petulant child who cared for nothing but her own
comfort?

She looked up at Serafina, who seemed lost in the past, with her thin,
work-roughened fingers moving automatically over wooden rosary beads while her
eyes stared over Sara's damp head into the distance. It was time for reason and
logic, surely!

'Well, he should have taken her away with him, no matter what! Perhaps
all she needed was to mingle with people again. To have the chance to wear her
pretty dresses and her jewels to the opera or the ballet or to cocktail
parties. He might even have taken her to a ... a - well, perhaps they didn't
have marriage counsellors in those days, but at least to a psychologist who
might have been able to help! If she was so young -

'It was a time of unrest, of too many changes that happened too fast, I
tell you, signorina. And soon the war that everyone had been talking about, to
set the world on its ears. Ah, but it was unfortunate, so sad! Although there
was a time when - II Duca was away then - when we all thought there might be a
change. The child was an infant no longer, and now, perhaps out of boredom, who
knows? -the Duchessa would permit him to be brought to her rooms. She even
became quite friendly with the nurse and spent much time talking with this
illiterate woman from the mountains who had lost her own bastard child. Ah, but
it was a bad thing, that strange friendship, bad for every¬one . . .'

'You're not being fair, surely!' Sara cried out in protest. 'What was
wrong with that poor lonely woman searching for a friend, someone to talk to,
and finding one? And her child - you just said she had begun to accept her baby
. . .'

Serafina's voice had harshened, even while her fingers tightened
themselves over the rosary she held. 'The child she treated as a toy -
sometimes caressed and fondled, and sometimes pushed away. And as for the
friendship - the woman had a brother, one of the wild, dangerous banditi who
preyed upon the helpless and the unwary. There was a meeting between, them - '

'And he was Angelo's father?'

The words slipped out before Sara could stop them, although she could
have bitten her tongue soon after. But Serafina did not seem to be at all
surprised, as she turned sombre eyes on Sara's flushed face with curling
tendrils of hair clinging at her forehead and temples.

'Yes, Angelo, who is his father's son, surely!'

'And his mother's, as well!' Sara flashed back, recovering her
 
senses, she thought with a mental shake.
'Poor Angelo! if anyone is to be pitied besides the foolishly indiscreet
Duchessa, I would think he is! Banished into exile as an infant, and then . . .
and now . . .'

'Angelo is a troublemaker, signorina! And, begging the signorina 's
pardon, but he takes advantage of... of who he is and what he is! Of II Duca's
generosity, and his sureness that he will not be punished for any of the
liberties he takes. He
 
carne back here
from the United States because he had got himself into trouble there- did
anyone, I ask you, force him to choose the bad life he led? He did not even go
to prison like so many others - no, it was arranged that he should come back
here, still a free man. And since then . . . signorina, I beg you to be
careful! Do not trust this Angelo who comes and goes in the night as he pleases
because he takes advantage ... I have said too much, and I know it, but only
because - there was another child, signorina. Another innocent child who grew
up with the knowledge that his mother had never wanted him and in the end
deserted him without a thought. These are scars that children grow up with and
carry, even when they are no longer children but grown men, who have learned early
to hide their feelings away ..:'