Masquerade

Samantha rose too now. “Of course not. I told him that we were very fond of one another. …”

“Very fond?” Benito spread wide his hands helplessly. “I adore you.”

Samantha compressed her lips. “I know, I know.”

“But you are going to let this new family of yours take you away from me,” he exclaimed angrily.

Samantha put her hands over her ears. “Don’t! I don’t know yet.”

Benito looked belligerent. “I won’t let you do this to me!”

Samantha turned and ran up the cliff to the villa, without answering him. Benito ran after her, and as he was not tired from swimming caught her easily.

“This is your home, carissima,” he murmured, in another tone.

Samantha looked gently at him. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known,” she whispered.

“And so?”

“I still can’t quite take it in,” she said. “Try and understand, Benito. How would you feel if you suddenly learned that your mother was still alive after you had thought her dead for all these years? I’m twenty-one now. I’ve never known what it’s like to have a mother. Naturally, I’m curious to see her. If only to find out what kind of a woman could desert her child to the extent that my mother has done. It must be at least seventeen years since she saw me.”

She felt a lump in her throat at this thought. Then she looked at Benito. Standing beside her in denim trousers and a rough shirt open at the neck, he looked dear and familiar, and she wondered why she was allowing the letter to come between them. If only it had never arrived! It would have been so simple to marry Benito and have his children. Living in Perruzio there would be no complications in their lives. Just as his parents had lived before them.

She slid her arm through his. “Don’t rush me, darling,” she murmured.

He looked dejected for a moment and then pulled her to him to press his lips to hers, his rough hands encircling her slim throat.

“Si,” he said softly. “I will give you time.”

They walked on up the cliff path until they could see the villa, lying peacefully as ever in the sunlight. But, to their surprise, there was a low black limousine parked at the entrance.

Samantha looked at Benito and raised dark eyebrows. Benito shook his head in reply.

“Are you coming in for some coffee?” she asked.

Benito smiled slightly. “I think I had better. We must find out who your visitors are.”

Matilde was in the hall when they entered the door. An elderly woman, her long black hair twined always into a bun on the nape of her neck, she looked at Samantha with relief in her face.

“You have company,” she said softly in Italian, indicating the door of the lounge where earlier Samantha had read the stupendous news. “From Milano.”

Samantha frowned. The day was gradually taking on the aspects of a dream. First the earth-shattering letter and now some strange company. Her limited existence was widening alarmingly.

Benito waited in the hall while Samantha went to change and put on a dress. She returned only a couple of minutes later, having towelled her hair almost dry and donned a simple shift of yellow cotton, another of her own creations. There had not been much money over to spend on clothes and she had found that buying material in the market and running it up herself left more over for essential commodities.

“Do I look all right?” she whispered to Benito, and he nodded. To his eyes she would look good in anything. Just to look at her sent the blood pounding through his veins, his heart thumping wildly. Soon, oh! soon, she must marry him. He could not wait much longer. He wanted her passionately. With her fair skin and almost white hair she was so different from the dark-haired girls of his own race and too long he had delayed already. Had they already been married when the letter came this morning, she would not have been able to talk to him as she had done. She would have been his wife, his property, and most probably, the mother of a bambino by now.

Together they entered the lounge to find two men seated in opposite armchairs, smoking and drinking the strong coffee which Matilde had brewed for them. They were both much older than the two young people, the younger of the two being about fifty years of age. They rose to their feet politely at Samantha’s entrance and the older man came to greet them.

“Miss Kingsley?” he asked, in heavily accented English.

“Yes.” Samantha shook hands cautiously. They looked all right, so she supposed that as they came from Milan, they must be business associates of her father. Perhaps they had something to do with the exhibition.

“My name is Arturo Cioni,” went on the man, “and this is my brother Giovanni.” He smiled. “We are your father’s solicitors.” He hesitated. “Do you speak Italian, Miss Kingsley?”

Samantha smiled and nodded. “Yes. Do speak in your own language if it is easier for you.”

“Good.” The man continued in Italian. “We have had a communication from your grandmother in England. I understand you have had the same. Yes?”

“That’s right,” Samantha nodded. “It arrived this morning. I must confess I knew nothing at all about having any other relations. My father did not tell me.”

“Yes, I know. But now your grandmother has instructed us to arrange for your flight to England. Was this explained in your letter?”

“Yes. I haven’t got over the initial shock yet.”

“Very understandable,” said the younger man, speaking for the first time. “I always advised your father that you should be made aware of the facts in case such an unfortunate contingency occurred. I think he found it hard to tell you. You had lived so long without this knowledge. I also think he was a little afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes. You were his only reason for living. Had you known that you had a mother in England, you might have insisted that you return there directly and see her. He might also have feared you would prefer her life to his.”

“Oh, how could he have thought that? He knew I adored living here. I would never have left him.” Samantha felt quite distraught.

“Please. Do not distress yourself unduly. Your father died a happy man. He never told you and your life was his to mould as he wished. I think that was all he ever asked.”

“Yes.” Samantha was unsure.

“Now. Let us get down to details,” said Arturo Cioni, in a more businesslike manner. “Your grandmother wants you to fly from Milan to London as soon as possible. Naturally your affairs here will be tied up quite easily. Anything further you need to know can be explained to you. The villa is too big for you to rent alone. Surely by now you must have made some plans for your future.”

“Not really,” murmured Samantha weakly, sinking down on to a chair, her face pale. Suddenly she felt the enormity of what was expected of her sweeping over her, and she felt quite faint.

Benito, familiar with the whereabouts of everything in this room, crossed to a small cabinet and drew out a bottle of brandy which her father had always kept there for medicinal purposes. He poured a little into a glass and returned to Samantha, handing her the glass tenderly.

“Drink,” he murmured softly. “It will make you feel better.”

Samantha obediently sipped the fiery liquid and felt it burn its way down into her stomach, warming her chilled body.

“Forgive me!” exclaimed Arturo, looking anxiously at her. “This must all have been a great shock to you. I am a clumsy oaf. I have tried to rush you. It is simply that your grandmother put such a sense of urgency into her communication that we lost no time in putting her plans into operation.”

Samantha stiffened. She wondered how great the gulf between her parents must have been. Knowing how sensitive John had always been, her mother must have hurt him immensely for him to pack up and leave the country like that.

“Yes,” she said at last, sipping at the brandy, “I understand. And … and he thought I should go to England when he died for all he never went back.”

“Time changes many things,” put in Giovanni. “Circumstances change even more. He knew that whatever you shared could not go on for ever. One day you would have to know the truth and then decide for yourself. What else can you do? Have you a job in mind?”

“We are betrothed,” said Benito, looking fierce. “Is this not job enough? Is her future not secure in my hands? Why should some stranger provide for her what I can provide and more besides?”

“Benito!” said Samantha, sighing. “Please! We are not betrothed. Not yet. I must have time.”