Part 1 (1/2)

Rachel Lindsay.

Affair in Venice.

When Erica went to work in Venice she had never dreamed that she would end up by falling in love with the attractive, immensely rich Conte Filippo Rosetti.

And Filippo's close friend Claudia Medina, it soon appeared, was going to see to it that it remained only a dream!

CHAPTER ONE.

Erica Rayburn looked at the diamond ring winking on her finger and wondered how it would feel to own a three- thousand-pound bauble. Slipping it off, she returned it to its black velvet bed and put it under the gla.s.s counter, snapping the lock shut as she did so.

Despite working for six months in the luxury atmosphere of Botelli's, one of Venice's most ill.u.s.trious jewellery shops, she was still awestruck by the exquisite jewels surrounding her, each one costing more than she earned in a year. Surprisingly for someone who catered for an e1ite clientele, Signora Botelli herself was a practical, motherly Italian who regarded all her clients as friends, and all the people who worked for her as her protegees. Erica still found it difficult to believe her luck in getting the opportunity to work for her, since she had no practical qualifications other than a deep love of precious stones and antique jewellery, and a gifted amateur's ability to design and make pieces herself.

'Loving the things you sell is halfway to being a good saleswoman,' the Signora had said when she engaged Erica. 'Most girls of your age see the jewellery here as portable bank accounts. But you enjoy each piece because of the care that went into its making.'

'I appreciate its value too,' Erica had protested, not wis.h.i.+ng to be thought as unworldly as the Signora made out But the woman had refused to be dissuaded from her viewpoint, and still held it after knowing Erica for six months.

This belief in her a.s.sistant's ingenuousness stemmed, Erica knew, from the aura of simplicity which not even skilful make-up and an austere hair-style could eradicate. Indeed, the more sophisticated she tried to look, the less she succeeded, so that now she accepted the fact that she looked five years younger than the twenty-three she was, and considerably more innocent than she felt herself to be. Not that she was worldly when compared with the bored beauties who made up a large part of their clientele. One in particular came into her mind: a husky-voiced young widow who, for the last three months, had been a consistent buyer of small but expensive items with which to adorn herself. Not that Claudia Medina's beauty required any adornment. She was so lovely that it was a wonder she had not yet married again. There was no doubt the choice would be hers. Sighing for the fact that she herself did not have a matt olive skin and mahogany red hair, Erica took out a pendant from the gla.s.s case and started to polish it It was a quiet time of the day. She had re-opened the shop after the usual two-hour lunch break and most of the tourists were not yet in evidence, it being both too early in the season and too early in the afternoon. It was the time of year Erica liked best. Spring had not quite given way to summer, and though the chilly morning and evening mists had gone, the city still had the fresh, dewlike quality one seemed to find nowhere else except in Venice.

Venice. City of bridges and slow-moving ca.n.a.ls; of narrow winding streets and breathtakingly beautiful squares; of magnificent crumbling palazzos and damp- ridden tenements.

The buzz of the bell above the door brought her back to her present surroundings and she saw a young, pretty girl standing by the counter. Before Erica had a chance to speak, the girl opened her handbag and, rummaging among a conglomeration of coins, gold-backed comb, small calf diary and purse, withdrew a brooch.

'I'd like to sell this,' she said in a breathless voice.

Erica examined the brooch carefully. It was an exquisite thing in gold and rubies, with a large and unusual pink stone in the centre. It was so pale a pink that it reminded her of a dawn sky, though it glittered with the brilliance of a light.

How much will you give me for it?' the girl asked, still speaking Italian.

Erica hesitated. As a general rule Signora Botelli did not buy second-hand jewellery, though there were times when - in order to help a client who needed some ready cash - she would buy back some of her own work. But this brooch, Erica surmised, had not been produced by any of the craftsmen the Signora employed. It had the patina of age; the stamp of antiquity that would increase its value and make it difficult for her to a.s.sess its worth.

'I would like Signora Botelli to see it,' she murmured. 'Perhaps you could call back at five o'clock.'

'I can't. It was difficult enough for me to get away now, without having to-' The girl stopped abruptly, as if afraid she had said too much. 'I'll take a half million lire,' she finished. 'It is worth at least treble that.'

It probably was, Erica decided, and wondered why the girl wanted to sell it and, even more important, if it was hers to sell. A surrept.i.tious but careful glance showed her to be wearing a simple but expensive suit in hand-woven wool. Her handbag was equally expensive, its soft calf exactly matching the hand-st.i.tched gloves which had been carelessly dropped on to the counter. Whatever else she might be, the girl was not a maid who had stolen her mistress's jewellery; yet neither was she a demi-mondaine trying to cash in on a present she had received.

'I am afraid you will have to come back and see Signora Botelli,' Erica reiterated. 'I cannot make an offer for the brooch myself.'

'Then what's the point of your being here? If you can't make decisions you might as well close the shop!'

'I can sell,' Erica replied with a faint smile. 'But I am not allowed to buy.'

The girl's pert features were marred by a scowl. It put a line on the smooth forehead and a shadow in the blue eyes.

'If you really can't come back,' Erica continued tentatively, 'there are several other shops who might be interested in the brooch. Carema are always looking for good pieces and-'

'I know where to go,' the girl interrupted rudely. 'That's why I came here. I want to sell this brooch quietly - without any fuss - and Carema know my - know my-' She hesitated and frowned.

Erica was more than ever convinced the girl was trying to surrept.i.tiously dispose of a gift But it was more than she dared do to buy it. She picked it up and regretfully held it out. It really was one of the loveliest pieces she had seen. 'I'm terribly sorry I can't make you an offer, signorina. But as I said, if you return later this afternoon...'

The girl glanced out of the window at the crowds strolling in the direction of San Marco Square. A group of Italian women came towards the shop and she gave a gasp and stepped back, as if afraid of being seen. 'I can't return this afternoon,' she muttered, 'but I can probably come back in the morning. Will Signora Botelli be here then?'

'I'll make sure that she is. If you could tell me what time we can expect you?'

'As near to ten as I can make it.' Hurriedly the girl picked up her gloves and went to the door.

'You have forgotten the brooch,' Erica called.

'Keep it for me.'

'But-'

'You look honest,' the girl said, and quickly closed the door behind her.

Erica picked up the brooch and studied it. How trusting of the girl to leave it here: she had not even bothered to get a receipt. But then she had obviously been in a hurry to get away. Erica glanced through the window at the group who had attracted the girl's attention, but they had disappeared. Quickly she put the brooch into a velvet-lined drawer, then resumed cleaning the pendant.

There were few visitors to the shop during the afternoon, apart from some Americans who were more interested in looking than buying, and an old client who returned a ring to be reset, which Erica promised to do herself, since she knew the woman wanted to wear it the following day.

'I thought one needed to be strong to be a jeweller,' the woman commented, looking at Erica's fine-boned wrists.

'Dexterity and patience are more important than strength,' Erica smiled. 'Don't worry, signora, re-setting the ring won't be difficult. I'll have it ready for you this time tomorrow.'

She had just put the ring on her work bench when her employer walked in. Signora Botelli was almost as wide as she was tall, with a pair of shrewd black eyes set in a full moon face. But she had the small, beautiful feet and ankles of the true northern Italian, and still walked with a grace that was surprising in one so heavy.

'Sorry to be late,' she puffed. 'But it's becoming more and more difficult to get people to keep their word on delivery. If I don't have better luck before the end of the week, I will have to buy some stock from Rome.'

'You hate paying Roman prices,' Erica reminded her.

'I know. But I can't have an empty window.'

'At least I can offer you one beautiful piece to put in it.' Erica opened the drawer and took out the brooch left in her care by the unknown girl.

Signora Botelli pounced on it. 'Where did you get this?'

Erica explained as her employer examined the brooch carefully.

'You say she wants half a million lire for it?' the woman questioned.

'Yes. You might be able to get it for less. I think she is anxious to make a quiet sale.'

'I don't doubt it,' Signora Botelli remarked caustically. 'Especially if this brooch is the one I think it is.'

Knowing there was significance behind the words, Erica waited. She did not have to wait long, for her employer went into the inner office and returned with a large, well-thumbed book. It was the Bible of the jewellery trade and showed some of the greatest collections in the world, both private ones and museum- owned. A pudgy finger moved down the index, pages were quickly turned and there was a sharp exclamation.