The Autumn Of The Witch. Anne Mather
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You think you own the earth!’
Stephanie fell back a step, one hand pressed to her burning cheek, and her father was at last aroused from his lethargy. ‘For God’s sake, Jennifer!’ he muttered. ‘Let’s at least attempt to behave like civilized human beings! Whatever you feel about it, I will not stand by and allow you to treat my daughter as a whipping boy for your frustration. You know she’s right. You know Ventura is using you against me!’
Jennifer’s face hardened. ‘Maybe he is, maybe he is. Just don’t try to get me to change my mind, that’s all.’
‘I wouldn’t try,’ returned McMaster grimly, and sank back down in his seat.
With a muffled word of departure, Stephanie wrenched open the door, brushing past Jennifer without even looking at her. She ran up the wide staircase and in the sanctuary of her room she flung herself miserably on the bed. Her smarting cheek meant less than the realization that things had finally come to a head and now her father was little more than a puppet to be moved at will by his masters. There seemed no escape from the inevitable and her heart bled for the man who had tried so desperately to hang on to the firm that he had himself started so many years ago. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t the incisive thrust that was necessary to be successful in business today, and Jennifer had known what she was doing years ago when she had suggested he make her a director of the firm. Only Aunt Evelyn could prevent the certainty of a take-over and Stephanie knew only too well that she would not raise a finger to stop it. She had cut off her brother when he married Jennifer only eighteen months after the death of his first wife, and the breach had never been healed. Besides, no doubt she was being paid well for her shares as well.
Stephanie sighed and slid off the bed, taking off the trouser suit and hanging it away in her fitted wardrobe. Then she turned back to the bed and as she did so the scarlet telephone on the bedside table caught her eye. With determination, she flung herself on her stomach on the bed and lifted the receiver. Then she dialled the number of Allan Priestley’s apartment and waited as the ringing tone began. Presently the receiver was lifted and Allan’s voice came through to her.
‘Oh, Allan! Hello, love. This is Stephanie. Look, I’m afraid I can’t go to that party with you this evening.’
Allan sounded annoyed. ‘Why ever not?’
Stephanie hesitated. ‘Well, I can’t really explain over the telephone.’
‘Why not? Has something happened? Is it to do with your father?’
‘Sort of. Anyway, Allan, I do have a bit of a headache, and quite honestly I didn’t want to go in the first place. You can still go—’
‘I don’t want to go without you!’ Allan snorted impatiently.
‘Well, I’m sorry, Allan, but that’s how it is. Give me a ring tomorrow, hmn?’
There was silence for a moment and then Allan said: ‘Oh, all right, Stephanie. But I do wish you wouldn’t make it sound so mysterious. Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Of course. I told you, I just have a bit of a headache, that’s all. ‘Bye for now.’
‘G’bye.’ Allan sounded reluctant, but Stephanie rang off before he could say anything else. Then she lay for a moment looking at the phone, seeing again the dark, unrelenting features of Santino Ventura. It didn’t seem fair that one man should possess this power over her father, albeit power that Jennifer and Aunt Evelyn between them had placed into his hands. With a sigh, Stephanie got up and went into her bathroom. Maybe a shower would rid her of this awful feeling of despondency.
She was bathed and dressed in velvet pants and a lounging sweater of fine wool when she heard the telephone ringing. She did not bother to answer it. It could be no one for her. And so it was a surprise when Miller tapped at her bedroom door to advise her that a Signor Bastinado was on the telephone.
Thanking her, Stephanie dashed across the room to the telephone and lifted the receiver with hasty fingers. ‘Hello. This is Stephanie McMaster.’
‘Hello, signorina.’ Pietro’s voice had an unmistakable accent. ‘I hope I did not disturb you.’
‘Oh, no – no.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘What can I do for you?’
Pietro seemed to hesitate, and then he said: ‘I wondered if you might have dinner with me this evening.’
Stephanie sank down on to the bed. ‘Dinner?’ she echoed, slowly, thinking hard. Why was he asking her out for dinner? Dared she go, knowing she had just told Allan she had a headache? And yet might this not be an opportunity to fraternize with the – enemy? She frowned. Pietro Bastinado must have some influence with Ventura.
Without further hesitation, she said: ‘Why – yes, I think I could manage that.’
‘Bene! I was afraid you might have some previous engagement, and it is rather late.’
“I – I was going out, but I – I changed my mind,’ she said, carefully.
‘I’m so glad you did.’ Pietro sounded gratifyingly eager. ‘I’ll pick you up in say thirty minutes. Is nine o’clock all right?’
‘Fine.’ Stephanie felt a twinge of excitement, and when he rang off she sat for a few moments wondering whether she was doing the right thing. It would not do for her father or Jennifer to find out where she was going and with whom, and she must speak to Miller and warn her not to say who had called her.
With haste, she changed into a plain chiffon cocktail dress in black, with an edging of sequins at the cuffed collar and sleeves. She secured her hair in a pleat at the back of her head and added long diamond earrings. Then, with a silver fur cape about her shoulders, she went downstairs. She encountered Miller in the hall and was speaking to her when her father emerged from the library. His face brightened a little at the sight of her and he said: ‘Going out, my dear?’
‘Yes.’ Stephanie managed not to colour guiltily. ‘We – er – Allan and I have been invited to a party.’
‘I see. Is he calling for you?’
Stephanie bit her lip. ‘Er – no – I’m meeting him – there.’
‘Oh.’ Her father looked surprised and with a feeling of betrayal Stephanie gave him a light kiss on his cheek and hurried to the door. She was just in time. As she stepped outside a cab halted at the entrance to the drive and she saw Pietro himself climbing out and speaking to the driver.
When he saw Stephanie he came hastening towards her and she ran a little to prevent their being noticed from the windows of the house. Not until she was inside the cab did she relax, and Pietro glanced at her curiously. ‘You did not tell your parents you were meeting me?’ he hazarded dryly.
‘That’s right.’ Stephanie bit her lip. ‘My father – wouldn’t understand.’
‘I see.’ Pietro was silent for a moment and then he drew out his cigarettes and offered her one. When she refused, he lit one himself and said: ‘Why did you come, signorina?’
Stephanie coloured now, but he could not see the telltale brilliance in the darkness. ‘Because I wanted to,’ she said.
Pietro drew on his cigarette. ‘With what motive?’ he queried. ‘Or am I to believe that it was my scintillating company you sought?’
Stephanie bent her head. ‘Why did you ask me?’ she countered.
Pietro smiled. ‘Because you are a beautiful young woman and you must know that all Italians appreciate beauty in their women.’
Stephanie stared at him, trying to see if he was teasing her. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘Why not? You are a beautiful woman, signorina. And I am only human, after all. You interest me, you intrigue me. And your reasons for accepting my invitation intrigue me even more.’
Stephanie