Then he was completely over her, urging her legs further apart until she could feel him seeking entry, finding her, driving into her with a ruthless power that sent her spinning into space. She groaned with the strangeness of it, but that was followed at once by the certainty that this was right. This had been inevitable since the dawn of time.

He was moving inside her, slowly, prolonging pleasure with infinite control, taking her deeply, then more deeply until there seemed no corner of her that he couldn’t claim. She was burning up, going out of her mind with pleasure so intense that it was unbearable.

She clasped her legs behind him, then her arms, taking him prisoner and crying out to him to make this last for ever. She had a terrible feeling that it would soon be over and she couldn’t bear that. She thrust herself back at him with all her strength, seeking more and then more, until the moment came and it was like annihilation.

She returned to the world to find that her heart was thundering wildly, and nothing was as it had been before. Nothing would ever be the same again.

She was lying on her back, one arm flung over her eyes, which she kept closed. She could sense Salvatore near her but for a while she needed to be alone with herself, free from his gaze that saw too much. What had happened inside her was as alarming as it had been glorious, and he was the last person in the world who could be allowed to suspect.

She took a few slow breaths to calm herself and slip into the character she wanted to present. Then she opened her eyes to find him sitting on the bed, watching her.

‘Well?’ he asked wryly. ‘Are you going to deny that I won?’

‘You won nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘In here-’ she tapped her breast ‘-nothing. Because there’s nothing there to win.’

He placed his hand over her breast where her heart was still pounding.

‘A machine,’ she told him defiantly. ‘Nothing else. Ever.’

‘That isn’t true,’ he said slowly. ‘Why are you pretending?’

‘I’m not pretending, Salvatore. A machine.’ She managed a little scornful laugh. ‘Don’t scowl. Think how useful a machine will be to you. No inconvenient emotions, no tears when it’s over, a woman who knows the rules and doesn’t ask for more. No different from a man, really.’

‘You’re already planning for the end?’ he queried lightly.

She shrugged. ‘Everything ends, although not too soon, I hope.’

He inclined his head. ‘You’re too kind.’

She yawned and stretched, the very picture of a woman luxuriating in sensual delight. ‘We have nothing to do but please ourselves.’

‘I take it you have no complaints?’

Her lips twitched. ‘None that I can think of. If I do, I’ll let you know.’

He laughed outright at that.

‘Perhaps I should be going now,’ he said. ‘I’d be reluctant to cause a scandal.’

He waited for her to ask him to stay, but she said nothing. Her eyes were blank and he realised, with a sense of shock, that she was simply waiting for him to leave.

He switched on a bedside light so that he could hunt for his discarded clothes, then dressed quickly, meaning to head out of the door, but at the last minute something held him back to ask in sudden concern, ‘Are you all right?’

The life returned to her eyes. ‘Never better,’ she assured him brightly. ‘But now I really must get some sleep. Close the door quietly.’

‘I will.’ But still he didn’t move. ‘Helena-’

She yawned. ‘Oh, dear, excuse me, I’m so sleepy.’

‘Goodnight,’ he said, and departed.

When he’d gone she didn’t move but lay staring at the ceiling trying to come to terms with what had happened. Her flesh was still thrumming with pleasure and satiation. Part of her ached to have him back, to pull him down into bed with her and let him bring her body the ecstasy that had come as a revelation.

The other part of her wanted to flee Venice, flee Salvatore, flee the joyous prospect that had opened up before her, because she was no longer sure she had the courage to confront its dangers. She was lonely, but to be lonely was to be free. To get closer to Salvatore was to risk loving him, and that would be the greatest disaster of all.

High above on the ceiling nymphs chased each other, laughing as they darted here and there, exchanging looks that were meant to tease and allure, until the moment would come when the chase ended in delight.

They make it look so simple, she sighed to herself. But it isn’t simple at all.

She wondered where Salvatore was now, and what he was thinking. She tried to picture him walking home through the dark calles, rejoicing in his easy victory, saying he’d always known she was just like the others.

But the picture didn’t fit. It faded before the memory of the concern in his voice as he’d asked if she was all right.

She reached out, to switch off the beside light, rolled over and buried her head under the clothes.

Down below, Salvatore stood by the landing stage, watching her window, trying to sort out his thoughts, but they were too much for him. Nothing in the world made any sense.

She had been like a woman experiencing passion for the first time. Helen of Troy, whose lustrous body was a byword for sexual allure and delightful sin, had made love with an air of astonishment and discovery that had stunned him. Prepared for skill and experience, he’d found instead something shockingly like innocence.

He’d always avoided innocence. It caused too many complications. Helena’s attraction had been that she seemed like himself, cynical, wary, well able to take care of herself. Her own words, ‘A woman who knows the rules and doesn’t ask for more,’ had seemed to bear that out.

But it was false. Her caresses had been eager but simple and artless, with none of the calculation he’d expected. He’d known women with those very skills, who’d taken him to the extremes of physical pleasure, but then shrugged when the time had come to part. Not one of them had inspired the concern he’d felt for Helena.

‘What mystery are you hiding?’ he murmured. ‘Who are you lying to-me or yourself? And why?’

He stood watching for a while longer, listening to the soft lapping of the little waves, until her light went out. Only then did he walk slowly, thoughtfully, away.

Business in Milan kept Salvatore away for the next few days. When it was complete he remembered further business in Rome, and it was a week before he returned to Venice to find a large parcel waiting for him.

‘It came by special messenger the day you left,’ his grandmother told him.

She was a thin, hard-faced woman, expensively dressed. The daughter of impoverished nobility, she had married for money and borne one child, Lisetta, the daughter who had been Salvatore’s mother. Guido, her son-in-law, had been the object of her hatred, often with good reason. Now that both he and Lisetta were dead she haunted the palazzo, urging Salvatore to remember ‘his position’, and disappointed when he didn’t live up to her pompous expectations.

He opened the parcel in front of her and then wished he hadn’t. It was the devil head Helena had created.

Inside was a brief note:

‘I promised you this. Thank you for mine. It’s beautiful. Helena.’

He concealed the note quickly, but his grandmother had seen the head and exclaimed sharply, ‘So it’s true! There was a rumour that she’d insulted you but I couldn’t believe she would dare.’

‘She hasn’t insulted me,’ Salvatore said, examining the object with interest. ‘It’s a very fine piece. If I’m not much mistaken it was designed by Leo Balzini, a young designer I’ve been pursuing for months.’ He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘He’s even managed to make it look like me.’

‘Don’t be absurd. Who could think that a devil looks like you?’

‘Anyone who could see into me as far as she…’ His voice faded and he took a deep, unnerved breath.

‘What’s that you’re mumbling?’

‘Nothing,’ he said hastily. ‘Just take my word that it’s not an insult.’

‘Hmm! I find that hard to believe. A woman like that-’

‘Please don’t call her that,’ Salvatore said quickly.

‘I’ve heard you say it yourself.’

‘But she is technically part of the family and bears the Veretti name,’ he reminded her in a voice that would have warned a more sensitive person.

‘But we don’t have to accept her, surely. Have you any idea of the spectacle she’s been making of herself this last week?’

‘She’s a model. Naturally she draws admiring eyes.’

‘She’s been seen out in the company of a different man every night, including Silvio Tirani.’

Since Tirani was a buffoon who pursued one woman after another, vainly fancying that his wealth could compensate for his vulgarity, this did not elicit the reaction she’d wanted.

‘I’ll bet she sent him about his business,’ Salvatore said with a grin.

‘I know there was a scene in a restaurant, the last thing this family needs. We must ignore her, however hard that becomes.’

‘I seem to recall that you were fond of Antonio,’ Salvatore observed.

He heard her give a sharp intake of breath and recalled, too late, that these were unlucky words. Despite being fifteen years older than Antonio, the signora had become infatuated with his boyish charm, and been unable to hide it. Rumour said that was why he’d fled Venice, and it had become part of the family legend. But Salvatore had spoken innocently, and now he hastened to add, ‘How would he feel about you ignoring his widow? I think it’s time she met the whole family. It should have been done before.’

‘You mean invite her here?’ the signora almost shrieked. ‘Never. I won’t consider it.’

‘There’ll be no need for you to do so,’ Salvatore said coldly. ‘In my own house I extend the invitations.’