Читать книгу Moth To The Flame - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 5

‘WELL, I can’t understand you,’ Mrs Laurence said plaintively. ‘Most girls would give their eye teeth for a week in Rome with all expenses paid.’

Juliet Laurence repressed a sigh and gave her mother a look of affectionate resignation. ‘You make it all sound so simple,’ she said.

‘It is simple,’ her mother protested.

‘And of course Jan will welcome me with open arms, without the slightest idea that I’ve been sent out to spy on her.’

‘What an unpleasant way of expressing it!’ Mrs Laurence directed a quelling glance at her older daughter. ‘That is not my intention at all. I admit that I’m concerned, but …’

‘But you want to know what she’s doing, and why she hasn’t written to you for nearly a month, without actually asking her directly,’ Juliet supplied accurately.

‘But she never keeps me waiting so long for a letter,’ Mrs Laurence said defensively. ‘Something’s wrong, I know it is. I have one of my feelings …’

‘Oh, Mim!’ Juliet smiled ruefully. ‘You and those “feelings” of yours—the panics they’ve started! If you’re so worried, why don’t you telephone Jan? It would be cheaper than sending me to Rome to ferret out the information for you.’

‘I can’t phone her. I’d sound like one of those dreadful, over-protective mothers who keep dragging their fledglings back to the nest,’ Mrs Laurence said fretfully. ‘Jan would hate it. And I’ve never pestered or interfered, have I?’

Juliet patted her hand. ‘No, Mim, love, of course not.’

And if the thought fleetingly occurred to her that if it had been herself all those miles away in Rome instead of her younger sister, her mother’s antennae might not have been quite so sensitive to impending doom, she loyally suppressed it. After all, Jan was her last-born, and Juliet had always known, ever since her sister’s birth, that Jan was the favourite child. It was an instinctive knowledge and she had been able to absorb it without particular hurt, because she knew that she was also loved and valued, and that what favouritism there was had been wholly unconscious on her mother’s part.

Jan, after all, was everyone’s darling. She was incredibly lovely to look at, for one thing. Strangers had hung over her pram, cooing rapturously while she accepted their homage. She had continued to accept it all through her childhood, at school and at play, and no one had been in the least surprised when a career in modelling beckoned when she was seventeen. And now she had been working in Rome for almost a year at a leading fashion house, the latest in a series of glamorous jobs.

Juliet did not grudge her sister one iota of her almost meteoric success. No one, she had realised a long time ago, was ever likely to offer her a career in modelling, even if that had been what she wanted—unless it was to advertise tights or nail varnish. Her legs were long and shapely, and her hands small and well cared for, but her figure, although slender and rounded in the right places, would never set the world on fire, she thought judiciously, and while she shared Jan’s basic colouring, her own hair tended towards a bright copper rather than her sister’s rich red-gold colour and her eyes had more grey than green in them. Her face was thinner, too, its cheekbones more prominent and the mouth more vulnerable.

It was odd to think of herself as the more vulnerable when she was the older by eighteen months. When they had been small, she had always been protective towards Jan, alert for the sort of mischief that could lead to danger. Jan had seemed to accept this in much the same spirit as she received admiration, but at the same time she seemed to have been born knowing exactly where she was going and what she wanted out of life, whereas Juliet had never really known where her path would lead. It had led, eventually, to training as a teacher, and she had just completed her probationary year. She was happy and settled in her post in a primary school, but was that really how she should be feeling at twenty-two? she wondered. She had never let the knowledge that Jan regarded her as a stick-in-the-mud worry her in the past, because she had never craved the sort of limelight that seemed to be her sister’s life’s blood, but just recently she had begun to ask herself whether Jan’s strictures might not have a certain justice, and whether she was not in grave danger of resigning herself to a rut.

There was Barry Tennent for one thing. He taught at the same school, and they had been out together several times. Juliet admitted that she enjoyed his company, and she knew that Barry was ambitious, with his eye on a deputy headship before he was thirty. Nor did she find him unattractive. But was that really all there was to it—to marry a man because his prospects were sound, and he was ‘not unattractive’? Her mother too approved of Barry. She said he was ‘reliable’ as if that was the one quality that mattered, but Juliet was not so sure. It was all so safe and so humdrum.

She had even found herself guiltily wishing of late that it could be possible to change identities with Jan just for a brief while so that she could see what another lifestyle was like. But there was no profit to be gained from that kind of daydreaming. Perhaps a change of job would provide the impetus she needed. She could even work abroad. A girl she had been at college with was now living with a family in one of the E.E.C. countries, teaching their children English. Perhaps Katie might know of a similar post that would appeal to her.

It was this feeling of restlessness which had sorely tempted her to agree without a second thought when her mother had first suggested the trip to Rome—and if the invitation had come from Jan herself, she would not have hesitated. But Jan had never suggested that either her mother or her sister should visit her in her adopted city. She came home, of course, bringing generous presents—beautiful handbags and belts, and delicious perfume, and tossing them casual stories of parties she had attended and celebrities she had met, but her visits were never long. Jan, Juliet thought dispassionately, bored easily. She always had, even as a small child. She could remember incidents in childhood play, and even friendships disrupted by Jan’s demand for novelty. It was almost surprising that her interest in her new career had not waned. Juliet had half-expected the glamour of that to pall after a few months.

She rarely heard from Jan, but as long as her mother received regular correspondence, she did not allow it to worry her too much. Her affection for her sister now was not quite so uncritical as it had been when they were younger.

Only now there had been no letters for over three weeks, and Mrs Laurence had reacted sharply to the prolonged silence.

Poor Mim, Juliet thought, stealing her a compassionate look. She had always tried so hard to seem impartial, and she would have been genuinely horrified if anyone had suggested that she favoured Jan more in any way.

‘Mim,’ she said gently, ‘we really must leave Jan to live her own life, you know. There could be any number of reasons why she hasn’t written lately. Perhaps she’s extra busy just now, or away on a trip …’

‘Or ill.’ Mrs Laurence’s eyes sought Juliet’s. ‘Oh, darling, something’s wrong. I can feel it—here.’ She pressed a hand to her breast.

‘Nonsense,’ Juliet said robustly. ‘If she was sick then the Di Lorenzo company would have let you know. You would have been sent for.’

Her mother’s hand reached for hers. ‘Please, Juliet, go and see her. Put my mind at rest. If there is something the matter, she’s more likely to confide in you than she is in me.’

‘I wouldn’t count on that.’ Juliet’s tone was dry. ‘She’s never been a great one for confidences, you know.’

‘But you’re her sister. Who else would she confide in?’ Mrs Laurence looked a little hurt. ‘Juliet, you sounded for a minute as if you didn’t—love Jan.’

‘Oh, I love her,’ Juliet said calmly. ‘And I’m just as bewitched, bedevilled and bedazzled as everyone else who comes within her aegis. But to be honest, Mim, there are moments when I don’t actually—like her very much, and when she upsets you just happens to be one of them … However, if it will please you and give you some peace of mind, I’ll go to Rome as soon as term ends. But you must write to Jan and tell her I’m coming. I won’t just land on her unannounced. And if she replies that it’s not convenient, then wild horses won’t drag me anywhere near Italy, and you must accept that.’

‘Agreed,’ Mrs Laurence said joyfully. ‘And of course she’ll want you, dear. It will be lovely for you, apart from anything else. You’ve been looking tired lately, and a nice break in the sun will do you good. Why, Jan might even ask you to stay on for a while.’

‘She might,’ Julie acceded rather wryly. She was mentally running her wardrobe under review, wondering what it contained that would not look out of place in a high Roman summer. It would probably be very hot, she thought, so cottons would be preferable to synthetic fibres. One long skirt as well, maybe, and a couple of tops to wear with it in case Jan took her out on the town. In spite of her misgivings, a sense of excitement was beginning to pervade her. She’d only ever been abroad on school visits, and never to Italy. It would be a new experience for her—something to shake her out of that rut she was imagining.

Her feeling of anticipation intensified as the term drew to its close. Mrs Laurence had written to Jan as promised, explaining that Juliet needed a holiday and giving details of the flight she would be catching.

If Jan replied at the last moment cancelling the visit, it would be a terrible anti-climax, Juliet thought as she packed her lightweight case the evening before the flight. She had bought herself a few new things—some cotton jeans among them, and a couple of pretty shirts with long sleeves for sightseeing round Roman churches, as well as a long dress she hadn’t been able to resist, but she was not taking many clothes. In spite of her mother’s optimistic remarks about the possibility of a longer visit, Juliet doubted whether she would in fact remain in Rome for more than a week.

The very fact that Jan had not replied at all to her mother’s letter seemed vaguely ominous. Juliet found herself wishing that there had been at least a perfunctory note acknowledging that she was expected, even if not as welcome as the flowers that bloom in the spring.

And certainly the continued silence had made her mother jumpier than ever about the whole situation, so that she had found herself promising devoutly to phone her the very evening of her arrival to let her know what was happening.

She had also received an alternative invitation to make up a party with some of the other teachers at the school, cruising some of the inland waterways on a barge, and in many ways this sounded far more appealing than a trip to Rome in the height of summer to visit a recalcitrant and possibly resentful sister who was far more capable of organising her life than Juliet herself would probably ever be.

There was probably nothing more sinister behind her failure to write home than mere thoughtlessness, Juliet thought wryly as she locked her case, but there was no way she would ever convince her mother of this.

Her misgivings returned with renewed force when there was no one to meet her at the airport, or even a message giving her directions how to reach Jan’s apartment. She had the address, of course, and she was perfectly capable of finding the bus into the city and then picking up a taxi to take her to her final destination, but it wasn’t the same, and she could not help feeling just a little hurt during the drive into the city.

In other circumstances she would have been on the edge of her seat, taking in all the ancient splendours around her. As it was, she sat hunched rather tensely in a corner of the taxi, her fingers curled tightly round the strap of her handbag. It had occurred to her for the first time that there could be a good and valid reason why Jan had not responded to the news of her arrival. Perhaps she was away on a prolonged trip, and had never received their mother’s letter at all. If that was the case, Juliet would really be in the soup. Both she and Mrs Laurence had taken it for granted that she would be staying at Jan’s apartment and they had not included the price of a hotel, even if she could find a vacancy at this time of year, in their costs for the trip which had necessarily to be kept to a minimum. Juliet had not permitted her mother to pay the whole bill as she had wanted, although she had accepted a little financial help with the price of the air-fare. If Jan was away, then all her careful budgeting would fall in pieces.

‘Ecco, signorina,’ the taxi-driver announced over his shoulder, breaking into her troubled reverie.

Juliet leaned forward, staring up with disbelieving eyes at the tall building outside which the taxi had stopped. It wasn’t at all what she had expected. In some of Jan’s early letters, she had described amusingly the small flat over a greengrocer’s shop in a square which she shared with another girl. When she had announced later that she had moved, Juliet had assumed that it was to a similar apartment, but it seemed that she could not have been more wrong.

Summoning what few Italian phrases she knew, she asked the taxi-driver haltingly if he was sure there was not some mistake. She did not understand all that he said in reply, but his air of grievance was easily recognisable, and when she produced the scrap of paper with Jan’s address on it, he almost snatched it from her and stabbed at it with a pudgy forefinger. It appeared that if there was some mistake, it was not of his making. He had brought her to the address she had requested. She paid him, adding what she hoped was a reasonable tip to compensate his injured feelings, then walked up the wide marble steps to the glass swing doors of the apartment block.

The foyer was not over-large, but it was cool with air-conditioning, and a mosaic-tiled floor. A swarthy man in a dark red uniform sat in a glass-fronted cubicle to one side, and as Juliet with her suitcase hesitated for a moment, looking round for the lift, he waved a peremptory hand at her, obviously indicating that she should wait until he had finished putting through a call on the switchboard in front of him.

When he was ready, he looked her over from head to foot. ‘Sí, signorina?’ There was a faint insolence in his tone which Juliet resented.

She said quietly. ‘Scusi, signore, non parlo italiano.’

‘I speak English good, signorina. What you want I do for you?’

She said rather uncertainly, ‘I’m looking for my sister. This is the address I was given, but I’m not sure …’

‘What name, this sister, and what apartment?’

Silently she handed him her scrap of paper. He studied it for a moment and his brows cleared.

‘Naturalmente, signorina. The signorina inglese on the fourth floor. She did not speak to me that you were to arrive. I call her now. You wait.’

As well as a switchboard, Juliet saw that he operated an intercom system, and she guessed that this was for security purposes. Jan, she thought, was fortunate to be able to afford an environment where such procedures were standard.

‘You go up now.’ The commissionaire was gesturing vigorously at her from the cubicle. ‘You take the lift.’

The lift looked old-fashioned with its wrought iron gates, but its workings were ultra-modern and they reached the floor indicated with stomach-lurching speed. Juliet stepped out on to the tiled passage and began to walk along it, the heels of her sandals clicking rhythmically as she searched for the correct number on the door.

She found it at last at the end of the passage and guessed that Jan must have one of the flats at the front of the building with the balcony that she had noticed when she arrived. She pressed the buzzer beside the door, noticing as she did so the small loudspeaker just above it. It was no surprise therefore when the speaker gave a crackle and Jan’s familiar voice speaking with a hint of impatience said, ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s Juliet.’ She felt faintly bewildered. The commissionaire had presumably reported that she was on her way up. Who else could it be, for heaven’s sake?

‘Oh, Julie!’ Her sister’s voice sounded almost relieved. There was a rattle as a chain was unfastened inside and then the door swung open. Jan stood in the doorway smiling at her. ‘Darling, what a lovely surprise!’

‘Weren’t you expecting me?’ Juliet walked past her into the apartment and put her case down.

Jan shrugged. ‘Mim mentioned something in one of her letters, but frankly I wondered if you’d go through with it. But it’s marvellous to see you now you are here. How long are you staying?’

‘A week, if that’s all right.’ Juliet found her eyes straying round the room in which they were standing. It was a large room, and built on two levels. They were standing on the upper level, a kind of gallery surmounted by a wrought iron balustrade which led presumably to the bedroom as well. Two wide steps descended into the living room, which judging by its size ran the whole length of the apartment. At one side, wide glass doors led to the balcony. Thick cream and gold carpet stretched from wall to wall, and Juliet noticed a wide chesterfield sofa upholstered in warm golden brown hide with two matching armchairs arranged with their backs to the window, and facing a wall where an elegant fitment contained a complicated-looking hi-fi unit and a television set. At the other end of the room, she saw a white baby grand piano surmounted by an alabaster vase containing long-stemmed yellow roses.

‘Oh, that’s fine.’ Jan sounded amused. ‘That’s plenty of time to prepare a report for Mim. I assume that’s why you’re here.’

Juliet felt the colour steal into her cheeks, and her sister’s smile widened.

‘Don’t look so stricken,’ she advised. ‘Mim’s very transparent, you know, and you’re not much better. And I don’t mind—really. I suppose I could have suggested it myself, but I’ve been so busy.’ She shrugged eloquently. ‘Anyway, we’ll put your case in the bedroom, and then I’ll make some iced coffee. We’ll have it on the balcony.’

The bedroom was also a large room, its single beds fitted with quilted gold bedspreads. There were wild silk curtains at the windows, and an entire wall was taken up with fitted wardrobes in white and gold. The bathroom which led off the bedroom was even more breathtaking, with a sunken bath and gold-plated taps shaped like dolphin’s heads.

Juliet shook her head helplessly as she gazed around her. Nothing could have been further from the rambling Victorian semi-detached house where they had been born and brought up, yet Jan seemed completely at home in her exotic surroundings. It brought home to Juliet as little else could have done just how much she and her sister had grown apart. She felt alien and out of place in all this luxury.

‘Do you like the apartment?’ Jan sat down on the padded stool by the dressing table and gave her an amused glance.

‘It’s unbelievable!’ Juliet picked her words with care. ‘But where is Maria? I thought you were sharing with her.’

‘Oh, that didn’t work out,’ Jan admitted casually. ‘But this place is only temporary, I may say. I’m not a millionairess yet. There was a cancellation over a lease and I was able to step in on a short-term basis, at a reduced rent. I’ll have to move in the autumn when they find another permanent tenant, of course, but until then it’s quite pleasant to live in the lap of luxury.’

She was smiling as she spoke, and her green eyes fringed by incredibly long artificially darkened lashes were fixed candidly on Juliet’s face, and why Juliet should be suddenly and certainly aware that she was lying, she didn’t know. But she had always since childhood had this awareness when Jan was not telling her the truth, and she felt herself frowning slightly. Then she pulled herself together. They were not children any more. Jan was grown-up now, and entitled to a life of her own, and secrets in that life. All that mattered was that Mim was kept in blissful ignorance, and all Juliet had to do was telephone her and assure her that Jan was well and happy. Any doubts and uncertainties she might privately have she would keep to herself.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jan tilted her head back. ‘You look very solemn, sister dear. Did the flight upset you? Are you tired?’

‘A little, perhaps.’ Juliet shook out the dress she had unpacked from her case and hung it away in one of the wardrobes. ‘A shower would be nice, I think.’

‘Make yourself at home.’ Jan got up restlessly. ‘I’ll go and see about that coffee. Come back to the salotto when you’re ready.’

Juliet was thoughtful, as she allowed the water to trickle its blissful coolness over her body. There was something definitely odd in Jan’s manner. Her welcome had been warm enough, more so in fact than Juliet had expected, but there was something guarded in her attitude.

‘She’s obviously afraid that I’m going to start prying,’ she told herself resignedly as she wrapped herself in one of the enormous fluffy bathsheets. ‘I’ll just have to try and make it clear to her that I’m not interested in her private life.’

She dressed, choosing a classic shirtwaister in cool green cotton, and sliding her feet into heelless sandals. She scooped her coppery hair back from her face and secured it at the nape of her neck with a scarf that matched her dress. When she had finished, she decided that she looked presentable enough, although she could not compete at Jan’s level of sophistication. She grinned rather ruefully at the idea of even attempting to wear the cream silky trousers and the daringly cut black halter top that so became her sister. She left the bedroom and walked along the gallery towards the salotto, her feet making little sound on the thickly carpeted floor. She could hear Jan talking somewhere in a low voice and checked momentarily, thinking that other visitors might have arrived while she was having her shower, but then she told herself she was being quite ridiculous. She was also Jan’s guest, after all, and she walked forward with determination. But Jan was alone in the salotto, speaking on the telephone. She was smoking a cigarette in quick, jerky puffs and as Juliet watched she leaned forward suddenly, crushing the stub out in a black onyx ashtray that stood by the telephone. As she did so, she glanced up and saw Juliet on the gallery. She smiled and lifted a hand in greeting, and her voice was pitched a little more loudly as she went on talking. Finally with a gay ‘Ciao, caro,’ she replaced the receiver in its rest.

‘I’m sorry.’ Juliet came rather awkwardly down the steps into the salotto. ‘Did I interrupt anything?’

Jan gave a smiling shrug. ‘Just a phone call,’ she said lightly. ‘It wasn’t important. Now come and soak up some of this sunshine and tell me everything that’s been happening at home.’

For the remainder of the afternoon, and the evening that followed, Jan put herself out to be charming, and Juliet found herself beginning to relax and lose that sense of intrusion that had bedevilled her. They ate in the dining alcove which opened off the salotto—cool slices of melon, followed by pasta in a rich sauce.

‘Your cooking has improved beyond recognition.’ Juliet took an appreciative sip of the wine, and leaned back in her chair.

‘I always loved Italian food. Fortunately it seems to love me too.’ Jan glanced down at her slim hips with satisfaction. ‘If ever I show signs of developing into a full-blown Italian mamma, I shall go on a permanent diet.’

‘No need to worry about that,’ Juliet said with affectionate admiration. ‘I think you’ve put on a little weight, but it suits you.’

Her remark had been completely casual, and she was totally unprepared for Jan’s swift glare.

‘What utter nonsense!’ her sister snapped. ‘I’m the same weight as I’ve always been. Do you think, in my job, that I don’t watch myself like a hawk?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Juliet cursed herself inwardly for tactlessness, but Jan had never used to be so touchy.

After a moment’s pause, Jan smiled with an effort. ‘I’m sorry too. I don’t usually blow up like that, but some of the girls I work with can be such utter bitches.’ She gave a rather unsteady laugh. ‘I suppose I look for the knife in the back from even the most innocent remark nowadays. Thank the Lord I …’ she broke off suddenly.

‘Yes?’ Juliet prompted gently.

Jan shrugged. ‘Thank the Lord I can always go back to England to work if things get too bad,’ she said non-chalantly, but again Juliet had the uneasy feeling that that was not the remark she had intended to make. But the next moment Jan was chatting away again, relating anecdotes about some of the famous people who went to Di Lorenzo to shop for their clothes, mimicking some of the rich women for whom she modelled, and Juliet’s uneasiness passed.

As she lay in bed that night, listening to Jan’s gentle breathing in the next bed, tired, but too excited to fall asleep immediately, she told herself that she was going to have a good time in Rome. Jan would be working most of the time, but she’d promised to get some time off that was owed to her to take her sister round some of the sights and perhaps do some shopping, and the evenings, she’d said, would be a different story.

While she had been clearing away the dinner dishes, Juliet had seized the opportunity to telephone her mother briefly and reassure her that everything was fine, and that she would write in more detail during the next couple of days.

She had tried to hint to Jan as they were getting ready for bed that Mrs Laurence needed the reassurance of regular letters, but Jan had responded almost petulantly and Juliet had hastily dropped the subject.

Probably when you were miles away from home and leading a hectic working and social life, such obligations as letter-writing tended to get overlooked, she thought. And Jan was certainly in demand. The telephone had rung twice more during the evening, and although Jan had not vouchsafed any information about the callers’ identities, Juliet had no doubt that they were men. There was something intimate and caressing in Jan’s voice as she spoke, although Juliet could not have followed the conversation even if she had wished to do so, as her sister always spoke in Italian.

But when you were as young and as lovely as Jan, there was little wonder that men were in constant pursuit of you, Juliet thought, and it was while she was wondering a little wistfully what it must be like to be so sought after that she eventually fell asleep.

When she awoke the following morning, Jan’s bed was empty, although it was still relatively early. She got out of bed and reached for the broderie anglaise dressing gown that matched her nightdress, pulling the sash securely round her slender waist before padding out on to the gallery. But as she went towards the bedroom door she heard a familiar but distressing sound coming from the bathroom. Immediately she crossed over and tapped on the door.

‘Jan, love, what’s wrong? Are you ill? May I come in?’

There was a pause and then Jan herself opened the door. ‘Oh, hello.’ Her tone was ungracious. ‘There’s really no need to bother. I’m fine. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me. Perhaps it was that melon—it does upset me sometimes.’

‘I’ll make some coffee.’ Juliet gave her an anxious glance. ‘Do you want to go back to bed? You look pale.’

‘Of course I’m pale, I’ve just been throwing up. For God’s sake, don’t fuss. You’re as bad as Mim,’ Jan said impatiently.

But by the time the coffee was made and they were sitting on the balcony with fresh rolls and butter on the table, Jan had regained her colour and her good temper with it.

‘Wonderful!’ she exclaimed, reaching for the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice which Juliet silently extended to her. ‘You are an angel. I should have invited you over long ago.’

Her eyes moved rather challengingly over Juliet’s tight-lipped expression.

‘Well, go on, darling. Ask me if it’s true.’

‘Do I really have to?’ Juliet could not suppress the bitterness in her voice.

‘I suppose not.’ Jan finished her orange juice and set the glass down on the table. ‘As a schoolmarm, I imagine you’re more than capable of adding two and two together and achieving the correct result. I might have managed to keep you at bay over my weight, but I knew I couldn’t hope to fool you over this foul morning sickness. I merely hoped it wouldn’t happen while you were within earshot.’

Juliet met her eyes squarely. ‘Were Mim and I never supposed to know?’

Jan shrugged. ‘Let’s just say that your visit at this precise time was—inopportune.’

‘Then why on earth didn’t you tell me not to come?’ Juliet tried not to sound as hurt as she felt and her voice sounded flat in consequence.

‘Because I was afraid that if I started putting you off with footling excuses Mim might take it into her head to come in your place. And while I might be able to fool you for a while, I knew I wouldn’t escape her eagle eyes. And as you can imagine, she’s the last person I want to know about this. Not until I have everything sorted out anyway.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Juliet asked unhappily. ‘Are you going to—get rid of the baby?’

Jan’s eyes opened to their widest extent. ‘An abortion in Italy? You have to be joking! No, far more conventional than that. I’m getting married. In fact if you’d delayed your visit for another week or so, I probably would have been married already. All problems solved, all Mim’s most romantic hopes for me gloriously fulfilled, and after a discreet interval, the promise of her first grandchild. Everything perfect.’

‘I see,’ Juliet said rather drily. ‘That being the case, may one ask why you didn’t simply get married in the first place and avoid all these rather hasty and hole-and-corner arrangements?’

Jan poured herself some coffee. ‘There were reasons,’ she said, frowning. ‘There still are, for that matter. Mim isn’t the only relative that we’re keeping in the dark about our plans. Mario has a brother who’s been causing us some grief.’

‘In what way?’ Juliet spread butter on a roll and bit into it, although she had little appetite. Jan’s news had left a sick, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Mim’s premonition had been well founded, it seemed.

Jan shrugged again. ‘Big brother feels that he should have a major say in Mario’s wedding plans, and needless to say, he doesn’t approve of my part in them,’ she answered rather carelessly. ‘Not that we’ve ever actually met, of course.’

‘But is Mario likely to be influenced by his opinions?’ Juliet could not conceal the anxiety in her tone. ‘Italians are supposed to have this incredibly strong sense of family and …’

‘Well, the brother holds the purse strings for a start,’ Jan broke in, spreading her hands gracefully. ‘And you’re right about the family feeling. They come from the South—Calabria actually, where such things matter a lot, although they don’t actually live there now. Santino—that’s the brother—is some kind of industrialist in the North now, and has his finger in any number of financial pies from what I can gather, including tourism.’ She leaned back in her chair, lifting her face to the sun. ‘I think—in fact I know—he hoped Mario would make a sensible marriage, in other words marry some other industrialist’s daughter and bring about another kind of merger as an added bonus. I don’t figure in his scheme of things, naturally.’

‘But that’s terrible,’ Juliet said heatedly. ‘Arranged marriages are a thing of the past, anyway.’

Jan lifted her eyebrows. ‘Apparently they’re still very traditional in the South. Santino’s ideas aren’t as extraordinary as you think.’

‘But—but does he know about the baby?’

‘Lord above, no!’ Jan raised her eyebrows exaggeratedly. ‘As a matter of fact, in view of his open hostility, we haven’t told him very much at all. Mario feels it’s best to maintain a low profile and just present him with a fait accompli after the wedding.’ She sounded almost bored. ‘Once we’re married, there’s very little he can do about it, and I doubt if he’ll actually carry out any of his threats.’

‘Threats?’ Juliet pushed the remains of her roll away uneaten, and stared at her sister.

Jan laughed. ‘Not aimed at me, silly, although I’ll admit he’s made some damned unpleasant remarks in the past. No, he’s told Mario that he’ll cut him off with the proverbial shilling—or lira, I suppose, to be exact. But he’ll soon relent. For one thing Mario’s his heir, and Santino himself isn’t married or likely to be. He’s far too busy making money and having a good time—the damned hypocrite! His strait-laced views on morality don’t exactly extend to his own conduct,’ she added on a little flash of petulance.

‘I thought you didn’t know him.’

‘Only by repute,’ Jan said. ‘And I did see him once—at a safe distance in a night club. And once seen, never forgotten.’

‘What is he like?’ Juliet’s curiosity was aroused almost in spite of herself.

‘Very tall. Towered head and shoulders above everyone else around him and knew it. And as dark as Satan,’ Jan said after a moment’s thought. ‘That’s as much as I noticed, because Mario hustled me off at the speed of light out of harm’s way.’ She gave a faint giggle. ‘Actually, I think he’s a bit jealous of him. I said quite casually that I thought he was very attractive and Mario simply exploded. And he’s never taken me up on any of my offers to beard the lion in his den and convince him what a simply wonderful and suitable addition I’ll be to the Vallone family.’

Juliet stared at her wonderingly. Jan’s tone seemed almost to be one of relish. She did not seem to care that her future brother-in-law’s attitude to her was an insult. All that seemed to matter was the fact that he was an attractive man, and according to the hints she had dropped, an accomplished rake.

‘I wonder why not?’ she said a little grimly.

Jan smiled again rather smugly. ‘As I said, I think poor Mario has always been just a teeny bit in the shade. Perhaps he was afraid that Santino might try to cut him out yet again.’

Juliet compressed her lips tightly together. ‘I see,’ she said with sarcasm. ‘Your future relationship with your husband is obviously going to be founded on mutual trust.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be so damned suburban,’ Jan said crossly. ‘We don’t all suffer from the same romantic illusions as you seem to. They may sing “O Perfect Love” at weddings, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it exists. Mario suits me very well in a number of ways, and it’s time I was thinking of getting married anyway. Modelling’s fine while you’re young, but people are too fond of relegating you to the scrap heap once you’re over twenty. All these schoolgirls, just waiting to claw their way over you on their way up the ladder. It’s almost worth the prospect of being fat and hideous for months to think that I’ll be kissing all that goodbye.’

‘I thought you loved it.’ Juliet stared at her. ‘Mim and I always thought that this was your world—your life. You could always have come home.’

‘To what?’ Jan demanded. ‘This is all I know. I’m not trained for anything else, and I can’t imagine things are any different in London from what they are here. Or do you imagine that I’ll get some kind of second-rate job showing dresses in some tatty provincial department store? Thanks, but no, thanks. I’ll settle for Mario instead and put up with whatever I have to from his family.’ She glanced at her plain and very expensive-looking gold wristwatch. A present from Mario? Juliet found herself wondering. ‘Lord, I must fly, or I’ll have that Di Lorenzo bitch breathing down my neck.’ She gave a slight giggle as she rose. ‘I might offer to model maternity gear for her, just for the pleasure of seeing her face. ’Bye, love. See you tonight.’

Juliet’s thoughts were frankly sombre as she tidied the apartment and washed the breakfast dishes. Any pleasure she might have derived from the prospect of her first day’s sightseeing in Rome had been almost destroyed by Jan’s news—or at least her attitude to it.

She supposed she should have been relieved for all their sakes that Jan’s lover was willing to stand by her and give their child a name, and that Mim would not have to be burdened with a scandal that would wound her deeply. It was all very well to argue with herself that this was the age of the permissive society, and that unmarried mothers were no longer treated as outcasts. The world had not changed as far as Mim was concerned. If Jan had come home confessing that she was pregnant and deserted, Mim would have instantly supported and comforted her, but Juliet knew just what the cost would have been to her mother whose principles had been formed in a gender, more old-fashioned mould. Quite apart from anything else, the fact that it was Jan, the lovely and the beloved, who had betrayed Mim’s deeply held views of chaste behaviour would have been a blow from which Mrs Laurence might never have recovered no matter how brave a face she might put upon it.

Life had not been easy for her since her husband had died leaving her a widow in her late thirties. Materially they had been provided for, but Mim had never been able to hide the fact that she needed her husband’s strength, and Juliet had often considered that it was a pity that her gentle, rather diffident mother had never remarried.

In their younger days, both Juliet and Jan had always taken care to protect Mim from the seamier side of life, as revealed in the media and often in the lives of those about them. There was much, they had tacitly agreed, that it was better for Mim not to know. Now Jan herself had spoiled this tender conspiracy, but what troubled Juliet was not so much the mess her sister was in but her attitude towards it and its solution.

For one thing, she had never given Juliet the slightest indication that she was in love with the unknown Mario. Juliet even had a clearer picture of the hostile and disturbing Santino than she had of her future brother-in-law. All she had really gathered about Mario was that he was in awe of Santino to a certain extent and apparently dependent on him. It was also clear that if these considerable hurdles could be cleared he was capable of giving Jan the standard of living she had apparently decided she wanted, and glancing round at the luxurious fittings of the apartment, Juliet decided wryly that this was no small consideration. But she had no idea at all how the couple actually felt about each other.

They were obviously physically attracted to each other, and presumably, if he was going to marry her in defiance of his brother’s wishes, then Mario must be in love with Jan. Perhaps that was enough, Juliet thought unhappily. Hadn’t someone once said cynically that in every relationship there was one who loved, and one who allowed such loving? It was not an idea that appealed to her. Juliet had no very clear idea of the man she wanted, but she had always taken it for granted that their feeling for each other would be totally mutual. Where love was concerned, half a loaf would certainly not be better than no bread at all.

On the other hand, maybe she was worrying unduly. Jan had always condemned her for being too sentimental. Perhaps now she was in love and shy about exposing her deepest feelings even to her own sister. After all, as Juliet was forced to admit, they had never been close confidantes. Jan had always had her own friends to talk and giggle with for hours on the telephone and presumably to confide in even before she left home.

Perhaps, she thought sadly, if I’d encouraged her to trust me in the past, I’d have some insight now into what she’s thinking. If she doesn’t love this Mario, if it’s all been a terrible mistake, then it would be much better not to marry him, no matter how wealthy he may be. Even Mim would say that.

Yet at the same time she couldn’t believe that Jan was marrying just for the respectability of a wedding ring. Her sister had never seemed to care much for such conventions.

She must love him, she told herself. After all, she’s carrying his child.

She was torn from her reverie by the sound of the front door buzzer. Rather hesitantly, she walked over to the intercom and pressed the switch.

‘Hello,’ she said, feeling inadequate.

‘Scusi, signorina.’ The answering voice was male and a little startled. ‘I bring flowers. You open, please.’

Juliet unfastened the chain and opened the door. Sure enough it was a delivery man in a green uniform carrying a long box, filled, as she could see through the cellophane which wrapped it, with long-stemmed red roses.

The delivery man was staring at her. ‘Signorina Laurence?’ he asked, producing a clipboard from beneath his arm, and indicating where she was required to sign for the flowers. For a moment Juliet hesitated, wondering whether she should explain that she was not the actual recipient for whom they were intended, but another Signorina Laurence altogether, but eventually the horror of having to explain the ramifications to someone who clearly spoke only broken English convinced her that the easiest thing to do was smile and accept the flowers as if they were hers, and she hastily signed ‘J. Laurence’ where his finger pointed.

‘Grazie.’ He tipped his cap, gave her a look of full-blooded admiration and departed.

Juliet closed the door and stood looking at the flowers in her arms. She could see no card to indicate who had sent them, but she thought it must be Mario, and that it was odd of him to send them at a time when he knew Jan must be out working at Di Lorenzo. But at least it was the sort of gesture which gave indisputable evidence of his devotion. However, if she left them in the box, they would probably be dead by the time Jan got home this evening.

She hunted round in the kitchen cupboards until she found a suitable jar and arranged the roses in it before carrying it through to the salotto. There was a small occasional table positioned by the window and she lifted it across to stand behind the sofa, and placed the vase on it where it could be seen as soon as anyone entered. It would be a nice welcome for Jan when she returned, she thought.

On her way out, she paused at the front door to make sure the key Jan had given her the previous evening was safely tucked away in an inside pocket of her shoulder bag, and to take one last look at the apartment and make sure she had left everything secure.

As she turned away, the red roses in their flamboyant beauty caught her eye. The traditional symbol of love, she found herself thinking as the lift carried her swiftly downwards, and that being so, why the sight of them should have sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, she had not the slightest idea.