Moth To The Flame

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.

CHAPTER TWO

BY the time she was ready to return to the apartment, late in the afternoon, Juliet had forgotten her earlier unease in the sheer joy of finding herself in Rome for the first time.

She’d had no difficulty in deciding what to see first. She knew that Jan would draw the line at ecclesiastical architecture, no matter how renowned, so her first day’s sightseeing was spent touring St Peter’s.

Accordingly she found herself walking slowly up the Via della Conciliazione and into the huge Piazza which Bernini had designed centuries before. This was the scene she had glimpsed so many times on television at Easter and other festivals, and today the square seemed almost deserted in contrast, with the knots of tourists concentrating their ever-busy cameras on the famous colonnades and their statuary.

For a moment she felt almost disappointed because it all seemed so familiar, and then she saw someone going up the steps in front of her towards the church itself, and its sheer immensity took her by the throat.

She spent the rest of the day touring the church itself, exploring St Peter’s from the dizzying view over Rome from the tiny balcony high up in the dome, to the early Christian grottoes. She wandered around the Treasury, gazing in awe at some of the priceless treasures which had been presented to the Vatican over the centuries, her imagination constantly stirred by them, in particular by the cloak that legend said the Emperor Charlemagne had worn at his coronation. Later, as she stood before Michelangelo’s exquisite Pietà, shielded now from possible vandalism behind a glass screen, she felt involuntary tears welling up in her eyes. No photograph or other reproduction could do it justice, she realised.

She was physically and mentally exhausted by the time she had seen everything she wanted to see, and it was a relief to find a taxi and make her way back to the apartment, her mind still reeling from the overwhelming size and magnificence of the church.

As she went into the foyer of the apartment block, she looked towards the porter’s cubicle to smile at the man who had wished her a cheerful happy day as she left that morning, but it was a strange face looking back rather sourly at her through the glass partition, and she guessed that the shift must have changed. She felt rather foolish as she rode up in the lift. You simply did not go round in Italy beaming at strange men, she reminded herself sternly as the lift halted and the door opened.

Glancing at her watch, she supposed it would still be some time before Jan returned, although she had little idea of the sort of hours her sister worked. Sure enough, the apartment was empty as she let herself in, and yet she had the immediate feeling that it was not quite as she had left it.

Again, she found her eyes travelling to the vase of red roses, and her heart gave a small painful thump as she saw a large white envelope leaning against it. Cool it, she told herself. You’re getting as bad as Mim with her premonitions.

The envelope was addressed to her and it was Jan’s writing. She could not repress a feeling of alarm as she tore it open, and the contents were hardly reassuring.

‘Darling,’ wrote Jan, ‘Sorry to leave you in the lurch like this, but I must go away for a few days. Big brother is out to make trouble, and I simply can’t risk waiting any longer. Next time I see you, I shall be Signora Vallone. Wish me luck. Yours. J.’

Juliet stared down at the note, her heart pounding, then a sudden feeling of anger overwhelmed her and she tore the paper into tiny pieces. Her own sister was getting married, and these few curt lines of explanation were all the announcement or involvement that she could hope for. And for Mim, of course, it would be even worse.

It had apparently not occurred to Jan that her sister might wish to witness the ceremony, even if she was dispensing with such luxuries as bridesmaids. She had not even permitted her to meet the bridegroom before the wedding took place.

She went through to the kitchen and disposed of the torn fragments and the envelope in the refuse bin, telling herself to calm down. There was little point in wishing that Jan was other than she was. She had always been very lovely and very selfish, and the spoiling that her loveliness had induced had merely increased the selfishness, she thought rather desolately.