Moth to the Flame
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

ENDPAGE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘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.

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.

She looked round her irresolutely. There was plenty of food, she knew. All she had to do was prepare some. And things could be very much worse, she reminded herself. True, she was disappointed that Jan was getting married in haste and secrecy, but judging by the reference to Santino Vallone in her note, she had her reasons. But she had the free run of the apartment in Jan’s absence, and only herself to consider for the next few days.

But she did not feel like a lonely meal after her solitary day. Jan would probably not have been particularly interested to hear about her experiences, but she would have lent an indifferent ear all the same. Now there was no one to share even at the remotest level her sense of wonder at all she had seen, or listen to her plans for the following day, and she felt almost childishly hurt.

Oh, damnation, she thought angrily, brushing the stinging tears from her eyes with a dismissive hand. She was in grave danger of relapsing into self-pity, which was not a failing she usually suffered from. What she had to do now was make the most of her remaining time in Rome, because when Jan returned she would be on her honeymoon, and that was a situation which she would not be able to intrude upon no matter how lonely she might feel. Jan’s return in fact would have to be the signal for her departure.

But she wouldn’t spend the evening brooding. She would shower and change and go out for a meal. The decision made, she felt infinitely more cheerful. As her stay was going to be inevitably curtailed, she could afford to splurge a little bit more on her daily spending. She walked through the bedroom and into the bathroom beyond, discarding sandals and clothes as she went.

It was bliss to wash the dust and heat of the day from her body under the shower, and she didn’t bother to use the shower cap hanging on the peg by the tiled cubicle. There was a range of talcs and toilet waters on a glass shelf above the bath and she sampled a few of them before scenting herself liberally from the most exotic. She picked up a towel and rubbed at her damp hair which tumbled in a copper cascade about her naked shoulders. She was just on the point of returning to the bedroom when she heard the door buzzer sound.

There was a towelling robe hanging on the back of the door and without pausing she grabbed at it, thrusting her arms into the sleeves and tying the belt round her slim waist. At the top of her mind was that it could be Jan, or even Mario come to invite her to go with them to what was, after all, a family occasion. As she hurried barefoot along the gallery towards the door, it occurred to her that the robe was much too large for her. In fact it would also have been much too large for Jan as well, and flushing slightly she realised it must belong to Mario. Perhaps he had merely moved out for a few nights to accommodate her, she thought as she fumbled for the chain on the door. In any case, it was none of her business.

The buzzer sounded again, loud and imperative, and in her haste she forgot all about the preliminary precaution of using the door intercom. Even as the door swung open, a warning note sounded inside her head, but by then it was too late, because the man who had been waiting impatiently on the threshold was already pushing his way past her into the apartment.

Juliet controlled a gasp of fury. Who does he think he is? she raged inwardly as the newcomer strode down the steps to the salotto and stood looking around him. If it was Mario, brother-in-law or no, she would give him a piece of her mind, but suddenly it was borne in upon her that Mario would surely be a younger man, and an unpleasing conviction began to take hold of her mind as she studied her peremptory visitor.

She felt at an utter disadvantage, of course—her hair hanging round her face in damp tendrils, and wearing nothing except this robe which plainly didn’t belong to her. She was in no fit state to cope with anyone—least of all this stranger who behaved as if he owned the place.

He was very dark, she saw, with thick hair untouched with grey, growing back from his forehead. He was deeply tanned with a high-bridged nose and a mouth that despite its sensual curve looked as if it had never uttered the word ‘compromise’ in its life. His eyes, when he swung back to look at her, were surprisingly light in colour—almost tawny, she found herself thinking, and oddly sinister against the darkness of his skin. And he was good and angry. About that there wasn’t the slightest doubt.

For reasons she could not have explained even to herself, Juliet found that she was instinctively tightening the sash of that stupid robe.

He rapped a question at her in Italian, and she shook her head.

‘I’m sorry.’ She was ashamed to hear a slight tremor in her voice. ‘Sono inglese. No comprende. Do you speak English?’

‘Of course I speak English,’ he snapped furiously, and so he did, faultlessly with barely a trace of an accent. ‘But I understood, signorina, that you spoke fluent Italian. Or is that merely another of the fairy stories that my impressionable brother has chosen to believe about you?’

Juliet swallowed. So her instinct had been right. His height alone should have warned her. He was certainly taller than most of the men she had seen that day, lean too, in an expensive dark suit with a silky texture. He had pushed the jacket back and was standing watching her, his hands resting lightly on his hips. But there was no relaxation in his pose. She was reminded all too strongly of a mountain lion about to spring.

What had Jan said? As dark as Satan, and she was right, except for those curious tawny eyes. But perhaps she hadn’t been close enough to him to notice them, Juliet thought, and wished very much that she wasn’t either, particularly when they appeared to be contemptuously stripping her naked.

Trying to steady her voice, she said, ‘I think, signore, that you have made a mistake.’

He smiled grimly. ‘On the contrary, signorina, it is you that has made the mistake. I ordered you to leave my brother alone. I offered what I believe were generous terms for you to do so, yet you have ignored my letter and flag***rantly disobeyed my orders.’

Juliet’s lips parted soundlessly. Jan had said she had only seen him once and that at a distance, but had he seen her? It seemed not, or he would never have mistaken her for her sister.

A feeling of helplessness was beginning to overwhelm her. She simply wasn’t prepared for this. Jan had mentioned no letter nor any offer of terms, only talked vaguely of threats. Stealing a glance at Santino Vallone, Juliet could well believe that he would carry out any threat that he might utter. The dark face wore an expression of almost patrician disgust as he stared at her, but there was a ruthlessness about its hard lines that it was impossible to ignore. Formidable was a word she rarely used, but it applied to him.

The thought came to her that Jan might have been expecting this visit and might have deliberately absented herself, but she crushed it under. Jan had gone away to get married, and this man was here to put a spoke in the wheel of her wedding plans if he could. Only—he thought she was Jan, and clearly he had no idea that her marriage to his brother was so imminent.

All she had to do was explain, show him her passport from her handbag in the bedroom and he would leave. But he would leave in search of Jan and Mario and it was possible, even probable, that he would find them and perhaps even prevent the wedding taking place. Jan was obviously more disturbed by his influence than she had revealed, or why her hurried and secretive departure?

But if—if she let him go on believing that she was Jan, it was just possible that she could keep him on a string for a few days until the wedding was over and his interference no longer mattered. At the very least, she could give Jan and Mario a head start.

She flung her head back and lifted her chin. Her eyes sparked back at him. ‘Orders, signore? Who gave you the right to give me orders?’

He made an impatient gesture. ‘We are not here to talk of rights, signorina,’ he said coldly. ‘I have come to offer you for the last time the terms I stated in my letter. I understood from your reply that you were willing to consider them, but I am not prepared to put up with any more prevarication from you.’

Juliet digested his words in silence, her brain whirling feverishly. She seemed to be getting into deep water already. What could he mean? Had Jan actually written to him, and if so had she merely been pretending to agree to his terms in order to win time? Surely that was the answer. She could never have seriously considered his offer to buy her off. Juliet wouldn’t believe it. Jan could never have permitted such a consideration to enter her mind, she argued with herself vehemently. Her sister must simply have been playing for time.

She gave a little shrug. ‘You’re clearly so used to having people accede to your slightest wish, signore, I was afraid what the shock might do to you if I said what I really thought.’

The tawny eyes swept over her and she was aware of a daunting blaze in their depths.

‘Indeed, signorina?’ he drawled. ‘I think my system can stand the strain. What was wrong with the offer? Didn’t it contain sufficient money?’

A cold fury possessed Juliet. Whatever faults Jan might have, she was her sister, and no arrogant Italian male, however wealthy, was going to insinuate that she was some kind of cheap gold-digger eager to be bought off for some unknown amount of cash.

Her tone was dulcet, but her smile was dangerous as she said, ‘You don’t have sufficient money, signore. It’s Mario that I want, and no amount of bribery by you can alter that, so please don’t try.’

His lip curled. ‘I admire the note of conviction, signorina, but I don’t believe it. I also have my convictions, and one of them is that most men have their price, and all women. I am merely waiting to hear yours.’

She longed to do something thoroughly unladylike, like slapping him hard or raking her fingernails down his smooth tanned cheek, but she had to forget her own angry impulses and play the scene as if she were Jan.

Jan wouldn’t allow herself to be thrown by her deshabille and damp hair. She would have smiled, pouting a little at his discourtesy, and pushed back her hair, letting the robe open slightly at the front so that Santino Vallone was aware that under it she wore nothing but her perfume. She would have enticed him to a more approachable frame of mind, and played him like a fish on a hook with her audacious beauty.

But knowing what Jan would probably have done and acting on it herself were two entirely different things. And the depressing part of it was that Juliet didn’t have a clue where to start. Men like the arrogant Santino Vallone were totally out of her league. Yet she had to try if she was to continue to convince him that she was Jan.

‘Lost for words, signorina?’ came the jibing remark. ‘Or are you too busy doing sums in your head?’

She made herself smile at him. ‘Actually, signore, I was just thinking I find your low opinion of women in general and myself in particular rather distressing.’ She strove for lightness of tone. ‘I’m wondering what I can do to redress the balance.’

His brows rose sardonically. ‘So the little bird has decided to sing a different tune. Bravo! And yet you are very charming when you’re angry, cara, or at least when you’re pretending to be. No wonder you’ve had such a devastating effect on my gullible brother. But that little game’s over now—or was when you decided to break the rules, so let’s not waste any more time.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Juliet shrugged, and felt the towelling robe slip away from one shoulder. Her immediate instinct was to drag it back into place and it took all the self-command of which she was capable to leave the revealing folds of fabric where they were. She could feel his eyes on her, frankly assessing, lingering over the exposed line of her throat and the creamy skin of her bare shoulder, and she could feel a tight knot of fear in her chest—fear and something perilously approaching excitement. Her hands began to ball into fists at her sides and she made herself relax. Jan, she thought wryly, would never tie herself into a mass of tensions just because a man was looking at her. Besides, she was supposed to be a successful model who was used to being looked at. And to be fair to herself, she wouldn’t be fighting this strange sort of panic under normal circumstances. Only these were not really normal circumstances, and this was not just any man.

She rallied herself defensively. ‘But I don’t quite understand you, signore. What game are you referring to and what rules am I supposed to have broken?’

‘Quite the guileless innocent, aren’t you, cara, when it suits you to be. The game is love, for want of a better word, and the rule is that a woman like you does not expect the man to marry her.’

She had half expected what he was going to say, but the shock of hearing it brutally spelled out was sickening. She felt as if a fist had been driven into the pit of her stomach, and her breathing quickened perceptibly.

His words did not apply to her—she knew that, and that should have lessened their impact, yet that was impossible because they applied to Jan instead. How dared he? she thought as hurt and bewilderment fought with the anger inside her. How dared he say such things—make such insinuations about Jan?

Clearly he must know that she and Mario had been living together, at least on a casual basis, and this was the reason for his condemnation. That was the traditional viewpoint after all. The man could be as wild as he chose, but the girl must be pure, jealously guarding her virginity for her wedding day. And because Jan had transgressed this unwritten law with her future husband, she was regarded as an outcast. The colour rose faintly in her cheeks as she realised that Santino had probably recognised the bathrobe that she was wearing at that moment as Mario’s and drawn his own conclusions.

She remembered too Jan’s bitter remarks about his hypocrisy. It was the ultimate in male chauvinism, she thought angrily, to use women for his own cynical pleasure and then despise the woman who had been his partner in that pleasure. Besides, Jan and Mario loved each other. Didn’t that enter into the reckoning? She found her own resolution hardening. She and Santino Vallone would play a whole new game, and this time she would invent the rules.

She smiled at him, her long lashes brushing her cheeks. ‘Your argument should be with Mario, signore. After all, it was he who proposed marriage to me, not the other way round.’

‘But I only have your word for that, cara,’ he said softly, with a sting underlying every word.

She pretended to wince, laughing a little as she did so, controlling her own rage and contempt. ‘Ouch, you play dirty, signore, and that’s not in the rules either.’

‘I write my own,’ he said quite pleasantly, and she believed him. Quite inconsequentially she found herself wondering how he would react when he discovered the truth about her deception, but she comforted herself with the reflection that by the time that happened she would be safely back in England and Jan and Mario would have to bear the brunt of his wrath together. Besides, she reasoned, Jan could always say with perfect truth that she’d had no idea what her sister had been up to in her absence.

‘You seem nervous,’ he observed.

‘Is it any wonder?’ She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She had not intended it to be provocative—her lips were genuinely dry—but she saw his slight reaction to it and her confidence grew. ‘You—you disturb me.’

‘I’m flattered, cara.’ He sounded amused. ‘And you, I need hardly say, would disturb any red-blooded male.’

‘Do you include yourself in that category?’ she asked impudently.

‘Need you ask?’ He was drawling again.

She shrugged. ‘I’m intrigued, that’s all. I understood that it was because blue blood flows exclusively in the veins of the Vallone family that my candidature was unwelcome.’

She’d drawn a bow at a venture, but she knew she’d hit the target. She sent him a demure glance and saw that he was laughing openly.

‘Poor Mario,’ he said. ‘He never stood a chance, did he? And where is he? Skulking in the bedroom perhaps, afraid to show himself?’

‘Oh, no.’ She was startled by the unexpectedness of the question and came close to faltering. Naturally he would expect her to know Mario’s whereabouts, but could she manage to stall him on that as well? ‘I—I haven’t seen him today.’

He was no longer laughing, his brows drawn together in a dark frown.

‘That is curious. I missed him at the office and was told that he was meeting you here.’

‘Well,’ she shrugged, ‘perhaps he changed his mind.’ She walked away and began to fiddle aimlessly with the roses. ‘Perhaps he’s changed his mind about everything and you don’t have to worry anymore. Have you considered that, signore?’

‘I doubt it,’ he said drily. ‘For one thing, you don’t find the prospect nearly worrying enough, cara. No woman sees a potential meal-ticket vanishing without making at least some effort to recover it. If you had any fears of Mario’s deserting you, then you’d have come to terms with me long ago.’

She pretended to yawn. ‘Well, the meal-ticket is elsewhere just now, signore. Which is a pity really, because it’s past time for dinner, and I’m starving—so if you’d excuse me …’

He consulted his watch. It was platinum, she noticed, and so were the elegant links in the cuffs of his silk shirt.

‘Go and pretty yourself, cara,’ he said almost brusquely. ‘I’ll take you to dinner.’

Juliet was frankly taken aback. She hadn’t intended him to react like that. The strain of this play-acting was beginning to tell on her, and she had hoped he would take the hint and leave.

‘But you don’t want to dine with me,’ she said uncertainly. It was Juliet speaking now, all the assumed bravado dropping from her like a cloak.

‘I didn’t, it’s true, but I find it an idea that gains in appeal with each minute that passes.’ His lips curled in apparent self-derision. ‘Hurry and dress, bella mia, while I phone and book a table for us.’

She was about to protest again, but she hesitated. He was going to find it acutely suspicious, if, having led him on as she had to admit she had been doing, she now displayed a genuine reluctance to be in his company.

She groaned inwardly. She was hungry all right. She’d made do with a simple lunch of fruit, but the thought of another couple of hours in his company, this time in the secluded intimacy of a restaurant, was calculated to destroy her appetite. Jan would have carried the whole thing off without a tremor—she’d wanted after all to beard the lion in his den, but she—all she wanted was some peace. She had no real confidence that she would be able to continue with her self-imposed charade over the next few days. If she had to, she would leave the flat and trust to luck that she would find a cheap hotel somewhere, and that Santino Vallone wasn’t having her watched, a course of action she was certain would not be beyond him.

She gave him a cautious glance beneath her lashes. That terrifying anger she had glimpsed seemed to have subsided for the moment, but she sensed that it was still there just beneath the surface and she had no wish to unleash it again.

She managed a breathless little laugh. ‘Well, thank you, signore. But I wonder what the gossip columnists will make of you dining těte-à-těte with your future sister-in-law?’

He had the telephone receiver in his hand and was in the act of dialling, but he turned slightly and looked at her over his shoulder.

‘I imagine they’ll draw the appropriate conclusions,’ he said softly. ‘And allow me to remind you yet again, Janina mia, that you have no future as my sister-in-law.’

He turned his attention back to his telephone call and Juliet fled.

Once in the bedroom, she gave a swift glance along the brief line of clothes hanging in her section of the wardrobes, and shook her head. They were all strictly Juliet dresses, and none of them appropriate for the role she was playing. She gave a longing glance at one new dress she had brought for this holiday—white with bands of delicate Swiss embroidery, cut in an Empire style which showed off her slenderness and gave her an air of fragility.

But for an evening in a smart Rome restaurant with Santino Vallone, fragility was the last effect she wanted to achieve. She pushed the sliding door along and stared at the racks’ of clothes belonging to Jan. There was bound to be something here that she could use. She wondered where Santino was taking her, and hoped fervently that it would not be a restaurant where Jan was known. She couldn’t hope to keep the deception going with someone who would recognise Jan on sight, although she supposed there was enough of a superficial resemblance to pass at a distance. They were about the same height and build and their colouring was similar, and she supposed this was why Santino Vallone had not questioned her identity. He had expected to meet a red-haired English girl at the apartment, and his expectations had been fulfilled, although not quite in the way he thought.

She seized a dress at random and held it against herself, looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror. It was black and ankle-length, the skirt of a silky crepe, and the long-sleeved bodice in exquisite black lace. It was far more décolletée than anything she had ever worn, but she just had to hope it would give her the air of sophistication that she needed.

Her hair was another problem. Although it was almost dry again, it would not be appropriate to tie it back in her usual simple style, and she supposed the most sensible thing to do would be to twist it into a smooth knot at the nape of her neck. Nor could she hope to imitate Jan’s expertise with cosmetics, just make sparing use of eyeshadow to accentuate the green in her eyes, and relieve some of the pallor in her cheeks with blusher. She was not dissatisfied with the result when she had finished, and her hairstyle was very becoming, she thought, showing off her small ears and the delicate line of her jaw. No matter how tremulous she might feel, outwardly she looked poised and in control of the situation, and that was as much as she could hope for. She gave herself one last look and turned to reach for her dress which she had left lying across the bed.

From the doorway, Santino said coolly, ‘Charming. My respect for Mario’s judgment, if not for his common sense, increases by leaps and bounds.’

Juliet couldn’t suppress the startled cry that rose to her lips. All she was aware of were his eyes appraising her, as she stood there defenceless in the lacy black waist slip, and the half-cup bra which lifted her rounded breasts without covering them. Her face flamed and she snatched up the dress, holding it in front of her.

‘How dare you walk in without knocking!’

His brows rose. ‘Why the pretence at modesty, cara? You’ve worn more revealing garments every day, I’m certain, on that catwalk at Di Lorenzo with more eyes upon you than mine, not to mention that more private performance that I was privileged to glimpse at the Contessa Leontana’s party a few months ago.’

She was too embarrassed to heed his words closely. She knew that Jan would have outstared him, and it was true that girls wore less than she had on now every day on the beaches of the Mediterranean and the Adriatic, and if she herself had been sunbathing in a bikini she could probably have borne his scrutiny. But this was not a beach, it was a bedroom, and she’d never been in this kind of situation half-clothed with a man before. It might be utterly ridiculous in this day and age, but it was true. In some ways she was as old-fashioned as Mim herself.

She said with as much ice as she could manage, ‘I prefer to keep my private and my professional lives strictly apart, if you don’t mind, signore. Perhaps you’d be good enough to return to the salotto and wait for me there.’

He stared at her for a moment, frowning a little as if she had bewildered him, then he gave a low laugh and turned away.

‘Well, hurry then,’ he tossed at her. ‘You surely don’t take this long to change at Di Lorenzo?’

Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly adjust the zip of the dress, but at last she was ready. She bit her lip as she saw for the first time just how revealing the bodice really was, but she told herself that it was too late to change again, and anyway it was exactly the sort of dress that Jan would have worn. She snatched up the black velvet purse she had found wrapped in tissue on one of the wardrobe shelves and went towards the door.

Santino Vallone was sitting on one of the sofas glancing through a magazine as she came along the gallery, and for a moment she was afraid. Suppose it was one of the magazines that used Jan for their fashion spreads? From what she knew of her sister, she would be quite narcissistic enough to have them lying round the apartment. She hesitated slightly as she reached the top of the steps, wondering whether he would jump to his feet, his face grim and accusing, and what she would be able to salvage from the wreck if he did, but he merely laid the magazine aside and got to his feet. He stood looking at her for a long moment, and there was an odd expression deep in the tawny eyes. Then he strolled forward, pausing to break off one of the deep crimson roses as he came.

He walked slowly up the steps, his eyes effortlessly holding hers. She found herself thinking desperately that it was as if she had been mesmerised. She could not look away, and she felt that betraying blush rising again. He reached her side and before she could guess his intention, he leaned forward and slipped the rose into the revealing vee of the deeply slashed lace bodice, between the shadowy cleft of her breasts, and for one heart-stopping moment she felt his fingers brush against her flesh.

Then he stood back critically to view his handiwork, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

‘An enchanting contrast in textures,’ he remarked with a coolness she was not capable of emulating. ‘The velvet of the rose against the silk of your skin. You are worth waiting for, Janina mia.’

And while she was still breathlessly taking in what he had said, including his last enigmatic remark, he put his hand under her arm, and led her to the door.

CHAPTER THREE

HE was an expert driver, but then naturally he would be, Juliet thought crossly as the low-slung sports car purred its way almost noiselessly through the evening traffic.

She wanted to ask where they were going, but felt it was better to pretend that she knew, and she tried not to look too eagerly around her as they drove through part of the city she had never seen before. Jan, she was sure, would take her surroundings very much for granted.

Her companion seemed silent as they drove and she was thankful for it. All sorts of snags which she had not previously taken into consideration were now beginning to occur to her—the major one being that she would probably be expected to be quite conversant with any number of intimate details about Mario and his immediate family, not to mention his friends. What on earth was she going to say if Santino began to question her on the subject? She would be bound to make all sorts of glaring errors, and his suspicions would be aroused at once. He was no doubt already thinking that it was odd that a girl who worked in Rome should have next to no knowledge of the Italian language, unless he had simply concluded that she was too lazy to learn it.

Juliet found herself wishing that she had made her identity known at the very start, and steadfastly denied all knowledge of Mario and his involvement with her sister. She could have pretended that Jan had sub-let the apartment to her—all kinds of explanations and excuses, some more convincing than others, were coming to mind. Anything, she thought ruefully, would probably have been better than the web of deceit she had started to spin. It would only take a little judicious probing from the brooding man beside her, and her whole fragile fabrication would come tumbling down.

She hoped apprehensively that the restaurant would not be too fashionable. The fewer people she was seen by the better. And the darker the restaurant was the better too, she told herself. By candlelight, in a secluded corner, she might just be able to pass for Jan if she was seen at a distance by someone who actually knew her sister.

But her hopes were dashed when they finally reached their destination. Santino had chosen a restaurant right on the outskirts of the city. It was large, popular and quite clearly expensive, and their table, far from being hidden in some dark corner, was almost in the centre of an enormous terrace, overlooking exquisite formal gardens, and with a panoramic view of the city itself.

Juliet found herself the cynosure of all eyes as she walked to the table, and she had not been in Rome long enough to be untroubled by the frankness of some of the masculine glances and sotto voce remarks which pursued her. She sank rather thankfully into the chair the waiter was holding for her, and hoped she had managed to mask her embarrassment at the small ordeal. It was the kind of situation that Jan would have revelled in, she supposed, being escorted by someone as dark and devastating as Santino Vallone. It was quite a relief to shelter from prying glances behind the huge menu that she was handed. She wondered with dismay if she was supposed to appear knowledgeable about the choice of food being offered, and heard her companion give a low-voiced order to the waiter for two dry Martinis to be brought to them.

He leaned back in his chair and gave her an enquiring look. ‘What do you wish to eat, Janina? A simple steak and a salad, perhaps?’

‘Certainly not,’ she denied indignantly, her eye focussing on a magnificent trolley laden with hors d’oeuvres which a waiter was steering between the tables.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘You do not fret perpetually about your weight? Meraviglioso!’

Juliet suddenly found herself thinking of the idle remark she had made to Jan—a lifetime ago, it seemed. Could it really be only twenty-four hours? She flushed a little.

‘No,’ she said with constraint, ‘not at the moment.’ She glanced about her, casting round for a change of subject, wanting to get away from any personal element. ‘What a magnificent view!’

‘Have you never been here before?’

She lifted one shoulder casually. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t remember …’

‘One goes to so many places,’ he finished for her, rather mockingly. ‘You are a true Roman, Janina. I am surprised that you still find the skyline romantic.’

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