Moth to the Flame (27 page)

'Juliet darling.' Her mother shook her shoulder gently. 'It's past eight

o'clock. Didn't you hear your alarm? I've brought you a cup of tea.'

'Oh, heavens!' Juliet sat up wearily, pushing her hair back. 'Thanks,

Mim, you're an angel, but I've hardly got time to drink it.'

'Oh, yes, you have,' Mrs Laurence said firmly. 'You may have

dropped the habit of having breakfast these days— which I don't

approve of, by the way—but you're not leaving this house without

at least a hot drink inside you, my girl, and that's final.'

Juliet smiled up into her mother's lovingly exasperated countenance.

'To hear is to obey, O Queen,' she murmured wickedly.

'That's more like it.' Mrs Laurence sat down on the edge of the bed

and contemplated her daughter, her eyes filled with -an anxiety she

no longer took any pains to conceal. 'I've been wondering over the

past few weeks whether I'd ever see you smile again.'

'Oh, Mim!' Juliet sipped at the hot tea. 'Surely, it hasn't been that

bad?'

Mrs Laurence smiled slightly. 'It has from where I've been standing,'

she said gently. 'Darling, would it help if we talked about

it—whatever it is? I gather it must be something that happened

while you were abroad, considering that's been a taboo subject

since you returned.'

Juliet set down her cup and saucer on the bedside table. 'There's

really nothing to discuss,' she said too brightly. 'And I must be

getting up. I'm late as it is and ...'

Her mother pushed her gently back against the pillows. Then an

extra five minutes won't make much difference either way,' she

decreed. 'All I know is that after living with a stranger all this time,

I caught a glimpse of the old Juliet, and I want her back—for good.'

Juliet sighed. 'I don't think she exists any more, Mim,' she said

rather drearily.

'Then what happened to her?' Mrs Laurence pressed. 'My daughter

comes home from what should have been the holiday of a lifetime

like a ghost of her former self. I haven't heard you laugh since

you've been back. I've barely seen you smile. I can't imagine what

poor Barry must be thinking.'

Juliet bent her head. 'I'm afraid that doesn't particularly concern me,'

she said quietly.

'I see.' Her mother gave her a sharp glance. 'So it's a man. Are you

going to tell me who he is?'

Juliet shook her head. 'There—there's no point. I shan't be seeing

him again.'

'Don't you want to?'

'It isn't a question of what I want,' Juliet said tiredly. 'We want

different things, that's all.' She tried to smile. 'And I soon found I

wasn't on his list.'

'Oh, darling!' Mrs Laurence laid her hand over Juliet's. There were

tears in her eyes. 'Why in the world did I ever persuade you to go?'

Juliet squeezed her mother's fingers. 'I'm glad you did. It—it's been

a salutory experience if nothing else.' She smiled waveringly.

'Actually, I made rather a fool of myself. I let myself fall for him

without really knowing him. You can't be in love with

someone—the kind of love that matters anyway—in the space of a

few hours, can you?'

'I knew I was in love with your father twenty-four hours after I met

him,' Mrs Laurence said surprisingly. 'It took him a little longer,' she

added, a smile of tender reminiscence lighting her eyes.

Juliet swallowed. 'But there was nothing to prevent your marrying

Daddy, was there? There were no—obstacles?'

'No.' Her mother frowned, trying to remember. 'The usual tiffs and

misunderstandings, of course, but ...' She stopped and her eyes

came to rest on Juliet with a worried expression. 'Oh, darling.

He—he isn't married?'

'No,' Juliet hastened to reassure her. 'Nor likely to be. He—he isn't

the marrying kind,' she added after a brief pause.

'I never knew a man that was
,'
Mrs Laurence said rather drily. 'Are

you so sure that there's ho hope? I can't believe that the kind of

fly-by-night relationship you've portrayed would be enough to wipe

the light out of your eyes. You've lost weight. You've shadows

under your eyes. If it wasn't for your tan, you'd be looking ill. It will

be half-term in a few weeks,' she went on hesitatingly. 'Why don't

you go back—see him? Settle this thing, or get him out of your

system once and for all.'

'No!' Juliet was aghast. 'No—I can never go back. I wish I could

explain, Mim,' she added wretchedly, a sob rising in her throat. 'But

I can't, so please don't say any more.'

'It's Jan, isn't it?' Mrs Laurence asked, a touch of grimness in her

voice. 'You've barely mentioned her either since you've been home.

Is it her fault that it's gone wrong for you?'

Caught off guard by her mother's perceptiveness, Juliet parried,

'I—I don't know what you mean.'

'So I'm right.' Mrs Laurence shook her head. 'Oh, my dear, I'm

sorry.'

Juliet gave a humourless laugh. 'There's nothing to be sorry about.

It's hardly odd that he should prefer her.' She bit her lip as an image

of Jan, triumphantly beautiful after her night in Rome with Santino,

in the
salotto
of the
castello,
rose up in front of her. 'She is—very

lovely.'

'And very selfish—and very greedy.' Mrs Laurence stifled a sigh as

Juliet gave her a quick amazed stare. 'You surely didn't imagine I

thought she was perfect? I know her faults, as well as I know my

own, but I thought she would have spared you—her own sister.'

Juliet moved restlessly. 'Let's not talk about it any more,' she

appealed with difficulty. 'I must get up now, Mim. I have to get

ready for school.'

As she washed and dressed, Juliet found her thoughts unwillingly

returning to that last night she had spent under Santino's roof.

Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she had

turned and looked at him, and she fantasised that he might have

held his arms out to her. And what would she have done? Well, she

knew the answer to that. She would have gone to him unthinkingly,

uncaringly, in spite of everything that lay between them.

As it was, she had gone to her room and bolted the door, and she

did not open it all that long wakeful night, although someone who

might have been Annunziata came and knocked very gently about

an hour later.

She had spent much of the night worrying about how she was going

to get back to Rome. Bravado was one thing, but reality and

common sense quite another. But in the morning, like a small

elegant good fairy, the Signora had arrived, and almost before she

knew what was happening Juliet found herself ensconced in the

back of Signor Peretto's luxurious car, with the
castello
a dwindling

speck in the distance behind her.

Of Santino there had been no sign, and she had no means of

knowing what the Signora had said to him, or whether she had said

anything at all. She was thankful to have her bag with her money

and passport and return air ticket, and told herself all she had to

worry about now was finding a seat on a flight home. But even here

all her problems were smoothed away. She guessed afterwards that

Signor Peretto had pulled some strings, because a seat on the first

flight out miraculously became available. He and the Signora had

been very kind, she thought, but at the same time it was more than

evident that they wanted to be rid of her. Nor could she particularly

blame them for that in the light of all that had happened.

Her reunion with Mim had been an ordeal in many ways. There was

so much that had to be left unsaid, but until this morning she had

thought she had made a skilful enough job of the half-truths and

evasions she had been forced to employ.

Work, she'd told herself, was what she needed, and with only a few

days to collect together the material she needed for the start of term,

she wouldn't have time to think. But it hadn't worked out that way.

Even when she was absorbed in what she was doing, and later,

when she had got the children busy and interested, she would find

her thoughts suddenly straying back to the
castello,
and its dark

imperious owner, and the agony would begin again as her

imagination ran riot, painting pictures of Jan and Santino intimately

alone at the
castello.

And it was an agony, such as she had never known, although she

had caught a glimpse of it that night when she had sat alone and

known that they were staying in Rome together. But that was

nothing to what she had suffered since. Had she really thought, that

distance and separation would help to drive him out of her mind and

heart? She must have been mad even to entertain such a wild hope.

All it meant was that she relived over and over again in her memory

every moment she had spent with him, every word he had said. But

it was the moments when his lovemaking returned to torment her

that were the hardest of all to bear, especially when she knew there

would never be a consummation of that lovemaking—that she

would never belong to him as she had wanted to belong.

And it was little consolation to tell herself that even if she had given

herself to him, nothing would have changed. She would still be

back here in England with her memories —and perhaps some

regrets as well.

She arrived at school, breathless, just as the bell for assembly was

ringing, and her lateness made her on edge for the rest of the day.

She had a curious sensation that she was waiting for something to

happen, but her sense of anticipation was not a pleasant one. She

didn't have her usual patience with the children either. Several times

she snapped back in answer to a question, and she could see them

eyeing her covertly, their small surprised faces reflecting how

unused they were to finding her in this sort of mood. Her

conscience led her to cancel the project work she had planned for

the afternoon, and let them have a long messy art session instead,

followed by an instalment of the serial story that she was reading to

them. It was a disorganised afternoon, but it seemed to be what they

all needed, for Juliet felt almost at peace as she walked out of the

school gates that evening and turned for home.

It had been a fine day, and the air was still quite warm, so she

decided she would have a quick tea and then spend a couple of

hours in the garden. Mim's roses were still a picture, but it was time

to make plans for the coming spring —safe plans that had

everything to do with regeneration and growth, and nothing at all to

say about emotions.

She was so .deep in thought as she walked up the road that she

scarcely noticed the car parked in the road outside her house at

first. And when she did see it, it was with a growing puzzlement

rather than any instant recognition, as if her imagination was

playing her tricks. Because it was, Santino's car.

She stood at the gate and looked at the car parked under the soft

drift of leaves from the trees in the avenue, and she felt sick. Her

instinct was to run and hide herself somewhere where he would

never be able to find her, never be able to hurt her again, but she

steadied herself just in time. What point was there in flight? She

would have to face him in the end.

He was not alone. She knew that even before the front door opened

at her touch, and she heard Jan's laugh ring out from the sitting

room. As if she had been waiting for the sound of the front door,

Mrs Laurence appeared in the doorway, anxiety warring on her face

with a kind of relief.

'Darling, Jan's here,' she greeted her without preamble. 'And—and

she's married, Juliet. She's married an Italian. He's here with her.

Won't you come in and meet them?'

Don't let me cry, Juliet prayed, or scream, or faint. She was amazed

when she spoke to hear how calm her voice sounded.

'I'll come in later, Mim. I'm going up to change now, and I thought

I'd do some gardening.'

'But I've made the tea. It's all ready.' Mrs Laurence took another

step out into the hall. 'Darling, it really would be better if you came

in now. Please believe me ...'

She broke off as Jan appeared in the doorway behind her. Her

condition was more obvious now, and she was doing little to

conceal it in an elegant maternity outfit probably designed by a top