Moth to the Flame (4 page)

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 ail.

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.

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

Pieta, 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