To Marry a Tiger (2 page)

Pearl looked puzzled, then her brow cleared magically. “I suppose you mean that he polishes off young females by the dozen!” she sighed. She put her elbows on the table and supported her head in her hands.
“He’s terribly romantic, isn’t he? You know, Ruth, I think it might be
fun
—”

“Well, I don’t!” Ruth exclaimed hastily. “Pearl, you’re not to go with him! Promise me you won’t!”

Pearl giggled. “Worse than Victorian!” she teased. “You’re positively Gothic!”

‘But you do promise?” Ruth insisted anxiously.

Pearl’s innocent blue eyes met hers. “I promise he won’t have
everything
his own way!” she gurgled. “Will that do?”

Ruth looked at her young sister. She felt her misgivings like a physical weight on her shoulders, but she doubted if she would get anything more out of Pearl.

She felt a little prick of envy as she thought how nice it must be if the whole of life appeared as nothing more than a pleasant romantic adventure. “I suppose it will have to,” she said dully.

Pearl nibbled happily at a lump of sugar she had found on the table. “Don’t look so sad, darling!” She cast Ruth an ecstatic smile. “I’m not compromised yet! And it may never happen!”

Not yet! Ruth sniffed. Certainly not yet! But she wished she could rid herself of the conviction that it was only a matter of time!

“Shall we go home?” she suggested suddenly, a flame of hope flashing through her.

Pearl had the grace to feel ashamed. “I wish you wouldn’t worry so!” she said quite crossly. “If the truth were told, you know, I can take care of myself a great deal better than you can.”

But Ruth didn’t believe her. Pearl was nothing more than a romantic innocent, fresh from school, whereas Ruth had earned her own living for the last three years and had the usual scars of living to show for it. How could Pearl know what men like Mario were like? Ruth’s own experience might not be very extensive, but
her young sister’s was non-existent! And Ruth was quite certain that she had not imagined that glea
m
in Mario’s eye. Pearl might think what she would, but Ruth knew better than to suppose that he would allow himself to be worsted by a slip of a girl!

Pearl went on a shopping expedition the next morning. Ruth was not sorry that she wanted to go alone, for she found these endless trips round the hot stores quite exhausting.

“What will you do?” Pearl had asked her as she was
waiting for her taxi.

“I
think I
’ll stay here,” Ruth had answered.

Pearl’s eyes had danced with laughter. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll be captured by the big, bad wolf?” she had asked.

Ruth had found it far from being a laughing matter. “You haven’t arranged to meet him, have you?” she had asked baldly.

Pearl had giggled in the most maddening way. “Not this morning!” she had said with her tongue in her cheek. “I wouldn’t be wearing this old thing if I had!” she had added disparagingly, glaring at her practically new coat in a way that Ruth found far more convincing than any amount of protestations would have done.

Pearl had gone, dancing into the taxi as gay as a bird. Ruth, on the other hand, had stopped in the foyer of the hotel, brooding over her sister’s affairs for fully an hour before she had pulled herself together sufficiently to go up to the desk and ask if there were any letters for them.

“Miss Arnold,” the Italian receptionist repeated, pleased to show off his excellent English. “There is one here for Miss Arnold.”

Ruth peered at the envelope. “It doesn’t say if it’s for my sister or for me,” she said doubtfully.

“That is easily answered,” the Italian smiled. “I think I am correct in thinking you are the elder sister, is that not so? Then
you
are Miss Arnold. Your sister is Miss Pearl Arnold,” he added dreamily. “She is well named, if you will forgive my saying so!”

“Then you think this letter is for me?” Ruth prompted him.

“Most certainly.”

She thanked him, turning the envelope over in her hands. It was not for her. She knew that immediately, for no one in Italy would be writing to her and the letter had an Italian stamp. She tried to see the postmark, but it was too blurred to read. She thought it said Sicily, but she couldn’t be sure.

With the letter still in her hand, she took the lift up to her room. The writing was firmly masculine, uncompromising and unadorned. Supposing it was Mario? she thought with a prickle of alarm. But why should he write to Pearl when he was here in Naples?

She tinned the envelope over again, staring down at it. It was clearly addressed to Miss Arnold, so she had every right to open it. The receptionist had said it was for her. If only she didn’t really know perfectly well that it was intended for Pearl, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

There would be no harm, of course, in opening the envelope and looking inside. If the letter were addressed to Pearl she wouldn’t dream of reading it. She would put it on her sister’s bed and explain to her what the receptionist had said. It wouldn’t sound particularly convincing, but Pearl seldom explored anyone else’s motives for what they did. She would probably be only too pleased not to have to go to the trouble of opening the letter for herself.

Ruth slipped a nail-file into the envelope and slit it open. It was a very bulky letter for a simple missive, she thought. She pulled out the contents and laid them flat on the table in front of her.

“Beloved,” she read.
That
was certainly intended for Pearl, but there was nothing
w
hatever to say so. “The boat leaves tonight. All you have to do is to get your passport from the clerk and take a taxi to the dock. I’ll be waiting for you at Palermo. Sicily will welcome you with open arms, as also do I, Mario.”

For a long moment, Ruth stared through unseeing eyes at the piece of paper in front of her. How dared he! And how dared Pearl! She thought wildly how she could pay him back for his bland confidence that Pearl would rush to do his bidding. Well, the Arnolds were built of sterner stuff than he had imagined! And it would give her the very greatest pleasure to prove it to him! But how?

She put the letter down, ripping the envelope in her anxiety to discover what else it contained. There was a boat ticket, she saw, noting with a flicker of contempt that it was a first-class ticket, such as a man might be expected to get for the bird he was charming at that particular moment. There was also, Ruth found, a great deal of money. The enormous, crisp notes were of denominations that made her gasp. Even allowing for the fact that Italian lire came in thousands before they were worth anything at all, it was a very considerable sum of money indeed. The sight of it sent the colour flying to her cheeks. How dared he! she thought with considerable agitation. How dared he! Why, it was as if he had already bought and paid for Pear
l
just as he might any other commodity. Only he hadn’t bought Pearl yet, whatever he might care to think!

By the end of the morning a plan of action had formed itself in Ruth’s mind. Mario Verdecchio was an abomination and he would get no more than he deserved if his plans went awry! He might be able to charm Pearl into doing—
anything,
but she, Ruth, was a very different cup of tea!

The receptionist was pleased to see her when she went to the desk to ask for her passport.

“The letter, it was for you?” he asked her.

She nodded gravely. “Miss Arnold,” she confirmed.

“And here is your passport,” he smiled at her. “Will you take them both?”

Ruth was seized by a sudden doubt as to whether she was doing the right thing. “N-no,” she managed. “My sister won’t need hers. I—I have to have mine for the bank.”

“But of course,” the clerk agreed.

Ruth sighed with relief as she left the desk. It was all being so very much easier than she had expected. All she had to do was to behave quite normally for the rest of the day. It was so simple!

She had to admit that Pearl made it easier for her than she could have hoped for. The younger girl rushed into the hotel for a quick lunch, apologetically explaining that she had a date for the rest of the day. “That is,” she had said suddenly, “if there isn’t a letter for me. Did you ask at the desk?”

“There was nothing for Miss Pearl Arnold.”

“What a funny way of saying no! I suppose you got something?” It was typical of Pearl that she didn’t inquire any further. She was supremely uninterested in the affairs of anyone other than herself.

And then she had gone in a flurry. Ruth had almost called her back, but Pearl had only waved at her, running to meet the pale, black-haired youth who was waiting for her on the comer of the street.

Ruth packed her bag with care, wishing that she didn’t feel so guilty. What she was doing she was doing to help Pearl, and yet she couldn’t help feeling that Pearl wasn’t going to like it. Still, no matter what, she wasn’t going to allow Mario Verdecchio to get away with it easily. She would show him!

She was extremely nervous by the time the taxi arrived to take her to the ship. She paid her bill at the desk and left a note for Pearl, explaining to her what she had done. The few words that she had written to her sister had taken her most of the afternoon to compose, for there was no doubt about it, ’Pearl was going to be very angry indeed. It took all Ruth’s resolution to go through with the thing in the end. She was quite sure that Mario would do nothing to hurt her, that there was nothing to it really. All she had to do was to get on the boat and disembark at Palermo the next morning. By the next morning she would be back in Naples with the satisfaction of knowing that she had told Mario exactly what she thought of him.

The taxi drove through Naples at a great pace. Ruth took a last look at the numerous cafes that surrounded the Bay and the tall, dusty trees that gave them shade. For some reason she had the feeling that she would never see any of it ever again.

“That’s your ship,” the taxi-driver told her, pointing it out amidst the huge liners that crowded the dock on either side.

Ruth thanked him, giving him a handsome tip as he placed her luggage on the concrete beside her. He gave her a cheerful grin and disappeared, leaving her alone in a sea of strangers all gesticulating and shouting at one another as they pressed into the small office that dealt with their tickets and arranged for the cars to be taken on board by crane.

Ruth took her place in the queue with increased misgivings. She didn’t like the way the men stared at her and she wished, hopelessly, that she were not travelling alone, a fact which seemed to be more than enough to set them speculating about her.
When at last her turn came an official glanced at her ticket, stamped it and gave it back to her.

“You may go on board,
signorina
,”
he told her.

Ruth took a deep breath. It was too late now to turn back. She was on her way to Sicily!

There was another woman already in the double cabin when she went below decks to find her way round the ship. She was small, dumpy, and very dark, but she spoke English reasonably well and seemed friendly.

“Are you going to Tunis?” she asked Ruth.

“No, only to Palermo,” Ruth answered.

“I go to Tunis,” the dumpy little woman informed her. “But tomorrow I spend in Palermo. I visit my nephew there. The ship stays all day, so it is easy for me.

“I suppose you have been there often,” Ruth suggested as she unpacked the few things she would need for the night.

“Often and often!” The older woman gave Ruth a kindly look. “You travel alone?”

Ruth nodded. “I’m being met at Palermo,” she mumbled.

“Sicily is beautiful. To me it is going home!” The Italian woman sighed. “Now, I live in Tunis with my husband, but I cannot return to Sicily too often. You are fortunate to be staying there.” She glanced at the label on Ruth’s luggage. “Miss Arnold? I am Signora Verdecchio.”

Ruth felt distinctly weak at the knees. “Did you say Verdecchio?” she asked weakly.

“You have heard the name before?” the Signora demanded sharply.

Ruth nodded.

The Italian woman sparkled. “You must know my nephew!” she explained in triumph. “It is Mario, is it not?” Ruth nodded again. “Dear Mario! Do you go to meet
him
in Palermo?” Mario’s aunt added by way of an appalled afterthought.

Ruth nodded a third time, quite unable to speak.
“
Mario
?”
The Italian woman blinked at her. “You plan to
marry
him?”

“Oh no!” Ruth was glad to be able to sound quite positive about something. “I hardly know him.”

Signora Verdecchio looked confused. “Then why do you go to Sicily? Is it—is it
that
kind of an arrangement?”

Ruth could feel herself blushing. “No, it’s nothing like that!” she protested.

“No?” The Italian woman sank on to her bunk. She gave Ruth a long searching look and apparently decided that she was telling the truth. Ruth was pretty enough, but she certainly wasn’t flamboyant enough to appeal to Mario, that much was obvious!

“I think,” she said at last, “you had better tell me all about it, no?”

Ruth did not relish the prospect, but Mario’s aunt had a very determined expression and she was reasonably sure that she meant to have the story either from herself, here and now, or from her nephew in the morning. On the whole the former seemed the preferable course, and so she stammered out the whole story.

“So,” the Signora said when she was finished. “It was this Pearl that Mario invited to Sicily.” Her eyes danced with sudden amusement. “And he paid the ticket, you say?”

“It came to me because I am the elder,” Ruth explained uncomfortably.