wings whirring helplessly as it flew again and again against the
glass globe which protected the candle flame. As she watched, the
moth edged perilously near to the opening at the top of the globe.
'Oh, do something,' she appealed impulsively. 'It's going to get hurt!'
He gave her a long incredulous look, then he reached forward and
cupped a hand round the struggling insect.
'What now?' he demanded. 'Shall I kill it or let it go?'
'Let it go. What else?'
He rose and threaded his way through the other tables to the edge
of the terrace. His hand opened, and he tossed the frightened moth
away into the gathering darkness.
'Moths are foolish creatures,' he said almost meditatively as he took
his seat again opposite her. 'They seem to enjoy living dangerously,
yet because of this their existences are often cut short. Learn from
them, mia. Keep away from the candle flame tonight and you too
could live to play with fire again another day.'
Her head was aching suddenly with sheer tension and she had to
resist an impulse to cradle it in her hands. She did not want to think
too closely about the implications of what he had just said, or she
might be really frightened. Just how ruthless was this man, and
what power was, he able to wield in his determination to achieve
his own way?
If you're trying to threaten me,' she said wearily, 'it won't work. And
now I'd like to go home, please. We have nothing else to say to
each other.'
She spoke bravely enough, but in reality she felt as if a million
moths were fluttering with panic deep inside her. Suddenly she
needed very badly to be alone for a little while to regain her
composure, and she rose murmuring something idiotic about the
powder room.
In the privacy of the luxuriously fitted cloakroom, she dropped on
to the velvet-covered bench in front of the vanitory unit and stared
at herself in the mirror. The parallel he had drawn between her
situation and the moth's had been an unpleasant one. She was very
much aware that he made her feel that he held her too in the palm of
his hand and would extend mercy or not as he chose.
'Oh, stop it,' she told herself angrily. 'You're being much too
imaginative.' Like the rich food and the wine, Santino Vallone was
far too heady a mixture for a suburban schoolteacher from England,
and she was thankful to her heart, she told herself defensively, that
she would never have to see him again after tonight.
She looked again more searchingly at her reflection, and after a
moment added a touch of blusher to her cheeks. What had he said
about her-'the face and body of a Botticelli angel'. Natural colour
rose to enhance the artificial. It was a ridiculous tiling to say, she
thought, an unnecessary and unwanted compliment. And it was
untrue. Jan was the beautiful one, and always had been. If he saw
them together, he would know that. It was merely that he did not
know what Jan was like, either physically or mentally.
In a way, she felt fiercely glad that she had been there in Rome to
deal with this onslaught on her sister's behalf. If he had got to Jan
first, it would have been a sour note on which to start her married
life.
What in the world did he have against Jan anyway? He had uttered
a lot of threats and cryptic remarks, but he had not produced one
shred of tangible evidence to support his view that she was not a
suitable bride for his brother. Juliet did not deceive herself that Jan
had led the life of a recluse since she arrived in Italy, but this was
the twentieth century after all, and Santino Vallone would have to
come to the realisation that there could no longer be one moral law
for men and another for women.
One thing was certain. Not one word of all this must ever reach
Mim's ears. She found herself wishing, for no good reason that she
could pinpoint, that. Santino could meet her mother-visit her home
and see the kind of background she and Jan had come from. It
might not have the material wealth of his own family life, but surely
he couldn't be blind to all that was good in it. He would be forced to
admit that by denigrating Jan, he had been unjust to all the
Laurences.
Yet why was it important that Santino should make any kind of
admission? That was the question that began to hum at the back of
her mind and which she found herself increasingly reluctant to
answer. She'd already admitted to herself that he was out of her
league, so the kind of speculation that she had been indulging in
was unprofitable to say the very least.
She glanced again at the rose, glowing against her dress, and
shivered as she recalled the brush of his fingers against her breasts
as he had placed the flower there. Even that slight physical contact
with him had been like an electric < current, brushing through her
nerve-endings, so what would it be like to be held closely in his
arms-to be kissed by him? Her face flamed hotly as she realised
the exact tenor of her thoughts.
She gave a little shuddering sigh. It was utterly ridiculous to admit
even to herself that she could feel a measure of attraction for
someone like Santino. And such an acknowledgment, even uttered
privately in her heart, was in. some way disloyal to Jan. She could
not respect anyone who held her own sister in such total and cynical
disrespect.
She shook her head in disbelief. What in the world was happening
to her? All the most important considerations seemed suddenly to
have been eroded by these new and frankly overwhelming
sensations that she was experiencing. She knew-or rather she had
always told herself that she knew-what she wanted from a man.
Could it be possible that only a few short hours spent in the
company of someone totally alien to her experience could set all her
ideas, all her principles madly on their respective heads?
If so, it was an unhappy prospect. Would she find herself judging
each future relationship-she grimaced slightly at the word-in
comparison with a man whose eyes gleamed like a mountain lion's,
and whose icy tongue was quite capable of flaying the skin from
your body?
And was that really all it took-that fleeting physical contact and a
dinner at a candlelit restaurant-to begin this insidious bewitchment
of her senses, against all reason and all logic?
No, she told herself decisively, she was not going to allow this to
happen. She picked up her evening purse and rose, outwardly cool
and composed, but inwardly seething with conflicting and mainly
unwelcome emotions.
This mental admission of her attraction to Santino made her
departure to England even more imperative. She needed to escape
quickly while she was still comparatively heart-whole. She gave a
small bitter smile as she turned away. What strange and disturbing
byways her impulse to impersonate Jan had led her into! She had
wondered what it would be like to live her sister's life. Well, now
she knew, and it had not been a comfortable experience. She would
be glad to revert to being plain Juliet Laurence again, she told
herself firmly.
And if she hurried back to England, she might still be in time to join
that barge holiday she'd been offered. She would need something to
take her mind off the past couple of days. If she simply sat at home
brooding, Mim might guess that there was something wrong, and
start leaping to all kinds of conclusions. Juliet shuddered at the
thought of trying to evade her mother's gentle persistence once her
suspicions were aroused.
But for now, she had to get through the homeward journey. The
powder room door swung open at her approach and two women
entered, giving her an incurious look as they swept past on a cloud
of expensive scent. For a moment she lingered, wondering wildly
whether she could evade Santino altogether and get a lift back to
Rome from another patron of the restaurant-perhaps even these
very women.
But common sense soon disabused her of that notion. How was she
going to make herself understood with her limited knowledge of
Italian for one thing? She could hardly go round the terrace until she
found a driver who spoke sufficient English to comprehend her
requirements. And did she really think Santino would stand tamely
by while she stood him up-or appeared to, at least-in front of the
fascinated gaze of a section of Roman high society?
No, she would have to leave with him as she had arrived, and part
from him when they returned to the flat with a semblance of
insouciance.
She bit her lip as she walked across the terrace to the table where
he sat smoking. Why couldn't she be honest with herself, and admit
that she wanted to spend just a little more time in his company, in
spite of everything that he had said and the enormous gulf that
must, perforce, yawn between them? The truth was that when they
did part, she wanted him to think not quite as badly of her in the
role she was playing as he did now, and that when the truth finally
emerged, he might look back on the evening they had spent together
with even a little regret.
Romantic idiocy, she told herself caustically. When he does find out
what I've done, he'll probably want to break my neck.