The bedcover was far from being an adequate cloak. It kept
catching on things and slipping, and it was heavy, but she held on to
it tightly because it was all she had. The literal truth of that only
dawned on her a moment later when the heavy wardrobe door
swung open with a protesting squeal of hinges, and she saw that its
cavernous depths were completely empty.
She stood gazing at it with stupefaction. She hadn't expected a
complete range of daywear, but at least she'd anticipated that the
black dress she had worn at dinner would be there.
She swung round, hitching the bedcover up around her shoulders,
and tried the chest of drawers beside the bed. Each drawer was
carefully lined, and a bunch of some sweet herbs was laid in each
one, but that was all. And there was no other kind of storage space
in the room at all.
Juliet slammed the last drawer shut, biting her lip angrily. Of all the
ridiculous situations to be in! she thought. She clasped the bulky
folds of the coverlet more securely round her and set off for the
door. It was a solid-looking affair with ornate hinges, and a heavy
ring handle. She twisted the ring this way and that, but it made no
difference, the door did not budge. She tugged and pulled, and in a
kind of desperation even shoved at it, but all to no avail. She felt
suddenly, murderously angry. She began to beat on the door with
both fists, oblivious of the fact that her improvised cloak had fallen
to the floor.
'Open this door!' she shouted at the top of her voice. 'Let me out,
damn you! Open it, do you hear?'
The words sounded brave enough, and the noise she made was
somehow reassuring, but as its echo died away, she felt suddenly
forlorn, and more than a little scared. And as the minutes passed,
and there wasn't the slightest response to her appeal, she began to
feel cold and sick.
She turned and leaned back against the door, splaying her fingers
over the sturdy timbers as if they would give her some kind of
moral as well as physical support. Where was she? What was this
place where she was being kept, and how long would she be forced
to remain here?
Judging by the wall, it must be some kind of fortress, she thought,
and remembered something Santino had said at that ill-fated dinner
the previous night. Something about a fortress half in ruins and an
island across an amethyst sea. Kicking the folds of the coverlet
impatiently aside with her bare foot, she walked across to the
window and looked out.
She seemed to be looking straight down the face of a steep cliff,
and sure enough, the sea crawled there at its foot. But it was not the
evening light Santino had mentioned. Judging by the position of the
sun, Juliet guessed it must be around noon. Her watch had stopped
at some time during the night. A shimmering heat haze hung over
the water, and in the distance she could vaguely see the outline of a
mass of land-possibly the island he had mentioned. She gave one
last, shuddering look down and abandoned any idea she might have
had of climbing out of the window. Even if she had managed to
fabricate herself some kind of tunic out of one of the sheets, such a
descent would have been quite beyond her.
Her shoulders slumped defeatedly as she turned away. She wanted
very badly to cry, but she wouldn't allow herself the luxury. She had
lost her temper already and had achieved absolutely nothing. Crying
would simply be a waste of energy.
She wished she could gauge the time more accurately. She
wondered how long it was since they had left the restaurant. She
knew one things-she was hungry again. She bit her lip. She had
been deprived of clothes. Was Santino Vallone barbaric enough to
keep food from her as well? Juliet shook her head; This was
assuming the proportions of a king-sized nightmare. How long did
he intend to keep her here? She would not be missed for quite some
time. Jan might wonder where she had gone, but would probably
assume she had drifted on to sightsee elsewhere -until she came
across her clothes and her passport. Then she'd realise something
was wrong. That, of course, was always assuming she returned to
the apartment immediately on her return. But perhaps she wouldn't.
Maybe she would simply move in with Mario and forget about the
apartment -even for weeks.
Juliet swallowed. In fact the first person to sound any kind of alarm
might well be Mim, and that was the last thing she wanted to
happen. Wasn't it really to protect her mother and keep her in happy
ignorance of the mess Jan had got herself into that she was in this
predicament at all?
She groaned silently. All the tried and true maxims she had
practised all her life about looking before one leapt, and the kind of
tangled web that transpired when one practised to deceive, came
back in force to taunt her. The whole thing was just impossible, she
thought roundly. She was asleep and dreaming, and presently she
would pinch herself and wake up and find that none of it had
happened.
Oh, please let it be like that, she prayed inwardly, but even, as the
prayer took shape in her mind, she knew that it was all too true.
And just to reinforce the fact that this was cold, stark reality, she
heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door.
Juliet did not wait to retrieve the abandoned bedcover, but took a
flying leap into the big canopied bed, seizing the sheet and tugging
it up around her neck. At the same time she was uneasily aware that
the slender curves of her body were revealingly outlined under the
fine linen, but it was too late to do anything about that now,
because a key had grated in the lock and the door was opening.
Santino Vallone walked into the room. He was wearing denim pants
and a dark close-fitting shirt, partially unbuttoned. He stood looking
down at her, his hands resting lightly on his hips, and Juliet thought
dazedly that this casually dishevelled beachcomber didn't bear the
least resemblance to the elegantly dressed businessman she had
encountered the previous evening. Except in one respect, she told
herself, bitterness threatening to choke her. That incredible physical
attraction she had been aware of then was there in full force,
perhaps even accentuated, and she loathed herself for the
undeniable response that it was evoking from her shivering body.
He looked at her lying there, not a muscle moving, the sheet tightly
clenched under her chin, eyes damning him over its hem, and he
smiled. The smile told her everything. It told her that he knew she
was naked under its flimsy covering, and that he knew what she
looked like without that covering, because he had seen her only
hours before. She thought she would burn up with shame. It had
been quite bad enough when he had walked into the bedroom at the
apartment while she had been changing. But this- this was
infinitely worse.
'Get out,' she said between her teeth.
He raised his eyebrows. 'I thought from the uproar a little while ago
that you needed company.'
"Not yours,' she said, her voice shaking with rage. 'Never yours.'
He smiled again, but this time there was no amusement in it, nor
even any secret knowledge. 'Then it is sad that we are condemned
to each other for a while,' he said. There was a note of finality in his
voice that frightened her.
After a moment, she said, 'But we don't have to be. You could just
let me walk out of here. I wouldn't say anything to anyone ...' She
paused. She was beginning to beg, and she must not.
But he was shaking his head slightly, the smile widening a little.
'The prospect of you walking out of here at this precise moment has
its appeal,' he said drily, and her face flamed as she realised the
implication in his words. 'But I regret that it is impossible.'
'But that's ridiculous!' Her breathing quickened in spite of herself
and she could see his eyes on the rise and fall of her rounded
breasts beneath the concealing sheet. She tried to steady herself, to
remain calm and in control. Above all not to let him see that she
was very near to panic, and not merely for the reasons he would
expect. 'You can't keep me here against my will.'
'Nevertheless you are here,' he said coolly.
'It's kidnapping,' she protested, aware of the weakness of her words.
'That's a terribly serious offence in Italy- I know it is. You'll be
caught. Someone will realise sooner or later that you're keeping me
here, and then ...'
'Someone will indeed realise,' he said -coolly. 'That they should is
the sole reason for your being here, believe me.' He paused, his
eyes holding her uncomprehending gaze, then he said softly,
'Mario.'
Even then it was several seconds before light dawned. It was as if
she had almost forgotten the reckless charade she had embarked on
the previous day. But he still thought she was Jan.
She said almost incredulously, 'You've gone to all this trouble
simply to keep me away from Mario?' Her heart 'was thumping, and
she kept repeating to herself like a litany, 'He doesn't know. He still
doesn't realise.'
He reached for a chair, velvet-seated with an elegantly rounded
back, and sat down on it astride, his arms resting negligently across