unmistakably to Juliet's embarrassment that she too in her youth had
known so impatient and ardent a lover.
There was no point in arguing about the real facts, Juliet told herself
resignedly. There was no way in which she could make herself
sufficiently understood to disabuse Annunziata's mind of the notions
that possessed it. There was little doubt in her own mind that she
was far from being the first naked girl Annunziata would have
brought coffee to in Santino's bed, and she did not care for the pang
that this realisation cost her.
It was none of her business what Santino did, she told herself
resolutely, except where she herself was directly concerned. And
although she had been frightened and upset, and her Roman holiday
had been spoiled, yet it seemed she had little more to fear from him
than had already transpired. She might have to suffer his taunts, but
that was all. What was it he had said? ' I wouldn't soil my hands
with you ...' The remembered contempt in his voice chilled her in
spite of the heat of the day.
It was not long before Annunziata returned, lugging with her a
suitcase which Juliet recognised thankfully as her own. But when
she was alone again and able to examine its contents, she found to
her dismay that they were a curious amalgam of her own things and
Jan's as well. The glimpse she had had of Jan's wardrobe, not to
mention the dress she had worn the previous evening, had shown
her quite plainly that their style of dressing now lay worlds apart.
Jan's taste was more sophisticated and daring in every way, and
Juliet groaned as she examined some of the garments which would
have to see her through the next few difficult days.
She had no idea how long her enforced stay with Santino was going
to last. As she had expected, there was no sign of her bag, with the
precious wallet containing her passport and money, and she was not
silly enough to imagine she could hope to get anywhere without
them.
The
best
policy-indeed
the
only
one
under
the
circumstances-seemed to be to sit this thing out. Sooner or later,
she reasoned, Mario would be in touch to tell his brother that his
marriage was now a fait accompli, and after that there would be no
reason for Santino to detain her any longer. Unless he was so angry
with the deception that he murdered her and dumped her body in
the bay, she thought detachedly. One thing was certain, she could
not imagine him being a good loser.
At last she chose, almost in desperation, a pair of flared denim
pants with a brief matching waistcoat, which was slightly more
substantial than the majority of the tops that had been included, and
thrust her arms into a flimsy cotton peignoir which did belong to
her, while she searched for a bathroom.
She didn't have far to look. Two doors away she found a massive
bathroom with correspondingly massive marble furnishings. The
only concession to modernity, apart from the hot water and the
abundance of large fluffy towels, was the shower cabinet in the
corner, and Juliet made full use of it, revelling in the splash of the
cool water on her body. She dried herself slowly and' thoroughly,
before sampling some of the range of toiletries displayed on a wide
shelf above the handbasin. Some of the most famous names in the
French perfume industry were among them, and every possible
choice of scent from light floral fragrances to the spicier, musky
perfumes. Luxuriously smoothing toilet water over her shoulders
and arms, Juliet thought idly what an incredible variety there was,
and then paused, the colour rising in her face as she realised the
perfumes and powders had been placed there to. appeal to a variety
of women.
She replaced the cap on the spray she had been using with indecent
haste and replaced it on the shelf. She had little doubt that Santino
had selected the perfumes himself, for his own delectation as well
as that of his lady friends. She only hoped that he would not
imagine she had been perfuming herself for him.
'I wish I'd used carbolic!' she muttered to herself, as she dragged the
denim up over her slim hips and fastened the zip.
Once dressed, she felt rather at a loss. She stripped the covers back
from the bed and left it to air, then emptied the suitcase and
repacked it more neatly. Santino on his rampage through Jan's
wardrobe had simply tossed things in on top of each other. Many of
the things needed hanging up to rid them of creases, but ever
present in her mind was Santino's parting shot that this was his
room. There was no way in which she was going to lay even the
slightest claim to it after that, even to the extent of hanging a few
dresses in that huge wardrobe.
She wandered restlessly over to the window and stood looking out.
Below her the sea shone like glass and the distant horizon
shimmered in the heat. What was she supposed to do? she
wondered. Stay here cooped up until Santino discovered the truth?
She bit her lip. Not if she knew it, she told herself resolutely. After
all, there was the sea, and where the sea was, there ought to be a
beach of sorts. She would simply carry on with her holiday and to
hell with Santino. After all, a lot of people paid hundreds of pounds
to come and spend a few days on the Italian coast, and yet here she
was being entertained at his expense in surroundings she could
never have afforded in the ordinary way, so the least she could do
was try and enjoy it.
She swung away from the window and went across to the door and
out on to the gallery beyond. She trod across it and stood looking
over the exquisitely carved balustrade that bordered it down into
what was presumably the main living area below. It appeared
deserted, and after a moment or two she ventured down the spiral
staircase that led down from her side of the gallery, and stood
looking about her. It was a large, lofty room, the floor smoothly
tiled in a deep terra-cotta shade, the rough stone wails washed in
pale cream. On one side a large alcove, with a slightly raised floor,
had been let into the thickness of the wall and Juliet saw that this
accommodated a large, heavily carved refectory table, and
high-backed chairs padded in deep crimson. There appeared to be
no fireplace as such, but the three long low oatmeal-coloured sofas
which formed the seating were grouped round a low antique table,
on which books and magazines were arranged. The original
window recesses had been extended and glazed to make full use of
the view, and a door behind her, under the gallery she had just left,
indicated that this was where the kitchen quarters were to be found.
There was a spartan simplicity about her surroundings that appealed
to Juliet far more than the more obvious luxury of Jan's Roman
apartment. She wondered how old the building was, and admired
the way it had been adapted to modern living needs without the
destruction of its essential character. For it must have been some
kind of fortress, she thought, her eyes straying once again to the
thickness of the walls.
She wandered across the room, her heelless sandals making little
noise on the tiles, and picked up one of the magazines, but apart
from the language problem they all appeared to be of a purely
technical nature, so she soon abandoned that as a pastime.
Presumably Santino's plans for the entertainment of his women
guests did not include the provision of reading matter, she thought
ironically.
Her stomach rumbled suddenly and disconcertingly, reminding her
that it was a long time since she had eaten. She had enjoyed the
coffee Annunziata had brought, but now she needed solid food
inside her. Presumably as she was no longer a prisoner in her room,
Santino did not plan to starve her either. Moodily, she flung herself
down on one of the sofas and stared into space, wondering among
other things where Mario and Jan were at that moment. She hoped
they were happy, because that was the only thing that would make
this entire business in any way tolerable. For a moment she felt
tears prick at her eyes, then angrily dammed them back. It was
useless indulging in self-pity. She had got herself into this mess, and
she would simply have to get herself out of it in due course, and
pray that she remained unscathed in the process.
As she lay back against the cushions, her eyes closed, struggling to
regain her composure, she was suddenly aware that she was not
alone. Her eyes flew open and she saw Santino standing over her.
She sat up instantly, pushing her hair back with one defensive hand,
hoping she had not exhibited any visible sign of weakness to him.
'I'm surprised to find you still indoors,' he observed after a moment
or two of rather taut silence had stretched between them. 'Or are
you afraid that our warm Calabrian sun will burn and blister that
lovely skin?'
She shrugged a shoulder, thankful that he had mistaken the normal
pallor engendered by a rather damp English summer for the care a
model girl would lavish on her complexion.
It is my livelihood after all, signore,' she replied in a small, cold
voice.