Moth to the Flame(15)

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.