Moth to the Flame(20)

scarf, and she had used this to tie back her hair.

The severity of the hairstyle and the fragility of the dress combined

to increase her air of vulnerability, and it was this that disturbed her

as she surveyed herself. She did not want to look fragile and

vulnerable. She wanted to look composed-totally in command of

the situation.

The dress was wrong for this too, of course, but the alternative had

been to wear, yet another of Janina's, and none of them appealed to

her. They were all glamorous, and clearly expensive, but their

glamour was an obvious one- designed to take the eye, and

capture a man's attention. The perfect clothes for the transient,

brittle world that Janina occupied, Juliet thought rather sadly.

And what was the point of attracting a man if you knew at the same

time that once his desire was satisfied there would be nothing left

but contempt?

Besides, she was by no means sure that she could continue acting

the part of Janina even for a few hours longer.

The whole charade had become steadily more distasteful to her, and

not even the thought that she was getting the better of Santino on

her sister's behalf could alleviate that unhappy awareness.

She was coming to the conclusion from Santino's remarks-from

his whole attitude-that there was a great deal about Jan, and about

her life since she had started work in Italy, that she did not know

about, and would have preferred to remain in happy ignorance of.

Now that her eyes had been opened to a certain extent, she could

only be thankful that Mim was still living in blissful innocence

about Jan's lifestyle and general morality, All she could hope was

that Santino was prejudiced enough against Jan to have exaggerated

everything he thought and said about her.

Often, Juliet owned to herself rather dazedly, it was as if he was

talking about a complete stranger, not the girl she'd been brought up

with and thought that she knew.

She shook her head and saw the ends of the long scarf float out

behind her as she did so. A little sigh broke from her lips. It was

such a lovely dress-charming and romantic. A dress in which to

dream dreams-a dress for love.

Only there was no love awaiting her downstairs in that lofty room

which seemed to have been hewn out of the solid rock that the

castello stood on. Instead there was a transient passion-a casual

gratification of the senses, if she chose to accept it; a few hours, she

knew, of a delight that she might never know again. But when it

was over, what would remain? The commitment which could have

transmuted that passion into a deeper, more lasting emotion was

totally lacking. After Santino had possessed her, he would despise

her, and when he discovered that she was not even the girl that he

had intended to tame, to bring to heel, then he would despise her

even more.

Juliet turned away from the mirror, her heart sick within her, but

she felt she could delay no longer. The last thing she wanted was

for Santino to come up to this shadowed room to seek her. It was

altogether too intimate a setting for such an encounter, she thought,

her pulses beating wildly, her eyes widening as they fell upon the

bed, immaculately gleaming with freshly laundered linen, with a

nightgown-one of her own, not Jan's-lying across the coverlet

like a drift of snow.

She went slowly out on to the gallery and down the spiral stairs,

lifting her skirt carefully out of the way of her feet as she

descended.

Santino was standing by the window, gazing out into the gathering

darkness, a glass in his hand. Juliet could have sworn she made no

noise as she came down the stairs, but his head came round and he

stared at her as she reached ground level.

'Would you like a drink?' he asked abruptly, his eyes going over her

frowningly, as if he was having difficulty in registering who she

was.

'A fruit juice, please,' she said, adding hastily as his frown

deepened. 'I-I'm rather thirsty. It's been so hot today ...'

He fetched her the juice in a tall glass without a comment, and she

sipped it, clasping her damp hands gratefully round the coolness of

the ice-filled tumbler. She was conscious of a feeling of

disappointment, and realised that childishly she had been hoping

that he would tell her that she looked beautiful, or even that he

would look more closely and know that she wasn't Jan, and that

somehow all explanations would be unnecessary. Fool, she thought

unsteadily.

The room was lit by lamps, and in the dining alcove Annunziata had

set the candles burning in a magnificent candelabrum.

'It looks so right,' she murmured, half to herself, and flushed slightly                       
       
           



       

as she encountered Santino's questioning gaze. 'The candles, I

mean, in that particular setting.'

'Are you a romantic, Janina?' His smile was slightly twisted. 'I

wouldn't have thought it. Next you will tell me that you have started

to fall in love with your prison.'

She wanted to say, 'Not with my prison, but with my jailer.' Instead

she heard herself saying in a prim little voice, totally unlike her

own, 'I've always been interested in history. I suppose the castello

is very old.'

'Si.' The tawny eyes were mockingly alight, as if he knew why she

was deliberately avoiding any subject of conversation which could

be interpreted as personal. 'It was built originally by the Saracens, I

believe. Since then it has been destroyed and rebuilt several times,

of course.'

'And have you lived here long?' She took another refreshing sip of

her fruit juice, avoiding his direct glance.

'Long enough,' he said rather drily. 'It changed hands several times

before I came on the scene. It needed a lot of work, and I think the

prospect of the time and money it would take deterred many people

from tackling the task.'

'But not you, of course,' she said, her own tone a little dry.

He smiled. 'It is true,' he said softly. 'From my earliest childhood, I

dreamed that one day I would live in such a place. There was a plan

to turn it into a hotel, which I was fortunately able to prevent.'

'Are you against tourism?'

'No, I think it could be of immense benefit in an area as poor as this

has been, yet this castello is not big enough to make a successful

hotel. I felt it would be better used as a private residence. But that

has not stopped me joining a consortium of other business men who

are building a chain of luxury hotels along this stretch of coastline.'

'It won't-spoil your dream to have to share it with

others?' she asked rather shyly, and he frowned again.

'Dreams are for children,' he said coldly. 'Only fools confuse them

with life's realities.' He swallowed the contents of his glass in one

gulp and moved back to replace it on the tray.

Juliet felt a kind of simmering anger emanating from him, but she

had no idea what she could have said or done to have inspired it,

but she remembered he had reacted in very much the same way on

other occasions when she had attempted to get close to him, to find

out what he thought and believed. It was further proof, if proof she

needed, that his sole interest in her was physical. Her feelings, her

emotions, her thoughts had probably never even entered his mind.

Santino didn't want any kind of intellectual stimulation from a

woman, she thought sadly, he merely required a willing body to

share his bed, and she was simply fooling herself if she imagined

that her resistance to his attempts to make love to her would arouse

either his interest or ultimately his respect. If he found he could not

seduce her, then he would probably shrug his shoulders and write

her off as a miscalculation. The fact that he had encountered a girl

who wasn't willing to fall immediately into bed with him wouldn't

impress him in the slightest. He would find it simply a trifling

irritation, nothing more. In the days ahead, he wouldn't even regard

the incident with a tinge of regret. He would regard that as

sentimentality, fit only for children along with dreams.

He did not return to the sofa where she sat, her slim body stiff with

tension, but remained standing by the ' window as he had been

when she came downstairs. She found herself wondering precisely

what his brooding gaze could be fixed on, because surely it was too

dark to see anything now.

She was almost glad when a clatter at the door and quick bustling

movements announced the arrival of Annunziata with the soup.

Once it was served, Annunziata did not leave right away, but stood

watching them taste it, smiling warmly and proudly. She had every

right to feel proud, Juliet thought, as she spooned up some of the

thick hot liquid, redolent with meat and vegetables and herbs. It

was good enough to be a meal in itself, and in a strange way she felt

it was putting new life, new heart into her.

But at last Santino glanced up and said something to her. Juliet

could not catch the words, which were uttered in a low voice, but

she heard the tone, and although not unkind it was firmly

dismissive, and Annunziata lost no time in making herself scarce.

Juliet bent her head over her plate, instinctively avoiding the glance

of the man who sat confronting her across the flickering candles.

Here in the dining alcove, they seemed curiously cut off from the

rest of the castello, the thick walls closing intimately around them,

the candles casting a pool if light which seemed to be the oily