suppose it's natural under the circumstances that you should want
to-look me over.' She moistened her lips. 'I-I know you don't like
what you see, but...'
'Is not me that has to like. Is Santino,' the Signora pointed out with
some truth. 'Yet you are beautiful. Not as beautiful, it is true, as that
other one your sister, but we will not speak of her. She go back to
England soon?'
'Not quite yet.' Juliet felt a tight constriction in her throat. 'She-she
is coming to stay at the castello for a while-to act as a chaperone,'
she added.
'To act as compagna?' The Signora gave a short laugh. 'Now
Santino thinks of that, when it is too late.'
'It's not too late,' Juliet said hurriedly. 'Believe me, signora, in
England no one marries anyone these days because
they've-compromised them. It isn't even as if we- as if he-I
mean-nothing happened between us,' she added rather weakly.
The Signora shrugged. 'Is not important. And this is not England,
this is Italy. In Calabria we guard our young girls. Does your father
think so little of you that he would not seek revenge on the man
who has stolen your honour?'
'My father died some years ago,' Juliet said quietly. 'I admit my
mother would be upset, but I was hoping there would be no need
for her to know.'
The Signora stared at her. 'Your mother not know?' she enquired on
a rising note. 'You not ask her to wedding?'
'Yes, of course.' Juliet felt totally confused. 'It's just that it's not
certain there's actually going to be a wedding.'
The Signora gave a brisk nod. 'Is certain,' she said decisively. 'My
Santino is a man of honour.' Her face clouded a little. 'My Mario,
less so, I fear. But the little Francesca will be good for him.' She
nodded again, then surprisingly laid her hand over Juliet's. 'We go
down now to dine. You come with us?'
Juliet bit her lip. 'Thank you, but no, signora. I have a slight
headache. Perhaps I could have some soup sent up on a tray.'
'Soup?' The older woman pulled a face. 'You need food to make you
strong, have plenty babies for my Santino.' She gave Juliet an
all-encompassing critical look. 'You need colour too. You should
eat, and drink red wine.' She waited for a moment then, when she
saw that Juliet was adamant, she got to her feet with a faint sigh.
'We speak again, later.'
To Juliet's amazement, she put out a hand and touched her cheek,
before turning away towards the door.
After she had gone, Juliet sat motionless for a while, fighting her
tears. It was that unexpected gesture of kindness that was making
her want to weep, she told herself defensively, not because she was
lonely.
She got up and wandered back into the bedroom, noticing in
passing how oddly bare the bedside table looked now without
Santino's flowers. A small leather overnight bag, presumably
packed for her by Annunziata, had been placed on a chair and she
unfastened it, extracting a nightdress and her toilet necessities. The
shower cabinet in the bathroom looked more than inviting, she
decided. She would have a shower, and wash her hair at the same
time, and when it was dry she would ring room service and ask
them to bring her some soup.
She had not been entirely untruthful when she had made the excuse
of a headache to the Signora. There was a tension across her scalp
and the warm water felt like a benison as it descended.
She slipped the white lacy nightdress over her still damp body, and
slipped her arms into the matching peignoir, tying the sash round
her slim waist. Winding a towel round her hair, she walked across
to the telephone and lifted the receiver. The voice at the other end
was helpful and she was soon able to make her wants known, and
receive the promise that her tray would arrive 'subito'.
Eyen so she was surprised at how short a space of time had elapsed
before she heard the knock on the outer door of the suite. Still
rubbing her hair with the towel, she walked across the sitting room
and pulled the door open.
But it wasn't a helpful waiter with a supper tray standing there. It
was Santino. His brows rose as he took in her deshabille, and the
damp tendrils of hair hanging on her shoulders.
'I think we've been here before,' he observed mockingly as he
walked past her into the sitting room. 'Only one thing is missing.'
He pulled one of the crimson roses out of the bowl, broke off the
stem, and tucked the bloom down where the peignoir parted to
reveal the shadowy cleft between her breasts. 'Remember?' he
asked.
'You're so right, I remember,' she jerked out. She threw the rose
down on to the carpet. 'And I can do without the meaningless
gestures. If we're playing the memory game, perhaps you might
remember you promised not to touch me. Your mother has been
telling me ad nauseam that you're a man of honour. Well, I don't
consider it very honourable to force your way in here and ...'
'Have you finished?' he interrupted her. His voice was icy with rage
and he was very pale under his tan. 'Let us be clear about one thing
at least. I did not force my way in here-I knocked and you opened
the door to me. Bene.'
'I thought you were room service,' she said crossly. 'It was a
mistake, and I'd be grateful if you would go.'
His eyes narrowed ominously. 'I'll go when I'm ready, Giulietta. I
am here to give you these.' He held out a small bottle containing
capsules of some kind. 'From my mother,' he said. 'For the fictitious
headache.'
'It isn't fictitious.' She glared at him. 'My head really does ache.'
'You would ache in a great many more places if it were left to me,'
he said silkily. 'How dare you refuse my mother's invitation to join
our family party downstairs in the restaurant? Acting the part of my
fiancée requires you to behave with common courtesy, you know.'
'I don't want to feel any more of a hypocrite than I do already,' she
said wearily. She extended her hand and he dropped the bottle of
capsules into it.
'Would one small dinner party be such a sacrifice?' His voice was
hard.
Yes, her heart cried, when I have to sit opposite you and see you
smile at me as if you loved me and know that it all means nothing,
absolutely nothing.
She shrugged. 'I think I've made all the sacrifices that can possibly
be required of me for one day,' she replied tonelessly. 'I am
committed to returning to the castello, if you recall, which I didn't
expect to have to do.'
'No,' he said between his teeth. 'And this, also, you are not
expecting.'
He reached out long arms and pulled her to him hard. The bottle
flew out her hand and fell unheeded on to the thick carpet. She
managed only to whisper, 'Santino,' achingly, protesting before his
hard mouth descended on hers and she was lost, all thought of
protest dying under the delight of feeling the passionate demand of
his body against hers.
His mouth still locked upon hers, he lifted her up into his arms and
carried her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
'No!' She tore her mouth away from his. She was suddenly
frightened by this new and dark determination she sensed in him.
She beat at his chest with her fists. 'No, Santino. Put me down!'
'It will be a pleasure,' he mocked. He dropped her across the bed,
then threw himself down beside her, his arm pinning her down
almost casually as she struggled to roll away from him.
'Just one more sacrifice, mia,' his voice gibed in her ear. Almost
insolently he pushed away the concealing folds of the peignoir and
one strap of her nightgown, revealing the creamy curve of her
shoulder and one rounded rosy-tipped breast.
'Bellissima,' he whispered. His mouth was gentle on her body, so
gentle that fear began to recede and give way to a warm, insidious
pleasure, so gentle that she could almost forget that she was not the
first woman whose body had come alive under his practised touch.
Almost, but not quite. Summoning a desperate strength from some
inner recess of her being, she thrust him away from her and slid to
the floor on to her knees. Instinct told her she ought to run away
from him-into the bathroom where she could lock herself in,
perhaps, but her trembling legs wouldn't support her that far and she
knew it. All she was capable of was kneeling there almost at his
feet, murmuring 'No, Santino, please, no,' like an incantation while
the tears she had suppressed earlier slid unchecked down her white
face.
He said something half under his breath that sounded as if he was
swearing. She saw his hand reach down to her and shrank back, and
at the same moment there came a persistent knocking at the outer
door of the suite.
There was a pause, then Santino swung himself off the bed and
walked across the room to the door. Juliet heard him cross the
sitting room and answer the door, and then the murmur of voices
and the chink of a trolley as it was wheeled in. She heard the waiter
leave, and the sound of Santino's footsteps returning. She was still
incapable of running or hiding. She leaned her head against the side
of the bed and waited, wearily, to see what he would do.
He halted in the doorway. His face looked remote, like that of a