gave a slight giggle as she rose. 'I might offer to model maternity
gear for her, just for the pleasure of seeing her face. 'Bye, love. See
you tonight.'
Juliet's thoughts were frankly sombre as she tidied the apartment
and washed the breakfast dishes. Any pleasure she might have
derived from the prospect of her first day's sightseeing in Rome had
been almost destroyed by Jan's news-or at least her attitude to it.
She supposed she should have been relieved for all their sakes that
Jan's lover was willing to stand by her and give their child a name,
and that Mim would not have to be burdened with a scandal that
would wound her deeply. It was all very well to argue with herself
that this was the age of the permissive society, and that unmarried
mothers were no longer treated as outcasts. The world had not
changed as far as Mim was concerned. If Jan had come home
confessing that she was pregnant and deserted, Mim would have
instantly supported and comforted her, but Juliet knew just what the
cost would have been to her mother whose principles had been
formed in a gender, more old-fashioned mould. Quite apart from
anything else, the fact that it was Jan, the lovely and the beloved,
who had betrayed Mim's deeply held views of chaste behaviour
would have been a blow from which Mrs Laurence might never
have recovered no matter how brave a face she might put upon it.
Life had not been easy for her since her husband had died leaving
her a widow in her late thirties. Materially they had been provided
for, but Mim had never been able to hide the fact that she needed
her husband's strength, and Juliet had often considered that it was a
pity that her gentle, rather diffident mother had never remarried.
In their younger days, both Juliet and Jan had always taken care to
protect Mim from the seamier side of life, as revealed in the media
and often in the lives of those about them. There was much, they
had tacitly agreed, that it was better for Mim not to know. Now Jan
herself had spoiled this tender conspiracy, but what troubled Juliet
was not so much the mess her sister was in but her attitude towards
it and its solution.
For one thing, she had never given Juliet the slightest indication that
she was in love with the unknown Mario. Juliet even had a clearer
picture of the hostile and disturbing Santino than she had of her
future brother-in-law. All she had really gathered about Mario was
that he was in awe of Santino to a certain extent and
apparently-dependent on him. It was also clear that if these
considerable hurdles could be cleared he was capable of giving Jan
the standard of living she had apparently decided she wanted, and
glancing round at the luxurious fittings of the apartment, Juliet
decided wryly that this was no small consideration. But she had no
idea at all how the couple actually felt about each other.
They were obviously physically attracted to each other, and
presumably, if he was going to marry her in defiance of his brother's
wishes, then Mario must be in love with Jan. Perhaps that was
enough, Juliet thought unhappily. Hadn't someone once said
cynically that in every relationship there was one who loved, and
one who allowed such loving? It was not an idea that appealed to
her. Juliet had no very clear idea of the man she wanted, but she
had always taken it for granted that their feeling for each other
would be totally mutual. Where love was concerned, half a loaf
would certainly not be better than no bread at ail.
On the other hand, maybe she was worrying unduly. Jan had always
condemned her for being too sentimental. Perhaps now she was in
love and shy about exposing her deepest feelings even to her own
sister. After all, as Juliet was forced to admit, they had never been
close confidantes. Jan had always had her own friends to talk and
giggle with for hours on the telephone and presumably to confide in
even before she left home.
Perhaps, she thought sadly, if I'd encouraged her to trust me in the
past, I'd have some insight now into what she's thinking. If she
doesn't love this Mario, if it's all been a terrible mistake, then it
would be much better not to marry him, no matter how wealthy he
may be. Even Mim would say that.
Yet at the same time she couldn't believe that Jan was marrying just
for the respectability of a wedding ring. Her sister had never
seemed to care much for such conventions.
She must love him, she told herself. After all, she's carrying his
child.
She was torn from her reverie by the sound of the front door
buzzer. Rather hesitantly, she walked over to the intercom and
pressed the switch.
'Hello,' she said, feeling inadequate.
'Scusi, signorina.' The answering voice was male and a little
startled. 'I bring flowers. You open, please.'
Juliet unfastened the chain and opened the door. Sure enough it was
a delivery man in a green uniform carrying a long box, filled, as she
could see through the cellophane which wrapped it, with
long-stemmed red roses.
The delivery man was staring at her. 'Signorina Laurence?' he
asked, producing a clipboard from beneath his arm, and indicating
where she was required to sign for the flowers. For a moment Juliet
hesitated, wondering whether she should explain that she was not
the actual recipient for whom they were intended, but another
Signorina Laurence altogether, but eventually the horror of having
to explain the ramifications to someone who clearly spoke only
broken English convinced her that the easiest thing to do was smile
and accept the flowers as if they were hers, and she hastily signed
'J. Laurence' where his finger pointed.
'Grazie.' He tipped his cap, gave her a look of full-blooded
admiration and departed.
Juliet closed the door and stood looking at the flowers in her arms.
She could see no card to indicate who had sent them, but she
thought it must be Mario, and that it was odd of him to send them at
a time when he knew Jan must be out working at Di Lorenzo. But
at least it was the sort of gesture which gave indisputable evidence
of his devotion. However, if she left them in the box, they would
probably be dead by the time Jan got home this evening.
She hunted round in the kitchen cupboards until she found a
suitable jar and arranged the roses in it before carrying it through to
the salotto. There was a small occasional table positioned by the
window and she lifted it across to stand behind the sofa, and placed
the vase on it where it could be seen as soon as anyone entered. It
would be a nice welcome for Jan when she returned, she thought.
On her way out, she paused at the front door to make sure the key
Jan had given her the previous evening was safely tucked away in
an inside pocket of her shoulder bag, and to take one last look at
the apartment and make sure she had left everything secure.
As she turned away, the red roses in their flamboyant beauty caught
her eye. The traditional symbol of love, she found herself thinking
as the lift carried her swiftly downwards, and that being so, why the
sight of them should have sent an involuntary shiver down her
spine, she had not the slightest idea.
CHAPTER TWO
By the time she was ready to return to the apartment, late in the
afternoon, Juliet had forgotten her earlier unease in the sheer joy of
finding herself in Rome for the first time.
She'd had no difficulty in deciding what to see first. She 'knew that
Jan would draw the line at ecclesiastical architecture, no matter
how renowned, so her first day's sightseeing was spent touring St
Peter's.
Accordingly she found herself walking slowly up the Via della
Conciliazione and into the huge Piazza which Bernini had designed
centuries before. This was the scene she had glimpsed so many
times on television at Easter and other festivals, and today the
square seemed almost deserted in contrast, with the knots of
tourists concentrating their ever-busy cameras on the famous
colonnades and their statuary.
For a moment she felt almost disappointed because it all .. seemed
so familiar, and then she saw someone going up the steps in front of
her towards the church itself, and its sheer immensity took her by
the throat.
She spent the rest of the day touring the church itself, exploring St
Peter's from the dizzying view over Rome from the tiny balcony
high up in the dome, to the early Christian grottoes. She wandered
around the Treasury, gazing in awe at some of the priceless
treasures which had been presented to the Vatican over the
centuries, her imagination constantly stirred by them, in particular
by the cloak that legend said the Emperor Charlemagne had worn at
his coronation. Later, as she stood before Michelangelo's exquisite
Pieta, shielded now from possible vandalism behind a glass screen,
she felt involuntary tears welling up in her eyes. No photograph or
other reproduction could do it justice, she realised.
She was physically and mentally exhausted by the time she had
seen everything she wanted to see, and it was a relief to find a taxi
and make her way back to the apartment, her mind still reeling from