Moth to the Flame (23 page)

but it was purely physical. He was good-looking, admittedly, but

his face showed his immaturity, and from what she could gather of

the ensuing conversation he seemed inclined to blame everyone but

himself for what had happened. He was clearly embarrassed to

meet Juliet, and his glance at times was speculative, as if he was

wondering how much she knew of his affair with her sister, and its

result.

She guessed that neither of them was sorry when a nun entered and

announced that visiting was at an end for the day. There was no

sign of Santino when they emerged, and Santino's stepfather Signor

Peretto took it for granted that he would be driving Juliet to the

hotel with his wife and the Contessa Leontana, who was waiting

downstairs in the foyer.

Since she had arrived at the hotel and been installed in this suite,

Juliet had not heard a word from Santino, except for this token

offering of roses which he had probably not even chosen himself,

she told herself crossly. Arid now this unexpected visit from his

mother. Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders.

'Sit, Giulietta.' The Signora gestured imperiously towards the sofa.

'We talk.'

She waited until Juliet had sat down, then took her place beside her,

fixing her keen dark eyes on the younger woman's pale, rather

strained face. Juliet bore her scrutiny for a moment or two, then

said quietly, 'Was there something you wanted to say to me,

signora?'

'Plenty things.' The Signora nodded. She gave Juliet a shrewd look.

'You think it strange that I wish to speak to the girl who is to marry

my Santino? You are to be
mia nuora.
It is right we should speak.

Besides, today I watch you. I watch closely.'

'I had noticed,' Juliet said half under her breath.

'You think that strange too?'

'No—at least, not exactly.' Juliet looked down at her hands clasped

in her lap, where Santino's emerald gleamed like green fire. 'I

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

stranger.

'I suppose I must apologise,' he said after a pause that seemed

endless. 'My only excuse, Giulietta, is that you made me very

angry. But there's no need to be frightened. It won't happen again.

Now come and eat or your soup will be cold.'

He came across to her and lifted her to her feet, his arm impersonal.

She let him lead her out of the room and across to where the trolley

stood waiting in front of the sofa. He seated her, unfolded a linen

table napkin and handed it to her, then ladled some of the rich

fragrant mixture from the tureen into the delicate china bowl that

stood waiting.

'I'll leave you now,' he said when he had completed these

preparations. 'Shall I ask my mother to look in on you when she

retires for the night?'

Juliet shook her head wordlessly. She did not trust her voice.

'Very well,' he said. 'Buona sera, Giulietta.'