Moth To The Flame. Sara Craven
‘Your cooking has improved beyond recognition.’ Juliet took an appreciative sip of the wine, and leaned back in her chair.
‘I always loved Italian food. Fortunately it seems to love me too.’ Jan glanced down at her slim hips with satisfaction. ‘If ever I show signs of developing into a full-blown Italian mamma, I shall go on a permanent diet.’
‘No need to worry about that,’ Juliet said with affectionate admiration. ‘I think you’ve put on a little weight, but it suits you.’
Her remark had been completely casual, and she was totally unprepared for Jan’s swift glare.
‘What utter nonsense!’ her sister snapped. ‘I’m the same weight as I’ve always been. Do you think, in my job, that I don’t watch myself like a hawk?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Juliet cursed herself inwardly for tactlessness, but Jan had never used to be so touchy.
After a moment’s pause, Jan smiled with an effort. ‘I’m sorry too. I don’t usually blow up like that, but some of the girls I work with can be such utter bitches.’ She gave a rather unsteady laugh. ‘I suppose I look for the knife in the back from even the most innocent remark nowadays. Thank the Lord I …’ she broke off suddenly.
‘Yes?’ Juliet prompted gently.
Jan shrugged. ‘Thank the Lord I can always go back to England to work if things get too bad,’ she said non-chalantly, but again Juliet had the uneasy feeling that that was not the remark she had intended to make. But the next moment Jan was chatting away again, relating anecdotes about some of the famous people who went to Di Lorenzo to shop for their clothes, mimicking some of the rich women for whom she modelled, and Juliet’s uneasiness passed.
As she lay in bed that night, listening to Jan’s gentle breathing in the next bed, tired, but too excited to fall asleep immediately, she told herself that she was going to have a good time in Rome. Jan would be working most of the time, but she’d promised to get some time off that was owed to her to take her sister round some of the sights and perhaps do some shopping, and the evenings, she’d said, would be a different story.
While she had been clearing away the dinner dishes, Juliet had seized the opportunity to telephone her mother briefly and reassure her that everything was fine, and that she would write in more detail during the next couple of days.
She had tried to hint to Jan as they were getting ready for bed that Mrs Laurence needed the reassurance of regular letters, but Jan had responded almost petulantly and Juliet had hastily dropped the subject.
Probably when you were miles away from home and leading a hectic working and social life, such obligations as letter-writing tended to get overlooked, she thought. And Jan was certainly in demand. The telephone had rung twice more during the evening, and although Jan had not vouchsafed any information about the callers’ identities, Juliet had no doubt that they were men. There was something intimate and caressing in Jan’s voice as she spoke, although Juliet could not have followed the conversation even if she had wished to do so, as her sister always spoke in Italian.
But when you were as young and as lovely as Jan, there was little wonder that men were in constant pursuit of you, Juliet thought, and it was while she was wondering a little wistfully what it must be like to be so sought after that she eventually fell asleep.
When she awoke the following morning, Jan’s bed was empty, although it was still relatively early. She got out of bed and reached for the broderie anglaise dressing gown that matched her nightdress, pulling the sash securely round her slender waist before padding out on to the gallery. But as she went towards the bedroom door she heard a familiar but distressing sound coming from the bathroom. Immediately she crossed over and tapped on the door.
‘Jan, love, what’s wrong? Are you ill? May I come in?’
There was a pause and then Jan herself opened the door. ‘Oh, hello.’ Her tone was ungracious. ‘There’s really no need to bother. I’m fine. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me. Perhaps it was that melon—it does upset me sometimes.’
‘I’ll make some coffee.’ Juliet gave her an anxious glance. ‘Do you want to go back to bed? You look pale.’
‘Of course I’m pale, I’ve just been throwing up. For God’s sake, don’t fuss. You’re as bad as Mim,’ Jan said impatiently.
But by the time the coffee was made and they were sitting on the balcony with fresh rolls and butter on the table, Jan had regained her colour and her good temper with it.
‘Wonderful!’ she exclaimed, reaching for the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice which Juliet silently extended to her. ‘You are an angel. I should have invited you over long ago.’
Her eyes moved rather challengingly over Juliet’s tight-lipped expression.
‘Well, go on, darling. Ask me if it’s true.’
‘Do I really have to?’ Juliet could not suppress the bitterness in her voice.
‘I suppose not.’ Jan finished her orange juice and set the glass down on the table. ‘As a schoolmarm, I imagine you’re more than capable of adding two and two together and achieving the correct result. I might have managed to keep you at bay over my weight, but I knew I couldn’t hope to fool you over this foul morning sickness. I merely hoped it wouldn’t happen while you were within earshot.’
Juliet met her eyes squarely. ‘Were Mim and I never supposed to know?’
Jan shrugged. ‘Let’s just say that your visit at this precise time was—inopportune.’
‘Then why on earth didn’t you tell me not to come?’ Juliet tried not to sound as hurt as she felt and her voice sounded flat in consequence.
‘Because I was afraid that if I started putting you off with footling excuses Mim might take it into her head to come in your place. And while I might be able to fool you for a while, I knew I wouldn’t escape her eagle eyes. And as you can imagine, she’s the last person I want to know about this. Not until I have everything sorted out anyway.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Juliet asked unhappily. ‘Are you going to—get rid of the baby?’
Jan’s eyes opened to their widest extent. ‘An abortion in Italy? You have to be joking! No, far more conventional than that. I’m getting married. In fact if you’d delayed your visit for another week or so, I probably would have been married already. All problems solved, all Mim’s most romantic hopes for me gloriously fulfilled, and after a discreet interval, the promise of her first grandchild. Everything perfect.’
‘I see,’ Juliet said rather drily. ‘That being the case, may one ask why you didn’t simply get married in the first place and avoid all these rather hasty and hole-and-corner arrangements?’
Jan poured herself some coffee. ‘There were reasons,’ she said, frowning. ‘There still are, for that matter. Mim isn’t the only relative that we’re keeping in the dark about our plans. Mario has a brother who’s been causing us some grief.’
‘In what way?’ Juliet spread butter on a roll and bit into it, although she had little appetite. Jan’s news had left a sick, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Mim’s premonition had been well founded, it seemed.
Jan shrugged again. ‘Big brother feels that he should have a major say in Mario’s wedding plans, and needless to say, he doesn’t approve of my part in them,’ she answered rather carelessly. ‘Not that we’ve ever actually met, of course.’
‘But is Mario likely to be influenced by his opinions?’ Juliet could not conceal the anxiety in her tone. ‘Italians are supposed to have this incredibly strong sense of family and …’
‘Well, the brother holds the purse strings for a start,’ Jan broke in, spreading her hands gracefully. ‘And you’re right about the family feeling. They come from the South—Calabria actually, where such