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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
ENDPAGE
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
‘WELL, I can’t understand you,’ Mrs Laurence said plaintively. ‘Most girls would give their eye teeth for a week in Rome with all expenses paid.’
Juliet Laurence repressed a sigh and gave her mother a look of affectionate resignation. ‘You make it all sound so simple,’ she said.
‘It is simple,’ her mother protested.
‘And of course Jan will welcome me with open arms, without the slightest idea that I’ve been sent out to spy on her.’
‘What an unpleasant way of expressing it!’ Mrs Laurence directed a quelling glance at her older daughter. ‘That is not my intention at all. I admit that I’m concerned, but …’
‘But you want to know what she’s doing, and why she hasn’t written to you for nearly a month, without actually asking her directly,’ Juliet supplied accurately.
‘But she never keeps me waiting so long for a letter,’ Mrs Laurence said defensively. ‘Something’s wrong, I know it is. I have one of my feelings …’
‘Oh, Mim!’ Juliet smiled ruefully. ‘You and those “feelings” of yours—the panics they’ve started! If you’re so worried, why don’t you telephone Jan? It would be cheaper than sending me to Rome to ferret out the information for you.’
‘I can’t phone her. I’d sound like one of those dreadful, over-protective mothers who keep dragging their fledglings back to the nest,’ Mrs Laurence said fretfully. ‘Jan would hate it. And I’ve never pestered or interfered, have I?’
Juliet patted her hand. ‘No, Mim, love, of course not.’
And if the thought fleetingly occurred to her that if it had been herself all those miles away in Rome instead of her younger sister, her mother’s antennae might not have been quite so sensitive to impending doom, she loyally suppressed it. After all, Jan was her last-born, and Juliet had always known, ever since her sister’s birth, that Jan was the favourite child. It was an instinctive knowledge and she had been able to absorb it without particular hurt, because she knew that she was also loved and valued, and that what favouritism there was had been wholly unconscious on her mother’s part.
Jan, after all, was everyone’s darling. She was incredibly lovely to look at, for one thing. Strangers had hung over her pram, cooing rapturously while she accepted their homage. She had continued to accept it all through her childhood, at school and at play, and no one had been in the least surprised when a career in modelling beckoned when she was seventeen. And now she had been working in Rome for almost a year at a leading fashion house, the latest in a series of glamorous jobs.
Juliet did not grudge her sister one iota of her almost meteoric success. No one, she had realised a long time ago, was ever likely to offer her a career in modelling, even if that had been what she wanted—unless it was to advertise tights or nail varnish. Her legs were long and shapely, and her hands small and well cared for, but her figure, although slender and rounded in the right places, would never set the world on fire, she thought judiciously, and while she shared Jan’s basic colouring, her own hair tended towards a bright copper rather than her sister’s rich red-gold colour and her eyes had more grey than green in them. Her face was thinner, too, its cheekbones more prominent and the mouth more vulnerable.
It was odd to think of herself as the more vulnerable when she was the older by eighteen months. When they had been small, she had always been protective towards Jan, alert for the sort of mischief that could lead to danger. Jan had seemed to accept this in much the same spirit as she received admiration, but at the same time she seemed to have been born knowing exactly where she was going and what she wanted out of life, whereas Juliet had never really known where her path would lead. It had led, eventually, to training as a teacher, and she had just completed her probationary year. She was happy and settled in her post in a primary school, but was that really how she should be feeling at twenty-two? she wondered. She had never let the knowledge that Jan regarded her as a stick-in-the-mud worry her in the past, because she had never craved the sort of limelight that seemed to be her sister’s life’s blood, but just recently she had begun to ask herself whether Jan’s strictures might not have a certain justice, and whether she was not in grave danger of resigning herself to a rut.
There was Barry Tennent for one thing. He taught at the same school, and they had been out together several times. Juliet admitted that she enjoyed his company, and she knew that Barry was ambitious, with his eye on a deputy headship before he was thirty. Nor did she find him unattractive. But was that really all there was to it—to marry a man because his prospects were sound, and he was ‘not unattractive’? Her mother too approved of Barry. She said he was ‘reliable’ as if that was the one quality that mattered, but Juliet was not so sure. It was all so safe and so humdrum.
She had even found herself guiltily wishing of late that it could be possible to change identities with Jan just for a brief while so that she could see what another lifestyle was like. But there was no profit to be gained from that kind of daydreaming. Perhaps a change of job would provide the impetus she needed. She could even work abroad. A girl she had been at college with was now living with a family in one of the E.E.C. countries, teaching their children English. Perhaps Katie might know of a similar post that would appeal to her.
It was this feeling of restlessness which had sorely tempted her to agree without a second thought when her mother had first suggested the trip to Rome—and if the invitation had come from Jan herself, she would not have hesitated. But Jan had never suggested that either her mother or her sister should visit her in her adopted city. She came home, of course, bringing generous presents—beautiful handbags and belts, and delicious perfume, and tossing them casual stories of parties she had attended and celebrities she had met, but her visits were never long. Jan, Juliet thought dispassionately, bored easily. She always had, even as a small child. She could remember incidents in childhood play, and even friendships disrupted by Jan’s demand for novelty. It was almost surprising that her interest in her new career had not waned. Juliet had half-expected the glamour of that to pall after a few months.
She rarely heard from Jan, but as long as her mother received regular correspondence, she did not allow it to worry her too much. Her affection for her sister now was not quite so uncritical as it had been when they were younger.
Only now there had been no letters for over three weeks, and Mrs Laurence had reacted sharply to the prolonged silence.
Poor Mim, Juliet thought, stealing her a compassionate look. She had always tried so hard to seem impartial, and she would have been genuinely horrified if anyone had suggested that she favoured Jan more in any way.
‘Mim,’ she said gently, ‘we really must leave Jan to live her own life, you know. There could be any number of reasons why she hasn’t written lately. Perhaps she’s extra busy just now, or away on a trip …’
‘Or ill.’ Mrs Laurence’s eyes sought Juliet’s. ‘Oh, darling, something’s wrong. I can feel it—here.’ She pressed a hand to her breast.
‘Nonsense,’ Juliet said robustly. ‘If she was sick then the Di Lorenzo company would have let you know. You would have been sent for.’
Her mother’s hand reached for hers. ‘Please, Juliet, go and see her. Put my mind at rest. If there is something the matter, she’s more likely to confide in you than she is in me.’
‘I wouldn’t count on that.’ Juliet’s tone was dry. ‘She’s never been a great one for confidences, you know.’
‘But you’re her sister. Who else would she confide in?’ Mrs Laurence looked a little hurt. ‘Juliet, you sounded for a minute as if you didn’t—love Jan.’
‘Oh, I love her,’ Juliet said calmly. ‘And I’m just as bewitched, bedevilled and bedazzled as everyone else who comes within her aegis. But to be honest, Mim, there are moments when I don’t actually—like her very much, and when she upsets you just happens to be one of them … However, if it will please you and give you some peace of mind, I’ll go to Rome as soon as term ends. But you must write to Jan and tell her I’m coming. I won’t just land on her unannounced. And if she replies that it’s not convenient, then wild horses won’t drag me anywhere near Italy, and you must accept that.’
‘Agreed,’ Mrs Laurence said joyfully. ‘And of course she’ll want you, dear. It will be lovely for you, apart from anything else. You’ve been looking tired lately, and a nice break in the sun will do you good. Why, Jan might even ask you to stay on for a while.’
‘She might,’ Julie acceded rather wryly. She was mentally running her wardrobe under review, wondering what it contained that would not look out of place in a high Roman summer. It would probably be very hot, she thought, so cottons would be preferable to synthetic fibres. One long skirt as well, maybe, and a couple of tops to wear with it in case Jan took her out on the town. In spite of her misgivings, a sense of excitement was beginning to pervade her. She’d only ever been abroad on school visits, and never to Italy. It would be a new experience for her—something to shake her out of that rut she was imagining.
Her feeling of anticipation intensified as the term drew to its close. Mrs Laurence had written to Jan as promised, explaining that Juliet needed a holiday and giving details of the flight she would be catching.
If Jan replied at the last moment cancelling the visit, it would be a terrible anti-climax, Juliet thought as she packed her lightweight case the evening before the flight. She had bought herself a few new things—some cotton jeans among them, and a couple of pretty shirts with long sleeves for sightseeing round Roman churches, as well as a long dress she hadn’t been able to resist, but she was not taking many clothes. In spite of her mother’s optimistic remarks about the possibility of a longer visit, Juliet doubted whether she would in fact remain in Rome for more than a week.
The very fact that Jan had not replied at all to her mother’s letter seemed vaguely ominous. Juliet found herself wishing that there had been at least a perfunctory note acknowledging that she was expected, even if not as welcome as the flowers that bloom in the spring.
And certainly the continued silence had made her mother jumpier than ever about the whole situation, so that she had found herself promising devoutly to phone her the very evening of her arrival to let her know what was happening.
She had also received an alternative invitation to make up a party with some of the other teachers at the school, cruising some of the inland waterways on a barge, and in many ways this sounded far more appealing than a trip to Rome in the height of summer to visit a recalcitrant and possibly resentful sister who was far more capable of organising her life than Juliet herself would probably ever be.
There was probably nothing more sinister behind her failure to write home than mere thoughtlessness, Juliet thought wryly as she locked her case, but there was no way she would ever convince her mother of this.
Her misgivings returned with renewed force when there was no one to meet her at the airport, or even a message giving her directions how to reach Jan’s apartment. She had the address, of course, and she was perfectly capable of finding the bus into the city and then picking up a taxi to take her to her final destination, but it wasn’t the same, and she could not help feeling just a little hurt during the drive into the city.
In other circumstances she would have been on the edge of her seat, taking in all the ancient splendours around her. As it was, she sat hunched rather tensely in a corner of the taxi, her fingers curled tightly round the strap of her handbag. It had occurred to her for the first time that there could be a good and valid reason why Jan had not responded to the news of her arrival. Perhaps she was away on a prolonged trip, and had never received their mother’s letter at all. If that was the case, Juliet would really be in the soup. Both she and Mrs Laurence had taken it for granted that she would be staying at Jan’s apartment and they had not included the price of a hotel, even if she could find a vacancy at this time of year, in their costs for the trip which had necessarily to be kept to a minimum. Juliet had not permitted her mother to pay the whole bill as she had wanted, although she had accepted a little financial help with the price of the air-fare. If Jan was away, then all her careful budgeting would fall in pieces.
‘Ecco, signorina,’ the taxi-driver announced over his shoulder, breaking into her troubled reverie.
Juliet leaned forward, staring up with disbelieving eyes at the tall building outside which the taxi had stopped. It wasn’t at all what she had expected. In some of Jan’s early letters, she had described amusingly the small flat over a greengrocer’s shop in a square which she shared with another girl. When she had announced later that she had moved, Juliet had assumed that it was to a similar apartment, but it seemed that she could not have been more wrong.
Summoning what few Italian phrases she knew, she asked the taxi-driver haltingly if he was sure there was not some mistake. She did not understand all that he said in reply, but his air of grievance was easily recognisable, and when she produced the scrap of paper with Jan’s address on it, he almost snatched it from her and stabbed at it with a pudgy forefinger. It appeared that if there was some mistake, it was not of his making. He had brought her to the address she had requested. She paid him, adding what she hoped was a reasonable tip to compensate his injured feelings, then walked up the wide marble steps to the glass swing doors of the apartment block.
The foyer was not over-large, but it was cool with air-conditioning, and a mosaic-tiled floor. A swarthy man in a dark red uniform sat in a glass-fronted cubicle to one side, and as Juliet with her suitcase hesitated for a moment, looking round for the lift, he waved a peremptory hand at her, obviously indicating that she should wait until he had finished putting through a call on the switchboard in front of him.
When he was ready, he looked her over from head to foot. ‘Sí, signorina?’ There was a faint insolence in his tone which Juliet resented.
She said quietly. ‘Scusi, signore, non parlo italiano.’
‘I speak English good, signorina. What you want I do for you?’
She said rather uncertainly, ‘I’m looking for my sister. This is the address I was given, but I’m not sure …’
‘What name, this sister, and what apartment?’
Silently she handed him her scrap of paper. He studied it for a moment and his brows cleared.
‘Naturalmente, signorina. The signorina inglese on the fourth floor. She did not speak to me that you were to arrive. I call her now. You wait.’
As well as a switchboard, Juliet saw that he operated an intercom system, and she guessed that this was for security purposes. Jan, she thought, was fortunate to be able to afford an environment where such procedures were standard.
‘You go up now.’ The commissionaire was gesturing vigorously at her from the cubicle. ‘You take the lift.’
The lift looked old-fashioned with its wrought iron gates, but its workings were ultra-modern and they reached the floor indicated with stomach-lurching speed. Juliet stepped out on to the tiled passage and began to walk along it, the heels of her sandals clicking rhythmically as she searched for the correct number on the door.
She found it at last at the end of the passage and guessed that Jan must have one of the flats at the front of the building with the balcony that she had noticed when she arrived. She pressed the buzzer beside the door, noticing as she did so the small loudspeaker just above it. It was no surprise therefore when the speaker gave a crackle and Jan’s familiar voice speaking with a hint of impatience said, ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Juliet.’ She felt faintly bewildered. The commissionaire had presumably reported that she was on her way up. Who else could it be, for heaven’s sake?
‘Oh, Julie!’ Her sister’s voice sounded almost relieved. There was a rattle as a chain was unfastened inside and then the door swung open. Jan stood in the doorway smiling at her. ‘Darling, what a lovely surprise!’
‘Weren’t you expecting me?’ Juliet walked past her into the apartment and put her case down.
Jan shrugged. ‘Mim mentioned something in one of her letters, but frankly I wondered if you’d go through with it. But it’s marvellous to see you now you are here. How long are you staying?’
‘A week, if that’s all right.’ Juliet found her eyes straying round the room in which they were standing. It was a large room, and built on two levels. They were standing on the upper level, a kind of gallery surmounted by a wrought iron balustrade which led presumably to the bedroom as well. Two wide steps descended into the living room, which judging by its size ran the whole length of the apartment. At one side, wide glass doors led to the balcony. Thick cream and gold carpet stretched from wall to wall, and Juliet noticed a wide chesterfield sofa upholstered in warm golden brown hide with two matching armchairs arranged with their backs to the window, and facing a wall where an elegant fitment contained a complicated-looking hi-fi unit and a television set. At the other end of the room, she saw a white baby grand piano surmounted by an alabaster vase containing long-stemmed yellow roses.
‘Oh, that’s fine.’ Jan sounded amused. ‘That’s plenty of time to prepare a report for Mim. I assume that’s why you’re here.’
Juliet felt the colour steal into her cheeks, and her sister’s smile widened.
‘Don’t look so stricken,’ she advised. ‘Mim’s very transparent, you know, and you’re not much better. And I don’t mind—really. I suppose I could have suggested it myself, but I’ve been so busy.’ She shrugged eloquently. ‘Anyway, we’ll put your case in the bedroom, and then I’ll make some iced coffee. We’ll have it on the balcony.’
The bedroom was also a large room, its single beds fitted with quilted gold bedspreads. There were wild silk curtains at the windows, and an entire wall was taken up with fitted wardrobes in white and gold. The bathroom which led off the bedroom was even more breathtaking, with a sunken bath and gold-plated taps shaped like dolphin’s heads.
Juliet shook her head helplessly as she gazed around her. Nothing could have been further from the rambling Victorian semi-detached house where they had been born and brought up, yet Jan seemed completely at home in her exotic surroundings. It brought home to Juliet as little else could have done just how much she and her sister had grown apart. She felt alien and out of place in all this luxury.
‘Do you like the apartment?’ Jan sat down on the padded stool by the dressing table and gave her an amused glance.
‘It’s unbelievable!’ Juliet picked her words with care. ‘But where is Maria? I thought you were sharing with her.’
‘Oh, that didn’t work out,’ Jan admitted casually. ‘But this place is only temporary, I may say. I’m not a millionairess yet. There was a cancellation over a lease and I was able to step in on a short-term basis, at a reduced rent. I’ll have to move in the autumn when they find another permanent tenant, of course, but until then it’s quite pleasant to live in the lap of luxury.’
She was smiling as she spoke, and her green eyes fringed by incredibly long artificially darkened lashes were fixed candidly on Juliet’s face, and why Juliet should be suddenly and certainly aware that she was lying, she didn’t know. But she had always since childhood had this awareness when Jan was not telling her the truth, and she felt herself frowning slightly. Then she pulled herself together. They were not children any more. Jan was grown-up now, and entitled to a life of her own, and secrets in that life. All that mattered was that Mim was kept in blissful ignorance, and all Juliet had to do was telephone her and assure her that Jan was well and happy. Any doubts and uncertainties she might privately have she would keep to herself.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jan tilted her head back. ‘You look very solemn, sister dear. Did the flight upset you? Are you tired?’
‘A little, perhaps.’ Juliet shook out the dress she had unpacked from her case and hung it away in one of the wardrobes. ‘A shower would be nice, I think.’
‘Make yourself at home.’ Jan got up restlessly. ‘I’ll go and see about that coffee. Come back to the salotto when you’re ready.’
Juliet was thoughtful, as she allowed the water to trickle its blissful coolness over her body. There was something definitely odd in Jan’s manner. Her welcome had been warm enough, more so in fact than Juliet had expected, but there was something guarded in her attitude.
‘She’s obviously afraid that I’m going to start prying,’ she told herself resignedly as she wrapped herself in one of the enormous fluffy bathsheets. ‘I’ll just have to try and make it clear to her that I’m not interested in her private life.’
She dressed, choosing a classic shirtwaister in cool green cotton, and sliding her feet into heelless sandals. She scooped her coppery hair back from her face and secured it at the nape of her neck with a scarf that matched her dress. When she had finished, she decided that she looked presentable enough, although she could not compete at Jan’s level of sophistication. She grinned rather ruefully at the idea of even attempting to wear the cream silky trousers and the daringly cut black halter top that so became her sister. She left the bedroom and walked along the gallery towards the salotto, her feet making little sound on the thickly carpeted floor. She could hear Jan talking somewhere in a low voice and checked momentarily, thinking that other visitors might have arrived while she was having her shower, but then she told herself she was being quite ridiculous. She was also Jan’s guest, after all, and she walked forward with determination. But Jan was alone in the salotto, speaking on the telephone. She was smoking a cigarette in quick, jerky puffs and as Juliet watched she leaned forward suddenly, crushing the stub out in a black onyx ashtray that stood by the telephone. As she did so, she glanced up and saw Juliet on the gallery. She smiled and lifted a hand in greeting, and her voice was pitched a little more loudly as she went on talking. Finally with a gay ‘Ciao, caro,’ she replaced the receiver in its rest.
‘I’m sorry.’ Juliet came rather awkwardly down the steps into the salotto. ‘Did I interrupt anything?’
Jan gave a smiling shrug. ‘Just a phone call,’ she said lightly. ‘It wasn’t important. Now come and soak up some of this sunshine and tell me everything that’s been happening at home.’