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.’
For the remainder of the afternoon, and the evening that followed, Jan put herself out to be charming, and Juliet found herself beginning to relax and lose that sense of intrusion that had bedevilled her. They ate in the dining alcove which opened off the salotto—cool slices of melon, followed by pasta in a rich sauce.
‘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
