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 the overwhelming size and magnificence of the church.
As she went into the foyer of the apartment block, she looked towards the porter’s cubicle to smile at the man who had wished her a cheerful happy day as she left that morning, but it was a strange face looking back rather sourly at her through the glass partition, and she guessed that the shift must have changed. She felt rather foolish as she rode up in the lift. You simply did not go round in Italy beaming at strange men, she reminded herself sternly as the lift halted and the door opened.
Glancing at her watch, she supposed it would still be some time before Jan returned, although she had little idea of the sort of hours her sister worked. Sure enough, the apartment was empty as she let herself in, and yet she had the immediate feeling that it was not quite as she had left it.
Again, she found her eyes travelling to the vase of red roses, and her heart gave a small painful thump as she saw a large white envelope leaning against it. Cool it, she told herself. You’re getting as bad as Mim with her premonitions.
The envelope was addressed to her and it was Jan’s writing. She could not repress a feeling of alarm as she tore it open, and the contents were hardly reassuring.
‘Darling,’ wrote Jan, ‘Sorry to leave you in the lurch like this, but I must go away for a few days. Big brother is out to make trouble, and I simply can’t risk waiting any longer. Next time I see you, I shall be Signora Vallone. Wish me luck. Yours. J.’
Juliet stared down at the note, her heart pounding, then a sudden feeling of anger overwhelmed her and she tore the paper into tiny pieces. Her own sister was getting married, and these few curt lines of explanation were all the announcement or involvement that she could hope for. And for Mim, of course, it would be even worse.
It had apparently not occurred to Jan that her sister might wish to witness the ceremony, even if she was dispensing with such luxuries as bridesmaids. She had not even permitted her to meet the bridegroom before the wedding took place.
She went through to the kitchen and disposed of the torn fragments and the envelope in the refuse bin, telling herself to calm down. There was little point in wishing that Jan was other than she was. She had always been very lovely and very selfish, and the spoiling that her loveliness had induced had merely increased the selfishness, she thought rather desolately.
She looked round her irresolutely. There was plenty of food, she knew. All she had to do was prepare some. And things could be very much worse, she reminded herself. True, she was disappointed that Jan was getting married in haste and secrecy, but judging by the reference to Santino Vallone in her note, she had her reasons. But she had the free run of the apartment in Jan’s absence, and only herself to consider for the next few days.
But she did not feel like a lonely meal after her solitary day. Jan would probably not have been particularly interested to hear about her experiences, but she would have lent an indifferent ear all the same. Now there was no one to share even at the remotest level her sense of wonder at all she had seen, or listen to her plans for the following day, and she felt almost childishly hurt.
Oh, damnation, she thought angrily, brushing the stinging tears from her eyes with a dismissive hand. She was in grave danger of relapsing into self-pity, which was not a failing she usually suffered from. What she had to do now was make the most of her remaining time in Rome, because when Jan returned she would be on her honeymoon, and that was a situation which she would not be able to intrude upon no matter how lonely she might feel. Jan’s return in fact would have to be the signal for her departure.
But she wouldn’t spend the evening brooding. She would shower and change and go out for a meal. The decision made, she felt infinitely more cheerful. As her stay was going to be inevitably curtailed, she could afford to splurge a little bit more on her daily spending. She walked through the bedroom and into the bathroom beyond, discarding sandals and clothes as she went.
It was bliss to wash the dust and heat of the day from her body under the shower, and she didn’t bother to use the shower cap hanging on the peg by the tiled cubicle. There was a range of talcs and toilet waters on a glass shelf above the bath and she sampled a few of them before scenting herself liberally from the most exotic. She picked up a towel and rubbed at her damp hair which tumbled in a copper cascade about her naked shoulders. She was just on the point of returning to the bedroom when she heard the door buzzer sound.
There was a towelling robe hanging on the back of the door and without pausing she grabbed at it, thrusting her arms into the sleeves and tying the belt round her slim waist. At the top of her mind was that it could be Jan, or even Mario come to invite her to go with them to what was, after all, a family occasion. As she hurried barefoot along the gallery towards the door, it occurred to her that the robe was much too large for her. In fact it would also have been much too large for Jan as well, and flushing slightly she realised it must belong to Mario. Perhaps he had merely moved out for a few nights to accommodate her, she thought as she fumbled for the chain on the door. In any case, it was none of her business.
The buzzer sounded again, loud and imperative, and in her haste she forgot all about the preliminary precaution of using the door intercom. Even as the door swung open, a warning note sounded inside her head, but by then it was too late, because the man who had been waiting impatiently on the threshold was already pushing his way past her into the apartment.
Juliet controlled a gasp of fury. Who does he think he is? she raged inwardly as the newcomer strode down the steps to the salotto and stood looking around him. If it was Mario, brother-in-law or no, she would give him a piece of her mind, but suddenly it was borne in upon her that Mario would surely be a younger man, and an unpleasing conviction began to take hold of her mind as she studied her peremptory visitor.
She felt at an utter disadvantage, of course—her hair hanging round her face in damp tendrils, and wearing nothing except this robe which plainly didn’t belong to her. She was in no fit state to cope with anyone—least of all this stranger who behaved as if he owned the place.
He was very dark, she saw, with thick hair untouched with grey, growing back from his forehead. He was deeply tanned with a high-bridged nose and a mouth that despite its sensual curve looked as if it had never uttered the word ‘compromise’ in its life. His eyes, when he swung back to look at her, were surprisingly light in colour—almost tawny, she found herself thinking, and oddly sinister against the darkness of his skin. And he was good and angry. About that there wasn’t the slightest doubt.
For reasons she could not have explained even to herself, Juliet found that she was instinctively tightening the sash of that stupid robe.
He rapped a question at her in Italian, and she shook her head.
‘I’m sorry.’ She was ashamed to hear a slight tremor in her voice. ‘Sono inglese. No comprende. Do you speak English?’
‘Of course I speak English,’ he snapped furiously, and so he did, faultlessly with barely a trace of an accent. ‘But I understood, signorina, that you spoke fluent Italian. Or is that merely another of the fairy stories that my impressionable brother has chosen to believe about you?’
Juliet swallowed. So her instinct had been right. His height alone should have warned her. He was certainly taller than most of the men she had seen that day, lean too, in an expensive dark suit with a silky
