Moth to the Flame (8 page)

wondered if Mario was in any way like his brother, and concluded

that he could not be. A younger version of Santino would not have

sat down tamely under any dictatorial edicts about his marriage

plans, she thought.

She had looked all round the apartment earlier but she had not been

able to find a photograph of Jan's fiancé anywhere. In fact the

whole place had been oddly devoid of any little personal touches as

if Jan had been determined to subdue her entire personality.

Perhaps Jan had considered that anything else would be a waste of

time as she was only to be a temporary tenant. Another point

suddenly occurred to Juliet. She had no idea where her sister and

brand-new brother-in-law intended to live when they returned.

Would they move into the apartment, or would they leave it vacant

and move to wherever Mario was living? All Juliet hoped was that

the newlyweds did not have any optimistic plans about moving in

with Santino.

Then the food began to arrive and resolutely she put Jan and her

problems to one side of her mind. This was her first and probably

her last dinner in a top-line Roman restaurant, and she was going to

enjoy every minute of it, in spite of the reckoning that her sixth

sense warned her was to come.

Her plate was loaded first with tiny sardines and prawns, with

glistening tomatoes and wedges of pepper, anchovies and shiny

olives, and these delights were followed by lasagne, rich in creamy

sauce.

She had wondered if she would have any appetite at all, but the

fresh air was making her hungry, and subduing her apprehensions.

A velvet twilight was beginning to descend and waiters were

coming round the tables lighting the candles that were set beneath

gleaming glass globes in the centre.

The main course was slices of veal simmered slowly in Marsala

with tiny mushrooms, and this was accompanied by huge dishes of

green beans, and tender broccoli. Juliet savoured every delectable

mouthful, complemented by the smooth delicacy of the wine he had

chosen.

He ate sparingly, she noticed, which probably accounted for the fact

that he did not appear to have a spare ounce of flesh anywhere on

his tall muscular body—something which could not be said for the

majority of men at the surrounding tables, she thought frankly.

She could not face the idea of a rich dessert, and she was glad she

had resisted when the waiter brought a bowl heaped with enormous

peaches and cherries and lush black grapes and set it between them.

There was brandy too in big balloon-shaped glasses, and coffee,

strong and dark, in an elegant pot set to keep warm on a small spirit

stove at one side of the table.

'And now,' Santino said very quietly. 'And now,
cara,
we talk.'

Juliet swallowed some of her brandy the wrong way and only the

presence of some unsuspected guardian angel saved her from the

ignominy of a coughing fit.

When she could trust her voice, she said feebly, 'There —there's

nothing to talk about.'

'You think not?' He took a silver case from his pocket, extracted a

long dark cheroot and lit it contemplatively. 'You are ready then to

accept the terms I offered without further discussion?
Bene.
'

'No.' She shook her head quickly. 'No—your terms are totally

unacceptable. I thought I had made that clear.'

'You have made nothing clear.' His voice was hard. 'What is it that

you want? More money? You will be disappointed. I will not join in

a private auction of my brother's future with you. The amount I have

already offered is more than generous, as I think any lawyer would

advise you.'

She was going to protest that she had no lawyer, but had to bite her

tongue instead. It was possible, she thought, that Jan might have

taken legal advice over this man with his threats and his bribes.

Trying to maintain her part of the conversation was rather like

fencing in the dark, but it would not be for much longer. When he

saw that she was adamant, he would take her back to the apartment,

and first thing in the morning she would find out about flights back

to England and try and get a cancellation on the first. She would

leave a note for Jan and Mario, telling them what she had done, she

thought. By that time they would be safely married, and nothing he

could do would harm them.

'Your idea of generous behaviour differs from mine,
signore
,' she

said in a small, cold voice, and was sorry he would never

understand the irony in her words.

His brows rose in incredulity. Then he gave a short, sardonic laugh.

'It is hardly believable,' he said, half to himself. 'The face and body

of a Botticelli angel concealing the soul of a cheap little

gold-digger. I pity you,
mia.
You are doomed to unhappiness, I

think.'

She stared down at the tablecloth, veiling her eyes with her lashes,

unwilling to let him see her very real indignation. Jan, she

supposed, would have laughed and made some lazy retorts .

She saw him glance at his watch and sensed his growing

impatience.

'Come, Janina,' he said at last. 'You cannot pretend that you did not

accompany me here tonight in order to strike a bargain. Or are you

vain enough to believe that it is sufficient for me to spend the'

evening admiring your beauty? You fill the eye, certainly,
cara,
and

you appeal to the senses, but my heart you leave cold. My offer

stands. Take it or leave it.'

As if in a dream she heard him repeat the amount of money he was

offering Jan. It was in
lira,
of course, and she was not too

experienced at converting large sums back into their English

equivalent, but even her fairly haphazard calculations were enough

to set her brain reeling. It was like learning you had won a major

prize in a premium bond draw, she thought dazedly, and it was

incredible that he should offer such a sum to anyone for purely

personal reasons. But as her initial amazement began to fade, a cold

anger took its place. What was this money, after all, but a

calculated insult to Jan?

'Well, what do you say?' His voice was incisive, cutting across her

thoughts.

She made herself utter a little laugh. 'Nothing,
signore. Niente
',' she

added for good measure. 'Nothing that you can say or do will make

me give up Mario. You see, I love him.'

'Love?' he questioned, and she felt seared by the blaze of contempt

in his eyes. 'I doubt you even know the meaning of the word. I

certainly wouldn't dignify any relationship you have ever had with

Mario or anyone else with such a word. Mario is a fool—but rest

assured,
signorina,
I shall not allow him to suffer for the rest of his

life for his folly.'

Somehow she had to maintain her self-control when every impulse

was screaming at her to fling the remains of her brandy in that dark

contemptuous face.

She said coolly, 'Exaggeration seems to be another Southern

quality. I doubt if Mario sees our—relationship as you put it in

quite that light.'

'Oh, but he will.' He spoke quite softly, but there was a note in his

voice that made her shiver in spite of the balmy warmth of the

evening. As if moved by strings, her hand fluttered up and touched

the rose that lay like a splash of blood against the whiteness of her

skin.

He watched the nervous gesture and his smile widened

unpleasantly.

His voice sank almost to a whisper. 'I shall show him—

demonstrate beyond all doubt the truth about you,
cara,
and he will

believe it. Take the money while you can. I shall not offer it again.'

'Go to hell,' she said steadily. 'And take your money with you.'

He shook his head, and his eyes held hers. There was no visible

emotion in them now, but she sensed a determination and a resolve

so strong that it frightened her.

'If I go to hell,
cara
,' he said gently, 'I shall take you with me, be

very sure of that.'

Her hands were shaking, but she made herself reach for the coffee

pot and pour more coffee into her cup. Miraculously, she managed

it without spilling any or otherwise making a fool of herself, and

then something fluttered past her face and she recoiled with a little

cry, setting the pot back on the little stove with a jerk.

'Oh, what was that?'

'Merely a moth,' he said impatiently. 'The candles attract them.'

She could see now that that was all it was, a large grey moth, its

wings whirring helplessly as it flew again and again against the

glass globe which protected the candle flame. As she watched, the

moth edged perilously near to the opening at the top of the globe.

'Oh, do something,' she appealed impulsively. 'It's going to get hurt!'

He gave her a long incredulous look, then he reached forward and

cupped a hand round the struggling insect.

'What now?' he demanded. 'Shall I kill it or let it go?'

'Let it go. What else?'

He rose and threaded his way through the other tables to the edge

of the terrace. His hand opened, and he tossed the frightened moth

away into the gathering darkness.

'Moths are foolish creatures,' he said almost meditatively as he took

his seat again opposite her. 'They seem to enjoy living dangerously,

yet because of this their existences are often cut short. Learn from

them,
mia.
Keep away from the candle flame tonight and you too

could live to play with fire again another day.'

Her head was aching suddenly with sheer tension and she had to

resist an impulse to cradle it in her hands. She did not want to think

too closely about the implications of what he had just said, or she

might be really frightened. Just how ruthless was this man, and

what power was, he able to wield in his determination to achieve

his own way?

If you're trying to threaten me,' she said wearily, 'it won't work. And

now I'd like to go home, please. We have nothing else to say to

each other.'

She spoke bravely enough, but in reality she felt as if a million

moths were fluttering with panic deep inside her. Suddenly she

needed very badly to be alone for a little while to regain her

composure, and she rose murmuring something idiotic about the

powder room.

In the privacy of the luxuriously fitted cloakroom, she dropped on

to the velvet-covered bench in front of the vanitory unit and stared

at herself in the mirror. The parallel he had drawn between her

situation and the moth's had been an unpleasant one. She was very

much aware that he made her feel that he held her too in the palm of

his hand and would extend mercy or not as he chose.

'Oh, stop it,' she told herself angrily. 'You're being much too

imaginative.' Like the rich food and the wine, Santino Vallone was

far too heady a mixture for a suburban schoolteacher from England,

and she was thankful to her heart, she told herself defensively, that

she would never have to see him again after tonight.

She looked again more searchingly at her reflection, and after a

moment added a touch of blusher to her cheeks. What had he said

about her—'the face and body of a Botticelli angel'. Natural colour

rose to enhance the artificial. It was a ridiculous tiling to say, she

thought, an unnecessary and unwanted compliment. And it was

untrue. Jan was the beautiful one, and always had been. If he saw

them together, he would know that. It was merely that he did not

know what Jan was like, either physically or mentally.

In a way, she felt fiercely glad that she had been there in Rome to

deal with this onslaught on her sister's behalf. If he had got to Jan

first, it would have been a sour note on which to start her married

life.

What in the world did he have against Jan anyway? He had uttered

a lot of threats and cryptic remarks, but he had not produced one

shred of tangible evidence to support his view that she was not a

suitable bride for his brother. Juliet did not deceive herself that Jan

had led the life of a recluse since she arrived in Italy, but this was

the twentieth century after all, and Santino Vallone would have to

come to the realisation that there could no longer be one moral law

for men and another for women.

One thing was certain. Not one word of all this must ever reach

Mim's ears. She found herself wishing, for no good reason that she