Marilyn Todd - Dream Boat

Kidnapped?' Claudia spun round. 'What do you mean, the silly cow's been kidnapped?'

Jupiter, Juno and Mars, give me a break. I've hardly caught my breath from Gaul, avoiding that final ferry ride across the River Styx by so narrow a squeak I do believe Hades' brimstone still prickles in my nostrils. You don't seriously expect me to believe a major crime has been committed the instant I return?

'Read this, then, if you don't believe me.' Julia thrust a scruffy piece of papyrus at her sister-in-law and rejoiced in yet another exquisite reason to hate her.

Not enough that this long-legged, money-grubbing trollop had lured her dear brother into matrimony. Oh, no. The bitch had wheedled her way to inheriting the whole of Gaius's estate! Julia sniffed loudly. They should be mine, she thought. Mine. His prestigious wine business, his investments, the country villa, this… her hooded glance took in the rare woods and opulent marbles, the eye-watering dazzle of bronze, gold and silver, yes, this should be mine, too, this magnificent town house. Not that — that — that unspeakable creature, perusing the ransom note in her high-backed padded chair!

Julia folded her arms across her chest and scrutinised the little office with its fine peacock mosaic, its maple wood desk encrusted with ivory, its wide double doors opening on to a peristyle alive with birdsong and the scent of white lilies. Under the laurels, that vicious, cross-eyed feline of Claudia's stretched and yawned beside a half-eaten mouse. Julia imagined it clawed the furniture indoors, given half a chance.

To the west, the sun began to sink below the rooftops, turning the sky a violent ragged-robin pink and now, listening to the gentle splash of the fountain in the garden, she acknowledged bitterly that hers were stale grievances, raked over so many times in the past ten months since Gaius had died that the repetition had begun to pall, even on her.

Until today.

Today, in his house, in his office (which this little cat had already had the temerity to redecorate), Julia was fully justified in adding another vitriolic string to her lyre. 'Now will you treat this seriously?' she snapped. 'My niece, who — may I remind you — is also your stepdaughter, has, as that demand makes clear, been abducted.'

Actually, what rankled was not so much that Claudia had found the concept of Flavia's kidnap incredible — indeed, Julia herself had had to read the letter twice — it was sweeping in here unannounced in the middle of a heatwave to find nothing going on which really got her goat. Talk about insult to injury. After all, you'd expect, wouldn't you, to catch the baggage out? Find her cavorting with some fancy man, whereupon they could have denounced her and got the will reversed before she spent the sodding lot. Alas. Julia snorted. No man. Worse, no sign of a masculine presence… and she hadn't caught her sister-in-law disporting herself with gaiety, dancing or enjoying any other entertainment unsuited to the state of widowhood. Damn! Julia's fingernail snapped in her teeth. The last thing she'd expected (or indeed had hoped) was to barge in and find Claudia Seferius poring serenely over the estate ledgers!

What made the whole thing truly unbearable, however, was seeing Claudia's glossy locks, coiled and immaculate, and her robe crisp and fresh in the late afternoon. Absently, Julia's fingertips pushed away the straggles of hair which plastered themselves to her forehead and too late remembered the sweat patches under her arms.

By Hermes, did the gods have no pity?

'When did it arrive, this demand?' Claudia turned over the tatty sheet to examine the underside.

'Just now, of course!' Julia cried. 'It was the first thing we thought of, to come to you.'

And we all know why, don't we! 'Oh?' Claudia leaned back in her chair and threw one casual leg over the other. 'Why's that, then?'

'Well…' The older woman made a vague gesture with her hand. 'It's obvious, isn't it?'

'Because Flavia is just fifteen years old, you mean? The product of my late husband's loins, dear little child that she is?' Claudia flipped the counters to the end of the abacus. 'Sorry, sentiment won't wash. Gaius wanted nothing to do with his daughter, she was fostered to you from birth.' Foisted would have been a better word. 'So I ask again, why, if the ransom note was delivered to you, have you brought it to me? Incidentally, I suppose it's too much to ask whether you thought to question the messenger?'

The flush which rose to Julia's thin cheeks spoke for itself. 'We — that is, Marcellus didn't…' Recovery was swift. 'My husband is a prominent architect,' she reminded her sister-in-law, plumping herself down in a chair. Azure blue, indeed. Gaius would never have stood for such a gaudy shade of upholstery! 'He receives a score of letters every day.'

'They all look like this, do they?' Claudia waved the greasy scrap of parchment and the thought flashed through her mind that, yes, in all probability, a number of them would. Marcellus might be an architect, but he was by no means a prominent one. In fact, he wasn't even a very good one. Over the past few months his practice had dwindled to virtually nothing, and this was no mean feat when virtually the whole of Rome was in the throes of rebuilding — marble for brick, bronze for wood, pavements for mud! 'How much does he owe?' she asked.

'How dare you!' With a puff of indignation, Julia shot out of her chair. 'How dare you insinuate-'

As an actress, Claudia thought, she wouldn't be given a job in a crowd scene. 'Come, come, Julia, we both know the score. Sit down and take a goblet of wine.'

Claudia inhaled the fragrance of the rich vintage, admired its ruby tints as it trickled through the fingers of the dying sunlight into the frosted green glass. She pushed the goblet across the desk, only for it to stand ignored. Very well. Play it your way.

'You imagine I don't know why you're here instead of Marcellus?' she asked, gently sipping Julia's wine. Typical slimy move, sending his wife to do his dirty work. 'Money, Julia.' Bushes were for idle cats to snooze beneath, not for beating round. 'Not out of concern for my late husband's daughter. You're here because you want me to stump up the ransom.'

The older woman subsided into her chair and scowled at the newly painted floral frescoes, the damask roses, the acacias and the heathers turning scarlet in the sunset. 'You can afford it,' she muttered. 'We can't.'

How true. Marcellus had been siphoning off Flavia's annuity for months — at least he had been, until Claudia severed the allowance. It stood to reason that, with his business in trouble and his income cut short, the next step would be to borrow and moneylenders (as Claudia knew from painful experience) bled their victims down to the bone.

Not that she'd been under any legal obligation to underwrite her wretched stepchild in the first place. Gaius' will was unequivocal. The widow inherited everything, the relatives not a copper quadran. Nevertheless, a — shall we call it goodwill? — gesture was enough to prevent either Flavia or her grasping foster parents digging for dirt, because the last thing that bunch of spongers wanted was to see their clover supply drying up.

Some charities, Claudia reflected, were well worth the sacrifice. Which was not to say she was prepared to indulge Marcellus's recklessness indefinitely! Idiot. Why couldn't he content himself with what every other person in his situation did? Cream a bit off the top and be happy? Claudia stared at her thin-nosed sister-in-law from under lowered lashes, saw the deep lines of dissatisfaction around the mouth, the permanent frown on her forehead and understood why Marcellus slept in a separate bedroom.