Sara Craven - Moth To The Flame

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.