Sara Craven - Moth To The Flame

There was probably nothing more sinister behind her failure to write home than mere thoughtlessness, Juliet thought wryly as she locked her case, but there was no way she would ever convince her mother of this.

Her misgivings returned with renewed force when there was no one to meet her at the airport, or even a message giving her directions how to reach Jan’s apartment. She had the address, of course, and she was perfectly capable of finding the bus into the city and then picking up a taxi to take her to her final destination, but it wasn’t the same, and she could not help feeling just a little hurt during the drive into the city.

In other circumstances she would have been on the edge of her seat, taking in all the ancient splendours around her. As it was, she sat hunched rather tensely in a corner of the taxi, her fingers curled tightly round the strap of her handbag. It had occurred to her for the first time that there could be a good and valid reason why Jan had not responded to the news of her arrival. Perhaps she was away on a prolonged trip, and had never received their mother’s letter at all. If that was the case, Juliet would really be in the soup. Both she and Mrs Laurence had taken it for granted that she would be staying at Jan’s apartment and they had not included the price of a hotel, even if she could find a vacancy at this time of year, in their costs for the trip which had necessarily to be kept to a minimum. Juliet had not permitted her mother to pay the whole bill as she had wanted, although she had accepted a little financial help with the price of the air-fare. If Jan was away, then all her careful budgeting would fall in pieces.

‘Ecco, signorina,’ the taxi-driver announced over his shoulder, breaking into her troubled reverie.

Juliet leaned forward, staring up with disbelieving eyes at the tall building outside which the taxi had stopped. It wasn’t at all what she had expected. In some of Jan’s early letters, she had described amusingly the small flat over a greengrocer’s shop in a square which she shared with another girl. When she had announced later that she had moved, Juliet had assumed that it was to a similar apartment, but it seemed that she could not have been more wrong.

Summoning what few Italian phrases she knew, she asked the taxi-driver haltingly if he was sure there was not some mistake. She did not understand all that he said in reply, but his air of grievance was easily recognisable, and when she produced the scrap of paper with Jan’s address on it, he almost snatched it from her and stabbed at it with a pudgy forefinger. It appeared that if there was some mistake, it was not of his making. He had brought her to the address she had requested. She paid him, adding what she hoped was a reasonable tip to compensate his injured feelings, then walked up the wide marble steps to the glass swing doors of the apartment block.

The foyer was not over-large, but it was cool with air-conditioning, and a mosaic-tiled floor. A swarthy man in a dark red uniform sat in a glass-fronted cubicle to one side, and as Juliet with her suitcase hesitated for a moment, looking round for the lift, he waved a peremptory hand at her, obviously indicating that she should wait until he had finished putting through a call on the switchboard in front of him.

When he was ready, he looked her over from head to foot. ‘Sí, signorina?’ There was a faint insolence in his tone which Juliet resented.

She said quietly. ‘Scusi, signore, non parlo italiano.’

‘I speak English good, signorina. What you want I do for you?’

She said rather uncertainly, ‘I’m looking for my sister. This is the address I was given, but I’m not sure …’

‘What name, this sister, and what apartment?’

Silently she handed him her scrap of paper. He studied it for a moment and his brows cleared.

‘Naturalmente, signorina. The signorina inglese on the fourth floor. She did not speak to me that you were to arrive. I call her now. You wait.’

As well as a switchboard, Juliet saw that he operated an intercom system, and she guessed that this was for security purposes. Jan, she thought, was fortunate to be able to afford an environment where such procedures were standard.

‘You go up now.’ The commissionaire was gesturing vigorously at her from the cubicle. ‘You take the lift.’

The lift looked old-fashioned with its wrought iron gates, but its workings were ultra-modern and they reached the floor indicated with stomach-lurching speed. Juliet stepped out on to the tiled passage and began to walk along it, the heels of her sandals clicking rhythmically as she searched for the correct number on the door.

She found it at last at the end of the passage and guessed that Jan must have one of the flats at the front of the building with the balcony that she had noticed when she arrived. She pressed the buzzer beside the door, noticing as she did so the small loudspeaker just above it. It was no surprise therefore when the speaker gave a crackle and Jan’s familiar voice speaking with a hint of impatience said, ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s Juliet.’ She felt faintly bewildered. The commissionaire had presumably reported that she was on her way up. Who else could it be, for heaven’s sake?

‘Oh, Julie!’ Her sister’s voice sounded almost relieved. There was a rattle as a chain was unfastened inside and then the door swung open. Jan stood in the doorway smiling at her. ‘Darling, what a lovely surprise!’

‘Weren’t you expecting me?’ Juliet walked past her into the apartment and put her case down.

Jan shrugged. ‘Mim mentioned something in one of her letters, but frankly I wondered if you’d go through with it. But it’s marvellous to see you now you are here. How long are you staying?’

‘A week, if that’s all right.’ Juliet found her eyes straying round the room in which they were standing. It was a large room, and built on two levels. They were standing on the upper level, a kind of gallery surmounted by a wrought iron balustrade which led presumably to the bedroom as well. Two wide steps descended into the living room, which judging by its size ran the whole length of the apartment. At one side, wide glass doors led to the balcony. Thick cream and gold carpet stretched from wall to wall, and Juliet noticed a wide chesterfield sofa upholstered in warm golden brown hide with two matching armchairs arranged with their backs to the window, and facing a wall where an elegant fitment contained a complicated-looking hi-fi unit and a television set. At the other end of the room, she saw a white baby grand piano surmounted by an alabaster vase containing long-stemmed yellow roses.

‘Oh, that’s fine.’ Jan sounded amused. ‘That’s plenty of time to prepare a report for Mim. I assume that’s why you’re here.’

Juliet felt the colour steal into her cheeks, and her sister’s smile widened.

‘Don’t look so stricken,’ she advised. ‘Mim’s very transparent, you know, and you’re not much better. And I don’t mind—really. I suppose I could have suggested it myself, but I’ve been so busy.’ She shrugged eloquently. ‘Anyway, we’ll put your case in the bedroom, and then I’ll make some iced coffee. We’ll have it on the balcony.’

The bedroom was also a large room, its single beds fitted with quilted gold bedspreads. There were wild silk curtains at the windows, and an entire wall was taken up with fitted wardrobes in white and gold. The bathroom which led off the bedroom was even more breathtaking, with a sunken bath and gold-plated taps shaped like dolphin’s heads.

Juliet shook her head helplessly as she gazed around her. Nothing could have been further from the rambling Victorian semi-detached house where they had been born and brought up, yet Jan seemed completely at home in her exotic surroundings. It brought home to Juliet as little else could have done just how much she and her sister had grown apart. She felt alien and out of place in all this luxury.