It was so unusual for him to use an endearment that Justine knew at once he was sorry he had spoken so harshly the night before. It was such a relief to be on good terms with him again that she dared not risk rekindling his annoyance by suggesting that he should spend the morning resting. But surprisingly, considering how ill he had looked a few hours ago, he now showed no sign of being unwell.
Julien was with Madame and David Cassano when Justine and her father entered the salon together before dinner that night. But Diane had not yet come down. When she did make her entrance, about ten minutes later, Justine thought that, even in London, she had never seen anyone so awesomely beautiful and elegant
Like a number of Corsicans, Diane St. Aubin had blue eyes. In her stockinged feet, she would have been an inch or two shorter than Justine. But she was wearing high heels and so, as the two girls shook hands, her wonderful long-lashed eyes were on a level with Justine's admiring grey ones.
All through dinner, Justine found it hard not to stare at the lovely vital Corsican on the other side of the table. Diane had more than looks in her armoury. She was intelligent and amusing as well. But what really won Justine's heart was , that never once did she glance at the shy English girl with the subtle complacency of an exquisitely dressed beauty outshining a dowdy plain Jane. The attention she gave to the two foreigners was as warm and interested as her manner towards David Cassano. Indeed it seemed to Justine that Diane was not very taken with Julien's friend. No doubt, being well off herself, she was not so impressed by Cassano's affluence as her younger brother seemed to be.
After dinner, as they were returning to the salon, she said to Justine, "I have some journals in my room . . . Elle and Vogue and some others. Would you like to look at them?"
Rather startled, Justine said, "Yes . . . thank you, madame."
"No, no, not 'madame,' " Diane said smilingly. "May we not be informal? Julien tells me your name is Justine."
They sat down on the chaise-longue, and she went on, "All the journals speak of Courrèges, but for me Givenchy is the greatest couturier since Dior. Do you agree?"
Justine had heard of Dior, but the other names meant nothing to her. The only time she ever saw a fashion magazine was when, in London, she went for a dental check.
She was about to admit her ignorance, when David Cassano said, "I imagine Miss Field knows more about Roman emperors than French dressmakers."
His tone held such open mockery that her cheeks burned, and the words she had been about to say shrivelled into mute discomfiture.
It was Diane who answered him. She said pleasantly, "All women are intersted in fashion." Then, turning to Justine again, "In England you are so fortunate. You have these charming clothes 'off the peg,' as you say. I have a friend in Nice whose husband has business in London, and she buys many things there."
Even if Justine had not already warmed to her, she would have done so then. For although Diane's remarks could hardly be construed as a snub to Cassano, they did confirm that she was not particularly interested in him. It would do him good to be set down, she thought. If someone could puncture his assurance, he might not be so ready to deflate other people.
Julien came over, bringing the two girls their coffee. Smiling down at Justine, he said, "I missed you today. We would have enjoyed ourselves. Are you sorry now you did not come?"
She felt her colour rising again. "I'm not on holiday like you are."
As soon as he had drunk his coffee, her father, who had been talking to Madame di Rostini, asked his hostess's leave to retire.
"Justine!" he said imperatively.
She rose at once, and said goodnight to the others. But, as she followed him from the room, she could not help feeling a prick of resentment at being spoken to in that way—as if she were still a child. He could have said, "Are you coming up, Justine?" The fact that she was glad to get away was not to the point. It was humiliating to be given no choice.
Twenty minutes later, she slipped downstairs to have the bathe she had missed that morning. As she tiptoed across the terrace, keeping out of the light from the salon, she saw that Madame was still up. She was in conversation with David Cassano, and Julien had joined his sister on the couch.
By the time she came back from her swim, the salon was in darkness. Justine plucked an orange from one of the trees, and took it upstairs with her. Tired now, she ate the sweet juicy fruit, climbed into bed, and soon was asleep.
In her bedroom, in another part of the house, Diane St. Aubin was pinning up her glossy black hair, and talking to her brother who was sprawled in a chair by the dressing-table.
When he had telephoned at her aged mother-in-law's house in Nice the previous evening, Julien had said he could not explain the matter fully until he saw her, but it was imperative that she should come to Pisano immediately.
At first, when he had disclosed the reason for this urgent summons during the sea crossing to the island, Diane had said crossly that he had brought her on a fool's errand. But, after some argument, he had succeeded in persuading her that his proposition was not as hopeless as it might seem at first thought
"Well?—What do you say?" he asked her now. "Can we bring it off? Will the old girl see reason, d'you think?"
Diane shrugged "Perhaps ... but it won't be easy. She's an obstinate old dragon. You may be able to talk her round. You're her pet. She doesn't approve of me. I'm not sure it was a wise move to bring me here. Grand'-mere is no fool. She knows I wouldn't come from choice. I detest the wretched place. If she suspects we are up to something, it will make her even more difficult to deal with."
Julien helped himself to a cigarette from the cylindrical gold case which lay on the table at his elbow. Both the case and the lighter beside it bore the initial 'D' in emerald chips.
"These must have cost you a packet!" he remarked with a covetous expression.
"I don't like cheap things," she said carelessly.
"Neither do I. But you're lucky—you can indulge your expensive tastes."
Diane had begun to cream her delicate hands. She gave him a sparkling glance, and said coldly, "Luck had nothing to do with it. I earned every sou."
Julien grinned. "I agree that Mathieu wasn't much to look at but you didn't have to put up with him for long, did you?"
"He was a pig!" she retorted fiercely. "A gross disgusting pig. You do not know what I endured. You cannot imagine it. And even now I am not free. I'm saddled with his querulous old mother, and if I choose to marry again I shall lose all the money to his nephew."
"If what we plan is successful, it will not matter," he reminded her. "We shall both have plenty of money."
'"If it is successful," she responded. "To be frank, when you telephoned I thought you were going to tell me Grand'mère was dead. If, she were, we would have no problems," she added unemotionally.
"What a cold-blooded creature you are!" he said, frowning at her. "I don't believe you have an ounce of feeling for anyone but yourself."
"But you, of course, are a paragon of all the virtues," Diane answered tartly.
He flushed slightly. "I'm no saint—I admit it. But I wouldn't wish someone dead—not for a million!"
"Why should I care for anyone?" she said, on a bitter note. "No one has ever cared for me. Juliette ran off and left us. Grand'mère doesn't like me because I have Juliette's looks. Mathieu was so jealous, he set the servants to spy on me. Who has ever loved or been kind to me?"
"Andria loved you," Julien reminded her.
Her eyebrows lifted. "Andria?" she repeated interrogatively. Then she threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, yes . . . poor besotted Andria. I'd forgotten him. Surely you don't suggest I should have married a fisherman? That would have been considered even more disgraceful than my marriage to Mathieu."
"Perhaps, but you might have been happier," said her brother.
"What?—living in a hovel in the village, and eating bean soup every day? You must be out of your mind."
"Maria seems to like
it."
"Maria? Who is Maria?"
"Maria Angeletto ... old Tomaso's eldest daughter. She's Maria Sebastiani now. Andria married her six months ago. It won't be long before she presents him with a son and heir."
"Oh, really?" Diane said off-handedly. "Well, I can't say I'm very much interested in village doings. Go away, Julien. I'm tired, and I want to go to bed now."
But, after he had said goodnight and left her, she went to the window and stood gazing out into the night, the slight breeze stirring the ruffles on her negligee.
It was not true that she had forgotten Andria Sebas-tiani. It was several years since she had seen him, and no doubt he had changed a good deal and would no longer attract her now. But as a boy, in his middle teens, he had been as handsome as a young god and, like every other girl on the island, Diane had fallen in love with him. She had been nineteen that year, and Andria twenty. Nearly every night for several months they had met by moonlight up on the clifftop.
What Julien did not know was that if, then, Andria had asked her to marry him, Diane would have said 'yes' eagerly. But he had not asked her, and when, sacrificing all pride, she had taken the initiative herself, he had told her it could never be. No matter how passionately they wanted each other, the difference in their backgrounds made marriage an impossibility.
Diane had tried every way she knew to make him change his mind. She had coaxed him. She had stormed at him. She had even threatened to go to her grandmother and accuse him of seducing her so that he would be forced into marrying her. But, as Andria had pointed out, she was not one of the village girls and it was much more likely that, if she did try such a trick, Madame would prefer to send her away in disgrace rather than permit a mésalliance.
In the end, after the final and most bitter of all their quarrels, it was he who had left Pisano. He had gone to Marseilles to work in the docks as a stevedore, and by the time he returned to the island Diane was married to a man old enough to be her father.
And now Andria is married to the plainest girl in the village, Diane thought, with a grimace. I wonder why he picked her? Is it possible that he still cares? Well, what if he does? It makes no difference. It's too late now . . . years too late. And he was right—it would never have worked, I would have tired of him in six months.
Nevertheless, remembering Andria as he had been that long-ago summer, she could not help feeling a faint pang of regret for what might have been. To dispel the mood, she turned away from the window and began pacing the room, concentrating her mind on the problem of how Julien might best approach their grandmother with the project which had caused him to send for her.
Presently, she returned to the window to look down at the yacht in the bay. From the little Julien had told her about the owner of the Kalliste, she had been prepared to meet someone of much the same stamp as her late husband. It had been an agreeable surprise to discover that David Cassano was personable as well as rich.
Her coolness towards him had been deliberate. She knew that, if a man was attractive to women and was aware of it—as Cassano obviously was—nothing tantalised him more than feminine indifference.
After she had climbed into bed, Diane took two sleeping pills, and turned down the wick of the oil lamp on the bedside table. Then she lay back on the thyme-scented pillows and watched the moonlight slanting through the window. Just before the pills took effect, it occurred to her that, if Julien's scheme failed, there might be another way for her to use the visit to Pisano to her advantage.
The following evening, everyone at the villa, including Madame di Rostini, dined on board the Kalliste. The three women were ferried to the yacht first, leaving Julien and the Professor to be fetched a few minutes later.
The dinner party took place on the main deck, which was sheltered by a blue and white canopy, and furnished with bamboo chairs and couches with buttoned blue linen squabs. The meal was served by three white-jacketed stewards. In reply to a question from the Professor their host said that Kalliste carried a complement of twenty.
"Most of whom are related to me by blood or marriage," he added. "Guido is my sister's youngest brother-in-law"—this with a gesture indicating the steward who was filling Diane's wineglass.
The lad beamed, and gave a slight bow. Justine had the impression that he was very proud of the relationship.
She found it puzzling that Cassano should surround himself with family connections, for he did not strike her as a man who would be swayed by sentiment. Perhaps the answer was that it was cheaper for him to employ his in-laws.
After dinner, he took Madame and Professor Field to see some paintings in the main saloon. Diane went with them but, when Justine would have followed, Julien caught her wrist and detained her.
"I wish to talk to you," he said, tucking her hand through his arm, and leading her towards the starboard rails.
"What about?" she asked, with an uneasy glance over her shoulder. But the others had already disappeared down a stairway leading below decks.
"About you," he said, smiling.
She tried to free her hand, but he pressed his arm against his side, and would not let her go.
"Why are you afraid-to be alone with me?" he asked, amused.
"I'm not . . . don't be silly. It's just that I want to see the pictures."
"You can see them later. There's no hurry. Why don't you like us to be alone? You think I will make love to you, perhaps?"
"Of course not!" she protested, trying to laugh in an unconcerned way.
"Why do you laugh?" he asked seriously. "You dont enjoy to be kissed? I am not attractive to you? You are very attractive to me, chérie."
"We scarcely know each other, Julien," she said, managing to free her hand, and moving a little distance away from him.
This proved to be a tactical error, for he promptly followed and put his arm round her waist.
"It is not important how long one knows a person. I have wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you," he said softly.
Justine didn't know what to do. She had no experience of situations like this.
"I think now you're laughing," she murmured, in helpless confusion. "Look, doesn't the villa look lovely from here? It makes me wish I could paint I wonder if I could?"
"It is you who should be painted," he answered, his lips very close to her cheek. And then in French, "You are like a flower which has not yet blossomed ... a white rosebud waiting to bloom."
In her secret dreams, Justine had often imagined that some day, somewhere, she would met somone who would say sweet, tender things to her. But never, in her wildest fantasies, had she dreamed of being called a white rosebud. And, before she could think of any reply, someone else damped Julien's ardour.
"Won't you join us in the saloon, Miss Field?" said David Cassano, from behind them.
Both Justine and Julien jumped, and turned quickly round. From where he stood, about a dozen paces away, it seemed unlikely that their host had overheard Julien's words. But he had seen his arm round Justine's waist and that alone, made her blush a mortified scarlet
"W-we're just coming," she stammered. Except for its silk-curtained portholes and rather low ceiling, the main saloon might have been a drawing-room in a luxurious house in Paris, London or New York. The walls were panelled with silver-grey wood, the fitted carpet was also a silvery colour, and the chairs and sofas were covered with lustrous Thai silk in two subtle shades of green.
"Ah, there you are, Justine," said her father, in a tone of tacit reproof, and with a steely glance at Julien.
"Miss Field has been admiring the view of the villa from here," David Cassano explained sardonically.
Justine bit her lip, and was grateful when Diane distracted their attention by asking a question about one of the pictures.
Some time later, the older girl took Justine with her when she went to powder her nose. In the bedroom, decorated in lilac, Diane settled herself at the dressing-table and repainted her mouth with a fine sable brush. Catching Justine's
fascinated eyes on her, she saidt "You never use cosmetics?"
The younger girl shook her head. "I don't think they would suit me. I—I'm not beautiful like you are," she added impulsively.
Diane smiled. "Thank you."
Usually she had no time for other women. If they could not compete with her in looks, they were jealous and resentful. This ingenuous admiration amused and pleased her. Up to a point, she felt sorry for the English girl. Yet, at the same time, she thought Justine's obvious unhappiness was largely of her own making. If she would not assert herself, she must expect to be downtrodden.
Aloud, she said, "A touch of lipstick improves everyone. Why don't you try it? Come, I will show you how it is done." And she shifted her place on the dressing-stool, and beckoned the younger girl to sit beside her.
Hesitantly, Justine did so. Diane took her chin in one of her cool soft hands, and carefully outlined her lips.
"There . . . you see? At once you are changed," she said, leaning back to survey the effect of her work.
Justine turned her face to the looking-glass, and was astonished to see how the vivid colour on her mouth altered her appearance. Her lips looked softer and fuller her eyes seemed brighter, even the shape of her face had become more interesting.
"You do not agree? You don't think you look better so?" the older girl prompted.
"Oh—yes. Yes, I do."
"That colour is perhaps a little too strong for you," Diane said critically. "I have another which would be better. I will give it to you later, when we return to the house. You may keep it. It is one I do not use now."
"It's very kind of you, but I wouldn't be able to use it," Justine said uncomfortably. "You see, my father doesn't like cosmetics."
"You mean he forbids them?" Diane exclaimed in. credulously. "Mais c'est incroyable! You are not a little girl. You are a woman."
"He's never actually forbidden them. Its just that I know he wouldn't like it," Justine answered defensively.
Diane's generous mood became tinged with exasperation. What a doormat the little fool was, she thought impatiently.
Anne Weale Page 6
