A Growing Moon

by Jane Arbor

  A Growing Moon

  by

  JANEARBOR

  Original hardcover edition published in 1977 by Mills & Boon Limited ISBN 0-373-02108-9 Harlequin edition published October 1977

  Copyright © 1977 by Jane Arbor. All rights reserved.

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography. photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The Harlequin trademark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in

  the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  Printed in U.S.A.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Aunt URSULA isn’t entirely or quite our aunt,’ ex plained Jason. Just a half-aunt, that’s all.’

  ‘So what?’ challenged Lesley. ‘It’s only that Grandpa already had her when he married Grandma as his second wife, and they had Mother when Aunt Ursula was fifteen. Which makes her our aunt, even if she is only a half, doesn’t it?’ she appealed.

  ‘Let’s recap, may we?’ suggested Dinah, seeking light. ‘I agree with Lesley—she is your aunt. One doesn’t distinguish aunts by halves. But I haven’t met this one yet, have I?’

  ‘Because she hasn’t been to England since we moved here to Sherewater,’ supplied J ason.

  ‘And I told you,’ reiterated his twin,’ she married a madly rich Italian named Vidal, who is dead now, but Aunt Ursula still lives in Venice—in a palazzo on a canal—imagine!’

  Dinah’s nod acknowledged that, along with a welter of other information, sh e had already heard this. ‘Yes, you did tell me,’ she agreed. ‘And she lives with her son—right?’

  ‘Named Cesare. Our half-cousin. All right—cousin. But much older than we are. At least thirty or more,’ said Lesley.

  ‘And what makes you think you would be we lcome on a visit to Venice?’ pursued Dinah. ‘Has your aunt invited you, named a date, or what?’

  The twins looked at each other, then both spoke together.

  ‘Not exactly invited,’ admitted Lesley.

  ‘But we know she would love us to go,’ claimed Jason. ‘She’s often said so in letters. And she always sends us Christmas presents and whopping money-orders for our birthday.’

  ‘But you don’t propose to descend on her—just like that?’ Dinah queried.

  Virtuous shock was registered in both teenage faces.

  ‘Oh no, ’ said Jason. ‘We’ve written to her to suggest our going, though we haven’t posted the letter yet. We’ve explained, you see, that we must go now in the summer vacation, before Lesley goes into nursing, and I go to agricultural college. It’s our only chance.’ ‘I believe Venice can be terribly hot and crowded in August, as I’m going to find,’ Dinah warned.

  ‘Yes, well—too bad. But we still want to go.’

  ‘And what do your people say about it? Do they agree?’

  ‘Oh yes, they’re all for it. You know how they believe in Experience with a capital E. Which makes it all the more odd that Mother should suddenly come over all maternal and protective wings, flatly refusing to let us go the way we want to go. Considering how she’s always encouraged all of us to do our own thing, it’s quite out of character, this veto, wouldn’t you say?’

  To Dinah’s knowledge of the Herbert family, it was. The twins’ father was a dedicated research chemist, their mother an artist of something more than talent. There were two children younger than the seventeen-year-old twins; all of them criticised by the narrowminded as ‘dragged up’ and approved by the broad-minded as liberated’; the result to date appearing to be a mainly happy one, however achieved. And for Mrs. Herbert to put a damper on any scheme of which she mainly approved did savour of the unexpected, Dinah agreed.

  She said cautiously, ‘I’d say it depends on how you propose to go. How do you?’

  ‘Well, by car. Air-ferry to Le Touquet; drive across France; over the Alps and down to Venice that way. It would be an Adventure instead of just a journey. But the parents won’t hear of it, even though I passed my driving test while I was still at school, and in a couple of months more I’ll be able to vote,’ Jason protested.

  ‘Which hasn’t much to do with your competence for driving across Europe. I don’t wonder your mother won’t hear of it,’

  Dinah commented.

  There was a pause. Then Lesley said, ‘Well, that’s just it, you see. I mean, why we’ve come to see you.

  Because we thought............ Well, you are going to Venice

  yourself, aren’t you? You have to go?’

  ‘But not yet. I’ve got a month’s leave before I take over from the clerk I’m replacing in the Venice office. And when I do go, I shall fly, paid for by the firm.’ ‘And you wouldn’t, whatever happened,

  consider going earlier—say next week perhaps?’ Lesley coaxed.

  It wasn’t difficult to guess what was coming. Dinah said bluntly, ‘You mean with you—if you were going to be allowed to go by car—which you’re not?’

  Jason took a turn. ‘Ah, but we might. In fact, we’re p retty sure we would be, if you were coming along. You’re an experienced driver, and Mother trusts you. You’d still be on holiday when you got to Venice, and surely it would be much more fun spending it there instead of here? Besides, think—if you don’t agr ee to come, we can’t go either, so how will you like to have that on your conscience, h’m?’

  Dinah dealt with this moral blackmail as it de served. ‘I’ve an idea my conscience would bear up,’

  she said. ‘But.........’

  Both twins pounced on her hesitation. ‘You’ll th ink about it? You might?’ they clamoured.

  ‘Well.......’ Dinah shook her head. ‘No promises

  until I’ve seen your people, and talked to my own. Anyway what about the return journey? I shan’t be coming back, you know.’

  Clearly this problem hadn’t been considered. B ut they dismissed it with an airy, ‘By that time we shall have done the trip one way and we shall know all the snags,’ in favour of forcing from Dinah a decision on the present one—a cause in which they didn’t succeed that day, owing to Dinah’s insistence on learning and facing all the facts, and getting the blessing of all four parents on the project before she would give even a guarded agreement to it.

  But the twins were nothing if not hustlers. They coaxed and cajoled, and showed sweet reason and compliance in all the right places, and, being granted permission to go ahead, had organised all their own and the secondhand Mini’s papers with surprising efficiency and speed. With the result that, a week later, with three day’s travelling behind them, they and Dinah and the car were committed to the arduous climb up to the Simplon Pass before they made the long drop down into Italy.

  The twins’ ruling consideration was economy, being determined to pay for the trip from their own savings and ‘going Dutch’ with Dinah on every ex pense the party incurred. If Dinah hadn’t insisted that they all sleep at motels or inexpensive relais routiers, she thought they would have camped out each night, and now, on the slopes of the Alps, they had persuaded her to allow the car to bypass the Simplon Tunnel and the costly train, and to do the whole climb by road.

  Dinah was driving. The Mini was finding the hairpin turns and sudden steep gradients hard going. Holding it to the road and continually changing
gear took all her concentration until, after a glance at the instrument panel, she had to announce as casually as she could, ‘This car is about to boil,’ and pulled to a halt at the side of the narrow road.

  Jason defended the car. ‘She should have been game to take it.’

  ‘To your knowledge, has she ever had to face an Alp before?’ Dinah enquired drily.

  ‘So now what?’

  They all got out and gathered at the front of the car. ‘Did you fill up the two-gallon plastic thing with water this morning, before we left Lausanne?’ Dinah asked J ason.

  He coloured. ‘Help! I forgot. I checked the tyre-pressures and Why, has she boiled away all the water she had?’

  Dinah waited to reply until a big car of international fame purred past them to the next bend fifty yards ahead. Then she said, ‘Probably, and thanks to you, we haven’t any.’

  Better look, hadn’t we?' Jason cocked his head, listening. ‘That car has stopped too. Same trouble as ours, d’you suppose?’ he asked on a misery-loves- company note.

  ‘Do you think it’s likely, with a car of that quality?’ Dinah moved closer as Jason reached for the radiator-cap, then leaped back, wringing his hand in

  pain. ‘Ouch! That’s h...........!’

  He didn’t finish, as a hand on his shoulder thrust him back and another hand flung Dinah aside.

  ‘You young fool!’ the voice of t he newcomer muttered thickly in English. ‘You too,’ he adjured Dinah. ‘Hanging over the thing like that—asking to be scalded and scarred for life! If he had got it open, you’d have been sprayed with steam. Keep back. Let it cool, and don’t dare touch it until it does.’

  He brushed off his hands, frowning at the three of them, while they, recovering from shock, surveyed him.

  He was young, tall, dark. His glossy hair grew back from an even line. Later in life, cut en brosse, it might lend him distinction, but now it swept back towards his nape in a single, youthful swath. His face was narrow over thin bones; his eyes, behind sunglasses, were not visible; his hands, which had dispensed caution so roughly, were as spare of flesh as his face. He was dressed in the careless garb of his time— slacks and an open-necked shirt. But somehow he lent them elegance, and the shirt at least was of pure silk. All of a piece with that car, was Dinah’s summing-up thought as she heard Lesley beginning to speak.

  ‘You’re English,' Lesley told the stranger.

  He shook his head. ‘No. Italian.’ Now it was pos sible to discern a faint accent.

  ‘Then how did you know we were English?’

  ‘You are carrying GB plates, aren't you? I noticed them as I overtook, and came back to see if you were in trouble. Which it seems you were.’ He turned to Jason. ‘Carrying any spare water for when it cools down?’

  ‘Fraid not.’

  The young man's brows went up, making it possible to imagine the widening of his eyes. ‘You set a car of this size—with three of you up—to the Alps up to the Pass, and you don't carry any water in case of overheating on the way? Who is driving the thing, anyway? Who is responsible?’

  They might deserve it, but Dinah resented the scold in his tone. ‘I was driving,' she said.

  ‘And it’s my car,’ said Jason, sharing the blame. ‘And you realise you passed the Tunnel station a long way back? Why didn’t you take the train?’

  ‘Because it costs money and we're travelling to a budget. Are you carrying any water you could let us have?'

  The question was ignored, as if it had no meaning for the big car’s owner. He asked, ‘At least you have a container? Oh, you have? Then you had better cut back—a quarter of a kilometre, no more. There’s a spring gushing out on to the road. You can fill from it, and carr y the water up. I’ll wait and see you on your way before I leave.’

  When Jason had left, running downhill, Dinah felt thanks were in order, and offered them. They were brushed carelessly aside. ‘Where are you making for if you manage to get over the Pass?’ the young man asked.

  ‘Domodossola.’ Dinah didn’t mention Venice, lest she invite more sarcasm on the folly of their hoping to reach it.

  He nodded. ‘You should manage that tonight. Any other mishaps on your way?’

  ‘None until now,’ she told him, pleased she could say so. Very soon Jason came panting back and presently their knight-errant judged it safe to open up the radiator.

  They piled into their seats, Jason driving now. They were shepherded by the big car, driven slowly behind them, to the top of the next sharp gradient. Then it accelerated and swept past. The driver sketched a farewell with a raised hand; Jason replied with a squawk of the Mini’s horn, and then they were on their own once more.

  Lesley, whose criterion was the latest glamorous star on the pop scene, sighed, ‘What a very dreamy young man! ’

  Jason grunted, ‘How can you tell? Behind those glasses he’s probably wall-eyed. And just how conceited can you get, owning a car like that?’

  Dinah said nothing, fingering her wrist, which had been cruelly wrenched when she had been flung out. of danger. She was blaming herself; she ought to have checked with Jason that they were carrying spare water—it had been foolhardy to expect the little car to negotiate these heights without overheating. Wiser still, she should have overruled the twins and insisted on their taking the train. Hindsight could see the folly of it all, but she wished she hadn’t had to suffer its being pointed out so critically by that man. She had briefly felt the attraction of his easy, assured elegance and she would not have been feminine if she would not have liked praise from him, not blame.

  Achieving the top of the Pass at last was a triumph. On the screen of the open plateau there were other cars and people, who had braved the climb. A colossal carved Wooden eagle marked the six thousand feet of height above sea-level; there were St Bernard dogs —off duty at this season—in a big compound; the inevitable souvenir shop and the famous Hospice, lending part of itself as an international youth centre.

  The panorama was a whole sky’s width; the far away peaks mistily blue where they weren’t snowclad; the nearer ones green and comparatively gentle under scrub and young pines. ‘Now aren’t you glad we didn't creep through on the train?’ Jason

  demanded of the other two, and they were.

  They made Domodossola by late dusk, found themselves a cheap hotel and were away again early in the morning, slipping down through the foothill border country to the plain of Lombardy. After Milan, Venice lay ahead; they reached it by evening, approaching it through an ugly industrial area by way of the wide causeway which brought them to the car’s, if not their own, journey’s end. Jason was disgruntled at having to abandon it on the huge parking-island at the point where all road and rail transport stopped as far as the city was concerned. Thereafter Venice’s only highway was water.

  They unloaded their packs from the car and presented, Dinah realised, a pretty grubby, laden and travel-worn trio. She suggested adjourning to the nearby railway station for a wash and brush-up, from which they emerged somewhat cleaner, though still burdened like packhorses. Over a cup of coffee they discussed plans.

  A woman in the cloakroom had told Dinah they could either take a water-taxi or catch the cheaper vaporetto from the adjacent Piazzale Roma for the nearest landing-stage to the Palazzo d’Orio on the Grand Canal, the twins’ aunt’s address. As none of them knew what was the nearest landing-stage they needed, Dinah ruled they must take the taxi; she had seen some moored at the station entrance steps. She would deliver the twins into their aunt’s care, then go herself to the hotel where she had provisionally booked a room, not having known just which day they might arrive.

  ‘I suppose you did tell Signora Vidal that your timing might be a bit elastic?’ she questioned the twins casually.

  ‘Oh yes,’ they said in chorus.

  ‘But you were able to give her some idea of when to expect you—today, tomorrow or whenever?’

  This time they only nodded, and something furtive in their glances at each o
ther made Dinah suspicious. ‘Well, you did, didn’t you?’ she pressed.

  No answer. Then Jason began, ‘Yes, well, you see.......’ and Lesley continued, ‘It’s like this. Aunt

  Ursula doesn’t know when to expect us, because actually she doesn’t know yet that we’re coming.’

  Dinah stared. ‘Doesn’t know? But when you came to me, you’d already written to her, inviting yourselves ! You told me ’

  ‘That we’d written, not that we’d posted the letter then.’

  ‘But you have posted it since—after I’d agreed to come with you, and you had your people’s permission to come?’

  ‘Oh yes—after that, but not soon after. In fact, not until the day before yesterday—wasn’t it?’ Lesley appealed to Jason. ‘In Lausanne, missing the last post out. So we think Aunt Ursula can’t know yet, unless Swiss and Italian mails are a lot faster than ours.’ ‘But why? How could you be so inconsiderate, so rude?’ Dinah protested. ‘You, Lesley, if not Jason, ought to know what having guests entails—extra meal s, beds to be prepared, the lot.’ But even as she spoke Dinah doubted whether in the Herbert haphazard household the extra mouth to be fed or the extra body to be bedded had ever caused much con cern to the hosts. In Dinah’s experience their friends and acquaintances and even near-strangers dropped in and left again equally unbidden. So it was with some doubt that Dinah questioned, ‘Anyway, surely your mother at least would want to know her sister expected you?’

  Again both twins looked sheepishly guilty. ‘But we didn’t lie,’ Jason pointed out. ‘We told her we’d written to Aunt Ursula, and we just let her assume it was all right. If she had asked, we should have had to tell her, of course, that we hadn’t actually heard we should be welcome. But she didn’t—she’s so busy with this show of paintings she’s sharing with some one, and Father has been attending a convention in York anyway, so he wasn’t bothered.’

  ‘And what was all the secrecy in aid of, may one ask?’ urged Dinah.

  ‘Well, just so that we couldn’t be turned down, of course. After we’d set our hearts on coming, and had made all our plans, and enlisted you, we couldn’t bear anyone to say, “Sorry, but it’s not on, chaps.” You must see that?’ Jason appealed.