Lovers of Janine

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

Janine is a professional dancer - admired, adored, envied. Her life in Monte Carlo should be glamourous and exciting, but she is desperately unhappy. She suspects her lover, the fascinating Nikko, of cheating on her with rich society women. Nevertheless, her infatuation with him makes her an easy pawn in his ambitious and selfish game - a game that involves deceit, blackmail, and murder; and which drives Janine into two marriages and almost destroys her relationship with the passionate and devoted Peter Willington.

Release date: January 1, 2019

Publisher: Linford Romance

Print pages: 192

Sample

The orchestra stopped playing. The dancers on the smooth shining floor of the Palm Court in the Hotel d’Etoile stood still and looked at the leader of the band which had been playing so gaily. He was about to make an announcement—fiddle under his arm—hand upraised. He was an American and spoke in his native tongue. But the Etoile was French and one of the newest and most fashionable hotels in Monte Carlo. A cosmopolitan crowd—men and women of every nation—gathered here for a few weeks’ hectic pleasure. Most of them understood the American who conducted his jazz band so excellently.

‘Ladies and gentlemen! We are now going to ask you to take your seats for the Exhibition dance. I wanna introduce to you that wonnerful lady you already know—Janine—the loveliest dancer in Europe, and her wonnerful partner, Nikko!’

The drum rolled. Saxophones blared. A spotlight flung a glittering circle on to the floor and everywhere else the lights mysteriously faded out. Into that all-revealing circle stepped a man and a girl, hand in hand. They smiled and bowed as an enthusiastic burst of applause greeted them.

The men in the room focused eager glances on Janine. The ‘loveliest dancer in Europe’, the conductor of the orchestra had called her. And rightly. Not a male heart but quickened at the sight of her loveliness; a figure of alluring grace in the long billowing dress of white tulle, which swept to the tiny feet in jade-green shoes with high, jewelled heels. Her throat and shoulders and arms seemed no whiter than the dress. Emeralds—who was to know whether real or fake—were wound about the slender neck. Bracelets, a dozen, or more, sparkled halfway up one exquisite arm. The cruel revealing blaze of arc-light could not find defect in the charming face. The wide eyes were more green than blue under heavy black lashes; the mouth, a perfect curve, with short, passionate upper-lip. The tip-tilted nose gave the whole face an air of charming youthfulness. Janine had a shining head of pale gold hair pinned into a knot at the nape of her neck and showing small ears in which two drop diamonds flashed and twinkled as she moved her head.

If the men in the Palm Court concentrated upon the girl, a great many feminine eyes turned to her partner, Nikko. He was the rage in Monte Carlo. Women—French, English, American—flocked to the Hotel d’Etoile to see him—to have him for an hour’s instruction. Handsome, fascinating Nikko, with his lithe figure, graceful as a panther’s; his dark head with blue-black hair.

He was an artist to his finger-tips—both as a dancer and a lover. And if he left a trail of wounded pride, of hurt love, of agonizing jealousy behind him—what did he care? He was the spoiled darling of Monte Carlo and he had not time to be sorry for the women who gave too much and then discovered how frail, how inconstant a thing was the love of Nikko.

Janine knew the meaning of a jealousy so agonizing that she wondered how to bear it when she looked up at her partner tonight. The band was playing a slow waltz. Nikko’s arm was about her. His fingers were holding hers. But so lightly that, although their graceful bodies seemed to move as one, he scarcely touched her.

‘Nikko,’ she whispered. ‘I haven’t seen you all day.’

‘I know, dear,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ve been so frightfully busy—had dancing lessons all the afternoon. I wish I could spend more time with you, Janine. It’s rough on us both. So sorry, sweetheart!’

He tightened his hold of her for a fraction of a moment. Her blood leapt to his touch and his words. She told herself that she was a little beast to be jealous and huffy. Of course he had lessons to give. He worked very hard. Probably he got very tired and sick of it all—like she did.

‘Can we have supper together tonight?’ she asked him.

‘Of course we will, sweetheart.’

‘Do you still love me?’

His dark handsome eyes opened wide as though with astonishment at the question.

‘Of course, darling Janine. You know that!’

But he looked over her golden head with eyes that had grown bored. His one dread was being tied … tied to this girl, who was beautiful and fresh and charming … but who, as his wife, would make it difficult for him to have affairs with other women.

The waltz ended. Janine and Nikko bowed, hand in hand, and retired. The audience roared and cheered and brought them back. They gave an exhibition tango.

When Nikko’s handsome, olive face bent over hers, Janine felt an overwhelming rush of love for him.

‘Oh, my dearest—’ her lips framed the words.

‘My sweet,’ he whispered back.

Then she was happy. But half an hour later she was wandering on the moonlit terrace outside the hotel, the most unhappy girl in the world. Nikko had broken his word. He was not going to have supper with her after all. She had just this minute seen him disappear into a big limousine with a slim, dark-haired girl in a velvet, sable-trimmed coat. He was up to his old tricks. Another fancy. Jealousy cut like a knife into Janine’s very heart.

It was a warm, fragrant night. But she wrapped her silver coat about her bare shoulders and shivered. Her eyes stung with hot tears. A dozen men in the hotel wanted to dance with her, dine with her, enjoy a tête-à-tête out here with her. She wanted none of them. She had given her heart to Nikko and she could not think of anybody else. She existed only for him. She knew she was a little fool and could not cure herself of the fever of her love for him.

She looked out at the Mediterranean. It was dark violet in the starlight—glittering through a maze of palm trees and flowers in the hotel gardens. To the left lay the Casino—ablaze with lights; and behind the hotel, the tall, dark shadow of the little Alps.

It was beautiful and glamorous, and this was the season in Monte Carlo. A few months ago Janine had been so proud of her job, so ecstatic about her love for her dancing partner. But now, there was only incessant heartache, jealousy and loneliness. Yes, she was horribly lonely—when Nikko was not with her. Who was the woman with the car?

Janine was alone in the world. She was at seventeen old for her age yet curiously untouched by the world. Men were attracted to her—found her adorably pretty and fascinating but she accepted the attentions of her admirers serenely and without losing her heart to any man—until she met Nikko. That was a year ago.

From that time onward, Janine’s peace of mind vanished. Nikko—experienced and a little blasé—was enchanted with his partner and enormously flattered by her love for him. At the same time he was irritated by that curiously chaste streak in her. He realized that Janine would never give herself to any man save in marriage. He looked upon her as ‘old-fashioned’, and absurdly virtuous. He could not understand it. But because he was temporarily infatuated by her, he promised her marriage. And Janine believed in him and staked her whole heart and faith in what was, alas, shifting soil.

Out here, tonight, in the Etoile gardens, brooding over the affair, Janine asked herself if she was not foolish to be quite so faithful and so loyal to her lover. Perhaps it bored him. Perhaps he would wake up if she let him see that there were other men in the world. To make him jealous—ah—that was the thing—that would bring him back to her, whole-heartedly. She was sure of it. She began to walk back to the hotel. And she thought, childishly, passionately:

‘I will make him jealous—I won’t sit down and let him walk over me!’

That was what Janine’s reason dictated. But her heart said:

‘Oh, Nikko, darling, I don’t want any man in the world but you. …’

Janine had not far to go. In the vestibule of the hotel she half collided with a tall man in ‘tails’ and white tie, an opera hat in one hand. He bowed and apologized. Then he said:

‘Do forgive me for saying so, but I watched your exhibition dance with Nikko tonight. May I tell you how wonderful I think you are?’

Janine smiled back. She saw that the man who spoke to her was English, with that unmistakable air of breeding and dignity which suggests British public-school and the ’Varsity.

He was, perhaps, thirty; extremely good-looking in a totally different way to Nikko. He was almost as fair as Janine. His eyes were vividly blue in a face browned by the sun. He looked an athlete, clean, balanced, thoroughly nice. And he had the most charming smile which crinkled up those very blue eyes and softened a mouth which was rather stern in repose.

‘It’s very nice of you to tell me that you thought our dance wonderful,’ said Janine.

‘I didn’t. I said you were wonderful,’ he corrected, laughing. ‘I don’t dance, myself, or I’d beg you to dance with me.’

‘I’ve no idea who you are—’ she began.

‘But I know you. I’ve been watching you dance the whole evening. Surely the gods have sent you. You’re unearthly and like a moon-goddess. Don’t frown on me and vanish.’

Her lips trembled into laughter. Her heartbreak, her disappointment in Nikko, flung her into a reckless mood. She played up to the attractive stranger.

‘Tell me your name. . .