Kiss of Hot Sun (6 page)

Back home, I could dodge the problem of facing up to Philip Rainsby. Engulfed in the anonymity of London, there would be no likelihood of ever meeting up with him again.

The urge to get out and lick my hurt in private was almost overwhelming. But I fought it and won. No man on earth was going to be allowed that much power over my emotions!

The Blunts had come downstairs, slicked up ready for dinner. Rosalind was wearing a white nylon gown threaded through with silver. Her mass of shining blonde hair was looped so it fell in a sexy swag across her left shoulder. She had good looks. But they weren’t the looks of eighteen. She should dress her age, I thought sourly.

But in George Blunt’s eyes I bet she was everything he wanted of his wife. He had the adoring look of a middle-aged husband successfully led by the nose.

I used the pair of them to prove I was still in command of myself. When Adeline came downstairs I was chatting in top gear.

Choosing the moment, I tossed in my bombshell, watching Rosalind’s face for whatever it might betray.

“Mr. Rainsby has just arrived, so he’ll be with us for dinner.”

To my surprise she merely nodded and smiled. Her husband too said something about it being right champion. “A good lad, is Philip.”

So they had known he was coming—both of them! I’d doubted if George Blunt would so much as recognise the name.

Adeline rang for Carlo to serve drinks. “So you know Mr. Rainsby, then?”

“Aye, we know young Philip all right.”

“We met him in Rome,” explained Rosalind demurely. “In fact, it was after we mentioned about staying here that he decided to come. I’m glad you were able to find room for him.”

I’ll bet you were, I thought grimly. How nice and easy, in this remote spot, to carry on an undercover affair. And stupid trusting old George all unsuspecting!

Acute surprise had fleeted across Adeline’s face. I had a feeling she was disturbed about something she couldn’t understand. But her recovery towards poise was swift.

“How very pleasant that you are friends already.”

A few minutes later Philip joined us, and greeted the Blunts warmly. I gave him a frozen nod, and he seemed more than ready to preserve the tone of his distant first greeting.

We all wandered out through wide-flung windows to the loggia. The cooling evening air was heavy with a scent of jasmine from the trellised stone canopy above us.

It could have been utterly delightful. But in fact none of us except George Blunt seemed to be in any mood to enjoy such tranquilly beautiful surroundings. An elusive tension hung in the atmosphere.

Rosalind Blunt seemed eager to demonstrate there was nothing beyond the most trivial link between herself and Philip. She was laughing and talking vivaciously, making sure the whole party was included in every remark. It contrasted oddly with her behaviour at afternoon tea. Then, she’d had very little to say for herself, until Adeline had skillfully encouraged her.

Adeline’s usual smooth command of any situation had deserted her now. She seemed uneasy and apprehensive, as if she was expecting something unpleasant to happen.

A shadow fell across the light streaming out from the salon. Guido Zampini’s grotesque figure almost filled the width of the doors. He was staring blankly at Philip.

“
You,
Rainsby?”

Philip strolled over. “Good evening, Signor Zampini. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The Italian seemed too bewildered to take Philip’s outstretched hand. “Myself, I did not expect you.”

“But surely it was...” Philip stopped abruptly, and then began again. “I thought I mentioned to you that I was coming over.”

“Yes. But not so soon, I understood.”

Philip frowned. “Does it matter? It’s nice to meet you again, anyway.”

Zampini recollected himself, and made a plainly false effort to be jovial. “Of course, my friend, of course. It is delightful to find you here, I assure you.”

Adeline had disappeared inside, and now came out with a drink for Zampini. “So you two know one another as well. But how very nice!”

Zampini grabbed the glass without a word of thanks. He was glaring at Adeline angrily. “I must speak with you.”

“Later, Guido.”

“No,
now!”
It reminded me of the spiteful hissing of a snake.

Adeline’s smile became strained at the edges. “I said
later,
Guido.” She wafted over to George and Rosalind Blunt and involved herself in conversation with them.

Baffled, Zampini glowered after her.

When we went in for dinner, the party was split up at tables for two. The Blunts were close to Adeline and me. The timid little Austrian couple slipped in, smiling nervously, and scurried over to their alcove table.

Philip and Zampini were placed together across the room, and were immediately deep in conversation. They spoke in undertones inaudible to the rest of us. Whenever Carlo went to serve them, they seemed to dry up until he had gone away again.

Maria had produced another superb dinner. My spirit of defiance gave me the appetite to do it justice. I certainly wasn’t going to let Philip think his presence here had thrown me.

We all came together again for coffee in the salon. The moment that was through, Adeline went off with Zampini. They didn’t appear again for some time, not until I had done my checkup rounds in kitchen and dining-room.

I felt certain there had been a flaming row. Adeline looked pale but determined. Zampini still looked angry. All in all, the rest of the evening promised to be darned uncomfortable.

Playing hostess like mad, Adeline tried to make up a Bridge four. But her efforts fell flat. Whilst George Blunt was keen enough, his wife decided she just didn’t feel like it tonight. Philip begged off by making out he was a goof at cards. I had to duck out because I was utterly hopeless. In the end Adeline had to settle for Solo Whist with Zampini and George Blunt.

As if casually, Philip and Rosalind Blunt were talking together. They were sitting near enough to the card party not to cause any speculations, yet far enough away to be out of earshot.

Philip didn’t once look in my direction.

If I’d been a guest myself, I’d have left them to it. But I couldn’t very well do that. I felt obliged to hang about where I might be needed. So I just sat idly watching the card players, wishing Giles was around. Since he normally spent so much time at the villa, why did he have to choose this evening to stay away?

I thought for a second he had turned up after all when a tall figure appeared at one of the windows. But then I recognised Cesare Pastore, the police chief’s assistant.

He took a diffident step inside, and bowed to Adeline. “Forgive my intrusion, Signora, but I was wondering...”

She first gave him a nice ordinary friendly smile, and then switched to being the gracious lady amused by his confusion.

“Yes, young man? What was it you were wondering?”

“I thought Signorina Lyndon might perhaps care to come with me for a drive. It is a beautiful evening.”

Adeline was already studying her cards again, thoughtfully smoothing her upswept hair. “Yes, yes. You go with him, Kerry darling.”

“But...” I began.

“Be off with you.” The single finger she wagged above her head conveyed a playful admonishment. “And not too late back with her, my young friend. Remember!”

Though I’d been longing to escape from the insufferable atmosphere of the salon, I objected to the way I was being organised. Adeline was practically ordering me to go. But Cesare, having gained her approval, then proceeded to invite me most flatteringly.

“I should be very happy if you would consent to come with me for a drive. Please signorina, do say you will.”

Zampini said heavily, and loud enough for everyone to hear: “I do not think it is right...”

“Not right for young people to enjoy themselves?” cried Adeline gaily. “Nonsense, my dear Guido. You forget your own youth.”

But what really made up my mind was the sight of Philip across the room. He was watching me sullenly, his face set into lines of deep ill-humour.

“I’d love to come,” I said quickly. “Just hang on a minute, while I fetch a coat.”

“I will be waiting... outside in my automobile.” Cesare gave a charming smile. But he must have sensed that the general mood was not in his favour. Guido had made an unwarranted objection to my going out at all; Philip was now scowling fiercely. Rosalind Blunt looked none too pleased either, but that, I guessed, was because Philip’s attention had been diverted from her.

It was a glorious evening, the landscape etched sharp by a nearly full moon. As we drove off I looked towards Etna, and saw the great snow-streaked cone flaring with a weird inner light of its own.

Cesare’s car bore no resemblance to Giles’ slick sports model. It was more like the one Philip had hired, a sober little black job. I guessed it was an official police car, borrowed for the evening.

We drove along deserted roads. The sleeping countryside looked tranquilly beautiful.

When I said as much to Cesare his reply was sombre. “This is not a tranquil island, Kerry. Throughout history life has been hard for Sicilians. And it still is...”

“I read all about the terrible earthquake.”

He was silent for a moment before saying quietly, “Yes, that too...”

He spoke fluently and colloquially, making hardly any errors even in pronunciation.

“How come your English is so marvellous?” I asked.

“Oh... we took it at school, you know.”

“Maybe. But yours is far above school level, surely?”

“Ah well—I have kept it up. Languages are useful to a policeman.”

“In Sicily?”

“Here, as everywhere else.”

I couldn’t help liking Cesare. Apart from the fact that he was a darned attractive man by any standards, his unaffected chivalry was extremely fetching. He was so thoroughly nice that I began to feel guilty about my reasons for accepting his invitation. I had to face it—basically I’d just wanted to get one back at Philip.

“What was it that brought you to Sicily?” Cesare asked. “Did you think that to work in the sun would make a nice change from an English hotel?”

“Oh, but I’ve never done anything like this before. It was quite by chance that I took a job here.”

I told him about Monica, and her sudden decision to marry Sam Tracy and live in the United States.

“Monica Halliday-Browne?” he said in a ruminative voice. “I cannot recollect ever hearing that name before.”

“There’s no reason why you should have done. She’s hardly a celebrity, even though she gets around an awful lot.”

“So it seems. Quite the cosmopolitan, it appears. Always on the move.”

I shrugged. “Monica is one of those restless souls. I don’t think her sort ever know what it is they want out of life.”

“Perhaps you are right. Or
it could be that they know very well?”

“I don’t get you.”

He pulled the little car round a sweeping bend, and revved away again.

“Just an idle remark,” he said carelessly. “It must have been a shock for you when Monica Halliday-Browne announced she was leaving Italy.”

“I was pretty fed up. I didn’t want to go back to England so soon.”

“What did you do, then?”

“Luckily Monica thought of Miss Harcourt, who happened to be in Rome at the time. I was fixed up with this job within a couple of hours.”

“Quick work! And what precisely is your job, if I may ask?”

Putting it into words was difficult. “I’m expected to help Miss Harcourt generally any way I can.”

“But you find there is not enough for you to do, in fact?”

He’d touched a sore spot, and I reacted with swift annoyance. I didn’t like the idea of anyone else considering my job a sinecure.

Cesare stopped the car abruptly, and turned to me. “I am so sorry if I have offended you. But Miss Harcourt herself said you were complaining.”

“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten that.”

He settled more comfortably in his seat, and took out cigarettes. I refused one, but told him to go ahead.

“See old Mother Etna,” he said, pointing. “She is angry tonight.”

As we watched the mountain, belches of denser smoke were thrown up, blood-tinged against the moonlit sky. Etna looked like a gigantic smouldering bonfire. A shudder gripped me at the thought of the volcano’s destructive potential.

“Is it often like this?”

I felt Cesare’s shrug where his shoulder touched mine. “She has her ups and downs, like all of us Italians.”

“I don’t get the impression that you are a particularly eruptive type,” I said with truth. “You seem to be very level-headed.”

“Aha, but I have my moments. Especially...” he swung round, half facing me, “especially with an attractive woman.”

In what I hoped was a neat sidestep, I said: “I hope Etna doesn’t get really worked up while I am in Sicily.”

He laughed. “Are English girls always so cautious?”

“Only when the necessity arises.”

Still laughing, he reached forward and flicked on the ignition.

We stopped somewhere for a drink, and then Cesare drove me back to the
Stella d’Oro.
He asked if he could see me again soon. “Perhaps you will allow me to take you out to dinner?”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

“Then I will telephone.” He clicked his heels and bowed in a parody of his chief’s Latin gallantry. But the kiss he pressed on the back of my hand was not entirely a joke. “Goodnight, Kerry...” His voice lingered over my name.

When I walked into the salon I was no longer thinking of Philip Rainsby. I had gone out with Cesare to spite Philip, and had ended up by having fun.

Only two people were there now—Adeline Harcourt and Zampini. The Italian scowled at me, thick black eyebrows almost meeting over his big nose.

Adeline still seemed very much on edge as she asked : “Did you have a pleasant evening, darling?”

“Yes thank you, Miss Harcourt.”

She hesitated, then plunged in with what sounded remarkably like a prepared speech. “Kerry—I feel I should warn you. That young man may seem very nice, but a friendship with him could be dangerous...”