Summer Lightning (18 page)

“It is indeed, Louise,” Mrs. Vining agreed uncertainly, her eyes on Louise’s face. But its warm sincerity would have convinced a more skeptical woman than the contessa, Chloe thought.

“What fun it’s going to be,” Louise went on. “When the announcement appears in the
Times of Malta
you’re going to be overwhelmed with congratulations. You’ll want somebody to cope with the letters, telegrams, telephone calls, from everybody who matters in the island. As Chloe insists she’s got to go on working at the dig, it’d better be me, Aunt Olivia.”

“Thank you, dear. The announcement will appear tomorrow. I suppose all the relations will call.”

“In their hundreds, darling,” Louise said gaily. “Literally hundred, Chloe, you’ve no idea of the ramifications of the family. You must get well, Aunt Olivia. We must get you up in time for the reception.”

“Reception?” the contessa asked, beginning to be fascinated against her will.

“Of course. To celebrate and to let them all see Chloe.”

“Yes, of course.”

Louise flashed her wicked grin at Chloe.
What did I tell you,
it seemed to say.

But she was clever enough not to overdo it.

“I must go now, darling.” she said. “Chloe will stay and talk to you. And tomorrow, if you feel well enough, we’ll begin thinking about the list of guests.”

She kissed Mrs. Vining again, and with an airy wave left the bedroom.

“I wonder—have I perhaps misjudged her? I thought she’d be angry, jealous. But she seems really delighted. She’s very vivacious, isn’t she? What do you think of her, Chloe, dear?”

“I—actually I’ve seen awfully little of her,
contessa
.”

“There was that dreadful affair of the balcony...”

“Perhaps Lotta imagined that. Don’t think of it any more,
contessa
.”

“No. Lotta loves drama—it’s her Italian blood. Perhaps you and Louise may become friends. Poor Louise. I wish she could have news of Dick. Such a tragedy. Perhaps under that bright facade she is really very unhappy. I wonder. I’m afraid I have never trusted her. I must try to like her better.”

Chloe murmured agreement and guided the conversation into other channels. She began to talk about the day’s adventures. The contessa listened absorbedly. Chloe felt again that sudden tenderness. She was beginning to be truly fond of her.

As for Louise, she would play the game her way. If she really wanted to be friendly, Chloe would try to respond. It was her weakness, perhaps, she would always go out of her way to avoid unpleasantness...

CHAPTER TWELVE

The announcement of the engagement between Dominic Valmontez Vining, of Santa Clara, Mdina and Vining Court, Sussex, England, and Chloe Margaret Linden, of London, England, duly appeared in the
Times of Malta
and caused a sensation.

Young ladies of the Fishing Fleet told each other regretfully that there was one of the best chances of all gone—and to a girl none of them had even heard of till she appeared at the polo match that Saturday. Who was she, anyway?

Robert Tenby saw the announcement and gritted his teeth. He had been feeling he wanted Chloe more than ever, now he had lost her to another man. He dashed over to the Soameses for sympathy. They, knowing the truth but under oath not to reveal it, did the best they could. Alaric suggested that probably it wouldn’t work out, Dominic was older than Chloe and wedded to his archaeology, perhaps Robert would come back from his cruise and find it had already been broken off.

Robert was willing to believe that. He cheered up and after several pink gins felt sufficiently restored to accompany the Soameses to a cocktail party at the artillery mess in Tigne. He was a volatile young man, easily up, easily down. The Soameses, kindly but clear-sighted, didn’t take his heartbreak too seriously.

It was the Valmontez relations who were most excited—Louise had been right there, too. Who was this girl? They must telephone dear Olivia and find out immediately. They must visit her at Santa Clara—if she was well enough to receive them. At least they must leave cards. Soon there would be the wedding present to think of. The ceremony. A Valmontez wedding. That was something to look forward to indeed.

So—again as Louise had prophesied—the telephone began to ring and went on all day. Messages of congratulation poured in. When Chloe came back from the dig that evening, she could see that the contessa was pleased and stimulated. She was already talking about the reception. She looked better—noticeably better.

“You see?” Louise said later in the living room, with cynical amusement. “She’ll be up and about for that reception. As Eliza Doolittle said—just you wite!”

Chloe began to believe Louise might be right. How wonderful it would be if the contessa did prove her doctor wrong by recovering. Wonderful for Dominic—wonderful for herself, too, because she would have helped and because she genuinely wanted it to happen.

The only thing was—how would they extricate themselves from this tangle of their own devising, without setting the contessa back again? It was the question she had tried to put out of her mind, had never brought herself to put to Dominic.

She put it resolutely out of her mind now. Dominic had told her to leave all the worrying to him.

We'll take that fence when we come to it,
she reminded herself.

At the sanctuary, Chloe’s colleagues were as friendly and cordial as could be about the engagement, though not quite able to hide their surprise.

“Cagey pair, aren’t you? I’d never have believed it of Dominic,” Toby French said to Chloe candidly. “Not that I could be more jealous of him.”

“Why, Toby?”

“Oh, well—all the delights of a nice, pretty wife
plus
the certainty that she’ll understand about being left an archaeological widow half of every year.”

Chloe laughed. “I should think you’d better stay a bachelor if that’s the way you feel, Toby.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m getting a bit past the age when the usual sort of routine seduction has much appeal. There’s something attractive about the idea of the little woman waiting at home when I come back from a nice long absence on a dig.”

“For you, maybe. Hardly for the little woman.”

“Maybe not. I say, when’s the wedding to be? Invite me, won’t you? Though it’ll tear my heartstrings, I’ll be there.”

“We haven’t got as far as thinking about the wedding yet,” Chloe said hastily. “Look, I’m busy, Toby. Be a dear and go away.”

He grinned and left her. The others dropped by, at intervals, to offer felicitations, advice, teasing. They, too, wanted to know the date of the wedding, and she had her answer ready now.

“Not till we’ve finished work on this dig, anyway.”

That satisfied them. They saw, with approval, that neither she nor Dominic seemed likely to allow sentiment to intrude during working hours. The days slid into their smooth routine again, almost as if nothing had happened.

Another burial chamber was being emptied, more treasures were coming to light every day. When Chloe wasn’t busy at her own job she helped with the sorting and classification. She was learning a lot, and enjoying herself very much, as long as she didn’t pause to think.

She didn’t see very much of Dominic. He didn’t suggest another outing like that first one. Once he played in a polo match again, and she watched him with the same pride and excitement. Afterward they dined at the club, but Louise and Mark joined them and there was no chance of a tete-a-tete.

Chloe couldn’t help noticing how improved were the relations between Dominic and Louise. Louise was on her best behavior. She was the affectionate cousin by marriage, devoted to his mother’s welfare, helpful, pleasant, never referring to the past he wanted to forget except for an occasional mention of Dick.

Manlike, Dominic was thankfully taking her pleasantness at its face value, relieved that there were to be no more scenes.

Sometimes Chloe felt ashamed of herself for being the only one who seemed unable to believe in Louise’s change of heart. She forced herself to seem friendly, even when Louise, alone with her, betrayed her callous cynicism. To please the contessa she joined in the daily discussions of plans for the reception.

Louise had taken complete charge. She had worked up enthusiasm among the servants, who as family retainers felt themselves part of the big event. The house was being vigorously cleaned and polished, rooms long unused were thrown open and made ready, a floor was being prepared for dancing. There would be nearly three hundred guests.

“Dancing?” Chloe asked in surprise.

“Yes, rather. Aunt Olivia agrees with me, don’t you, darling? A supper, too, with champagne. Fireworks from the terrace. Grand gala, in fact, pet.”

“You’re crazy,” Chloe said under her breath; but she saw how much the contessa was enjoying it all. She was allowed to sit up a little each day now, in the big wing chair in her room, and to walk a few steps. Dr. Galea wasn’t in the least put out at being proved wrong.

“These things happen,” he said. “We doctors can only thank God when they do. The spirit conquering the flesh. I’ve seen it too often not to know it can. But we must take great care. No exertion, no worry—no shocks to the nerves...”

No revelation, when my time is up and I’m due to leave Malta, that the engagement’s a fake,
Chloe thought. She felt desperate. If only Dominic would say something
...

But Dominic, having given his mother and Louise carte blanche, as it were, was very occupied with other matters. He had made another quick trip to London, and was due there again in a few days. The rich finds in the sanctuary were causing excitement in serious archaeological circles, it seemed. Chloe often found herself helping to pack up weapons, figures, vases, utensils, human bones, from the daily haul for sending away. When she caught Dominic’s eye he would smile at her with a sort of absent approval. Sometimes she cried in bed, out of sheer exasperation and despair.

Mark was her only comfort.

“Not to worry. It’ll come out in the wash,” he would say, cheerfully, but even he couldn’t say how. He plied her with sherry and played his favorite records to her—“
S
alad Days”
and
“My Fair Lady”
and Danny Kaye and West Indian calypsos and even Liberace. He took her to a
festa
in Rabat, which was so noisy and entertaining, such a dazzle of fireworks and fairy lights, such a clamor of brass bands, singing and rockets, that for a while she quite forgot her troubles and really enjoyed herself.

“I told you
festas
were fun with the right person, Mark reminded her. “I say, Chloe, you mustn’t mind my asking, but will there be a chance for me when ... if...? ”

“Let’s not speculate, Mark,” she begged him, and let him kiss her a little, on the way home, to salve his disappointment.

“Afterward he stammered, “Gosh, Chloe, you’re wonderful,” and was quite absurdly elated, so that she felt guilty and afraid she’d given him hope where there was none.

Her worse moment came when the contessa, during Dominic’s absence in London, brought up the question of the wedding date.

“The party is at the end of next week,” she said. “I’d like to announce the date then, Chloe, dear.”

Chloe suddenly caught sight of Louise’s face in the mirror over the contessa’s dressing table; she was fiddling with some trinket there, listening to the conversation without, for once, joining in. For a moment an expression of fury passed over it, darkening it as a squall darkens water. “Don’t you agree, Louise?” the contessa asked.

Louise turned to her at once with a smile so brilliant that Chloe began to think she must have imagined the fury.

“Of course, Aunt Olivia.”

“But, contessa, I have to go back to London in three weeks,” Chloe said.

“Why, dear? What possible reason?”

“I have commitments—work to do—one or two contracts I entered into before I came here, and can’t very well get out of,” Chloe said quickly.

It wasn’t really true. She had contracts and commitments, yes. But nothing she couldn’t get out of if she really must. She mustn’t admit that. She must see Dominic as soon as he came back. She must see him first, before anyone else did.

The contessa was disappointed and only half convinced, she could see.

“And then there’s my godmother—I have to see her, consider her wishes,” she went on desperately.

The contessa nodded. “Of course, Chloe. Dear Lady Stanton. Perhaps she would care to come for a visit. Shall we invite her?”

“I don’t quite know ... she often goes for a cure at this time ... I’ll write...” Chloe stammered, conscious that Louise was watching her struggles smilingly. The smile on the face of a tiger? Chloe wondered.

“And of course I do see there is your own mother to be considered,” the contessa conceded, taking her hand affectionately. “Never mind, Dominic will soon be back. He will decide for us.”

Chloe smiled and gladly left it at that. She determined to be at the airport, waiting for him, when Dominic returned to Malta.

At breakfast two days later, Mark said, “Dominic’s plane is due in at one. Like to come with me to meet him, Chloe? A suitable gesture, don’t you think? Eager fiancée awaits lover’s return?”

Chloe was spooning honey out of a comb, a sticky, tricky operation. She laid the spoon down.

“Very funny. But actually, Mark, I do want to meet Dominic. By myself, if you don’t mind. I can drive his car. I’ve handled it before.”

“But surely I ought to be there, too. The indispensable assistant? Won’t it rather be expected of me? Don’t you enjoy my company, love?”

“Idiot, of course I do. But I have a very urgent reason for seeing Dominic and talking to him—before he comes to Santa Clara. Before he sees his mother.”

“Or our dear Louise.”

“That, too. I thought he and I might have lunch together at the airport and I could say my piece and—and sort things out with him.”

Mark was silent while he lavishly buttered a piece of toast and balanced marmalade on it. Then he waved it at her, rather imperiously, and exclaimed, “As I expected. The situation’s getting tricky. Is that the trouble?”

“Yes, it is, rather. Don’t let’s talk about it, Mark, it makes me nervous. Dominic said not to worry—
he
would cope. Well, the point has been reached where he’s got to, unless he wants to find himself tied to C. Linden for better or for worse.”

“How happy could I be with either—either better, or worse, I mean,” Mark sighed.

“Do be serious. Will you let me go and meet the plane— alone?”

“The trouble with me, girl, is that I can refuse you nothing.”

“Splendid. Then be a lamb and ask Nibblu to leave the car ready at about quarter past twelve.”

“At your service, madam.”

“I’ll work in the library, cataloguing, till then. Will you go to the dig?”

“May as well.”

“I’ll explain to Dominic for you.”

“Do—I wouldn’t want him to think my zealousness—zealousy—was on the wane.” He finished his coffee and got up.

She said with a smile, “You’re a great comfort to me, Mark.”

Lotta came in then to see if fresh coffee was needed, so he got no chance to reply. Seeing the way his plain, agreeable face lit up, Chloe thought it was probably just as well. This wasn’t the time to listen to a declaration.

She enjoyed driving the car and was able to let it out a little on a nice long stretch of highway. But soon she was in traffic and prudently slowed down. Driving it fast had felt a little like riding a charming horse that nevertheless might bolt at any moment.