The Sun and Catriona (5 page)

On the way up to her bedroom she passed the door that led to Peter Vilhena’s study. A light glowed beneath it, and she wondered what he was doing. She imagined him sitting at the big desk in the corner, his dark head bent, and she wondered whether he was thinking of Jacqueline.

Upstairs, she wrote a short letter to the elderly aunt who was her only surviving relative, and then she got into bed. Her windows were wide open now, to the starlit night, and when she closed her eyes it seemed to her that she could hear the soft breathing of the city. But she
hadn’t lost her feeling of isolation, and even in sleep she could not escape from it. She began to dream that she was alon
e
in a small boat, drifting helplessly on unfamiliar seas, without even a compass to guide her. It was night, in her dream, and she seemed to see nothing but the faint glow of star
-
shine, reflected on the surface of still waters. There was no land in sight, and she knew that there wasn’t going to be.

When she had been asleep for three or four hours, she awoke with a start to find that someone was tapping softly at her door. Lifting herself on one elbow, she switched on the bedside lamp, then reached for the towelling dressing-gown that she had left lying across the foot of the bed.

‘Who’s there
?
’ she called sharply.

The door opened, and a head appeared. ‘Catriona
—
? Are you awake?’

Catriona sat up in bed. According to her watch, it was ten past two. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked in bewilderment.

Toni closed the door soundlessly and danced across the room to perch on the end of the bed.

‘I’m sorry, did I really wake you up
?
I just wanted to tell you what a wonderful party it was. It’s a shame you didn’t go.’

‘I didn’t feel much like going to a party,’ Catriona told her honestly. ‘Not tonight.’ She yawned, and wondered whether the other girl made a habit of rousing people from sleep every time she felt the urge to talk. ‘I’m glad you had fun, anyway. Were there many people there?’

‘Not really.’ Toni’s eyes were very bright, and there was a peach-coloured flush in her cheeks. ‘It was just a lovely party, that’s all.’ She sighed dreamily. ‘Jacqueline’s sister lives in the Old City. It’s beautiful up there.’

‘I thought this was the old city,’ Catriona objected, feeling an unreasoning antipathy towards Jacqueline’s sister.

‘It isn’t as old as Mdina. We’ll be going up there one day soon, and then you’ll understand. There’s nothing quite like it anywhere else in the world.’ Humming softly beneath her breath, she got up and drifted over to the dressing-table. Gazing into, the mirror, she gathered her hair into a coil and wound it around her head. ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘Does it make me look older?’

Abandoning all hope of getting back to sleep within the foreseeable future, Catriona thought the matter over. ‘Why do you want to look older?’ she asked.

‘Oh—I don’t know.’ Toni’s colour deepened a little. ‘People take you more seriously, don’t they
?
If you’re not just a schoolgirl.’

‘People take you seriously if you stick to being yourself, if you behave like a real person. Whatever your age happens to be.’

‘Well, maybe
...
It depends who you are, really. I expect you were always taken seriously. You’re so positive and strong-minded, not like most girls.’

‘Am I
?
’ Catriona smiled wryly.

‘Of course you are. You’re—I suppose you’re what men call “interesting”. You could have lots of exciting love affairs, if you
wanted to.’

‘Thank you, but I don’t want lots of exciting love affairs. Now, don’t you think it’s time you went to bed?’

‘Okay, I’ll go.’ Toni tiptoed to the door. ‘But in the morning we’ll go out, and you must do some shopping. If you haven’t got very much money Peter will give you an advance on your salary.’

Catriona felt as if her skin were starting to crawl with embarrassment. ‘We’ll go shopping if you like, but I don’t need an advance from your brother. Not just yet.’ Firmly, she put out a hand to extinguish the light. ‘Goodnight.’

Toni hesitated a second, sighed deeply, then flashed her a brilliant smile.

‘See you in the morning.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Catriona
awoke at half past eight to find Carmen entering her room with a breakfast tray. The air was already stifling, and through the open window she could see that the sky was a deep cobalt blue. She felt guilty.

‘I should have been up ages ago,’ she told Carmen. ‘I’m not a guest. I have a job to do.’

The maid smiled. ‘You want to be all alone? In Palazzo Vilhena, no one gets up for breakfast.’

Seated by the window, sipping coffee and nibbling a warm croissant, Catriona started thinking about, Toni. The Maltese girl had obviously had fun the night before, and there didn’t seem to be much doubt that she was going to find her native island pleasanter than she had anticipated. Perhaps Jacqueline Calleja would be assuming responsibility for her social wellbeing. After all, they might one day be sisters. If things did work out that way, though, Catriona knew she would soon be out of a job. There would simply be no reason for her to stay on.

Oh, well, at least she would have had a holiday. And she might even manage to get some useful work done.

Slipping into a slightly outdated sundress, she went downstairs, and in the long hall she joined forces with Toni. The other girl was looking glamorous in candy pink shorts, teamed with a skimpy white top, and Catriona felt slightly taken aback.

‘Will you be all right like that?’ she asked. ‘I mean
—
don’t you have to be careful in Catholic countries?’

Toni laughed. ‘Not in Malta, not now. They’re too used to tourists. Of course, I couldn’t go into a church like this, but this morning we’re just going to do some shopping. We must hurry, though. By half past eleven it will be too hot to move.’

They set out to walk through the shadowy streets, and Toni explained that in Valletta cars were used as little as possible. At one time, it seemed, congestion had been a serious problem, but eventually the Government had devised an extra road tax, to be paid on any vehicle that was to be driven inside the capital, and the new restriction had been very effective in checking the flow of traffic. For those who felt they needed transport there were regular mini-bus services, but in most cases Catriona could see that it was probably quite easy to walk. There were so many short cuts, and where the gradient was particularly steep the pavement had often been replaced by flights of steps.

Following Toni along ancient alleyways and through graceful Renaissance arcades, Catriona was enchanted by everything she saw. She soon discovered that Valletta was an intimate little city, an elaborately planned enclave designed and built in the sixteenth century at the instigation of one man, Jean Parisot de la Valette, Grand Master of the Order of St. John. For two and a half centuries, Malta’s history had been closely bound up with the Knights of St. John, an order of celibate Crusaders whose original mission had been the protection of Jerusalem and the care of Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land. In 1291 the Knights had been driven out
of Palestine, and for a time had taken refuge on the Greek island of Rhodes, but eventually a consolidated Turkish attack had driven them farther westwards, and in 1530 they had established themselves on Malta. Five years later the Turkish fleet had followed them, but after a long and bitter siege Malta had emerged victorious, becoming famous throughout Christendom for her noble stand against the forces of Islam. La Valette had decided to celebrate by building a fine new capital city, mainly, it seemed, for the accommodation of his Knights, and Valletta had been the result. In their new, purpose-built city the Knights were magnificently catered for, and each
langue
or national group was allotted its own splendid house. Four of the lovely Renaissance
auberges
had been destroyed during the Second World War, but five, it seemed, were still standing, and most were in use as public buildings. The Auberge d’ltalie, which they passed in the course of their walk, had become the National Museum, and the Auberge de Castille was now the official residence of the Maltese Prime Minister.

‘Being Maltese,’ Toni said thoughtfully, ‘my ancestors did not like the Knights.’ As they passed, she glanced up at the windows of the Auberge d’ltalie. ‘In a sense they were invaders, after all, and there was much resentment. But they left us beautiful buildings, and many other things of which we are proud.’ She laughed. ‘Now we sell them to the tourists.’

But Valletta was not entirely a place of ancient memories. Republic Street, once known as Kingsway, was the central thoroughfare, and it was lined with up-to-the-minute shops. Prices, on the whole, tended to be lower than in England, and the display windows attracted hordes of foreign shoppers. Catriona bought two insubstantial sundresses, a bikini
—
on Toni’s advice—and some pretty Italian sandals. Since she rarely allowed herself the fun of buying clothes she was almost childishly pleased with her purchases, and felt that she had gone quite far enough, but Toni still wasn’t satisfied. She pointed out that the English girl possessed nothing in the way of evening wear, and she clearly felt that something should be done about such a situation.

Catriona couldn’t see that in her position she was going to have very much need for evening wear, but in the end she allowed herself to be tempted by a slender embroidered skirt, and to go with it she purchased a silk top. The top was pearly p
in
k, like a cowrie shell, and rather to her surprise it did things for her soft English colouring. She had always been fairly unadventurous where clothes were concerned, mainly because she couldn’t afford to be anything else, but now she realised that she ought to experiment more often.

Well satisfied with what she evidently felt to have been a good morning’s work, Toni suggested that they should now treat themselves to a lunchtime snack, and she led the way to a big Italian-style cafe situated opposite the Royal Malta Library. The cafe was obviously popular as a rendezvous, both with Maltese and with foreigners, and it was crowded. When they sat down, Toni attracted a good deal of attention, and Catriona noticed that she seemed happily conscious of the fact. Over the top of a brimming milk-shake, she smiled mischievously at the other girl.

‘I like being looked at,’ Toni remarked with naive candour. ‘Do you think that’s a terrible thing to say
?
Perhaps I should mention it the next time I go to Confession.’

‘Perhaps you should be an actress,’ Catriona suggested. ‘You could ask Miss Calleja for her advice.’

Toni wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t like Jacqueline.’

‘I thought you had a wonderful time last night.’

‘That had nothing to do with her.’

Toni put her milk-shake down and sighed. Obviously, she was recalling once again the delights of the previous evening. Catriona strongly suspected that there had been someone very special at the party she had attended, and she wondered whether Toni planned to
see him again. But she doubted whether it would be a good idea to ask, so she stuck to the subject of Jacqueline.

‘Miss Calleja seems to get on well with your brother,’ she said rather dryly.

‘She wants him,’ Toni remarked, making substantial inroads on a large doughy cheesecake. ‘If she’s clever, she may even get him, too. Peter likes them hard and beautiful—like Venetian glass.’

‘Glass can break,’ Catriona pointed out. ‘Miss Calleja doesn’t look particularly fragile.’

‘No, that’s true.’ Toni demolished the last of the cheesecake. ‘She’s more like very strong plastic—you know, poly-something. She must be dreadful to work with. Still,’ smiling slightly, ‘I should be grateful to her. After last night, Valletta doesn’t seem so bad.’

‘It’s still very hot,’ Catriona pointed out.

‘Yes, but that doesn’t really worry me.’ She looked a little self
-
conscious. ‘I was disappointed when Peter said we were coming here, but that was mainly
because I thought Gozo would be more fun. It’s another island, you know, off the north coast. Everyone goes there in August, and Peter has boatyards over there. He has
a
n
ice modern villa, too. It was only built about five years ago. There’s an old family house, somewhere, but that’s just a ruin now.’ Leaning back in her chair, she stretched like a cat, and masculine heads turned. We must all go to Gozo one day. You would love it.’

‘M’mm, that would be nice,’ Catriona agreed. ‘If your brother doesn’t mind.’

‘I don’t care if he does,’ Toni retorted. ‘He doesn’t own
either of us.’ She stood up. ‘Come on, let’s do something interesting.’

They spent the next hour or so having their hair done in an air-conditioned, ultra-modern salon below the level of the street. Against a background of murals depicting sunlit Mediterranean beaches, five or six stylists worked with feverish efficiency, colouring, conditioning and shaping. They were obviously expert at their craft, and when they had finished with Catriona she barely recognised herself. They had cut her hair very short, carefully moulding it to suit the contours of her face, and in the process she had been endowed with an intriguing elfin charm. Her grey eyes looked huge and wistful, as they stared back at her from the mirror, and her mouth curved beguilingly. When they climbed back into the daylight, Toni nodded approvingly. ‘That’s really something. Don’t you feel different?’

‘Yes,’ she confessed. ‘It’s a bit unnerving. I’m used to being me.’

‘Don’t you want to be glamorous?’

‘I’m here to do a job,’ Catriona reminded her.

‘Yes, but wouldn’t you like to have all sorts of gorgeous men running after you
?
’

‘They’re not likely to run after me, and I’m not even sure I want them to.’

Back at Palazzo Vilhena, Toni announced her intention of taking a siesta, but before they separated at the head of the stairs she had a sudden idea.

‘I thought
—
’ she hesitated. ‘Tomorrow, maybe,
we’ll go round the island. There’s such a lot that you have to see, and Mario can drive us. But I thought that if you wanted to paint, there’s a wonderful view from the Barracca Gardens. We could go there this afternoon. Later on, when it’s cool and we have rested. The Gardens are high above Grand Harbour.’

‘I’d like that.’ Feeling as if she might be on the edge of collapse from heat exhaustion, Catriona forced herself to smile enthusiastically. ‘I really would
—
later on.’ Provided, she thought, that she survived the afternoon.

Upstairs, in the peace of her own room, she dropped limply on to the bed and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Two hours later, however, she awoke feeling much better, and when they set out for the Barracca Gardens she took some of her painting equipment, just in case. Normally she tended to shy away from the things she was told she would want to paint—their charm was usually a good deal too unsubtle—but this was the Mediterranean, and if the view really did turn out to be spectacular she might want to do something about it.

The Barracca Gardens occupied a part of the town’s old ramparts, and they had been there for a
very long time, an oasis of green in a desert of yellow stone. Within the gardens there were shady walks and quiet, secluded arbours, spreading pepper trees and walls hung with the trailing fire of crimson bougainvillaea. When Catriona came to the narrow platform overlooking the harbour she was more than enchanted.

Malta’s Grand Harbour, she knew, was one of the world’s outstanding natural havens, and from earliest times Mediterranean man had exploited its possibilities to the utmost. She had known that since she was in the Fourth Form at school. But nothing she had read could ever have prepared her for the view that met her eyes when she leant over an iron parapet and gazed down on the famous harbour itself. It was an enormous inlet, divided, as far as she could see, into at least three bays, and it was surrounded by ancient honey-coloured fortifications. There seemed to be a number of docks, all of them busy, and the vast expanse of water was dotted with shipping of every size and description. A little white liner was just coming in, passing between twin
forts that looked towards the open sea, and a line of tankers lay at anchor below the gardens. But though the life of the port was absorbing, Catriona’s attention was held by the splendour of the colours spread out in front of her, the azure sea, the golden walls bathed in evening light.

She felt, an immediate urge to capture it all on canvas, .to hold it in such a way that it could never be lost. Smiling, she turned to Toni, who was watching her expectantly.

‘It’s fantastic,’ she said. ‘Do you think we could stay here for an hour? You were absolutely right, I must do something about this.’

Toni was gratified. ‘Of course, that’s why I brought you here.’ She looked at her watch. ‘You have plenty of time. It’s only six o’clock.’

Hardly able to take her eyes off the view, Catriona unfolded her easel. ‘Yes, but what will you do with yourself? You can’t just stand and watch me.’

‘The shops are open now, and I want to buy a new bikini. I forgot, when we were shopping this morning, and there’s a place just two minutes from here. I won’t be long.’ Before turning away, she hesitated. ‘You don’t mind being alone, do you?’

‘Of course not.’ Already seated on the folding stool ' which was a vital part of her painting equipment, Catriona began squeezing colours on to the worn palette she had acquired when she was still at school. ‘Run along and pick your bikini. Don’t get anything too daring, though. Your brother might not approve.’

Toni laughed. ‘I won’t!’

When she was gone, Catriona started work. She might not be able to do much, not tonight, but there would be other evenings. First of all she sketched out a rough impression of the scene in front of her, then she started to apply colour. She wanted to capture the light—the luminous glow that meant the sun was beginning to sink towards the west—and she worked as quickly as she could, her brush moving def
t
ly over the canvas. The gardens lay in shadow now, behind their curtain of trees, and the air was pleasantly cool. A few people wandered past, and occasionally a couple stopped to glance-over her shoulder before moving on again, but no one disturbed her. She realised that
,
as a people, the Maltese were both too sensitive and too reserved to obtrude upon anyone’s privacy.

She had been working for some time, and was making good progress when a shadow fell across her painting. She looked up, expecting to see another curious stroller—and gasped. The Count was standing beside her, and he seemed very tall. He seemed very threatening, too. She started, putting a hand to her face, and a streak of chrome yellow appeared on her nose.

Somehow she blurted out, ‘I didn’t know you were there.’

‘I am quite sure, you did not.’ His voice was dangerously calm. ‘You have been here long?’ he asked.

‘I
...
’ She glanced at her watch, and realised with a guilty shock that, while she was working, an hour had passed. ‘It’s later than I thought,’ she said, a little annoyed with herself. ‘Toni suggested I might like to paint this view, and she had some shopping to do. I’m waiting for her to come back.’

‘And when are you expecting her
?
’

‘She should have been here by now,’ Catriona admitted. She felt rather conscience-stricken because it hadn’t occurred to her before that Toni had been a long time. Though, after all, the girl wasn’t a baby. There really was no earthly reason why she shouldn’t take her time over a visit to the shops. For that matter, there was no reason why she should need round-the-clock supervision.

‘Antoinette will not be rejoining you.’ The Count’s voice was like steel.

‘Not
...
’ Catriona stared up at him, her eyes wide. ‘Have—have you seen her?’

‘Yes, I’ve seen her. And I’ve sent her home.’ His eyes glinted down at her. ‘I was leaving the office of
my lawyer, in Merchant Street, when I happened to pass a certain
café
. I glanced through the window, and was surprised to see my sister drinking coffee at a corner table. She was sharing the table with a young man.’

Catriona digested this. It looked as if Toni had met a friend.
W
ell, what was wrong with that?

‘She must have run into someone ... I suppose.’

‘My sister does not wander the streets of Valletta, alone, “running into
”
young men.’

For a moment Catriona was almost too astonished to speak. ‘Who was
the man?’ she asked at last. ‘Did you know him
?
’

‘He is a notorious playboy. I would not normally allow him to come within a mile of my sister.’ He paused, and she realised that he was breathing deeply. ‘I have spoken with him, and I hope he understands the situation. I have made it clear that if he approaches Antoinette again the consequences will be extremely serious—for himself.’

Carefully, Catriona replaced her palette in its worn case. Then she stood up. ‘You can’t do that sort of thing,’ she said.

‘I can, and I will.’ There was a tremor of pure fury in his voice. Suddenly his fingers gripped Catriona’s wrist, so tightly that she almost cried out in pain. ‘My sister, Miss Browne, is not an English girl. Until she marries—an
d
especially while she is in my house
—
she will conduct herself like a Maltese girl of good character.’ His hold tightened. ‘You will
not
allow her to wander the streets alone!’