Summer Lightning

by Jill Tahourdin

  Lotta let her in and, at a sign from her mistress, went out into the corridor.

  Chloe walked over to the vast bed. She saw that Mrs. Vining was indeed looking ill. Her cheeks looked hollow; her eyes were enormous and unnaturally bright.

  “I’m so very sorry I wasn’t in when you asked for me, contessa. I wouldn’t have dreamed of going out had I guessed you might want to see me. How are you now? A little better, I hope?” she asked gently.

  The contessa made a gesture of impatience.

  “A little better. Don’t let us talk of my health. Tell me where you have been all day. I wanted to see you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Chloe said again. “I was being shown the island.”

  “Ah. And what did you think of it?”

  “It’s very pretty just now, with all the spring flowers and blossoms.”

  “Wait till the summer heat burns everything up. It’s arid and ugly enough then.”

  “But the architecture will always be lovely.”

  Again that gesture of impatience. “Who drove you?” The contessa let her suspicion show in her voice.

  “I went with Mark’s brother, Robert—the one in the Navy.”

  “That debutante’s delight? You prefer his company to that of my son? I thought you had more sense,” pronounced the contessa with asperity.

  Chloe felt the color rush into her cheeks.

  “Of course I don’t,” she protested warmly. “Professor Vining had arranged to take me to see some of the other archaeological finds, but you weren’t well, he didn’t want to leave you...”

  “Call him Dominic, can’t you? Surely you don’t think he looks like a stuffy professor?” his mother said testily. Her brilliant eyes searched Chloe’s face in that embarrassing way they had. “Tell me, are you in love with him yet?”

  How do I answer such a point-blank question, Chloe thought.

  “I—I...” Not a very good effort.

  The eyes lit with a gleam of triumph.

  “You are. Of course you are. Wouldn’t any girl be? All that money and looks and fame? He could have married a dozen girls, all pretty and suitable. But no. He didn’t wish to be involved. Involved. One of these stupid modern words.”

  “I’m very sure, contessa, that he doesn’t want to be involved now. Certainly not with me.”

  “Nonsense. He likes you very much. He admires you— he told me so. Oh, I grant you he’s not in love—yet. But use your wits, girl. Play your cards well and he’ll ask you to marry him yet. Louise will drive him to it. He’ll ask you if only to get rid of her. Never fear, my dear...”

  “But I don’t want him to ask me, if he doesn’t love me,” Chloe said desperately. She looked wildly around the room, feeling trapped. She longed to get away, but couldn’t think of an excuse that would sound plausible.

  Someone tapped at the door. Lotta’s voice came through. “Your dinner, contessa.” Saved, she thought.

  A maidservant followed Lotta in, carrying a laden tray set with fine linen, silver, a rose in a crystal vase.

  The contessa scanned its contents with an interest that suggested she was feeling considerably better.

  “I’ll leave you now to enjoy your dinner, contessa,” Chloe said quickly. “I hope you’ll feel stronger tomorrow. Good night.”

  As there was no answer she slipped quietly out of the room. Her cheeks were still hot. Her emotions were in a turmoil. She wondered distractedly what sort of a report on their conversation the contessa would make to Dominic.

  I’ll have to leave Santa Clara, and go live somewhere else, if this sort of thing is to happen, she thought. It’s so frightfully embarrassing. I can’t stand it. And how am I going to face Dominic?

  That evening after dinner, and for the next few days, she made a point of avoiding him. When he spoke to her, his eyes naturally seeking hers across the dinner table, she felt herself flushing and thought she detected a flicker of amusement in his expression.

  When he asked to see the latest slides on her projector, she made an excuse—rather lame, but the best she could do—that it was out of order, needed taking apart, cleaning, perhaps. Anything to avoid being alone with him, giving a chance to bring up a subject she certainly didn’t want to discuss. Supposing his mother tells him she’s sure I'm in love with him, she thought, aghast.

  “I hope your projector isn’t going to be out of order long,” Dominic was saying.

  “No, I’m working on it. Perhaps a day or two,” she said, not looking at him, keeping her eyes lowered to what was on her plate, and wishing she were anywhere else.

  Once or twice she caught Louise watching her with derisive malice.

  I will leave here. I’ll move into a hotel, she thought fiercely. But how to produce convincing reasons—reasons that would satisfy Dominic—for moving?

  She couldn’t, of course, avoid him forever. On Friday evening, when she had bathed and changed after a long, hard day at the dig and had come down to the salon to wait for dinner she found him alone there. She hesitated in the doorway, but it was too late, he had seen her. Besides, she disliked running away.

  He was standing with one elbow leaning on the mantelpiece of the carved stone fireplace. She felt his presence as a sharp, physical thing.

  When he stood upright she noticed that he was wearing tails. He looked very handsome in them, but his expression was morose, as if whatever occasion had called for them offered him little prospect of pleasure.

  “Oh—hello, Dominic,” she said hesitantly. Then, she said, with more confidence as he pulled forward a chair for her, “Grand gala? You’re dining out?”

  He nodded. “Escorting Louise to a dinner party. No avoiding it—invitations from the Grand Palace are a royal command. I’d have got out of it if I could—I’ve got urgent work to do. However...”

  For something to keep the conversation going she exclaimed, “How I should love to see the Grand Palace!”

  “I’ll take you one day,” he promised surprisingly. “It’s certainly worth seeing. We’ll take a day off and do Valetta sometime soon. Mustn’t work you too hard, must we?”

  “Oh—I’d love that.”

  He smiled then, his warm, disconcertingly charming smile.

  At once all the turbulence that had been seething inside her since that last fantastic talk with his mother clamored for outlet. She needed to talk to him as woman to man—to the one man.

  She wanted to ask him a hundred questions—about his likes and dislikes, his past, his war experiences, his childhood, his loves. She wanted—as a woman in love does—to know every last little thing about him.

  I’m crazy, she thought, pulling herself together. Because although he had been looking at her rather intently, his eyes going from the top of her head to the tips of her gray suede shoes, he was saying nothing more romantic than, “Let me get you a glass of sherry.”

  She was taking it from him, carefully avoiding touching his fingers, when the door opened. Louise swept into the room, followed by Mark in a casual dark suit as usual—evidently he hadn’t been bidden to the dinner party.

  “Martinis, Mark,” Louise demanded. “We must get the party spirit before we leave, my pet. You look rather as if we were on our way to a funeral.”

  She herself looked anything but funereal. She was wearing a low-cut gown of stark white heavy lace that flattered her greyhound thinness and the gorgeous suntan she had already managed to acquire. She looked, with her one-sided hairdo and original jewelry of big colored stones set in chunky gold, like a model at a first-class design show—the not-so-young model who shows the sophisticated clothes.

  Dominic eyed her morosely. Mark gave Chloe his usual delighted grin, and went to fill up Louise’s glass from a jug of ice-cold martinis.

  “M’mmm. Delicious. You’ve got a real flair,” she told him when she had tasted it.

  “Drink up, Louise. It’s high time we were off,” Dominic cut in impatiently.

  “Mustn’t keep His Excellency waiting,” Mark
said.

  Louise flashed a brilliant smile. “Ready, sweetie.” Tossing off the last drops, she set down her glass and thrust her arm through Dominic’s. With a triumphant glance at Chloe she drew him with her out of the room.

  Unashamedly Chloe wished she were in her place—dressed in her best, going to a glamorous party on Dominic’s arm. She gave a sharp little sigh—a Cinderella sigh that turned into a laugh at herself.

  “Let’s take ourselves out, too, after dinner—there’s a village festa that might be good, over at Birzebuggia,” Mark suggested, looking as if he were feeling a little flat, too. “Rather fun with the right person.”

  With the right person—yes, she thought. But Mark wasn’t the right person, much as she liked him. Better spend the evening catching up on her work. She smiled and shook her head.

  “Sorry, Mark. I’m behind with my cataloguing. Another evening, later on, perhaps.”

  “Rather. Whenever you give the word.”

  “I’ll have my dinner sent up to my room—then I’m going to work in the library.”

  “All right, I won’t disturb you. But bang on my door if you feel the need, later, of a little human sympathy. I’m awful sympathetic,” Mark said with his cheerful grin.

  She didn’t guess that already she was causing him a heartache. Dear Mark, she thought vaguely; it never occurred to her to take anything he said seriously. She laughed when he added, “I can’t invite you to see my etchings, but I’ve got some awfully good records, if you’d like to hear them any time.”

  “Thanks, I’d love to. I’m a collector myself at home. We’ll compare notes—but not now, please.”

  “Okay. Whenever you say.”

  Dear Mark, Chloe thought again. He’s really rather a sweet.

  In the library after dinner, she went behind the enormous screen and turned on the dark-shaded lamp whose powerful bulb directed a bright pool of light onto the desk, leaving the rest of the big room in dimness.

  She spread out her things around her and set to work. Now and then she got up and vanished behind the half open door in the paneling—the secret door leading to her darkroom. It was very quiet and peaceful. The only sound that interrupted the silence was the regular harsh chiming of the cathedral clock. Soon she was so absorbed in her work that time passed unnoticed.

  She came to with quite a start as simultaneously the cathedral announced the hour of midnight and the lights in the library snapped on.

  She had just time to think, It must be Dominic. I’ll keep quiet, and he may go away without noticing my light is on, too.

  Then his voice, sounding very cold and controlled said, “If you must make a scene, Louise, do it in here, where there’s no danger of the rest of the household overhearing.”

  She knew then that she was trapped. She shrank down in her chair, hardly daring to breathe.

  She could hear Louise sobbing angrily. When at length she stopped and spoke, her voice sounded distraught.

  “How can you treat me like this, Dominic? So cold, so utterly unloving. You’re heartless. You’re driving me crazy.”

  Then Dominic’s voice: “Louise. Please!”

  “It’s no good your using that icy tone with me. We’re going to have this out now.”

  “Have what out?”

  “You used to love me. You were mad about me. Weren’t you?”

  “If it’s any satisfaction to you, I was.”

  “And you swore you always would be, till you died. What has changed you? What? What!”

  “It was you who chose to end everything between us, wasn’t it, Louise? I’m afraid the answer is that for me, it did end, finally, when you married my cousin Dick.”

  “But you knew I only did it out of pique. I was disappointed, heartbroken because you insisted on throwing away the lovely amusing life we might have had if you’d stayed on in the diplomatic service. I was nearly off my head. But you know very well it was you I really loved— only you.”

  “You chose a strange way of showing it.”

  “I know I did, darling. I’ve told you—I was nearly off my head.”

  Chloe looked around desperately, seeking a way of escape. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. If only the window had been possible—but it was guarded outside, she knew, by the usual iron grille. Nothing doing there.

  Gooseflesh ran over her skin at the thought of being discovered behind the screen listening in, however unwillingly.

  In a panic she moved from her chair and crept, catlike, into the darkroom. At least, even if they noticed her light was on, they might not think of her being in there.

  She pulled the paneling as close as she could. She dared not close it in case the small click the lock made should give her away. Sitting there, rather chilled and utterly scared, she could still hear every word that was said in the library.

  “Of course I know you’re angry with me for coming. You think I’m just a gold digger, don’t you? I suppose when Mark told you about my hotel bill, and that my money hadn’t arrived at the bank, you thought it was just a stunt. You thought I’d come because I was broke. Because I’d run through everything in Dick’s account, and meant to live on you instead. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been so cold and unfriendly, almost from the first day I arrived.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Louise. You had every right to come here if you wanted, you know that. I admit I think it would have been—better—if you’d let us know, in the ordinary way, that you were coming. Also you might have told me, honestly, that you needed money. As you were Dick’s wife, naturally whatever you needed would have been forthcoming.”

  “As I was Dick’s wife? Even though he stole me from you?” Louise asked with ill-judged coquetry.

  “Naturally.” Dominic spoke in a voice of ice, but Louise didn’t seem to notice.

  “Then you do love me still. Darling, I knew it,” she cried.

  If only I could get out, Chloe was thinking desperately in the darkness. If I needn’t hear...

  “I knew you hadn’t changed. I knew you couldn’t not remember what we once were to each other.”

  Dominic said, “Louise, please!” again; Chloe guessed she had moved closer to him, trying by physical contact, perhaps, to touch his heart.

  “Listen, Louise. You’re welcome to whatever you need to see you through till Dick returns.”

  “If he returns.”

  “If he—doesn’t, naturally, there will be other arrangements to be made. A settlement. That, of course, must be done.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  “But you mustn’t give up hope yet, in spite of the radio reports. The party may simply have lost radio contact.”

  “Dick may come back from the Antarctic, but he won’t come back to me.”

  Dominic went on as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Wouldn’t it be better, certainly more amusing for you, if you were to leave Santa Clara? You like the Felicia—wouldn’t you prefer to stay there? I’ll arrange it if you would like it. You must realize—with my mother’s health as it is ... we must live quietly here. And this sort of scene, too, mustn’t happen again. You must please understand that whatever there was between us is finished, over, forever.”

  He had schooled his voice in kindness, but Chloe noticed that it shook a little, as if he were under a great strain.

  She sat still as a statue, petrified lest through a movement, or even a sound of breathing, they should suddenly discover she was there.

  There was a little silence. Then Louise gasped, “You don’t mean it, Dominic. You can’t!”

  “I’m afraid I do, Louise.”

  “Then there must be someone else. Who is it?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Is it true—what your mother told me?”

  “My mother?”

  “She said it was this new girl, Chloe Linden. You aren’t interested in her? You wouldn’t be caught by that old trick, pretending that young man had asked her to come in his place—simply
to catch you. You wouldn’t be so simple as to fall, for that?”

  When again he said nothing she almost shouted, “It isn’t true, is it? You can’t be in love with her!”

  With a sense of utter unreality Chloe heard his calm reply. “Why not?”

  “You mean you are?”

  He evaded a direct answer.

  “Can you give me any good reason I shouldn’t ask Miss Linden to marry me?” he asked coolly.

  Chloe stifled a gasp. She could hardly believe her ears.

  “But you can’t marry her, not when I still want you,” Louise stormed. “Listen to me. I’ll get a divorce. Our marriage was all washed up, anyway, when Dick left me. That’s why he went. If he’s dead now, I don’t care. If they don’t assume his death, I’ll soon be able to get a divorce for desertion. I can stay on here with you, can’t I, till then? And when I’m free, we can be married. Everything can be just as we meant it to be before. You want that, don’t you, darling, as much as I do? Of course you do. Admit it!” Chloe held her breath.

  “I’m sorry, Louise.” Dominic spoke wearily but inflexibly. “I’m sorry you care so little about what’s happening to Dick, and whether he’s dead or alive.”

  “I do care—I hope he’s dead,” she flung at him.

  “Even if he were, I’m no longer in the market—for you,” he retorted, his voice hard.

  “So just to spite me, you’ll make a fool of yourself and marry this little nonentity,” Louise raged. “If you do, I’ll kill her—I swear I will!”

  “Louise, you can’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Can’t I? I’ll show you. Don’t imagine I’ll let you pack me off tamely to the Felicia, and leave the field clear for her. This place belongs to Dick as much as to you, don’t forget that. I’m here, and here I’ll stay just as long as it suits me. Is that clear?”

  Chloe heard Dominic’s sharp sigh of exasperation.

  “Very clear. I agree you have the right to stay here. But please understand that if you make any more scenes like this one, Louise, I—and Miss Linden and Mark—will move over to the camp. But my mother will still be in residence here—and in charge. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”