Summer Lightning

by Jill Tahourdin

  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—“Salad 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 smilingl
y. 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.

  When she reached the airport there was a plane on the runway and a lot of noisy people either waiting to depart or seeing off those who were.

  Inquiry revealed that Dominic’s plane would be an hour late. Fog in southern England and London. Poor London!

  Here the sun was shining gloriously, as usual, but there was the sort of strong blustery wind airports specialize in. She walked around in it for a while, but when a young man in uniform, with wavy lines of braid on his sleeves, said, “You’ll find it more comfortable inside, madam,” she took his advice.

  She bought a magazine to read and sat down at a table where she would watch the runways.

  An attendant came over to ask if she wanted anything and she ordered a lime squash, for her throat was full of airport dust.

  Her magazine didn’t hold her interest after the first few pages—perhaps she was too keyed up to read intelligently. She put it away and watched the activity going on in and around the plane that was due to depart.

  The ground staff was fueling it, loading in luggage and food containers. A pair of legs hung out of an opening in a wing and occasionally kicked the air as if in exasperation. An officer in blue gray with gold stripes on his arms descended the gangway and strolled over with a handful of documents. A crisp air hostess took them from him reproachfully and sped away on her impractical high heels. Her figure was delicious in its trim tailored suit. Red hair gleamed under her saucy cap. Chloe wouldn’t have been surprised if she had gone into a song and dance routine.

  Now the ground staff was dispersing, all work done. Air personnel took over. The redheaded hostess tripped across to the plane and up the gangway and was seen no more.

  A loudspeaker made an announcement and the airport went into its departure routine. Propellers spun, then became blurry discs as engines roared. Passengers peered through windows as if looking their last on the earth.

  The clumsy-looking plane blundered downwind, turned, gunned up its engines to a frightening roar, set off along the runway into the wind with increasing noise and speed, rose and at once was a graceful silver bird winging its way into the blue and out of sight.

  A sort of communal sigh went up from the seers off. So that one got away all right, they seemed to say. Chloe had sighed, too. As she had told Dominic the first day, she always dreaded the moment when the thing became airborne. Would it soar happily heavenward? Or would it flop back to earth, disintegrate, become a mass of tangled wreckage? She wished she hadn’t got this absurd complex about flying.

  Looking at her watch, she saw that there were only ten minutes to go before Dominic’s plane was due. There would still be the agony of watching it land. Landing was as bad as taking off...

  Presently she heard it from far off. The loudspeaker announced it. It came in sight, circled, slid down an invisible slope and touched delicately, bounced gently and came to rest. Thank heaven for that!

  The door opened, the gangway slid into place, passengers began to stream across the apron. At last came Dominic, in a dark suit and a hat, carrying a briefcase and talking hard to a man in a brown coat, with a beard, who really did look like a professor.

  Chloe stood up and went into the reception hall. Her heart had already missed several beats; she felt rather lightheaded, as if she might faint—though she wasn’t the fainting type.

  Evidently Dominic had shed the professor person during the customs formalities, for he came out alone. Tall, dark and handsome like the hero of a romance, Chloe thought. I’m afraid I love you still, Professor Vining. Pulling herself together, she walked forward.

  “Hello, Dominic. Welcome back.”

  He stared at her in surprise.

  “Chloe! All alone?”

  “Yes, Dominic. I drove your car—it was lovely. I wanted to talk to you.”

  The gleam of humor was in his eyes. “Anything wrong?”

  “N-no.”

  “You haven’t spoiled a lot of film or dispatched the wrong set of bones to the wrong anthropologist?”

  “No.”

  “Is my mother all right?”

  “She’s fine, Dominic, absolutely fine. She gets up each day. She’s so excited about the party. She’s begun to talk of coming downstairs for a little while on the night.”

  Dominic’s warm smile flashed. “Isn’t it wonderful, Chloe? I believe old Galea was wrong, she’s going to get over this and be all right again—as right as she can hope to be.”

  “Dr. Galea admits he was wrong. He gloats about it.”

  “He was always very fond of her. Chloe, I have to thank you for this. I can’t thank you. There’s no way.”

  The middle of the reception hall was hardly the place for this sort of conversation, Chloe thought wryly.

  “Could we go and have lunch in the restaurant here?” she suggested. “Then I could talk to you properly. You’re so tall. It gives me a stiff neck, looking up.”

  He laughed, looking down at her.

  “Of course. Charming idea. You looked worried
, Chloe. Didn’t I tell you to leave worrying to me?”

  “I know, but...”

  “Let’s find a table, then you shall tell me all!”

  When they were seated and he had given the order, he said, quirking an eyebrow at her, “Well, Chloe?”

  “I—Dominic, what are we going to do?”

  “Do?”

  “Yes. We’ve got to face up to it. Your mother isn’t going to die—and nobody, let this be clearly understood, could be happier about that than I am. I—I’ve grown to love your mother. But we got engaged because—you know why, and now the contessa is demanding that we fix the wedding date so that she can announce it at the party. I believe she wants to come downstairs to do just that. So you tell me. What are we going to do?”

  When he didn’t answer at once, being occupied, maddeningly, in studying the wine list a waiter had brought to him, she gritted her teeth.

  As soon as the waiter had left them she said desperately, “Do you realize I’m due to leave Malta nineteen days from now?”

  He pretended to look concerned.

  “So soon? Oh, no, we can’t let you run away so quickly. We’ll extend the terms of the contract.”

  “But I’ve got other contracts. At home. And I told my godmother I’d be home then and she’ll be expecting me. Anyway, extending the contract wouldn’t solve our problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “Oh, Dominic, must you be so—so...”

  “So...?”

  “So maddening. You know as well as I do. How are we to tell your mother the engagement is—”

  “Off?”

  “Yes. How?”

  “Must it be off?”

  “You said I was to be perfectly free ... afterward...”

  “But this isn’t afterward.”

  “But I’ve got to go away. I can’t go back to England tied to you by this—this phony engagement. How can I?”

  “You mean because of this other fellow? The live-and-die man?”

  “No—” crossly “—I don’t.”

  “Then...?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dominic, say something constructive. This is your problem as well as mine.”