‘You must have heard of him. He is famous, not only in Malta. For the last two years he has been in Africa, looking for the city of Ophir.’
‘That sounds interesting. What about your mother—is she in Africa too?’
‘No, my mother is dead. She died when I was little.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Catriona said quickly.
‘It is not necessary to be sorry. I don’t remember her. Papa was her second husband. Before she married him she was the Countess Vilhena, and ... and Peter is her son. Apart from Papa, he is my only relative, so while Papa is in Africa he is responsible for me.’
Catriona digested this piece of information. ‘Is that very bad?’ she enquired sympathetically.
Toni Caruana shrugged. ‘We don’t really know one another. When I was little I travelled round with my parents, and since Mama died I’ve been at school, at Brierley Hall. I used to see him sometimes, during the holidays, but he never took much notice of me. The trouble is that I’m eighteen now, and I left school a month ago. I’ve been staying with friends, not very far from here, but—but now I have to go to Malta, with Peter. My father wishes it.’
‘Do you wish it?’ Catriona asked.
‘Perhaps—I think I’d rather stay in England, but it could be fun. If it were not for Peter.’ She hesitated, pleating Catriona’s cotton bedspread between slender fingers. ‘Peter doesn’t want responsibilities over me, and I don’t blame him really. Why should he be burdened with me?’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’ Catriona returned crisply. ‘What does his wife think about it?’
‘He’s not married, and of course that makes it difficult.’ She looked up, apparently bracing herself. ‘That’s where you come in,’ she announced.
‘Where I come in?’
‘Yes.’ The words came quickly, tumbling over one another. ‘Don’t be offended, but you have lost your job, haven’t you? And you lost it because of Peter, so he ought to make it up to you. We’re leaving for Malta tomorrow, and I—Peter thinks I should have a companion.’ She stopped. Suddenly she looked young and frightened. ‘I think so to. I don’t want to be alone out there.’
‘You won’t be alone. You’ll have your brother, and you’ll soon make friends.’
The girl’s eyes widened. ‘But Peter isn’t—you don’t know him. I couldn’t talk to him, ever. And I’ve never lived in Malta before. I’m used to England, and English people. Besides, it’s so far away.’
‘It’s your own country,’ Catriona reminded her, a little more gently. ‘In time, I expect you’ll come to love it. Anyway, I couldn’t go with you. I don’t think your brother should be expected to employ me, and even if he were prepared to, I wouldn’t want to go. I have plans, you see.’ She smiled, hoping she hadn’t sounded too abrupt. The other girl was eighteen, and she was twenty-two, but she felt as if they were separated by something like thirty years.
Toni Caruana wrinkled her brows. ‘You don’t understand. Peter has agreed that I may ask you to go with me. It is a great relief to him.’
‘Apart from the fact that I was rude to him tonight, he knows nothing whatsoever about me, so I don’t see how it could be any sort of relief to him.’ Catriona smiled again. ‘I might be the most dreadful influence. I might have all kinds of undesirable tendencies!’
‘Oh, no,’ the Maltese girl, assured her earnestly. ‘He asked the hotel manager about you.’
‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Catriona felt a fresh upsurge of annoyance. She was sorry for the apprehensive schoolgirl in front of her, but this whole thing was getting out of hand. She had no intention of accepting any sort of job overseas, and even if she had felt quite differently, nothing could have induced her to enter the employment of Count Vilhena. It was possible, she supposed, that for the sake of convenience he might be prepared to accept almost any kind of companion for his young half-sister, whom he seemed to regard as an undesirable burden. It was even possible, though unlikely, that he felt he should recompense Catriona herself for the fact that she had been dismissed by the Calverley Hotel.
But whatever his reasons, there was no way she could even contemplate accepting such an offer.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘As I told you, I have plans.’
‘What sort of plans?’
‘Well ... I’m an artist, or I hope I am. I’ve been through the Royal College of Art, and now I just have to get on with some serious painting. Of course, I need to make money—that’s why I take jobs like this one. But during the winter I’m simply going to paint.’ She hesitated, then added: ‘There’s someone who is prepared to give me an exhibition. But I have to produce a lot of pictures, and they must be as good as I can make them.’
The Maltese girl spread her hands in an expressive gesture. ‘But in Malta you could paint many pictures.’
‘Well, perhaps I could. But I might not be able to. I don’t suppose your brother would want me to set up a studio in his house, and anyway, I’d naturally have some duties to think about. I wouldn’t be free to paint.’
‘But you would! I would not disturb you!’
Catriona was silent for a moment, then she stood up.
‘Look,’ she said quietly, ‘I don’t know why you picked on me tonight, but I suspect it was partly because you suddenly felt panicky, and there was no one else.’ She added, rather stiffly: ‘You may even have felt sorry for me, because I was losing my job Well, I hope you realise now that you don’t need to. I have a lot to think about, and—and a lot to look forward to. As for you—well, there are plenty of agencies. They’ll find someone.’
Toni Caruana got to her feet, her face dejected. ‘You won’t come?’
‘No. I’m sorry. But I hope you have a good journey, and I’m sure you’ll soon come to like Malta, if you give it a chance.’
The other girl bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry I bothered you. You must be very tired.’ A little awkwardly, she retreated to the door. Pausing with her hand on the door-handle, she said: ‘I wish you would change your mind. I don’t expect you will—but if you do, we shall be here until eleven o’clock in the morning. Our plane leaves Heathrow at half past twelve.’
Then she was gone, and Catriona drew a breath of relief.
Slowly and thoughtfully, she undressed and got into bed. She wasn’t going to sit up any longer, brooding pointlessly; there would be time enough for that when the morning came. It had been a crazy, mixed-up evening, and at the moment she was too tired to get things into any sort of perspective. During the last few hours she had lost one job and refused the offer of another. Perhaps she had been wrong, but there had been no alternative, in either case.
All the same, as she drifted into sleep the thought crossed her mind that it might have been nice—it just might have been nice if she had been leaving for Malta in the morning.
Seven or eight hours later she awoke to overcast skies, a blinding headache, and a vague feeling that everything wasn’t as it should be. Hastily she swung herself out of bed, and as she did so memory came back with a rush. Feeling slightly stunned, she slipped into a dressing-gown and sat down again on the bed. If it had been any other day, she would have had rather less than twenty minutes in which to take a shower, dress, and present herself for duty in the, dining-room. But this morning she would not be presenting herself for duty. She could never again work in the dining-room of the Calverley Hotel.
When she was dressed, she decided that it might be better if she even skipped her usual routine of snatching a coffee in the staff canteen. She still didn’t feel like coping with other members of the staff. Whether they were sympathetic or disapproving, their reactions would be equally hard to take, and anyway, she wanted to be by herself. So far it wasn’t raining, so she could walk down the drive to the main gates, catch a bus into Frensham, and purchase a copy of the local newspaper. In the popular bow-fronted establishment known as Vicky’s Cornerhouse she would be able to study the Situations Vacant in peace.
Overnight parking in the hotel’s gravelle
d forecourt was not usually allowed, and since most of the guests were either asleep or in the middle of breakfast it was still almost empty when Catriona set out. But a large grey Bentley was already parked near the foot of the main entrance steps and its uniformed driver was talking to someone. As Catriona came hurrying round the side of the building she didn’t notice, immediately, who the other person was, but her footsteps were crisply audible as they cut through the early morning stillness, and the man turned his head. At the same moment she glanced casually at him, then faltered slightly as she recognised the tall, elegant figure of the Maltese Count.
Bother the man! Did he have to be everywhere? Bending her head a little, she hurried past, and then almost jumped out of her skin as she realised that he was speaking to her.
‘Miss Browne!’
She stood still, looking round at him. There was no doubt that he was good-looking, and in the clear morning light, dressed in English tweeds and with his dark hair immaculately brushed, he was quite a striking figure. But he didn’t impress her. She wished he had had the tact to leave her alone.
After hesitating for nearly half a minute, she turned and walked a few paces towards him.
‘Good morning. Did you want to speak to me?’
‘Yes. May I ask you to wait a moment?’ Coolly and deliberately, he finished his conversation with his chauffeur, and only when the man had climbed back behind the Bentley’s steering-wheel did he turn his attention to Catriona.
‘You. are going for a walk?’ he enquired.
‘No. I’m going into Frensham. It’s a town about five miles away.’
‘May I ask why?’
She couldn’t see why she should have to answer him, but she decided to tell the truth. ‘I need to look for another job, and I might as well start now.’
He frowned. ‘I understood that my sister was going to speak to you last night. If she did, you have already been offered a job.’
There was a short silence.
‘Yes,’ Catriona acknowledged evenly, ‘your sister did speak to me, and she told me that you were ... were prepared to offer me some kind of employment. Unfortunately, though, I’m not free to take anything but a temporary job.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Not free? Why not?’
‘It would interfere with my work. My real work, that is. I’m an artist, and I have to spend this winter preparing for an exhibition.’
He looked at her impatiently. ‘The world is full of artists, Miss Browne. When and where is your exhibition to be held?’
‘It’s being put on by a London gallery,’ she told him reluctantly. ‘At the end of April.’ Once again, pride compelled her to be completely honest, and she added: ‘It isn’t an important gallery. It isn’t in a particularly good area either, but it’s a marvellous start, for me. I’ve just got to work very hard to prepare for it—and naturally I wouldn’t be able to do that if I took a job that might keep me occupied right through the winter.’
The Count glanced at his watch. She sensed that he was getting annoyed, but for reasons of his own was making an effort to control his annoyance.
‘Miss Browne,’ he told her crisply, ‘I haven’t very much time. In fact, within three hours from now I shall be leaving for Heathrow Airport. My sister will be going with me, and I would very much prefer it if she had another woman to accompany her. I have a fairly comfortable home, but it is not geared to the accommodation of solitary young women, and I shall not undertake to keep her amused. She will be bored and lonely, perhaps extremely unhappy. It did not occur to me to consider the situation until late yesterday afternoon, when she arrived to join me here, and by that time it was much too late to make arrangements in the normal way. Thanks to your uninhibited temper, which, though undesirable, does not much matter in the circumstances, you have suddenly become available, and I have no doubt that you would make Antoinette an excellent companion. I would pay you a good salary, and you would be able to devote fifty per cent of your time to the pursuit of artistic inspiration.’ He paused. ‘My island, Miss Browne, is famous for the quality of its light, and for the colour and translucence of its surrounding seas. Artists, I believe, have congregated there for centuries, and I am certain that your London friends would advise you not on any account to miss such an opportunity.’
Catriona stared at him. She felt temporarily at a loss. ‘But...’ she began.
‘Yes?’
‘It is a long way away. And besides...’
She heard the sharp intake of breath that betrayed his mounting irritation. ‘You would prefer,’ he suggested, ‘not to work for me?’
‘Don’t you think,’ she said candidly, ‘it would be rather embarrassing for us both?’
His eyebrows ascended again. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not unless you are remarkably small-minded. It is true that you have lost one job because of your attitude to me, but I am offering you something very much better, and the arrangement would be to our mutual advantage. In any case, we would see very little of one another. I lead a busy life, and shall not be spending much time with Antoinette.’
Catriona felt as if the world were in danger of turning upside down. She had lived with her plans for months now, and she had worked so hard for them. She had been so sure that she knew what she had to do. But now ... she wasn’t sure any more. If she went to Malta, she would have an opportunity to reproduce on canvas the life and colour of a Mediterranean island, and that was something she had always wanted to do. Besides, it would be wonderful, really, if she could spend this important winter in a warm and sunny climate. She seemed to see the anxious face of the forlorn Antoinette. And suddenly, so suddenly that she astonished herself, she made up her mind.
‘All right,’ she said slowly, ‘I’ll go with you. With your sister, I mean.’
There was a tiny silence. Afterwards, she could have sworn that just for an instant relief flickered in his face, followed by something very much like surprise. But it was only a fleeting impression, and within seconds it had gone.
‘Good!’ he said briskly. ‘I take it you have a passport?’
She nodded. ‘I went to Amsterdam five years ago. My passport is still valid.’
She felt he was surprised to hear that she had not been abroad for five years. In his world, obviously, nobody stayed that long in one country. But he didn’t comment. While they were talking, the clouds overhead had steadily become heavier and more threatening and now, scattered drops of rain were beginning to fall, glistening on the grey body of the Bentley and on the sleeves of Catriona’s jacket. He glanced upwards at the sky.
‘I see that your English summer is about to catch up with us again. You had better go to your room and pack, and I suggest that you also think seriously about any arrangements you may wish to make before leaving the country. We have a little less than three hours. I shall see you, I hope, at eleven o’clock.’ Without pausing to find out whether she intended to accompany him, he strode away up the steps, and his tall figure vanished through the swing doors of the Calverley Hotel.
CHAPTER THREE
Three hours later, having packed a couple of suitcases and made her brief farewells, Catriona settled herself on the back seat of the Bentley. Breathlessly relieved and excited, Toni Caruana scrambled in beside her, bringing with her a cloud of light French perfume, and the English girl reflected ruefully that no one could possibly fail to recognise the enormous difference between Toni’s circumstances and her own. Catriona’s blue denim skirt and white shirt blouse were three years old and looked it. Her battered shoulder-bag and low-heeled sandals had been acquired during art college days. Normally, her appearance didn’t worry her too much, but all at once, today, she felt shabby and dull.
Tony was beautifully made up, and she was wearing a light green dress that did things for her creamy southern skin. Despite the fact that she was only eighteen her figure was voluptuous, and the skilfully cut dress did nothing to minimise her curves. Not surprisingly, a bevy of porters seemed to have been vying for t
he privilege of carrying her luggage from the hotel. Her pigskin beauty-box was handed to her with loving solicitude. Mildly amused, Catriona found herself wondering what it would be like to possess so much blatant sex appeal, then she pushed the thought from her mind. She had enough to worry about already.
Count Vilhena established himself in the front passenger seat, almost immediately opening a briefcase full of papers. Obviously, he had absorbing work to do. Once the car had drawn away from the hotel steps and had begun gathering speed along the broad, mile-long drive, he hardly spared a glance for the two girls in the back.
As they sped through the dripping lanes and along crowded motorways, en route for Heathrow Airport, Toni chattered a good deal, and she was obviously in high spirits because Catriona had finally decided to accompany her. But there was no doubt that she was inhibited by the presence of her half-brother. She talked very little about herself or her own past life.
Catriona, sitting quietly in her corner, stared through a wide expanse of window at the tired August countryside flashing past them. She was leaving England, and it all seemed so strange. What a lot of things could happen, sometimes, in just a few short hours, Every so often her attention was drawn back to the arrogant profile of her new employer, and once or twice she half expected him to turn round and say something, but he never lifted his eyes from the documents in front of him. Whatever his business interests were, they were evidently of paramount importance. She was sure, still, that he was a coldblooded, unpleasant man, and in some ways she felt very uneasy about the decision she had taken.
They reached the huge, sprawling airport just before twelve o’clock and having been decanted at Terminal One made their way into the booking hall. Though not noisy it was very crowded. There was a feeling of bustle, spiced with suppressed excitement. Here, after all, one took off for the Rest of the World. Here, anything was possible.
The Sun and Catriona Page 2