The Sun and Catriona

by Rosemary Pollock

  The timpana arrived, and she forced herself to taste a mouthful or two. It turned out to be a sort of Maltese cottage pie, containing large quantities of rather rubbery macaroni. Catriona managed a few forkfuls, then abandoned the struggle. Her head was beginning to ache.

  ‘Have another tomato juice,’ the Count suggested, watching her thoughtfully over the rim of his own glass.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Something stronger, then. Perhaps you’re getting the feel of the place.’

  She didn’t answer. Their table was situated only a few feet from the alcove accommodating the rock group, and the lead vocalist appeared to be working himself into a frenzy. Beckoning a perspiring waiter, Peter paid the bill.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he suggested, leaning towards her a little. ‘Or perhaps you’re enjoying yourself too much?’

  Outside, in the dark street, Catriona inhaled great gulps of night air, and when they reached the car she leant against it for a moment. The Count opened the door for her, and when he had climbed in beside her they sat for a short while in silence.

  ‘I know what you’re trying to prove,’ she said at last, ‘but it doesn’t make any difference. Antoinette isn’t that sort of girl. Even if she went to a place like that, it wouldn’t do anything to her. She’d just be amused by it—you must see that. She’s your sister.’

  ‘No, I do not see it.’ He started the engine, and they moved slowly forward. ‘I see only that she is young, that she is a little foolish. In that kind of atmosphere—’ he moved his shoulders expressively, ‘she would be just like the others.’

  She turned to look at him, startled by a new note in his voice.

  ‘You saw the girl who was drunk?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘And you saw her companion?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That was a cousin of Vittorio Falzon.’ He put his foot down, and the car began to gather speed. ‘Now perhaps you understand.’

  Catriona said nothing for several minutes. Whatever the dubious temptations confronting Toni, she still was not convinced that ruthless supervision could be the answer.

  ‘Vittorio may be different,’ she said at last. ‘And anyway, she has to grow up. You can’t shelter her for ever. She has to cope with life, and—and with people. As they are.’ She stopped, searching for the right words. ‘For one thing ... it’s frightening when someone is too innocent, too vulnerable. Life isn’t easy, most people get hurt sooner or later. And when that happens you need to be strong.’

  There was silence between them. She waited for his response, but it didn’t come, and at last she turned to look at him. By the light of passing street lamps she could see that his face was set. She noticed that he was driving rather fast. She also noticed that they did not seem to be heading back the way they had come.

  The Count’s left hand moved, extracting a cassette from the small rack beneath the dashboard, and as he slipped it into the deck a harsh, strident sound filled the car. Catriona recognised a symphony by Shostakovich, and she wondered if it were her companion’s favourite kind of music or if it just happened to suit his present mood. Possibly he just wanted to put an end to all likelihood of further conversation.

  She found herself watching him, the grip of his strong fingers on the steering-wheel, the oddly boyish way his black hair waved, and she wished suddenly that she understood him better. There was a tightness in the lines around his mouth, a fixed look about his face. She had a feeling, somehow, that she had upset him, but she wasn’t sure how she had done so. Was it because she had referred to the fact that people could so easily be hurt? She felt unsure of herself suddenly. He bewildered her. She had never known anyone like him.

  Ten minutes later she saw that they had at last left the suburbs behind them. They seemed to be following a series of winding lanes. The lanes were bounded on either side by drystone walls, and beyond the walls she could just make out an uneven landscape of small, stony fields. There was no moon, but to-night the sky was ablaze with the biggest stars she had ever seen.

  After a time they emerged on to a different sort of road, and here there were no more walls. She leant forward, peering through the windscreen, and saw that the road seemed to be running across an open cliff-top. In fact, the edge was just a few feet away, and she could even see the sea, a long way below, gleaming like pearl grey silk in the starlight. Moving off the road a little the car stopped, and at the same moment the Count pressed a button, silencing Shostakovitch. Catriona looked at the nearness of the cliff edge and felt a faint stirring of uneasiness. And then that sensation was swallowed up in a different kind of feeling.

  The man beside her seemed very close, an overwhelming, intensely masculine presence. She didn’t ... it couldn’t be that she found him attractive, but it was strangely difficult not to be aware of him. He was staring fixedly in front of him, deep in thought, and once again she thought how long and thick his eyelashes were. There was a look in his face that made her certain he was going through some sort of torment, and it shook her a little. He seemed to have forgotten her very existence, and she supposed she ought to feel either alarmed or resentful, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt' a great uprush of sympathy. All at once she wanted more than anything to say something that would reach him, that would break through the barrier of his reserve and soothe the pain of—whatever it was. But she couldn’t do that. She didn’t know what his problem was, and anyway, it was no concern of hers. Suddenly he opened the car door, and without a word he got out.

  She saw him walk to the edge of the cliff, and as he stood, inches from the edge, gazing into the night, a shock ran through her. For a few seconds she hesitated, then she opened the door and went to join him.

  The cliff-top grass was thin and dry scorched by the sun, and the ground felt hard beneath her feet. When she drew close to the edge her nostrils picked up the scent of seaweed, and she could hear the faint murmur of the night tide. She was not afraid of heights, but as she stood beside Peter Vilhena it was a shock to realise that the beach lay hundreds of feet below.

  She looked up at Peter, at the rigid lines of his face, and bit her lip, conscious of the fact that she had to say something.

  ‘There must be a wonderful view from here,’ she ventured quietly. ‘In daylight.’

  Slowly she felt him become conscious of her presence beside him and he turned his head to look down at her. Though she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes she felt that he was studying her as if he hadn’t seen her before, almost as if he had forgotten who she was.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said abruptly. ‘I didn’t mean to bring you here.’

  ‘Why not? It looks as if it could be beautiful.’

  ‘Beautiful, yes ... as you say, in daylight. Everything looks better when the sun has risen.’

  Catriona stepped back a little, and he looked at her curiously.

  ‘Have I frightened you?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ His voice was almost gentle. ‘I didn’t intend to. I needed some air, that’s all.’

  He turned and drew her back towards the car, and when she was back in her seat he climbed in beside her. Then, just as he was about to start the engine, he glanced at her sharply. ‘You’re shivering,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘I ... I’m cold,’ she murmured untruthfully. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Those moments out there on the cliff-top had triggered off a strange reaction in the depths of her being, and she didn’t understand it. Nervously, she put a hand up to her face, and in the faint glow from the dashboard light she saw his eyes fasten on her wrist, bruised earlier in the day by the grip of his own fingers.

  ‘I hurt you,’ he said quietly, staring at the slim wrist as if it fascinated him.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’ Leaning closer to her, he touched the bruise with one long brown finger. ‘I am not usually so violent.’

  She felt his warm breath
on her cheek, and slowly she turned her head. She met his brilliant brown eyes, and strange little shivers began running through her body. Very gently, his fingers caressed her wrist.

  When he kissed her, she remained passive and motionless, almost as if her will had been undermined by some kind of enchantment. His lips were cool, and they lingered only briefly on hers, but in some strange way they took possession of her, mind and body, and when they were withdrawn she felt lost and helpless, as if she had been through a traumatic experience for which she had not been prepared.

  ‘We had better go,’ Peter Vilhena said. Without looking at her, he added, ‘I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.’ He started the car, and swinging round in a circle they headed back towards Valletta, leaving the quiet sea behind them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The following morning Catriona forced herself to put in an hour’s work on her painting of Grand Harbour. Sooner or later—certainly before the picture was finished—she could need to re-visit the Barracca Gardens, but it might be some time before that was possible, and there was a lot that could be done in the privacy of her own room. Besides, she wanted to occupy her mind. She felt a strong disinclination to dwell on the events of the previous evening.

  Her painting kept her busy until well past ten o’clock, and it was only when she became intensely conscious of the silence all around her that she realised she ought to go in search of Toni. Taking her courage in both hands, she put her colours away and went downstairs. The house felt quiet and deserted, and she was glad of that, for she didn’t particularly want to come face to face with Peter—not just yet. But in the courtyard, reclining on a chaise-longue, she found a slim, tanned figure in a sunshine yellow bikini. Toni, who looked extremely composed, was coating her elegant limbs with sun-tan oil, and at sight of Catriona she smiled widely.

  ‘I am being very lazy,’ she remarked with satisfaction. ‘Why don’t you get into your bikini?’

  ‘Perhaps I will, later on.’ Catriona seated herself in a basket-chair, and tried to conceal the fact that she felt slightly taken aback. She had imagined it would be necessary to spend half the morning coaxing Toni into a more cheerful frame of mind, but no such effort appeared to be required.

  ‘Did you have a nice time last night?’ Toni was inspecting a damaged fingernail with critical interest.

  Catriona started. ‘Last night?’

  ‘When you went out with Peter.’

  ‘Oh! It ... it was interesting.’ She felt a ridiculous embarrassment taking possession of her. ‘He thought ... if we had supper together it might help to clear things up,’ she explained rather lamely.

  Toni turned onto her stomach. ‘And did it?’

  ‘I think I may be beginning to understand him.’

  ‘M’mmm ... Well, I suppose he is attractive.’

  ‘I didn’t—that’s not what I meant.’ Recollection swept over her, and she tried without much success to prevent herself flushing. ‘I ... I just understand his anxiety a bit better.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t have to worry. I’m going to be a really good girl.’ Turning her head a little, Toni nodded towards the plastic bottle on the table beside her. ‘Put some oil on my back, would you?’

  Slowly, Catriona obeyed. With the bottle in one hand, she looked down at her charge. ‘What did you say?’ she asked.

  ‘I said I’m going to be a good girl. I won’t give him any more trouble, that’s all. It isn’t worth it. If I behave he won’t bother me, and I can still have a lot of fun. All I’ve got to do is avoid getting seriously involved, and I’m too young for that, anyway. I don’t want to muddle my life up. Falling in love isn’t for me. Not yet.’

  ‘Well, that sounds sensible.’ Catriona eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You’ve done a lot of growing up—since last night.’

  ‘Maybe I have.’ Toni sighed. ‘I suppose I just suddenly got things into perspective. I don’t want to keep struggling, I want to have fun.’ She glanced up at Catriona. ‘You, too ... you should be enjoying yourself. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Thanks for doing my back.’

  Catriona found it difficult to understand quite such a dramatic change of attitude, but when she came to think about it she supposed it made sense. After all, Toni was very young. She simply wanted to enjoy herself, to relax and have fun on the sunny island of her ancestors, and she would be perfectly free to do that, as long as she didn’t annoy her stepbrother by getting too serious about a boy he didn’t like. Presumably, the same taboo would not apply to every male on the island, and in time she might even hit on someone who would meet with the Count’s approval. Catriona was surprised, because she wouldn’t have expected the other girl to capitulate so easily, or to exhibit so much sound, unromantic sense. But then she didn’t know Toni very well. Getting to know people could take time.

  Settling herself in a large basket-chair, she stared absently at the sparkling waters of the fountain. She didn’t want to keep remembering what had happened the night before, but her mind refused to stop dwelling on it. Of course, he had kissed her on impulse. Even men like Peter Vilhena must occasionally act on impulse, and there wasn’t much doubt that he had regretted it immediately. What had he said? ‘I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.’ Catriona had experienced casual kisses before, and naturally it hadn’t meant anything to her either. Why should Peter’s kiss mean anything?

  She stared upwards through a network of orange branches at the hard blue of the sky. Fiercely she told herself that of course Peter’s kiss had meant nothing. He had obviously been troubled, the night before, and though she couldn’t even begin to guess what his burden was she had felt a tremendous uprush of sympathy. She had been shaken by the strength of her own feelings. A lot had happened during the last day or so, and she had been in a tense, emotional mood—a mood in which it was easy to be affected by other people’s problems. As for the kiss—well, that was best forgotten. He would certainly have forgotten it by now, and she didn’t want him to guess that she had not.

  During the drive back to Valletta they had barely spoken to one another, and it would probably be best, now, if their relationship were kept on as formal a basis as possible.

  That evening the Count was out, as he had been all day, and the two girls dined alone. It was intensely hot, and Catriona, who felt rather limp, toyed halfheartedly with a lavish menu which included iced cucumber soup followed by fricassee of veal. At the sight of meringues in hot chocolate sauce, which apparently was the cook’s speciality, she gave up altogether, and soon afterwards was able to make her escape, going up to her room for an early night. But not before Toni, who was in high spirits, had come to a decision that the following day they would go for a drive around the Island.

  Catriona, she pointed out, had not really seen Malta yet, and that was a situation which had to be remedied. Besides, it was time they left the stifling atmosphere of the capital behind them, even if it were only for an hour or two. She herself didn’t drive, but Mario would take them. It would not be difficult to arrange.

  Shortly after nine in the morning they set out, having been given permission to use the big Citroen, and as she relaxed in the back Catriona wondered how the Count felt about parting with his favourite car for the space of a whole day. She knew that he had others, but the Citroen was undoubtedly the one he used most frequently. Toni’s request for a car had been made through Mario, so it would have been difficult to discover exactly how he had reacted, and in any case Catriona was anxious not to betray too much curiosity. She had not seen him since the night she had had supper with him, and she didn’t think Toni had.

  As they climbed out of Valletta and emerged on to the coast road it was already fiercely hot, and she didn’t feel very much like sightseeing. But Malta, she discovered, was an interesting island, and on the whole she enjoyed the day’s expedition. To begin with, they made their way along a road that clung to the Mediterranean, and she would never have believed that water could be so int
ensely blue. Here, there were no cliffs, simply a low, rocky shoreline and a cautious enquiry elicited information which suggested that Peter must have taken her to the other side of the Island. She saw nothing to remind her of the disturbing incident at the cliff edge, and after a time she was able to relax and enjoy the brilliance of the Mediterranean morning.

  Near St. Paul’s Bay, a sprawling modern resort marking the spot that once witnessed the shipwreck of St. Paul, they turned inland, and Catriona wondered why, from the air, the whole island had looked so bleak and barren. The roads were very dusty, and the small, carefully cultivated fields were often parched, but in the inland villages children played in the shade of spreading carob trees, and there were olive groves on the terraced slopes. There were ancient pine trees, too, and behind high walls she caught glimpses of bright, exotic gardens.

  They had lunch in Mdina, the old, walled capital at the centre of the Island, and over her fried chicken Toni smiled.

  ‘M’mm! I am enjoying myself, I think.’

  Catriona smiled. ‘So am I. Malta’s a beautiful place.’

  After lunch they wandered through the streets of the old town, and Catriona felt as if she had been whisked back through four centuries of time. Mdina, she learned, had always been known as the Silent City, and it was easy to understand why. A great stillness prevailed within the ancient walls, and in the shadowed streets there was hardly any movement. Majestic, fairy-tale palaces crowded close to one another, and romantic stone staircases wound upwards towards massive fifteenth-century ramparts. Valletta had been the City of the Knights, but Mdina had been the home of the Maltese nobility, and a faint hauteur still clung to its time-worn stones.

  They were just beginning to make their way back to the car, which had been left in the Cathedral square, when they passed an ancient arched doorway, and from its recesses an only too familiar voice addressed them. Both girls jumped.