The Sun and Catriona

by Rosemary Pollock

  ‘Well...! I am glad to see that you are employing yourselves profitably. The Silent City always repays study.’

  Recovering her composure, Toni looked mildly irritated. ‘I didn’t know you would be here.’

  ‘As you see, I am about to call upon Zia Elena. I do occasionally visit my relations.’

  Toni pouted. ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would be interested. However, since you are evidently in a dutiful mood I am sure she would be delighted to see you.’ For the first time, the Count looked directly at Catriona. ‘You, too, Miss Browne. I have no doubt that my great-aunt would be happy to make your acquaintance.’

  Catriona felt as if her mouth had gone dry. She had imagined him to be several miles away, in Valletta, and at the unexpected encounter, her pulses had begun to throb. She drew back a little.

  ‘No—oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of butting in. I’ll go and look round the museum. And ... and the Cathedral...’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Toni placed slender fingers on her arm, detaining her. ‘You must come and see my aunt. She’s a darling old lady, nearly ninety, and tougher than I am. Isn’t she, Peter?’

  ‘That is not a particularly respectful description, but it comes close to the truth.’ He tugged at an elaborate iron chain, and a series of bells began to clamour in the stillness behind the massive oak door.

  The door was opened, eventually, by an elderly maid clad in rusty, black, and after a brief interchange they were all admitted to the house. The maid had evidently been expecting Count Vilhena, but she had not anticipated being required to receive the rest of the party, and it was clear that she didn’t particularly like such a large-scale invasion. To Catriona’s embarrassment, she eyed both young women with a marked lack of enthusiasm, and it seemed probable that if she had not held the Count in considerable esteem she might even have asked them to leave. As it was, she muttered irritably in Maltese, and held her shoulders stiffly as she led the way up a magnificent stone staircase to the first-floor salotto where the Countess Cicogna was waiting to receive her nephew.

  The salotto turned out to be immensely long and its solitary occupant looked very small as she sat, bolt upright, in a straight-backed Florentine chair. She was wearing a well-cut grey silk dress, and her thick white hair had been coiled expertly about her head. There were some wonderful pearls at her wrinkled throat, and an emerald blazed on her right hand.

  ‘Good afternoon, madame.’ Bending towards her, Peter lifted one of the small, ring-laden hands and kissed 'it. Then he leant forward and dropped a second kiss on her cheek. ‘You are well?’

  ‘Of course I am well.’ Her piercing black eyes scanned his face. ‘You are just back from England? Why must you always work so hard? It’s not necessary, Pietru.’

  ‘I don’t work hard, madame.’ He had been holding the old lady’s hand in both his own, but now, gently, he returned it to her lap. ‘As you know, I do no more than I am obliged to do.’

  She looked past him, and her bird-like glance fell on the two girls. At sight of Toni her eyes brightened, then they settled for a long moment on Catriona.

  ‘You are not alone, I see. You bring my little Antoinette. Come and kiss me, child.’

  Toni ran forward and placed an arm about the bony, silk-clad shoulders. ‘You are pleased to see me, madame?’

  ‘Yes, child, of course. Though you should not wear so much make-up, and that perfume is too strong.’ For the second time, she focussed her attention on Catriona. ‘Peter, who is this?’

  He drew Catriona forward. ‘This is Miss Browne, madame. She comes from England. She is giving Antoinette the benefit of her companionship.’

  ‘Ah, a companion!’ The old eyebrows puckered. ‘Does she like being a companion?’

  ‘I really could not say, madame.’ His tone was suave. ‘You must ask Miss Browne.’

  Catriona flushed, and returned the Countess’s gaze with as much composure as she could muster. ‘I like Malta very much,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m lucky to have been given such an opportunity.’

  ‘That does not answer my question,’ the old lady returned dryly. ‘Still, I forgive you. And I am sure you understand that nothing in this world is really a question of “luck”. You are in Malta because you were destined to come here, that is quite certain. Now, come and sit beside me.’ She indicated a low, embroidered stool. ‘Tell me about England. I was there in 1932, just before I got married for the second time. I stayed in London, and noticed that the theatre had become very improper. Tell me...’

  She embarked on a long series of questions and Catriona, sitting next to her, tried hard to provide suitably intelligent answers. Toni joined in with enthusiasm, for she considered herself to be quite an authority on England, but the Count seated himself a short distance away, detaching himself from the conversation. When Catriona looked towards him she found his eyes upon her. There was an inscrutable look upon his face. For a moment she held his glance, before turning away, unable to control a heightening of her colour.

  After a while the maid reappeared, bearing a large silver tray laden with delicate china, and to her surprise Catriona discovered that they were to be served with afternoon tea. The Countess, it seemed, had as a young woman acquired the habit of drinking afternoon tea, when it had been fashionable among her contemporaries to adopt English social customs, and she was proud of the fact that she had kept the tradition going. Manipulating a heavy silver teapot with skill, she remarked sternly that insularity was a crime.

  ‘In other people’s countries one finds much that is good,’ she informed her guests. ‘We must keep open minds and open hearts.’

  During tea, Peter Vilhena moved closer to his great-aunt, and she bombarded him ruthlessly with penetrating questions, most of them concerned with details of his everyday life. He responded skilfully, sometimes clearly resorting to a little discreet evasion, sometimes allowing himself to be disarmingly honest.

  When the tea-tray was finally removed it was a sign that the interview was over, and they all stood up. The Countess, a little tired, lay back against her embroidered cushions.

  ‘For me,’ she said, ‘this has been a happy afternoon. Peter, you will bring these children to see me again?’

  He bowed. ‘At any time you wish, Aunt Elena.’

  Toni rushed impulsively over to kiss the sallow cheek. ‘I’ll come as often as you like.’ she promised unexpectedly.

  ‘Good, I am glad.’ The old lady patted Toni’s hand, and then she looked round quickly, her eyes searching for Catriona. ‘You will come too, Miss Browne?’ She held out her free hand to the English girl. ‘We must talk again—of London, and the South Downs, and the moors that you like so much. And you must show me one of your paintings.’

  Catriona took her hand, smiling uncertainly. ‘Thank you, madame, I’d like to come again.’

  The bright old eyes studied her keenly, the bony fingers squeezed hers with surprising energy, and then they dropped back into their owner’s lap. A door was opened by the maid and the Countess’s visitors filed out, down the Romeo and Juliet staircase to the dim, marble-floored hall.

  ‘Where is Mario?’ the Count wanted to know. He seemed to be addressing his stepsister, but his eyes were on Catriona.

  ‘M’mm, he’s around somewhere. Having a nap, I suppose. We’ll find him.’ Toni glanced at the English girl. ‘Come on, Catriona, let’s go and do some exploring.’

  The front door was being held open for them, and once again they ventured out into the fierce heat of the afternoon. As they crossed the threshold Toni glanced back, casually, at the man behind them.

  ‘See you later, Peter!’

  Catriona didn’t hear him reply, and she hadn’t the courage to look at him again.

  They retraced their steps along the street, and after a minute or two emerged into the Cathedral square. Toni yawned loudly, and at sight of the parked Citroen heaved a dramatic sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank goodness, there’s M
ario. Let’s get away from this place—I’ve had enough of Mdina.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to do some exploring.’

  Toni made a face. ‘Exploring? Heavens, not in this heat. You don’t want to, do you?’

  They were inside the car, and doors were being closed on them, Catriona shook her head slowly.

  ‘No, I don’t. I just wondered...’

  ‘You wondered why I did not tell Peter the truth? Well, we had to get rid of him, didn’t we? If I hadn’t said that, he might have come with us.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he might.’

  Toni looked at her sharply, then lapsed into a thoughtful silence which lasted all the way back to Valletta.

  They spent the following morning exploring churches, museums and galleries. In the magnificent Cathedral of St John, Catriona stood spellbound before glowing frescos and tapestries, and in the beautiful crypt she lingered by the tomb of La Valette. When they reached the National Museum she was intrigued by a large collection of Stone Age relics, and she made the discovery that Malta was of surprising importance to students of pre-history. Mysterious ‘cart-tracks’, embedded in stone, had been discovered on the island, and there were several great Neolithic temples, reminiscent of England’s Stonehenge. During the afternoon they visited one of the temples, a majestic, frightening place overlooking the dark brilliance of the sea, and Catriona, disturbed and fascinated, would have liked to linger among the massive ruins, watching as the sun went down. She longed for an opportunity to commit the scene to canvas, and hoped that the following day she would be able, alone, to make her way back.

  Toni was good company, but she always seemed a little abstracted, and she obviously found it difficult to share the English girl’s enthusiasm for antiquities. Sitting on a fallen stone, she waited with as much patience as she could muster while Catriona inspected the ruins of Hagiar Qim, but at half past six she looked at her watch and observed plaintively that it really was time they thought about getting back to Valletta.

  ‘We are going to a party to-night. I told you, remember?’

  ‘A party?’ Catriona glanced at her, slightly startled. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t remember.’

  ‘It’s one of my girl friends—her nineteenth birthday. She specially wanted you to be there. I told you.’

  ‘Oh!’ For some reason, Catriona didn’t feel in the least like sampling the Maltese social scene. ‘Wouldn’t you rather go by yourself?’ she suggested hopefully. ‘I mean ... I expect you’ll know everybody there.’

  Toni looked hurt and surprised. ‘But I thought you would like to come!’ In a small voice, she added: ’Peter will not like it if I go alone.’

  She was right, of course, Catriona realised that. And strictly speaking, it was her job to go. If she didn’t, there wasn’t much doubt that Peter Vilhena would regard the omission as a dereliction of duty. ‘All right. If you really want me to go with you.’

  Toni jumped up, as pleased and gratified as a child. ‘Of course I do! It will be such fun. I can’t wait to hear what you think of everybody.’

  They set out to walk back through the ruins, and Catriona smiled a little ruefully at the other girl. ‘I’m sorry I dragged you over here this afternoon. I must seem a bore.’

  ‘Oh, no, you could never be a bore! But you’re clever, and I’m not. It’s interesting, knowing someone who is really clever.’ As they walked towards the car, Toni stole a sideways glance at Catriona. ‘Do you think Peter has noticed?’ she asked.

  ‘Noticed what?’

  ‘How clever you are.’

  Catriona flushed. For some absurd reason the remark irritated her.

  ‘I’m not in the least clever,’ she responded crisply. ‘And if I were, I’m quite sure your brother wouldn’t notice.’

  They got back to Valletta just before seven o’clock and half an hour later were ready to set out. As she dressed, slipping into her new embroidered skirt and the silk top that went with it, Catriona found herself hoping they would not bump into Peter, and when they succeeded in driving away without encountering a soul apart from Carmen she ought to have been relieved. But somehow she felt a little flat. She also felt very plain and ordinary beside Toni, who was exotically beautiful in kingfisher blue.

  The party was being held in a large, sprawling modern villa perched on a hill above Sliema, and it was obviously very much a get-together for the children of the aristocracy. Most of the young men were wearing immaculate dinner-jackets, and the girls’ dresses bore the stamp of London, Paris and New York. They all spoke excellent English, and they seemed to have a slightly feverish capacity for enjoyment.

  On a long terrace overlooking the dark line of the sea a small local band was playing country style music, which apparently was popular on the island. By the time Catriona arrived with Toni quite a few couples were already dancing. A dozen or so more were sipping champagne in a large, exotically furnished room behind the terrace, and the nineteen-year-old hostess was amongst them. Gina Sciberras was small, dark and beautiful, like a figure from the Arabian Nights, and she was the centre of an admiring circle, predominantly male. There wasn’t much doubt that she was enjoying herself.

  At sight of Toni, however, she broke away from the group and hurried forward to greet her friend. For a few moments they spoke rapidly in Maltese, and then Gina held out a slender brown hand to Toni’s English companion.

  ‘Catriona, I am so happy that you could come! You have done a lot, I think, for Antoinette. You like Malta?’

  ‘I love it,’ Catriona told her, realising as she spoke that it was the truth.

  The Maltese girl smiled brilliantly, and looking around caught sight of a solid young man in spectacles.

  ‘Anton, come and talk to Catriona. She has travelled all the way from England, and you must look after her for me.’

  Anton approached, smiling eagerly if a little shortsightedly at the slight figure of the English girl. ‘Good evening!’ He bowed. ‘You have just arrived, signurina?’

  ‘No. Actually, I’ve been here for several days.’ She looked around, and made the discovery that Toni had vanished, together with their hostess.

  Anton procured her a glass of something innocuous, and they went out on to the terrace. He wasn’t in the least attractive, but she had to talk to someone, and she wasn’t at all in the mood for romantic encounters. They began to dance, slowly, to a ballad that had started life in Tennessee, and looking around for Toni Catriona caught a glimmer of kingfisher blue at the far end of the terrace. Well, at least her charge was still in sight, and that really ought to be enough. Toni, after all, was a little bit old for needing a nanny.

  Slightly out of breath, Anton stepped on one of her toes, and apologised. He was shorter than she was, and as he beamed up at her through his rimless spectacles he reminded her irresistibly of a rare species of owl, once encountered while bird-watching with her grandfather in the vicinity of the Norfolk Broads. Resolutely, she pushed the idea out of her mind and forced herself to listen to his conversation.

  ‘I am not a good dancer, I don’t have much time. You see, I’m studying hard.’

  ‘Oh? What are you studying?’

  ‘I am going to be an architect, which is very hard work.’

  ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘You are also studying something?’

  ‘I paint pictures,’ Catriona admitted reluctantly, and he uttered a little squeak of enthusiasm, at the same time treading very hard on her right foot.

  ‘You paint pictures?’ Through the spectacles his round brown eyes, alight with innocent interest, gazed into hers. ‘But this is most fascinating. Please tell me about them.’

  To Catriona’s relief, the ballad soon came to an end, but it was half an hour before she succeeded in getting away from Anton, and when she did finally make her escape it was only to be seized upon almost immediately by Gina Sciberras’ handsome brother, Paolo. He got her another drink, something she would have preferred not to have, and told her eagerly
that he had been hearing all about her. Guiding her out on to the terrace, he remarked softly that there were not enough English girls around these days, and almost in the same breath asked if he might have the pleasure of showing her the Island.

  ‘Thanks, I’ve seen quite a lot of it already, and I’m really here to work.’

  ‘But one does not work all the time. What is your English saying ... “All work and no play makes—makes—” ’

  ‘ “Jack a dull boy”,’ she supplied helpfully.

  ‘But it is not possible for you to be a boy.’ Laughing with considerable satisfaction at his own joke, he steered her out among the dancers, now writhing to the insistent beat of a current hit. They danced together several times, then Catriona settled herself on a pile of cushions while Paolo plied her with dainties from the nearby buffet.

  For the time being she had resigned herself to his company, partly because there didn’t seem to be much chance of losing him, and partly because Gina’s brother might be a useful person to have on hand if Toni should actually disappear. She didn’t know why, but she had a strange, irrational feeling that the Count’s stepsister might be inclined to do exactly that. She glimpsed Toni several times during the evening, but always from a distance. Toni did, it was true, seem to be dancing with several different boys, and that, in itself, was some consolation, for it seemed to indicate that her special friend was not around. It must be that, or she had fallen out with him.

  Catriona wasn’t quite sure why she was so anxious to behave like a nineteenth-century duenna, and once or twice she told herself firmly that she was being absurd. She didn’t even know the boy Toni was so keen on, so why should she want to curb their budding romance? Whatever the Count had said, Catriona couldn’t believe, somehow, that there was anything seriously wrong with Vittorio Falzon, and if Toni were on the brink of falling in love, who was she to try and put a stop to it?