They reached Valletta just after one o’clock, and as Catriona extricated herself from the car she felt limp, exhausted and sticky with perspiration. More than once during the drive from Marsa Peter had asked her if she would like to stop for a drink, but by mutual consent they had carried on. Neither, she realised, had wanted that kind of tête-à-tête.
Back in the security of her own room, she took a quick, refreshing shower and tried not to think about the events of the morning. Toni was nowhere to be seen, and to her relief Carmen brought a light lunch up to her, sparing her the necessity of making an appearance in the dining-room. Because she didn’t want her appetite questioned, even by Carmen, she made a real effort to eat, but the chicken salad stuck in her throat, and the fluffy lemon soufflé was even worse. Putting the tray outside her door, she soon closed the shutters and lay down, trying desperately to lose herself in sleep. But sleep refused to come, and for two hours she lay tossing and turning in the warm dimness, struggling with thoughts that refused to be kept at bay.
At half past four Toni tapped softly on her door, and when she came into the room Catriona tensed uneasily, terrified lest the other girl’s sharp eyes should detect too much. It was difficult to answer a battery of searching questions without betraying, details that she would prefer not to betray and almost impossible, without straying on to dangerous territory, to explain exactly how she had spent the morning. Somehow, though, she managed to come up with satisfactory answers, and mercifully it wasn’t too long before the subject was exhausted. It was the boat crossing which appeared to interest Toni more than anything else—mainly, it seemed, because she had never been out in the new launch Sultana.
Catriona had expected her to be disappointed, because she had not been included in the Gozo expedition, but surprisingly the Maltese girl didn’t seem to mind much. She had apparently spent a quiet morning sunbathing in the courtyard, and it was clear that she had been giving a good deal of thought to the evening ahead. No Maltese social event, it seemed, was more glamorous, or romantic than an evening spent at Castel Verdala, and as Toni planned to dress accordingly she was anxious to know what Catriona would be wearing. Conscious of the fact that the English girl’s wardrobe was more limited than her own, she was eager to help by lending one of her own dresses. After all, as she pointed out, they were almost the same size. But Catriona had borne enough humiliation for one day, and she was not going to appear before Peter Vilhena in plumage borrowed from his stepsister. She would not say so to Toni, at least not in so many words, but her refusal was very firm, and in the end Toni agreed reluctantly that the embroidered skirt would do perfectly well.
It took Toni some time to dress, but when she eventually emerged from her room she was looking lovelier than Catriona had ever seen her. Her hair, freshly washed, was a dusky cloud about her shoulders, and her diaphanous silk voile evening dress was the clear dark green of young hibiscus leaves. Her eyes were bright and sparkling, her skin glowed and her make-up was perfect. She had made a very special effort, and the result was so effective that when her brother saw her he actually nodded approvingly. He barely looked at Catriona. In fact, when they were all assembled in the courtyard he hardly seemed to notice her existence, but to her intense relief Toni made no comment.
Castel Verdala was a massive fortress of weathered stone which had been built at the end of the sixteenth century as a summer palace for the Grand Masters of the Order of St John, and it was surrounded by the most romantic gardens on the island. By the time they arrived, night was falling rapidly, and the castle, ablaze with light, was a fairy-tale palace. It had been erected at the summit of a little hill, and on one side its gardens sloped gently downwards to a wooded valley, the Boschetto, which for hundreds of years had been one of Malta’s most celebrated beauty spots. In the Boschetto, early Grand Masters had hunted deer and gazelle. Tonight, golden lights glimmered among the trees, and feminine laughter echoed along the hidden paths.
The gardens were already crowded with people, men in white dinner-jackets and women in glamorous dresses. Everywhere, couples were wandering beneath the stars and new arrivals were greeting their friends and acquaintances. Catriona was introduced to several people, and as if from a great distance she listened to their attempts at polite conversation. She had never felt less like being social and after a time she found herself longing for an opportunity to melt into obscurity, to vanish-into the shadow between the trees.
The play began nearly half an hour late, but nobody seemed to mind. It was being staged on one of the terraces, against a backcloth of golden stone, and on either side pine trees crowded close. In such a setting Twelfth Night took on a rare and special magic, and in spite of her aching unhappiness Catriona was conscious of the fact that she was witnessing a performance worth remembering. The cast was good, and she was forced to admit that Jacqueline made a charming and convincing Olivia. The costume suited her, and she looked stunningly beautiful, a creature over whom any man might be expected to lose his head. For the first time in her life Catriona found herself wishing that she had been born beautiful and irresistible—a breathtaking Circe with limitless power over the whole of the male sex.
And yet ... She didn’t want the whole of the male sex. She wanted just one man.
She saw Peter, seated nearby, watching the stage with an expression on his face which she found hard to fathom. He was certainly attentive, and his eyes dwelt a lot on the lovely Jacqueline, but Catriona did not feel that he was particularly interested in the progress of the play. Toni, on the other hand, was enchanted by everything—by the actors, by the costumes, by the lyrical charm of the play itself. Catriona wondered, absently, where her boy-friend was, and whether in fact he still was her boy-friend. She seemed so happy, so carefree, so in love with life.
During the first interval Catriona remained in her seat. With formal courtesy Peter had asked if he could get her a drink, but she had refused and he had disappeared, no doubt to go in search of Jacqueline. Left alone, she stared at the empty stage and wondered how she was going to get through the remainder of the evening. That afternoon, her life had been changed by the feel of a man’s arms about her, by the touch of his lips, and now she was being forced to spend an evening watching a theatrical performance by the woman who would one day most probably be his wife. She had no doubt that Peter intended to marry Jacqueline. And she hadn’t much doubt that he wanted her to be aware of the fact.
Not far away, in the Italian garden, a string quartet had begun playing Mozart and she watched a full moon rise slowly above the encircling trees. She felt alone as she had never been in her life before, even on the day her mother finally left for the other side of the world. And yet all she wanted to do was to get as far away as possible from the sight and the sound and even the memory of Peter Vilhena. If she didn’t do that soon, life would become unbearable. She had fallen in love with him; nothing could alter that. But he didn’t want her. He didn’t need her. And there was no possibility that he ever would.
In the morning,, she would tell him that she had to go home. Toni didn’t need her, not now, and it wouldn’t be difficult to find an excuse that would satisfy the Maltese girl. And if Peter himself guessed the truth, she couldn’t help it. Tears of humiliation stung behind her eyelids.
During the second interval Toni insisted on drawing her out into the throng of humanity clustering round the bar, and almost immediately she was seized upon by Paolo Sciberras, who told her that he had been trying, unsuccessfully, to contact her. He urged her to have a drink with him and she tried hard to think of an excuse for saying no. Glancing round, she told him she thought Toni might be looking for her, but he laughed and pointed the other girl out to her. Surrounded by an admiring group, Toni was testing out her own dramatic skill by declaiming some lines from the play, and she didn’t look as if she was unduly concerned about the whereabouts of her English friend.
‘You see?’ Paolo said triumphantly. ‘Now, come and have a drink.’
She shook
her head, and was about to think of another excuse when she suddenly saw Peter. He was leaning against a stone balustrade, a glass in his hand, and he was staring straight at her. She stared back, then suddenly, hardly knowing what she was doing, she turned to Paolo.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m beginning to feel thirsty.’
He steered her towards the bar, and as they went she could feel Peter’s eyes boring into her back. Firmly refusing anything stronger, she let Paolo buy her a tomato juice, and then she tried to listen attentively while he told her about his hopes of studying geology in America. He told her that he had made several attempts to get in touch with her that day, and as they talked she tried not to notice the eager glow in his dark eyes. He was a nice boy, but she certainly didn’t want to encourage him. She was sorry she had let him buy her a drink.
When the interval was over she managed to persuade him that she really had to rejoin the Vilhenas, and reluctantly he let her go, assuring her that he would be on the phone the following morning.
Somewhere around eleven o’clock the play ended, to rapturous applause. All the actors seemed to be popular, but Jacqueline received a particularly wild ovation and as the floral tributes piled up around her feet she seemed to glow with satisfaction. She was born to be admired, Catriona thought wryly. She would never be happy away from the limelight Peter would have to remember that.
People began to move, most of them clustering together in groups, a few heading towards the car park. Toni hesitated for a moment, then she placed a hand on Catriona’s arm.
‘There is someone I must speak to. Do you mind?’
‘Of course not.’ Catriona sat down again, watching as Toni slipped gracefully through the crowd. Once again she was completely alone. She hadn’t seen Peter since the second interval and she supposed he had found a seat closer to the Stage. By this time, anyway, he would be with Jacqueline. She looked towards the darkened terrace which, until a few minutes ago had been the stage, and saw that all the actors and actresses had disappeared. By now they would be entertaining their families and friends. There would be toasts and congratulations, laughter and excited tributes. Husbands and wives would be there, boy-friends and girl-friends. Peter would be there.
She sighed, digging the toe of her shoe into a carpet of soft turf. At least she could be thankful for one thing—she had not been called upon to join the party congratulating Jacqueline.
One by one the floodlights and spotlights were turned off, and it wasn’t long before the gardens were illuminated only by moonlight. The string quartet had gone and the bar had closed down, but there were still people lingering in the parterres and broad walks, shadowy figures, picturesque arid unreal, and with detached interest Catriona watched them. Here and there, moonlight gleamed softly on a girl’s hair or drew cold fire from a massive jewel. It was a tableau vivant more impressive than anything she had witnessed in the play itself, for these people were real. Tonight, in this enchanted, scented garden, they were living a part of their lives.
Gradually, though, everyone was drifting away, and she was beginning to feel conspicuous, even vaguely uneasy. There was no sign of Toni or of her brother, so when fifteen minutes had elapsed she decided to make her way towards the car park. It would be better, somehow, to wait by the car than to linger here in the gardens alone.
The car park was an extensive gravelled area capable of accommodating a very large number of vehicles, but by the time Catriona reached it there were barely ten or twelve cars left. She couldn’t think where Toni had got to, and Mario had not come with them tonight. Peter was doing the driving himself. She caught sight of Gina and Paolo Sciberras, who were just getting into a rakish black-and-purple two-seater which had been parked next to the Citroen, and at sight of her Paolo looked startled.
‘You are all alone?’
‘Yes, I’m waiting for Toni and Count Vilhena.’
‘Waiting for them? Where have they gone?’
Gina intervened rather hurriedly. ‘I saw Antoinette a little while ago,’ she confessed. ‘She and Vittorio were going for a drive in his car. She said they would not be long.’ She moved closer to Catriona. ‘I didn’t know she had left you alone, though. Where is Peter?’
‘I think—well, one of the actresses is a close friend of his.’
Gina’s eyes rolled upwards. ‘Men are impossible! I suppose it’s Jacqueline Calleja?’
‘I think so.’
‘Well, they cannot abandon you like this. Get into the car, we’ll drive you home. Won’t we, Paolo?’
‘Of course,’ Paolo agreed with alacrity. He looked as if he could hardly believe his good fortune.
Catriona shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I must wait for Toni.’
‘Why? She may be a long time, and you can’t wait here alone,’ he pointed out.
‘I know that.’
While they were talking another two cars had pulled out of the line, and she realised that once Gina and Paolo had gone, her situation might soon become rather unpleasant. Still, she couldn’t leave—not, at least, without Toni. That would be impossible. And Toni was with Vittorio Falzon. Her uneasiness deepened.
‘Where did they go?’ she asked Gina. ‘Have you any idea?’
Gina looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, why did they go?’ Catriona heard her own voice rising and becoming faintly agitated.
Gina moved her slim shoulders expressively. ‘Who knows? They are in love.’
Realisation hit Catriona with the violence of a cold douche. She actually believed that Toni had put Vittorio Falzon out of her mind, and all the time ... Another thought struck her, and she felt rather cold. That evening, while they were waiting for Peter, Toni had asked a lot more questions about the motor-launch Sultana. She didn’t seem to have known, before, that her brother kept the boat moored at Marsa, and she wanted to hear all about it, even asking some fairly technical questions connected with the outboard motor. Catriona had been quite unable to answer them and assumed that she was interested only because she had been brought up among boats and boatbuilding. Now, a sudden fear swept over her. A wild thought entered her head and with a flash of intuition she decided that she knew what Toni was doing. She was sure, too, that she was right. She had no real doubts at all.
She looked through the dimness at Gina and her brother. ‘I’ve got to follow her.’ she said. ‘I’ve got to. But I can’t drive.’
Gina looked blank. ‘Why follow them? They just want to be alone, that’s all.’
Catriona shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I think it’s more serious than that, a lot more serious.’ She kept remembering Toni’s unnatural composure and air of self-possession, the radiance she had exuded tonight. ‘I believe...’ She hesitated, even now unwilling to say the words. ‘I believe they may have been planning to run away together.’
‘Planning to run away?’ Gina sounded horrified. ‘Oh no ... no, it’s not possible! Where would they go? They could not—no, it’s quite impossible.’
‘It might not be,’ Catriona pointed out. ‘If they took one of Count Vilhena’s boats they could—well, I suppose they could make for Sicily.’ She described the motor-launch that was moored at Marsa and the questions Toni had been asking.
‘But Antoinette would not do this,’ Gina protested again. ‘Her brother would be so angry. And besides, it is very dangerous, I think.’
‘I know it’s dangerous,’ Catriona said urgently. ‘But I’m sure Toni would do it, unless Vittorio is the type to stop her.’
Gina looked a little less certain. ‘Vittorio loves her. He would not wish to make her unhappy.’
‘That’s what I thought. And it really is vital to catch up with them as quickly as possible.’
Moving with more decision than she would have expected of him, Paolo held open the door of his little two-seater and indicated that his sister should scramble into the minute space behind the bucket seats. ‘In that case we shall go and chase them,
uh?’
For just a moment Catriona hesitated, wondering whether or not she should try and contact Peter Vilhena. Then she pushed the idea out of her mind. Peter was with Jacqueline; there wasn’t much doubt about that. He would hardly want his evening interrupted, and she certainly did not want to be responsible for the interruption. She might even be wrong about Toni and Vittorio, and even if she were not—well, with the help of Paolo and Gina there was no reason why she should not be able to handle the situation.
Noisily, Paolo reversed out of the line of cars, and within seconds they were on the road. The lanes near Castel Verdala were narrow and twisting and beyond the drystone walls there were dense thickets of carob and prickly pear which made it difficult to see very far ahead, even with the aid of moonlight, but in spite of everything they managed to make good progress. It was impossible to drive as fast as Paolo would probably have liked to drive, but even so they seemed to be doing about sixty miles an hour, and it wasn’t long before Catriona found herself holding on to her seat with both hands. She felt faintly guilty about Gina, pushed unceremoniously into the back, but at the same time she was too worried about Toni to bother much about anything else. After about five minutes they emerged on to a fairly straight main road, and immediately Paolo put his foot down, flashing through tiny villages at frightening speed. Once, a thin, rangy cat crossed in front of them, its tortoiseshell markings vivid in the glare of the headlamps, and Catriona closed her eyes, terrified that it would be hit. But it crossed the road in safety and they hurtled onwards, the speedometer climbing steadily.
The Sun and Catriona Page 13