by Marie Laval
When it was over, he had buried his head in her neck and held her tight against him.
‘I don’t want to fall asleep. I am too afraid to wake up and find that none of this is real, that you were never here and my son doesn’t exist,’ he whispered. ‘And that I will be going to Bou Saada on my own.’
‘This is real,’ she had said softly, wrapped in his arms, ‘and it is forever.’
She asked him about Bou Saada and he talked about his small estate, his plantations of fig, olive and palm trees. He spoke of his house with its enclosed garden and fountains.
‘It will be our heaven, my angel, I promise.’
If Algiers looked like giant white steps climbing up a hill, Valletta was a magic city built out of gold. Basking in the afternoon sunshine, houses, buildings, and churches glowed with warm, honey shades.
‘It’s beautiful!’ Marie-Ange exclaimed.
‘Isn’t it?’ Aunt Agata nodded, standing next to her. ‘You will like the dei Conti palazzo. It’s in the centre of town, on Strada San Giorgio.’
She turned towards Hugo who was talking with the captain of the ship and gave him an appraising glance.
‘Colonel Saintclair looks like a good, strong, reliable man, even if I still have some reservations about your rather…unconventional situation.’ She put her hand onto Marie-Ange’s. ‘It is nothing short of a miracle you found him in Algiers, dear. I dread to think what fate awaited you in that place. As for Giulia and me, and your friend Sophie, we might have remained captives for weeks, waiting for our ransom to be paid.’ With a smile she added, ‘Look at Lucas. It’s like he has known his father all his life.’
Sophie had just walked out of the cabin and handed Hugo his son. Today he didn’t hold him like a fragile ornament, but instead threw him into the air, making the little boy squeal with excitement. Marie-Ange walked across the deck, and together they watched as the ship sailed into Valetta’s great harbour.
‘I need to speak to the English officers in charge of policing the island,’ Hugo said when they docked. ‘I don’t know how long I will be.’ He bent down to kiss her and ruffled Lucas’ hair. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Marie-Ange watched him speak with a customs officer who pointed to a fort near the entrance of the harbour. He then disappeared among the horde of passengers, sailors, luggage carriers, fishermen and street merchants crowding the quays. Two English soldiers came on board to take Vittori away. On the quay a young man waved excitedly in their direction.
‘Matteo!’ Giulia called and waved back. ‘Quick, let’s go down.’ She gathered her skirts and rushed to throw herself in her fiancé’s arms.
Marie-Ange was disappointed to see her father wasn’t there. She hoped Baldassare was still in Trieste, and he would make it on time for Giulia’s wedding. She couldn’t help the feeling of anxiety gnawing at her, all the more now that she suspected Christopher had something to do with her father’s absence.
Two carriages took Marie-Ange and her party to the palazzo. From the street it looked just like a prison with high, square towers and thick walls pierced with small barred windows. Marie-Ange, however, forgot about the forbidding exterior once they drove through the gates. Set in lush, colourful gardens, it was a vast, honey coloured stone building, with archways and wrought iron balconies.
They were greeted on the front steps by Agata’s husband—her Uncle Paolo—and her father’s brother, Alessandro. Tall and wiry, with clear blue eyes and a crown of grey hair, he was very much like Baldassare.
‘I must speak to you, Uncle Alessandro, on a very urgent matter,’ she said as he welcomed her into the palazzo.
Alessandro showed her into his study where she immediately set out to explain her fears about Christopher, the danger he posed to her and her son, and her uneasiness regarding Baldassare’s prolonged silence. She was just finishing when an English officer was shown into the study. The officer looked hot and uncomfortable in a thick red jacket, black breeches, and high riding boots. Beads of sweat rolled down his face when he took his hat off.
‘Major Harris,’ he announced, clicking his heels together. ‘I am here to take a statement about Commandant Christopher Norton.’
Marie-Ange saw both her uncles exchange irritated glances. They invited the Major to sit down.
‘I understand your husband is some kind of agent, is that right?’
Marie-Ange nodded. ‘He used to be. Didn’t Colonel Saintclair explain the circumstances?’
‘I did indeed listen to the French Colonel’s somewhat extravagant allegations, but before we do anything we need to ascertain more facts.’
‘Why, Major?’ There was impatience in Alessandro’s voice. ‘We need to find this man, this Norton. You have his accomplice in custody, I believe.’
‘Vittori, yes, but…’
‘So what are you waiting for before searching the island?’ Alessandro’s voice was icy now.
‘You have to understand that my resources are limited. I cannot spare more than a dozen men at present.’
Alessandro slammed the palm of his hand on the desk. ‘I’ll round up men from my shipyard to organise the search.’
‘Oh no, I cannot let you do that,’ the Major objected. ‘I can’t have gangs roaming the island. It might be seen as some kind of uprising and cause a disturbance.’
‘So what do you suggest, Major?’
The English officer looked at Marie-Ange. He hesitated and his cheeks became a little red. ‘Well, I think the best course of action is for you to show your husband you are here in Valetta and let him take the initiative. He is bound to make a mistake. Then we shall catch him.’
Marie-Ange bolted upright in her seat. ‘You mean to use me as bait.’
‘This is a disgrace!’ Alessandro and Paolo exclaimed at once.
Major Harris raised his hands to appease them.
‘It is the best idea given our lack of resources.’
‘Has this man, Vittori, not said anything about Norton’s whereabouts?’
The Major frowned. ‘Unfortunately he was the victim of an…accident and is unable to help us.’
‘What kind of accident?’ Alessandro asked, raising his eyebrows.
The door of the study opened softly.
The Major blushed again. ‘He fell down and knocked his head.’
‘You mean your men beat him up and threw him down the stairs,’ Hugo said, walking into the study. ‘If Vittori doesn’t die of his head injuries, he will be useless for days.’
‘You didn’t say he had vital information,’ the Major snapped back.
‘I didn’t know the English knocked their informers unconscious before asking questions,’ Hugo retorted, coming to stand behind Marie-Ange’s armchair.
‘I don’t care much for your tone of voice, Colonel,’ the Major replied haughtily. ‘I remind you that you are here on English soil.’
Alessandro stood up so abruptly his chair fell back in a crashing noise. ‘No, Major,’ he interrupted. ‘You are here on Maltese soil. The English may have appropriated it but this is still our island.’
‘This is getting us nowhere, Uncle.’ Marie-Ange sighed, rubbing her forehead to soothe away a throbbing headache. She turned to the British officer.
‘I will do as you suggest, Major. It doesn’t look as if we have much choice, anyway. Presumably, you will assign a few men to my protection when I am out of the palace?’
Hugo placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘What is this about?’
She turned her head up towards him. ‘I will explain later, Hugo.’
‘I will send two of my best men at precisely four o’clock. Madame, you are doing the right thing.’ The major got up and put his hat on.
He nodded to Alessandro and Paolo, and as an afterthought reluctantly bowed to Hugo before leaving the study.
‘You are very brave, Marie-Ange,’ Alessandro said. ‘Your father will be proud of you.’
Hugo stood before Marie-Ange and pulled her up gently.
&nbs
p; ‘Are you going to explain what you intend to do? I hope this isn’t what I think it is.’
‘I am going to take a walk into town,’ she said with mock insouciance. ‘You are welcome to accompany me.’
Chapter Thirty-One
‘This is madness, Marie-Ange. You make an ideal target standing here on the piazza.’ Hugo sighed impatiently. He took her elbow and led her under the shade of one of the palm trees that lined the promenade.
‘I am not here to hide behind a tree,’ she replied, lifting her chin up. ‘I do not want to live the rest of my days looking over my shoulder, waiting for Christopher to strike.’
She scanned the crowd of passers-by taking a leisurely stroll across the square, the open top carriages speeding past, and the busy stalls where women sold fried tomato pasties or tumblers of lemonade on the corner of the street.
‘I wonder what he is waiting for. All this walking around isn’t achieving anything except to show him you’re here too, and that I’m closely guarded by two British soldiers.’
She indicated the men in uniform who had trailed after them all morning, as they had for the past five days.
‘That’s assuming he is watching, of course. Major Harris’ plan doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘Major Harris is an imbecile,’ Hugo retorted. ‘If only I could take a few men out with me and organise my own search.’
She put her hand on his forearm in a soothing gesture and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. ‘I know he forbade you to interfere,’ she said. ‘What a pity Vittori couldn’t give any more details.’
The Italian agent employed by Christopher had died from his injuries the day before. During his prolonged agony, he had mumbled repeatedly about an abandoned lighthouse but Major Harris deemed the information too vague to be acted upon.
‘Do you know how many lighthouses there are on Malta?’ he complained. ‘Then there’s Gozzo and Comino, and the smaller islands. I can’t waste any of my men’s time on such unreliable information.’
‘We’d better get back. Giulia’s wedding parade starts shortly and I have to get ready.’
‘I don’t want you to go.’ Hugo frowned. ‘I would be happier if at least I could walk alongside you. I don’t like this custom of keeping men and women apart during the procession. It makes me nervous to leave you surrounded only with women and children.’
She smiled reassuringly. ‘There will be a big crowd there, and you and the men will only be a few paces behind. I can’t imagine that Christopher would risk being caught up in a wedding party.’
Hugo was being overprotective, she thought as she watched him frown again. If he had his way, she would be locked up in the palace all day. She knew he was frustrated to be confined to the role of mere bodyguard. And although he hadn’t said anything, she could see he was hurt by her relatives’ reluctance to accept him. Alessandro and Paolo might be grateful he had brought Agata and Guilia back safely to Malta, but their rigid social conventions prevented them from welcoming him whole-heartedly within the family. Hugo had been given a room in a faraway corner of the palace. The only time he was allowed to spend alone with Marie-Ange was during their walks around Valetta, and even then they were escorted by Major Harris’ men.
‘I have to attend Giulia’s il-gilwa,’ Marie-Ange insisted, opening her white sunshade and rolling the carved ebony handle between her fingers. ‘It is the tradition to wish the bride and groom good luck.’
The only concession she had made was to leave Lucas with Sophie at the palace. She wouldn’t take any risks when it came to his safety.
When they returned, they found the whole dei Conti residence in effervescence. Servants were already laying the banquet for the evening wedding reception and arranging fresh flowers on the terraces and around the gardens. A constant stream of traders delivered fresh produce to the kitchens, causing a traffic jam of carriages and carts on the drive.
‘I wish you would reconsider,’ he said again, caressing her cheek with his finger. ‘I wish there was more I could do…I’m no use to anybody here, even to you.’
He bent down towards her and kissed the corner of her mouth. ‘And I wish we could be alone.’
Her cheeks grew hot as his finger trailed slowly down her neck. She too yearned for time alone with him.
‘Soon, we will go to your house in Bou Saada,’ she whispered. There at last, they would be free to love each other.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him before kissing her hard on her mouth. ‘Be vigilant this afternoon,’ he said when he released her.
She nodded and climbed the stairs to her room.
On the first floor excitement among members of the bride’s party had reached fever pitch. Housemaids ran along the corridors fetching ribbons, hot irons, gloves and stoles, glasses of water laced with lemon juice and honey, handkerchiefs sprinkled with essence of lavender to soothe frayed nerves…
One of Giulia’s maids rushed over to Marie-Ange.
‘Madame, the lace mantilla you ordered came while you were out. I put it in your room. And Master Lucas is asleep in the nursery.’ She curtsied and ran back along the corridor.
Marie-Ange frowned as she walked to the nursery to give Lucas a kiss. She hadn’t ordered anything. No doubt her Aunt Agata had taken care of it for her. She tiptoed to Lucas’s cot but he was fast asleep. He didn’t even stir when she caressed his hair and kissed his cheek.
Back in her room, a small parcel awaited her on the bed’s red silk counterpane. She opened the wrapping and carefully pulled out an intricate white and black lace mantilla.
‘Beautiful,’ she whispered, unfolding the delicate fabric. A piece of paper fell on the rug. She picked it up absent-mindedly and put it on the bedside table. The bill, she thought. She would give it to her aunt later.
She undressed to her corset and chemise and splashed some cold, rose-scented water on her face and arms. The light blue dress she was to wear for the wedding was laid out on a stand. There was a knock on the door and Sophie came in.
‘That veil is exquisite,’ she remarked, pointing to the lace mantilla.
‘A present from Aunt Agata. Can you fasten the dress for me?’
Sophie helped her dress and arranged the veil on her hair.
‘Will you look after Lucas this afternoon?’ Marie-Ange asked, pulling a pair of white lace gloves on. ‘I will spend time with him after the ceremony.’
Sophie nodded and leant out of the window. ‘The wedding guests are outside already. Giulia is coming out now. She is so pretty! She and Matteo are so much in love. I do wish them luck.’
She smiled wistfully and a shadow drifted over her face. Uxeloup’s shadow. Neither women ever spoke of him, but they hadn’t forgotten the relentless obsession which precipitated his death and which had almost killed Marie-Ange.
Marie-Ange walked to Sophie and squeezed her hand. ‘I’d better go, or I will be late.’
Outside, the bride and groom waited under the red and white wedding canopy which would be carried by four men to the church. The dei Conti women, relatives and female friends lined up behind them. They were followed by the men and by musicians who launched into a solemn march as the procession started.
Marie-Ange smiled at Giulia, radiant in an ivory coloured dress covered with tiny pearls. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Hugo at the back of the procession. He stood out, tall and broad-shouldered in a formal black suit and as always, the sight of him made her heart beat faster. She longed for the day when they would be in Bou Saada, living as man and wife, even though they could never be married as long as Christopher was alive. A dense crowd lined the streets, clapping, cheering, and throwing flowers as the procession walked past.
As they approached the church, a movement in the crowd caught her attention. Several men seemed to be pushing their way from a side street towards her. Suddenly fireworks exploded all around the procession. The noise was so deafening people dispersed in a panic, screaming and running in all d
irections, pushing and shoving in a desperate bid to move away and avoid getting burnt. Women fell down and were stamped upon. Marie-Ange lost sight of Giuilia and Matteo as she was enveloped by acrid smoke which prickled her eyes and made her cough and gasp for breath. She felt a sharp tug at her sleeve. A small woman with a harsh, deeply lined face framed with black hair was staring at her.
‘Please help me,’ she said, yanking her arm towards a side alley. ‘My child is hurt.’
The woman’s fingers gripped Marie-Ange’s arm like claws. Marie-Ange looked around for any sign of Hugo, her uncle, or any other member of the dei Conti household but all she could see were shadows running in the smoke.
‘Come, please.’ The woman walked fast, pulling Marie-Ange into a side street. Sounds of a horse coming at speed from behind made her glance over her shoulder. A rider charged in her direction, his head covered with an old-fashioned black tricorne hat and the lower half of his face hidden under a dark scarf. Before she could move out of his way, he bent down towards her, extended his arm, and scooped her up, flinging her across the horse like a sack of grain. Her mantilla flew behind, got caught in a wrought iron gate. It ripped and fell off on the cobblestones. She screamed with terror but her assailant pinned her down. His hand pressed heavily on her back as he manoeuvred his way out of the town’s narrow alleys, hardly breaking his speed. Her head bounced against the horse’s side as it pounded the cobbled streets, and then started down the coastal road.
She bit her lip and tasted blood. ‘Runaway mara, runaway wife,’ the man said loudly every time they rode past people. Stifled against the horse’s coat, her cries were too weak to be heard. Nobody would have helped her anyway. If she was a fugitive wife, she deserved whatever punishment her husband chose to give her.
At last, they stopped.
‘Down.’ The rider lifted her up by the waist and pushed her off the horse. She let out a cry of pain as she fell back onto the hard, rocky ground. Scrambling onto her feet, she blinked against the brightness of the sun and put her hand in front of her eyes. A lighthouse stood in front of her, at the end of a promontory surrounded on three sides by the turquoise sea. White frothy waves crashed on the rocks below with a thunderous noise.