The Sun and Catriona Page 6
Catriona was so angry that she felt all the colour leave her face. ‘Your sister,’ she pointed out, ‘is a fully grown woman. When I left England I did not understand that I would be expected to spy on her. Why shouldn’t she have coffee with a friend? How could a meeting like that be anything but completely innocent? If you want her to behave well you’ll have to trust her. You can’t degrade me by depriving her of all freedom. You can’t degrade me by asking me to be your watchdog.’ Swallowing, she looked down at his fingers, still holding her wrist in a remorseless grip. ‘I’ll fly home tomorrow. I’m sorry you’ve been put to the inconvenience of importing such an unsatisfactory employee. When I get back to England I’ll send you the money for my fare.’
He released her wrist, and she saw him staring at the livid marks left by the pressure of his fingers. ‘You must do as you wish,’ he said quietly.
‘I certainly will.’ Trembling with anger, Catriona struggled to fold her easel up, but its ungainly legs jammed. For a moment or two the Count simply stared, then muttering under his breath he came to her rescue, folding it up without difficulty. He placed it under one arm, and then gathered up the remainder of her belongings.
‘My car is outside the gates,’ he told her.
Inside the low-slung Citroen, Catriona stared resolutely through the windscreen. She felt furious with the man beside her, and with everything he stood for. He had no right to make his young sister’s life a misery, and he had no right, either, having dragged her out from England, to treat her like an unsatisfactory servant. She had been beginning to like Malta very much—she knew it was a place she could come to love, but he had ruined everything. She couldn’t go on working for a man who behaved as he did. It wasn’t possible.
The car swung in a wide circle, then plunged back into a maze of Valletta streets. Catriona felt as if something were aching, deep inside her, and she could almost have cried. It had been so beautiful in the gardens, so peaceful, and she had been pleased, too, with the work she had accomplished. Now it would have to be scrapped.
In front of Palazzo Vilhena he moved round to open the car door for her, but before he had an opportunity to touch it she sprang out unaided. Her easel, the case containing her colours and her folding stool were all in the back of the car and he remarked that he would have them sent up to her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but I’ll take them myself.’
He shrugged. ‘Very well.’
With a certain amount of difficulty Catriona carried her equipment into the house. Not glancing at her again, the Count got back into his car and drove it away to its garage.
CHAPTER SIX
When she reached the door of her own room Catriona had a certain amount of difficulty in turning the handle, but as soon as she was inside she dropped all her burdens and leaned against the closed door. For a moment she shut her eyes, while helpless resentment swept over her. Then a sound caught her attention, and she opened her eyes abruptly.
Toni was lying face down on the bed, sobbing violently. Catriona thought for a moment, then went over and shook the other girl lightly by the shoulder. ‘Hello! It’s me, Catriona.’
The sobs subsided and slowly Toni rolled over on to her back. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face streaked with tears.
‘Did he bring you back?’ she asked huskily.
‘Yes.’ Catriona sat down on the bed. She examined her own paint-stained fingers. ‘I’m sorry, Toni, but I don’t think I can take any more of your brother. I’m going back to England.’
‘No, you can’t!’ Toni sat up, her face even more a mask of distress than it had been a few seconds earlier. ‘Please, it will be dreadful if you go. There is no one else, except...’ She stopped, and her colour deepened.
‘Except the boy you met this afternoon?’
‘My ... my brother told you about Vittorio?’ Catriona nodded.
‘He told me that he found you having coffee with a friend.’
‘He’s the boy I told you about ... do you remember? When we were talking, on the plane?’
‘I remember.’
‘His name is Vittorio Falzon. I ... I liked him a lot, even when I first met him. You must have guessed.’
The older girl smiled a little. ‘You obviously found him attractive.’
‘Yes, but it was more than that. Then, last night, at the party, I met him again. He remembered me—really remembered, I mean. He said he had been wondering when I was coming back to Malta. We talked and danced, and—I suppose nothing else seemed to matter. Then he asked when I would be able to meet him somewhere, and I didn’t know what to say. I knew that if I went out alone Peter would want to know why, and it all seemed so difficult. But I thought that if you and I went out together, and I arranged things so that I could go off by myself for a while...’ Toni broke off. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair, but I thought nobody would find out.’
Catriona stood up. ‘Nobody would have found out if your brother hadn’t caught sight of you, and there’s no need to apologise to me. Why shouldn’t you meet a friend for coffee? You’re quite old enough...’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, it’s all absurd. Anyway, I’ve told your brother what I think of him.’
‘You ... what did you say?’ Toni’s eyes widened.
‘I’ve told Count Vilhena that he can’t go on behaving like this. It won’t make any difference, I’m afraid, but at least I said it. And I really will have to go.’
‘No! No, I can’t do without—without someone to talk to.’
‘You’ll make friends,’ Catriona pointed out. ‘Presumably your brother won’t object to girl friends.’
‘They wouldn’t be like you. They wouldn’t know what to do.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Catriona said honestly. ‘If you want my advice, though...’ She hesitated, and Toni looked at her expectantly. ‘Couldn’t you get in touch with your father? I’m sure he’d agree that—that Count Vilhena is being very unreasonable. A letter from him might make all the difference.’
Toni shook her head emphatically. ‘My father is a very long way away, and he trusts Peter absolutely. If Peter is being hard on me, Father will think that perhaps he has reason. Anyway, he won’t interfere.’
‘Well then, I’d tell them both that you must have a job. Or you could try getting into university.’
Toni sighed, and shook her head again. ‘I’m not clever enough for university, and Peter would never, never, never allow me to have a job.’
‘In that case...’ Catriona was beginning to feel impatient, ‘grin and bear it, until you find a boy you want to marry.’
Toni’s mouth drooped broodingly. And at that moment someone tapped lightly on-the door. Catriona jumped.
‘Come in!’
The door opened and Carmen appeared. ‘If you have time, Miss Browne, is-Signur is waiting to speak with you.’
Looking at the maid anxiously, Toni said something in Maltese. As she replied, Carmen smiled nervously.
‘I asked if he is in a bad temper,’ Toni explained for the benefit of the English girl. ‘She says she doesn’t know.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Catriona said quietly. She glanced at Carmen. ‘If Count Vilhena wants to see me I’ll come down.’
Toni fixed her with an imploring look. ‘Please tell him you’re going to stay.’
Peter Vilhena was seated at the desk in his own private sanctum, the room she had seen when she first arrived. Letters and papers lay scattered in front of him, and he had evidently been attempting to concentrate on them, but as soon as the door closed behind Catriona he pushed them aside and got to his feet.
‘Sit down, please.’
She obeyed, watching him warily.
‘I hope you have reconsidered your decision to leave us.’ He was standing with his back to one of the windows, as graceful and elegant as a panther, but his head was bent and she couldn’t read the expression on his face.
‘I ... Actually, no, I haven’t. I’ve been talking to Antoinette.’
‘She was very distressed.’
‘I am sure that she was.’ He shot her a keen glance. ‘You feel perhaps that I do not treat her kindly enough. If I would only allow her complete freedom—well then, no doubt she would not be distressed. Eventually, of course, she would begin to suffer the consequences of complete freedom, but that she does not understand. I think you do not understand it either.’
Catriona stared at him in bewilderment. ‘She has to grow up some time. You can’t supervise her for ever.’
‘Until Antoinette acquires a husband I shall continue to hold myself responsible for her well-being. I shall certainly do everything in my power to ensure that she does not associate with undesirable young men.’
‘Someone has to help her grow up, though. Eventually she’ll need to make her own decisions.’
He turned his head to look out of the window, and Catriona once again became aware how good-looking he was. His strongly moulded features were classically even, his eyelashes long and thick. If only he were a different sort of man he would be extremely attractive.
‘Children are taught to avoid fire,’ he said suddenly, ‘to treat it with respect. If they are not given such necessary instruction they may burn themselves, perhaps seriously. Of course, I am aware that in England young women frequently learn the lessons of life in precisely that kind of way—they are allowed to learn by experience, and sometimes are badly burned.’ He looked at her gravely, his dark eyes intent. ‘I have no wish to probe into your personal life, Miss Browne, but if you have so far escaped this sort of experience you are fortunate.’
Catriona shook her head. ‘I can manage my own life,’ she said quietly. ‘So, I’m sure, could your sister, if she were allowed to.’
Almost absentmindedly, he glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly half past seven,’ he remarked, as if this discovery surprised him a little. His glance rested once again on Catriona, and she realised that for the first time he was noticing the change in her appearance. Absurdly, she began to feel self-conscious, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he looked rather wearily at the papers littering his desk and remarked that he had a good deal of work to do.
‘There are various matters that must be attended to this evening. However, the problem of Antoinette is also of serious importance.’ He hesitated, then came to a decision. ‘I would like to show you something,’ he said abruptly, ‘but I am afraid it will be necessary for you to have dinner with me. How soon can you be ready?’
‘You mean—go out to dinner with you?’ Catriona was aware she must have sounded startled.
‘You feel the experience might prove too painful?’ he suggested, dryly. ‘Even if you are determined to leave us, however, I think you should allow me this one opportunity to prove my point.’ He looked at her again, and this time his eyes held hers. She felt almost as if she were being hypnotised.
‘I’d rather not...’ she began.
‘You would prefer not to be under any kind of obligation to me?’ He smiled rather oddly. ‘You need not worry about that, I am not promising you a pleasant evening.’
‘It isn’t necessary. I—I’ve decided I will stay on. If you want me to.’
His face betrayed no reaction whatsoever. After a tiny pause he said coolly: ‘Excellent. I’m so glad you have decided to be sensible. I would still be grateful, however, if you would have dinner with me.’
‘All right, if you think it’s important. But I’ll have to change.’
He shook his head. ‘There is no need for that. In any case, if we delay much longer we may not get a table.’ He stood up. ‘I shall expect to see you in five minutes. My car will be outside the door.’
Catriona didn’t want to co-operate. She wanted to oppose him in every possible way, but something seemed to have happened to her will. She knew he was going to subject her to some bizarre kind of experience, but somehow she couldn’t say ‘no’.
She went up to her room, and finding that Toni had vanished wondered briefly whether she ought to look for the other girl and tell her what was happening. In the end, having taken a hurried shower and run a comb through her hair, she simply left a message with Carmen, who had come in to turn down her bed. After all, she wouldn’t be very long. Nothing the Maltese Islands had to offer could induce her to linger over dinner with Peter Vilhena.
When she went down again she found him waiting for her in the street. He was leaning against the bonnet of his car, staring broodingly at the pavement, his fine dark brows drawn together, and when Catriona appeared he stared at her blankly, as if he had difficulty in remembering who she was.
Without a word, he put her into the car, and she began to feel increasingly angry. Whatever he was seeking to prove, she disliked his method of setting about it, just as she disliked everything about him. In the end she had decided not to leave, but it was only because of Toni, who at the moment needed a friend even more than Catriona herself needed her freedom.
They drove out of Valletta, taking a road which led them through a series of well-ordered suburbs. The streets were lined with neat, brightly painted houses, and she noticed that the people looked cheerful and prosperous. Black-haired children played noisily on the pavements. Everywhere there were strolling couples, good-looking boys and pretty girls, their arms entwined about each other. Catriona glanced sideways at the Count.
‘Some young people,’ she remarked, ‘seem to have a good deal of freedom, even in Malta.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Young men and women go out together, yes,’ he acknowledged evenly. ‘Before such a thing is allowed, however, the girl’s parents will usually make extensive enquiries. The boy must be a person they can approve of. He must have a job, and he must be a good Catholic. That is very important.’
Catriona stared thoughtfully at a couple standing near the edge of the kerb. ‘I can see that his religion would be important,’ she conceded. ‘But—no job, no girl-friend. That’s hard, isn’t it?’
‘Life is hard,’ he pointed out, frowning a little as he negotiated a particularly dangerous right-hand bend They reached the town of Sliema, a busy resort three miles from Valletta, and Catriona looked around her with interest. Sliema had an imposing promenade, numberless hotels and a large selection of smart shops. It was alive and bustling, and there was a very modern feel about it. He told her that it was a Mecca for tourists from all over the world.
‘Many Maltese feel that it is a place one is wise to avoid,’ he remarked. ‘At least between May and September.’
Night had fallen now, and the sky was ablaze with stars. Sliema faced the open sea, and it was possible, too, to look across an intervening harbour to the lights of Valletta. There seemed to be a lot of café s and brightly-lit bars, and the streets were thronged with people who were apparently out to enjoy themselves. They passed through the graceful Victorian streets of the old town, then turned into a side street and stopped. There was a sound of rock music, and Catriona glanced round, wondering where it was coming from.
The Count opened her door for her, and in silence he helped her out, his fingers cold and hard against her warm skin. For a fraction of a second she looked up into his face, and realised with a shock that it was like a mask. He led her down a brightly lit passageway between two buildings, and as he pushed her in front of him through a low doorway she felt as if she were stepping into some kind of inferno.
They were in a small, overcrowded night-club and peering through a stifling haze of cigarette smoke she could see that there was barely room to move. The noise, which was ear-splitting, emanated from a six-piece rock group which had been squeezed into an alcove facing the bar, and a dozen or so couples were swaying languorously to the beat. Many-coloured, constantly changing lights flickered over them and over the shadowy faces of others who were seated at the tables. There seemed to be hardly any air.
Catriona had been in night-spots before, but she had never seen anything quite like this. The heat and t
he lack of space combined to give it the quality of a nightmare.
The place was crowded almost to capacity, but there was still one table vacant, and without the slightest loss of composure Peter Vilhena cleaved a way towards it. It was difficult to move an inch without being jostled, but with the Count’s firm fingers lightly clasping her elbow Catriona found that the crowd tended to part in front of her. They reached the vacant table, and a perspiring boy with black curly hair arrived to place a tattered menu in front of them. Peter surveyed the untidy scrawl with distaste.
‘The melon,’ he requested, after a moment’s consideration. ‘And the timpana—for both of us.’ He glanced at Catriona. ‘You would like an aperitif?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t drink.’
‘Really?’ His brows ascended sharply. ‘A tomato juice, then, for the signurina.’ He pushed the grubby menu away and leant back in his chair. In front of them a very young girl was dancing with a man who was obviously a good deal-older than she was, and several people were staring at her. Her dress left very little to the imagination, and it was abundantly clear that she had had more than enough to drink. Without the support of her companion’s arms she looked as if she might have fallen. As they watched, her escort half led, half carried her back to their table, where she subsided, giggling weakly, in an oddly pathetic heap.
Catriona looked at Peter Vilhena. ‘That girl can’t be more than sixteen.’ In order to make him hear she had to raise her voice.
He shrugged. ‘Young people must have their freedom,’ he reminded her.
The melon arrived with reasonable speed, but Catriona barely touched hers. The hot, sticky atmosphere was beginning to make her feel sick. She was struggling against a mixture of nausea and resentment. She understood very well why Peter had brought her to such a place, but although she was faintly revolted by the scene in front of her she failed to see that it had any bearing on the argument over Toni. As far as that went, he was wasting his time, and when they got outside she would tell him so. At the moment, serious conversation was out of the question.