Summer Lightning

by Jill Tahourdin

  Chloe avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. She put her crumbly cheesecake down on her plate with a feeling that if she tried to eat it she would choke. She hated scenes. They made her feel hot and cold and horribly embarrassed.

  There was quite a pause before anyone spoke. Then Dominic asked for a second cup of tea.

  “If you’ll both come down to the library in half an hour, we can begin planning and get something done before dinner.” His voice was taut; as soon as he had emptied his cup he set it down and with a word of apology left the terrace.

  “First round to Dominic,” Mark said. “But he’s shaken. I wish I knew why she’s come here. She’s dangerous.”

  “A femme fatale?” Chloe asked skeptically. Was that how Louise saw herself? Or was she merely a spoiled, vain, heartless woman, angry at a man who had once loved her and didn’t any longer? Or did he? Passionately Chloe wished she knew.

  Dominic was waiting for them in the library, and drew up a chair for Chloe. He had a lot of plans and drawings spread out on the big table.

  “I don’t know how much Fairfax told you.”

  “Only a general outline.”

  “Very well. This is a plan of the dig, as far as we’ve gone. You see, we’ve partly uncovered a Stone Age temple or sanctuary, probably the most perfect of a number that have already been opened up on the island. Here, you see...” He talked brilliantly. He was keen and enthusiastic and completely master of his subject. His voice seemed to lay a spell on Chloe. Time stood still...

  It was nearly two hours later when she went upstairs to bathe and change for dinner. The sense of tension and excitement Dominic had roused in her was still tingling in her veins.

  When she looked at herself in the mirror she saw that her eyes were very bright, her color high. She gave an uncertain laugh, surprised at herself, not altogether pleased. She promised herself to keep her emotions, in future, under better control.

  When she went down to the dining room, she found Mark and Louise already there—Louise in a swirl of billowing, jewel red skirts, with a mink cape swinging from her arm. It looked as if she planned to go out.

  “A martini, Mark, my dear. I die for one.”

  Taking his arm, she drew him away to the table on which glasses and bottles and ice were set out.

  Dominic came in a few minutes later and went over to the fireplace where Nibblu, the manservant, was putting on fresh logs. He gave Chloe a smile when she looked up from a miniature she had picked up from a table.

  “My English grandmother,” he said.

  His eyes took in the quiet elegance of her full-skirted, dark silk dress. They lingered for a moment on her shining hair and the long, smooth throat, unadorned with jewelry.

  Chloe gently laid the miniature down. “She must have been a lovely girl.”

  “She was a reigning beauty of her day. Her portrait hangs in the hall.”

  She longed to hear more about the slender beauty whose gray eyes were so like his own, but he had already left the subject.

  “Let me bring you a glass of sherry.”

  “Please.”

  He had no sooner brought it than Louise joined them. As usual she took charge of the conversation.

  She seemed quite to have forgotten her annoyance with him. At dinner she talked with her usual vivacity, nonstop. She was amusing, malicious, even scandalous about people she and Mark knew, but Chloe had never heard of. Dominic listened politely. Once Mark caught Chloe’s eye and gave her his indecorous wink.

  When they had had their coffee Louise rose, her skirts swirling alluringly. “How long do you mean to go on toiling, my poor pet?”

  “Impossible to say.” It was Dominic’s voice that had an edge to it now. Chloe saw how Louise’s eyes narrowed, how her lips twitched as if with some secret resolve. Her look was wickedly feline. But she waved a careless hand. “Enjoy your homework, my dears,” she said mockingly, and left them.

  Dominic left the salon after her, to pay his usual after dinner visit to his mother. He found her in a difficult mood.

  “Where is Louise?”

  “Off to the Felicia, I fancy, to meet some friends she made on the voyage out.”

  “A good riddance. And the other girl, Chloe Linden? Do you like her, Dominic?” Searchingly the restless, brilliant eyes studied his face for the answer.

  “I think she’s going to be very useful, mother.”

  “Useful! What do I care if she’s useful or not? She’s young, charming, unusually pretty. Well bred, too—I made sure about that. Have you got water in your veins? Can’t you think of her as a woman?”

  “My dear mother, she’s come out here to take photographs in the sanctuary,” Dominic said patiently. “She’s a professional photographer. That’s how I prefer—and intend—to think of her.”

  “Bah! You make me angry. Are you blind? Don’t you see why Louise has come here? Can’t you understand that now they are on the point of assuming Dick’s death, she means to have you!”

  “She broke off our engagement before. Why should you think she wants me now?”

  “Because I’m not a fool. You are famous now as well as rich. I can see just how her mind has worked. She won’t rest till she’s got you under her spell again. But don’t you see? If you were to marry—shall we say this other girl who has so conveniently turned up here, this Chloe Linden— you would be safe for ever from Louise.”

  Whatever effect this suggestion had on him, Dominic’s face showed nothing. His mother went on persuasively, “Luckily we Valmontez are not Catholic, so there would be no difficulty there.”

  “I promise you, dearest, Louise won’t stay long,” he said gently. “When she sees I’ve no intention of leaving my work for her, or letting Mark off, either, she’ll grow bored with Santa Clara and go away. This isn’t her kind of place at all. She’ll soon be tired of it. Now, lie down and rest. Good night, mother. Sleep well.”

  The white head fell back on the pillow. Soon her breathing told him she had fallen into one of her facile catnaps. He watched her for a while, with pity and love and extreme exasperation. Then he quietly left the room.

  He was thinking he must try to keep Miss Linden away from her. It would be too awkward for her—and for himself, too—if she found out how his mother’s thoughts were running. It might give her ideas, romantic ones, of saving him from the consequences of a past folly.

  He didn’t want saving—at least not in that way. He wanted no more emotional adventures. He preferred the physical exertions and adventures of the intellect that archaeology provided. He wanted no women in his life.

  The shadow darkened his face again as bitter memories swept over him. After the peculiar rigors of his war experience, of time spent living among the enemy in constant fear of discovery or betrayal, he had been ripe, when he met Louise, to let a woman make a fool of him. Only to think of the episode with her humiliated him now. Whereas she seemed determined not to let him forget it. It was going to be unbearable, having her here, deliberately working on him...

  He would have to do something to get her to leave Santa Clara. He thought of his mother’s suggestion. Fantastic though it was, he didn’t altogether reject it. He found himself wondering just how far he could bring himself to go, to get rid of Louise...

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Before undressing, Chloe went up to the terrace again. Though there was no moon, the myriad stars seemed bright and near enough for her to see by, once her eyes were adjusted to their diamond light.

  Leaning at the stone balustrade, she looked out over the island. She could see the distant lights of Valetta and the harbors, the landing lights of Luqa and other fainter lights that marked the position of the villages—casals, Professor Vining had called them—dotted sparsely over the plain.

  She breathed in the warm southern air with delight. How silent and mysterious this place seemed. The clamor of the cathedral bells, harshly announcing the hour of eleven, quite startled her.

  She listened till the echoes had
died away. Then she strolled across the terrace. It was really a roof garden, with a central balustrade surrounding an open well reaching to ground level—to the courtyard, in fact. It had greenery, pergolas draped in vines and bougainvillea, and many angles and oddly shaped corners.

  In one corner she found a kind of lookout. It was a small, high stone platform, railed around with wrought iron and reached by a little curving stone stairway.

  When she climbed up to it she found that she could look right over the romantically shaped rooftops, domes and towers of Mdina to Rabat, the big casal beyond the ramparts.

  There the streets still glittered with lights strung along and across them. A procession of men, chanting and carrying life-size statues, had just emerged into the packed square. Above Mdina’s silence she could hear the distant roar of voices and the brassy din of bands. An occasional rocket still sprayed the sky with fire.

  “I told you Malta loved its religious festivals, didn’t I?” a voice asked beside her. Her heart leaped. For something to say she asked if he ever took part in them. He shook his head.

  “Unlike most Maltese families, we Valmontez are Protestant.” He moved beside her and went on, “So you’ve discovered my favorite thinking place?”

  She turned her head to find him smiling down at her, melting the resistance she was trying to build up against him.

  “I hope it isn’t private,” she said with a touch of diffidence.

  “If it was, I hereby make you free of it.”

  “Thank you.” She stole a glance at him, unseen.

  He began pointing out the various casals whose lights they could see, and telling her about them.

  “They’re unlike any village you’ve ever seen,” he said. “They’re more like forts, with tall, thick-walled buildings. It’s the easiest thing in the world to lose yourself in them. They’re a maze of narrow twisting alleys and cul-de-sacs. I recommend you to get Mark or myself to go with you the first time you try to navigate any of them. We wouldn’t want you to disappear without a trace.”

  She laughed and gathered her stole about her shoulders, thinking he probably wanted his aerie to himself.

  He thought how young and lovely she looked in the starlight. She didn’t, he assured himself, arouse any emotion in him other than pleasure and admiration—but still, he was glad he hadn’t sent her back to London.”

  “Going down? I expect you’re very tired.”

  “A little. The excitement and novelty of everything, perhaps.”

  As she looked up at him she caught again that flash of warmth and charm that evoked an immediate emotional response from her, in spite of herself.

  “Don’t let excitement keep you awake,” he warned. “We’ve quite a day before us tomorrow.”

  “I won’t. Good night, Professor Vining.”

  “Goodnight.”

  As she picked her way across the terrace, a sudden blare of car horns shattered the quiet.

  Startled, she swung around. She heard Dominic mutter, “Good God, what is it?” Then she saw him move quickly to the balustrade surrounding the well that gave on to the courtyard below.

  She went to look, too, frankly curious. She heard loud knocking, shouts of, “Nibblu! Open the gates!”

  Nibblu came out a minute or two later, struggling into his coat and yawning, a look of astonishment on his dark round face. When he swung open the big gates, three cars drove in. They decanted a hilarious party of men and women in evening dress.

  Louise was among them, in her swirling, jewel red gown.

  “Welcome to Santa Clara,” her deep voice called, “Open the doors, Nibblu. And in you go to the dining room my pets. Oh, and put out the drinks, Nibblu, and glasses and plenty of ice. And ask Lotta or one of the girls to rustle up some snacks. We’re starving.”

  “Si, signora.”

  Nibblu sounded unwilling and doubtful, though polite enough.

  “We’ll turn the stereo on—roll up the carpet and dance when we’ve had a drinkie or two,” Louise went on gaily. “Time this old morgue was wakened up.”

  There was a lot of loud laughter and noisy ragging. Someone tried to carry Louise across the threshold.

  Then suddenly the courtyard was empty. The visitors poured in a mass into the house and the doors clanged shut.

  Chloe heard Dominic let out a long breath, as though he had been holding it.

  “That’s just a taste of what we may expect to happen so long as Louise is with us,” he said grimly.

  “Will your mother...?”

  “Luckily her room is far enough away in the other wing. She wouldn’t be likely to hear anything. Your room, too. If you like, I’ll show you a way there, so you’ll be in no danger of running into any of that mob.”

  Taking it for granted she didn’t want to meet any of them, he led the way through a small door at the other end of the terrace. They went along several corridors and down short flights of steps. She realized again how enormous Santa Clara must be. She had completely lost all sense of direction by the time he brought her to her own door.

  “Will you go down and see them?” she asked curiously.

  She saw his jaw tighten. “Not for the world.” He looked so horrified at the suggestion that suddenly she found herself laughing helplessly.

  He eyed her with disapproval. Then he began to laugh, too—unwillingly, but irresistibly. For a moment or two the pair of them rocked with laughter.

  “Nibblu’s face,” Chloe gasped.

  “And mine, I expect.”

  “Yes, yours, too.”

  When they had sobered she saw that the tension had gone out of his face.

  “Bless you, Chloe,” he said. “I’d very nearly lost my sense of humor over that little invasion, I’m afraid. I can see you’re going to be good for me. Now, in you go. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  “Sleep well.”

  He was still smiling as he closed the door on her. As she undressed she said to herself. It’s no use, I adore him, I can’t help myself. It’s absurd. He’s ten years older than me. He isn’t my type at all. He isn’t even attracted by me. So why?

  But the heart, she knew, has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.

  She lay listening for a while. But no sound of whatever bright fun was going on downstairs reached her. Soon she was fast asleep.

  When Lotta came in with the early tea next morning Chloe saw that she was bursting with talk.

  “I hope the signorina wasn’t disturbed,” she began excitedly. “The signora brought a big party of guests here, late.”

  “Yes, I know. I was up on the terrace. I saw them arrive.”

  “And heard them? Dio mio, what a noise! Car horns, shouts. Nibblu must get up and dress to open the gates. I must get up to prepare food. Nibblu must fetch drinks, ice cubes. They turned the dining room into a dance hall. They rolled up the carpet, and there are rings, signorina, on the beautiful polish of the furniture, where they put down their glasses and spilled the drinks. When I tell the contessa, what will she say? I’m afraid to tell her.”

  She was rattling around the room noisily, dropping things in her agitation.

  “Then don’t tell her,” Chloe advised sensibly. “You and Nibblu and the others can soon put everything right. No need to upset your mistress.”

  Lotta looked sulky. “No—but if it happens again, and again, signorina?” she argued. “We must have our sleep. We have never had things like this happen at Santa Clara before.”

  Chloe sipped her tea. “Oh, well, don’t worry, Lotta. I expect your master will see that it doesn’t happen too often.”

  “Indeed I hope so, signorina.”

  Lotta’s broad back looked uncompromising as she finished setting things to rights and left the room.

  Chloe watched her go with a little grin. Poor old thing, she was probably going to find that a lot of things were different, once Louise got into her stride.

  For herself, Chloe had made up her mind to try to avoid
crossing Louise. Live and let live. She hoped Louise, for her part, would take the same line.

  After she had finished her tea and showered, she stepped out onto the little balcony, to sniff the crystalline air and delight once again in the view.

  It was then that she noticed how eaten by rust, how fragile, was the iron railing around the balcony. Touching it, she felt the metal quiver. She peered over it, then drew back with a little shudder. She had never had much of a head for heights, and it looked a long, long drop to the rocks and cultivated terraces below. But no premonition troubled her. She simply thought, as she went back to her room, I must remember not to lean against the railing.

  She dressed in slacks and shirt and threw a light cardigan over her shoulders, for this was going to be a working day.

  When she went downstairs she found Dominic and Mark already at breakfast.

  There was fresh crusty bread, smelling deliciously, on the table. There were big yellow cups for coffee, honey in the comb, a jugful of roses adding their fragrance to that of the bread and coffee. She remembered reading somewhere that some famous person—Cicero, she thought— had called Malta “land of roses and honey.”

  Dominic was reading the Times of Malta, but he put it down and got to his feet punctiliously. Mark jumped up to pour her some coffee and hot milk.

  They ate and talked in desultory fashion. Nobody mentioned Louise’s party. They spoke mainly about the dig.

  Nibblu came in after a while, to deliver a message. “The signora says please to wait for her, sir, she wishes to go out with you this morning. She has had breakfast in her room. Now she is getting ready.”

  “Message ends,” grinned Mark. “So now what?”

  “So we take her with us, as requested. We show her over the dig, every inch of it. We trust that once will be enough.”

  Dominic’s voice was grim. He was angry with Louise, but he wasn’t going to play into her hands by losing his temper. He knew her, had her measure. He mustn’t let her get under his skin.

  Louise showed no outward sign of her late night. As she came in she exclaimed dramatically, “Lord, what a father and mother of a hangover!” But she looked, in fact, as fresh as if she’d gone to bed at nine o’clock.