His expression narrowed and he tilted his chin. ‘Maybe.’ His tone suggested: or maybe not. His tone was cold.
Behind Judith, Cass whispered, ‘Giorgio kien ihobbha.’ Giorgio loved her.
After another pause, Saviour inclined his head. ‘My wife take you to the house, Mrs McAllister, and I wash my hands.’
It was ten minutes before he joined them, by which time Judith was seated with Cass at a beautiful mosaic table of rich reds and greens in the shade of the courtyard, the bitha interna, a drink of cold peach juice beside her.
Saviour sat down in a dark-grey iron chair that wouldn’t be stained by contact with his oily gear and regarded her. His eyes were unsettlingly direct, as if he knew more than she was aware.
With a deep breath, she began her explanation. The crucifix, how comforted she’d been to receive it when grief was crushing her and how it had reassured her for many months, shifting against the skin at the base of her throat. ‘But then I had a letter from Alexia Zammit.’ She paused in case he’d like the opportunity to join the conversation.
He just waited, silently.
Judith eased her throat with the deliciously cold juice. ‘Alexia asked for Giorgio’s cross back and for the first time I questioned my right to it. Perhaps I should have done that sooner but I was caught up in my own grief. But now that Alexia’s claimed it, it’s worrying me. I need to know what to do.’
Finally, Saviour spoke. ‘The crucifix is valuable.’
‘I suppose so. It’s gold.’ She nodded. The monetary value wasn’t the issue and they all knew it.
‘But more, it is old. When my wife wish to give you a thing of Giorgio, she no realise this belong to Giorgio’s nannu. My father. Agnello give to Giorgio when he become a man. And before that?’ He shrugged eloquently. ‘Perhaps the father of my father.’
Judith felt instantly that he was speaking the truth. There was something direct about Saviour Zammit that made instinctive trust easy. She chose her words. ‘I’ve visited Johanna and Alexia. They tell me the crucifix has been left to Johanna, who wishes to pass it to her daughter.’ She allowed the merest suggestion of cynicism to creep into her tone.
She waited. He waited longer.
She looked into his olive-skinned face, the creases and folds of age and met his gaze. ‘I asked to see the will. They said they couldn’t show it to me. I need to be convinced of who owns the crucifix before I hand it over. So I came to you. Who does the cross belong to?’
The sun was bright across his face, engraving the lines more deeply. Bright flecks glowed in his dark eyes as he stared at her with surprise. ‘You come to Malta to ask this?’
She nodded.
‘Is-Sagramewt!’ An old man’s exclamation of astonishment.
Honesty got the better of her. ‘Well, partly, that’s why I came. And to decide whether to stay in England, or to come back here.’
‘You let Maria think you go live England.’ He sounded curious rather than accusing.
Faintly, she grinned. ‘I went. I didn’t go because she told me to and I didn’t say I’d stay.’
He gave one of his slow nods and sank into his thoughts, sipping juice from a thick tumbler, the oil of many hours of playing with engines edging his fingernails and defining every grain of the skin of his fingers. At length, he stirred. ‘You give money to Giorgio for a bus?’ He sounded suddenly tired.
She felt her cheeks warm. ‘I was a private investor in the company, yes.’
‘And me.’ His voice had become deep and sombre.
She stared at him. It hadn’t occurred to her that Giorgio might have involved his family with his business. In fact, she hadn’t given a thought to any other investors.
‘You lose a lot a money?’ he asked.
She debated telling him to mind his own business. But, if he’d invested himself, there didn’t seem much point in hiding anything. She shrugged. ‘Very nearly everything except for my house in England and what I invested in my uncle’s business.’
He grunted, glaring ferociously, shaking his head. ‘He is a silly man when he do this. A …’ He looked at his wife and spoke in Maltese.
‘An optimist,’ she supplied.
‘And sappitutto!’
‘Know-all,’ Cass translated.
Saviour tossed up his hands and his eyes grew moist. ‘But still, he does not mean this bad thing to happen to us.’
Judith smiled, painfully. ‘I know.’
Sorrow took charge of Saviour’s face. ‘But he know, before he die, that he make a mistake with the insurance.’ Saviour held up an admonishing finger. ‘A mistake, only. Not a cheat. When, after the company was involved in an accident and he discover no insurance, he has horror. Horror, yes?’ He checked with his wife. Silently, Cass nodded. Saviour turned back to Judith, a sheen of sweat beneath his flashing eyes. ‘And scare. He has scare. He come to me …’ Saviour’s voice broke and he pushed his finger and thumb fiercely against his eyes.
Quietly, Cass excused herself.
Judith looked away to let the proud old man compose himself. Consolingly, she said, ‘I’m glad it was a mistake.’
‘He no mean to cheat you,’ he repeated in a voice that rasped. Saviour wiped his eyes and stared absently at the houses that rose around, the balconies and outside staircases made of stone, the sky above, china blue. He let out a long, long sigh, spreading his gnarled and grimy hands. ‘He come to me, but too many money is needed. Those last days he has …’ He hesitated, searching in the air with his fingers for the word. ‘He has the mood. Not so many smiles.’ He demonstrated with a smile of his own and Judith felt that it was something not seen too often.
Shakily, she drained the last of her peach juice. ‘You must be right. He was awkward – moody – with me because I couldn’t dive with him on Saturday. Unnecessarily moody. He refused to wait until Sunday and said he had to work.’
‘If he wait for Sunday, he lives now.’
She didn’t need reminding.
Cass reappeared with a tray of small cups and coffee in a chrome pot. Saviour tossed his cupful back in one steaming draught, then said, abruptly, ‘Possessions, they go to his parents.’
It took several moments for Judith to appreciate what he was saying. ‘His parents?’
Saviour nodded. ‘I know how Giorgio left his matters and his possessions belong to Agnello and Maria.’
‘Thank you,’ she managed, slowly absorbing the knowledge that she’d have to speak to Giorgio’s parents. A heart-sinking thought.
Examining his grey hands, Saviour spoke in Maltese to Cass, too rapidly for Judith to pick up any of it. Then he rose. ‘Goodbye, Mrs McAllister. I wish you well.’ He nodded and crossed the courtyard with a rolling, bandy-legged gait, back in the direction of the Mercedes.
Cass waited until he was out of earshot. ‘He said, you have honour.’ She sounded awed.
Judith needed time to think. She spent the next day quietly with Adam, wandering around the yacht marinas to admire the sleek craft bobbing on the waves, chatting and pausing to take photos.
In the evening, Richard and Erminia had to go out to a party at Birzebbuga, down in the south-east corner of the island. The party was to celebrate the engagement of one of Erminia’s legion of great-nephews to a girl who they both agreed was beautiful and accomplished but neither could remember her name. At any other time Judith would have joined the celebration but tonight preferred to eat at a pizzerija along The Strand, with Adam. They sat on the first floor, beside an enormous plate-glass window overlooking the creek, and shared pizza, dough balls and several beers.
Adam was quiet. In fact, it seemed as if quietness had become a permanent state with him.
Judith tried to bring him out. He smiled when she made jokes and listened when she spoke but, as they strolled back beside the slack, black, rippling water of the creek, she had to accept that he wished to dwell on thoughts of his own rather than listening to another airing of hers.
She let them into Richard an
d Erminia’s silent house, shutting out the zirzar of the cicadas as she closed the tall door and led him into the large and homely kitchen where an enormous window dominated one wall. She turned and reached for his hands. ‘I’ve been neglecting you and you’re getting fed up with it.’
His answer was light. ‘That’s what you get for inviting yourself along on someone’s quest.’ But he didn’t manage a smile.
As usual, she felt him slide his right hand out of her grasp. She settled her hands on his chest, instead. ‘It’s true that I’ve had a lot on my mind.’
He shrugged, staring past her and through the window into the black night. ‘It’s more than that. You’re a different person in Malta. At least, you have been since you focused on the crucifix problem. You wanted to sort your life out, I understand that. It was my fault, I offered to come, to be available when you needed me. You never promised that the reverse would apply.’
Guilt flushed through her. ‘I am sorry. It’s just this decision’s been on my mind. I didn’t think it’d take so long—’
Abruptly, he stooped and shut her words off with his lips.
Surprised by the swift, brief kiss, she tried to explain. ‘I’m not a different person, not really. It’s more that I have an unusual situation to deal with. Different and difficult and unhappy. I thought the way forward would be obvious if I was back on the island but …’
His forehead was scored by a frown and he looked almost angry. Once again he stopped her words with a quick, hard kiss.
She got the message. He’d had enough of hearing about her problems and was too polite to snap at her to shut up, for crying out loud. Perhaps she ought to be thoroughly affronted but she could see his point. She’d been self-absorbed and she couldn’t blame him if he was sick of hearing her whine. Every problem she had, she took to him: her pain over Giorgio’s death, worry for her mother, emptiness and fear over her son, even her exasperation with a well-meaning big sister.
Deliberately, slowly, she fitted her lips back to his. Soft lips, parted, offering a different kiss altogether. For an instant she felt the muscles in his shoulders gather as if he might pull away. But he stayed, opening his mouth as her tongue tip explored, participating, sliding his hand into the small of her back and pulling her close.
Her heartbeat kicked up several gears. She let herself wallow in his embrace and the feel of his firm body against hers. She tightened her hold on him, murmuring against his mouth, ‘Take me to bed, Adam.’
He groaned, thrusting against her and making her gasp. ‘It’s not the right time. You’re caught up with Giorgio and his family. Your head’s with them.’
‘All of me’s here,’ she hissed, thrusting back. ‘From the neck up as well as from the neck down.’
Against her mouth he murmured, ‘You shouldn’t make me want you like this, Jude.’
She kissed his neck and nuzzled beneath his ear. ‘I’ve never really understood why not.’
There was no long, delicious disrobing. Adam just grabbed her by the hand and raced her upstairs, hustling her into her bedroom, hauling her shirt over her head, snapping off the button at the waist of her trousers with his impatience. ‘I want you,’ he murmured, as if she might not have gathered that. His breathing was hot and uneven, gusting out of him and fluttering back in. He flung back the covers and lowered her to the sheet, then shucked off his jeans and T-shirt in two seconds.
She gasped as he let himself down on top of her, kissing, nibbling, rubbing against her, pulling impatiently at her underwear, whispering her name, kissing her eyelids, cheekbone, collarbone, breast, stroking his jaw against the softness of her stomach and touching her with his tongue to leave a cool trail.
Afterwards, moonlight shone into the room. Adam lay on his side, facing her.
She wriggled closer to him, seeking safe harbour in the curl of his body. ‘I was beginning to think that would never happen again.’
‘I’ve had the same thought.’ He did his off-kilter half-smile.
Cautiously, she smiled back, made unsure by an odd note in his voice. ‘You seemed fairly enthusiastic. Do you wish …?’
He kissed her forehead, then her hair. ‘Wish you didn’t make me want you? Perhaps,’ he said enigmatically. ‘I dragged you up here like a caveman. Had I better go back to my own room? Will you be embarrassed if Richard and Erminia realise we’re in bed together?’ Now the passion was over he seemed tired and beginning to withdraw.
She shook her head. ‘They’re so late that I should think one of Erminia’s relatives has offered overnight hospitality.’ She slipped her hand around his waist. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been preoccupied.’
‘I understand.’ But he made a sound suspiciously like a sigh. ‘It’s what you came here for.’
She tried to be honest. ‘Tomorrow, I must try to speak to Giorgio’s mother, Maria.’
He began kissing her again, giving her mouth something to do other than tell him her plans.
Much later, when Judith was sliding off heavily into sleep, her back spooned against Adam’s front, his bony, warm arms looped around her, she heard his voice in the darkness. He said, ‘It’s a small country.’
‘Malta? Of course.’ When she was less sleepy, she could quote him facts about the Maltese archipelago, size at widest and longest points, population, visitor numbers and even rainfall.
‘A small world,’ he added. ‘Far away from Britain.’ He sounded wistful and she wanted to talk, to reassure him if he needed it.
But her dreams whooshed up to carry her away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When morning came, Judith found herself in bed alone. Even before opening her eyes she knew that Adam’s warmth was absent.
She unglued her eyelids and stretched, gingerly waking muscles that had been exercised by a night of lovemaking. She smiled.
‘About time.’ His voice came from the doorway. ‘I was going to wake you, if only to check that I hadn’t killed you.’ Dressed already in black jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he’d brought her a late-morning brunch of ham, cheese and crusty bread, with tea for them both in two of Erminia’s pretty butterfly-strewn mugs.
She laughed, hoisting herself up against the headboard, letting the dawn-pink cotton covers fall to her waist. ‘I thought I stood up to the action pretty well. It wasn’t me who had to leap out of bed and cavort about the room because of cramp.’
‘No, I suppose somebody was needed to stay in bed and giggle.’ He leant forward and kissed her naked breast, his lips hot.
She caught the back of his head, stroking his hair into his neck. ‘Come back to bed. I promise never to giggle again.’
Slowly, he freed himself, kissed the corners of her mouth and smiled, crookedly. ‘Jude, if I get into bed with you again, I might never get out. And I don’t want you to think that all I’m good for is no-strings sex.’ He pushed himself back to his feet and left her to eat, shower and dress, pondering his words and his air of vulnerability.
When she caught up with him he was out in the midday sunshine, rocking on two legs of a chair and studying a book of drawings by M. C. Escher. He was fascinated by the work of Escher, that master of mathematical mosaic, optical illusion and reflection. It was one of his favourite Sunday treats to listen to The Hollies or The Eagles while he gazed at the masterly work.
‘Lizards or geckos?’ he asked, indicating a drawing where unlikely-looking reptiles appeared to walk in and out of a mosaic. His hair blew over his forehead and he pushed it back.
She laid her hand upon the strength of his forearm. ‘Adam, I don’t want you to think that I only want you for—’
He covered her hand quickly with his and squeezed it. ‘Don’t let’s do this now.’
She squeezed back, wanting, needing to make him listen. ‘But I just want to—’
‘Please, don’t.’ He snatched his hand away and turned a page so roughly that it should have ripped from the book’s spine.
He’d never raised his voice to
her like that before, and she recoiled. ‘Why are you angry with me?’
His voice softened, but his gaze remained fixed upon his book. ‘I’m angry at myself, not you, which is why it’s not the time to talk. I shouldn’t have let sex cloud the issue. I turned basic, and I wish I hadn’t.’
She waited for further illumination. ‘You wish you hadn’t because …?’
‘Because it was amazing.’
She yearned to loop her arms about him but his rebuff kept her standing stiffly apart. ‘Yes, it was. Absolutely amazing, and I don’t regret it at all.’ She was aware that she was using what her mother would call her ‘difficult voice’.
He turned a page to a drawing of a single drop of water capturing a world of reflections. Gruffly, he said, ‘Judith’s satisfied with the way things turned out, so that’s OK, then.’
She’d never encountered him in this mood before: prickly, rueful and troubled. Until now he’d seemed prepared to go at her pace, to wait for her while she traversed a rockier road than his. Misery clouded her vision. She’d hoped their return to lovemaking was a breakthrough, a step forward, but he was treating it like … like an error of judgement. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
With deadly calm he said, ‘How many times do I have to repeat myself before you believe that I don’t want to talk?’
There was no point persisting while he was churning with anger. It was better if she went to see Giorgio’s parents and got that over with. She longed for the saga of the crucifix to be done. When she returned, hopefully he’d be his normal self. They could talk honestly without ghosts and missions hanging in the air between them. She’d already made up her mind to tell him that she loved the island but she’d realised that, for her, it was part of the past. It was hard to get any of that over when he refused to talk. Stiffly, she took a step away from him. ‘I have to go out for a while.’
He turned a page slowly to a picture of a house with an enormously bulbous balcony in its centre. ‘Thought you might.’
Softly, she said, ‘I don’t think I’ll be very long.’
A Home in the Sun Page 28
