Once or twice, she knew, Paolo glanced at her in the darkness and she was vaguely conscious of the fact that he hoped she would be impressed by his driving, but she had no time to think of him. She was hardly aware that he existed. He was simply the means by which she might be able to prevent Toni doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous.
It took them nineteen minutes to reach Marsa, and as they roared down the hill to the wide open space behind the landing-stage she could see that a light burned on the jetty and a solitary car was parked beside the locked and abandoned café that normally served the ferry queue. There was no one about.
They all piled out of the car and without much delay Paolo identified the parked vehicle as belonging to Vittorio Falzon. Feeling that her worst fears had been realised, Catriona began running towards the Vilhenas’ private landing-stage, the others behind her, and as she ran she tried to think. She didn't really know what she would say if and when they caught up with Toni and Vittorio, but she had no doubt in her mind that it would be possible to stop them. Toni was sensible—she would listen.
She ran past the boathouse, Paolo close behind her now. Low down, near the horizon, there was a bank of lowering cloud, but the moon was still riding clear and the shore was bathed in silver light. Breathlessly, Catriona turned the corner. The boathouse doors were wide and with the exception of a few tools there was nothing inside. She walked to the edge of the jetty and looked down at the water. Dark, shining water lapped almost soundlessly against the steps. She could see the iron ring to which the Sultana had been moored that afternoon, and it seemed to mock her. Biting her lip in bitter frustration, she stared out across the moonlit sea, but there was nothing in sight. Though she strained her ears, there was no sound of an outboard motor.
Paolo came up behind her. ‘They had a good start on us,’ he pointed out. ‘It’s a calm night and with a good engine they could be a long way away by now.’
‘It’s calm so far,’ said Catriona. Her voice was small and tight. ‘But those clouds...’
Gina appeared round a corner of the boathouse, carrying one fragile silver sandal.
‘My tights are torn,’ she complained, ‘and I think my heel is broken. I am very angry with Antoinette.’ Sinking down on the stones of the jetty, she examined her damaged shoe, then glanced at the other two. ‘She has gone, I suppose?’
Through the stillness of the night there came the distant hum of an engine and for a moment Catriona glanced hopefully out to sea. Perhaps—could they be coming back? Then as the sound grew louder she realised that it came from the road behind them. It was the sound of a car approaching fast and as its headlamps swung into view she knew instinctively who was driving it.
The Citroen stopped with a squeal of brakes and almost in the same moment Peter swung himself out of the driving-seat. He was alone, and they all three stared at him. How could he have known?
He strode rapidly towards them over the uneven ground and Catriona saw that his face was pale and taut in the moonlight. ‘You were too late,’ he remarked tersely, as he caught up with them. ‘They put to sea half an hour ago.’
‘How did you know?’ Catriona asked helplessly.
‘I was told that my sister had left the gardens with Falzon and also that you,’ he looked at Catriona, ‘had been seen driving off with Gina and Paolo. I guessed that you had thought it necessary to go in search of Antoinette, and then an idea occurred to me, so I telephoned the police station here.’ He nodded towards a small lighted building a couple of hundred yards away to their left. ‘The Sergeant told me that my launch had put to sea a few minutes earlier. He was not worried at the time because he knew the boat was fitted with a variety of alarms. Whoever took her obviously understood the system, so he assumed it must be all right.’
‘Does Toni understand the alarms?’
‘Yes. Last summer, when she was here, she enjoyed playing with a similar security system which had been fitted to another of our boats. Anyway, Sergeant Mjfsud believes the Sultana was taken by a man and a girl, so there doesn’t seem to be much doubt. He has been put in possession of the facts and the rescue services have been alerted, together with the excise patrol boats for this area.’
Catriona looked at him, a question in her eyes. ‘Rescue services?’
He nodded towards the thickening cloud bank. ‘That’s coming closer, and it may affect conditions.’
Catriona swallowed. Despite the sticky warmth of the night she felt cold, and her body seemed to ache with sympathy for Peter. She thought of Marina, broken all those years ago on the rocks of Filfla, and understood what he must be going through.
Gina looked frightened. ‘They’ll be all right, won’t they? They’ll be brought back?’
Peter turned away from them. ‘There’s no point in hanging about here.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Paolo. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Sciberras, but there’s nothing more you can do. You had better take your sister home.’
Paolo nodded soberly. He looked at Catriona. ‘I’ll telephone you in the morning.’
‘All right,’ she said absently. ‘If you like.’
As they moved back towards the cars, Peter turned round to look once more at the glistening sea. ‘I hope they’re all right, out there.’
‘So do I,’ she answered, moistening dry lips.
Paolo and Gina drove away almost immediately, but for a moment or two Peter sat very still behind the wheel of the Citroen. Then he extracted a bundle of maps and charts from the glove compartment.
‘Where do you think they’ve gone?’ Catriona asked at last, her voice husky.
‘Sicily.’ With the aid of a torch, he studied one of the charts more closely.
‘How far is it?’
‘Too far.’ His voice was toneless. ‘They won’t make it.’
‘Not—not even if the weather holds?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’ Then he stiffened, listening. From far out over the sea there came a faint ominous growl of thunder.
Catriona shivered, and she saw Peter’s lips tighten.
‘Wait here,’ he said abruptly. ‘I shan’t be long.’ He got out of the car, taking the torch with him and as he closed the door on her and walked away into the darkness she felt a sudden panic-stricken urge to follow him. But she didn’t. Instead, she sat very still, willing herself to stay calm. She knew that he needed her support and she wasn’t going to let him down. Of course, Jacqueline should have been with him, but naturally she would still be celebrating the success of her first night. It probably wouldn’t have been possible to drag her away. Perhaps she didn’t even know what was going on. With iron determination, Catriona forced herself to be fair, at least in her own mind. At the very thought of Jacqueline, she felt cold and sick with jealousy, but she mustn’t let her judgment be affected by that. She mustn’t.
Glancing in the driving mirror, she saw that Peter was walking towards the police station and supposed he was going to ask for advice or information. Perhaps they would have something to tell him already? She looked out of the window, noticing that the moon was beginning to slip behind the advancing cloud bank. Thunder rolled again, a little nearer this time, and she clenched her fingers to stop them trembling. The sea looked very dark now, dark and vaguely menacing. How could Toni have done such a crazy thing? What chance did they stand? Had Vittorio Falzon talked her into it, or had it been her own idea?
Looking back over the last few days she could see, now, that they might have met again and again. Probably they had been together at Gina’s party, and there must have been many other occasions when brief meetings would have been possible. She didn’t know why she had been taken in, why she had ever imagined they would give up so easily. If she had been in the same position and Peter had loved her as Vittorio apparently loved Toni, would she have given him up?
The moon disappeared completely, and suddenly it was very dark. Spots of rain appeared on the windscreen and thunder growled again. She looked at the digital clock on the d
ashboard and saw that it was ten minutes past twelve. Toni and Vittorio had now been at sea for something like three-quarters of an hour. How far would they have got?
Firm footsteps sounded beside the car and Peter unlocked the door. Without saying anything he got in and started the engine. They turned, the headlamps showing that it was now raining quite hard, and then they moved off along the road that led back towards Valletta.
Glancing at Peter, Catriona saw that his face was grim. ‘What did they say?’ she asked.
‘That the storm is getting worse,’ he answered briefly.
‘Is that all? How long will it be before they trace the Sultana?’
‘I have no idea.’ He frowned. ‘I spoke by telephone to Falzon’s father. He tells me his son has no boating experience whatsoever.’
She looked at him anxiously. ‘Toni has, though—hasn’t she?’
He shrugged. ‘She has been taken out many times, yes. But I wouldn’t trust her to take charge of a rubber dinghy.’
Catriona had a thought. ‘Isn’t there any way they can be contacted?’
He shook his head. ‘The Sultana has no radio.’
She sensed that he didn’t want to talk, but she had to say something. ‘Where are we going now?’
‘Back to Valletta.’ He glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘We should be there in ten minutes’ time, and you can then go quietly to bed.’
She looked horrified. ‘I couldn’t go to bed! Not until I know they’re safe.’
‘No? Well, you must do as you like,’ he said rather harshly.
‘You’ll be sitting up, waiting for news,’ she pointed out. ‘Can’t I—can’t I wait with you?’
‘No, you cannot.’ His voice was sharp and impatient. ‘For one thing, I shall not be sitting up, waiting for news. I have a fast cruiser moored in St Paul’s Bay and when I’ve disposed of you I shall take her out and join the search. Assuming, of course, that they have not been found.’
Catriona felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach. Naturally, he’d want to do that. He’d have to. She should have realised.
‘Well,’ she said positively, ‘you mustn’t waste time taking me back to Valletta. I’ll wait in the car, if you like, but—but I wish you’d let me go with you.’
‘Let you...’He sounded outraged. ‘Santa Maria! You’re not serious?’
‘Of course I am.’ She felt tears rising in her throat, threatening to choke her, preventing her from speaking clearly. ‘I’m very fond of Toni,’ she said, floundering desperately. ‘I want to know what’s happening.’ As he remained silent, she added, ‘Please—please let me go with you. I won’t be a nuisance, and I won’t get in your way. I’m not nervous, and if the worst comes to the worst I’m a strong swimmer.’ She stopped, wondering if she had said too much.
Peter was silent for a long moment, then he shrugged. ‘Very well, as you wish. On such an occasion I would not choose to burden myself with unnecessary female company but it will certainly save time.’ He glanced at her. ‘What about your clothes?’
‘They don’t matter, and they’re quite comfortable.’ Well, at least her skirt was not long and mercifully she was wearing flat-heeled Roman sandals. She might not be dressed very suitably for putting to sea in a motor-cruiser, but at least her clothes would not hamper her.
When they reached St Paul’s Bay it was very quiet, and there was no one about as they parked the car and made their way down towards the harbour. Twenty or thirty yachts and cruisers were moored side by side, and in the pale light from a solitary street lamp they looked a little like ghost ships. Peter’s was one of the largest, a gleaming white vessel bearing the name Khamsin, and as Catriona clambered aboard she wondered fleetingly whether this were another product of the Gozo boatyard. She certainly seemed to have been fitted out to meet the requirements of a discriminating owner, for her main cabin was equipped with everything from an elaborate hi-fi system to a bookcase full of books, and there was even a businesslike writing desk with a range of lockers below it.
The rain had eased a little and the storm still seemed to be a long way off, but curtly Peter told Catriona to go below and because she was determined not to be a nuisance, she obeyed. A minute or two later he came down and told her that he had been in touch by radio with the rescue services and that there was still no news. So far the Sultana had not been sighted.
Catriona looked at him anxiously. ‘Does that mean anything?’ she asked.
‘It probably means they’re off course, which is only to be expected.’ He eyed her without enthusiasm. ‘I don’t know why you have to be here, but since you are you had better do as you’re told. I want you to stay below. If I have anything to say to you I’ll use the intercom.’
She nodded dumbly and as he disappeared up the narrow companion way she sat down, staring at the complicated dials of the stereo, telling herself that she should have been prepared for the stony dislike in his eyes. He didn’t want her around. Probably he even resented her presence. Jacqueline should have been with him, if it had been possible.
A little later the engine sprang to life and the whole boat shuddered violently. A widening band of water appeared between them and the harbour wall, and she saw the shore lights begin to slip past. They swung round, heading out to sea, and Catriona went through into the vibrating galley, where she found a coffee percolator. A further search produced coffee, sugar and powdered milk, and she set about filling the percolator. It gave her something to do. Almost it made her feel useful. She thought of Peter, up above, standing at the wheel, and wondered what sort of thoughts were running through his head. He must be remembering Marina.
The percolator heated quickly, and when she had poured the coffee into mugs she climbed the companionway. Peter’s head and shoulders were silhouetted against the Khamsin’s shining white superstructure, and at sight of him her heart lurched. He had a strong profile and no man could have looked more confident or more firmly in control. And yet...
She offered him a mug of coffee and he took it without looking at her.
‘Go back,’ he said tersely. ‘Stay below, as I told you.’
‘Couldn’t I...’ Her voice was pleading. ‘Couldn’t I stay up here, just for a little while?’
He said nothing for nearly half a minute, then he made a small dismissive gesture. ‘If you like.’
Catriona sat down close to him, watching his strong, capable hands as they turned the wheel a fraction. The lights of St Paul’s were retreating rapidly and ahead lightening glimmered on the horizon. Far away, the storm growled again.
‘I thought you were afraid of thunder,’ Peter said quietly.
‘I was.’ She looked at the lightning flickering in the distance. ‘Somehow, it doesn’t seem so bad any more.’
He laughed suddenly, harshly. ‘You mean that particular phobia has served its purpose.’
She felt puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it did precipitate quite a touching little scene, didn’t it?’
Catriona bit her lip, so fiercely that it began to bleed. Surely he didn’t think ... Her cheeks burned, and as she stood up she opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come. When she did speak her voice sounded strangled and unnatural.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to bring me with you tonight. It must be so embarrassing. After all, I might start throwing myself at you. At any moment, really. Of course, I haven’t had a lot of practice, but—but as you can see, I’m working at it.’ She broke off and stumbled unseeingly towards the companionway. Somehow she made her way down into the galley, desperate to get as far away from Peter as possible. She tried a door at the far end of the cabin and when it yielded found herself in a well planned stateroom, panelled in pine and with a carpet into which her sandalled feet sank deeply. Her fumbling fingers found the light switch and she slammed the door behind her, then, hardly knowing what she was doing, she sat down on the wide bed and clasped her arms about her own trembling body. Several minutes went
by while she sat there, trying without much success to control the waves of misery that engulfed her.
At last the door opened, and Peter stood on the threshold. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded roughly. He came in, closing the door behind him.
‘Leave me alone.’ Catriona stood up, backing away from him. ‘Please!’
‘Pull yourself together,’ he said sharply. ‘I can’t leave the wheel for long.’ He stopped, staring at her. Her grey eyes were dark with hurt, and her face was very pale beneath its light golden tan. Her small breasts, thinly veiled by the shell-pink silk, were heaving with suppressed sobs. There was blood on her lips.
‘Catriona!’ His voice softened miraculously and he moved towards her.
She drew back, retreating before him as if he were some sort of monster, but he caught both her hands and held them tightly. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded.
Wordlessly, she shook her head, but releasing one of her hands, he captured her chin and forced it upwards.
‘Let me go,’ she pleaded. ‘I hate you. Do you understand? I hate you!’
‘No, no,’ he said softly. ‘No, you don’t.’ His arms went round her, and as he drew her close to him she tried to struggle. But his strength was too great and his touch turned her knees to water. He was forcing her head back and there was nothing she could do. His mouth came down, devouring hers, and with a gesture of helpless surrender she wound her arms around his neck. The kiss seemed to last for a very long time, and when it ended he lowered her gently on to the bed.
‘Catriona—’ Softly, he whispered her name again. His lips found her throat, sending shivers of ecstasy through her, and his fingers began tugging gently at her shoulder-straps.
The Sun and Catriona Page 14
