The Sun and Catriona (15 page)

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 s
o
rt 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.

Catriona pressed her cheek to his smooth black hair and wondered dizzily if she could be dreaming. She wasn’t even sure, any longer, exactly where they were, It was enough that they were together. Her blood was on fire and she knew that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

And then their private world was invaded by a curious crackling sound. Staccato and irritating, the sound persisted until it resolved itself into something remarkably like a voice. Slowly, Peter lifted his head and she realised he was listening. Very, very gently, he relaxed his hold on her and with one lithe movement swung himself off the bed. Striding out of the cabin, he left the door swinging behind him.

When Catriona joined him on deck, five minutes later, she was making a tremendous effort not to betray any sort of emotion. Peter, she knew, had been listening to a radio message, and despite the turmoil going on inside her she, too, wanted to know what it had contained. Thunder still rumbled in the distance, but the rain had stopped and she saw at once that they had put on speed. Peter, once again standing at the wheel, looked cool and alert. He spoke without looking round.

‘Some trawler has reported a small motor-boat heading at full speed towards the north coast of Gozo. Three patrol boats are heading for the area, but I plan to be there before them.’

‘Do you think—do you think it’s Toni and Vittorio
?
’ Catriona asked hesitantly.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, if they’re heading towards Gozo they’ll be all right, won’t they
?
I mean, they must be planning to go ashore.’

‘I daresay they are planning to go ashore,’ he said grimly. ‘Unfortunately, they’ve picked the wrong coast. It’s a mass of murderous rocks. They won’t stand a chance.’

Catriona caught her breath. ‘Wouldn’t Toni know about the rocks?’

He shook his head. ‘I doubt if she even realises they’re heading for Gozo. She probably imagines they’ve reached Sicily. By this time, in any case, she’ll be panic-stricken. They might as well be adrift.’

‘Surely—’ She hesitated. ‘Vittorio must have some sense.’

‘According to his father, he knows nothing about boats. He isn’t likely to learn under these conditions.’

Catriona was silent. Her body still throbbed with the life breathed into it by his kisses, and she longed to touch his cheek, to cover his hand with her own
—
to comfort him through the depths of her love. But he had drawn away from her again and this time he seemed to have moved a thousand miles away.

Then the clouds covering the moon thinned. Suddenly she saw the outline of Gozo, and it was much closer than she had expected. They were cutting through the water at tremendous speed, leaving twin trails of foam behind them, and Peter seemed to be steering straight for the cliffs.

Catriona peered into the blackness. ‘Oughtn’t we to see lights?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘We’re making for the deserted north coast.’

She moved closer to the rail. Already she could see waves creaming at the foot of the cliffs, but nothing else. There was no sign of another boat, no hint of life. They seemed to be alone on the surface of the world.

Then she felt as if her heart stood still. About a quarter of a mile away, on the starboard side, she had glimpsed a green navigation light. The light was moving almost as fast as they were and it, too, was heading towards Gozo.

At that moment the moon sailed completely clear, and for the first time she saw the rocks, jagged and menacing, glistening as the sea washed over them.

‘Get below,’ Peter said sharply. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness, and she realised they were altering course, veering towards the launch.

‘That’s the
Sultana
, isn’t it?’ Catriona felt frozen, incapable of movement.

‘Yes.’

‘Why are they heading straight for the rocks
?
Why don’t they
...
’

‘The logic of their behaviour is beyond me. Now, go below!’

‘Please
...
’ There was urgent appeal in her voice. ‘I want to stay here. I want to know what’s happening.’

Peter didn’t look at her. ‘As you wish,’ he said at last.

She stared at the dimly visible outline of the launch. ‘Can’t you signal them? There must be something
...
’

‘No. A signal would confuse them.’

They were racing through the water now, hurtling at frightening speed to
w
ards the tall cliffs. Like a powerful bird they passed the
Sultana
, and then
—
Catriona’s fingers gripped the rail. They were not going to slacken speed.

She stared straight ahead, bracing herself for the moment when the
Khamsin
would be thrown on to those malevolent black teeth. Wildly, she thought that perhaps this was the way Peter wanted it. Per
haps it was even the best way.

Above the roar of the engine she heard his voice, raw and savage.

‘If you won’t go below, hang on!’

They turned, so sharply that she was thrown hard against the rail. Cold spray cascaded over her, drenching her hair, and she felt the roughness of salt on her lips. The cliffs loomed over her, shutting out the sky and then drew away again. They swung in a half-circle, missing vicious rocks by yards, and through a haze of flying spray she glimpsed the
Sultana.
Then she heard Peter’s voice again.

‘Slow down, you blasted fools!’

Suddenly she realised what was happening. Peter was doing the only thing possible. He was trying to check the little motor-boat’s headlong progress by throwing the
Khamsin
in front of her.

Pushing wet hair out of her eyes, Catriona clung tightly to the rail, trying to see what was happening.

She realised, dazedly, that Peter was cutting back the engine. Their own speed was dropping and the wor
l
d was no longer revolving round them. Through the moist darkness she saw the cliffs of Gozo, farther away than they had been—and then she saw the
Sultana
.

Perhaps fifty yards from the treacherous shore, Toni and Vittorio had brought their craft to a halt.

Stunned and trembling a little, Catriona relaxed her hold on the rail. Her fingers were raw, and she felt icy cold. She hardly realised what was happening
—
until Peter appeared and carried her below.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A
blanket
round her shoulders, Catriona watched from a porthole as the
Sultana
was taken in tow. Having deposited her unceremoniously in the cabin, Peter had ordered her to stay there and keep warm, and this time she had neither the strength nor the spirit to disobey. Outside, three newly-arrived patrol boats were standing by, and temporarily the
Khamsin
seemed to be at anchor, for the black waters lapping her sides were as quiet as an island pool. Catriona could hear voices, Toni’s among them, and see vague movements, but it wasn’t until she heard heavy footsteps on the d
e
ck overhead that she knew for certain the runaways had been taken aboard. Moments later, the cabin door opened and Toni came in.

She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt—where, Catriona wondered, had she managed to change
?—
and she looked rather tired. Her black hair was damp, plaste
r
ed to her head and there was a streak of oil across her cheek. At the sight of Catriona she looked startled and relieved. Possibly, Catriona thought, Toni imagined her brother would not be too violently angry in front of Catriona. If so, it seemed likely that she was being over-confident.

With mild interest she studied the young man who had followed Toni into the cabin. He was tall and good-looking, with thick, wavy hair and a humorous mouth. His eyes were anxious when they rested on Toni, and she decided he looked rather nice. She
hoped things would somehow work
o
ut for them.

Outside, there was a sudden revving of engines, and the
Khamsin
rocked gently, caught in the wake of a departing patrol-boat. Peter came into the cabin, closing the door behind him. He looked dangerously calm.

‘Well!’ he said in English. ‘Tonight we could all have been killed, but that I suppose I must disregard. I shall not disregard the fact that the
Sultana
's engine is badly damaged. To whom shall I send the bill, Falzon—to you, or to my sister?’

‘I shall pay,’ Vittorio said quietly. He put an arm round Toni’s shoulders. ‘Would it be possible for Antoinette to have some strong coffee? She is still suffering from shock.’

‘Of course.’ Catriona took the blanket from her own shoulders and placed it round Toni’s, at the same time giving the other girl’s arm a reassuring squeeze. She began making some more coffee, and Peter shot her a curious look.

‘We thought we were near Siracusa,’ Toni said suddenly. There was the merest hint of a sob in her voice. ‘I know such a safe place there—and it looks almost the same.’

‘Unfortunately, though, it is not the same,’ her stepbrother remarked dryly. ‘There are ways of telling the difference, but they involve paying a certain amount of attention to navigation. Naturally, navigation has little to do with an elopement.’

Vittorio stood up. ‘Count Vilhena, I very much regret having taken your boat. I apologise.’

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? What about my sister—how do you feel about taking her
?
’

‘I regret that also.’

‘Vittorio!’ Toni’s eyes opened wide, and she stared at him in pitiful, childlike disbelief.

‘I must say,’ Peter remarked evenly, ‘your ardour cools with remarkable speed.’

‘You misunderstand me,
signur.
I love Antoinette and intend to marry her, but I should not have exposed her to the difficulties and—and dangers of an escape to Sicily. She has a right to be married here in Malta, among her friends.’

Toni slipped her hand into his.

‘My sister is eighteen years old,’ the Count remarked. ‘Before she can be married she will require her father’s permission.’

‘Your permission, I think you mean,
signur
.’

‘In his absence, yes
...
mine.’

‘Then I hope you will give it.’

Emerging from the galley, Catriona handed out steaming mugs of coffee. Toni shivered a little and clasped hers with both hands.

‘Peter
...
’ Her voice was very small. ‘I love him, more than anything in the world.’

‘I should hope so,’ her brother responded. ‘I imagine you would not be likely to abscond in an open boat with a man to whom you were indifferent.’

‘Then let me marry him.’

The Count turned to Vittorio. ‘My principal objection, Falzon, is to your family. Your cousin
...
’

Unable to bear it any longer, Catriona intervened. ‘Surely,’ she said urgently, ‘you must see Vittorio is not in the least like his cousin? He’s an entirely different sort of person. Everything he says makes it clear that—that he deserves to marry Toni.’

A flicker of amusement appeared in Peter’s eyes. ‘What a cryptic observation,’ he remarked. He
looked at his stepsister. Fortified by the coffee, she was showing signs of getting angry, but it was fairly obvious that she was being prevented from speaking by the warning grip of Vittorio’s fingers.

‘Very well!’ the Count said suddenly. ‘You may marry her, Falzon. I only ask that you do so quickly, since I am anxious to be relieved of such a tiresome responsibility.’

For a moment there was silence in the cabin. Then Toni hurled herself at her stepbrother, flinging her arms around his neck. Catriona saw Vittorio’s face quiver and thought she understood how he must have been feeling a few moments earlier. She smiled at him.

‘Congratulations! I know you’re both going to be very happy.’

The next instant Toni was hugging her convulsively. ‘Catriona, thank you!’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Catriona said a little wryly.

Peter interrupted unexpectedly. ‘Oh, yes, you did.’ His tone was dry and when she looked at him his look was inscrutable. ‘I must give Miss Browne a job in one of my Sicilian quarries after the way she has softened my stony heart.’

Involuntarily she looked at him, but his eyes were cool and remote. Only half an hour earlier they had been on the point of making love—now that memory had acquired the quality of an elusive dream.

Twenty minutes later, in the first light of dawn, they all landed at the Gozitan port of Mgarr. The launch, apparently, was going to need repairs on Gozo, and it seemed that the
Khamsin
, too, had sustained damage which made her owner reluctant to go straight back to Malta. Tired and dazed, Catriona
stared unseeingly in front of her as a taxi took them all to a luxury hotel on the cliff-top, and when they checked in she hardly realised what was happening. The hotel was an elaborate modern building, vaguely reminiscent of a Sultan’s palace, and under normal circumstances the night porter would undoubtedly have been reluctant, without special authority, to admit bedraggled refugees from an incident at sea. Count Vilhena, however, was another matter, and when he explained that he had been obliged, unexpectedly, to abandon his motor-cruiser the staff could not do enough. Four of the best bedrooms were immediately made available and the hotel shop was unlocked so that the Count’s friends could provide themselves with toothbrushes, though Toni, it turned out, had a suitcase with her.

Several days earlier the case had been secreted in Vittorio’s car, and from it she had extracted the jeans and T-shirt which she had worn for her abortive elopement. She was able to lend Catriona a nightdress, and for a few minutes the two girls talked, mainly about Toni’s forthcoming wedding. It was nearly four o’clock when Catriona finally made her way to her own room and as she paused outside the door she found herself wondering where Peter was. He had not spoken to her since they came ashore.

The bedroom was large and comfortable, with cream-washed walls and brightly coloured furnishings. At one end there was a massive television set, and at the other wide glass doors looked out across a verandah to the cliff-top and the sea. Through the doors, which were standing open, cool morning air drifted into the room, and in the pale light Catriona began to undress slipping at last out of her embroidered skirt. She felt battered and bruised in mind and body, but at the same time she was almost too tired and dazed to know why. In the small adjoining bathroom she took a shower, then she got into Toni’s nightdress and lay down on the wide bed. Within seconds she was fast asleep.

When she awoke it was broad daylight, but there was something about the light that puzzled her. The room was very warm, and a mosquito was humming monotonously, close to her ear. She sat up, brushing the mosquito away, and looked at her watch, which had stopped. She wondered what the time could be.

She picked up the telephone and spoke to a polite young man in the reception office.

‘Could you tell me the time, please?’

‘Of course, madam. It’s just after six o’clock.’ Catriona looked at the window. ‘Six o’clock in the morning
?
’

The reception clerk laughed. ‘No, six o’clock in the evening.’

‘But it can’t
...
’ Something like panic began to spread through her. ‘I must have been asleep all day!’

‘That’s right, madam. Count Vilhena said you were not to be disturbed.’

‘Is he still here? Count Vilhena, I mean.’

‘No, he’s gone back to Malta. He asked us to send him your bill.’

‘Oh!’ Catriona swallowed. She felt slightly sick. ‘What—what about the others? Miss Caruana and
Mr.
Falzon
?
’

‘They went with him, madam.’

‘I—I see.’ She tried to sound natural. ‘Was there
...
was there any message for me
?
’

‘I don’t think so. I’ll check if you like.’ The clerk hesitated. ‘Wouldn’t you like something sent to your room? Some sandwiches, perhaps? Dinner will not begin until half past seven.’

‘No, thanks. I—in a little while I’ll come and get something.’

‘Very well, madam.’

She hung up, staring blankly in front of her. Then, slowly, she swung her legs to the ground and stood up. She didn’t need to wonder what Peter was trying to tell her. It was all too agonisingly obvious. He wanted to make it absolutely clear, once and for all, that there was nothing between them and never could be. Twice, the day before, he had yielded to a passing temptation. But she had no place in his life, and he obviously felt it was time she was made to understand. He had serious plans—plans that involved Jacqueline Calleja.

Forcing herself to behave sensibly, Catriona bathed and slipped into the cool dress lent to her by Toni, then she combed her hair and applied a little make-up. She felt as if her senses were numbed and she tried to remember something she had once said to Peter.
When things
are very
black
...
you just
have
to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
She was going to follow her own advice, for there was nothing else she could do, but the blankness ahead frightened her. She must try and concentrate on work—on getting back to England and catching up with preparations for the
e
xhibition. That at least was something to cling to.

A wave of despair swept over her and she buried her head in her hands. No amount of work, no
amount of success would ever make up to her for losing Peter.

‘Good evening.’ The voice was only too familiar. She jumped, thinking her imagination was playing tricks on her. Slowly she turned her head—and then she saw him. He was standing on the verandah, outside her window, and he must have been watching her, probably for several minutes.

She stood up, her heart thumping so loudly that she thought he must be able to hear it.

‘I—I thought you were in Malta.’

‘I was, half an hour ago. Now, however, I appear to be here. I must apologise for approaching your bedroom in this unconventional manner, but it seemed the most direct way of getting to see you.’

‘I’ve been asleep all day,’ she told him.

‘I k
now. I left instructions that you were not to be disturbed. I thought you would probably need time to recover from your adventures of last night.’ Recollecting what had happened during the previous night, she flushed scarlet, but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘Antoinette has spent the day in Valletta,’ he remarked conversationally. ‘I gather she has been looking at engagement rings and getting to know her
fiancé
’s family. When they are married I have no doubt that she will cost young Vittorio a good deal of money, but fortunately he can afford it. His family are extremely wealthy.’

‘They’re very happy
,’
Catriona said. Though she didn’t realise it, her voice sounded flat. ‘It was good of you to agree, in the end.’

‘I had little alternative,’ he remarked wryly. ‘Still, I am optimistic about Vittorio. He may quite possibly be able to control Antoinette, in which case he will have my profound respect. She is a little young for marriage, but on the other hand she is one of those women who badly need the stabilising influence of a husband.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘What are your own plans
?
’ he asked casually. ‘Or are they too private to be discussed?’

She walked past him, out on to the verandah. This was the supreme test. Somehow she had to control her feelings, to prevent him guessing for an instant at the misery churning inside her.

‘I have a lot of work to do,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to get back to it.’

‘Your stay here in Malta has not been entirely unproductive. This morning, Antoinette showed me one of your paintings.’

‘She did?’ Catriona was startled.

‘Yes. You must forgive her. I particularly wanted to see a sample of your work.’ There was a pause, then he went
on: ‘I have quite a number of friends in the London art world, and I may be able to help you in some way.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

‘Not at all.’ He moved closer to her. ‘I suppose, now, I must ask how soon you would like to leave us. Naturally, you will want to get back to London as quickly as possible, and it will be necessary for me to arrange your flight. How about the day after tomorrow? There’s a Trident leaving at ten-thirty in the morning. Of course, if you would prefer not to wait so long?’

Catriona tried to speak, but to her horror realised that she couldn’t. She dared not trust her voice. Silently Peter waited, while it seemed to her that minutes ticked away. Then he spoke again, very quietly.

‘Aren’t you going to say something, Catriona?’

‘I
...
I
...
She gulped and was forced to stop. Colour flooded into her face and then receded. She looked away from him, then to her horror, she burst into tears.

‘I shall have to say it, then.’ His voice was very soft. ‘You are not going anywhere, Catriona. I need you and you need me. We are two parts of one whole
—
indivisible.’

She looked up at him, blinking back the treacherous tears. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked huskily. And then her eyes met his and she began to feel she was drowning in something she still didn’t quite understand.

‘I mean that I love you,’ he said.

His arms, as they closed around her, were like steel bands and when his mouth took possession of hers she felt as if sunlight were spreading inside her. For her, he was like the sun. Without him there was no warmth anywhere.

‘You can’t love me,’ she murmured uncertainly, as soon as she was free to speak. ‘You said
...
’