Summer Lightning (8 page)

It’ll be enough just to work with him. It’ll be all I want,
she thought.
She didn’t let herself wonder if it would always be enough
...

As she passed the door—ajar as usual—of Mrs. Vining’s room on her way to her own, the old lady’s harsh, imperious voice called out, “Is that you, Chloe Linden? Come in and talk to me for a little while.”

Chloe sighed. She longed for a hot soak, to rid herself of the day’s dust and sweat, a rest on her bed, fresh makeup, clean clothes.

Reluctantly she walked into the vast, dim bedroom, and summoned a smile.

“Good evening,
contessa.
How are you today?”

“No better, no worse, my dear. Don’t let us talk about my wretched health. It’s a boring topic, anyway. Tell me about yourself. You spent the day with my son?”

“At the dig. Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?” The restless, brilliant eyes were fixed on her with that avid, disconcerting stare. With an effort Chloe went on smiling.

“It was terribly interesting,” she said.

“Hmph.
Interesting
! But was it exciting, being with Dominic? My son is handsome, cultured, attractive, surely. Did you enjoy his company? His conversation? Were you happy together?”

For the first time doubt of Mrs. Vining’s sanity entered Chloe’s mind. Surely a sane person wouldn’t talk in this extraordinary manner?

“We were working. Any conversation was about our work—there was no time...” she stammered.

“I asked if you were happy.” The strong fingers were gripping her wrist now, hurting her.

“I enjoyed every minute of it,” she said with desperate honesty. “It was all new to me, you see. The temple is wonderful, incredible. I’d never imagined ... And Professor Vining knows so much—he makes the past live...” Chloe could see that wasn’t at all what the contessa wanted to hear from her. Now she had turned sulky.

She snapped, “Please don’t bore me by talking of my son’s work. It is his heart with which I am concerned. Does he seem to like you? Do you think he finds you attractive? Does he seem pleased in your company? Did he...?”

Chloe felt she could stand no more. “Will you please excuse me now,
contessa
?” she broke in. “It was kind of you to talk to me. But I must go now to bath and change. It’s very hot and dusty on the dig, you know. And it’s been a long day.”

“Oh, very well, very well. In a moment you shall go. But you must come and see me often. I want to be kept informed how things are going, you understand.”

Her grip tightened on Chloe’s wrist. “
Do
you understand?”

Chloe was afraid she understood only too well. She could only hope Mrs. Vining hadn’t made her wishes plain to Dominic. She loved him, but she didn’t fancy being flung at him in this wholesale fashion.

“I saw
her
today,” the old lady went on. “Louise. She dared to come and visit me here, without an invitation. I told her just what I thought of her, coming here, forcing her unwanted company on us.”

With a harsh chuckle she went on, “I made it plain I knew why she had come—because she wants Dominic— means to have him. But I sent her away angry. I told her Dominic was hardly likely to look at her, with a young and beautiful girl like yourself here, ready to fall into his arms—”

“
Contessa
!” Chloe tore her wrist free. Her face flamed. The old lady cackled shamelessly; her dark eyes seemed to snap with delight as she remembered Louise’s fury and discomfiture.

“No good your looking shocked, my dear. I like you. I think you would do very well for Dominic. In fact, I’m going to see you married to him—and the sooner the better. I’ll make sure he’s safe from her, and that there’ll be sons to carry on the family name. I’ll do it if it’s the last thing I do before I die,” she finished, with the arrogance inherited from a long line of noble ancestors. She didn’t ask whether Chloe wanted to marry her son. She didn’t consider Chloe at all, except as an agreeable vehicle for her plans...

Chloe sought for words to express her feelings but before she could get a single one out, footsteps approached the door, halted. The door opened.

Her color rose again, uncontrollably, as Dominic came into the room. Her heart began to race, her breath to come faster. Nothing in her previous experience had prepared her for these disconcerting physiological discomforts of love.

Dominic bent to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“Well, mother—what is this last thing you are going to do before you die?” he asked fondly, with a quick smile—a sort of plea for understanding and tolerance—at Chloe.

But Chloe didn’t dare wait to hear his mother’s reply. She smiled back at him, fleetingly, and almost ran from the room.

CHAPTER SIX

The days began to slip by in a smooth routine.

Chloe rose early—though not as early as Dominic and Mark, who often breakfasted at the dig. After her own breakfast of coffee, crusty rolls, honey and fruits she followed then in the small Austin Dominic had offered for her use.

It was delightful, driving across the country in the early morning. The Judas trees, pyramids of purple bloom, were in flower along the roadsides. The fields were turning green with the young crops. The warm southern air caressed her skin, she had a sense of extreme well-being.

She soon learned her way through the
casals
along the road to the dig. The people in them got to know her and her little car, and would wave as she passed. Children ran alongside as she navigated cautiously, watching out for the cats, mongrel dogs and toddlers littering the narrow alleys. They offered her bright flowers that had wilted in their hot little hands. “
Sahha
—goodbye,” they called as she left the
casal.

At the dig she worked steadily—and usually alone. She wondered, with wry amusement, if she had to thank Dominic for that. No fraternizing, she thought.

“We never see you,” Toby French complained.

“Just as well, I’m awfully forbidding when I’m working,” she told him with a laugh.

“So long as you don’t forbid
me
—”

She laughed again, but he could see she didn’t mean to waste time on him. He sighed gustily. It was a tragedy to be bald and plump and have the soul of a romantic where a pretty girl was concerned...

Chloe was taking black and white pictures, as well as color transparencies, of the selected subjects.

She developed these herself, later in the day, in the little darkroom behind the paneling in the library. The color films went to London by airmail for processing, and would be flown back at once for Dominic’s approval.

At night, after dinner, she would set up her portable screen and small projector in the library, ready to show her pictures if Dominic wanted to study them. Sometimes he would ask her to show them a second, even a third time.

He was generous with praise when he was pleased, but impatient, even scathing when something didn’t come up to standard. She soon made the discovery that in his work he was a perfectionist. It made him an exacting taskmaster, but she didn’t mind that. Her pride in her work was stimulated. It was worthwhile enduring a few harsh criticisms to hear his sudden warm, “That’s first class, Chloe. Exactly what I had in mind.” Especially when it was said with the smile that never failed to set her pulses racing.

Of Louise, since that first day, she had seen surprisingly little.

“The
signora
sleeps late—often till nearly noon,” Lotta told her with sulky disapproval. “She stays out very late, too. Often till two or three o’clock. Nibblu must wake up and go out to open the gates.”

Already, it seemed, Louise’s days were a succession of dates and social occasions. Chloe wondered if Robert had rallied around as he had been bidden, and seen to it that Louise was “in with the Navy.”

She soon learned that Saturday was a half-holiday at the dig. Work on the excavations stopped promptly at noon and the laborers streamed off, laughing and shouting, to the nearest
casal
to buy cheap rough wine, to slake their dust-dry throats.

Chloe drove fast to Mdina and had time to bathe and change into a cool, fresh apple-green cotton sun dress, before the lunch gong sounded through the echoing corridors of Santa Clara.

When she came down to the salon she found Louise—lean and elegant as a greyhound in pale, beautifully cut linen—and Dominic.

Dominic, whom Chloe had grown used to seeing in his khaki drill working clothes, was completely unfamiliar in white trousers, riding boots and polo shirt.

“There’s to be a second match between an island team and the losers of the cup,” he explained, seeing her look of surprise.

“You’re playing for the island?”

“Yes. I’ve done so before at odd times when I’ve been here—I’m half an islander, after all. They called to say they’re short one man—fellow broke his wrist in a practice game. And as we’d promised to be there anyway...” He finished with a shrug.

“Of course, Miss Linden would be thrilled to see you play. A pity work won’t allow her to be there,” Louise put in in her acid-sweet way.

“Nonsense, of course she’s going to be there, if she wants to,” Dominic said shortly. But when his eyes met Chloe’s she caught the gleam of humor in them, and she wondered if he was remembering how he had snubbed her about Robert’s invitation—as she was remembering.

“I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than watching a game of polo,” she said demurely.

“Then we’ll all go together. Mark can drive us.”

Louise looked furious for a moment, then decided to be pleasant.

“That’ll be fun,” she said, and actually smiled at Chloe.

“Robert just called,” said Mark, joining them. “He says there’s to be a sundowner dance at the club after the polo. He suggests we all stay on for it, and dine with him afterward. Shall I accept, Dominic?”

Dominic shot an oddly speculative look at Chloe, but her composed expression told him nothing. Before he could speak Louise linked her hands possessively around his arm and answered for him.

“But of course, we’ll accept. Blessed Robert, give him my love, Mark. It’s years since you and I danced together, isn’t it, Dominic?”

“Years,” he said dryly. “And I fear it’ll be years more before we do again. I don’t dance nowadays. But you stay on, of course, if you care to. Mark, too, then he can drive you back. We’d better, in that case, take two cars.”

Louise had opened her sea-colored eyes very wide.

“But, darling, you don’t mean to say you won’t stay and—well, drink or gossip or whatever you like to do after polo—and then have dinner with us? Isn’t that rather unkind of you, darling?”

Dominic gave her a level look. “Is it? I don’t think so. We’ll stay on for a little, if it’ll please you. But I have a lot of work to do after dinner. And so, I’m afraid, has Miss Linden. You
have
got those new slides ready to show me tonight, haven’t you?” he added, turning to Chloe.

“Yes. I got them ready this morning before I left for the dig.”

Louise looked daggers at her. Suspicion, and a dawning jealousy, flamed in her eyes. She dropped Dominic’s arm and lifted her slim shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. Finishing her martini, she went over to pour herself another.

As she passed Chloe she gave her a look of frightening malice. “Such a devoted little slave, aren’t you?” She said in a savage whisper.

Fortunately the mellow booming of the lunch gong diverted her attention. Chloe sighed her relief. She had been going through her usual sensations of hot and cold, acute discomfort. She hated all this emotionalism. What had she said or done to arouse such dislike in Louise?

However, when she had finished her third martini Louise seemed to decide to be more agreeable. At the lunch table she talked gaily of the match and the dance to follow. She ate greedily—it was her boast that she could eat like a horse and never put on an ounce. Today there was ravioli—she adored it—and fish grilled with fennel— “Utterly divine, your cook is a marvel, Dominic, my dear, and I love this local wine.”

Chloe, still determined not to cross Louise or let anything she said or did upset her, tried to ignore her feelings of uneasiness and resentment. After all, what did it really matter if Louise didn’t like her?

When Louise went upstairs to gather hat, gloves and handbag, she followed, but far enough behind to avoid having to talk to her. In her room, she waited till she heard the stilt heels go tap-tap along the marble corridor. A minute or two later, looking young and lettuce-crisp in her pale green dress and shady hat, she went down herself.

The Marsa was a big, flat area given over to polo ground, racecourse, cricket field, tennis courts and the clubhouse, set in its pleasant, verdant gardens and lawns.

Here, on Saturday afternoons, island society gathered to play or watch games, flirt, see and be seen.

Here, today, the sun struck down hotly from a sky of limpid blue onto the stand facing the polo ground. This was already well filled. In front of it, behind the pink geraniums and white rails of the enclosure, a cluster of rapturous young things—alike in shining hair, painstaking suntan, and anonymous sunglasses—cheered on their favorite players and chattered like starlings.

A smell of dust and hot horses mingled with the enticing almond scent of the flowering oleanders, white and rose pink, that lined the drive.

A chukker was in progress as Chloe and Mark followed the other two to the stand.

Somewhere overhead a brisk military voice, rather badly tuned, explained over a loudspeaker the moves of the game. Robert, riding a showy chestnut pony, raced down the field and scored for his side just as they reached the gate. Chloe felt a stirring of excitement—she loved the game.

As the great hindquarters of the ponies heaved up and hurtled past them the young things at the rail applauded deliriously, squealing with delight. When the chukker ended and their heroes rode godlike off the field, the sunglasses came off. The bright eyes were alert to make contact, to register for future dates.

“Heavens, aren’t they sweet? How old they make one feel,” Chloe whispered.

“Me, too. In the sere and yellow.” Mark critically scanned the blue and pink, green, yellow and lavender dresses, the smooth tanned arms and legs, the glossy heads of blond and dark, red and brown hair, and felt elated to be escorting a girl who, in his considered opinion, knocked spots off the lot of them.

He found a couple of vacant places in the stands and they sat down. In a moment the air was full again of the rousing thud of hoofbeats, the crisp smack of stick on ball, the snorting of horses, the shouts, seldom polite, of player to player.

In the interval Chloe found time to look around her. Dominic was nowhere in sight. Louise, at the other end of the stand, was holding court. A tall man in the uniform of the French Navy was bending to kiss her hand with a Gallic flourish. Three younger men hung on her words.

“The Frenchman is one of the top naval brass in NATO,”
Mark whispered, seeing the direction of her glance. “And the blond chap is an aide-de-camp, who arranges all the palace entertaining. A useful chap to know. So’s the dark chap, the flag lieutenant. Louise sure knows how to pick them.”