Kiss of Hot Sun (5 page)

“The sisters of
Santa Teresa
shall have the
Stella d’Oro
when I am gone.” She paused, her timing perfect. “And sometimes I think they will not have long to wait.”

And then all at once she’d had enough of that. Shooting out a hand towards Giles, she asked if he’d like another cup of tea in a voice that had left tragedy far behind.

George Blunt turned to the inspector, making conversation. “Do you have a lot of crime to deal with here? This er... what’s its name... this
Mafia?
Does it give you much trouble?”

Shock froze the room. Seconds ticked away in silence, while George Blunt stared around bewildered, aware of a blunder without understanding it.

Adeline came to his rescue. “In Sicily,” she explained carefully, “one does not speak of the... the Old Movement. It is considered unlucky.”

“I’m very sorry, I’m sure,” he said, his bluff face reddening fiercely.

The sticky moment was quickly plastered over with small talk. But I didn’t listen, too intent on trying to analyse why George Blunt’s simple question had caused such consternation.

It was nearly half an hour before the party began to break up. The two policemen were the first to make a move. As they did their round of
arrivedercis,
the younger one hesitated by my chair.

“I hope I shall see you again, Signorina Lyndon,” he said politely. In a quieter voice he added: “And perhaps in less... formal circumstances.”

Across the room, Giles scowled. He was getting just a little bit too possessive!

Devilry made me respond to Cesare Pastore more enthusiastically than I’d otherwise have done. “Perhaps we shall,” I said brightly.

“Tomorrow?”

“Oh, but I’m afraid...”

I was saved the necessity of finding a let-out. Inspector Vigorelli came across and took his assistant’s elbow.

“
Presto,
Cesare,” he urged jocularly. “Life is not only for pleasure, young man. There is work to be done also.”

With a fluid gesture conveying helpless resignation, Cesare moved away. But his expression told me he would be back, for sure.

As if to nail down a prior claim, Giles immediately rose to his feet and came over. The settee was small, and he was obliged to sit close. I shifted away an inch or two.

Cesare, on the point of leaving, raised his eyebrows. He was accepting Giles’ implied challenge.

Almost as soon as the door was closed behind the two policemen, Signor Zampini asked Adeline: “Who is that fellow?”

“My dear Guido, you must have met Vigorelli before. He comes here often.” She laughed with overdrawn modesty. “I know perfectly well, of course, that it is only because he likes to practise his English on me.”

Zampini gestured impatiently. “It is the young one I ask about—the assistant.”

“I know nothing about him except that he has just arrived in Sicily. This is the first time I have met him.”

“Where does he come from?”

She shrugged. “From the North, I think he said. Milan, perhaps... Why do you ask?”

Zampini chewed his lip thoughtfully. “It seems curious, to appoint a man who is not a Sicilian.”

“Perhaps he applied for the post.” Adeline laughed, and gave me an amused glance. “Would it be the climate that attracts him, do you suppose, or the beautiful girls?”

Aware that she had been neglecting her only real guests, the Yorkshire couple, Adeline switched every ounce of her considerable charm to them. Soon she had them talking eagerly. He boasted about the success of his woollen business in Halifax, and she of the way they spent the profits. Regretfully childless, it was obvious that they attempted to make good the deficiency by travelling and generally indulging themselves.

“My husband is quite an art collector,” Rosalind said suddenly. Her remark was dropped into the conversational pool with studied casualness, almost as if she were announcing a connection with royalty.

Adeline pushed the tea wagon to one side before commenting: “How nice! And what period particularly interests you, Mr. Blunt?”

“Er... I’m not fussy. If something takes my fancy, well then I’m willing to pay hard cash for it. I reckoned Italy was a good place to come.”

“You will find less in Sicily than in Rome,” Adeline pointed out. “But perhaps there is a good deal to see here.”

George Blunt glanced swiftly from one to another of the many oil paintings on the walls of the salon. But Adeline shook her head.

“No, no. I meant in the art dealers’ galleries.”

In the briefest of pauses, I sensed something flash between Zampini and the Blunts. I was certain they had a secret understanding. But though I watched all three more closely from then on, I detected no outward sign of any inner tie.

“Happen you’re right, my dear lady,” George Blunt agreed, giving Adeline a nod of his balding head. “Rosie and I will be taking a good look around, anyhow.”

I had to control my impatience a while longer before the Blunts departed upstairs. Then I drifted out of the room myself, manoeuvring to catch Adeline alone. I’d got to warn her about the strange collusion I suspected between her friend Zampini and the Yorkshire couple. I’d got to tell her that they most certainly had been acquainted before arriving at the
Villa Stella d’Oro.

To my annoyance, Giles followed me out. I got rid of him by saying I had work to do. Looking slightly nettled, he decided to go back to his studio. “I might as well get on with something myself.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea. You certainly don’t seem to do overmuch work.”

I’d spoken lightly, but immediately regretted my words. Giles leapt on them.

“I could soon change all that, Kerry darling,” he said, looking uncharacteristically solemn. “It would be worth working for you.”

I felt embarrassed. “I was only joking.”

“But I wasn’t,” he said softly. “I wasn’t joking a bit.”

Luckily, he took himself off then. I had a feeling I wouldn’t have handled the situation very well if he’d stuck around.

I still had to wait another fifteen minutes before Adeline and Zampini broke off their
tête-à-tête,
and he went out to the loggia to find himself a reclining chair.

I waylaid Adeline as she headed towards the kitchen.

“I’d like to talk to you, Miss Harcourt.”

“Is something wrong?”

I glanced around cautiously. Windows and doors were so often left wide open in this climate.

“Perhaps we could go somewhere private? It’s rather...”

She hoisted her eyebrows. “Of course, if you wish. Let’s go up to my room.”

I hadn’t seen her private apartment before. The furniture was simple and white painted, but set off by fabrics in strong, dramatic colours. It gave a total effect that was cool and restful, yet at the same time very much alive.

She went straight over and closed the windows. “There! Now we can talk without any possibility of being overheard. What is it, Kerry darling?”

I felt absurdly like a child coming to tell tales to teacher. “I think you ought to know that there’s something odd going on between Signor Zampini and the Blunts. They’re not strangers at all.”

She looked faintly surprised. “What
do
you mean, darling?”

“Mr. Blunt said quite positively just now that they’d never met before. But they had. This morning, while I was out with Giles, I saw the three of them together in a restaurant.”

Adeline was unperturbed. “But that’s quite impossible, darling, Mr. and Mrs. Blunt arrived in Sicily only this afternoon.”

“Miss Harcourt, you must believe me.” I felt rather put out that she should doubt my word. “Don’t forget that I met Signor Zampini before, in Rome.” I risked offending her by adding: “He is not difficult to recognise.”

“It is possible that you saw Guido,” she conceded. “He arrived in Sicily earlier, and might well have stopped off for a drink. But it must have been some other people he was talking to. The Blunts simply were not on the island then.”

I nearly blurted out that I’d recognised Rosalind Blunt too, because I’d seen her once before. But that would have meant telling the details. I’d have to explain why, as I’d casually strolled past an hotel in Rome, I should have pinpointed a particular woman sitting at a terrace table.

“I’m quite certain that I am right,” I said stubbornly.

Adeline smiled and shook her head. “We all of us make mistakes sometimes, darling. But it was kind of you to tell me at once what you suspected. Now you can put the matter right out of your mind.”

“
But Miss Harcourt...”

“Just forget it, darling.” There was a flatness in her voice that permitted no further argument.

Like handing out a consolation prize to a disappointed child, she went on to ask me to see to the dinner arrangements. “Just keep a general eye on things. I shall be rather busy for a while.”

There was in fact, very little to be done about dinner. When I went to the kitchen I found the plump Maria preparing a savoury stuffing for veal rolls. Her enormous arms trembled as she chopped herbs with a villainous-looking knife. On the draining board the vegetables were ready washed and waiting—onions, string beans, and the inevitable mountain of tomatoes. Maria had spent the time since siesta placidly working towards the evening meal.

I asked if there was anything I could do to help. She shook her head and grinned at me, showing gaps in her front teeth.

“No sank you, signorina. I am able.” She spoke carefully, proud of her English.

In the dining-room Carlo was polishing wine glasses. His surliness hadn’t softened one bit. He resented my presence at the
Stella d’Oro,
and although just managing to avoid unforgivable impertinence, he skated on remarkably thin ice.

“I understand very well how a table is laid, Miss Lyndon.”

“You certainly do, Carlo.” I was determined to stay pleasant. “The whole room looks most attractive.”

But my fulsome praise didn’t help at all. His dark eyes were a damped-down fire. “I am surprised that you come to watch me, then.”

To avoid an open row with him, I swallowed my anger and cleared out, leaving him to it, I went upstairs and got myself changed. I’d be more use, I reckoned, playing second-string hostess.

But that fell flat, too. Everybody seemed to be stuck in their rooms. I prowled around the empty salon, feeling thwarted.

When I heard a car scrunching up the drive, I thought it must be Giles again. But not for long. With a snap I remembered another guest was due to arrive today. How was this for a welcome? The deserted villa would strike him like a mausoleum.

I skipped back to the kitchen to dig out Carlo. He was sitting in a wickerwork chair with Luciana giggling on his lap. The girl jumped up when she saw me, but Carlo stayed put, his eyes boldly daring me to say something.

A split second inner debate decided me to let it go. But Carlo was none too pleased to be hauled off pronto to the front door.

We reached it just in time to see the car drawing up at the portico.

Carlo could rise to the occasion when he chose. He ran round and opened the car door with a flourish and a bow. The driver slid out and turned slowly to look up at the white facade of the villa.

But I knew before I saw the face. I knew by the swing of his shoulders, the jerk of his head as he nodded thanks to Carlo.

How could I fail to recognise an image etched so painfully deep?

It was Philip Rainsby.

He was as startled as I was. We both stood rigid, staring at one another in disbelief.

Luckily, Carlo was too busy getting the bags out of the boot to notice our curious behaviour.

I said nothing. It was clearly a struggle for Philip to speak, and when he did, his words shook me still further.

“Good evening, Miss Lyndon.”

Miss Lyndon.
After all he had said to me in Rome. After those magic hours we had spent isolated together in the midst of the party din.

I still didn’t speak. I
couldn’t
speak. How long I might have stood there, gawping at him stupidly, I don’t know. Mercifully, Miss Harcourt appeared from nowhere and came sweeping forward with a graciously welcoming smile.

“Good evening, Mr. Rainsby. You must forgive me for not being here to greet you, but I was...” She waved a vague hand, leaving him to guess what she meant. “But I see Kerry has already introduced herself. Do come in.”

She led the way across the hall. “I see you’ve hired a car.
Such
a good idea, otherwise you might feel rather cut off in this remote part of the world. But aren’t those dusty roads simply beyond anything? You’ll be wanting to freshen up, I’m sure, and when you’re ready, I hope you will join the rest of us for cocktails before dinner."

The flow of her words was undiminished as she piloted him up the stairs. I was left gazing after them.

What a ghastly coincidence that Philip should turn up here—just as I was getting him out of my system. And then to have him treat me so coldly, as if there had never been that
magnetism
between us!

In these past few days I’d made myself believe that Philip had merely been amusing himself with me at a tedious party; that it had all meant nothing to him. But if I really and truly accepted that, why this crushing despair at his snub?

Miss Lyndon!

There must have been a small chink of hope left that I’d got it all wrong. A chink that had sprung wide open at the sight of him here.

But now the door was closed and locked and bolted. There could never be forgiveness enough in my heart to open it again.

Miss Lyndon!

I wanted to run away and hide. Wild notions rushed through my head about quitting the
Stella d’Oro
here and now. I just couldn’t bear the idea of sleeping under the same roof as Philip Rainsby.

I had enough money to get back to England. Though I’d refused Monica’s over-generous offer of six months’ salary in lieu of notice, she had still insisted on giving me what she called a tiny golden handshake.