Read Online The Sun and Catriona by Rosemary Pollock - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosemary Pollock
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was no reason why she should need round-the-clock supervision.
‘Antoinette will not be rejoining you.’ The Count’s voice was like steel.
‘Not ... ’ Catriona stared up at him, her eyes wide. ‘Have—have you seen her?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen her. And I’ve sent her home.’ His eyes glinted down at her. ‘I was leaving the office of my lawyer, in Merchant Street, when I happened to pass a certain café . I glanced through the window, and was surprised to see my sister drinking coffee at a corner table. She was sharing the table with a young man.’
Catriona digested this. It looked as if Toni had met a friend. W ell, what was wrong with that?
‘She must have run into someone ... I suppose.’
‘My sister does not wander the streets of Valletta, alone, “running into ” young men.’
For a moment Catriona was almost too astonished to speak. ‘Who was the man?’ she asked at last. ‘Did you know him ? ’
‘He is a notorious playboy. I would not normally allow him to come within a mile of my sister.’ He paused, and she realised that he was breathing deeply. ‘I have spoken with him, and I hope he understands the situation. I have made it clear that if he approaches Antoinette again the consequences will be extremely serious—for himself.’
Carefully, Catriona replaced her palette in its worn case. Then she stood up. ‘You can’t do that sort of thing,’ she said.
‘I can, and I will.’ There was a tremor of pure fury in his voice. Suddenly his fingers gripped Catriona’s wrist, so tightly that she almost cried out in pain. ‘My sister, Miss Browne, is not an English girl. Until she marries—an d especially while she is in my house — she will conduct herself like a Maltese girl of good character.’ His hold tightened. ‘You will not allow her to wander the streets alone!’
Catriona was so angry that she felt all the colour leave her face. ‘Your sister,’ she pointed out, ‘is a fully grown woman. When I left England I did not understand that I would be expected to spy on her. Why shouldn’t she have coffee with a friend? How could a meeting like that be anything but completely innocent? If you want her to behave well you’ll have to trust her. You can’t degrade me by depriving her of all freedom. You can’t degrade me by asking me to be your watchdog.’ Swallowing, she looked down at his fingers, still holding her wrist in a remorseless grip. ‘I’ll fly home tomorrow. I’m sorry you’ve been put to the inconvenience of importing such an unsatisfactory employee. When I get back to England I’ll send you the money for my fare.’
He released her wrist, and she saw him staring at the livid marks left by the pressure of his fingers. ‘You must do as you wish,’ he said quietly.
‘I certainly will.’ Trembling with anger, Catriona struggled to fold her easel up, but its ungainly legs jammed. For a moment or two the Count simply stared, then muttering under his breath he came to her rescue, folding it up without difficulty. He placed it under one arm, and then gathered up the remainder of her belongings.
‘My car is outside the gates,’ he told her.
Inside the low-slung Citroen, Catriona stared resolutely through the windscreen. She felt furious with the man beside her, and with everything he stood for. He had no right to make his young sister’s life a misery, and he had no right, either, having dragged her out from England, to treat her like an unsatisfactory servant. She had been beginning to like Malta very much—she knew it was a place she could come to love, but he had ruined everything. She couldn’t go on working for a man who behaved as he did. It wasn’t possible.
The car swung in a wide circle, then plunged back into a maze of Valletta streets. Catriona felt as if something were aching, deep inside her, and she could almost have cried. It had been so beautiful in the gardens, so peaceful, and she had been pleased, too, with the work she had
‘Antoinette will not be rejoining you.’ The Count’s voice was like steel.
‘Not ... ’ Catriona stared up at him, her eyes wide. ‘Have—have you seen her?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen her. And I’ve sent her home.’ His eyes glinted down at her. ‘I was leaving the office of my lawyer, in Merchant Street, when I happened to pass a certain café . I glanced through the window, and was surprised to see my sister drinking coffee at a corner table. She was sharing the table with a young man.’
Catriona digested this. It looked as if Toni had met a friend. W ell, what was wrong with that?
‘She must have run into someone ... I suppose.’
‘My sister does not wander the streets of Valletta, alone, “running into ” young men.’
For a moment Catriona was almost too astonished to speak. ‘Who was the man?’ she asked at last. ‘Did you know him ? ’
‘He is a notorious playboy. I would not normally allow him to come within a mile of my sister.’ He paused, and she realised that he was breathing deeply. ‘I have spoken with him, and I hope he understands the situation. I have made it clear that if he approaches Antoinette again the consequences will be extremely serious—for himself.’
Carefully, Catriona replaced her palette in its worn case. Then she stood up. ‘You can’t do that sort of thing,’ she said.
‘I can, and I will.’ There was a tremor of pure fury in his voice. Suddenly his fingers gripped Catriona’s wrist, so tightly that she almost cried out in pain. ‘My sister, Miss Browne, is not an English girl. Until she marries—an d especially while she is in my house — she will conduct herself like a Maltese girl of good character.’ His hold tightened. ‘You will not allow her to wander the streets alone!’
Catriona was so angry that she felt all the colour leave her face. ‘Your sister,’ she pointed out, ‘is a fully grown woman. When I left England I did not understand that I would be expected to spy on her. Why shouldn’t she have coffee with a friend? How could a meeting like that be anything but completely innocent? If you want her to behave well you’ll have to trust her. You can’t degrade me by depriving her of all freedom. You can’t degrade me by asking me to be your watchdog.’ Swallowing, she looked down at his fingers, still holding her wrist in a remorseless grip. ‘I’ll fly home tomorrow. I’m sorry you’ve been put to the inconvenience of importing such an unsatisfactory employee. When I get back to England I’ll send you the money for my fare.’
He released her wrist, and she saw him staring at the livid marks left by the pressure of his fingers. ‘You must do as you wish,’ he said quietly.
‘I certainly will.’ Trembling with anger, Catriona struggled to fold her easel up, but its ungainly legs jammed. For a moment or two the Count simply stared, then muttering under his breath he came to her rescue, folding it up without difficulty. He placed it under one arm, and then gathered up the remainder of her belongings.
‘My car is outside the gates,’ he told her.
Inside the low-slung Citroen, Catriona stared resolutely through the windscreen. She felt furious with the man beside her, and with everything he stood for. He had no right to make his young sister’s life a misery, and he had no right, either, having dragged her out from England, to treat her like an unsatisfactory servant. She had been beginning to like Malta very much—she knew it was a place she could come to love, but he had ruined everything. She couldn’t go on working for a man who behaved as he did. It wasn’t possible.
The car swung in a wide circle, then plunged back into a maze of Valletta streets. Catriona felt as if something were aching, deep inside her, and she could almost have cried. It had been so beautiful in the gardens, so peaceful, and she had been pleased, too, with the work she had
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