Kiss of Hot Sun Read online

  “I know you’re up to something, though,” I muttered unhappily.

  Philip took his time. I could see he was carefully weighing his words.

  “Kerry, please just trust me a little. Keep quiet about seeing me with this painting, for a few days at least. Give me a chance to get things sorted out.”

  “But...”

  He cut across my protest. “Just a few days, Kerry. What’s the harm in that?”

  I was all too ready to go along with Philip. It was so much easier than steeling myself to take some positive step against him. Besides, deep down, still not quite dead, was my desire to please him.

  Even before I said a word, Philip saw the agreement in my eyes. He knew he had won me over.

  Dumping the painting on a chair, he came over to me swiftly. “Thank you, darling...”

  I was weak enough to let his kiss possess me for a few moments. All my doubts about him fled. I forgot his lies, forgot his deception. I was on the point of responding, of allowing him to know the full extent of his power over me. But just in time the dampening memory of a hotel terrace flashed across my brain.

  I thrust Philip away, pushing hard against his chest. “No, don’t...”

  He let me go, just retaining a light hold on my shoulders. “What is it, darling? What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t want you to do that.”

  “But I thought...”

  “Then you thought wrong.”

  It was only later, back in my own room, that I realised I had never put my consent into words. I’d not promised to say nothing. Philip had sensed my broken resistance, and clinched things with a kiss.

  That was all the kiss had amounted to. That was all it had meant to him.

  I sat by the open window, staring out into the night. The moon had risen, bathing the stark landscape in cold silver light.

  With the sun long gone down, the air was cool on my bare arms. I shivered. But it was some time before I made the effort to go downstairs and join the others.

  Chapter Eight

  I almost went back on my unvoiced promise to say nothing to Adeline.

  When I walked into the salon, there was Philip cosily tucked up beside Rosalind Blunt, the two of them chatting gaily.

  For an instant our eyes met and locked. And then the brief contact was over, and he had turned back to the Blunt female.

  Adeline rang for coffee. As soon as Carlo wheeled it in, I took charge, glad to have some little job to do.

  Inspector Vigorelli decided it was time for him to be going. On his way to the door he paused for a word with me.

  “You have quite captivated my young assistant, signorina. He speaks of you all the time. But alas, he regrets that he is so busy as to be unable to call upon you.”

  Though the Inspector was making a show of speaking confidentially, he hadn’t attempted to keep his voice down. I guess he thought any girl would be glad to have flattering remarks overheard.

  They’d been overheard all right! A hush was upon the room. I could feel attention riveted on me, tensed for my reply. Even Philip had stopped talking and was staring in my direction.

  Inspector Vigorelli was waiting. I had to say something.

  If I laughed off Cesare’s opinion of me as of no consequence, wouldn’t that give a victory to Adeline and Zampini? They’d think their protests of the other night had taken effect.

  And Philip too—I had an idea he wanted to hear me deny any interest in Cesare.

  I handed the inspector a glowing smile. “I enjoyed that drive with him. Cesare is very nice, isn’t he?”

  “Yes indeed, most pleasant.” And then, in a way that made me feel the words were not directed at me at all, he added : “Cesare is a very clever young man, signorina.”

  I retreated to bed as early as I decently could. I felt exhausted and completely bewildered by all the complicated currents and cross-currents of life at the Villa Stella d’Oro.

  But sleep hung tantalisingly out of reach. My mind skidded uselessly in a bog of contradictory facts, unable to get a grip that would drive me forward.

  Overlaying everything else was my extraordinary conversation with Philip. I asked myself again and again if I could believe any single thing he told me.

  I’d caught him on the attic stairs with a painting belonging to Adeline. He claimed the thing was a fake, and that he was going to be offered it as genuine. But did that make any sort of sense? It was just plain crazy to suggest Adeline would deliberately sell anyone a forged painting. Hadn’t I actually overheard her telling the Blunts that her pictures were only of sentimental value?

  That scene in the attic I’d stumbled on still bothered me—I just couldn’t make it out. George Blunt, I knew, had made all the running, and pressed Adeline into showing him her paintings. But why had they all of them looked so darned furtive when I’d walked in?

  Restlessly, I climbed out of bed and went over to the open window. This time I scarcely noticed the cool night air on my bare arms as I stared out into the silent blackness.

  I couldn’t forget there was some sort of collusion going on between the Blunts and Zampini. What was it all about? And why had Adeline so flatly refused to believe me when I’d tried to warn her? I was offering her the evidence of my own eyes, and she’d simply brushed it aside.

  Of course, I had to admit I was prejudiced against the Blunts—Rosalind, anyway. And against Zampini; it was all too easy to believe the worst of him. I disliked the man. I was revolted by his obscene fatness, and infuriated by his arrogant interference in my affairs.

  Adeline was different; I couldn’t help being fond of her. Yet though she’d been kind to me in some ways, she’d been quite maddeningly unreasonable in others. And once at least I’d spotted her in a direct lie. I had to remember that Adeline was a superb actress.

  My decision not to tell Adeline about Philip’s behaviour began to look rather hollow. What would I say? How could I accuse one person of some unspecified wrongdoing to someone who had behaved every bit as suspiciously?

  There wasn’t a soul at the Villa Stella d’Oro I could confide in. Obviously, the sensible plan would be to get the hell out of here; get back to England where life ran on reasonably straight rails.

  So why didn’t I? Why not go to Adeline the very first thing in the morning and fix it? I needn’t have a row with her; just say I wasn’t settling down as I’d expected, and wanted to go home.

  But ‘first thing’ stretched to mid-morning, and I had said nothing. Somehow I’d not had the time, what with all the new jobs I’d dug out for myself.

  By treading carefully, I’d by now succeeded in getting a minimum of co-operation out of Carlo though he was still prickly as a hollybush. Maria was far more amenable than her nephew. Easygoing, she wanted to get along with everyone, and she always did as I asked quite cheerfully. As for Luciana, her attitude towards me was erratic, influenced by the other two in turn. So I simply praised her whenever possible, and overlooked the small impertinences inspired by Carlo.

  Midday came, and still I hadn’t tackled Adeline. Over the lunch table I once again allowed her to lead the conversation. Today she declaimed enthusiastically about the season of Greek plays at Syracuse.

  “They are superb, Kerry darling. I must take you sometime.”

  I listened and put in the odd comment when necessary. From somewhere outside of myself, I wondered why I didn’t utter the simple words that would have set me free.

  And then it was time for Giles to call for me.

  He turned up fifteen minutes late, tossing me a careless apology. “Sorry Kerry, but I’ve got the devil of a rush job on hand right now.”

  “Well let’s skip our date,” I suggested. “Make it some other time.”

  “Not on your sweet life. Now that you’ve agreed to come, I’m not going to let you dodge it. Let’s get moving.”

  We got moving, zooming down the narrow mountain road like crazy. For want of anything to hang on to, I took a grip on myself.
/>   Giles patted the steering wheel affectionately. “Better than the Sunday runabout that police chap drives, isn’t it?” He spoke lightly, but I knew he was getting in a dig about my going out with Cesare.

  Tickled, I put on a primness. “I’m not prepared to make invidious comparisons about anything as trivial as a motor car.”

  “Trivial! she says. You women have no soul.” Then he had another go. “What about the invidious comparisons you are prepared to make—would they be in my favour?”

  “I don’t know. I like you both.”

  “Surely not equally?”

  I laughed. “Exactly and precisely equally.”

  The car responded to a sudden surge of power. “Right then, we’ll have to sort that out, won’t we?”

  I’d heard about Taormina before. It certainly was an enchanting place, full of quaint old buildings and fascinating little shops. If I hadn’t decided to leave Sicily I’d want to come again and explore the town properly.

  Giles’ studio was perched way up the hillside, high above a church. We had to leave the car in a little cobbled square, and climb a steep flight of steps. But the view when we got there was well worth the effort. From his balcony you could look down on the roofs of the old town to the sea far below; or in the other direction away across to Mount Etna.

  “It’s wonderful, Giles. Aren’t you lucky?”

  There was just one huge apartment, white-painted throughout with green awnings at the windows to keep off the direct rays of the sun. The room was a tidy clutter, artists’ tackle and canvases mixed up with the things of everyday living. The furniture was simple—a small table and chairs, a divan pushed against the wall.

  There weren’t as many pictures as I’d been expecting. The few Giles showed me were all views of Taormina bay, with only slight variations between them. He was undeniably talented, with an eye for balance and an excellent sense of colour. But there was a slapdash quality about his work which didn’t please me. It suggested a contempt for his tourist customers.

  “I’d like to see some of your other paintings, Giles.”

  “What others?” he asked quickly.

  “I mean, the ones you do just to please yourself.”

  He laughed. “You’re certainly a glutton for work, Kerry! I make a living. Why do you imagine I bother to paint anything else?”

  “I thought most artists did.”

  “I doubt it. They all love to talk about the wonderful things they’re going to do when they get the time, but it rarely goes further than that.”

  I noticed there was no canvas on the easel. “What is it you’re working on at the moment—the job that’s so urgent?”

  “Sorry, but I never allow anyone to see anything until I’ve finished it.”

  “I can’t think why you should be so coy.”

  He shrugged. “Oh... it’s a sort of superstition of mine.”

  More than once as we wandered around the studio, Giles dropped his arm on to my shoulders. It was an easy gesture that took altogether too much for granted, I twisted away, without making heavy weather of it. But in the end I had to slap him down a bit.

  “Giles, please don’t!”

  “But darling, you can’t blame me for taking my chance now I’ve got you alone at last. You’ve been holding me off for days.”

  “Well it’s only a matter of days that we’ve been acquainted.”

  “Long enough for me to know how I feel about you.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” I said shakily.

  All the same, it was unfair of me to be scornful. I’d hardly taken any time at all myself. Just one short evening with Philip, and I’d been pitched into a sweet helpless turmoil of loving.

  But that had been sheer illusion, no more than romantic self-deception. I’d be on stricter guard in future.

  Maybe I did like Giles. Maybe I did feel a growing affection for him. But I could no longer trust my surface emotions as a reliable guide.

  I needed more time, much more time, to be certain.

  Giles was smiling down at me. “All right, darling, I won’t rush you.” He leaned forward and lightly kissed my forehead.

  A sound at the door made us turn quickly. Philip was standing there, staring at us.

  “I’m sorry if I’m intruding!” His sarcasm had a sharp edge. “If you remember, Yorke, you told me to drop in when I came down to Taormina.”

  “Sure thing. Glad to see you.” Giles ambled across to him. “Let me offer you something to drink. How about a nice cold beer?”

  “Thanks.”

  While Giles went off to his alcove kitchen, Philip regarded me stonily. “I hadn’t realised you were in the habit of visiting Yorke at his studio.”

  “I’ve never been here before!” He was forcing me on to the defensive.

  “No? Oh well, there always has to be a first time, doesn’t there?”

  Giles came back, three frosting green bottles clamped in one hand, three tumblers in the other. He poured the beer expertly, sliding it down the glasses.

  We stood making polite social noises. Not one of us seemed really at ease.

  After a minute or two, Philip began: “I was thinking —I might buy a picture while I’m here. A present for an aunt of mine.”

  Giles spread his hands in a gesture that swept the studio. “Take your pick.”

  The men wandered off on a tour of inspection. I sat on the window seat, sipping my lager. I wondered what on earth Philip would make of these facile little paintings, if he really was the expert he claimed to be.

  I could hear him passing mildly complimentary remarks. “You’ve got a vivid sense of colour, Yorke. And you certainly catch the Sicilian mood.”

  Giles looked very pleased. “Have I made a sale, then? It’ll come in handy for next week’s rent.”

  “Well—they aren’t quite what I...” Philip paused, frowning. “Have you got anything a bit more... traditional, perhaps?”

  They moved on to the far end of the studio. As they came back in my direction I heard Giles say: “Make it tomorrow then, Rainsby. About this same time.”

  “Okay.” Philip finished up his beer and put the glass on the table. He looked at me. “I’m heading back to the villa now. Can I give you a lift?”

  I didn’t fancy being cooped up in a car with Philip, not even for just a quarter of an hour. And anyway, I couldn’t go with him.

  “Thank you,” I said coolly, “but Giles is taking me back.”

  Philip threw him a questioning look. “It would save you a double trip, Yorke, if Kerry came back with me.”

  I hadn’t a doubt in my mind that Giles would squash this suggestion flat. I was utterly flabbergasted to hear him accepting.

  “As a matter of fact, old man, I am rather up to my eyes in it at the moment. It would be a big help if you’d take her.”

  Shunting me around like an awkward parcel! Philip obliging Giles by taking me home. And Giles being grateful.

  I didn’t go for this one bit. Jumping up, I said stiffly: “You needn’t bother—either of you. I want to have a look round Taormina anyway. I’ll grab a taxi later on.”

  Philip exposed my face-saver. “Won’t you want to be back for tea? I know Miss Harcourt likes having everyone around her then.”

  Weakly, I looked at my watch. Twenty-five past four!

  “Thanks,” I said ungraciously. “Maybe I had better come with you, then.” I’d certainly no intention of begging an unwilling Giles to take me back. In fact I’d think twice before accepting another invitation from that one.

  He did find the courtesy to mutter an apology as I walked out. “You see, Kerry, I really am terribly busy, I’ve got to finish that damn thing I’m working on by tomorrow.”

  On the drive back Philip and I talked in the clipped way of polite strangers thrown together in brief intimacy. For my part I wasn’t feeling particularly chatty right then.

  “What do you think of Giles Yorke?” The question was shot at me suddenly.

  I gav
e a grunt and left my opinion wide open.

  Philip went on smoothly: “I must apologise if I put my foot in it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean, by turning up when I did. But Yorke told me to look in any time, and I naturally didn’t expect...” He dried up.

  “You didn’t expect what?”

  “Well... I had no idea you knew him so...”

  “Like you, I merely went there to look at his paintings,” I cut in hotly.

  The story sounded pretty thin, I had to admit. Driving several miles in the blazing heat of afternoon just to see a collection of chocolate-boxy pictures.

  “And what did you think of them?” Philip asked.

  “Not much!” Annoyed at being trapped into criticising Giles, I went on to lash out at Philip. “I was surprised you were so interested, considering you’re supposed to be such an expert.”

  Philip was entirely unruffled by the gibe. “I had to be polite, after all. And you must remember, the stuff he has on display is what he sells to the tourists. He’ll have something much better tucked away.”

  “Giles told me he didn’t do any other sort of painting.”

  Philip shrugged. “Most painters get sick of doing commercial potboilers. I expect he has a shot at something better now and then.”

  “And that’s what you’re hoping to see tomorrow?”

  “Yorke did say he might look something out for me.”

  But not for me, I thought grimly. For Philip Rainsby, for a prospective buyer, Giles would get out some of his better work. But when I’d asked him the same thing it was too much trouble. Just as it was too much trouble to drive me back to the villa.

  I scolded myself for minding so much. Why should I care two straws what Giles Yorke did—or what Philip did? I wasn’t interested in either of them. They were nothing more to me than casual acquaintances.

  The best attitude, I decided, was not to react to anything more that Philip might have to say. To be neither hostile nor friendly; just plain indifferent.

  I thought of some of the nice, uncomplicated men I’d known in London. For the first time I half regretted ever having left my home town.