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found herself wondering just exactly what kind of life she had let herself in for.
    She was to be ‘in charge’ of Antoinette Caruana, but what exactly did that mean? In England the Count had told her that his sister needed nothing more than a companion. She would not have taken the job on any other terms, and she certainly had no intention of allowing herself to be turned into a watchdog. She would do the job she had originally been asked to do, but that was absolutely all.
    Anyway, if Peter Vilhena wanted his eighteen - year-old sister to stay out of mischief, why had he brought her to live in the heart of the Maltese capital? Most people knew that Valletta was a bustling, cosmopolitan city. Its social life, Catriona would have thought, was likely to be fairly exotic. In such stimulating surroundings it might be extremely difficult to keep Toni Caruana’s adventurous spirit firmly within the bounds imposed by her censorious half-brother. Besides, despite its obvious charm, Valletta clearly wasn’t the best place to be during the last torrid days of August.
    Slipping out of her skirt and blouse, Catriona lay down on the embroidered counterpane that covered the big sixteenth-century bed. So much had happened in just a few hours that she still found it difficult to take everything in, and when she closed her eyes she had the strange feeling that the world was revolving round her. Moist afternoon heat prickled on her skin, but she was too deadly tired to let it worry her any more. Valletta was very quiet. The siesta hour had begun, and no sound came to her through the louvred shutters, or through the oak door leading to the corridor.
    Within minutes she had dropped into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    When Catriona awoke, several hours later, she lay for a moment or two with her eyes closed. Then she became aware of a light, flickering draught. It was playing on her cheek, lifting the ends of her hair, and it felt pleasantly cool. Opening her eyes, she lay staring around her, and at first she found it difficult to remember where she was. She was in a very large bed, and the room was very large too, with a high ceiling. It made her feel small. There was nothing even slightly familiar about the place, and because the windows had been covered up she couldn’t even see very much ...
    Then everything came back. She sat up. Turning her head, she looked for the source of the draught, and immediately discovered that the electric fan was still humming quietly beside her. She pushed it away and lay back against a pile of pillows, trying to collect her thoughts.
    The air was much less stuffy, and her ears detected a vague, distant murmur of sound. It was a sort of muffled hum composed of traffic noises, barking dogs and faint, indefinable rumbling sounds. It meant, obviously, that the siesta hour was over. Valletta was waking up.
    Catriona glanced at her watch and made the discovery that it was a quarter to seven. What was it Carmen had said ? When the Count was at home he usually dined at eight o’clock. She slid off the bed, found some slippers, and went over to one of the windows, pushing the shutters back. Outside, the air was much cooler and the sun had disappeared, leaving the sky a deep glowing turquoise. Already stars were glimmering above the flat rooftops, and evening was closing in on the city.
    Catriona hung out, gazing across the narrow street at a building on the other side. Nearly opposite her window, there was a balcony hung with geraniums. As she watched, an elderly woman appeared on the balcony with a watering-can. A small, shrunken figure in rusty black, she watered the flowers thoroughly, then vanished again into the house, emerging a few seconds later with a large birdcage. The cage contained two brightly coloured budgerigars, and as the old woman placed it on a table she seemed to be talking to the birds. After a time she let them out, and one by one they fluttered to the balcony rail, but