‘Mdina is where I was thinking of going today.’
‘With your friend Cam?’ He gave her a look of fake indignation. ‘Should I be jealous?’
She laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to take the bus as soon as the builder has left.’
‘Sorry to leave you with that.’
‘It’s fine. I might be able to walk to your church afterwards if it really isn’t far. Give me the address. Maybe we could meet there at lunchtime.’
The builder the planning officer had recommended arrived soon after Jack had left, a muscly Maltese man, red-faced, with a moustache and sparkling eyes. She quickly recognised he spoke just a few random words ofEnglish, though he seemed to be fluent in Italian, which was not much use to her as she was not.
However, Jack had already met the man and told him what was needed, and now he was scrutinising the building for cracks, shaking his head and pulling faces. When she gave him a glass of water, he thanked her by nodding repeatedly and smiling. Then he held up three fingers. She nodded and he seemed pleased. But she had no idea what he was really saying.
After he left, she took a bus to Mdina, which Cam had said was worth a look, and felt awed by the sight of the centuries-old bastions, high golden walls, domes, towers and cupolas. It looked utterly unspoilt, and completely unassailable. Once past the huge arched entrance she wandered the labyrinth of narrow streets where she became aware of someone watching her from a small window at the very top of one of the stone buildings. Although the ancient city was extremely beautiful, Florence shivered. There was something ghostly about its silence and she couldn’t imagine Rosalie would be living in a place like this.
‘Who lives here?’ she asked an old man who was walking a dog.
‘Maltese nobility,’ he said gruffly and walked on.
Then she hitched a ride with a passing fruit truck to Rabat, where she met Jack at the church he was giving the once-over. He was covered in dust and grime but smiled when she walked in.
‘Get anywhere?’
She shook his head. ‘I’m still just getting my bearings,but it’s a lovely island even with the bomb damage. I’m ready to work out a plan now.’
‘Well, I’ve got us both second-hand bicycles and had them delivered here. That might help you get around more easily. We can cycle back to Valletta together if you don’t mind hanging on for half an hour.’
Later, after they cycled back to their apartment, Florence made a simple lunch of omelette and salad and then she wrote her list.
‘What’s first?’ Jack asked.
‘Well, I’ve got hospitals, churches and newspapers on my list for tomorrow but I’m going to the police this afternoon.’
At the police station a burly, heavily moustached man behind a desk openly laughed at her.
‘You think I can find someone who went missing, let’s see …’ he looked up at the ceiling, ‘you don’t know when, you don’t know where, and maybe she wasn’t even here at all? All you can tell me is that she was French.’
‘Is French,’ Florence corrected, bristling. Then, sighing, she changed tack and decided to flatter the man. ‘I heard the police here are especially efficient.’
He nodded. ‘We do our best.’
‘They told me that at the hotel.’
‘You visiting?’
Florence bit her lip and tried the damsel in distress look, whereas in reality she felt annoyed and wanted to give the man a good shake. ‘I’m trying to find my aunt, you see. My mother’s terribly upset about her disappearance.’
‘Sorry to hear that, my dear.’
She gave him a helpless wide-eyed look. ‘My mother just wants me to find her sister.’
‘Very sad. So many people lost during the war, even my own cousin. But there it is.’
‘She might have been a dancer. Could you possibly go through your records?’
‘I’m sorry but this is not our normal station. Temporary, you see. Most of our records went up in smoke. And to be fair you really are looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘But it’s such a small island.’
