Malta was hot in July.

Madaleine da Rosa sat on the beach listening to the fireworks and waited for her husband to be shot.

It was not that she hated her husband. In truth she was fond of him as witnessed by the three lovely children she had borne to him. It was just that quite suddenly he was in the way. Ever since she had met Richard Arrinaga the duties of marriage had, to say the least, become inconvenient.

Arrinaga appreciated her. He laughed with her and told her she was good in bed. And she loved him, particularly his eyes; those dark penetrating eyes which smiled with his humour, cried with his sadness and embraced the whole of her with his passion.

It was his eyes which had first attracted her to him at an official reception some three months previously, and ever since then it had been those same eyes which she wanted to find beside her on her morning pillow for the rest of her life. To Madaleine da Rosa Richard Arrinaga was his eyes.

*******

The murder - her idea if the truth must be known – was simple but clever. All through the year in Malta each town and village celebrated a saint's day when local people let off fireworks to frighten away the devil, or so it was said. Throughout such days the air would be filled with the reports of rockets and firecrackers, sometimes singly but more often in bunches so that from a distance the impression was of the crackle of machine-gun fire. In such noise surely no one would notice a silenced rifle shot.

Madaleine sighed. It was hardly pleasant to lose one's husband, but in Malta divorce was so difficult. It was some consolation that Charles da Rosa was a wealthy man and it was certain that he would leave her and the children well provided for, a fact which would be helpful in the light of Arrinaga's penury.

She lay back and let the hot afternoon sun permeate her dark smooth skin.

*******

Up in the hills at Sliema, Richard Arrinaga sat on the balcony of a small house looking out over the festival streets below. He thought of Madaleine and his dark eyes blazed with determination. While initially he had been somewhat shocked by the callousness of her plan, he could not help but admire this beautiful woman who would sacrifice her husband for him.

He gently fingered the rifle beside him. The telescopic lens was attached and the silencer fitted. No one would hear the shot, let alone suspect where it came from. Yet he had to be sure. To be caught and imprisoned would be the end of all his dreams.

Without taking his eyes from the street below, he reached out beyond the rifle until his hand touched the firework. He had made it himself, a giant mortar rocket which would burst six times in the air. When it was launched from its cardboard tube the explosion would be heard for miles around. The noise would be sufficient to cover even a cannon shot. It was the perfect cover.

Da Rosa was due in the street in precisely fifteen minutes time. A punctual man, he would leave his office on the dot of four o'clock as he always did. Arrinaga ignored the dull knot of concern in his stomach; he was confident. The shot would be simple enough, easier than the far smaller target of the rabbit upon which he had successfully practiced the day before. He smiled to himself. His plan was to light the five second fuse of the firework as soon as he saw da Rosa emerge from his office door, to take aim as his victim set off slowly down the street and then to fire the shot at the exact moment that the rocket launched. Everyone would watch the sky to marvel at the brilliance of his creation, even in daylight. The death of a man in the street would pass unnoticed long enough for the gunman to make his getaway.

Arrinaga wished that time would hurry up. The noise of the other fireworks around him was beginning to give him a migraine. He knew that he could not see Madaleine until the next day; they had both considered it safer thus. Nevertheless he wished that this messy side of his love were behind him.

*******

Charles da Rosa closed the file in front of him and leaned back in his chair. He hated working during the noise and heat of a holiday, but the work had to be done if he was to have time for his children at the weekend. He loved his family and longed for them to love him in return. He knew that his three children reciprocated his affection. Madaleine however worried him.

She had been so sullen to him of late. Their marital relations, once so passionate had become not only less frequent but more clinical and cold as well. Perhaps he was away from her too often. A beautiful and hot-blooded woman like her needed a lot of attention and there was no doubt that his work prevented him from having the time to give her enough. On the other hand he was only working to provide her and the children with the comforts and quality of life which he knew they expected. Madaleine couldn't have it both ways.

He shrugged and glanced at th electric clock on the office wall. It was almost four. Climbing slowly to his feet he walked across the room to where his jacket hung on the wall. Madaleine was indeed a problem and one which he was anxious to resolve. Perhaps she should take a lover. Sad, he thought, but possibly the only way of securing the survival of their marriage. He hated the very thought, but if that was what it would take to keep them together he was prepared to make the sacrifice. Yes, he told himself, that must be the answer. He would suggest to her when he collected her from the beach that the time had come for her, like so many of her friends, to find herself a gigolo.

He opened the door and walked out into the bright sun.

*******

Madaleine da Rosa looked at the thin gold watch which Charles had given her to mark the birth of their latest child. It would be any time now. Richard had told her that he would wait for a big firework before firing. She thought of the sweet life which lay ahead and those wonderful dark eyes which would now forever be a part of it.

In the distance, from the direction of Sliema, the crackle of fireworks punctuated the drowsy heat of the dying afternoon. All of a sudden she heard a muffled bang which was louder than the rest. Her heart jumped and for a moment sadness engulfed her.

She had loved Charles once. But then that time was long passed. She took a deep breath and composed herself.

*******

It must have been about three-quarter of an hour later that she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She looked round to see a young policeman in khaki shirt and shorts walking towards her, his hands nervously twisting one within the other. He stopped beside her.

“Mrs da Rosa?"

She nodded.

"I...I don't know quite how to put this. You must be brave."

His young face was pale and torn with the effort of the unsought duty which had been placed upon him.

Madaleine was a good actress. Slowly she took off her dark glasses so that he could watch her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked hesitantly. "What has happened?"

"I'm dreadfully sorry. It is not easy to tell you." He paused before letting it come in a rush. "Your husband is dead. He was shot about half-an-hour ago as he left his office."

Madaleine watched the awkwardness and compassion in the young man's expression before allowing a look of blank incomprehension to creep across her own face.

"Dead," she stammered, "What do you mean, dead?" She threw her head into her hands and began to moan softly; it was important that this scene wasn't overacted. "Oh no, Oh no. Charles, my love. Not dead. It can't be. He's coming to collect me here any time now."

The policeman put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm afraid it's true," he said quietly. "You must believe me. I am sorry to have been the bearer of such sad news, but you must take a grip of yourself for the sake of your children. If I were you I would see a doctor and get some sedatives. If you like I will send one round. Will you now forgive me if I leave you?" He bowed solemnly.

Madaleine muttered tearful thanks as he turned on his heel and made to walk away across the beach. She watched him go and then lowered her head into her hands and forced another pitiful moan. He was, she thought, impressed.

He stopped suddenly about ten yards from her and turned.

"If it's any comfort," he said, “we caught the assassin. In some ways he has already paid for his crime. God's arm of vengeance upon the wicked is long. As this vile murderer fired the gun which killed you husband a large firework apparently exploded beside the bastard. His right arm and half his face were blown away. He's in hospital and he will probably survive. But I'm glad to tell you that he is totally blind. His eyes were burned out and completely destroyed by the explosion. He will never see again."

He set off again across the beach and out of sight.

Madaleine da Rosa sat on the beach listening to the fireworks.

*******

Malta was hot in July.

1971