At the Villa Massina (21 page)

Norma said quickly, “Do we have to, Ramiro? I haven’t been here before, you know. I’d really love to have another day.”

“Then you must stay, of course,” he said automatically.

Ruy, more sensitive than his wife, leaned farther forward. “If you wish, I will go with you, Ramiro. Norma can return with the others, later.”

Ramiro shrugged. “I have a little ... business to attend to in San Federigo. It can be done without either of you, but I thought you would be unwilling to leave Miss Darrell alone at the villa for too long. Already, my friend, she has had enough of the responsibility for your children.”

This kind of remark from Ramiro was so unprecedented that Ruy sat back, a little stunned. He glanced at his wife and saw that her blue eyes were very wide and apprehensive and that she seemed to be on the point of standing up, which meant that Norma, who feared no one, wanted to escape. He made a sign, peremptory for him, that she must remain seated.

He spoke as calmly as he could. “I don’t think I understand you, Ramiro. Juliet is not looking after our children today, but if she were—is it so important? She is very fond of Rina and Tonio and I assure you she has never considered them a burden.”

Ramiro gestured with one hand. “I am sorry. I thought perhaps it was because you were uneasy about leaving the children alone with Luisa that Miss Darrell is not with us on this occasion. She was invited, as you were, and I had reason to believe she would come.” He paused, then asked quickly, “You say that Juliet does not have charge of your children today?”

Ruy said unhappily, “I thought Norma had told you. Juliet has left us ... this morning, or rather, yesterday morning.”

Ramiro’s eyes went very dark. “Left you? How can that be? There was no question of it!”

Hastily, Norma took over. “We were very surprised—hardly knew what to do about it. We talked it over and decided not to tell you till...”

“But you told Inez that Juliet was unwilling to come with us to Cadiz—that she had remained in San Federigo!”

Ruy had gone rather pale. “You did this, Norma? Why not the truth, cara mia?”

“I was only trying to save trouble, darling. We can’t do anything about Juliet, and it didn’t seem fair to burden others with our problems.”

“What is this problem?” demanded Ramiro. “Where has she gone?”

“We’re not quite sure.” Norma had recovered from that most unusual look she had received from Ruy. “You see, Ramiro, Juliet hasn’t been herself lately. I’ve tried, privately, to find out what’s been on her mind, but she wouldn’t tell me. Of course, I ... well, I really knew what it was, but I wanted her to bring it out into the open.”

“And what was it?” he asked at once.

Norma smiled with the correct degree of compassion. “You sound almost angry, Ramiro, but I assure you I did my utmost. Juliet hasn’t been quite ... normal, since that man called at the villa—wasn’t his name Whitman?”

Ramiro snapped his fingers impatiently. “Go on! Tell me why you allowed her to leave you this morning.”

“It wasn’t a case of allowing her to go. She slipped away and left a note. Someone had offered her a lift into Manca—I don’t know who it was. Her large suitcase was left in the bedroom, for forwarding to England, and the smaller one she took with her.”

“Was she not to sail from Cadiz?”

“She decided to tour. We knew all about that, because she was leaving on Saturday, anyway, and we’d talked it over. I know it’s a little upsetting, but there’s no reason to worry over her. She’s wonderfully good at getting around on her own, and after all, she’s only gone a day or two earlier than we expected.”

Ramiro stood above her; in the dimness she could see the glitter in his eyes. “This is not the sort of thing one expects to hear from one’s friend,” he said very quietly. “She is a girl, very young, and she is alone. If ... she is in love with someone whom she has lost, there is even more reason to take care of her. I dislike intensely to have to say this to a woman—particularly to the wife of my friend—but I am afraid you have been callous, Norma.”

“But I haven’t!” She glanced hurriedly at Ruy, was amazed that he said nothing in her defence. “You don’t know Juliet. She’s reserved, but very capable. If I could...”

Ramiro held up an autocratic hand. “Where has she gone?”

“To Malaga first, I believe, though she may have changed her mind. From there, I think it was Granada and then Madrid, then across to San Sebastian, and a boat home. Ramiro...”

He bowed stiffly. “Thank you. I am afraid I am in no mood for further speech. You will excuse me?”

He strode away in a manner that was not at all like Ramiro, disappeared through one of the doorways. Norma sat back on the couch, her hand tight on its carved arm. That Juliet, of all people, should bring her to his. Juliet!

She looked quickly at her husband, saw that he was still standing, after having risen as the Conde left them. His hand was tight too, grasping the curved back of the damask chair upon which he had been seated. His face was more stern than she had ever seen it, and for the first time in her married life she became frightened of him.

She said, on a note of surprise, “What’s come over Ramiro? Is it so terrible for Juliet to have escaped when she wanted to? Do you suppose he’s affronted because we accepted the invitation for her and didn’t make sure of bringing her?”

Ruy seemed to find difficulty in speaking. “He feels as I did—that with Juliet leaving us because she was not happy at the villa, we should not be in such haste to enjoy ourselves. She is like our sister, Norma. We have failed her.”

“Don’t say that again! If she was idiot enough to fall in love with Lyle Whitman, she has to take the consequences.”

“I think you are wrong. I think,” he hesitated, lowered his voice, “that she is in love with Ramiro.”

“Good heavens!” Norma gazed at him, her face white. “Then it’s a good thing she’s gone.”

He regarded her queerly. “You did not suspect it?”

“It’s the last thing I’d suspect.”

“Even though she did her utmost not to see him? Even though when she had to meet him she took care not to be alone with him? You have not seen her avoid his most conventional touch, or avert her eyes rather than look at him? You are very unobservant, my dear. And I am afraid Ramiro was right; where Juliet is concerned you are callous.”

She was becoming almost shattered. Huskily she whispered, “Ruy, what are you saying? We’ve never quarrelled, you and I, and we certainly aren’t going to quarrel over Juliet.”

“Quarrelling is undignified,” he said. “We shall not quarrel. But there are things we must talk about—some details I do not quite understand.”

He sounded desolate. “I was disturbed about Juliet, but you were quick to reassure me; you said we must not mention her departure to any of Ramiro’s guests, and when Inez questioned you about Juliet’s absence you pretended she was still at the villa.” He held up a hand to silence her protest. “My dearest Norma, I love you. I cannot conceive of life without you, and I would never willingly wound you. But tonight, I think, there must be some honesty between us. Come, let us take a long walk in the garden.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

DUSK was falling when Juliet decided she must find her way back to the hotel. The cafes were coming alive, guitars were noisy, and in a small square a girl danced near a fountain, a thin, sultry-looking creature with blazing eyes and fast feet. She twirled in her red dress, clicked her castanets, and presently was joined by other girls who were less expert, and young men who had passion but little elegance. She was probably a Sevillana whipping up a frenzy of motion simply for the exotic joy of it.

The hotel chosen for Juliet by the English couple looked modest. There were a few cars parked to one side of the entrance and the steps and foyer were discreetly lit, but the two or three porters seemed to be flurried; perhaps there were more visitors than they were accustomed to handling. Still, they were flatteringly attentive to Juliet, when she entered.

She took her key from her bag, but the elderly man in uniform appeared to know the number of her room already. He bowed twice, begged her to do him the favor of following him, and moved with considerable agility down a corridor. Surely one slept upstairs, thought Juliet.

But the porter knocked obsequiously and opened a door, said, while he was still bent almost double, “The senorita you are awaiting Senor Conde,” and hurriedly backed out and closed the door.

Something red hot ran along Juliet’s nerves; her fingernails dug hard into her palms, but she stood there apparently unmoved. She was conscious of the cool scent of flowers from the urn which had hurriedly been transferred from the vestibule, or the beaten metal ashtray which was loaded with the remains of Ramiro’s own brand of cigarettes, of an open window which admitted a faint breeze into the private sitting room.

Then she looked up at Ramiro, saw that his expression was dark and unreadable, and was able to say evenly, “This is a surprise, senor.”

“I am sure it is,” he said curtly. “You imagined me still in Cadiz.”

“Well, yes. I didn’t know you ever came to Malaga.”

“When I have reason, I will go anywhere. Please sit down.”

She didn’t want to, but there was no good reason why she shouldn’t. So she sank on to a leather-seated chair and put her bag on the floor beside her. Her skin was chill and clammy and she had drawn the inside of her cheek so tightly between her teeth that it hurt.

Ramiro studied her with smouldering eyes which at the same time looked oddly tired, then he turned away, with his hands behind him. “May one ask who brought you here from San Federigo?”

“Yes, one may,” she managed. “I took a small boat to Manca, then a bus into the mountains and travelled here to Malaga with an English husband and wife.”

“The lift you were offered was a lie, no?”

“You’ve ... read my note?”

“No, I have been told of it.”

“I didn’t say I’d been offered a lift—only that I could get one—which I did, in a boat. Is any of this important, senor?”

“I suppose not,” he swung round, “but one has to say something, does one not? Somehow, this discussion has to be started! Why did you leave your cousin so suddenly?”

“I was leaving on Saturday anyway, and yesterday seemed a good time.”

“Because I would be away?”

With unnatural calm she said, “You senor? What difference could that make?”

“That,” he said rapidly, “is what I intend to find out. You will not believe this, but I know you quite well. You are not of a kind to wander away without saying goodbyes unless you felt it might be the right thing to do. But in the circumstances, how could it be right? You must have known I could not let things end like that!”

“I ... I didn’t. As a matter of fact, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“So?” He spoke quietly, but it was easy to see he was in a flaming rage. “It is as simple as that! One packs, and takes a boat. That is the end of San Federigo, and now we make a short tour through Spain. Ramiro is expecting me to be a guest on his yacht; he thinks he will show me the Castillo at Cadiz, introduce me to his friends there. But, oh no! This time he will not get his own way! That is how you think?”

“No.” She didn’t get any farther for a moment, but he waited, standing above her, till she added, “That isn’t at all how I thought. I regarded the party in San Federigo as a kind of farewell. When I said goodnight to you ... and the others ... inside me I was saying goodbye.”

“Dios, and we were expected to know! It will astonish you, then, to hear that I was certain you were on the yacht with Ruy and Norma. I did not learn till after midnight that you had gone away.”

“Last night?” she queried, large-eyed. “Was that in Cadiz?”

“It was.” He moved, a little jerkily. “The function for Inez was almost finished before I saw Ruy and Norma alone. They told me, and at once I made arrangements to leave the entertaining in my sister’s hands, and set out in the yacht. I came straight to Malaga and had enquiries made at the hotels. It was discovered that you had booked here and were out. I have waited, knowing that you must return here yet frantic because it was getting dark and you were alone. But when you arrive you are not even ruffled and the sight of me does not move you at all.”

She looked down at the hands clasped tightly in her lap. “That isn’t true. I’m terribly sorry if you’ve been disturbed, but I really don’t see why you should have been. I’m not like one of your women. My guardians were a very sweet uncle and aunt, but they didn’t worry over me as parents might, so I’ve grown up fairly independent. Even knowing so little of the language, I shall easily manage the trip across Spain.”

“You will not travel alone across Spain!” he exclaimed. “Enough of this. We know, you and I, why you have tried to escape. I refuse to believe you were deeply affected by Lyle Whitman. At best, the man was a waster and a cheat, and he had nothing to offer a wife. I cannot even see how he could fascinate one so young and innocent as you.”

“He didn’t.” It was a relief to say it so baldly; it let some of the tension out of her system. “I was never attracted to Lyle in that way. Never—you may believe that. You’re strong and strict in your mode of living, so you won’t even allow that he had some decent characteristics, but he was likeable, and I felt sorry for him.”

“It was your compassion,” he demanded satirically, “which governed your behavior with him? Only compassion? You must have met him several times, and on the last occasion you ran with him to the beach, gave him time to get away and pleaded with me for him. But you only pitied him!”

“I pitied and liked him,” she said stubbornly.

“And there was nothing else?”

“Nothing emotional, if that’s what you mean.”

“So?” It seemed almost impossible for him to credit this.

“So,” she stated with finality. “I did not fall in love with him.”

“But there was something,” he persisted. The dark eyes were gleaming now with shrewdness. “He had a hold upon you, was that it?”

She hesitated. “Yes, it was. And that’s all I intend to admit. The whole thing is over.”

“But not the consequences.” He looked down at her, sitting there so small and unyielding with that untouched air about her. “Juliet, look at me. Entirely, please—not just at my tie. There is a question you have not asked. I think you are afraid to ask it, but there is no need to be afraid. I want so much to hear it.”

“I can’t think of anything,” she said politely.

“You are not interested in why I am here?”

“Well, it does seem rather extreme—your coming all the way to Malaga—but that’s the sort of man you are. You ... you take endless trouble for some principle or other ...” She broke off as her breath caught. “Why ... did you come?”

He took her hands and drew her to her feet. She looked up into a face dark with torment and quickly turned away her head. In the acute silence she could hear blood drumming in her ears and the heavy measured ticking of a big cabinet clock in the corner of the room.

“I will tell you,” he said, hurrying the words indistinctly in a way which was most unlike Ramiro. “I have been madly jealous. I love you, Juliet, and I am very certain I could make you love me. I would not have said this yet; your emotions are not as developed as those of a man of my age and I would have preferred a more gentle approach. But by trying to escape from me you force this situation. I cannot let you run away, querida—ever!” He took her closely into his arms, spoke queerly. “You must try to understand. The ways of your country and mine are not quite the same, but love is the same, except that perhaps we Spaniards are more conscious of it than the English. If you insist on returning to England, I will take you there and never let you from my sight till you have promised to marry me. Now that at last I have fallen in love that is how it is with me. It is what I have waited for—someone sweet and spirited and different, who looks just as you look and speaks as you speak; there could only be one! There is much we do not know about each other, but I adore you, bella mia, and the rest will matter very little when you also find yourself loving me.” She trembled and his arms tightened. “You will let yourself love me, Juliet?”

Tears ached in her throat and low down in her chest. This was impossible. Impossible but heavenly! She reached up and clasped his shoulders, lifted her lips and felt them crushed and drained. Her heart itself went cold and bloodless. She stirred and freed herself, contrived somehow to put a couple of yards between them.

“I’m sorry,” she said huskily. “We’d better call that goodbye, hadn’t we?”

“Goodbye! You foolish child, it is only the beginning.” But he made no attempt to come closer. “We are both tired, I think. I will order wine.”

He pressed a bell and gave the order, spent a few moments lighting cigarettes for them both. The wine arrived and he poured it, a sweet Malaga, gave Juliet her glass and raised his own, without voicing a toast.

He did something she was sure was unusual—finished the drink in one go.

He set down the glass and said gently, “From the very beginning you have had a secret, and you cannot blame me if I have tried to fathom what it is. At first I thought you must have known Whitman in England, but there was little to hide in that. I had him watched, but could find nothing which connected him with you. It was baffling, and I do not take kindly to being baffled. Then last night, at sea on the way from Cadiz, I gave many quiet hours to the problem, and I came to a conclusion. You see, only an hour or two earlier I had discovered a rather disquieting fact about your cousin; not only does she have little feeling for you but she has resented your presence in San Federigo, which is odd, when one considers that she herself arranged that you come to Spain. I thought back to that night when Whitman came to the villa and found us all together, and I remembered that Norma hastened to help you go with him—she even clutched my arm to prevent my following at once. The connection, I believe, was not between you and Whitman, but between Norma and Whitman. That was why she was pleased to let you go yesterday.”

“I’d rather you didn’t say anything more about it, senor.”

“My dear Juliet, one does not address one’s novio as senor,” he said with a tender smile. “I am right about Norma, am I not?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“Very well. In any case, it is no longer our concern.” He touched her arm, did not change his expression when she moved slightly, out of reach. “What else is there? Why did you invite me to embrace you just now, and tolerate the kiss as if it had to happen, but you hated it?”

She put down her glass and drew on the cigarette. “I’m not very sophisticated, am I? For a minute I thought of you as an ordinary man—I quite forgot you’re the Conde de Vallos. Still, it will be something to remember. I don’t suppose any other English girl has ever been kissed by the Conde de Vallos.”

“Sarcasm does not become you,” he said sharply. “Why are you speaking like this?”

“You asked for an explanation,” she replied In low tones. “I ... I wanted you to kiss me, and then suddenly it was bitter. I’m not the kind you should marry and you know it. Your family marry people of their own race. I’ve often thought of that picture of Juana, of her wild son...”

“Ah!” It was the sort of exclamation a scientist might make when he sees a glimpse of light through the fog of his research. “What a relief it is something so small! Who cares about Juana and her silly son? Our son will be very Spanish and he will adore his parents. You may have an English daughter if you wish. You think I could marry any other woman, now that I have met you? You believe I will relinquish you, just because one of my ancestors married his brother’s
fiancée
and they fought for the rest of their lives?”

“Inez told me...”

“Inez is an idiot. Let her keep her Manuel happy and leave me to choose my own wife. She has sickened me with her Lupitas and Elenas!”

“And ... Carmen?”

His brows lifted. “Carmen, the little devoted one? I suppose that imbecile Mario told you his family wished her to marry!”

“To marry you, so I understood.”

“One cannot love to order, and certainly I could not love Carmen even if I had not met you. The poor little one has not had thoughts of marriage herself. She had been away, and when she returned she was full of ideas about the life of retreat. In confidence, her parents spoke to me about it; they were distressed because—you must admit it, Julieta mia!—she has the beauty of a red poppy, and they wished her to marry well and settle near them. I have had many long talks with Carmen, and found she had been influenced by an old aunt who had never married. For me,” a characteristic shrug, “it was difficult, because I knew so little of how a girl would feel in such circumstances. All I could do was show her some social life and let her see what it is like to live in the world. I even asked her opinion about alterations to the yacht—though the opinion I needed was yours; Then when Inez decided to visit her godmother I had the idea it would also be good for Carmen. The godmother, as you will find out, is large and motherly and eminently sensible. She will have Carmen looking with rather more interest at the young men in her vicinity.”