So the scalloped collar was produced from a cupboard, passed around and much praised, and finally accepted with an impulsive kiss from Lucia. Then they all turned their attention to the wine and cakes, and the atmosphere became more relaxed. Covertly watching Jacinto, Marianna realized how much he must be wanting to embrace his father, to hold his mother in his arms. As they were leaving, she contrived to allow him the opportunity of a few moments alone with his parents by strolling ahead with the two young people on their way back to the
quinta.
This visit of Jacinto’s was sweet torture for Marianna — having him so near, in these domestic surroundings, yet unable to exchange an intimate word, unable to so much as touch him. And all the time she was afraid that someone might recognize him for who he really was.
On the second night of their stay, the end of the grape harvest was marked by special celebrations in the gardens of the
quinta,
lit for the occasion by lanterns and torches of juniper wood. Much baking had been done at the house, and a pig had been killed for the meat to be roasted on long laurel spits, and everybody ate and drank their fill. There was also singing and dancing to the music of
guitarras, machetes
and fiddles, and those who did not have instruments beat out the rhythm on any suitable piece of wood they could find.
From the veranda, Marianna and Jacinto watched the two young people enjoying themselves in the thick of things. When he reached out and touched her hand, Marianna did not draw away. By unspoken consent they turned and descended the wooden steps and slipped across in the shadows to the denser shade of the cedar tree.
They strolled on, their fingers entwined, and climbed a bank to reach the path beside the
levada.
The noise of revelry was fainter now. A light breeze stirred the leaves of the chestnut trees and their footsteps on the grassy path could scarce be heard above the whisper of flowing water. It was a beautiful evening. On the far side of the ravine a huge orange moon hung serenely in a sky of deepest indigo, seeming so near that an outstretched hand could pluck it down.
Jacinto said softly, ‘There has been so little chance for us to talk,
querida.
I know almost nothing of how the years between have treated you. Tell me, what prompted you to return to Madeira and face such a formidable struggle?’
‘Yes, it has been a struggle, I admit that.’ Marianna hesitated, considering how much to reveal.
‘
I was dreadfully unhappy in England. Ralph Penfold never once admitted — even to me in private — that he had seen the two of us together on the bridge, that afternoon when William died. Nevertheless he lost no opportunity to be unpleasant. He was his father’s sole heir — though naturally William had made provision at the time of our marriage for myself and any children I might bear him — and Ralph treated me as an interloper in the family. At least this property of my father’s in Madeira, for what little it was worth, had passed entirely to me — that was part of the marriage settlement. This island beckoned me like a haven of peace. So after Dick was born, as soon as I felt he was old enough to make the voyage, I turned my back on England and came here. There was just one person I regretted having to leave — Hilda, my maid.’
‘The one who helped you come to London and warn me?’
‘Yes. We both owe so much to that girl, my dear. I asked Hilda to come away with me, but she was courting one of the footmen at Cadogan Place and they wished to marry. I was able to give them a little help in purchasing a small grocery shop, and this has thrived. Hilda has four children now, and we still keep in touch at Christmastide.’
Jacinto came to a halt and drew her round to face him. He held her by the shoulders and there was an intensity in his voice as he said, ‘I heard it mentioned in the Commercial Association that you are the equal of any man in the wine trade.’
‘So you talk about me, do you?’ she said, with a curious feeling of unease.
‘No, but I listen.’
‘Then without doubt you will also have heard things to my discredit.’ Marianna made to stroll on, but he restrained her and demanded urgently, ‘What of those two men – Rapazotte and da Silva? From thinly-veiled hints, I surmise that they are-’
‘They are what?’ she asked dangerously, and wrenched herself from his grasp. ‘You had better say it plainly, Jacinto.’
‘Very well! Is it true that those two men are, or have been, your lovers?’
Anger that he should dare pose such a question robbed her of breath. Jacinto seemed to take her silence as shame, and he said with less aggression, ‘Marianna, it is not my intention to cast blame...’
She could have told him the truth — that neither Carlos nor Augusto nor any other man had been her lover. That, despite a flagrant use of feminine wiles, something had always held her back from the ultimate step. But she refused to demean herself, as she saw it, by rushing to deny Jacinto’s charge.
‘How very magnanimous of you,’ she said furiously. ‘How noble that he who is himself blameless should generously refrain from casting blame.’
‘But I didn’t say—’
‘You have said quite enough. I do not claim to have led an unblemished life. There are certain things that I would wish undone, if only it were possible. But be clear about this, Jacinto. I feel no sense of shame for the steps I have taken in reinstating the name Dalby as a force to be reckoned with. I feel no shame in giving back a decent livelihood and a sense of human dignity to the many loyal and good people who worked for my father. I have stood up to men, and fought them on their own terms. And if I have sometimes found it necessary to use a woman’s weapons against them, it is because the world of men allows my sex no other way.’
His tone was contrite, yet he persisted. ‘Your life has made you hard, Marianna. When I remember how innocent you used to be...’
‘Innocence is for children,’ she flared. ‘I soon lost my innocence when I married William Penfold. But do you suppose it is not the same heart that beats in my breast?’
‘Oh God, I’m sorry. Forgive me.’ He touched her cheek lightly with his finger. ‘But these men, did they make you forget me,
querida,
even for a little while?’
‘You know the answer to that.’
‘But I want to hear you say it.’
There was such anxiety, such uncertainty in his voice, that Marianna was moved to compassion.
‘Never for one moment have I ceased to love you, Jacinto,’ she whispered. ‘You are everything to me. You are life itself, my darling one.’
In the moonlight she could see the planes and hollows of his face, she could see the look of love and tenderness in his dark eyes. From far away the sounds of merrymaking belonged to another world and it was just the two of them, alone. They kissed passionately, clinging to one another. Marianna felt a glorious sense of peace and contentment, yet at the same time there was an aching need in her that demanded fulfilment. They sank down together upon a bed of fern and bracken, and under the velvet canopy of night, with the sweet scent of honeysuckle tangling into their senses, they loved again as they had loved so long ago.
* * * *
As autumn slipped into the mild Madeiran winter she and Jacinto met whenever it could be conveniently arranged, but they were rarely alone for more than a few minutes. Catarina’s condition steadily worsened, except for one period of three days when the
leste
blew, the hot wind from the sands of the Sahara which, while oppressing everyone else, brought relief to her tortured lungs. Marianna several times made the journey up to Monte to sit with her an hour or so, sometimes reading aloud the poems of Mrs Elizabeth Barrett Browning for whom they shared an admiration. She had discovered a real liking for this wan invalid. She begrudged Jacinto’s wife nothing, except the long years.
When Catarina went into her last decline, Marianna saw nothing of Jacinto and Lucia for more than a fortnight. Then one morning he walked into her office bringing the news that his wife had passed away.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, with a genuine feeling of sadness.
‘The end was very sudden and very peaceful. I was with her, thank God.’
‘How has Lucia taken it?’ Marianna asked.
‘Not well, poor child. She was always devoted to her mother and she will be lost now.’
‘We must try to cheer her up, within the limits of what is seemly.’
Jacinto did not stay for long. There was a restraint upon them, and they did not even touch hands. Next day Lucia was brought down to Funchal to be with Marianna during the burial, which Dick attended as a mark of respect. A quiet ceremony had been anticipated, with few people beside Jacinto and Dick, and the menservants from the rented quinta, to follow the pall bearers up the sixty-eight steps to the pretty church of Nossa Senhora do Monte. But Dick reported later that there had been a large number of mourners — men of the town to whom Marianna had introduced Senhor Dom Joao Carreiro, and various neighbours in Monte.
‘Do you know, mama, even Eduardo from Alecrims was there, standing right at the back of the church and trying not to be noticed. I wonder how he came to know that Dona Catarina was dead? But it was nice of the old chap to come all that way, wasn’t it? I thought when we were up at the
quinta
that he seemed to get on very well with Dom Joao.’
Four weeks later the Christmas season was upon them. Marianna suggested to Jacinto that, rather than face the festivities that were customary in and around Funchal, it might be preferable for them to spend the time at the Quinta dos Alecrims — just herself and Dick, himself and Lucia. She had expected opposition to the idea from her son, thinking he would be loth to miss all the parties and masquerading and fireworks. But Dick was surprisingly amenable.
‘I can see it wouldn’t be quite the thing for the Carreiros to be in the midst of things in Funchal,’ he said, ‘and it would be a pity not to have them join us.’
They arrived early in the evening of December the twenty-third and dined quietly, though this time Marianna insisted on Linguareira joining them. Afterwards, the three adults sat over a few hands of bezique at a table by the open window, while on the veranda Dick showed Lucia how to play the
machete.
Tomorrow, Marianna thought contentedly, they would all go out and gather Christmas decorations for the house — boughs of silver pine and trails of giant smilax, ferns and yellow sedum, and the beautiful arum lilies that grew wild everywhere around.
On Christmas Day itself, Marianna invited her
feitor
and his wife, and all those of their sons and daughters who lived close enough, to come to the
quinta
for an hour or two — an innovation, but not so startling as to evoke suspicion. She wanted to give Eduardo and Rosaria as much of Jacinto’s company as possible. His brothers and sisters were all included in the secret, but not the younger generations — their children, and the two tiny tots who were their children’s children.
Later, when the violet softness of dusk was gathering in the ravine and only the peaks of the mountains still caught the sunlight, she and Jacinto strolled down as far as the church. The old priest saw them approach and opened the door of his little house.
‘Come in, come in, my dear Dona Marianna.’
‘Father Baptisto, I am very happy to present to you Senhor Dom Joao Carreiro.’ She met his eyes in a direct gaze. ‘From Guiana.’
* * * *
Marianna could not remember a Christmas Day passing so contentedly. She felt a growing confidence that in the fullness of time, after another summer had come and gone, she and Jacinto would at last be able to join their lives.
During the evening a group of youths in their best clothes came to serenade them on the veranda. Afterwards, Dick carried out a flagon of red wine and Lucia a platter piled high with little honey cakes and Friar’s Kisses. It was nearing midnight when the party retired to their rooms. Marianna stood for a few moments at the open window gazing out at the gardens, silvered now by a rising moon so that the white, waxy blossoms of the camellia bushes gleamed palely. It was serenely beautiful and she enjoyed the feel of the soft night air on her face. Behind her, Linguareira was laying out her nightgown, Despite the old woman’s breathlessness, nothing Marianna could say would persuade her to hand over these duties to a maid who was younger.
‘Am I past satisfying you, then?’ she was apt to demand furiously. ‘If you want to rid yourself of me, you had better send me to the nuns.’
A quiet tap on the door made both women turn. They looked at one another, asking the same silent question. Surely Jacinto would not be so imprudent as to come to her bedroom like this?
‘Who is it?’ Marianna called.
‘It’s me, Dick!’
She smiled with relief. ‘Come in, my dear.’ Then, as the door opened, ‘And what is it that’s so urgent it cannot wait until the morning?’
Her son seemed wary, a little anxious. ‘You were talking this evening about when I go to Oxford, mama ...’
‘Well yes, but that’s still quite a time away, Dick.’
He raised his eyes and stared at her directly, defiantly. ‘I thought I’d better tell you right away that I’ll be cutting Oxford.’
‘You’ll be
what?
Linguareira moved to the door, mumbling, ‘Well, I’d best go and —’
‘No!’ Dick said it brusquely, as if perhaps he needed the presence of a third person. ‘I ... I’ve made up my mind. There’d be no point in Oxford because I’m going to get married.’ As Marianna stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment, he rushed on, ‘Lucia and I... we’ve fallen in love. Of course, I intend to ask Dom Joao’s permission and all that, but I’m just telling you first how things stand.’
It was Linguareira who broke the shocked silence. Gathering Marianna into her arms protectively, she turned the force of her tongue on Dick.
‘How can you upset your poor mother like this? You dolt, you dunderheaded fool, you cannot marry that girl. Don’t you understand, you and she might be —’
‘Enough!’ cried Marianna, pulling herself out of her confusion. ‘You had better leave us, Linguareira. I must talk to Dick.’