She had never seen him like this before, and somehow she knew that she would never have done so if Isabella had not driven down to the Playa in her black Mercedes to picnic with the children in the sun.
AN ADMISSION OF GUILT?
ON the way back to San Lozaro Philip seemed strangely elated.
"You have had a good day's business," Conchita said. "I know by your face!"
In spite of her laughter, Felicity felt that there was something personal about Conchita's question. Was she about to ask a favour of Philip and felt that this might be the most propitious time, when he had successfully pulled off a business deal to his own advantage? Conchita was capable of any wile when she wanted something passionately, something which she felt that she could not do without.
Philip smiled.
"True, Conchita," he said, "but what is it you want me to do for you?"
He appeared to be in too mellow a mood to sound cynical or annoyed, but evidently he knew Conchita.
"I want you to let me go to Zamora for the fiesta."
"I have told you that there is plenty of time to make plans for the fiesta." His voice was more stern now. "We may all go," he conceded.
Conchita drew in a deep, resentful breath.
"Because there is no work to be done! Because you will be forced to grant the holiday to the people on the plantation," she accused. "But that is all. One day! You are a slave-driver, Philip. Julio says so, and I am sure he is right!"
"Maybe so," Philip agreed with what, to Conchita in her present mood, must have been maddening equanimity, "but I have to see that the plantations pay. That has always been my job."
"And now you will not let us do as we wish!" Conchita pouted. "You are our guardian and we must obey you!
But I have always gone to Zamora for more than one day in the past," she added stubbornly.
Sitting behind them with Sisa by her side, Felicity saw Philip's jaw harden. She knew then that he had no intention of letting Conchita have her way. There was some reason why he did not wish her to spend the next two weeks at Zamora, a sound reason, she supposed, because everything about Philip was sound.
When they came to a fork in the road the Mercedes was drawn up under the eucalyptus trees which lined a long avenue stretching to the west.
"Will you come in for a drink?" Isabella called. "You
said you were not going to work
anymore
to-day, Philip."
In the split second which followed the impulsive invitation, Felicity saw Philip hesitate.
"We are quite alone," Isabella informed him. "I shall even promise you tea!"
Philip turned from the wheel. His face was expressionless.
"Felicity will like that," he decided, "and she really ought to see Zamora."
Instinctively Felicity wanted to protest, but it would have been too foolish in the circumstances. What could she have said? I don't want to come because this is dangerous ground. Philip has already
refused
to let Conchita stay at Zamora, but now he will come because Rafael isn't there!
She drew in her breath and said nothing, and the two cars made their way, one after the other, down the avenue, the giant trees on either side shutting them into a green tunnel of rustling leaves. Soon they had passed under an arched gateway in a high stucco wall which surrounded one of the most beautiful gardens Felicity had ever seen. Terrace upon terrace of rich golden-coloured stone tumbled to the sea a hundred feet below, and far beneath them a small, picturesque port knelt by the water's edge. Its narrow streets climbed steeply and its white and golden houses clustered about a palm-shaded square.
"It's lovely!" Felicity murmured. "I don't think I've ever seen so many flowers all together in all my life before!"
"Everything grows here," Philip said as he swung the car into a cobbled courtyard in the Mercedes' wake. "Isabella is very proud of her garden."
They could see the house now, through a screen of oleanders. It was large and mellowed and old, a perfect example of Spanish architecture, with its fine stone doorway and carved balconies with their little tiled roofs and soft green shutters at all the windows. Masses of bougainvillaea tumbled from the walls, purple and cream and deep, warm ochre, and vast beds of freesias and pink and scarlet geraniums made the forecourt look like a veritable sea of flowers. All the terraces were awash with colour, and the seats and ornamental stonework lay steeped in the heat of the sun.
Philip got down from the car and held the door open.
"Welcome to Zamora!" Isabella smiled, coming from her own car. "I'm glad you are going to see my garden when it is al
l
its very best."
They walked between walls of plumbago and jacaranda to the broad terrace surrounding the house itself, and Felicity was immediately aware of a subtle aura of luxury which they did not possess at San Lozaro. There was nothing of ostentation about it. It came from age and the long tradition of belonging. The whole place spoke of gracious living, of something handed down from generation to generation, of roots and the abiding sense of time going on
forever
.
"This was my home," Isabella said, "before I was married. We live here most of the year now, although Rafael goes often to Madrid—on business."
There had been the vaguest hint of acceptance in her quiet voice and a barely discernible pause before the last two words which only Felicity appeared to have noticed. Whatever had been her way of life in the first few years of her marriage, this present arrangement whereby Isabella spent most of her time in her girlhood home was pleasant and acceptable to her. Surrounded by her husband's family, if not by her own, she could be happy after a fashion.
But not wholly content? Was it only her own too vivid imagination, Felicity wondered, that painted that fleeting shadow in the older woman's eyes and saw the odd nervous little movement of the long, shapely hands as Isabella de Barrios took off her hat in the shade of the verandah and flung it on to one of the deep lounge-chairs beside the fountain?
She rang for tea, which was brought to them by a white-coated servant, very like Sabino. He was old and perfectly trained, and he walked with the gentle tread of a cat. It did not seem to alarm him at all that his mistress had ordered tea for her guests instead of the usual wine, but perhaps he was used to Philip's visit, Philip who looked so uncompromisingly British against this exotic setting of palms and falling water and headily-perfumed flowers.
Conchita prowled restlessly, and presently she went with Andrea and Sisa to the stable to look at the horses. Celeste, who was cosy and plump, stayed behind to eat another cake.
"You will come to the fiesta, Philip?" Isabella asked. "It will be expected of you."
"Now that I am in charge at San Lozaro?" His smile in the rapidly waning light was bitter. "I do not expect to be accepted because of that, you know."
Isabella made a small, abrupt movement of dissent. "You are too sensitive about the past," she said, although her voice held no real conviction.
"Perhaps." Philip's tone was hard. "All the same, I shall come. Conchita wants it, and Felicity ought to see how carefree we can be when we have something to celebrate."
"I'd love to come," Felicity agreed, trying to forget the bitterness she had detected behind his words. "It will be an entirely new experience for me."
"And a happy one, I hope!"
The words were mocking and as light as air. Felicity turned in her chair to see Rafael de Barrios standing in the gathering shadows behind them, his smile amused and faintly cynical as his dark glance swept the circle of his unexpected guests. Philip got stiffly to his feet and Isabella's face was very pale as she said:
"We did not expect you, Rafael. How did you come in?" His eyes rested on her for a moment, as if he had just seen her.
"From the port, querida," he said, and the word was mocking. "I walked up through the terraces to have a look at the vines."
Tension had taken the atmosphere in its strangling grip, as on the occasion of that first meeting between Philip and Rafael at the airport, but the circumstances were different this time. Rafael looked insolently at ease now and Philip
at a disadvantage; from which he proceeded to extricate himself without delay.
"It's getting late," he said, glancing at the rapidly-sinking sun. Night would fall with tropical suddenness, Felicity knew, but the car was equipped with powerful headlamps and there was no real reason why they should rush away so quickly. "Celeste," he added, turning to the child, "would you please tell Sisa and Conchita that we are going?"
But Conchita was already with them. She had come through the house on to the verandah, running hot-foot in Rafael's wake.
"We saw you coming up through the terraces," she told him, her dark eyes alight as they looked into his, her firm young breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. "We were at the stables."
Had she run to intercept Rafael and failed by a hair's breadth? Felicity found herself looking from the lovely, flushed face and lustrous eyes to the cool acceptance of Rafael, Marques de Barrios, aware that she wanted to smack Conchita as much for the red lotus blossom which she had fastened into her dark hair as for the way she looked at Rafael with absolute adoration in her eyes.
What must Philip think? She knew that he would be furious, but she could not see his face clearly. The light had nearly gone, leaving the verandah in shadow, although the western sky beyond the terraces was aflame.
When they were ready to go Rafael bent over Felicity's hand. She felt his nearness with repulsion now, his fascination which was evil.
"I knew we would meet again," he said, watching her closely. "But I did not think you would be permitted to come to Zamora."
"Why not?" She met his eyes evenly, challenging his statement as Andrea and Sisa joined them. "You mentioned when we first met that we were near neighbours."
He shrugged and smiled, standing back to watch as Philip led the way out to the car, with Andrea and Sisa at his heels. Isabella hesitated only for a second before she, too, went out to the terrace to speed her departing guests.
Rafael followed Felicity down the steps.
"That is so," he agreed. His eyes were thoughtful as
they lingered on her flushed face. "I am surprised, though, that Philip Arnold should agree to bring you."
"We met your wife and the children at the Playa," she explained hastily, "and the Marquesa very kindly invited us for tea."
His mouth grew curiously thin.
"Isabella would do that," he said. "You see, she believes in Philip Arnold."
Felicity looked up sharply into the mocking eyes. "I don't know what you mean," she said.
"Rafael means that only Isabella believes Philip's story about the accident which caused my sister's death," Conchita said, moving like a cat from the shadows of the verandah, "but that is not so! I do not believe that Philip killed Maria. It was, as he has said, an accident. Only unworthy people could believe that he would do such a thing, like the people in the puerto who hate Philip because he is successful and will not allow them to drive a dishonest bargain! These are the people who have spread such wicked tales after the court investigation is all over and Philip is exonerated from all blame by the law! No, Rafael, you must not say that no one believes Philip, because it is not true. I believe in him, also! It is only that he keeps so silent, not wishing to speak about this awful tragedy which has shadowed all our lives, but I know. I
know!"
In that moment Conchita was magnificent. All the spitfire quality in her which Felicity had abhorred and which, in some ways, had frightened her when she had considered her own responsibility where her cousins were concerned, had been thrown unexpectedly into her defence of Philip. Her flashing eyes were black with indignation, her full red mouth scornful, yet Rafael de Barrios only smiled at this demonstration of loyalty.
"Chi tace confessed" he murmured. " 'He who keeps silent confesses his guilt', Conchita. That is an old Italian saying which bears repetition in any language."
"It is not so!" Conchita protested almost in tears. "You are unjust—like the others!"
Rafael took her by the arm, smiling down confidently into her eyes.
"And you are too intense, querida!" he said. "Come! We must not keep Philip waiting."
In the hall the lamps had been lit, throwing their revealing light out on to the terrace steps, and as they passed through the wide glass doors Felicity was aware of a certain tension about the man walking beside her. Rafael looked paler than she remembered him, and there was a tightness about his mouth which suggested strain.
When they reached the far end of the terrace Philip was already seated behind the wheel, impatient to be off, but Andrea and Sisa were still chattering eagerly about the forthcoming fiesta. Isabella stood by Philip's side, her hand resting lightly on the door of the car, and Celeste turned eagerly towards her brother as he came forward with the remainder of their guests.