Somewhere there was kindness and tolerance and the desire to trust, and it was that she wanted.
For a brief moment he had permitted her a glimpse of it, and then he had turned away. Were there to be no more glimpses, no more trust between them?
Far beneath them as they wound along the rambling coastal road the illuminations of little fishing ports pricked out against the velvet backcloth of the sea, and above them a thin chain of lights that looked like stars traced the steep wandering of a village street against the mountainside. It was a magic night, with a cool breeze straying in from the Atlantic to lift the topmost feathers of the palms, and the white snow cap of The Peak held the last radiance of the sun for a long time, as if in eternal wonder.
Yet the night's magic was lost to Felicity because her heart was out of tune.
When they reached San Lozaro there was a short, sharp brush with Conchita. She got down from the car to confront Philip on the terrace steps.
"Whatever you say, whatever you try to do," she told him bitterly, "I shall never agree to stay here! You may be my guardian but you are not my gaoler! I have it in me to sing, and I have always danced better than anyone else. You know that, Philip, for you have danced with me and said so! You cannot keep me here, because, if you do, I shall die! I shall die!"
It was the impassioned outburst of an angry child, of the teenager determined to try her wings, but Felicity realized that behind it Philip recognized another danger. It was the danger of Conchita herself, of a tempestuous nature that gave little thought to consequences when she saw herself about to be deprived of the thing she wanted most.
She rushed off, followed by Sisa, who was now in tears.
"So much for our happy home atmosphere," Philip said between his teeth as Sabino appeared to drive the hired car away. "I seem to be handling everything in quite the wrong way."
The unexpected admission surprised Felicity, coming so closely on the heels of his anger and the events of this disastrous day.
"You have had tremendous patience," she acknowledged, "but perhaps Conchita does need another sort of
understanding. I believe she is really serious about her singing, and all young people love to dance. It's a form of expression they need."
"I've thought of that," he agreed. "I shall speak to Conchita again in the morning when she has calmed down a little, but I have no intention of allowing her to dance in a cheap cafe in Santa Cruz."
She put a hand on his arm.
"You won't be too hard on her, Philip, will you?" she begged.
He looked at her fully then, his eyes very faintly amused.
"That would appear to be my role in life," he said grimly, "but I think I have told you before that I am not exactly an ogre, Felicity."
"I know you're not," she said, biting her lip. "I know you didn't mean to be so angry this afternoon when you found us in Santa Cruz, but how could you help it?"
Instantly his face changed.
"I hadn't expected to have to rush off to Santa Cruz in pursuit of Conchita," he said, "nor of you."
"No," she admitted, "I should have been here when you came back from Lozaro Alto." She turned to face him in the swaying light from the lantern above their heads. "Yesterday you asked me to marry you, Philip," she reminded him steadily. "Do you still want me to be your wife?"
He stood for a moment as if he had not heard her, and then he said almost guardedly:
"Nothing has changed. I still feel that I need your support here at San Lozaro."
Nothing of love; nothing of wanting her for himself! Her heart sank even while she tried to tell herself that "nothing had changed," as he had just reminded her. She had already accepted his reasons for their marriage. She was prepared to go to him—without love.
"I wondered," she said, gazing unhappily into the night. "I thought that perhaps—after this afternoon—you might have changed your mind."
Her voice had dropped until it was no more than a whisper, but he did not move away, so that he must have heard. Yet he stood silently, the light from the wind-blown lantern moving rhythmically across his face, leaving it now
revealed and now in shadow so that she could only guess at his thoughts until he spoke.
"I didn't go to Lozaro Alto this morning, after all," he told her. "I want you to come there with me."
She felt her throat grow tight. It was something that she would never have expected, but she could not ask him if he was sure about the things he did. He always had a reason for them.
"I'd like to come," she said simply as they turned into the lighted hall. "Are you going to cultivate the land up there, Philip? Is it suitable for farming?"
He smiled broadly.
"Wait and see!" he said. "It's not at all like San Lozaro, if that's what you mean."
She did not want it to be like San Lozaro. The lower valley with all its beauty and lush vegetation, with its vineyards and its ragged green banana plantations, had been the lavish source of her uncle's great wealth, but it was also full of conflict. There was no peace in San Lozaro, and somehow she knew that Philip wanted peace.
Was that what he sought at Lozaro Alto? Was there more up there among his high, remorseless mountain peaks than the gnawing reminder of tragedy? She thought that she might find the answer if she went there with Philip—alone.
That was what he had meant. They were to go there together, without Sisa and without Conchita, and try to iron out the way of the future for them all.
She wondered if that also included Julio, for Julio and Philip were still the bitterest of enemies.
PHILIP was seated on the terrace over his second cup of coffee when Felicity came down to breakfast the following morning. He had, she discovered, already been out.
"I've been down to the plantations," he told her. "We have a consignment of bananas to get away before the week-end, but the tomato harvest is over. We've nothing to do now but clear the terraces for the next crop." His keen gaze swept the surrounding hillsides. "This is tremendously fertile country, Felicity. It can support crop after crop—maize, corn, vines, bananas, potatoes and all the citrus fruits you can name."
"It's the orange trees I like best," Felicity said with a rush of warmth finding her heart, because here, it seemed, they were on common ground. "When I first saw one it looked like a tree full of little golden suns. It was growing all alone in a garden, but it seemed to light up all the small space, it looked so bright and full of colour."
"Wait till you see an orchard of them!" he smiled. "I want to grow oranges at Lozaro Alto. The valley floor is rich and deep." He paused, with a look in his eyes which took in the future, the look of a man with an ideal. "It was once volcanic and that is the very best soil you can wish for once it becomes friable. There's a lot of work to be put into the valley yet, of course, but I can start to do it, bit by bit."
Felicity wondered if he had made these plans with Maria long ago, seeing the future up there at Lozaro Alto as something for which they might strive together. She wondered, too, what Maria had really been like. There was no photograph of her about the hacienda, which was strange, since the Spaniards were prone to collect such mementoes of their children from earliest infancy onwards.
"Did you always plan to farm at Lozaro Alto, Philip?" she asked.
His face hardened at her question, the smile fading out of his eyes.
"It has always been an ambition of mine," he said curtly, but that was all.
They sat in a tense little silence till Julio came in. Felicity had not seen him the day before, and now he looked from her to Philip with deep suspicion in his eyes.
"What has happened to Conchita?" he asked. "I saw her riding up into the valley an hour ago."
In a split second Philip was on his feet.
"You're sure of this?" he asked.
"Quite sure." Julio gave him an odd look. "Was she running away from you, Philip?" he asked.
"I doubt it." Philip's lips were tight. "But I can always go and make sure."
Felicity pushed her chair back.
"Philip—?" There was an anxious question in her eyes.
"No," he said, "I won't do anything rash, but neither must Conchita. I told her I wanted to speak to her this morning, but I can do that just as easily at Lozaro Alto as here." He looked at Julio, as if he might be assessing his worth in an emergency. "I must leave you to see that the bananas get off in time, Julio," he added. "Twenty lorry-loads. They must be at Puerto de la Cruz before twelve o'clock. They're crated and ready in B shed. All you have to do is to see that the bills of lading are correctly filled in and that the men set off in time. You needn't go to Puerto with the lorries," he said, as an afterthought—or was it a warning?
He had put Julio in charge of an important consignment of fruit which would be lost profit if it failed to reach the port in time to be loaded on to the banana boat which was waiting there. It was the sort of authority Julio had always wanted, yet he was frowning when Philip turned away.
"It is always the same," he grumbled. "Always Philip would do the job better himself!"
"No," Felicity said, "he trusts you, Julio."
"And I hate him! I hate him because he will not leave us alone," her cousin cried. "He will not permit us to go our own way. He is the guardian, the maker of rules which we must obey, and they are all harsh rules. Look
how he will not let Conchita dance and be gay! Philip will not let anyone be happy because he is unhappy himself. He has a black regret in his heart because of Maria!"
"Julio, he loved Maria," Felicity said gently.
"That is what he tells you because he hopes to make you stay here for his own purpose!" Julio cried. "Then—when he does not need you any more—when he has ceased to want you—he will get rid of you as he did of Maria."
"You mustn't say that, Julio!" Her voice was sharp and firm. "Because, you see, I don't believe it. I believe that this—this accident was exactly as Philip said. A car went out of control and went over the cliff. It could happen to anyone. Miraculously, Philip was saved."
"Miraculously!" Julio echoed scathingly. "Yes, it was miraculous. Philip had no scratch, no bruise on his whole body, but Maria was dead!"
"Please, Julio," Felicity begged, "can we not talk about it? We can't forget about it, of course, but we can let it remain in the past."
"Is that what Philip has told you to do?" He put down his cup when he had drunk the last of his coffee without eating anything. "He is strong enough—ruthless enough —to make you think as he desires." He came to stand close behind her chair. "Has he also made love to you?" he demanded.
"He has asked me to marry him," Felicity said as steadily as she could.
Julio swung her round to face him, his hands rough and hard on her shoulders.
"And what have you said? What answer have you given him" he demanded.
"I have told him that I will."
"That you will?" He stared at her incredulously, and then all the devils and furies which possessed him at times seemed to break loose in his dark eyes. They burned and glowed with a fierce light as he looked at her. "The Holy Virgin protect you, then!" he said through set teeth. "Philip will kill you, one way or another. You have given your life to him as a hostage."
"Julio," she protested, "you must understand—" Her entreaty had fallen on deaf ears. Julio shook her as if she were a child.
"You do not belong to him!" he cried. "You are mine! I shall kill him if he tries to take you away from me!"
He strode off along the terrace and down the steps, not looking back nor apparently hearing her cry of recall, the flash of the brilliant scarlet shirt he wore passing swiftly between the trees. She knew that he was going to follow Philip, but there was nothing she could do. Nothing! Nothing!
Desperately she strove for calmness, forcing back the panic in her heart. She must stop Julio at any price. She did not expect for a moment that his murderous threat against Philip would ever be carried out, but Philip had left him a task to do at the plantations and she must see that he did it. It was important to San Lozaro that the bananas should get away in time, but it was doubly important—to Philip and Julio—that Julio should not neglect his duty in a fit of rage.
It would take her five minutes, perhaps, to change into riding-breeches and a shirt. Philip had taken the car, but she knew that Julio would follow on horseback. She would try to catch up with her cousin before he left the plantations and persuade him to come back.
A quick glance at the sky showed her The Peak hazed in a thin veil of cloud, but that was often so in the early morning. It would dissolve when the sun strengthened, even though there were other, darker clouds hanging about the lesser peaks. It was, she realized, insufferably warm for so early in the day and there was a sort of heavy listlessness in the air which she had not experienced before.
Thunder growled its warning somewhere as she came back along the terrace to find Sisa cutting into an avocado pear. Her cousin extracted the stone with expert ease before she looked up.