Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
"I'd have known you were Lucilla, even if nobody had told me. You look so like Archie. . . ." It seemed that she did not even notice their unsavoury appearance, their soiled cut-off shorts and grubby T-shirts. And if she did, she gave no indication of objecting. "And you must be Jeff. . . ." She held out a pink
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tipped hand. "How wonderful that you could come with Lucilla."
He took it in his own enormous paw and, looking a bit overwhelmed by her welcome and her dazzling smile, said, "Pleased to meet you."
She picked up his accent at once. "You're an Australian! How heavenly. I don't think I've ever had an Australian here before. Did you have a hideous drive?"
"No. Not at all. Just hot."
"You must be longing for a drink. . . ."
"Shall we get our stuff out of the car . . . ?"
"You can do that later. A drink first. Come along, I've a friend here for you to meet."
Lucilla's heart sank. It didn't matter about Pandora, but they were certainly in no shape to be introduced to company. "Pandora, we're dreadfully dirty. . . ."
"Oh, heavens, that doesn't matter. He won't mind. . . ." She turned from them and led the way, and there was no alternative but to follow, down a long shaded artd airy terrace furnished with white cane and butter-yellow cushions and great blue-and-white porcelain jars planted with palms. "He can't stay for very long and I want you to meet him. . . ."
They turned the corner of the house and, hard on Pandora's tapping heels, stepped out into blinding sunshine. Lucilla longed for her sunglasses, left in the car. In a dazzle, she saw the wide, open terrace, shaded by striped awnings and paved in marble. Shallow steps led down from this to a spacious garden, massed with flowering trees and shrubs. Grass paths were set with flagged stepping-stones, and these encircled a swimming pool, aquamarine and still as glass. Just seeing it made Lucilla feel cooler. An inflatable sun-bed floated upon the surface of the water, drifting with the undercurrent of the filter.
At the far end of the garden, half hidden by hibiscus, she saw another house, small and single-storied, but with its own little terrace facing out over the pool. This was shaded by a tall umbrella pine, and beyond the ridge of its roof there was nothing to be seen but the brazen blue sky.
"Here they are, Carlos, safely arrived. My directions can't have been as confusing as we'd feared." At the top of the steps, in the shade of the awning, stood a low table. On this was a tray with glasses and a tall jug. An ashtray, a pair of sunglasses, a paperback. More cane chairs, yellow-cushioned, stood about, and as they approached, a man rose from one of these and stood, smiling, waiting to be introduced. He was tall and dark
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eyed and very handsome. "Lucilla, darling, this is my friend Carlos Macaya. Carlos, this is Lucilla Blair, my niece. And Jeff . . . ?"
"Howland," Jeff supplied for her.
"And he's Australian. Isn't that exciting? Now, let's all sit down and have a lovely drink. This is iced tea, but I can get Seraphina to bring something stronger if you'd like. Coke maybe? Or wine?" She began to laugh. "Or champagne? What a good idea. But perhaps a little early in the day. Let's save the champagne till later."
They told her that iced tea would be perfect. Carlos drew forward a chair for Lucilla and then settled himself beside her. But Jeff, who could soak up sun like a lizard, went to lean on the balustrade of the terrace, and Pandora perched herself beside him, legs swinging and one high-heeled sandal dangling from a toe.
Carlos Macaya poured iced tea and handed Lucilla her glass.
"You have come from Ibiza?"
"Yes, this morning, on the boat."
"How long were you there?" His English was perfect. '
"A week. Staying with a friend of Jeffs. It was a lovely house but dreadfully primitive. Which is why we look so filthy. Because we are. I'm sorry."
He made no comment on this; simply smiled in an understanding way. "And before Ibiza?"
"I've been in Paris. That's where I met Jeff. I'm meant to be a painter, but there was so much to see and so much to do, I didn't achieve very much."
"Paris is a wonderful city. Was this your first visit?"
"No, I'd been once before. I spent some time as an au pair, to learn the language."
"And how did you get from Paris to Ibiza?"
"We thought of hitch-hiking but in the end we travelled by bus. We did the journey in stops and starts, staying in gites, and taking time to do some sightseeing. Cathedrals and-wine chateaux-that sort of thing."
"You have not been wastingyour time." He glanced at Pandora, chattering away to Jeff, who watched her intently as though she were some strange species of wildlife that he had never before observed. "Pandora tells me that this is the first time you have met each other." I
,
"Yes." Lucilla hesitated. This man was probably Pandora's current lover, which meant that now was neither the time nor the place to enlarge on Pandora's youthful elopement and subsequent life-style. "She was always abroad, you see. I mean, living abroad."
"And your home is in Scotland?"
"Yes. In Relkirkshire. That's where my parents live." A small pause fell. She took a mouthful of iced tea. "Have you ever been to Scotland?"
"No. I studied in Oxford for a couple of years" (that explained his English), "but I never found time to go to Scotland."
"We're always wanting Pandora to come back and see us, but she never will."
"Perhaps she doesn't like the cold and the rain."
"It isn't cold and rainy all the time. Only some of the time."
He laughed. "Whatever. It is a splendid thing that you have come to keep her company. And now . . ." He pushed back his silk cuff and glanced at his watch. It was a handsome and unusual watch, the numbers marked by tiny replicas of yachting pennants, and was strapped to his wrist by a heavy gold bracelet. Lucilla wondered if Pandora had given it to him. Perhaps the pennants spelt out "I Love You" in naval code. ". . . it is time for me to take my leave. I hope you will excuse me but I have work to do. . . ."
"Of course. . . ."
He rose once more to his feet. "Pandora, I must go."
"Oh dear, what a shame." She fixed her sandal an
d h
opped down off the balustrade. "Never mind, you've had time to meet my guests. We'll come and see you off."
"Don't disturb everybody."
"They've got to get their luggage anyway. They're dying to unpack and have a swim. Come. . . ." She took his arm.
And so they all made their way back to where his car was waiting in the shade beneath the olive tree. Goodbyes were said, he sketched a kiss over the back of Pandora's hand, and then got in behind the wheel of the BMW.
He started up the engine, and Pandora stood back. But before he drove away, he said, "Pandora."
"Yes, Carlos?"
"You will let me know if you change your mind."
She did not answer immediately, and then shook her head. "I shan't change my mind," she told him.
He smiled, shrugged resignedly, as though good-naturedly accepting her decision. He put the car into gear and, with a final wave, left them, driving away, through the gates, down the hill, out of sight. They stood waiting until the sound of the BMW could be heard no longer. Only the splash of water from that unseen fountain, the tinkle of sheep bells.
You will let me know if you change your mind.
What had Carlos been asking of Pandora? For an instant Lucilla toyed with the idea that he had been proposing marriage, but almost at once put this notion out of her head. It was too prosaic for such a sophisticated and glamorous pair. More likely, he had been trying to persuade her to join him on some romantic trip, to the Seychelles or the palm-fringed beaches of Tahiti. Or perhaps he had simply asked her out for dinner and she didn't feel like going.
Whatever, Pandora was not about to enlighten them. Carlos was gone and now she sprang into practical activity, giving a little clap with her hands. "So. Down t
o b
usiness. Where's your luggage? Is that all? No suitcases or cabin trunks or hat-boxes? I take more than that if I go away for a single night. Now, come along. . . ."
She started up the steps once more, going at a great pace, and yet again they followed her, Lucilla carrying her leather satchel, and Jeff lugging the two bulging backpacks.
"I've put you in the guest-house. You can make yourselves at home, and then be quite independent. And I'm not frightfully good in the mornings, so you'll have to get your own breakfast. The fridge is full of goodies, and there's coffee and stuff in the cupboard." They were now back on the terrace. "You'll be all right?"
"Of course."
"And then I thought we'd have dinner about nine o'clock. Just something cold, because I can't cook to save my life, and Seraphina, my maid, goes home each evening. But she'll leave everything ready for us. Come over at half past eight and we'll have a drink. Now I'm going to have a little nap, so I'll leave you to find your own way and settle yourselves in. Later, I might swim before I change for dinner."
The prospect of Pandora, dressed in an even grander outfit than the pink silk pyjamas, brought up the vexing question of clothes.
"Pandora, we haven't got anything to change into. Nearly everything's dirty. Jeffs got one clean shirt, but it hasn't been ironed."
"Oh, darling, do you want to borrow something?"
"A clean T-shirt?"
"Of course, how stupid of me, I should have offered. Wait a moment."
They waited. She disappeared through wide sliding glass doors into what was presumably her bedroom, and returned almost at once bearing a midnight-blue silk shirt splashed with a rocket-fall of sequins. "Have this, it's frightfully vulgar but rather fun. You can keep it if you want, I never wear it." She tossed it over and Lucilla caught it. "And now, off you go and dig yourselves into your little nest. If you want anything, ring through on the house phone and Seraphina will bring it to you." She blew a kiss. "Half past eight. See you then."
And she was gone, leaving Lucilla and Jeff to their own devices. But still Lucilla hesitated, savouring the anticipation of what was about to happen next.
"Jeff, I can't believe it. We've got a whole house to ourselves."
"So what are we waiting for? If I don't get into that pool in two minutes flat, I'm going to explode."
Lucilla went first, leading the way down the steps and along the length of the garden. The little house awaited them. They crossed the terrace and opened the door into a living-room. Curtains had been drawn, and Lucilla went to pull them back. Light streamed in and she saw the little patio on the far side, the sheltered scrap of garden.
"We've even got our own place to sunbathe!"
There was an open fireplace, stacked with logs. There were a few comfortable chairs, a tray of drinks and glasses, a coffee-table stacked neatly with magazines, and a wall shelved with books. Opening other doors, they found two double bedrooms, and a bathroom of marvellously spacious proportions.
"I think this is the nicest bedroom. It's certainly the biggest." Jeff dumped the backpacks onto the tiled floor and Lucilla drew back more curtains. "We can see the sea from here. Just a little scrap, a triangle, but still a view of the sea." She opened cupboard doors, saw rows of padded hangers, smelled lavender. She put the borrowed shirt onto one of the hangers, where it hung in lonely style.
Jeff had toed off his trainers and was stripping off his
T-shirt.
"You can play house as much as you like. I'm going to swim. You joining me?"
"I will, in a moment."
He departed. An instant later she heard the splash as he took his running dive, and imagined the silken bliss of the cool water. But later. Just now she wanted to explore.
On detailed inspection Pandora's guest-house proved to be quite perfectly complete, and Lucilla was filled with admiration for such meticulous thought and planning. Someone . . . and who else but Pandora? . . . had somehow thought of anything that a visitor might want or need, from fresh flowers and lovely new books right down to spare blankets for chilly nights and hot
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water bottles for possibly unsettled tummies. The bathroom was supplied with every sort of soap, scent, shampoo, aftershave, body-lotion, and bath-oil. There were thick white bath towels and bath-mats, and, hanging from the back of the door, a pair of voluminous and snowy-white towelling bathrobes.
Leaving all this luxury, she crossed the sitting-room and went in search of the kitchen, and found it sparkling neat, and lined with dark wooden cupboards filled with Spanish pottery, shining saucepans, casseroles, and a complete batterie de cuisine. If one wanted
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which Lucilla didn't-it would be quite possible to concoct a dinner party for ten. There were an electric cooker and a gas cooker and a dishwasher and a fridge. She opened the fridge and discovered there, along with all the fixings for a robust breakfast, two bottles of Perrier water and a bottle of champagne. A second door led out of the kitchen. She opened this and found . . . joy of joys ... a compact laundry with clothes washer, drying-lines, an ironing-board, and an iron. The sight of these honjely items gave her more satisfaction than all the other luxuries put together. Because now, at last, they could be clean.