The Portuguese House

by Pamela D Holloway

  Jutta had arrived in Paris after her divorce. She was now a very wealthy divorcee and, speaking fluent French, decided France would be a pleasant place to live. She liked French fashion and the food was good too. Not that she ever ate much – she was a size four and intended to keep that way. Her enemies would describe her as bones covered with skin, but she carried clothes well and could have, if circumstances had been different, been a model rather than a client at the major fashion houses.

  All the fashion houses liked her. She had, it seemed, a limitless budget and a real eye for what suited her. She bought regularly at Armani and Dior and, from time to time, patronised Versace and Chloe. She liked Burberry raincoats and Ferragamo shoes and she was seen regularly in the front row of the fashion shows. Jutta was of course on the German embassy A-list, her father having been a well-known politician, and it was at one of the embassy functions that she first saw Philip.

  She recognised him from Press photographs and had done some research on him so that when they met which she knew they would, in the relatively tight-knit diplomatic community, she would be prepared. She worked her way through the assembled guests, talking for a moment here and there so as not to appear obvious. As he moved, also socialising, she adroitly manoeuvred her position until, apparently by chance, they were in the same small group of people. Jutta continued her conversation with a diplomat from the Russian embassy, appearing fascinated by his conversation. Philip wondered who she was, he was sure he hadn’t seen her at any of the embassy functions before.

  “I don’t think we have met,” Philip took the opportunity to introduce himself during a brief pause in the conversation. “Philip Broderick,” he added, holding his hand out to meet hers.

  “Ah, the glamorous British Ambassador,” she said shaking his hand and smiling warmly.

  “I have never thought of myself in those terms,” he laughed good-humouredly, rather enjoying the compliment. “And you are?”

  “Jutta Weidenfeller.” Philip looked puzzled.

  “That name strikes a chord.”

  “My father was quite a well-known politician.”

  “Of course, how stupid of me.”

  “Not at all. He has been dead for five years, why should you remember him?” She noticed him glance at her hands. “No, I am not married,” she said, waving her left hand which had until quite recently borne a wedding ring. “I am divorced and have reverted to my family name. And you, where is your wife?” Jutta knew full well he was widowed – she had done her research well and discovered he had been widowed for some years and had two sons who were (thankfully) away at boarding school in England. She had no intention of revealing the research she had undertaken when she first received the invitation to this event. She also had no intention of making the same mistake twice – a boring businessman husband, although wealthy, had not provided her with the upmarket life she sought, and certainly no children. She shuddered at the thought of putting her body through that sort of “thing”. But now she was charm personified. Philip thought that the company of such an intelligent and elegant creature might cheer him up, and anyway, he was attracted to her.

  After the reception, he invited her out to dinner. With real regret in her voice, she told him that she had a prior engagement – but would adore to have dinner with him on a future occasion. She handed him her card and he promised to be in touch with her soon.

  The taxi took her straight back to her apartment where she sat curled up on one of her elegant sofas for several hours, planning how she would ensnare the Ambassador. Of her supposed previous engagement there was, of course, no sign. She needed to play this “catch” with care – she would let him “land her” eventually, when she was ready, not before.

  Philip ate a lonely meal. His aide de comp was out somewhere and although there were plenty of people around they were all embassy staff and he did not feel like socialising with them, lovely though most of them were.

  He brightened at the thought that the boys would be home in a few weeks for the summer holidays. Jack had already written to tell him that he wanted to go climbing with friends. He was sixteen now and Philip realised the boy must be allowed to do things on his own. Still, it was good that they were to spend two weeks on the French canals first.

  Philip smiled to himself, thinking how Jack had changed, he had grown up so much and seemed so responsible these days. Even Jamie at fourteen seemed such a confident young man too. He felt immensely proud of them both. Helen would be proud too. He seldom thought about her these days, then felt guilty as he did tonight.

  Suddenly depressed, he put his head in his hands. He was so lonely perhaps Jutta Weidenfeller had arrived at just the right moment. He had, he decided, been impressed with her cool attitude and Teutonic good looks, at her pride in her father and at her interest in what they chatted about – and her obvious disappointment that she could not join him for dinner.

  chapter 32

  Jack and Jamie were on the flight to Paris. They didn’t seem to have seen much of each other this term. Jack had been on a week’s climbing in the Cairngorms and, at the same time, Jamie had been canoeing.

  Jack had been studying hard. He had decided he wanted to teach languages – not just the standard French and German, but Russian and Chinese too. He had started Russian already and was picking it up easily. He found his photographic memory helped him, for once a word was written down and he knew the pronunciation, he seldom forgot it. He was no swot though – he loved tennis and rugby and, best of all perhaps, climbing.

  Five of his school friends plus a games master had planned a climb in Wales during the summer holiday and he was pleased when his father had said it was alright. So, after two weeks on the canals, he would return to England for the climbing holiday and then fly back to Paris for the remainder of the holiday with two of his closest friends – who he had rashly agreed he would show the seedier side of Paris.

  Jamie was looking forward to seeing his father, but best of all, would be being on the canal boat – although he wished for about the umpteenth time that Liz would be with them too.

  They were met at the airport by the embassy car with a message from their father saying he was with the Greek Ambassador but would be home in time for dinner. True to his word Philip was back by six p.m. and his sons threw themselves at him with great delight with hugs and friendly punches, making for a noisy and happy reunion.

  The trio sat down and talked for half an hour, when Philip, glancing at his watch, realised Jutta would be here at eight o’clock. “I must shower and change boys, we have a dinner guest tonight.”

  “Not on our first evening home Dad,” they chorused. Philip felt a pang of misgiving. Jutta had thought it would be “such a lovely family thing”, as she put it, to share the boy’s first meal at home.

  Philip, after some initial misgivings, had then also asked her to join them on the canal cruise. At first, she had been delighted, but when she saw the size of the boat and realised two horrible boys were going to be there too she suddenly had an urgent need to return to Germany on important family business.

  Their relationship was now one of mutual satisfaction. She didn’t particularly like sex, but put on a good act, constantly telling Philip he was the best lover she had ever had. He thought she meant it but felt the relationship was not as wonderful as he had expected. Helen had been a follower in sexual adventures, now from time to time the picture of Liz came back to haunt him. It had been a match of equals. He tried not to dwell on thoughts of her but strangely Jutta coming into his life had brought back so many memories of her.

  Jutta arrived when Philip was still in the shower. He had been delayed by a telephone call from the French Minister of Human Rights about a point of legislation. He had tried to keep it brief but was now twenty minutes behind his planned schedule. He comforted himself with the thought that his sons would equip themselves well in his absence.

 
Jack and Jamie were in the drawing room when Jutta arrived. They had heard via their father’s valet that he would be down in fifteen minutes. The butler had informed Jutta of the same information when she arrived.

  “Master Jack and Master Jamie are waiting for you in the salon,” the butler said. Jutta was annoyed but knew she mustn’t show it.

  “Ah, you must be James,” she said, addressing Jack. “And you John, the younger one.” She smiled a fixed smile at them both, shaking them by the hand as she did.

  “Actually, I’m Jack—” Jack began, but Jutta wasn’t listening.

  “And when do you return to school?” she asked. It was probably the most unfortunate question she could have asked, they had only been home a few hours. The young Jack would have slammed out of the room, but with a warning glance at his younger brother, he answered as calmly as he could. “Several weeks yet, but we shall be coming and going quite a bit you know.” It was politely said – yet Jutta sensed she had put the older boy’s back up. At least now she had the names right.

  “Well James—” she said brightly.

  “Jamie,” he corrected. Jutta didn’t appear to notice the interruption. “You are the apple of your father’s eye – yes?”

  “Only,” said Jamie afterwards. “She said ‘apfel’ and I’m not – we both are, Jack.”

  “It’s alright,” Jack said. “She’s just a stupid woman, but she’s clever too and she has set her cap at Dad for sure.”

  “You said you had a plan Jack – you better do it before it’s too late.” Jamie said and Jack nodded. After the evening that lay ahead, he knew he just knew he had to get Liz back into his father’s life.

  If dinner was strained Philip did not appear to notice it. He thought it quite quaint that Jutta used the boys’ formal names of John and James. “Why not?” he said afterwards when the boys questioned it. They didn’t complain, though they would like to have done. They were doing what Liz had suggested – she had told them they should behave properly when and if another woman came into their father’s life.

  After the boys had said their goodnights and left to go to bed, Jutta put on rather a sad and reproachful face. “I’m afraid your sons do not like me.”

  “But Jutta – dinner was fine, the boys were really well-behaved. Frankly, I felt proud of them.”

  “My poor Philip you saw what you wanted to see. Before you came down…” She took a small lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed a non-existent tear. “They were so, how do you say it – churlish.”

  Philip was furious. “I will speak with them in the morning, I won’t have them distressing you.” His heart warmed towards her – he had not thought she was this vulnerable, it made him feel protective. He held her close and could feel her body trembling and there were occasional restrained sobs.

  She didn’t stay that night, she needed solitude she said. “I have to think Philip – I do not want to divide your family.”

  “There is no question of that,” Philip replied, becoming even more furious with his sons. They had really let him down. He really didn’t need this, he was very busy and life had been going smoothly until the boys came home from school.

  The next morning, as Jack and Jamie sat down with Philip for breakfast, the atmosphere seemed chill. Jamie cast anxious glances at his brother and Jack signalled with a slight movement of his body to keep quiet.

  After a few moments, Philip spoke. His voice was colder than either of them could ever remember. “I am exceedingly disappointed,” he began. Jack signalled to Jamie again to keep quiet. “I am not just disappointed, I’m angry, very angry.”

  Jamie could contain himself no longer. “Why Dad? Why are you angry?” Philip looked from one to another. “I suppose being without a mother all this time could explain a little, but to insult a guest under my roof – in our home. I find almost beyond belief.”

  “What are we supposed to have done?” Jack asked as politely as he could, though he was seething too. What on earth had the bitch said to alienate their father? She had been the one to be rude. “If you don’t even know then I feel helpless – I have failed as a father,” Philip continued. “She wept, Fraulein Weidenfeller wept after you had gone to bed. I felt ashamed of my sons. I am tempted to cancel the holiday. I’m not surprised Jutta didn’t want to come for two weeks with you heathens.” Philip could contain himself no longer. “I have work to do. Keep yourselves out of trouble and I will see you at four p.m. for tea. I shall be out tonight.”

  Jamie couldn’t help it – he began to cry. He knew he was too big to cry but he couldn’t understand his own father believing someone else over them. “He didn’t even ask us,” he sobbed.

  “Come on,” said Jack, put off by the tears but angry too. “Come on Jamie, I’ll think of something.”

  chapter 33

  It was over breakfast that Alex began to express his concern at Liz’s lack of writing time. At first, she was cross, feeling justifiably that she had given up writing time to show him around and spend time with him generally. She had even, following several hints from him, suggested he stay a week or two at the villa rather than sticking to his original touring plan. He had said on a number of occasions he loved it so and wished he had not made plans for the rest of the month.

  So now, when he started to suggest, albeit gently, that she should try and have three to four hours uninterrupted writing time every morning after their early morning ride and breakfast, she said, a shade angrily, “How can it be uninterrupted? I have a household to run. Anjali consults me on one thing. Aarav talks menus. Ashok wants to know if I need taking anywhere or needs to talk further planting or cutting back.”

  “Then why don’t I, for the short time I am here, act as your shield? I can take on Aarav, Anjali and Ashok too for that matter.” Liz hesitated, but the more she thought about it the more sense it made.

  After breakfast, she spoke to Anjali, explaining that in the short term Mr Alex would be taking over the reins from her so that she could concentrate on her writing. If Anjali was dismayed she didn’t let Liz know by a word or look, but later in the kitchen with Aarav, she confessed her uneasiness. Aarav was more philosophical. “He is only here for two more weeks what can go wrong in that short time?”

  It was lovely to be able to write totally uninterrupted. Liz wrote with extra vigour – her plot deepening as the story developed. There was to be a heinous crime and murder was afoot. The story unfolded in her head as she wrote. She had identified the hapless victim and was now building a series of alibis for the main characters.

  The morning flew by and when Alex came to tell her it would be lunch in five minutes she was amazed. He was delighted with the morning’s word count and she confessed she was too. “You are a dear Alex, this is a pattern I will have to adhere to when you leave.”

  “Don’t talk about my leaving yet,” he laughed a shade ruefully. “I shall think you want to push me out!” Anjali, hovering at the foot of the stairs, saw Liz rest an arm lightly on that of Mr Alex. She realised this was not the opportunity she was seeking to talk to Madame O’Malley alone.

  The atmosphere in the house changed in only a few days, only Liz, now totally immersed in her writing, didn’t seem to notice. Aarav banged his pots and pans in the kitchen. Anjali walked round unsmiling, quietly attending to her duties and trying to keep well out of Alex’s way. Even Ashok looked glum. According to Mr Alex, the stables were not cleaned well enough, the car was filthy inside and out and the gardeners lazy. The final insult – Mr Alex had taken a taxi to Madkal this morning because Ashok’s driving was so terrible. “The worst driving I have seen in my life,” Ashok was informed.

  Ashok was frightened. This man could influence Madame O’Mal. They might lose their home, their jobs, everything. He didn’t dare tell Nina, who was full of the problems Aarav was having in the kitchen.

  Liz began to wonder how she had coped without Alex and when
one evening, an hour or so after they had said goodnight, he knocked on her bedroom door, there seemed to be an inevitability about him sharing her bed.

  At that point, Anjali hit rock bottom. “He will,” she confided to the others, “never leave, she will want him to stay as her lover.” Anjali had never lowered herself to gossip, but now she couldn’t help it, and now every member of staff knew “he” had moved into Madame’s bed and was ruling the household.

  The morning and evening rides had changed. Now Alex had her in the bedroom he no longer fantasised as they rode. Instead, he made her talk about her novel and questioned some of her ideas. For the first time ever Liz began to doubt her ability to write and the rides ceased being a pleasure, but more a time of inquisition.

  Even the horses sensed the difference. Instead of the wild canters and sea-bathing, they now walked sedately to and from their stables and they seemed restless. Alex had bought another saddle, bridle and bit which he had Ashok put on Guinness. Liz gave up riding bareback as Coco was pulling these days. She was grateful Alex had bought extra “tack” for Guinness. The horse hated his new bit, which pulled at his mouth and he didn’t like the new rider much either. They were now two separate entities, not man and rider “as one” – which is what both horses had always enjoyed with Liz.

  It was very hot and humid – the monsoon season was almost upon them. Liz was surprised with the menus. Tomato soup with herby croutons was fine, though she might have chosen crisp iceberg lettuce with a few roasted peppers. The main course, however – roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes – defeated her. She said nothing, presuming that Aarav had made a gesture to the English guest. Judging by Alex’s reaction to the food she was right. He tucked into his dinner with gusto, seeming not to notice Liz only playing with her food. Dessert was apple pie and custard. Aarav had scoured his library of cookery books to find the requested recipe.