by Hilary Wilde
He stopped talking and led the way to a big black carriage with two horses impatiently fidgeting. A man in a white jacket and trousers slid down and opened the carriage door, while Juan del Riego helped her in. She looked round her.
He smiled. 'Just as if you'd gone back to Victorian days?' he asked.
`It seems right here, somehow.'
Penny could see how the vines grew on either side of the road, standing tall and methodically straight like soldiers on parade. Everything looked so neat. There were large orchards of apple trees, as well. As far as she could see over this long narrow promontory, there was only one road, wide and earthy, along which the horses trotted happily.
`We are approaching one of the two towns on the island. You will notice that there is a considerable amount of Moorish architecture. Many years ago there was Moorish occupation and they have left many evidences of their
skill. They were here and in Spain for seven hundred years and you will see a typical Muslim Mosque. They also had a highly developed irrigation system which we still use,' Juan del Riego explained.
As they approached the town which, Penny thought, was little more than a big village, she could see far ahead in the flat country, and the mosque was the first thing they saw, a massive, impressive building with its red and white columns and arches as well as the amazingly beautiful ornamentation of the marble.
`The peasants on the island are a mysterious people in many ways, yet if treated justly and they can see it, they are loyal and good workers. I am fortunate because my five
years here, when Pedro was ill, gave them confidence in me and they accept me. This means that many of our problems are quickly solved.'
As they went through the town they saw donkeys, some with boys on their backs and two water jars. The streets were narrow and the houses made of the same coloured stone as the boulders round the foot of the mountains that towered above them. The town was built on a higher plane than the flat country through which they had come and Juan del Riego explained:
`Sometimes we get very bad floods, so it is advisable to build above a certain level. The family houses, of course, are built on plateaux
in the mountains above us. Many were once small castles, guarding the island from intruders.'
There were cyclists and other carriages and carts, Penny saw, and from some of the open windows and the door of the tavern that was ajar came Spanish music. They also went past a large market where women crouched on the ground, selling fruit and flowers whose lovely brightness showed up vividly against the pale colour of the houses.
`It's beautiful,' Penny said slowly. It was so completely different from anything she had seen.
`It may look beautiful,' Juan del Riego said, his voice bitter, 'but the people who live on Vallora are far from beautiful.'
`I thought you liked them?' Penny was startled.
`The islanders, yes. My relations, no,' he said, his voice almost violent with hatred.
It startled her, so she turned to look at him and saw the thin hard line of his mouth, the way his thick dark eyebrows were drawn together, the fury in his eyes. Then why was he here? she wondered. Couldn't he have arranged for the children to learn English and engaged a good manager for the island as he was so rich? Was there some other reason for him staying here when he hated it and its inhabitants so much? Why did he hate them?
Now we shall go across the range and see
the other town,' Juan del Riego said, changing the subject obviously. 'Most of our houses, as I said, are on the range.'
Slowly the carriage climbed the mountainside, going through many unexpected flat plateaux. There were sheep, eating the sparse-looking grass, and many goats.
Despite the beauty and the sunshine, Penny was aware that the closer she got to their destination the more uncertain she became. What sort of man was this by her side? Surely it wasn't natural to hate your relations with such violence? And the cruel way he had spoken of the children's mother, implying that he was going to have things his way, regardless of anyone else's feelings.
Yet it was too late to do anything about it. She had taken the job and she must stay. Thanks be, she had a friend in Michael Trent, she thought, so at least if things got unbearable, he would help her. So she was not quite alone.
This comforted her as she looked round again, eager to miss none of the beauty. Far below them she could see small coves with light-coloured sand and waves racing in to pound against the huge boulders around. The bougainvilleas' long green arms seemed to have clasped everything within reach, so the beautiful purple flowers were everywhere, adding to the loveliness of the scene.
Now they were going slowly higher and she
could see white farmhouses far from the main road and reached by narrow tracks.
`Most of the big houses are on the other side of the mountains,' Juan del Riego explained. 'First we are going through the ravine to see the other town. It is still siesta time, so the Señora Magdalena Dominguez will be resting,' he said, his voice sarcastic as if suggesting that the Señora never did anything but rest!
The horses slowed down as they approached a high white wall over which yellow and red flowers crawled. They went through an archway. Penny caught her breath as she found they were crossing a narrow bridge high above a ravine where the ground was so far down below, it was hard to see it. For a moment she was really scared, and glanced at the man by her side. Why had they come this way? Was he going to push her over the low shelf that was on either side of the bridge? Could he then say she had fallen—or perhaps jumped?
How her father would have teased her, she thought, for her vivid imagination! They were nearly over the bridge that stretched across space because the lofty plateau had been cut in two by the chasm. It was a delicate-looking bridge built in two graceful arches, one above the other.
`This is known as Suicide Bridge,' Juan del Riego said with a strange smile.
The fear in her returned as she stared at him and he nodded:
`It is tragic that so many young people despair and die to escape the rigid discipline they are expected to accept.' A cloud seemed to cover his face, for it darkened, his eyebrows meeting, his mouth angry with suppressed fury. 'I nearly did, once,' he added.
`You did?' Penny echoed, amazed and shocked. 'You did?'
He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. 'I was very young. If that is an excuse,' he said, shrugging his shoulders, then he turned away to shout up to the driver, something in Spanish Penny could not understand.
Then the Señor leaned back in the carriage and looked at Penny.
`You see the island is beautiful. It is in many ways, but in other ways it is evil. The islanders will not face the truth, they will only live in the past. But one cannot do that for generation after generation. They must realise that today is not yesterday and life has changed. It is impossible to live in the past. Naturally the young people have to go to the mainland as there is no school for older children here. They make friends, they learn about other lives and what is allowed and what forbidden. They return and rebel and then there is trouble.'
`Did you rebel?' Penny asked, then wished she hadn't, for his face grew dark with anger
again as he looked at her.
`Unfortunately I didn't. That is where I made the mistake of my life.'
by his amused smile.
`There is nothing wrong. No, I agree. It is all right for a schoolgirl or a child, but a young lady . . .' The way he said the last two words was, to Penny, an insult, but she realised they could go on like this for ever, getting nowhere, and making the children stare at them as if puzzled and definitely frightened. So she turned to the eldest child and held out her hand. 'Catalina, I am Penny. Pen-nee . . .'
A little smile raced over the child's face. `Pen . . . nee,' she repeated, and giggled. 'Pen-nee . . . Pen-nee.'
Juan del Riego smiled. 'I am afraid her mother will not approve. She will say it is impertinence for one so young to speak to . . .'
`One
so old in such a way,' Penny finished for him. 'Look, I want to be friends with them, to be someone to play with, not someone strict and cross, and . . . and . . . and I want to do away with the generation gap. They look so scared, poor little things, and I don't want them to be scared of me.' She paused, but he did not speak, merely looked at her with those strange questioning eyes of his, so she went on: `It isn't going to be easy for me, as you keep telling me. I can see just how hard it will be, as the children are scared to death. Somehow I've got to break that down. An easy word like "Penny" is a much better start.'
`You have a point there,' he said slowly. `You have come prepared, I take it? You have
CHAPTER THREE
Juan del Riego looked at Penny with amusement. 'You are afraid?' he asked.
She felt the colour rise in her cheeks. `I was,' she confessed. `The ground looked so very far away and . . . and if the carriage overturned . . .'
`It has never happened in all the years,' he said reassuringly. 'Or did you wonder if I would push you over the edge?'
Startled, she stared at him, for it was as if he was able to read her thoughts. Her cheeks seemed to be on fire as she looked at him, because he was laughing. His great boisterous laugh made the man in front turn in surprise and he laughed as well.
`You did!' Juan del Riego said at last when he could stop laughing. `I saw the fear in your eyes. Do you honestly think I would murder you?' His face changed to anger. `Has someone been talking to you?'
`Of course not! I. . . I'm sorry, but . . .' She took a deep breath. She had apologised, so that should be the end of it. `It's just that I hate heights,' she explained.
He nodded. `Many people do. Do not fear, we will not let you go alone where there is anything that could hurt you. Why are you afraid of me?'
It was another of his unexpected questions that left her with little or no time in which to think of an answer.
`I'm not afraid of you.'
`You were, then. Admit the truth. As we crossed the bridge you were afraid of me. Why? It is a simple question and I wish for a simple answer.' His voice had changed, become arrogant and impatient, and his hand closed round her wrist, his fingers digging into her flesh. 'The truth, please.'
The truth? Penny lifted her small pointed chin and stared at him.
`I . . .' she began, and paused as she tried to find the right words. 'I'm not really afraid of you. I think it was the terrible long drop down to the ground and the small ledge and . . .'
And me? What have I said or done to make you believe I could be a murderer?' There was a threatening note in his voice.
`It's just . . . just my imagination. My parents always teased me about it. They said I ought to write books, because I'm so melodramatic and . . .'
`You have not answered my question.' His fingers dug painfully into the flesh of her wrist.
`It was . . . it was your hatred of Señora Dominguez. It wasn't like you, somehow. I mean, that kind of . . . of vicious hatred.'
`In other words, it would not surprise you should I murder Magdalena?' he asked.
`Of course not! Look, I mean you wouldn't.
I admit I was frightened. But it wasn't you—it was the height that frightened me.'
`You wondered if I should suddenly push you over the edge? Now why should I? Or are you suggesting that I am likely to murder you?'
Her cheeks burned. This was no way to start with your employer.
`I'm sorry—I did think how easy it would be to push someone over the edge. It wasn't you—as a person,' she faltered, hoping he would not recognize it as the lie it was. 'Look, I'm sorry if I offended you.' Her voice rose impatiently. 'I've said I'm sorry, so couldn't we leave it at that? I mean . . .'
He let go of her wrist and sat back. 'I know what you mean. A little joke has been carried too far.' He waved his hand. 'See how different the island can be—it is the same with the family.'
Penny looked round, glad that the embarrassing questioning was over. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that he might murder her? What could have made the thought come into her mind? And how was it he was so disconcertingly able to read her thoughts?
The countryside was strange now as the road led down the mountainside—for on one hand it was the beautiful greenness of everything and the vivid colour of flowers, but on the other it was black—black lava, no trees, nothing except the ground covered with lava,
evidence of the day when there was a volcanic eruption.
`That happened two centuries ago. Maybe one day it will happen again,' Juan del Riego said.
`I hope not,' said Penny, looking at the ominous lava that covered everything it could, thus destroying it.
The second town was smaller than the first yet similar in other ways. As they drove through, people lifted their hats with a smile, the women looking at Señor del Riego quickly and giving what looked like a little curtsey before looking away again.
A silence had fallen between Juan del Riego and Penny, a strange silence that seemed to be strained. Was he angry with her and hiding it because she had accused him of hating his cousin's wife? Yet it was so obvious that he did.
They were driven down to the sea—a long sea-front where men were mending nets and small boats bobbed up and down in the little harbour and, looking over them, they could see the blue Mediterranean and also the cloudless sky. It was indeed beautiful.
Back up across the mountain range they climbed, the horses taking it placidly as if used to such work, Penny listening while Juan del Riego pointed out the houses of 'the family'. She felt quite confused with their names: Señor Rodriguez Alfonso Melado . . . Doria
Justina . . . there were so many she gave up trying to remember who they were, and looked instead at the huge castle-like houses that were hidden by the tall flowering bushes and trees so that she only got glimpses of the strange buildings—some were square, like children's bricks, others were turrets joined together by endless corridors.
`We are nearly at my cousin's home now,' Juan del Riego said slowly, his voice bitter. 'A house to be ashamed of, but she would have no alterations.'
Penny was quite unprepared for what she saw as the carriage left the main road and the horses trotted down the long avenue of tall eucalyptus trees. She caught her breath as they came out into the open and the house was hidden by a tall white wall with its wrought iron gates slowly opening as a man saw the carriage coming.
Once inside, they could see the house— more like a castle than anything, with a castellated roof and long chimneys, a wide balcony supported by the tall pillars that decorated the terraces outside the French windows. There was a stately courtyard with a fountain perched on four small white lions.
How still it is, was Penny's first reaction. No one working in the flower-filled garden—no dogs racing to greet them—no child, even. Indeed no life at all.
They walked towards the huge oak front
door with its enormous brass knocker. 'It's most unusual,' Penny said, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
`Unusual is a good word,' Juan del Riego said bitterly. 'You should see my home. A million times more beautiful than this—also far more sensibly built.'
Again she found herself wondering why he had given up his own life simply because his cousin asked him to do so. Couldn't some arrangement have been made?
They knocked and a tall, swarthy, elderly man in white uniform let them in. He bowed stiffly to Juan del Riego but completely ignored Penny. It was so obvious—a deliberately planned insult—and Juan del Riego spoke sharply in Spanish to the butler before turning to Penny.
`This is Jose. He has been here since he was a boy. Any stranger to him is an enemy.'
But why ?'
Juan del Riego shrugged his shoulders. 'He is afraid his life will be threatened. There are many peasants who have inherited fear from their ancestors, the families passing down the stories so that the children grow up, convinced that strangers may kill them.'
But that's ridic
ulous, surely? I mean in this day and age . . .'
He smiled, a strange smile that had no amusement in it.
`This day and age? I told you that they live
in the past. Centuries in the past, in fact. They don't want to live in this age.'
They had gone into the hall as he spoke, an enormous hall, two storeys high with a huge glass dome as a ceiling and three curved staircases: at the foot of each there stood an armoured soldier, his face hidden by the steel mask.
Penny shivered. It wasn't the cold so much as the quietness. Not a sound was there to be heard.
Juan del Riego was talking to Jose and then turned to Penny.
`Her ladyship,' he said, his voice sarcastic, `will now see us. How very kind of her!'
Impulsively Penny turned to him. 'Why do you hate her so?'
He smiled, a thin cold smile. 'I have reason to—you will understand when you get to know her.'
Jose led the way as they walked down the long cold hall and he opened a door, standing back politely but still not looking at Penny.
There was the warmth and brightness of the sunshine to welcome them as they went into the long lofty room —but that was all, for the place was otherwise very drab and dull. The French windows were open to a wide terrace. Seated in an armchair—looking rather like a throne—was the woman Juan del Riego hated so much.
She was beautiful—in a way, an out-of-date
way, Penny thought, as she stared at the dark silky hair elaborately done up, held in place by large diamond-studded combs. Señora Magdalena Dominguez was well made up but in a way Penny knew her father would have called 'chocolate-box prettiness'. It was unnatural—the pale pink skin clashed with the black hair, dark eyes and sulky mouth.
As they walked the length of the long room, the Señora watched them silently. An unfriendly atmosphere, Penny thought as she looked round her. The furniture was old. Not valuable antiques but just old with shabby armchairs and couches. The walls and curtains were a dull grey.
