by Hilary Wilde
`What did you say to her?' Penny asked.
`The truth. That I had been angry with you—my friend—and lost my temper. That she can well understand, for we with Spanish blood are apt to blow our tops.' He chuckled, a deep sound that was full of amusement. Then he held out his hand towards Penny. 'I apologise. It was unforgivable. Will you forgive me?' He looked so pathetic Penny found it hard not to laugh. She knew he was acting, but it was a friendly act, not one to make her feel small.
`Yes,' she said, 'I forgive you.'
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Then he kissed her wrist and her arm to the elbow. She stood very still, not sure how to react. Was this a Spanish way of apologising?
He dropped her hand gently and stood back with a smile. 'You have only fifteen minutes now. Is it time enough?'
`I can manage,' she said with a smile.
`Good. I will be waiting and we will have a drink before we eat. I will see you as soon as you can manage.' He looked down at his dark
suit, well-cut, elegantly modern with a white starched shirt and black tie. 'I must warn you that our women are dressed not only demurely but with dignity.'
`I will remember,' she said meekly, and he smiled at her and left the room.
She had to work fast. She looked at the wardrobe. How carefully she and Fiona had chosen the evening gowns she needed. Finally Penny chose a leaf-green dress, with a full skirt that whirled as she moved. She brushed her hair and twisted it up high on her head, thankful that she had brought out plenty of hair-clips. Then she made up carefully, thinking again how odd it was not to be able to use the make-up she would have done in England. One thing, she thought, she would see how the local females dressed. Maybe Juan del Riego was wrong, maybe he was the old-fashioned narrow-minded person he talked about so much.
Surveying herself in the mirror, she heard a gentle knock on the door and without thinking, said: 'Come in.'
There was another knock and she realised that whoever it was outside could not understand English, so she went to the door and opened it. A different servant was there, one much younger, with beautiful dark eyes full of curiosity and a quick smile as Penny smiled and indicated the mess on the floor. The girl gave a little curtsey and her eyes
widened as she looked at Penny. Slowly the girl shook her head, her face breaking into a smile. Penny took it as meaning the girl liked the leaf-green dress.
Penny gave one last look at herself in the mirror, but she did not see what the others were to see: a lovely girl with a fair skin and green eyes, with red hair that would be a lovely colour in the light from the chandeliers, a girl with a slim body and a full, beautiful mouth. Made for kisses, more than one person was going to think.
Penny was a little nervous at what lay ahead, for it was quite possible that the Señora would be annoyed to see her, having told her to dine in her bedroom, yet knowing Señor del Riego would be there comforted Penny.
Along the corridor, holding up her long skirt as she carefully looked for the unexpected steps that seemed to try in vain to level the floor, she hurried down the beautiful staircase and into the hall where she paused.
Again the strange still silence struck her. It was as if she was alone in the big ungainly house, for that was what it was. A door opened and Juan del Riego stood there.
`Good,' he said with a smile. 'Full marks for a quick change. Come inside and meet some of the family.'
He held out his hand and took hers, leading her into the room as if he was leading some royal lady, Penny thought with a sudden
desire to giggle at his somewhat pompous melodramatic action. He smiled at her and she smiled back, startled by the reassurance it gave her.
She had not been in this room before and she looked round her quickly. Three huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, filling the room with a harshly bright light. The furniture was just as old, just as shabby as in the other rooms. The walls were covered with huge portraits of what were obviously ancestors of the family, judging from the clothes they wore.
Señora Dominguez was sitting in a chair, leaning forward with a smile.
`I managed to get the children away from their great-aunt,' the Señora said in a friendly voice. 'She loves them so much she cannot bear to let them go. I am glad that we came back in time.'
A tall, heavily-built yet still lean man had come from where he had been standing by the window.
`Miss Trecannon,' Juan del Riego said formally. 'I wish to present my cousin, Señor Alfonso Rodriguez Melado.'
`This is my pleasure,' Señor Alfonso said as he bent and kissed Penny's hand. 'It is not often in this country that we have the delight of an English girl with such lovely fair skin and such beautiful hair.'
Penny felt herself blushing as she looked at him. He was amazingly handsome. An odd
word to use, perhaps, yet he was completely unlike any man she had ever seen, with his olive skin, thick dark hair, growing somewhat long, dark eyes with a strange expression in them, and dark eyebrows. He had a quiet voice, very different from his cousin's angry vibrant tone.
Penny was led to a chair and given a glass of something or other. She drank it slowly while Alfonso sat by her side, leaning forward, his face absorbed as if by her words, his dark eyes travelling up and down as he looked at her, and asked questions as to what part of England she came from—saying how much he loved the country, how beautiful were the ladies. 'So different from ours—they have much more freedom,' he said, and there was a look in his eyes that for a moment frightened her, for she felt exactly as if he had ripped the clothes off her . . . which was absurd, as her father would have said.
The dinner was delectable—again Alfonso sat next to Penny while Juan del Riego talked to Pedro's widow, Magdalena. They were talking quietly but seriously in Spanish and it was obvious that both were controlling an anger that was liable to burst at any moment. Alfonso was interesting to talk to, so Penny really enjoyed the meal. Afterwards Alfonso insisted on taking her out into the garden to see the beauty of the moonlit sea.
It was beautiful—a pleasantly warm evening
with a round full moon in the star-splashed sky, the palm trees standing, silhouetted against the light, and the sea, far below, with a great swathe of brightness across it.
They were talking as they walked and Alfonso's hand was under her elbow, and it was with quite a shock that Penny realised they were now standing on the flat stone where earlier that day Juan del Riego had stood by her side.
It was dark down below, the ravine sides shutting out the moonlight, but the lighthouse stood out like a small gallant figure at the end of the piece of rock.
She felt Alfonso's fingers tighten round her arm and turned to look at him.
He was smiling at her, a strange smile that rather frightened her. Which was absurd, she reminded herself, for why should it? He was a man older than Juan, a sophisticated man with good manners, so why should she have this fear?
`It is quite a fall, is it not?' Alfonso asked, leaning forward so that she had to do the same and the fear grew greater and gripped her.
`I hate heights . . .' she gasped.
He stepped back at once. 'I am sorry, I had no idea,' he said apologetically. 'Many hate heights, but they do not alarm me at all. Let us walk back, or my cousin will think we have eloped together.' He laughed and Penny laughed, too, but she was very glad as they
walked away from the frightening spot.
Back at the house, Magdalena Dominguez was playing the piano while Juan del Riego strode up and down the room, frowning a little as he saw Alfonso and Penny return.
A most enjoyable walk,' Alfonso said slowly, his slight accent betraying the fact that he was Spanish—as if, Penny thought, his very look didn't tell you that. She had never been good about history, but she remembered seeing a painting once of some Spanish conquistadors and Alfonso had a perfect resemblance to them. She could also imagine him sailing in a boat, ready to attack, to steal, and to feel proud of what they had gai
ned. 'I am afraid I must go now, after a most enjoyable evening.' He looked at his cousin, who didn't return the smile. 'The children are lucky to have such a charming companion. I am tempted myself to pretend I cannot speak English so that she might favour me with her company.' He bowed to them all, kissing the Señora Dominguez hand as well as Penny's. Juan del Riego walked with him to the door and Penny knew a moment of discomfort as Magdalena Dominguez began to play the piano again, ignoring Penny completely.
Taking it as a hint, Penny went to the hall as Señor del Riego returned.
`So—' he said as they stood in the cold hall. `You have met my cousin. What do you think of him?'
Penny hesitated. What did she think of Alfonso? Behind her she could hear the music as Magdalena played the piano with an almost fierce force as if she was trying to show as well as get rid of the anger that possessed her.
`He is very handsome,' Penny said slowly.
`Is he?' Juan del Riego sounded amused. `You are young, immature and obviously not accustomed to the society of sophisticated men. How did you get on in the garden? Did he make . .
`He was very polite and interesting to talk to,' Penny said quickly, aware that her cheeks were going red. 'We . . . we went and looked down at the little lighthouse.'
`You did? And you were afraid?' Juan del Riego asked, sounding amused.
`Yes—I hate heights, as you know.'
`Of course—then I would advise you not to go there when alone, either in the day or at night. Part of the stone is uneven, it is not difficult to trip over it . . .' He paused. 'It would be a long fall,' he said slowly and quietly.
Was he thinking what she had thought as she stood on the smooth rock and Alfonso's hand was on her arm? Was her instinct right and had Alfonso been thinking of pushing her over the edge? But why should he? He did not even know her. Or was he one of those mentally deranged sadists who delight in hurting people? Had he deliberately taken her there to see how she would react? Yet if he did
so, why?
`Yes. He was very apologetic when I said I was afraid of heights,' Penny said quickly, then wondered why she was on the defence of the man who had momentarily frightened her.
`He would be.'
She stared, puzzled, at the man by her side. `You don't like him,' she said accusingly.
Juan del Riego smiled. 'Neither does he like me.'
`Then why ask him for dinner?'
`He asked himself—or else Señora Magdalena did. I leave the invitations to her, for she knows of all the family feuds and who will sit next to whom—and who will not be in the same room as someone else. You can have no idea of the hatred on this island—of the delicate walk one must make or else some great family feud will be dug up and tempers rise and perhaps there will be physical action . .
`Like knocking a tray off the table,' Penny said, then wondered if she should have said it, but he was not annoyed: he merely smiled.
`You are so right. Actually I would not say this of the ordinary Spaniard, but I am talking of the family on this island. Here is a small community who live, as I have told you many times, in the past and refuse to leave it. They delight in remembering what is past, they have little to do and nothing to talk about, so they dig up past stories and become determined to
carry on feuds that should have been forgotten centuries ago. Why blame the people of today for what their ancestors did several centuries ago? It is ridiculous. Then they quote the sins of their fathers and all that. It makes me so angry. Today is here and tomorrow waits for us. We cannot waste time living in the past. Let it be forgotten.' He turned away, as if feeling he had said too much, and spoke over his shoulder. 'I trust you will have a good night. I will see you in the day nursery at nine o'clock.'
`Yes, goodnight.' Startled by the abrupt ending to their talk, Penny turned and went up the staircase, then remembered she was on the wrong one.
Once up in the corridors, it seemed to take ages before she found the painting that she recognised of a small boy standing by a tall white horse. It was well painted; on the boy's face was so much happiness it was moving just to look at it. His hand was on the horse. Maybe it was a present, something he had longed for and had just been given.
Her bedroom was just past the painting. She was glad the painting was so impressive, for it always caught her eye as she walked along the endless, uneven-floored corridors.
In her room, she hastily undressed and got into bed. How quiet everything was. Again, the feeling of being completely alone in the house filled her—which was absurd. But then so much of what she felt in this house was absurd.
It was all imagination, as her father would have said. Why had she been afraid as she stood high above the little lighthouse? Why was she afraid as she stood at the kitchen door and the servants had looked at her with such hatred? Had that been her imagination? Was that all it was?
In the morning she went to the day nursery early, taking the pictures of animals and cars and houses and ships she had brought with her, as well as the crayons. She laid these out on the table and put the chairs ready. Maybe, she thought, it was a mistake to point a finger at the children as she said their names? Maybe that was what had frightened them so much.
It was with some nervousness that she opened the door to let the children in. Both the nanny and the governess were with them, but they did not speak or even look at Penny. They said something in Spanish to the children, then left Penny alone with them.
She sat down at the table and Catalina took little Abilio by the hand and led him to look at the pictures. Techa's interest was also caught and Penny knew a moment of relief, for it looked as if she had started the right way.
Techa even picked up a crayon and tried it on the paper, drawing something and looking at Catalina eagerly. Penny slowly drew a cat
with big whiskers and a waving tail. Catalina looked at it and at her.
`Cat ... cat . . .' Penny said slowly.
The little blonde girl giggled. 'Cat . . . cat . . . cat,' she repeated, then said a Spanish word, looking at Penny.
Penny tried to say it and Catalina giggled again and repeated it, making Penny say the word until Catalina was satisfied. Penny wanted to laugh, but decided to take it seriously, though Señor del Riego would not approve, she felt sure. She wasn't there to learn Spanish but to teach English, and he would probably shout at her for disobeying him!
A knock on the door startled them all and Techa dropped the crayon. Jose, the butler, came in and with no expression on his face handed Penny an envelope. She thanked him and he left the room. Puzzled as to who the letter could be from, Penny went to the window, leaving the children to do what they liked, for that was the way she wanted it, that they should enjoy the lessons, not see them as something hard and frightening.
The letter had not come by post. The writing was large and dramatic. She opened the envelope. The letter was brief.
`Unfortunately I have been called to the mainland. I may be away several days but will return as soon as possible. Remember that I am your employer and that you must obey
my wishes.'
It was signed in thick sprawling handwriting that was—in the signature—hard to read. She turned to look at the children. Juan del Riego would be away for several days. How was she going to manage?
She said nothing but went back to the table, ignoring the children, who seemed to have found something to interest them. Little Abilio was clutching several crayons and drawing lines and circles on paper. Techa was slowly and deliberately drawing a man who was walking in the sea while Catalina was frowning as she looked at the pictures. Penny began to draw a ship, but she said nothing at all, feeling that maybe this would help them from being frightened.
They all jumped when the door was swung open and hit the wall as if it had been flung by an impatient hand.
It was Señora Dominguez. Instantly the children changed. Abilio began to scream and Techa cried, while Catalina went very pale, her eyes wide.
The Señora
was smiling at Penny. Ah, I have heard that Juan has left the island. It is true?' She looked at the envelope on the table.
`Yes,' said Penny, shivering a little, for it was as if an icy wind had entered the room and she could not take her eyes from the children, who looked petrified with fear. Why? This was their mother.
Ah, that is good. I knew that if I was patient, things would go my way.' Señora Dominguez was beautiful in a chocolate-box way, Penny thought, as she had when they first met. Now the Señora was looking triumphant. `That is very good. Now we can stop this nonsense,' she said, sweeping her hand as if pointing to the toys with scorn. And you can enjoy yourself, Miss Trecannon. You can lie in the sunshine and become tanned. There are many handsome men on the island who would be delighted to enjoy your company and my poor children can enjoy life without that great bully using his whip,' she said bitterly, then clapped her hands sharply and instantly the nanny and the governess appeared, scooping up the smaller children and hurrying away, while Catalina followed them, her face blank.
`But, Señora,' Penny said quickly, 'the Señor told me I was to . .
`Forget what he said. It is of no importance. He need not know, in any case,' Señora Dominguez said, smiling at Penny, and she turned and walked out, leaving the door ajar.
Penny hesitated. He had told her to obey him and not allow Señora Dominguez to have her way. But how was she to be stopped?
In despair, Penny hurried down to the ground floor, out into the garden, but this time she did not see the beauty of it, for she felt she had let Juan del Riego down. But what could she do? If only she knew!
CHAPTER SIX
It was four days before Señor del Riego returned to Vallora. Four nightmare days for Penny, as she was in a most difficult situation. She told the sympathetic Michael Trent when she ran downstairs and out into the garden after the children had gone and the Señora had talked to her.
