Uncertain Joy

by Hilary Wilde

  For love him she did. He had only to enter the room for a cold shiver to slide down her back. If she wasn't cautious, she was afraid that her joy at seeing him would betray her— just as Magdalena's happy face when she looked at Alfonso told the world how much she loved him. Penny's whole life had changed. Now she found herself wondering how Juan's foot was, if he suffered much pain, but though the words trembled in her mouth, she dared not ask them, since it would only annoy him.

  Not that he helped her at all, for he was in a bad mood. After he discarded the crutch, he had to lean on two sticks. Obviously much to his annoyance, for it was hardly dignified to go hopping around, Penny could imagine him thinking. She saw little of him, for now he visited the children in the garden in the afternoon, avoiding the staircase when he could. According to Mike, something very important was about to happen.

  `It'll shock quite a few,' Mike said with a triumphant grin. And quite right, too. We've got a lot of work to get done first, though.

  That's why he's in such a mood. Divided loyalty, if you get me.'

  `Divided loyalty?' Penny repeated, puzzled. `What does that mean?'

  `Oh, come off it, Penny,' Mike had said. `You know what I mean. He's thinking of the kids and their future—yet the other folks are his relations. Isn't blood supposed to be thicker than water?' He grinned, then.

  Juan's mood seemed to affect everyone. Anita and Julieta were not speaking to one another, but both of them were almost fighting to sit next to Juan. He was polite to them, a cold impersonal politeness that Penny knew would have made her take the hint, but that they both ignored. Her afternoon siestas were spent with Mike and Valentin, generally on the beach, and her skin, that usually went red with too much sunshine, had achieved a pleasant tan.

  Unexpectedly a visitor arrived. Unexpected to all but Juan, apparently; for one evening when Penny joined the family before dining with them, there was a strange atmosphere in the drawing room. She hesitated in the doorway, for even in that second she could feel the cold antagonism. Standing next to Juan and talking to Magdalena was a tall, heavily built man with thick, dark hair, a small pointed beard and a moustache with curled ends. He was bowing over Magdalena's hand and then he kissed it. He was speaking Spanish and, of

  course, Penny could not understand what he said, but the rest of the family visitors were sitting in a stone-cold silence, their faces worried, their eyes wide with dismay.

  Juan saw Penny hesitating in the doorway, so he beckoned to her.

  `I want to introduce you to Señor Clemente Casado,' he said, and turned to the middle-aged man by his side. 'This is the girl who is teaching the children English,' he said. Curtly, Penny thought unhappily; she had ceased to be a family friend, as he had hither-to called her, and now was just a governess.

  The stranger kissed her hand and smiled. `You have been asked to do the impossible, I understand,' he said gently, his voice deep and pleasant, his smile genuine.

  Some of the tenseness vanished. 'It isn't exactly easy.

  He chuckled. 'I can imagine. I was telling Juan that the best way is to take the children for a long holiday in England and let them play with English children. I am trying to persuade him to visit me.'

  `You live in England?'

  He smiled. 'I live in England—in South America—and in Spain. I am a management consultant so I go where I am required. I have a delightful house in the Lake District.'

  ` Oh, that is lovely,' Penny said quickly. 'But so is this island.'

  `You like it here? You do not find the life

  too dull?' He smiled. 'Too narrow, too old-fashioned?'

  `I find it very strange at times,' Penny admitted, glancing quickly at Juan, who was frowning as if impatient.

  `Well, I trust that if Juan and the children do visit me, you will come as well,' Señor Casado said with a smile. 'It would make us all happy.'

  Anita came across the room. 'Juan,' she said accusingly, 'you haven't introduced me to Señor Casado.'

  As Juan apologised and did so, Penny quietly left them and went to sit next to Doria Justina, who was alone and looking a little worried.

  `What a nice man,' she said, never quite sure how to start a conversation with Doria Justina.

  The old lady smiled, but there was no happiness in it. 'He appears to be both courteous and charming, but I wonder . . .'

  Señor Casado had come to stay, it seemed, for he was in one of the rooms in the long corridor where Penny slept. Always she looked at the painting of the little boy and his white horse. Was it Juan, as a child? It looked like him, and yet it didn't .. . Perhaps, she had thought once, it was a painting of the small boy who had died. Yet it couldn't be, for he had been only five when he died and this boy was much older . . . Poor Juan, Penny would think as she gazed at the happy excited face of the

  boy gazing at his horse. No wonder he had moods and could be difficult at times. It must be a terrible thing to have haunt you—even though it was an accident, for she was certain that Juan would never be a murderer!

  Señor Clemente Casado was still with them at the end of two weeks. The atmosphere in the evening gathering was still as hostile to him and the family as wary as that first evening. The extraordinary thing about him, and that surprised Penny very much, was that Señor Casado always came with Juan to see the children, and looked in on his own. By some strange magic, the children immediately liked him; even little Abilio would follow him around like a shadow.

  `You don't mind me interrupting you, Miss Penny?' Señor Casado asked one day.

  `Of course not,' she said quickly. 'I'm delighted, especially as you speak English to them as well as Spanish. They love you. You . . .' She hesitated. Perhaps Juan would consider her rude if she asked the Senior questions, yet something made her. 'You have children,' she said, making it a statement rather than a question, for only someone well used to children could, make friends with them so quickly, she thought.

  He shrugged his big heavy shoulders. Alas, no. It was a question of great sorrow for my wife and myself that we had no children. She died four years ago and I am lonely —very

  lonely. It would be good to have a family,' he said thoughtfully.

  `You'd make a very good father,' Penny said, and he smiled.

  `That is kind of you, Miss Penny, very kind. I wondered if I was too old.'

  `Of course not.' She smiled at him. It hasn't anything to do with age.'

  Juan gave a strange laugh. 'It sounds as if you were setting up a marriage bureau. Marriage isn't only having children, you know. There are other things to be considered.'

  Señor Casado laughed. 'You are so right. It can be heaven or it can be hell.'

  The two men left her, both laughing. Penny watched them go. Love was the same. It could be heaven or it could be hell. At the moment...

  *

  Three days later, Mike came across the lawn to the quiet part of the garden where the children had their playground.

  `Penny, there's a dance on tomorrow night at the Granada,' he said. 'We've invited Anita and she accepted. Seems she's annoyed with Juan about something.' Mike chuckled. 'I'm not surprised at the mood he's in. Valentin seems to like Anita. He must be mad.'

  `But has Anita accepted?' Penny was really surprised. Or was this part of Anita's `thing'—

  her idea of making Juan jealous?

  `No. She's waiting to know if you'll go—if you will, so will she. What's making you hesitate?'

  `The family disapproval. Juan has enough to worry him at the moment without me making it worse,' Penny said, then wished she hadn't. She looked quickly at Mike in case she had betrayed the truth, but he was studying his wrist watch.

  `Pen-nee . . . Pen-nee!' Catalina screamed.

  Penny turned round quickly. She saw that there in the shallow swimming pool lay Abilio! Right at the bottom of the pool. And he lay still—frighteningly still.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Thirty minutes later the ordeal was all over. Abilio was sound asleep in his li
ttle bed, having been examined by the doctor and found perfectly all right.

  `Thanks to Miss Penny,' the doctor said warmly, smiling at her.

  Magdalena was lying on a couch downstairs, having been given a strong sedative as she became hysterical when told how near death her youngest child had been.

  `It was all your fault,' Juan said angrily to Penny. 'You're supposed to look after the children, not talk to Mike. You surely see enough of him during the siestas,' he added sarcastically.

  `It was my fault,' Mike said quickly. 'Only we wanted to plan for this dance and . . . It's due to Penny that the child is alive. She was wonderful.'

  Penny blushed. 'Well, I knew all about the kiss of life and . . . her voice was unsteady for a moment. 'I confess I was scared to death. Poor little boy!'

  `Why didn't you do anything, Mike?' Juan demanded, still frowning.

  `I saw how darned efficient Penny was being, so I raced up to the house and rang the doctor.'

  `Very efficient, yourself,' Juan said sarcastically. 'Then you tell the child's mother and we have screams and faints and a real mess.'

  `I wouldn't have told her, but she heard what I said on the phone to the doctor.'

  `You can't blame her for being upset,' Penny chimed in, annoyed at Juan's callousness. 'Of course she was upset. It's not her fault . .

  `Whose is it, then?' Juan stood, feet apart, hands on hips, his chin pushed forward aggressively as he scowled at Penny. 'Mine? Or Pedro's, who loved her despite her behaviour? She has never shown any affection at all for the children—you can see that.'

  It was the truth, Penny knew. Not that it was any excuse for Juan to be so callously cruel. How could she love such a man? And yet she did. Even now, with him in a rage, she found herself looking at him lovingly, noticing the way his hair grew, the darkness of his eyes, the way he moved his hands when he got angry but kept them still when he was controlling his temper. Why did she love him? How could she love such a man? But she did.

  `You said yourself that some women are made like that,' Penny said quickly, and remembering how she had thought it might be because Anita was so obviously uninterested in children. 'It's not her fault. You wouldn't blame anyone for being born with one arm, but it's no more that person's fault than it is

  that of a mother who has no love for her children. Not that I can understand it,' she added, 'because I think they're darlings, and they certainly love you as well as Serior Casado. They love attention . . .'

  `Something they have lacked since their father died,' Juan said. 'All right, Penny. Thank you for acting so swiftly and skilfully. The doctor was full of praise for your behaviour. Where did you learn how to do it?'

  `I think I told you I worked for the Red Cross and we were taught all kinds of first aid.'

  `A good thing for us, but please, in future—' Juan's voice was cruelly cutting as he went on, `pay attention to your job—and Trent, save your talks for the siestas!'

  The next morning a message came from Señora Magdalena Dominguez, requesting Penny to go and see her at once. Penny was a little worried—was Abilio's mother going to blame her for the accident, as Juan had done? However, it had to be faced, so she asked the nanny to stay with the children.

  Magdalena was stretched out on a long chair on the terrace, just outside the drawing room whose French doors were wide open to let in the slight breeze from the sea.

  `Please sit down,' Magdalena said. Penny obeyed, shocked as she looked at Magdalena's

  face. She seemed to have aged ten or twenty years overnight, her eyes were swollen and red from tears, and her hand was shaking. That was real shock and sorrow—certainly not acting as Juan would have implied. 'How can I ever thank you enough?' Magdalena began, and so did the tears. Penny moved her chair close and took hold of Magdalena's hand, holding it tightly.

  `Don't worry,' she said earnestly. 'It happens to lots of small children—even in puddles. They fall down, are shocked and unable to get up. I'm only sorry I didn't notice when he fell.'

  `You can't . . . have eyes . . . at the back of your head,' said Magdalena, trying to smile. Was Juan very angry with you?'

  Penny felt uncomfortable. 'He was—rather.'

  `He is so cruel, that man. He cannot understand. It is so difficult . . .' She began to cry again. 'He is so jealous—so possessive. I must not let the children be English or he will not marry me . . .'

  `Juan?' Penny gasped, startled beyond words.

  Magdalena's tears stopped—perhaps from shock.

  `Juan? Of course not. I mean Alfonso.'

  `Alfonso?' Penny echoed. 'He is jealous?'

  `Terribly—but I love him.' Magdalena looked at Penny. 'It was always Alfonso I loved, but he would not marry me. I was not of the island, but that did not worry Pedro. He

  loved me. He loved me so much . . .' Magdalena's voice was unexpectedly tender as she seemed to roll the words round in her mouth. 'That was love. Yet I still loved Alfonso, so to make him love me I must hate the English, hate Juan, hate the children, too. Perhaps you do not understand—you may think I am a fool, but when you love . . .'

  Penny nodded slowly, her hair swinging. `No, you're not a fool. I do see how difficult it has been for you.' She could not have understood a few weeks ago —but since she had realised she loved Juan, she could feel sorry for poor Magdalena. When you love a man . . .

  Alfonso will marry you?' Penny asked gently.

  But of course,' said Magdalena. Was it a little too quickly? Penny wondered. 'It is the only way that he can rule Vallora. This has been his dream, his whole life.' She looked round nervously, but they were quite alone. `He believes that in one of the coves there is a ship that was sunk centuries ago. On board, there are gold and silver coins. He does not wish them to be found by anyone but himself. He is a good deep-sea diver,' she added proudly. 'He should have taken over the island when Pedro died, but Juan stopped it. Alfonso has a quick temper, but it is bitter, also . . .' Magdalena went on talking, telling Penny of how furious Alfonso was if he saw her kissing

  her children. 'He accused me of loving my children, whom he hated because they were Pedro's, more than I loved him. He was not going to take second place in the life of the woman he married, so I had to pretend I did not love them. You think I am wrong? That the children should come first?' she asked, her voice pathetic and pleading.

  Penny hesitated before answering. As a matter of fact, she did feel the children should come first. On the other hand, since she had realised just how much she loved Juan, she wasn't sure whether or not Juan would always come first in her life. Children needed you— but then perhaps a man also needed you, in his own way. How was she to judge—in this new world of hers that had so altered her views?

  `When you love someone . . .' Penny said slowly. After all, if they had been Alfonso's children, it might have been different. She had heard once that one of the difficulties of adoption was that it was sometimes hard for a man to love another man's children.

  Magdalena nodded. 'You are right. When you love someone, nothing else matters. But the children?'

  `They love you very much.'

  Penny's words made Magdalena's face suddenly become radiant. 'They do? It is true? You do not tell me that just to comfort me?'

  Shaking her head, Penny smiled. 'No, honestly. Cross my heart and hope to die,' she

  quoted, making the gestures children often do when trying to insist that what they have said was true. 'They love you very much. Perhaps . . . perhaps when you have married Alfonso, he won't be jealous.'

  `That is what I hope.' Magdalena dried her eyes. 'How can I thank you, Penny?'

  `You have—by this talk.'

  Magdalena looked worried. 'You will understand if I am not friendly when he is there?'

  Nodding, Penny smiled. 'Of course I shall understand.' She stood up. 'I'm afraid I must go.'

  `Or you'll be in trouble again. Poor you! I would not like to work for Juan.'

  `He isn't always difficult,' Penny bega
n, and stopped. Had she given away the truth? —but Magdalena showed no sign of having noticed Penny's quick defence. 'Just at the moment, he is in a bad mood.'

  `Aren't we all?' Magdalena said bitterly. `Who can tell what will happen to the island? It is of great stress to us all, as he says.'

  Penny knew that 'he' in Magdalena's mind was always Alfonso! Just as in hers, 'he' was always Juan.

  Penny managed to leave Magdalena by moving slowly, backwards, step by step, towards the French windows as they talked. Finally Penny could say goodbye and go inside. As she hurried through the drawing room, she

  stopped—for sitting on a chair, leaning forward, his bearded chin resting on his hands and his elbows on his knees, was Clemente Casado!

  He stood up and followed her into the hall, then gently touched her arm. 'I had no intention of eavesdropping,' he said very quietly. 'I was hoping to see her after you left, but I heard it all. The poor soul,' he said tenderly. He shook his head sadly. 'How can she love that man? He is so bad, a liar and callous. I cannot understand.'

  Penny nodded. Neither would she have understood, a short while ago. Juan was also cruel and callous and perhaps he told lies, too. Yet she still loved him, more than anything else in the world.

  She paused, her feet on the lower step of the staircase as she realised something. She had not missed her father once—not even a little bit since she had realised what Juan meant to her!

  `You agree?' Clemente Casado asked gently. `Perhaps if he marries her.'

  `She has no money. At least not by Alfonso's standards.'

  `But the island . . .'

  The tall big Spaniard smiled. 'Of course— there is always the island. We can only wait and see.'

  Penny hurried up to the day nursery. Why was Clemente Casado here? What was