Judith

by Betty Neels

  Which left Judith sitting behind a silent Professor, looking at all the strange sights around her and not daring to ask him about them.

  A bad start, but perhaps it would be better when he’d gone back home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THERE WAS such a lot to see. It was the hottest part of the day and the whitewashed houses with their red-tiled roofs looked brilliant against the vivid blue sky. They had taken the coast road, going west away from Faro, and once clear of the town they saw that it was bordered by orange and lemon trees, fig trees and almond trees and geometrically neat rows of vines, and every few miles a village dominated by a whitewashed church, its small houses shuttered against the sun, dogs lying in the shade and almost no one to be seen. And flowers—flowers everywhere.

  The Professor drove fast, seemingly as much at home on the opposite side of the road as the local inhabitants. He had taken his jacket off and was in his shirtsleeves, and for all the notice he took of Judith he might have been alone. She gazed out at the strangeness of it all, longing to ask why the chimneypots looked like miniature minarets, why there were no cows, why the village shops looked like dim caves… Lady Cresswell was asleep, so there was no one to ask. She contained her impatience, watching for signposts and the names of the villages they passed through.

  There was a glimpse of the sea from time to time, but presently they took a right-hand fork in the road which was signposted Silves and drove along steadily rising ground, well surfaced but narrow. Indeed, the oncoming traffic passed them with inches to spare, and without slackening its speed. Charles Cresswell didn’t slacken his speed either, nor did he seem in the least discomposed. Judith, who had been getting a little tense, allowed herself to relax and turned her attention to the scenery once more.

  There were some splendid villas, she noticed, with magnificent grounds and a glimpse of swimming pools, a contrast to the small box-like flat-roofed houses lining the village streets, but although there might be poverty she could see no squalor, and the sunshine and the warmth were kind to even the dullest of them. They reached the crown of a hill and there before them was Silves, lying cradled in the hills, overshadowed by its ruined castle and the white-walled cathedral. Charles Cresswell drew into the side of the road and looked over his shoulder. ‘My mother wanted to be wakened,’ he reminded Judith.

  Lady Cresswell opened her eyes at once and said like a child: ‘Oh, it’s hardly changed. Don’t you find it charming, Judith? And this is the best view of the town. Charles, I want to stop just for a minute. You can drive up to the cathedral, can’t you, and turn?’

  It did look charming, thought Judith, with its white houses clustered under the blue sky. She asked: ‘How old is the castle?’

  ‘Moorish,’ said the Professor at once. ‘It had a very interesting history—the cathedral is built on the foundations of a mosque. It’s a little disappointing inside, but well worth a visit—in any case, I doubt if you’ll find much to engage your interest.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m under the impression that you find ancient history boring.’ He sounded so bland that she longed to hit him.

  ‘It rather depends on who’s telling me about it,’ she told him. She found his soft laugh very irritating.

  They drove on presently, down the hill and then along the road curving to the town’s centre and then up the hill towards the castle, but Lady Cresswell didn’t get out, only sat looking round her. They went back down the hill then and out of the sleepy little town, past a handful of shops and a mixture of tiny square houses and modern villas, until the last of the houses dwindled away and only the villas, getting more and more splendid as they climbed, remained. The mountains were much nearer now and Lady Cresswell observed excitedly: ‘We must be nearly there—you did say it was before we reached Caldas, didn’t you, Charles?’ She turned to Judith. ‘Caldas is a spa—a very small one—just off the main road to Monchique village. We’ll go there one day—one has to drink the waters, of course, but there is, or there was, a small restaurant there. There’s a hospital there too,’ she added.

  ‘For the spa patients,’ observed Judith briskly. ‘I expect the water tastes foul, but it would be fun to go, wouldn’t it, and Monchique—is that larger than Silves?’

  It was Charles who answered her. ‘No, it’s fairly high up in the mountains, magnificent scenery and that’s about all.’

  He had slowed the car and now turned off the road, going up a dirt track through orange trees merging into the forest on the lower slopes of the mountains. The track ended in a pair of gates, standing open, and beyond a short drive leading to an elegant villa, white-walled and red-roofed like every other house, but with a terrace and a verandah and wrought iron balconies. The front door was solid and carved, and was opened as they reached it by a small thin dark woman, dressed entirely in black, who greeted them unsmilingly and stood aside for them to go in. The hall was large and cool and dim with doors on all sides, and an open archway leading to a lofty room with windows on two sides, its tiled floors strewn with rugs and comfortable chairs scattered round. There was an open fireplace in one corner, crowned by a great hood, and tapestries on the walls. A rather lovely room, thought Judith, and very different from home.

  The Professor spoke to the woman as they went in, and a tiny bit of Judith’s mind registered the fact that he spoke Portuguese. Clever Dick, she thought crossly, trust him to be perfect, not for him sign language and speaking English rather more loudly than usual, which was what she’d have to do…

  She settled his mother in a chair and as the woman reappeared with a tea tray, drew a small table beside it. ‘This is Teresa,’ observed Charles Cresswell. ‘She and her husband Augusto will be looking after you. A girl will come each day to help with the cleaning and to see to the laundry and so on.’ He glanced at Judith. ‘You have all the information you’re likely to need, if there’s anything else, I shall be here for the next two days.’

  Judith said blankly: ‘Oh, will you?’ and he laughed. She looked away, colouring faintly because it was quite clear that he had read her thoughts.

  They went upstairs to their rooms after tea, large airy apartments at the front of the villa with a communicating door, and opening out on to a shaded balcony. It gave a splendid view of the garden and surrounding countryside, heavily wooded with cork trees merging into orderly rows of orange trees. The garden was lovely, a riot of roses and summer flowers and close to the house a swimming pool. Judith gave a sigh of pleasure and went to unpack for her patient and settle her down for a nap on the chaise-longue at the open window.

  Lady Cresswell was tired but happy.

  ‘How about dinner in bed?’ suggested Judith. ‘I’ll unpack and then get you comfy in bed and bring up a tray of something light. It’s been a long day.’

  It hadn’t occurred to her that there might be difficulties in making Teresa understand about a light supper on a tray. Even with her phrase book and a lot of arm waving and exploring of cupboards, Judith found herself getting nowhere very fast. Teresa was more than willing, but the phrase book wasn’t very helpful and there were long delays which she spent thumbing through the pages. Finally Judith went in search of the Professor.

  She found him stretched out in a large leather chair drawn up by the open doors in the sitting room. He looked cool and elegant, and she gave him a cross look. She was untidy and warm and vaguely irritable, a feeling strongly increased by the way in which he got to his feet and looked her up and down with faint smile.

  ‘Poor Judith, you look a little…’ He left the sentence unfinished in mid-air and she ground her splendid teeth. ‘In trouble?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Your mother would like her supper in bed and I think it would be an excellent idea, only I can’t find anything in the phrase book that says so—scrambled eggs, too, and creamed potatoes…’ She had answered him haughtily to begin with, but the haughtiness had petered out with the potatoes. She put up a hand and pushed back her golden hair from a flu
shed forehead. Suddenly she longed to sit down with a long cool drink while someone else coped. Charles must have read her thoughts.

  ‘Sit down.’ He poured something cold and iced from a glass jug on a side table and put it down on the table beside her chair. ‘Tell me what you want Teresa to do and I’ll tell her. Augusto understands English and speaks a little; he’s not here at present, but you’ll find that he’ll be most helpful.’

  ‘Scrambled egg on thin toast,’ said Judith, ‘and a little creamed potato and perhaps a tomato salad—no bread, but could she manage a caramel custard or something similar? And wine—I thought a glass of white wine might be nice…’

  ‘Vinho Verde—the owner told me that there was some in the cellar.’ The Professor sauntered to the door. ‘I’ll be back presently.’

  The drink was delicious, the early evening air cool and scented from the garden. Judith curled up on her chair and closed her eyes.

  She woke with an instant feeling of guilt and leapt to her feet, then felt foolish because there was no one there anyway, at least not at that precise moment. Charles Cresswell came through the open door a moment later and remarked in his usual withering tones: ‘How guilty you look. I wonder why?’

  She ignored this. ‘Thank you for organising Lady Cresswell’s supper. I’ll go and see when she would like it.’

  He said nothing, only smiled a little and looked at the ornate clock on the wall behind her. Naturally she looked too, and drew a sharp breath when she saw the time. More than half an hour had elapsed since she had sat down and closed her eyes—but only for a few minutes, surely. Charles had only just returned—the clock was wrong.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he told her disconcertingly. ‘You’ve been to sleep; I hadn’t the heart to wake you and there was no need, my mother is asleep and you must be tired.’ He studied her for a long moment. ‘Why not tidy yourself and come down for a drink?’

  She was surprised and showed it. ‘Well—thank you, but what about Lady Cresswell—if she should wake…’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Surely you can deal with that?’ he wanted to know. ‘Stop fussing and do as I say.’

  Rather to her surprise, Judith went meekly upstairs, showered, changed into a cotton crêpe top and wide skirt, arranged her hair with more than usual attention, slapped make-up on to her pretty face, and went downstairs again. Lady Cresswell was still sleeping and she had no idea at what time they were to dine. She found Charles Cresswell bending over a large street plan and he paused only long enough to give her a drink before asking her to look at it. ‘Silves is small,’ he told her, ‘but you will need to find your way around. I have marked the addresses of the people you are most likely to contact. You will find the doctor most helpful and his English is very good. I should contact him about any problem which may arise—and by that I mean not only my mother.’

  ‘Very well. She mentioned several places she wanted to visit again. They’re not too far away?’

  He shook his head. ‘An hour or so in the car at the most. Don’t let her travel during the heat of the day, though. The shops close between noon and three o’clock, so encourage her to do her shopping in the evening.’ He folded the street plan and gave it to her. ‘You’re not afraid of the responsibility?’

  ‘No, and I’ll take great care of your mother, Professor Cresswell.’

  ‘I know that, Judith, I should never have allowed her to come here otherwise. I trust you completely.’

  But he didn’t like her. She felt desolate at the thought. ‘I’ll go to the kitchen and see how Lady Cresswell’s supper is getting on,’ she told him, and was at the door, to find him beside her.

  ‘If I were to come too,’ he murmured, ‘it would be easier.’

  He was surprisingly helpful; his Portuguese, he told her, was sketchy, all the same he and Teresa seemed to get on very well, and next time, Judith decided, a breakfast or supper tray in bed would present no hazards. She went away presently to find Lady Cresswell awake and wanting her supper and in the best of tempers.

  Judith left her eating with an appetite and went downstairs again. She was hungry herself, but the prospect of a meal with the Professor had taken the edge off her appetite. They would make stilted conversation and he would look down his nose at her and snub her with his cold politeness. But she didn’t allow her reluctance to show. She walked into the dining room looking cool and serene and very, very pretty, and took her seat opposite him at the round table laid with crisp white linen, shining silver and elegant glasses. The dining room was a good deal smaller than the sitting room, furnished rather sparsely but with great good taste, and the evening sun shone through the wide doors leading to the patio. It shone on Judith’s golden hair, and her companion stared at her for a long moment when she turned to look out into the garden. She was, in fact, not looking at the garden at all but feverishly searching for something to say—a wasted exercise, for the Professor leaned back in his chair and embarked on a gentle monologue calculated to put her at ease within minutes. She ate the small dish of salad put before them by Teresa, the swordfish with its delicious sauce, the chicken cooked in cream and wine and the almond and honey tart, in a kind of dream, unable to believe that her charming companion was really Charles Cresswell, and even two glasses of Vinho Verde didn’t help, indeed she found herself regarding him with a positively friendly eye and over coffee, accompanied by something called Brandymel which he gravely assured her was a drink composed of honey and brandy, she allowed her tongue to run away with her.

  ‘You’re being very nice,’ she told him. ‘Usually you ignore me or snub me.’

  He smiled a little. ‘I must be feeling well disposed to everyone this evening.’

  Which wasn’t the answer she had wanted to hear.

  And it was a little disappointing, after all that charm, to hear him acquiesce quite cheerfully to her suggestion that she should see to her patient and then go to bed herself. She would keep well out of his way, she decided. There would be plenty to occupy her on the following morning and she would go down early and get breakfast for herself before anyone was up.

  But Teresa was already in the kitchen when she crept down at seven o’clock and gave her coffee and rolls as light as air, sitting on the patio in the glorious morning sun. And when Teresa came out with the coffee pot Judith ventured: ‘Professor Cresswell?’ and received a vague wave of the hand towards the mountains in the distance.

  Good, he was out of the house, perhaps for hours. She finished her breakfast at leisure, dressed and went to wake Lady Cresswell.

  It was mid-morning, and she had helped her patient dress and then escorted her to a cool corner of the patio and was on her way to the kitchen to get a cold drink for her when the Professor came into the hall through the screened door.

  There was no ‘good morning’. ‘There you are,’ he declared, for all the world as though she had been hiding from him. ‘How long will you be?’

  She eyed him coolly. ‘Good morning, Professor Cresswell. Doing what?’

  ‘Whatever you are doing. I want to take you into Silves,’ and at her look of disbelief, ‘Oh, not for pleasure, I assure you; there are people I think that you should meet before I leave!’

  Judith smouldered inwardly. ‘I’m getting a drink for your mother. She may want me to stay with her.’

  ‘She is on the patio.’ He strode past her and she heard a murmur of voices as she poured iced lemonade into a frosted jug.

  She had hoped that Lady Cresswell might object to her leaving her alone, but on the contrary, that lady seemed to be delighted at the idea of her going into the town with her son. ‘Such a good opportunity,’ she observed, ‘because Charles returns home tomorrow and you’ll be without young company for a few weeks. Take a hat with you, dear, the sun’s hot.’

  Thus dismissed, Judith had nothing more to do but fetch her purse and go downstairs. She had no hat; she supposed she would have to buy one.

  The Professor was already behind the wheel, a perfec
t study of impatience held in check at all costs. He opened the door for her, slammed it shut, waited just long enough for her to fasten her seat belt and set off down the drive. They were half way along the dirt track before he spoke.

  ‘You’ll need a hat.’

  ‘So your mother tells me. I hope there’ll be time for me to buy one this morning.’

  ‘As long as you don’t take all day over it. I think a plain sensible straw is what you need.’

  She couldn’t stop her chuckle. She said sedately: ‘I expect I can choose a hat for myself.’

  They went first to the bank where they were received by the manager, given little cups of black coffee and assured that Miss Golightly could depend upon help for anything she might need during their stay. The manager was friendly and impressed by Judith’s good looks; he shook hands warmly when they left and begged her to remember that he was her friend. She thanked him prettily, rather more so than she needed to because Charles Cresswell looked so disapproving.

  The visit to the doctor was just as successful. He was a youngish man, dark and rather thick set, and made no bones about his admiration for Judith. Since the professor’s handsome features still wore a look of remote politeness, she did nothing to discourage him. They arranged a visit to Lady Cresswell for the following day, discussed her illness and her treatment, drank more coffee and took their departure.

  The car had been parked on the cobbled stretch below the castle, and since the doctor’s house was on the other side of the little town’s main road, they had to walk back through narrow streets crowded with people, children, mule carts and dogs. They were waiting at a crossroads when the Professor observed: ‘You make friends easily, Judith.’ He said it so silkily that she looked at him and encountered a mocking smile.

  ‘Me?’ She chose to ignore the mockery. ‘Not specially—I like people.’ She added: ‘You find that hard to believe, I’m sure, you like books.’ And before he could reply: ‘You’re very clever, aren’t you? Uncle Tom told me. I expect you find ordinary folk a bore as well as nuisance.’ She went on recklessly: ‘I’m both, aren’t I?’