by Iris Danbury
She tugged gently at her hands within his clasp, but he held them the more firmly. ‘Don Ramiro—’ she began softly.
Suddenly he released her hands as though they were burning him. ‘Forgive me, Senorita Caran, I am behaving very impolitely. It is not usual for me to treat my guests so. Come, I will show you the place in our garden where you can catch a glimpse of the Sierra Nevada.’
Caran hardly knew what to make of this abrupt volte-face, but recovered her poise. She and Don Ramiro had walked only a couple of steps to the corner of the stable block when they came face to face with Paul and Julie accompanied by Mirella, the youngest cousin.
‘Oh, we thought we’d lost you!’ Paul said to Caran.
‘It is easy to lose oneself in our rambling garden,’ remarked Don Ramiro, and Caran thought she detected a slight double meaning in his words.
The lovely Mirella smiled serenely at Caran, who now wondered if Don Ramiro had broken off his conversation a few moments ago because he had caught a whisper of other voices close by.
Today the atmosphere was clear and the snow-capped sierras appeared deceptively near.
‘In summer,’ observed Mirella, ‘we become very hot, so we come to this part of the garden to look at the snow on Nevada.’
On the way home, Julie decided to sic with Paul, a strategic position from which she could talk to the driver and half turn round to include Caran. Julie was in a teasing mood.
‘Spain has already done wonders for you, darling,’ she remarked. ‘You’ve acquired poise and sophistication in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.’
‘Thank you,’ murmured Caran. ‘I can’t do better than try to follow your example.’
Julie’s trilling laugh held an undercurrent of derision. ‘Even I could never have hit it off so well with the most handsome Spanish Don I’ve ever seen. It was awesome to watch you.’
‘I didn’t make any secret about Don Ramiro. In fact, I told you when you first came that I had a Spanish Don up my sleeve. Remember?’ For once Caran was enjoying Julie’s slight discomfiture.
‘Caran knows how to get on well with all sorts of important people,’ interposed Paul. ‘I was very glad indeed to see Don Ramiro taking such an interest in you. Why, you had him practically eating out of your hand.’
‘Out in the garden he was taking immense interest in your hands,’ continued Julie. ‘You were almost in his arms. Did he kiss you before we arrived?’
Caran laughed. ‘You two seem to sum up the situation to your own satisfaction. Why should I disclose anything you might have missed?’
‘There, Pauli’ Julie said. ‘See what I mean? Once upon a time Caran would have blushed, and mumbled denials all along the line. Now she neatly parries questions she doesn’t want to answer.’
Caran remained silent and the conversation drifted to other topics, but later Julie shook a warning finger at Caran. ‘That girl Mirella—I thought she had rather a beady look whenever Don Ramiro was around. Do you think she could possibly be the intended bride that the family has selected for him?’
‘I’ve never met her until today, so how could I know?’ asked Caran.
‘All the same, pet, have your fun, but I’d advise you not to become too involved with the Spanish caballero.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. If you were warned off someone, that would make you only the keener to capture him.’
Julie gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Possibly, but then I’m much tougher than you. Really, I wouldn’t like you to get hurt.’
‘Oh, Caran can take good care of herself,’ put in Paul. ‘She knows how to play her cards,’
In the back of the car Caran really wondered what hand of cards she had played after lunch. What particular words or action of hers had incited Don Ramiro to that brief, romantic interlude?
Caran knew that in another moment, if he had not sensed the interruption, he would have drawn her into his arms. But why? She could only imagine that perhaps a trifle more wine at lunch had excited his senses, for he was surely not the type of man to hug and kiss any girl near at hand.
When she and Julie were preparing for bed, Julie thumped her pillows and said casually, ‘I’ve a completely clear conscience now.’
‘In what respect?’ queried Caran, idly brushing her hair.
‘In respect of you, darling. Now that I know you have Don Ramiro on a string, I feel free in other directions.’
‘Meaning Paul? Or Brooke?’
Julie’s mouth curled in a delicious smile, the lovely smile that was so engaging in the advertisements she had posed for. ‘Does it matter which? I’ve told you that Paul doesn’t interest me except as a convenient escort when one is necessary.’
‘I see. Point taken,’ murmured Caran. It was on the tip of her tongue to say with the utmost flippancy, ‘Go ahead! See if you can twist Brooke around your little finger!’ But that would have been a definite challenge to Julie, who could easily conquer without such incitement.
‘Extraordinary,’ continued Julie, ‘how everyone used to think Brooke a recluse, a stuffed owl engrossed with his work and nothing else. At least, that’s what Paul told me. Brooke isn’t like that at all, is he?’
‘There are times when he doesn’t like to be disturbed,’ returned Caran cautiously. ‘When he’s here in the villa, he has a lot of work to do, records to keep, and translation of instructions for the men.’ She was not going to fall into the trap of admitting that when he chose to exert himself she found him a most congenial companion. Yet she had not forgotten that first encounter when she had mistaken his villa for her own. He had behaved like a hermit crab then.
The next morning Julie packed a good many of her clothes in the numerous suitcases she had brought with her and prepared to move into the Villa Esmeralda.
‘How did you manage to br.ng so much with you on the plane?’ asked Caran. ‘Excess baggage?’
‘Excess indeed, and what I had to pay for it!’ groaned Julie.
Caran accompanied her to Esmeralda, helped her to settle in and explained the heating.
‘Make the most of it, Julie. When the first visitors come, you’ll have to live in a bathing hut on the beach.’
‘We’ll see,’ replied Julie smugly.
Late in the afternoon Paul came to see Caran. ‘What’s all this about Julie moving into Esmeralda?’
‘But you knew about it, Paul. She told you.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it. She says it was your idea because you felt cramped and wanted this villa to yourself.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Caran tersely. ‘Julie’s the one who felt cramped.’ She did not add that Julie wanted to be next door to Brooke. Paul would have to find that out for himself.
‘Oh, well, she can stay there for the time being, I suppose. But now that it’s redecorated and all shipshape, I wanted to keep that one as a special showpiece.’
‘Julie’s untidy, but not messy or destructive,’ Caran pointed out in the other girl’s defence, ‘and of course she understands it’s only a temporary move.’
Paul shrugged acceptance of the situation and spoke of other matters. ‘We must have maids,’ he said testily. ‘Surely there must be some girl in the town who’d be glad to do a little light housework in return for good wages.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ promised Caran, remembering Senora Molina with whom she had stayed that first night in Albarosa.
‘Another thing—I more or less invited Don Ramiro to a Christmas Eve dinner here. Do you think you could manage a typical Christmas spread?’
‘An English Christmas? Turkey and plum pudding and all that? It’s terribly short notice, with Christmas only three da vs away.’ Caran was annoyed that Paul had not mentioned this idea sooner.
‘I’ll see that you have all the ingredients and trimmings,’ Paul coaxed her. ‘It’ll be an eye-opener for the Don to see our kind of feast.’
‘It’ll be an eye-opener all right,’ agreed Caran grimly, ‘especially
if the turkey is tough and the pudding indigestible.’
‘Let me have a list of what you want and I’ll have everything delivered,’ Paul told her, patting her on the back with friendly encouragement.
‘I think I’d better do the shopping myself tomorrow morning.’ she suggested. ‘Then I shall know what substitutes will do if the shops haven’t got exactly what I want. I might also tackle someone I know about the possibility of maids.’
Caran wanted to do some shopping alone the next day, for she had presents to buy for Gabriela and the children, although she did not yet know where they were living. Perhaps at Christmas Benita would be more forthcoming and helpful.
She had to guess at the sizes of dresses for the various children, but the shopkeepers were helpful and there was no difficulty at all in buying a couple of dresses that she was sure would fit Gabriela.
The shops were gay with Christmas decorations, coloured candles with streamers. Some windows held a traditional crib, but more elaborate than Caran had usually seen, for these were surrounded by the features of a village, a mill, a well and a silver-paper river spanned by matchstick bridges. Many little Christmas trees appeared and in almost every food shop there were displays of marzipan serpents eating their own tails.
Caran made some purchases in the shop where Benita worked and as she discussed the quality of sultanas and raisins, she handed over the parcels to Benita.
‘These are some small Christmas gifts for your sister and her children. If I knew where they lived—’
‘Oh, no,’ said Benita hastily, but then smiled. ‘Forgive me, that is ungrateful. Gabriela will be very pleased.’
‘There are dolls for the youngest girls and a paintbox for the older one and several model cars for the boys. I didn’t know what else to get.’ Caran had remembered the pathetic little rag doll that one of the children had left behind in the Villa Cristal.
‘Senorita Caran, you are very kind. Like Senor Brooke. He also is kind to us.’
‘Then why don’t you trust me and give me Gabriela’s address?’
Benita shook her head. ‘Not yet. Perhaps later.’
Caran had to be content with that half-promise. She paid for her purchases and went to the house of Senora Molina.
The older woman pursed her lips and shook her head emphatically when Caran explained that the villas needed maids for the spring and summer.
‘Not possible,’ she told Caran. ‘I do not know of girls who might come.’
‘Is it because the villas have a bad reputation?’ Caran asked bluntly. It was better to know exactly what she was up against.
Senora Molina smiled. ‘The villas are away from the town, you understand. Many tourists come, all nationalities, and the mothers do not like their daughters to be so far away in a lonely place.’
‘If it were a hotel down there, would the girls come?’
‘Perhaps. Yes, it is more likely.’
After a pause Caran said, ‘This year I shall be supervising the maids in the villas and I shall make sure that they do not work more than the five or six hours a day for which they are engaged.’
Senora Molina sighed. ‘If I can help you. I will do so. Perhaps it is good that you will look after the girls, although you are very young yourself.’
Caran smiled. ‘Old enough to know that the maids must have good conditions.’ That was not quite what she meant, but she knew that the older woman would comprehend, even in Caran’s rather faulty Spanish, that Caran would do everything she could to protect the girls from unwelcome attentions.
On the way back she reflected that Paul had really bedevilled the situation by frightening Benita, who in turn had warned off everyone else.
Or was Brooke just as bad? The sudden thought halted Caran in mid-stride. He was on excellent terms with Benita, who kept his villa clean, if not tidy; he gave her flamenco dresses. What else? Yet Benita liked and trusted Brooke, whereas apparently she detested Paul.
Was there another reason why Benita wanted to keep other girls away from the villas by alarming them? If she wanted to enjoy Brooke’s friendship to the full she might not want to risk sharing it with other girls from her own town.
Caran gave it up. She could only hope for the best and in any case, the problem could be shelved until after Christmas.
On the morning of Christmas Eve Julie announced that she had invited Brooke to dinner that evening.
‘I simply couldn’t let the poor lamb eat an omelette or dine in the town when we’re stuffing ourselves.’
‘I was going to invite the “poor lamb” anyway,’ replied Caran, ‘if he wanted to come and had nothing better to do.’
But Paul was intensely annoyed, it seemed. ‘I’ve specially asked Don Ramiro to come over to sample our English Christmas, and now you two upset what should have been a pleasant foursome.’
‘I’m sorry, Paul,’ Caran apologised, ‘but if you and Don Ramiro want to talk business matters, I’m sure Julie and I will oblige and take Brooke out of earshot.’
Julie laughed gaily. ‘If you’re not careful, Paul, you’ll find yourself alone smoking a cigar and downing wine, while Caran has annexed Don Ramiro in some quiet corner and Brooke and I have gone down to the shore to listen to the sad sea waves.’
Caran joined in the laughter, but secretly she hoped that the pairings would not turn out like that. She had no desire for a cosy tête-à-tête with Don Ramiro; she liked still less the idea of Julie and Brooke walking hand in hand, or even closer, by the shore. She dismissed the silly notion. Anyone would think she was becoming jealous about Brooke! The Christmas Eve dinner turned out to be a happy occasion. Caran took immense trouble with every item of the meal, the turkey which Paul had miraculously procured from somewhere.
There should really be cranberry sauce, she explained to Don Ramiro, but she had been forced to make do with some bottled redcurrants. The traditional pudding was a revelation to him, especially when brandy was lavishly poured over it and set alight.
‘You have excellent traditions in your country,’ he said politely. ‘I have never eaten such a splendid dinner.’
‘The best Christmas dinner I’ve had this year,’ Brooke commented with a glance at Caran.
Before Caran could even say thank you for the compliments, Julie said, ‘Well, it’s marvellous to hear your praises. Caran and I worked really hard, didn’t we, pet?’
Since Julie had not so much as peeled a vegetable and her assistance had been limited to adding the finishing touches to the table, Caran was lost for a reply, but decided it didn’t matter.
Over the rim of his wineglass Paul slanted Caran a smiling glance dial said plainly, ‘Don’t mind if Julie wants to take half the credit. I know the truth.’
He, too, had worked hard to obtain various Christmas trimmings, including a box of crackers from some unknown source.
As they were now passed round with the port, they caused a few minutes of hilarious amusement.
Brooke, wearing a bright pink crown that fitted badly on his thick hair, was unravelling his motto. ‘I’ll bet it warns me about crossing water in case I meet a blonde gipsy. There! What did I tell you? Listen to this.
‘ “ Water is your enemy, wine your friend,
If she loves another, what matter the end.’ ”
Caran shivered slightly at the reference to water being Brooke’s enemy, but Don Ramiro was reading his little slip of paper.
‘ “If you would find a heart that’s true Then see the girl who longs for you.” ’
‘A fine bit of doggerel, that!’ commented Paul.
Don Ramiro glanced at Caran with an intensity that forced her to turn her head away.
‘Come on, Caran!’ urged Brooke. ‘Let’s hear yours.’
‘ “Light and bright and gay as day Whirl your worries all away,” ’
she read aloud. ‘Another bit of awful doggerel.’
Paul and Julie received equally inane couplets.
‘How on earth did you manage to get t
hese English crackers here in Spain?’ Julie asked Paul, pushing aside the red paper hat which she decided would not accord with her hair.
‘Simple!’ He gave her a beaming smile. ‘I asked my aunt to send them.’
Don Ramiro had arranged to stay the night at the house of his friend Senora Molina, so that he would not have to drive all the way back to Almeria. Before he left he thanked Caran for all the trouble she had taken.
‘You must come to us for. New Year,’ he invited, then added belatedly, ‘All of you, of course.’
‘Sorry about that, Don Ramiro,’ said Brooke quietly, ‘but I have a prior engagement for New Year’s Eve. So has Caran.’
‘I? What engagement is that?’ she asked.
‘We must eat our twelve grapes at midnight.’
Don Ramiro smiled. ‘Of course, but Caran could eat her grapes in my house just as easily as in yours.’
Brooke shook his head. ‘I asked first, but Caran will do as she wishes.’
‘We shall have to let you know about the arrangements, Don Ramiro,’ broke in Caran, trying to make peace between the two men over what seemed an entirely insignificant matter.
When Don Ramiro had driven away in his car, Julie was curious to know what was so important about grape-eating on New Year’s Eve.
‘It’s an old Spanish custom,’ answered Paul. ‘You eat a grape for each of the coming twelve months. Brings you luck, I suppose.’
‘It has more meaning than that,’ said Brooke. ‘Still, it’s unimportant. I shan’t complain wherever you choose to eat your grapes, Caran.’
