by Jane Arbor
She met his murmur of extravagant compassion with a muttered: “It is nothing. I caught my fingers in the door of the car.” And to Pilar’s claim that they should be band-aged, she said that she had bathed them well in the cloakroom, the skin was not broken and as she had to drive the car again she preferred to keep them free.
She wanted the incident closed before Mark Triton returned. Was he for ever to come upon her in some form of physical or moral distress? But Pilar began: “Never-theless, you are in pain -” And Ramón said: “The English are stoics. Even Englishwomen, it seems!”
And lifting his eyes to hers in bold unmistakable meaning, he whispered: “But that should not be allowed to deny a warm-blooded Spaniard the traditional right to heal with a kiss! Señorita -” And as Mark Triton was again at the table, preparing to draw out his chair, to Emma’s infinite embarrassment Ramón’s lips lightly brushed along the length of her hand from fingertips to palm.
He laughed softly as she twisted her hand free, and met Mark’s look of inquiry by repeating her explanation.
“Let me see -” After Ramón’s suggestive gallantry Mark’s touch upon the hand she reluctantly proffered for his inspection was cool and clinical.
He said: “You should be careful of infection if you break those blisters. If you do, go straight to a doctor for an anti-tetanus shot. Meanwhile, I’ll drive you and Pilar back to the villa after lunch.”
“I can drive perfectly well!” Emma protested.
“You’ll kindly allow me -” And as he glanced over and beyond her in search of their waiter, she thought it graceful to yield the point.
But somehow, absurd as it was to attribute it to the incident, the convivial climate of the party perceptibly cooled after it. Mark Triton appeared preoccupied - possibly by the business which had called him away; Emma was over-conscious that Ramón was still enjoying her embarrassment at his unnecessary caress, and, over their coffee, Pilar was silent but seemed to want to attract Emma’s attention.
They left the table together, arranging to meet Mark at the reception desk and, in the cloakroom, Pilar asked anxiously: “Emma, could you indeed drive? Without too much pain for your hand?”
“Of course I could,” Emma told her. “I only gave way because it seemed foolish to make an argument about it.” “Then you would not be angry if I asked you to drive?”
“Angry? Why, no!”
“Then you would not be angry if I asked you to Or that I like it so? Or something - so that he does not drive us?”
Emma did not particularly relish making a further issue of it with Mark. But as an idea struck her she asked Pilar: “Surely you are not nervous of driving with Mr. Triton as with señora de Coria? I assure you, he -” “Nervous? That is ‘afraid’? Oh, no, no. I like to drive with him. But not today. I do not want him to drive us back to the villa, because Leonore will be there.”
“You mean,” asked Emma slowly, “that señora de Coria would not approve?”
Pilar shook her head. “It is not that she would think it wrong or bold in a social way. But she would not like it at all, and I try so hard not to displease her. You see, she would not mind that I asked Ramón Galatas to join us, for she herself had promised to lunch with him, but had put him off in order to visit her hairdresser. He was sad and idle when we met - he does not occupy himself with work, you see - so I asked him to lunch, knowing that Leonore would not care that he consoled himself a little, because she can be quite, quite sure of his passionate devotion to her and that he will come at a bound whenever she calls to him again. But with Señor Mark it is different-”
“Different?”
“But of course different. She has no thought of marrying Ramón.”
“And,” said Emma, putting words to a fact she intuitively knew, “she will marry Mr. Triton?”
“Oh, yes. They have made no betrothal yet. But everywhere it is understood. And that is why Leonore would not care to learn that Señor Mark had entertained you an me to lunch.”
“But could she mind - about her own sister-in-law and her companion? You are joking, Pilar!”
Pilar said seriously: “I do not joke. And Leonore could mind that Señor Mark’s guests were any two ladies not related to him. She would not forgive me for accepting his invitation. And she would be jealous that you were there. And you must believe me, Emma, when I tell you that when Leonore is suspicious or jealous, she is more cross and unkind almost than I can bear -”
At sight of Pilar’s quivering lips Emma put a reassuring arm round her. “All right. Don’t worry,” she urged. “I promise you we’ll drive back to the villa alone. But supposing señora de Coria questions you about our morning and where we lunched? You mustn’t lie.”
Pilar agreed: “No. I shall tell her that we met Ramón and that he said El Minzah patio would be a pleasant place for lunch, as she knows I should have chosen a quieter restaurant for myself. And the money I did not spend I can return to her bag, as she never knows how much she carries in it. That would not be to lie - would it?”
Emma smiled: “We-ll!” doubtful as to how far a purist for truth would agree. And she added her own warning of: “But there is Señor Galatas, you know. And - Señor Mark.”
Pilar shook her head. “At luncheon I asked Ramón to say nothing. He - understood, poor boy. And somehow I do not fear that Señor Mark will mention it to Leonore.” If only because there was nothing about it which held any importance for him, was Emma’s silent comment on that. But because she knew already what Leonore de Coria could make of a perfectly innocent association, she was more than inclined to hope, with Pilar, that Leonore would not hear of the luncheon party except by the merest outside chance. So she must refuse Mark’s escort as casually as possible, leaving him with no annoyance against her which he might report to Leonore.
It was not to prove easy. He dismissed her repeated assurance that she was well able to drive with a “Nonsense. Where did you leave the car?”
She told him but stood her ground, only too conscious of Pilar’s anxiety as an almost tangible thing. She tried again by saying: “You see, we hadn’t meant to go straight back but to do some shopping on the way -” and did not understand Pilar’s little shake of the head until Mark Triton looked at his watch with a dry: “Half-past two - and none of the shops reopen until at least four.” Emma bit her lip in confusion. She had forgotten the paralysing effect of “siesta” upon Tangier afternoons, and she was only too aware that he had seen her excuse for what it was worth.
Temporarily baffled, she stood silent. It was Pilar who said desperately: “Emma did want to shop until I told her we could not. But she has not seen the Mendoubia Gardens yet, and Ramón, who had to go to see a friend for a little while, expects to meet us there in order to show her round.”
Momentarily and inscrutably Mark Triton’s eyes met Emma’s in a cryptic gaze which might have meant anything. He said: “Did you have to make such heavy weather of pointing out that you have escort enough?” He turned to Pilar to add: “Well, see that Galatas drives, will you?” Then, without another glance in Emma’s direction, he swung away.
As she looked after him, she heard Pilar sigh with a relief she could not share. She did not credit that Mark Triton could possibly believe she would resort to profitless deceit for the sake of another rendezvous with Ramón. But she felt shamed by his scorn of the deceit itself. She had probably sacrificed his friendship to its shabbiness. She felt - shut out. As if a door she had wanted to keep ajar had clanged-to. And for some absurdly childish reason which she despised, she wanted to cry.
CHAPTER FOUR
It took Emma a very short time of residence at the Villa Mirador to decide that a great deal of Pilar’s trouble could be put down to the essentially empty, even idle, life which she led from day to day.
Leonore was lazy too, but deliberately so between bouts of social activity which left her, she dramatically claimed, “quite drained”. Scarcely a day passed without her having an engagement of some sort. But
if she rose in time for her breakfast coffee and rolls she rested again for several hours after lunch. And when, as frequently happened, she was out until dawn, she might not appear until noon.
But Pilar’s normal day was a desert of inertia; the sluggish drag of its lonely hours inevitably turned the girl’s thoughts inward upon herself and how she was, or was not, pleasing Leonore. She read voraciously of paperbacks and she genuinely loved gardening. Neither occupation, however, was approved by Leonore, and poor Pilar’s last resort - of seeking Ayesha’s companionship - was frowned upon still more.
This Emma discovered when she suggested to Leonore that if Pilar’s only destiny was to be marriage, she could profit by learning to cook.
Leonore snapped: “As it is, she spends more than enough time in the kitchen. Gossiping, I suppose. And you don’t suggest, do you, that she is likely to find herself an eligible husband there?”
Emma longed to retort: “She could still please even a millionaire by appearing to know what a kitchen is for.” Instead she said aloud: “I mentioned cooking because it seemed to me that it might provide her with the same feeling of service that her gardening does -”
“And whom does she serve, may I ask, by an endless grubbing about with watering-cans?”
Emma said: “For one, her own hungry sense of beauty. For another, her longing to achieve something which you will appreciate, señora de Coria.”
Leonore yawned. “She need not trouble. What are professional florists for? Or - men, for that matter? And I could better measure this ‘sense of beauty’ which you claim for her if her own appearance showed that she had any. May I remind you that I engaged you to train her in the essentials of good taste and that there has been little result so far?”
Emma agreed: “I know Pilar still craves to pile colour on colour and effect on effect. But good taste has to grow very slowly and out of its own mistakes, don’t you think?
For instance, if she admires you wearing one beaten sil- ver bangle, she still believes that three cheap imitations from the bazaars will do the same for her. But I am sure the worst disservice I could do to anyone as timid as Pilar would be to appear to condemn her choice out of hand, just because it is her choice. ”
“Then must one endure indefinitely the - the outrages she manages to commit?”
Emma shook her head. “Not for too long, I’d say. We go window-shopping on the boulevards, and when we see a dress she admires I suggest we think try to find the sort of accessories which would look best with it. And the other way about - we choose, say, shoes and bag, and then look for ‘their’ dress. And though I try never to force my choice upon her, she often agrees now that I may be right.”
“Then please,” pleaded Leonore extravagantly, “the next time she chooses anything remotely suitable, let her buy it without delay and have the account sent to me. This will indeed be something one must not miss!”
Emma said quietly: “Thank you, señora. Pilar will like that.” But her own main object not gained, she still lingered to add: “I do think, though, that even learning to dress well ought not to occupy the major part of her time. As it is, she mixes with no young people of her own age and, except for her gardening, she hasn’t any conception of the satisfaction there is in work.”
“But your job, may I remind you again, is to make her presentable enough to attract, not a youth of her own age, but a man who will be able to keep her in the style I shall want for her? When the time comes I shall select and present such a person to her. And I thought I made it clear that there is no need for her to work?”
“I wasn’t envisaging paid work,” persisted Emma. “But in England, from Royalty downwards, almost every girl does at least some social work. For instance, don’t any of the European hospitals need volunteer helpers? Or the charitable causes - can’t they use people, for selling flags or something like that?”
“Oh, charity!” shrugged Leonore indifferently. “Certainly that is always with us, from public raffles for Cadillacs to exorbitant tickets for functions, each drearier than the last. Yes, indeed. Near-blackmail though it is, one is continually expected to conform -”
“But who organizes it, señora ? Where could Pilar and I offer our services in order to help?”
“Oh, really - how should I know? I give money when I must, but am I also to worry about the machinery which takes it from me or what becomes of it afterwards? And now I have a luncheon engagement. So do you mind-?”
It was a hint intended to dismiss the whole question of congenial occupation for Pilar. But Emma, determined it should not be left there, wrote letters to both the Spanish and the English hospitals, asking what openings there were for voluntary help.
Favourable replies came quickly. The Spanish hospital could use extra helpers for its patients’ library; the English one needed occasional afternoon help in serving tea on the wards. And Pilar’s enthusiasm for the plan was blunted only by her fear that Leonore would never agree.
“I know she cannot help it, but I think she dislikes and fears illness,” Pilar confided. “I was too young to understand this when Jaime died, of course. But since I have known it, it has helped me to be a little glad that he was not ill for long. Poor Leonore! If Jaime had to die, it was better for her that it happened so. And the thought of my wanting to go among sick people she does not know, this she may not like at all. Unless - Emma, do you think she would agree if it was Señor Mark who asked it of her for us? She will naturally do a great deal to please him.”
“But we oughtn’t to need to trouble him with this!”
“Not even if Leonore might agree for him, though not for us?”
Emma hesitated. “I’d like to think about it. Perhaps we could ask him, if an opportunity came up.”
“An opportunity? Then it is good, is it not, that he is to dine here, I believe, tomorrow night -?” Pilar’s confident tone implied that surely the thing was already done.
Emma also realized that the plan would have more chance of success if it were mooted by Mark. But she felt forced to object: “Putting it to him, though, would mean speaking to him alone. And after your warning, Pilar, I’d rather not risk the chance of that being misjudged.” (The loyalty of not criticising her employer to Pilar called for delicate tact, Emma found.)
Pilar said: “No, that I understand. And though Leonore was not hurt or puzzled by hearing from anyone about our luncheon party, one does not want her to misunderstand anything else. One must see Señor Mark somewhere else, then. Perhaps at the offices of Maritime- Air?”
“Not for a private matter like this,” said Emma firmly. “He would almost certainly refuse to see us there.”
“If Leonore wishes to see him, she goes there -”
“Which hardly entitles us to do the same,” Emma replied dryly. She did not want to analyse why she was reluctant to court a snub at Mark Triton’s hands.
She was Pilar’s paid companion, in a job he had found for her. Safety lay in ensuring that he continued to see her so. And difficult as she found it to steer a path of diplomacy between Leonore’s capricious malice, Pilar’s trust, and his suspicion of her motives, if she must go to Mark Triton for help she wanted to choose a “timing” and an approach that could not possibly be misconstrued.
She was not, however, to be allowed a choice. The next morning Leonore delighted Pilar by saying that as she had a dressmaking appointment in the city, she would meet them afterwards for morning coffee at Porte’s. And though she could not resist a drawled: “Try not to look entirely like a gipsy, won’t you, dear?” even that could not spoil the rare treat for Pilar.
It was unfortunate, therefore, that, on their own way into the city, the little car developed a minor fault which delayed them. Emma pressed it as far as a garage a few streets away from Porte’s, but as they threaded their way through the shopping crowds Pilar was already worrying : “We shall be late, and that will annoy Leonore –”
Emma looked at her watch. “We’ve five minutes yet. We needn’t be
late.” As she spoke she glanced, as she had always done since Guy first pointed it out, at the imposing comer block which was the office of Maritime-Air. Mark Triton emerged from the revolving doorway and was coming down the steps towards them.
Pilar saw him too and checked, a hand on Emma’s arm. “Oh, Emma - the good chance we wanted! If we were not late already, we could have told Señor Mark now about the hospitals, and then tonight he would have spoken to Leonore. What a pity that we cannot stop.”
Emma said quickly: “Well, we mustn’t. Besides, he may not have time to spare, either.”
“And yet it would not take long -” Pilar brightened. “Emma, if I ran on to Porte’s and made some little excuse for you to Leonore - would you speak to Señor Mark if he were not too busy to listen now?”
Before Emma could reply she saw Mark’s glance light upon them. He refrained from getting into his car and crossed to the street island on which they stood. He bowed and asked: “Walking today? May I drop you somewhere?”
Emma began: “We -” only to be cut short by Pilar’s breathless: “I am to meet Leonore at Porte’s and I am late. But Emma wants a moment of your time in order to ask a favour of you, Señor Mark –” And with an apologetic little smile in Emma’s direction, she darted perilously between two cars and was gone.
Mark queried: “A favour? Here and now? But do you know, I shouldn’t say that the middle of the Place de France on a busy morning is the best place for the asking of boons?”
Emma said to the raillery in his tone: “It doesn’t matter if you haven’t time, and ‘favour’ isn’t the right word. At least, if it is, it’s not a favour for myself -”
He laughed outright at that. “The permissible legal plea! ‘Your Worship, I wasn’t at the scene of the crime. And if I was -'All the same, I'd prefer to adjourn somewhere else -” His arm shot out to guard her from the dangerous sway of a loaded cork truck before he added: “I’ve time on my hands, as it happens. So we could drive. Or would you rather we found a table at the Café de Paris over the way?”
