by Anne Hampson
‘Is this all you’re taking?’
‘It’s only for a week,’ pointed out Eleanor with a smile.
‘Of course,’ grinned Carlota, but added, ‘I love changing all the time, as you know, so I do have rather more to take than you. ’
Eleanor laughed, visualizing Carlota’s taking at least three huge suitcases filled with clothes.
As the journey would cover over two hundred miles they naturally stopped for lunch. This was taken at the Grande Hotel at Figuerra da Foz, where they ate delicious local specialities and drank wine made in the district to which they were going—the Minho.
As they came from the hotel to the car Eleanor looked up and said shyly,
‘Thank you, Dom Miguel, for that very excellent lunch.’
He had been looking ahead to the sea, but at her words he turned and sent her a slanting, downward glance, his grey eyes wandering fleetingly over her lovely features, taking in the strong character lines, the clear, transparent skin which revealed the blue veins at her temples. Her fair hair, shoulder-length and curling up at the ends, shone like a shower of pure gold and her eyes, wide and frank as they stared into his, held a light which caused his own eyes to flicker oddly and he seemed to hesitate a long while as if turning something over in his mind. Swiftly Eleanor glanced down, swallowing hard to release an unfamiliar blockage of emotion in her throat. With a little stab of wonderment she realized that every vestige of hauteur had disappeared from Dom Miguel’s face.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, Eleanor,’ he said at last in that deeply-accented tone which she always found so enormously attractive. ‘But do not thank me,’ he went on to add with a totally unexpected hint of amusement. ‘You are entitled to your bed and board, you know.’
Rosy colour touched her cheeks, not at this latter statement, but at the direct use of her name, for the very first time. Carlota, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, had given a small start of surprise, and she was now looking at her brother with the most odd expression. But naturally she made no comment, and in any case, they had reached the car and Gregorio was holding open the door for them to enter the rear seat.
A silence reigned for a while after they had started off again, but, sensing her embarrassment, Dom Miguel began to talk, in a casual vein, and for the next few minutes Eleanor was learning something about his quinta set amid picturesque hills high above the coast. He grew olives and the vine, this latter producing the light, palate-prickling wine known as Vinho Verde.
‘It’s a pity we shan’t be there for the vintage,’ interrupted Carlota, turning from her contemplation of the scenery. ‘Eleanor would have enjoyed that.’
‘Perhaps we shall come up again, later. The vintage begins in October,’ he added for Eleanor’s benefit.
‘We’ll come up again?’ from Carlota. ‘Nice! I rather like the Solare de Calvares because it’s so small and unpretentious after the Palacio. Not that I like it better,’ she went on to add as her brother lifted his brow. ‘It’s just that it’s different. It’s a complete change from the Palacio.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed after a moment’s consideration, ‘it’s a complete change, and a rather pleasant one. You see,’ he said, turning to Eleanor who was sitting between him and Carlota, ‘a solare is peculiar to the north of our country; it’s a manor house but not so palatial or imposing as your English manor houses.’
‘You wouldn’t find a solare in the south?’ she said, fascinated by this.
‘No; as I said, it’s peculiar to the north of Portugal. Also,’ he added, ‘most of our traditions are in the north.’
‘I believe all the wine festivals originated in the north also?’
‘There are a great many festivals occurring in the north, yes. But actually we have no wine festivals as such.’
‘You don’t?’ Eleanor stared at him in some surprise. ‘There’s always lots of fun at the vintage,’ he told her, ‘and everyone joins in, but, as I said, there are no actual wine festivals. We do have many festivals, though, make no mistake about that,’ he added swiftly on noting her rather disappointed expression. ‘We’re a gay, lighthearted people, in the main, who love to make a happy social occasion of anything to do with the harvesting of crops, and by that I mean any crops, not just the grapes.’
‘Yes,’ supplemented Carlota, 'every farm has a party at harvest time.’
‘And of course you have many religious festivals?’
‘Yes, Eleanor, we do have many of those—all over the country. ’
For a little while after that the three fell silent and Eleanor allowed herself the luxury of a full and leisurely appreciation of the scenery. When they passed through villages she would admire the attractive simplicity of the cottages, their walls and small verandahs spilling with colour, their inhabitants smiling and waving as the car passed. Nearer the coast, the scene was vastly different, with high cliffs pounded by the breakers rolling in from the Atlantic, or gentle golden beaches crowded with holidaymakers. Sometimes the long stretches of sand would have a lonely forbidding aspect, with just a few fishermen’s huts dotted about here and there. Towns were different too; some being sombre and uninteresting while others, set back from glittering bays and backed by soaring mountains dark with oaks and pines, would have a picture postcard enchantment which left
Eleanor with a fleeting sense of regret once they were left behind.
‘We haven’t far to go now,’ Carlota was saying as the sun began its descent towards the horizon. ‘Are you tired, Eleanor?’
‘Indeed no; I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the drive.’ Her eyes met those grey ones opposite to her and she smiled. Responding, Dom Miguel held her gaze for a few seconds before turning his head to glance through the window. Eleanor was musing on the incident which had occurred when they stopped at a small wayside cafe for tea. On rising, she had somehow managed to twist her ankle and to her dismay had fallen against the arm of the Conde. Instantly he had steadied her, and even now she could not decide whether or not he had inclined his head, as if to breathe in the perfume of her hair, which she knew was delightful, as she had remarked about the shampoo to the hairdresser. It was a new one, she had been told, perfumed with something very special from France. Although Eleanor had had her hair done the previous afternoon, the perfume had lingered, just as the hairdresser promised it would.
He had not inclined his head, she at last decided. Such an action could not be reconciled with a man secretly mourning his beloved wife...
The first evening and the following day at the solare were spent in leisurely fashion—sunbathing on the lawn, swimming in the heated pool, and eating the delicious food put before them by Maria Viegas, Dom Miguel’s cook-housekeeper who with her husband and two daughters ran the house in the most efficient way. Two gardeners looked after the gardens and Jos£ the handyman was there to attend to any odd jobs which might occur from time to time.
Ana, one of Maria’s daughters, was sent by her mother to attend Eleanor on the second evening and she entered the room timidly when Eleanor called ‘come in’ in answer to her
knock.
‘My mother says that Dom Miguel gives a very special dinner for his friends this evening,’ she began in nervous tones, ‘and she sent my sister and me to help you and Dona Carlota to dress.’ She spoke English with difficulty, but it was easily understood nevertheless. Eleanor stood looking uncertainly at her, preferring to manage on her own but at the same time unwilling to decline the girl’s help. It would be a snub both to mother and daughter, she decided, and resignedly thanked Ana and asked her to run the bath water for her.
‘Your white dress, senhorita^ exclaimed Ana a short while later as she took it from the wardrobe, ‘it is beautiful!’
‘Thank you, Ana.’ Eleanor gave her a smile, glad already that she had accepted Ana’s help, for she had not given herself the time she should have done for the preparation for so special a dinner as the Conde was giving. Tomorrow evening they were to dine with the Visconde Teixeira Goncalo
Sanches de Cavaleiro and his family at a dinner party at his house, the Solare de Lucena, a lovely mansion set amid magnificent grounds which reached down to the banks of the Lima River. Carlota had blushed on hearing of the invitation sent to them by the Visconde and immediately they were alone she had said to Eleanor,
‘Sanches is the handsomest man I know. And he is very kind and gentle. You will like him very much, Eleanor.’
‘The Visconde, you mean?’
‘That’s right.’ Carlota had looked down at her feet for a long moment and then, right out of the blue, ‘I have an idea that he knows about my baby... ’
A long and awkward silence had followed this, for Eleanor had no idea what to say. It struck her as most significant that Carlota should rank the Visconde’s looks above those of her brother, because Eleanor could not visualize anyone more handsome than Dom Miguel who, she had previously decided, was possessed of just about everything that nature could bestow on any man.
‘Is—is it important?’ Eleanor had asked at length, unable to find anything else to say.
‘Not really, but I feel I shall be embarrassed when I meet him.’
‘What makes you think he knows about—about the child?’ ‘Just instinct, Eleanor,’ Carlota admitted after a small moment of thought. ‘I went away, as you know, in the early stages, and of course I haven’t seen Sanches since my return. But I remember, when he dined with us, and Miguel said I was going to the country to rest, Sanches looked so strangely at me and said, “You’ll be gone for some months?” Don’t you think that was a very odd thing to say?’
‘It was,’ Eleanor responded grimly, going on to say that, if Sanches had guessed at the reason for the projected sojourn in the country, then it was also a most undiplomatic thing to say.
‘It struck me at the time that it came out without his thinking, and that he would have taken it back if he could. My brother didn’t appear to notice the remark because his attention had been diverted by someone else drawing him into their conversation. ’
It was on the tip of Eleanor’s tongue to ask where Lourenco was now, but she refrained, sure that the mention of the baby’s father would only embarrass Carlota even though she herself had broached the subject of the child. But although Eleanor did not know it at the time, she was very soon to learn more about Lourenco ... and about Dora Amelia Paula de Castro, the Conde’s beautiful wife.
The dinner was served in the high-ceilinged, ornately-decorated dining-room. At the oval table Carlota sat on her brother’s right and Eleanor on his left. Next to her was Sanches—handsome, Eleanor owned, but in a more gentle, subdued way than his host. Next to Sanches sat his sister, Inez, whose husband was sitting opposite, next to Clara, wife of Dom Andre Garcia, whose quinta was separated from that of Dom Miguel by the waters of the River Lima. Sanches’ cousin and his other sister had been invited but had accepted a previous invitation. So there were four couples—a nice easy and pleasant number for her first important dinner-party, thought Eleanor, feeling happy because of her lovely dress and because the Conde had thought fit to remark with well-bred gallantry on her appearance. Other eyes had noted her, especially those of Sanches who during the pre-dinner drinks had politely asked her about her position as companion to Carlota. He had seemed shy at first, but later, he was quite at ease in her company, while she herself was equally at ease in his. She liked him enormously; he had a frank expression and a full generous mouth. He was fair, as many people were who came from the north of the country, and his deep blue eyes had a softness about them seldom seen in those of his host. He seemed inordinately happy at finding himself sitting next to Eleanor, and began chatting with her almost at once.
‘It will be a pleasure to have you as my guest tomorrow evening, senhorita,’ he was saying when, smiling, Eleanor caught the Conde’s eye. He smiled at her, but she had the rather disturbing impression that, inwardly, he frowned. ‘Do you mind if I call you Eleanor?’
‘Wh-what?’ Eleanor blinked at the Visconde apologetically.
‘I asked if I might call you Eleanor?’
‘Of course.’
‘And do please call me Sanches; all my friends do. I dislike intensely Teixeira.’ There was an eagerness about him that added to his appeal and Eleanor’s thoughts went to Carlota, and what she had unconsciously revealed about her feelings for him. It would be wonderful, Eleanor thought, if the Visconde could reciprocate, for there was no doubt at all in Eleanor’s mind that the young couple would be well matched.
Dom Miguel spoke to Eleanor, diverting her thoughts.
‘Is there something wrong with your acepipes, Eleanor? You’re not eating very much.’
‘I’m too busy talking,’ she laughed, and picked up her fork. Out of any conversation now, she glanced appreciatively at the table. The china was Sevres, the cutlery was silver. Tiny, individual flower arrangements were set before each guest, in crystal cups to match the wine-glasses. Two Meissen bowls were filled with red and yellow roses, the heraldic colours of the Castros. Gold-plated candelabra held numerous long candles, whose light supplemented the concealed lighting from above. The guests were all superbly dressed, the chatter gay and light, with much laughter as an accompaniment. Suddenly Eleanor wondered how she came to be here, mixing with so exalted a company. It had been luck and nothing more that had thrown her into the path of the Conde—one of those million-to-one chances which, when they occur, inevitably change the lives of those concerned. She couldn’t help thinking of the school she was to have gone to in September ... and whose headmaster was to be Terry Kershawe...
‘That’s better,’ murmured Dom Miguel, his manner now one of grave courtesy as he glanced at Eleanor’s plate. ‘I had begun to think there was something not to your liking.’
She glanced swiftly at him, flushing delicately as she noted by his expression that he was actually teasing her, for despite his gravity there was a twinkle in his eye. She thought of Dora, his late wife, and wondered if, beneath this apparently untroubled exterior, Dom Miguel were acutely conscious of her absence.
When the meal was over they took coffee in the crimson drawing-room whose wide high windows were thrown open to allow the cool night air to enter. Eleanor found herself beside Sanches again as he had taken possession of the vacant place beside her on the deep velvet sofa.
‘Eleanor,’ he began a little diffidently as he stirred his coffee which was beside him on a small table, ‘I like you very much and I feel I’ve known you far longer than a few hours.’ He stopped and, placing his spoon in the saucer, he lifted his cup to his lips. Eleanor had stiffened at his words, wondering what was to come next from the handsome young Visconde. It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did Eleanor went tense and instinctively flashed a glance at Dom Miguel, who was engaged in conversation with Clara and Andre Garcia. ‘I feel you’re to be trusted ... Eleanor, can I talk to you about Carlota?’
‘It just depends, Sanches,’ she murmured guardedly after a pause.
‘I’ll begin by saying that I’ve approached Miguel—a few weeks ago—asking if I might come to the Palacio and pay court to his sister, but he refused. You might suppose that this would be an insult to a man in my position, but, with some knowledge I have, I could understand his reluctance to have a suitor for Carlota, and therefore I could also forgive him and not take offence.’ On beginning to speak Sanches had been hesitant, but, having once managed to get the first few words out, he seemed to have gained some measure of confidence.
‘This knowledge?’ said Eleanor, fully aware of what it was, especially in the light of what Carlota herself had put forth earlier about her suspicion that the Visconde knew about her having had a child. In the ordinary way Eleanor would have avoided any conversation on the subject, not only owing to her position of employee in the Castro household, but also because she considered it disloyal, in a way, to her employer. But Carlota had said something from which Eleanor inferred that the girl was attracted to Sanches; and now it was clear that Sanches was more t
han attracted to Carlota. He obviously wanted to marry her. Under these circumstances Eleanor could not bring herself to hold herself aloof.
‘This knowledge...’ slowly repeated the young Visconde, glancing all around as if he would make absolutely sure no one was within hearing distance. ‘You met Carlota and her brother in London, I believe? This is what Miguel said. He and Carlota were on—holiday. ’
‘I did meet them in London, yes, Sanches.’ She was guarded still; Sanches must make the first move.
‘It is difficult for me to imagine your meeting anyone like Miguel—’ He stopped, dismayed, then added hastily, ‘I am not suggesting, Eleanor—’
‘Don’t worry,’ she cut in mercifully on noting his heightened colour. ‘As you are suggesting, our positions are so vastly different that it was highly improbable we would meet in ordinary circumstances.’
‘I believe,’ said the Visconde with full perception, ‘that you have the same knowledge about Carlota as I have. I felt this was so the minute I spoke to you, although as soon as I knew that Miguel had brought back with him a girl from England, I did feel that this girl was in his confidence. Would you tell me how you met Miguel?’
‘I was working in the hotel in which he was staying,’ she replied, and saw at once that Sanches was taken aback.
‘I thought you might be a nurse,’ he murmured, biting his lip. But after a frowning silence he glanced straight at her. ‘You do have this knowledge, Eleanor, for otherwise you would have evinced much more curiosity than you are doing.’ ‘Sanches,’ said Eleanor gently, her eyes wandering to where her employer was sitting comfortably in a large armchair, his profile towards her, ‘if you wish to inform me of this knowledge then do so.’
‘I’m sorry. I should not have suggested that you speak first. I deeply admire your restraint, Eleanor, and your loyalty. But the fact of your not putting a stop to this talk of mine fills me with confidence that you would not be unwilling to help me in my endeavour to win Carlota for my wife.’
